Ulster Rambles

BY DAVID MacCONNELL

I SUPPOSE BY THE TIME YOU ARE READING THIS ARTICLE; ST. PATRICK’S DAY WILL HAVE COME AND GONE; FOR ANOTHER YEAR ANYWAY. I HAVE NOT BEEN BACK TO THE OLD SOD IN RECENT TIMES (I NOW DEFINE TIME AS B.C.) SO I GOOGLED “ST. PATRICK’S DAY IN BELFAST” AND WAS SOMEWHAT SURPRISED BY THE RESULT.

It appears (to me) that the Ulster folk have become more “Irish” than when I lived there. Well, it was fifty years ago! The celebration in Belfast nowadays is what you might call a real one. They used to close all the pubs when I was there except for the one at the Rugby Union ground Ravenhill which is now known as Kingspan. History tells us that on 5 June 2014, the powers in Ulster signed a 10year contract with the Kingspan Group for the naming rights to Ravenhill, meaning that the stadium will be known as the Kingspan Stadium until 2024 anyway. “Ever eaten a boxty? Or sipped on an Irish coffee after a tasty, traditional meal?” was what greeted me on the screen. “Find out where to discover authentic Irish food and drinks in Belfast.” The information continued about “An expertly-poured pint of Guinness is as much a part of the Belfast experience as our world-class attractions, live music and warm hospitality. Though it might find its home in Dublin, Guinness is as popular in Belfast and Northern Ireland as it is across the rest of the island. Belfast has a thriving traditional pub scene, and with it comes a host of places where you’ll find a topquality pint of Ireland’s favourite drink.” I was then informed of twenty or more Belfast pubs (which were not there in my day) boasting various promotions which included mirrors, memorabilia, history, beer gardens and of course screening live sports and a wide range of tap beers. Years ago, the “Egg”, the “Bot”, the “Club Bar” and even the “Welly Boot” basically had only two or three tap beers. Harp Lager, Carlings and the ubiquitous Guinness. The “Egg” trialed “Thwaites” for a month. We called it “throwing beer” for two reasons. The next promotion was much to my liking: Pull Your Own at Granny Annies. “Think you can pour the perfect pint yourself? Have a go at pulling your own Guinness at Granny Annies from Mondays to Thursdays, 3pm to 6pm. You’ll also receive a Guinness t-shirt, certificate, a photograph in front of the Guinness Gate and a piece of Irish peat in a branded bag, all for £10 per person”. There must be quite a few Americans touring Belfast. I cannot imagine what the locals would do with the photograph never mind the peat. (OK, I must admit that I do have a piece (supposedly) of the Berlin Wall on my souvenir shelf.) This reminiscing takes me back to another story of what it was like to live in the province in the seventies. I had returned home from gallivanting around Europe for a few years and was learning all about life in Ulster again. I quickly decided it was not for me. How was I going to leave? I had been doing jobs as a teacher in various schools and had made some elementary mistakes when driving over speed bumps as I have reported in previous articles. It was time for action. I took a course in Canterbury (Kent) to obtain qualifications to teach English as a foreign language. I persuaded a girl (Jane) to come with me and she asked if I could ‘give a lift’ to two other girls and collect them on the return journey. The course was highly entertaining, and Jane and I won a prize in the talent show singing ‘The Seven Drunken Nights’ which was actually most appropriate. It was a long drive back through London, Stratford Upon Avon (where we picked up Jane’s two friends), Birmingham, Carlisle and on to Stranraer in Scotland before we (luckily) caught the ferry to Larne. I was so fatigued that I barely remembered dropping the girls off near Dunmurry before crashing at my sister’s house situated near Finaghy. Here

I quote from my unfinished book (doesn’t everyone have one?) about the event. I arrived at my sister’s house absolutely exhausted. It was quite late, and she was in bed. I hit the sack and was probably asleep within seconds. Driving such a long distance after the hectic ten days does tire one out. I slept well and did not wake up until around 10:00 when I surprised my sister by turning up for breakfast. ‘Oh, you made me jump,’ she let out. ‘You did not hear me come in last night then?’ I stated. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Nor did I hear or see your car. How did you get here so late?’ ‘The car is outside the door,’ I casually replied. ‘I don’t think it is, or at least I did not see it earlier on this morning.’ I looked out the window and sure enough there was an ominous space where I had parked it. It is always difficult to believe an object is not there when you know it is; or in this case was. I looked a second time as if someone was playing a joke on me. Perhaps some pranksters had pushed it around the corner. After I had calmed down and had eaten a bowl of cereal, cornflakes, (well it was all my sister had), I walked out the door fully expecting to see the car around the first corner. I walked towards that corner with purpose; you guessed it ….no car. ‘What do you think I should do?’ I asked my sister reluctantly after returning to her house a few minutes later. I rather suspected I knew what her answer would be. ‘You should phone the police right away,’ she instructed me. Yes, that is what I thought she was going to say. Now most people would agree that it was a good idea, but I was somewhat worried by this response. The police and I had various run ins over the years about such small matters as road tax, poor tyres and the like. I quickly concluded that no car at all was probably less acceptable than paying a fine.

