Page 253 - Once a copper 10 03 2020

Two detective officers were present in the city centre on that fateful night and
visited the Tavern in the Town, just prior to the bomb being detonated at that
location. To clarify exactly the course of events which took place on the 21
November 1974, the author feels it necessary to record here, what both he and his
colleague, Detective Sergeant Mike Davey, actually experienced during the
immediate aftermath of the terrorist attacks.

I suggested to Mike that I could introduce him to Dick Lawn, the licensee at the
nearby Tavern in the Town licensed premises, and he quickly agreed. After making
our way, yet again, along New Street, we finally reached the entrance to the
Tavern, before descending down the stairway, which led to the main underground
bar. The cold damp air outside was quickly forgotten, as we entered the warmth of
a room almost full to capacity, with people exchanging conversations, in between
drinking what beverages littered the tables before them.

Well, we soon met with further disappointment, when one of the barmen explained
that the licensee was absent, visiting friends. “We’re not having much luck tonight,”
Mike quipped, ordering two glasses of lager. We stood for a short time with our
drinks, leaning against a supporting pole near the centre of the room. I checked my
watch and could see we still had time to spare, so offered to buy another round.
Mike declined, explaining that he still had work to complete back at Digbeth Police
Station.
Little did either of us know at that time, Mike Davey’s refusal to have another drink,
probably saved our lives. It was well after 8.0 p.m. when we stepped back out into
New Street, and slowly made our way in the general direction of Digbeth, passing
the front of the Mulberry Bush Public House, on our right.

We continued down through the open market in the Bull Ring, with its many stalls,
now empty and standing like shadows in the darkness, waiting in silence for the
eventual riotous industry which would greet the following early morning. We were
within a couple of hundred yards of the police station, when we suddenly heard the
all too familiar sound of a bomb exploding.

We’d had our fair share of various devices going off in the city centre, usually
targeting the Rotunda, a cylindrical building which overlooked both New Street and
the Bull Ring Centre. No matter how many attempts there had been on the same
building, it still stood proud and defiant against the city’s night sky. It was natural for
us to assume the explosion had come from the same landmark and I remember
looking up to confirm it was still standing upright in all its glory. In fact, I joked that the
IRA wouldn’t rest, until they’d managed to demolish Birmingham’s most recent and
famous tourist attraction.

Then we heard a second explosion, muffled and distant, but instantly realising it was
a second bomb. As we were so close to our destination, we ran inside to ask if they
had any information as to where the explosions had taken place, but what few
officers we found, were as mystified as we were. Then the radio controller, Billy
Wilson, told us he’d received a report that one bomb had gone off inside Yates’s
Wine Lodge in Corporation Street, near to the junction with New Street, and that Page253
there were two people trapped on the roof there.