Sean Dalton and the Good Samaritan bomb victims remembered: ‘He was good crack, full of fun, a typical Derry man’

Phyllis Kealey has happy memories of being treated to cheese triangles when her father took her sisters and brothers and her on runs delivering dairy around the city in the 1960s.
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Sean Dalton worked for a time as a ‘butterman’. The children used to sing ‘Yellow Submarine’ but with the words changed to ‘Yellow Margarine’.

"He worked for a company called Maxwell's delivering dairy products, butter and cheese,” explains Phyllis.

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"He would take us out in the van with him now and again and we would always eat the wee triangle cheeses. He probably got in trouble for it! But we would help ourselves in the van.”

Polly and Sean at home in the 1980s.Polly and Sean at home in the 1980s.
Polly and Sean at home in the 1980s.

Sean was born on Boxing Day 1933. Originally from the Lone Moor he was reared in Bond’s Street.

He went to the Waterside Boys’ School, played football and cricket and was a member of the Waterside Boys’ Club Athletics Team. He was a great footballer and later played for Don Bosco’s.

In his early 20s he met Polly, the love of his life, in one of the city’s ‘ballrooms of romance’. They were engaged to be married. Polly designed her own wedding dress in a wee notebook using blue biro. Phyllis still has the book – ‘This is to be my wedding dress. I hope Sean likes it.’ She smuggled the material up from Buncrana through customs and a famed neighbourhood dressmaker worked her magic.

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Phyllis Kealey with a cherished picture of her mother and father on their wedding day.Phyllis Kealey with a cherished picture of her mother and father on their wedding day.
Phyllis Kealey with a cherished picture of her mother and father on their wedding day.
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The couple wed in the Long Tower on August 28, 1957, and moved into Polly’s home in Deanery Street.

Their eldest daughter Phyllis recalls tough but contented times.

“My daddy was always very happy. Times would have been tough in those days around work but my daddy always seemed to have jobs that kept the family right.

“He was always good crack. Full of fun. He was interested in people and friendly with people. He was community-minded and community-spirited: a typical Derry man. He put a lot into his family and a lot into his community, both my mother and father. He was a family man.”

The couple wed in the Long Tower on August 28, 1957.The couple wed in the Long Tower on August 28, 1957.
The couple wed in the Long Tower on August 28, 1957.
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With five children – Phyllis, Kay, Martin, Jim and Rosaleen – and Polly pregnant with her youngest Dorothy, the family were offered a home in Kildrum Gardens in 1969, and happily moved from the Brandywell to their own flat in Creggan.

Phyllis says her mother maintained a superstition that the new home was unlucky because its walls were painted green when they moved in.

“She always said it was unlucky because it was painted green when she went into it. She just had a thing about it, a feeling that it wasn't a lucky house, if there is such a thing as a lucky house.

Sean Dalton, aged 54, and his elderly neighbour Sheila Lewis, aged 68, were killed instantly when they triggered an IRA booby-trap bomb while going to check on a vulnerable neighbour. The explosion occurred shortly before noon on Wednesday, August 31. Gerry Curran, aged 57, from Iniscarn Road, was badly hurt in the blast and died as a result of his injuries on March 31, 1989.Sean Dalton, aged 54, and his elderly neighbour Sheila Lewis, aged 68, were killed instantly when they triggered an IRA booby-trap bomb while going to check on a vulnerable neighbour. The explosion occurred shortly before noon on Wednesday, August 31. Gerry Curran, aged 57, from Iniscarn Road, was badly hurt in the blast and died as a result of his injuries on March 31, 1989.
Sean Dalton, aged 54, and his elderly neighbour Sheila Lewis, aged 68, were killed instantly when they triggered an IRA booby-trap bomb while going to check on a vulnerable neighbour. The explosion occurred shortly before noon on Wednesday, August 31. Gerry Curran, aged 57, from Iniscarn Road, was badly hurt in the blast and died as a result of his injuries on March 31, 1989.

“She would have had St. Bridget's crosses, the whole shebang, up.

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“If there was thunder and lightning the mirrors were covered and the doors were opened and you weren't allowed to budge.”

The new home on the hill was ideal for their growing family. Plenty of green space and stunning views over the river and city, compared to the confined quarters of the old terraces in Deanery Street. But it was not long before the Troubles came to the family’s door.

Ever protective Sean and Polly were quick to gather their children indoors when firefights between the IRA and the British Army erupted as their home was right in the firing line between Creggan and the Old City Dairy which was occupied by British soldiers.

On August 18, 1971, Polly was one of the first at the scene when Eamonn Lafferty, aged 19, became the first IRA Volunteer to die in the recent conflict in Derry when he was shot dead near the cemetery wall in Kildrum Gardens during a gun battle with the British Army.

A sketch of Polly's design for her wedding dress.A sketch of Polly's design for her wedding dress.
A sketch of Polly's design for her wedding dress.
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Polly’s daughters Rosaleen and Kay remember their mother covering Eamonn’s body with clean sheets from a washing line and helping to lift his body up towards Rathlin Drive.

As the 1970s and 1980s progressed the children were growing up, moving out and have families of their own.

“Things were going well,” said Phyllis, who was aged 30 and living in Dungiven with her husband John and their two children during the summer of 1988 when everything changed and their world fell apart.

On July 24, Polly suffered a massive heart attack and passed away suddenly aged 56.