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I phoned them giving details of make and the plate number. It was around two hours later that they kindly returned my call. After inquiring about my whereabouts, they informed me that my car was in a residential square about half a mile away. They gave me the address and advised me to get there promptly if I wanted to claim it. I did not get the gist of what they meant but set off immediately with admittedly some trepidation and a fair amount of haste. I arrived at the scene some minutes later. The first thing I noticed was that where there should have been at least a few people, there was no one in sight. I say no one but there were one or two at a discrete distance away from a car. On looking closer, I realised they were all policemen and the car looked very like the one that belonged to me. I walked towards the sandbags which were placed some distance away from the car. It was then that I observed some people behind some larger sandbags which were much further away. Afterwards, I found out they were reporters and onlookers awaiting some dramatic action which perhaps I could provide. ‘You the owner of this jalopy?’ One of the policemen asked in a condescending tone. ‘Probably,’ I replied somewhat laconically. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘we are about to blow it up so if you want to claim it you better speak up quick son.’ I hate when they speak to you like that, but I was in no position to mention that fact to him. ‘What’s the deal?’ I asked him instead. ‘Well you and I will approach the car and have a look around and if you see anything suspicious, you tell me right away and we will take it from there.’ Without thinking what I was really doing, I set off towards the car. I presume that after the hectic two weeks and the long drive home and despite a good sleep, I was not thinking straight. I looked at the car. ‘What exactly am I looking for here?’

I asked in a subdued tone. ‘ Anything that looks different or out of place,’ he replied nonchalantly. I looked at the car but could see nothing different than it looked yesterday. Blue, four wheels, no tax disc, 3 bald tyres. ‘What about inside?’ he encouraged. I looked inside but the steering wheel was where it should be, and I could see nothing out of place in the front. There was even the mars bar wrapper that I had left after devouring the contents after coming off the boat in Larne. ‘Looks OK,’ I mumbled. ‘What about the back?’ I glanced in at the back seats not expecting to find anything. I did. That is there was something there which I did not recognise. I was never quite so organised as to have a rug in the back of my car but there sitting silently, was a rug of sorts. It was the kind of rug my granny might have to wrap around her knees on a cold, winters day. ‘There’s something in the back seat that isn’t mine,’ I told the officer, and I could sense his immediate alarm. ‘I don’t remember having a rug in the back and it

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certainly isn’t mine!’ I suppose what disturbed me most was that the rug could easily be hiding something underneath. ‘Any idea how it might have got there?’ the constable asked. Finally, my brain began to stir. ‘Ah yes,’ I started, ‘I gave a lift to a few friends last night and I presume one of them must have left it there.’ I could hear his sigh of relief as he gladly accepted this explanation. ‘Ok’, he began, ‘the next step is to open the car. If that is successful, then you can try the bonnet and then the boot.’ ‘Does this step actually take two people?’ I asked. ‘Surely one of us would be sufficient.’ (Hopefully, him I thought to myself). ‘Well, it’s like this son. I am here on a professional level, and you are here because it is your car. Is that OK with you?’ I didn’t have time to think so I kind of mumbled a half agreement. With trepidation, heart thumping, hand shaking, I opened the car door, driver’s side. Nothing happened. Then the bonnet; still nothing happened and then the boot. I’m not sure how everyone else felt from behind their safety barrier but needless to say I was more than ecstatic. On reflection, I suppose that they had the sniffer dogs around before I arrived and were extremely confident that there were no explosive devises attached. I wish they had told me that. I really did not want to give up my life for a car nor for some political stunt that I did not believe in. Faced with the same problem, would I have made the same decision today? Probably as I really value the freedom a car can bring you and the alternative was unthinkable when you are young. I hope you had a great one on St. Patrick’s Day and every other day for that matter. As Humphry would say “it’s the thin end of the wedge and life has changed from the way we know it.”As always may your God go with you. ☘