Ulster Rambles

BY DAVID MACCONNELL

AS FAR AS I KNOW, IN ALL THE YEARS I HAVE BEEN WRITING FOR THIS GREAT LITTLE MAG, I HAVE AVOIDED THE WORD ‘TROUBLES’. IT SEEMS TO FIT WITH MOST PEOPLE’S PERCEPTION OF WHAT WAS HAPPENING OVER THE LAST 50 YEARS OR SO IN THE PROVINCE BUT NOT FOR ME.

Recently, I looked up the word in my thesaurus and found the following. 1. Dilemmas (n) Dilemmas, Plights, Predicaments,

Difficulties, Quandaries, Scrapes. Not really, I thought to myself. 2. Worries (n) Worries, Distresses, Anxieties, Cares,

Misfortunes, Sufferings, Woes, Concerns A little better here but still not right! 3. Problems (n) Problems, Difficulties, Dilemmas,

Messes, Nuisances, Snags, Dangers, Hitches,

Faults, Hassles, Breakdowns, Trials, Tribulations Maybe! 4. Unrests (n) Unrests, Disorders, Disturbances,

Conflicts Ah yes: getting closer. 5. Efforts (n) Not worth commenting here; and lastly 6. Complaints (n) I will let you decide if the word covers some of the Trials, Tribulations and yes Troubles. In the early days, I often thought I had a semblance of a solution by integrating the schools. I certainly was not brave enough to voice such an opinion in public. Recently, I believe it has started to happen. I was looking up my old school and it seems that nowadays it is quite mixed as far as religion goes. This fact has been confirmed by a few of my colleagues who still reside thereabouts! I was going to write about the school I attended but have since decided that not everyone wants to read that kind of article at Christmas time or probably any other time for that matter. Instead, I am going to tell a story of what it was like to live there in the seventies (nineteen seventy-four that is). I had been living in Spain for three years at that point and was more than naïve about how to conduct myself in the Province. To prove this, I have taken an extract from a novel I was writing some years ago. Like many aspiring authors before me, I never finished it. It had all started eight months earlier when I had returned from the U.S. after a two year relationship with an American girl; a much longer story which I might well write about in the future. That is enough of that. Just before Christmas, I found myself back in Belfast where I had qualified a few years earlier with a B.Sc. I had little money so I took a teaching job in an area of Belfast where I had never been before. The reason that I had never been before was that it was one of the main sectarian parts of the city. One simply did not go there especially if one did not have to. I had missed a lot of the action in the Province as I had been living in Spain so I took little notice of any advice that was given and unasked for. Needless to say I made a few mistakes.

Left, and image on page over: Photographs of the area I rarely visited in the seventies. I certainly would not have stopped to take any photographs. Bombs went off quite regularly but were usually cleaned up with great speed. Well, they had plenty of practice!

‘I hope you are not taking the same route to work every day,’ Jane once scolded me. ‘Of course not,’ I replied. Actually I did, but I did not want to seem stupid in front of her and her friends. I never dreamed of going to work in a different way. What would that achieve? ‘Good,’ she replied. ‘You never know who might be watching you as a target.’ I did not continue with the conversation as I was speechless. Things had certainly warmed up here since the time I left a few years earlier. Not long after that conversation, I had to pay a visit to a bank. It was Friday and I needed some cash for the weekend. Normally, I wrote a cheque (remember those?) that my local pub would cash for me but that weekend, I was invited to a Christmas function in an hotel further afield and so needed the readies. All the banks closed very promptly at 3:30pm in those days. The school where I was a teacher finished at 3:20pm, so it was completely impossible to drive to my normal bank near the University. Fortunately, I had observed a bank on the road where I worked; yeah, the one in this sectarian area. I had never been in it before and in my right mind, I would never have dared enter it, for at least some of the tea in China but... I was desperate. The last class was all lined up and ready to go shortly before the last bell went. This was the one thing that all the students were good at. You could depend on them to vacate the classroom within thirty seconds. In this instance (lined up and ready) they managed it in eighteen seconds. What a good group of students I had! Or as we might say nowadays: not! I rushed to the car, had a quick peek at my watch which showed 3:27pm, which was still all right as I always kept it five minutes more than the correct time, but it was still going to be tight if I could not find a parking spot. Luck was with me. There was a space outside the bank where my old banger might just fit in if I chose the correct angle. I chose the correct angle but had trouble getting out of the car. I managed to squeeze out of the passenger door but did not bother to lock it. I ran to the door of the bank only to find a doorman who informed me that I was too late. ‘But it is not 3:30 yet,’ I protested. ‘Near enough,’ he replied. ‘Look, I am just withdrawing some cash,’ I pleaded. ‘It will take no time at all.’