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"My mother didn't have good health. She took a cardiac arrest at home and died. It was bad. This happens in many families and you have to deal with it,” says Phyllis.

Sean was devastated. He headed up to Dungiven after Polly’s funeral to stay with Phyllis and John for a few days. Near the end of August he went back home to Creggan.

“I was in my sister-in-law’s house and a call came through,” Phyllis recounts. “We hadn't heard any news. A call came through looking for my husband John. Bear in mind not many people had phones so it was not easy to get in touch with family members.

"John's sister Colette told John what happened. He came over to his other sister's house and said to me, ‘You need to sit down’.

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“I knew it was my daddy because my mammy has just died and it was going through my head where everybody else was.

“All I remember is screaming, screaming. You never ever...you couldn't prepare for something like that.

“We had a priest, Fr. Kelly, who knew mammy and daddy and attended to them at home. He had been moved to Dungiven. We were on our way to Derry but we called with him and he just prayed with us. Then we came up to the city.

“We got up to the house but the place was just littered with army, police, the whole flat was just blown apart and the debris was lying in the garden, our garden.”

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Sean Dalton, aged 54, and his elderly neighbour Sheila Lewis, aged 68, had been killed instantly when they triggered an IRA booby-trap bomb while going to check on a vulnerable neighbour. The explosion occurred shortly before noon on Wednesday, August 31.

Gerry Curran, aged 57, from Iniscarn Road, was badly hurt in the blast and died as a result of his injuries on March 31, 1989.

Phyllis recalls how even before the cordons had been lifted that Wednesday afternoon lies were being spread by the authorities and some sections of the media.

“There was a policeman there and he didn't even look at me. At that time the news reports were that a pensioner or pensioners were making bombs in this flat.

“We couldn't get any information from him until he eventually said, ‘Your family is in the parochial house’. After that I don't remember. I don't remember being in the parochial house. I don't remember whose house we went to. I don't remember anything really. I was numb and I'm still numb.”

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Thirty-five years later and the Dalton family are still seeking closure over what has become known as the ‘Good Samaritan’ bomb due to the concern Sean, Sheila and Gerry had shown for a missing neighbour that day.

Yesterday the family privately marked the 35th anniversary of the tragedy and a new memorial booklet ‘The Good Samaritan: Sean Dalton – A Journey for Truth’ was published by the Pat Finucane Centre.

Sara Duddy, advocacy worker at PFC, who compiled the publication with the Dalton family, spoke of how Sean’s selflessness shone threw to the end.

“He had lost the love of his life but that overriding community spirit and concern for a vulnerable neighbour...it's ironic but completely understandable that he was concerned about somebody else, not his own grief, and it was his concern for somebody else that led to the bomb exploding.

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“Learning about Sean and Polly I actually felt really proud of [their] daddy. It was a horrible thing that happened but it was through concern and looking after a neighbour.”

The Dalton family’s campaign for truth continues.

In 2013 a report by the then Police Ombudsman Dr. Michael Maguire, found the RUC had wrongly ‘allowed an explosive device to remain in a location that presented a real and immediate risk to life’.

He also stated that ‘my investigation was hampered by both the refusal of a number of retired police officers, some formerly of senior rank, to co-operate and by the loss of investigation documentation’.

The Daltons want to know why an explosive device was allowed to remain in a flat in a built up residential area for several days – the IRA claimed the flat had been booby-trapped since August 26.

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The family also firmly believe an informer was involved and are seeking a fresh inquest with full compellability in view of the Ombudsman’s conclusions. Their case was heard by the UK Supreme Court in October 2022 but judgment has not yet been handed down.

“We totally blame the IRA and they are faceless people. We don't know them. They apologised through the media but nobody personally apologised to us. I'm not saying we want an apology but it was such a tragedy and such a wrong that if they had any decency...

“But the state had a part to play in it. A very big part. Apparently the dogs in the streets knew about the informer,” says Phyllis.

Ms. Duddy says a full inquest may be the only way to provide answers to the many questions that haunt the family to this day.

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“How was bomb left in the heart of Creggan for five days? How did that happen? How was that allowed to happen because it could only end in one way? It could only end in one way. That's the shameful aspect of it,” she says.

With the Northern Ireland Troubles (Legacy and Reconciliation) Bill due to become law within weeks the clock is ticking for Phyllis’ family and many others.

Under the new legislation, almost universally opposed in Ireland, all legacy inquests not substantially finished and awaiting a verdict by May 1, 2024 will cease.

"The legacy bill is looming over us all. What do we want? We want information. We want to know what happened, why it happened, who knew about it, how far up the scale, how much was done to protect what we believe to be an informant, and we believe we have information that can prove that there was an informant.

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“The British State, as in many other cases, are trying to protect themselves…

“I don't know if the real reason behind it is to protect their veterans. I think they are looking to hide their own shameful actions. I mean, if this goes ahead, we have nowhere to get that closure anymore. A full inquest is the only way to get the facts that happened, the actual truth of what happened.”

Phyllis expressed thanks to the Pat Finucane Centre for their support and for producing ‘The Good Samaritan: Sean Dalton – A Journey for Truth’ describing it as ‘more than just a publication’ and a fitting memorial to Sean and Polly.

“The publication is just a gift to get for the generations to come. Crying is cathartic and that's what this is for us,” says Phyllis, who has vowed to continue the journey for truth. “We must, we have to. My daddy doesn't have a voice. We have to speak for him.”