There’ll be no public ceremony next February 9 to mark the anniversary of the murder of Andy Allen, nobody on a platform to insist on his innocence or pledge no let-up in pursuit of his killers.
 
Andy, 24, partner of Arlene, father of Katie and Lochlann, from the Top Of The Hill estate, was shot dead by the vigilante group Republican Action Against Drugs at their home in Lisfannon in Donegal, where they had moved last year after he’d been accused of dealing drugs and ordered out of Derry.
Just a couple of days earlier, Andy had taken the bus from Buncrana to visit his mother. Maybe he thought that wouldn’t count. Older heads could have told him that outfits like RAAD will kill rather than allow it to be believed they can be shown disrespect.
Andy’s murder drew ritual condemnation from all points on the political spectrum. Facebook was awash with the grief and anger of his friends, many of whom turned out at the funeral with T-shirts saying ‘Andy RIP’. But RAAD wasn’t impressed.
In the days between Andy’s death and his funeral, RAAD distributed death threats to five other young men. One was about to appear in court charged with selling £20 deals of dope. For this you can have a bullet pumped into your brain.
One reason for RAAD’s confidence that they can kill when they choose is that drugs hysteria generated by the cops, the courts, the media and the main parties provides a context in which gunning down the likes of Andy can seem a last-resort suitable response. To this extent, RAAD can count on mainstream society regularly to replenish its rationale for murder.
RAAD is a descendant of Direct Action Against Drugs, a Provisional IRA front which killed ten alleged drug dealers in the Belfast area in the ‘90s.
DAAD’s creation made sense for the Provos at that point. Armed struggle was being wound down and the peace geared up. Restive elements were reassured that there was still a role for the ‘Ra in “defending the community.” It was an added attraction that for as long as it was only “drugs-pushers” being targeted, the authorities weren’t pushed.
A Provo communiqué after one spate of killings encapsulated the approach: “Contrary to speculation surrounding recent killings in Belfast, the IRA cessation of military operations remains intact.” Not a denial, but an explanation that disposing of people denounced as drugs dealers needn’t disrupt the smooth passage towards power.
RAAD is mainly made up of members or ex-members of PIRA who bring with them a sense of entitlement to kill anyone branded as an enemy of the people. As the astute Belfast commentator Fionnuala O’Connor has observed: “Mainstream Republicanism wrote the script for vigilante terror.”
I didn’t know Andy, except to maybe nod as we passed. He used to do the door at Sandinos. He seemed a lively, decent young man.
The message of his murder is that the moral swamp left behind as the Troubles recede is disease-ridden still. 

I did a dozen double-takes during Robert Vaughn’s recent stint on Coronation Street. Like the goldfish encountering the little plastic castle, I was startled every time I met him ambling into Roy’s Rolls.
Corrie did have Ian McKellen in the cast for a 12-week season a few years back. But he was only the most highly regarded actor of his generation, not a member of the Magnificent Seven.
Vaughn’s performance as Roy’s mum’s squeeze from the cruise – the one she scammed from Norris and Mad Mary – wasn’t the most plausible piece of acting in Corrie history. But that’s to miss the significance of the moment. One of the Magnificent Seven ordering a fry-up from Haley... Surely the most amazing thing ever on television. I must watch the film again. Always did like Brad Dexter movies.
 
Some of the crowd I was sitting with when word came that Dory Previn had died would have accounted themselves music heads. “Who?” they said.
A couple of people in bands, a sort of promoter, a local DJ... “Who?”, they said.
I was tempted to do my Victor Meldrew – “I don’t believe it!”
So there must be an abundance of others out there unaware of her sweet, sharp, savage and gentle, exquisitely-crafted songs. 
She was a New Jersey Irish Catholic, with an alcoholic mother, father shell-shocked from the Western front. It showed in everything.
Years ago, she did a week at the Olympia, Hunky Dory, put together by Noel Pearson. She became a close friend of my late partner Mary Holland, gave me a signed copy of her autobiographical true masterpiece, Midnight Baby, which I’d beg you to read if I thought you’d listen.
One night in Buswells she discovered I didn’t own a suit, misunderstood, browbeat her partner, the painter Joby Baker, into giving me one of his. Silk-lined it was, with a waistcoat and all. Totally embarrassed, I carried it home, never put it on. I wonder should I send it back to Joby now.
Do check her out. This is from Mythical Kings And Iguanas:

“Curse the mind that mounts the cloud
In search of mythical kings
And only mystical things…
Mystical things
Cry for the soul that will not face
The body has an equal place
And I never learned to touch for real
Or feel the things, iguanas feel
Down, down, down
Where they play
Teach me, teach me
Teach me, reach me.”