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He looked me up and down suspiciously as if I had come from another world, but in the end yielded. There was only one customer in the building that I could see and he was leaving, so it took less than five minutes for me to procure sufficient funds to last the weekend if I was frugal. I took a breath and slowly made my way out of the building to the sound of the door being slammed behind me. There was a bit of commotion ahead. Some idiot had parked very badly and his car was surrounded by a vigilante group of young men... well my age, more or less. I looked around for my banger and only then did I realise that it was my car they had surrounded. As all the other cars had apparently disappeared, it seemed as if I had a purpose in mind for leaving it in such a peculiar position. Those were the days of car bombs in this city and people rightly were very uneasy with numberplates they had never seen before. I gingerly walked towards it with a great deal of trepidation. What could I do? Leave it there and walk the five miles home? Maybe. ‘Is this your heap of s**t?’ one of the vigilantes asked me in a tone which I would have definitely described as unfriendly. ‘Yes,’ was my laconic reply. Well, I was standing next to it with a key in my hand. ‘Not the best place to park it, was it son?’ he asked. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I was in a kinda rush to get to the bank on time.’ ‘Is that so,’ he said with that County Antrim sort of accent. I wondered if it was a question but he continued. ‘I don’t suppose you have a driving licence on you by chance with parking like that.’ Now here he was giving me some choices. I could come up with a rude answer; unwise. I could try and explain about the cars that were parked there as I drove up; I doubt if he would have been interested in that, so I went for the third option and produced my licence. I thought this was prudent. It had a very Protestant name on it and this was a very Protestant area. He looked at it as his cohorts were becoming restless. I decided I might feel safer if I got into the car which I did. Would my luck hold out here? It did. An older man arrived on the scene and I explained briefly the situation to him. He looked at the licence and told James (apparently that was his name) to return the licence. I took it and started up the engine and drove very gently out of there. I could hear the leader telling them all to let me go without a fuss although I could also hear that a few did not completely agree with him. After thirty seconds, I took my first breath since starting the car. Could have turned out a little different, I thought to myself. It reminded me of leaving a girl home a few weeks earlier. Yes Eileen had gone out with one of my friends some years earlier when we were all at Uni. She was studying English and Psychology but I don’t remember which one she was majoring in. We had met in the University bar. This was a bar supposedly for the post graduates and professors and I suppose the academic staff. You needed a key to enter but this was Belfast! We all soon found other ways. I was just leaving to look for greener pastures when I saw her give me a smile. I did not recognise her at first but by the time I approached her a name had come to mind. ‘Eileen, isn’t it?’ I asked hopefully. ‘Yes,’ she answered quickly. ‘Good memory.’ ‘You too,’ I replied. ‘You are looking great.’ It’s always good to get in a compliment first. ‘Thanks,’ she stuttered. ‘Were you just leaving?’ ‘No,’ I lied. ‘Bathroom duties.’ So for ten or fifteen minutes we caught up on old times as we called it, before she became more serious and asked me if I could give her a lift home. ‘So sorry,’ she said, ‘I actually thought you were leaving or I would not have asked.’ She must have been quite desperate because I am sure I told her I was not leaving. She chatted away in the car and explained that she had promised to babysit for the next door neighbours and had left it a bit late to get a taxi. I thought she was very brave because only certain taxis (we called them black taxis) went to her neighbourhood and I for one would never have had the courage to take one. In fact I never did. ‘If any one stops us,’ she informed me graciously, ‘I will call you LIAM. A good Catholic name but try not to show your drivers licence.’ Now in those days I did not scare easily, but let’s just say I was very happy when we were not stopped. In Belfast at that time you often found huge speed bumps on the road, especially where they passed police stations. Eileen yelled at me just in time to slow down as I was a newcomer to this road and didn’t realise the huge object ahead. These huge bumps on the road did more to your car than slow you down if you hit them at any great speed. ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. I meant it. ‘You must come in for a coffee,’ she replied, ignoring my gratefulness. Normally I would have jumped at the chance and agreed without thinking but then I remembered she was going babysitting. Maybe she would invite me to go with her. She didn’t.

