Extra Rambles

WITH DAVID

Is the world as we know it changing? I would say possibly, or to be more accurate, definitely. During this last year events have taken place which are most foreboding for a happy and successful future. Our present methods of speedy media transfer reaching the whole world is partially to blame for this. And now for something completely different, I would like to comment here on the act of demolishing statues which is becoming a recent occurrence in our changing world. Many of these statues are really a “book” of history. In 2013, a statue of Lenin in Kiev’s central plaza - once known as October Revolution Square and now known as Euromaidan - was smashed by protesters using sledgehammers. After Stalin’s death in 1953, successor Nikita Khrushchev launched a period of “de-Stalinisation”. As part of this, numerous cities and landmarks named after Stalin had their names changed, the most famous of which was the renaming of World War II battleground Stalingrad to Volgograd. Mention of Stalin was also purged from the Soviet National Anthem, and several statues of the dictator were pulled down. The statue of Saddam Hussein was one of the symbols of his rule over Iraq and it came down in April 2003, as US Marines backed an armoured M88 tank recovery vehicle up to the monument and attached a chain to the statue. Cecil Rhodes was one of the most committed imperialists of the 19th century. Protesters in South Africa’s Cape Town University demanded the removal of the 1930s statue of this British colonial minister, for whom the white settlement of Rhodesia was named and who many believed was an inveterate racist. After weeks of protests, the University pulled the statue down. Ireland of course started this idea of demolishing statues over fifty years ago. I would like to remind you here of two statues in Ireland which were ‘removed’ some time ago. The story begins about eight years ago. Around this time, I was playing golf at a certain club and was listed to play with a member I had not heard of before. His name was Ricky Bxxxxxx but for the sake of simplicity here, I will call him Stan, similar to a certain television broadcasting company. We hit off at the first hole having found that our other two players had cried off. The rain was coming and it did... at the second hole! Stan and I took shelter under a rather twiggy looking tree and started to chat. Well what else can a golfer do sheltering under a tree with so few leaves on its branches? There was no Guinness in sight, never mind a pub. We were both amazed at how similar our lives had been at an early age. He had attended a top school in Dublin and me in Belfast. We both played rugby and it appeared we may even have played against each other when my school played his before the International match at Lansdowne Road. We both liked and played music. He had played in a rock band in Dublin and I had played in a dance trio in Belfast. “We were gigging in Cats, a small downstairs place in Middle Abbey St, off O’Connell St where Nelsons Pillar was,” he told me later in the conversation. It was still raining. “It was 1966,” he continued, “the year Mustang Sally was written and sung by Wilson Pickett, and we were doing a top job on that song. We were half way through the song, actually on the line... One of these early mornings, oh, you gonna be wiping your weeping eyes I bought you a brand new mustang ‘bout nineteen sixty five

Left: The half demolished Nelsons Pillar in Dublin 1966. Above: Governor Walker’s Monument, Derry in 1828

(he actually sang this though not that tunefully; well he is and was a bass player) when we heard a very loud bang. It only lasted a second or two so we continued with the gig. Later the owner came over to us and told us he had an announcement to make. He announced that a bomb had gone off around the corner in O’Connell St. He did not know what had been bombed but he suspected it might be the pillar…. That is Nelson’s Pillar. “The gig was just about over anyway and what few people that remained had left to go and survey the damage. I joined them.” continued Stan. “We did not realise at first that the whole pillar was demolished and as we tried to approach where it had been, the garda or cops as you would call them, stopped us saying that it was unsafe, as more could collapse. The street was hugely covered with tons and tons of a mass amount of rubbish, I decided to pick up some bits, but as they were very heavy I only took one piece home. The pillar was made from granite” he told me, “and was about 450 million years old. The granite that is,” he helpfully explained. (Stan is full of useful facts.) “We have something similar in the North,” I volunteered, determined to get a word in. “It’s in Derry or Londonderry if you prefer.” (He didn’t mind either way!) “In around 1968 I was playing rugby for Queens University. We called ourselves ‘The Pirates’. We were all drinkers (well most people who played rugby in those days were) or at least we all enjoyed the odd pint or seven. That seemed to be our limit.” The rain had finally stopped and I had lost the thread of my story. We continued with the golf but neither of us played particularly well. Golf is a fickle game and you never know when it is going to be your day. It wasn’t our day. We both managed over thirty points however which was commendable in the rain. In the bar, Stan asked me about the story I was telling. “Ah yes,” I said thoughtfully. (It was not really a story I would tell over a Guinness; more of a story trying to ignore the rain.) “Our next game was in Letterkenny,” I continued trying to pick up where I had left off. “A few on the team were from England. They had never heard of Letterkenny and we confused them greatly by telling them it was in a different country. We set off from Belfast on a fine and cloudy day in October. I was driving a mini in those days and it was packed with five rugby players. They all played in the backs; four of the forwards would not have fitted into the mini never mind five. We headed up the M2 for a few miles before diverting to Antrim, Randalstown, Dungiven and then Derry; then into Donegal in the Republic of Ireland and Letterkenny. “Now Stan,” I continued, “it should be noted here that in Northern Ireland in those days, one never travelled into areas that one did not know. Students rarely visited the Falls Road or the Shankill Road. We had heard stories about those places and we were not over anxious to confirm the stories or otherwise. Derry was similar. No one was keen to go exploring. However, we did stop (briefly) at a tall pillar. It looked impressive. “It was about ninety feet tall (we both understood imperial measurement). Not as impressive as Nelson’s in Dublin but still pretty good. It was erected to commemorate a certain George Walker who was a clergy man or priest or whatever they were called in the 17th century. We could have climbed it but we did not have time. The referee was waiting in Letterkenny.” “Hey,” commented Stan, “why don’t you write an article for the IRISH SCENE about the statues in Ireland that have been blown up.’” “Good idea,” I replied. “I will write about the Walker Statue in my ULSTER RAMBLES COLUMN, although I do believe it may have been blown up since that time. Much the same as Nelson’s Column,” I remarked. We both marvelled at how similar the two stories were. Later on in the bar I asked Rick (sorry, Stan) if he would play with me on St. Patricks Day at the club. Although we had been talking about music, he assumed I was talking about golf. The conversation took a strange turn until we worked out that we were talking about different events. I am happy to report here that the gig was a success and we have played golf and music together many times since including one memorable one at the Irish Club in Geraldton; an experience that neither of us will ever forget! Hopefully it will not be blown up although it may be knocked down!