Michelle Dunne: Private Seán Rooney's death felt by every Irish soldier

Michelle Dunne was just 20 when she first served overseas. She recalls the camaraderie between soldiers and the daily dangers Peacekeepers experience

Private Seán Rooney who was killed on active service in Lebanon on Wednesday. Picture: Óglaigh na hÉireann

It has been a long time since I wore the blue helmet of the UN and, most days, I don’t think about that time at all. But then something like this happens, and every Irish person who has ever served in Lebanon is brought right back there. Even those who have never met Private Seán Rooney will have been hit by the news of his death and will be thinking about his colleagues, those who were injured, and those who were not. There has always been an underestimation of just how dangerous the job of a Peacekeeper is. I’d even go so far as to say that, in Ireland, UN tours can be perceived as a bit of a holiday. A chance to rake in some extra cash and pick up some cheap gold. But the life of a Peacekeeper is so far removed from what we know, it can be difficult to explain.

I was 20 years old when I landed in the village of Haddatha, as were most of my buddies at that time. Before we left, we were wished Bon Voyage – Happy Holiday by civilian friends! 

In the six months that followed, we became so accustomed to shelling and gunfire that we could lie in bed at night and try to gauge whether or not the explosions were close enough to worry about. I know anyone reading this who has been there will know what I mean. You become so jaded that you literally think you might get away with a few more minutes of sleep. Like hitting the snooze button on your alarm. Only it’s not a clock. It’s a 120mm mortar. But still — five more minutes because you’ve been dragged from your bed every night this week. But then the groundhog siren would sound and we got our answer. On other occasions, there were no such warnings. Mortars or other heavy artillery struck our camp before anyone had a chance to sound the alarm, let alone hit snooze.

Michelle Dunne: 'I can go years without seeing some of the people that I served with, but a message out of the blue or an occasional gathering and it’s like no time at all has passed. That will always be the way.'

Inevitably, nights like that are followed by clean-ups and repair details. I remember one such morning when the clean-up uncovered an unexploded mortar round beside our accommodation block. Meanwhile, two of our friends were being treated for injuries sustained the night before. You can imagine how a morning like that might cause a person to dwell on what might have happened. But before anyone has too much time to think, someone would crack a joke. Something along the lines of, “you should have seen your face when …” 

And that’s when the camaraderie brings everyone back out of their own heads and allows them to get on with their day. Until the next time. 

People who serve overseas will inevitably experience things that other people in their lives may never understand. The political situation has changed over the years, but I dare anyone to say that a ticking time bomb isn’t dangerous.

It’s difficult to put yourself in the shoes of a Peacekeeper, but try to imagine being confined to an area the size of a postage stamp for six months. You don’t have the freedom to do many of the things that we take for granted and the boredom at times can be mind-numbing. But the alternative is life-threatening and there’s not much in between. 

The height of entertainment for us involved the kidnapping of someone’s beloved Man Utd mug and a string of ransom notes, accompanied by photos showing the mug resting on that day’s newspaper (proof of life!) in locations all over the world. Try explaining the hilarity of that to someone living a normal life back home. Just as morale might be starting to dip, another note would arrive to lighten the mood.

Michelle Dunne in festive spirits during a tour of Lebanon.

You’ll always hear soldiers reminisce about a particular tour overseas and say, “that was a great trip”. Anyone I speak to from the 84th Bn (my tour) will say the same thing and so will I. Of course, they’re not talking about the danger that they were in. They’re talking about the group of soldiers that they served with. The camaraderie. The fun that they created for themselves when, at the best of times, there was nothing much to laugh about. But those experiences create the famous bond between soldiers. I can go years without seeing some of the people that I served with, but a message out of the blue or an occasional gathering and it’s like no time at all has passed. That will always be the way.

We came within a hair’s breadth of having empty seats on our flight home, but most of us also had gifts of jewellery for our friends and a farmer’s tan, so the perception lived on. 

Less than a month after we landed back in Cork, a 21-year-old private, just weeks into his tour, was killed when a mortar struck their camp. Just like the ones that had struck our camp. People at home only ever hear about the injuries and deaths. The many, many near misses are always kept between the soldiers who are there at the time. 

Experiences like that are what forge the bond between people who serve. It could be any one of them on any given day, which is why the death of Pte Seán Rooney is being felt by every single Irish soldier, serving or retired. He died doing a job that the Irish have done with pride and excellence for decades and he will be mourned by a very large military family. Likewise, all of them are thinking about Pte Shane Kearney and praying for his recovery.

• Born and raised in Cobh, Co Cork, Michelle Dunne was 19 when she joined the army and celebrated her 21st in Lebanon. She served for five years and retired at the rank of Corporal.