‘Come and meet me Mam and Da,’ she commanded. ‘Ma, could you make this nice boy (uugh cringe) something to eat please? You know I have to go next door. I should be home around twelve,’ she told them and rushed out the door. Well I had a look around while her Mum was cooking up something. Various crosses and images of someone who I presumed was the pope (sorry it is probably a capital P here). Well her Mum was certainly trying to make a good impression. She whistled up a good Ulster fry with all the trimmings. When you don’t eat properly for a long time, or rather a good pint of Guinness is more important, you appreciate a good meal now and again. Needless to say, I did not hang around for a long time afterwards. I thanked her parents profusely and made my exit as soon as was politely possible. ‘Drop in any time,’ they suggested. ‘Thanks, (not likely),’ I replied; the former in as strong a voice as I could muster; the latter in barely a whisper. I was not looking forward to the drive away from her street. Again my plates were unknown in this district but I presumed they would think that I was OK by visiting one of their own, whoever ‘they’ were. It was this type of event (they were not uncommon,) that led me to believe that there were other parts of the world (like Lebanon or Iraq) where I might feel safer or at least happier in. Of course I was to learn later that this was a complete fallacy. Apparently, Brian Keenan tried Lebanon in the eighties and found it to be less to his liking than he had hoped for. Now which version of the meaning of the word ‘troubles’ could I use here with this story? I am sure you would agree with quite a few. Next time I might recount how I managed to rescue my car from being blown up. If I had the option again, I would make a different decision: the wisdom of becoming older!

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G’Day

from Melbourne

BY MIKE BOWEN

ANOTHER YEAR HAS COME AND ALMOST GONE. I HOPE WE’LL NEVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH ANOTHER TWO YEARS LIKE 2020/2021 AGAIN IN OUR LIFETIME. IT’S A COUPLE OF YEARS THAT WILL REMAIN ETCHED IN OUR MEMORIES FOR A VERY LONG TIME FOR TOO MANY SAD REASONS. FOR THOSE OF US WHO SURVIVED THIS NIGHTMARE PERIOD, IT’S TIME FOR US TO LOOK TO THE FUTURE WITH A NEW FOCUS. DWELLING ON THE PAST WILL ONLY HINDER OUR WAY FORWARD. THE WORLD HAS CHANGED FOREVER AND WE HAVE TO ADAPT TO THE NEW ONE.

Shopping for presents this year will be so much different than before because of social distancing, but that won’t stop the usual last minute panic buyers. The cash registers all round the world are being prepared and will be ringing bells of joy for the retailers. People are looking into their wardrobes and hiding places to see where they hid that wad of money that they saved during the lockdowns just for this occasion. The credit cards (one of the major causes of trouble in today’s society) are at the ready and waiting to be used on everything and anything that looks like a bargain. The clock is ticking and the fat man with the red suit is doing his last bit of preparations for his annual jaunt around the world. Santa has had his double Covid-19 jabs and is traveling with a full box of face masks. He usually gives me a call around December 1 to let me know that everything is all set to go. He knows I have many contacts here and all around the world and he likes to know what I know about who’s been good and who been up to no good. He likes to pick my brain and take my advice – as he says himself, people don’t always tell him the truth. I tell him in confidence things I hear in the grapevine and some of the gossip you send me and then I leave it to him, whether he thinks you should or should not get any pressies for Christmas. He told me he’s been on a diet and he now plans to eat and drink his way through every home he visits to make up for his time on the diet, that has to be a joke, isn’t it? Could anyone imaging a slimmed down Santa, I don’t think so. His first stop on his travels around the world dropping off surprise presents for all those who are good, is Fiji. Australia will be his last call before he heads back home up to the North Pole. Don’t worry children, just because Australia is last on his list, he told me that he has all your letters and presents! In case you are not aware of his usual route, let me enlighten you. He usually starts at Fiji, as he likes to have a few fresh coconuts with a little pick me up inside them (you know what I mean), then he has a splash in the hot water of the tropics to wash off the cold chill of the Northern winter. He is not a pretty sight in bathing togs so he tends to favour the full body suit and that pleases the Fijians to no end, however it does concern the migrating whales as they seem to take umbrage to him taking up so much of their space in the sea. Meanwhile Rudolf and the other reindeers party in a paddock with the locals on a diet of carrots and turnips (yuk). After frolicking around with the natives and having his fill of the local brew, cava, Santa does

a quick whip around dropping off the toys to the local children. Then there’s a short stopover in New Zealand, where he has a network of hobbits working there on his behalf and they do the donkeywork for him. It is much easier for the hobbits to slip down the chimneys than it is for Santa. Only a few years ago didn’t the poor bugger get stuck in one of the chimneys and had awful trouble trying to get the scorch burns to heal on his you know what, so you can well believe why he now uses hobbits. He usually doesn’t have a drop of the local brew because they are not rated in the top hundreds of world class beers, and anyway he likes to hold back until he hits the shores of Ireland. He said it takes him forever to drop off the presents in the USA and he could do with some major help there. After that, he only has one thought and that is ‘how soon can I get to Ireland and get my hands on a pint of Guinness and stick my butt up against a roaring fireplace to warm up’. Just going on his experiences at my place, I wouldn’t let him near an open flame within miles. If he gets up to his old tricks this year and makes his usual amount of calls to licensed premises pretending to be dropping off toys, it will be another miracle if he makes it to your shores. To help him with this problem I have pleaded with him to put a lid on his intake when he reaches Ireland. I have also asked the Irish Vintners’ Associations to put up a no entry sign for Santa. I strangely recommend that only Barry’s tea and biscuits be put on the table for when he calls there. Before he leaves Ireland, he takes a little extra time to pick up a few bottles of Guinness as he finds it difficult to purchase any at the North Pole because the Guinness delivery service doesn’t deliver there, and if he bought some online he said the consignment wouldn’t fit into his letter box anyway. Now you can understand why Santa could forgets to call to some places before he reaches your shores. No it’s not that he’s losing his mind, it’s just because he gets a little confused after all the drops he has had here and there, on his very long journey. When he arrives in Australia, it’s time for the reindeers to kick up their heels or hoofs for a change and party with the locals. Santa likes to change over to using nine white kangaroos. The kangaroos are really with it when it comes to knowing the local territory. Santa on the other hand is usually a little incoherent after reacquainting himself with the local beers and wines, as they all rate in the top five in the world and Santa likes to confirm that for himself every year. Having kangaroos on the ground with local knowledge makes getting around a breeze for him, as he doesn’t need any road maps. However, he does like to nudge the bottle on his sky rounds and then let the kangaroos worry about the air traffic and sometimes that doesn’t always work in their favour. As you all know, there is a kangaroo on the back of every Qantas plane and that’s Santa’s fault, I’m not saying any more on the subject but I’m sure you can put two and two together. Australians are a forgiving lot and the word on the streets is, for the children’s sake say nothing. Before he leaves our shores he usually drops in to my place for a rest and to assure me he has delivered every present. After cleaning out the contents of my fridge and wine cellar and feeling no pain at all, he heads quickly over to Asia and the Eastern Block, most of whom are not interested in Christmas anyway. That suits him fine to head back home all worn out and needing a long rest until he has to do it all again next year. I wish you all a Safe and Happy Christmas and please, please leave your credit card at home and you won’t have a financial hangover next year. UNTIL I TALK TO YOU AGAIN IN THE NEW YEAR, BE GOOD TO THOSE WHO LOVE YOU AND SLÁINTE FROM MELBOURNE. ☘

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