Last week, while in Belfast I took a walk from Yorkgate station to Carlisle Circus then, after the exhibition, from Carlisle Circus to the Linenhall Library. I was most comfortably shod in my new Blundstone boots so the walking was a pleasure despite my achey hip and knee.
The first part of the walk took me past the memorial to the McGurk's Bar bombing in 1971. The pub was blown to pieces and fifteen people died. That was one of the many atrocities that took years and years to get through to me.*
I passed near Gresham Street and thought of all the times I hitched to Belfast when I should have been at school, making my way to Smithfield Market and Harry Hall’s second-hand bookshop. Ages were spent in there choosing Penguins and Pans some of which are still on my bookshelves today. Pocket money gone, I’d begin the trek from Smithfield to the Antrim Road where I’d thumb a lift just in time to catch the school bus from Antrim, back home and the parents never had a notion. Imagine taking rides with strangers in the 21st Century, now that we are led to believe that every other person is a predator. Although, I do think that most of the people who gave me lifts back then were probably protecting me from the bad actors.
Sixteen-year-old me would have been lugging a satchel stuffed full of Steinbecks from Harry Hall's. Nowadays me bought one solitary book - May the Lord in His Mercy be Kind to Belfast, by Tony Parker. I had a copy years ago and wanted to read it again.
*During the early years of the conflict there would be times when I would not be fully aware of what was going on. In 1971 the violence escalated and it peaked in 1972. The ‘News’ became unbearable and truth was in short supply.
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Well - I had a child, another on the way, several hundred books, a bed, a toybox full of toys (but that wasn't mine) and a couple of chairs.
Word soon got out that I was in need of household effects and furnishings and friends rallied around to help. I soon had more furniture and bits and pieces than I needed. I never said no and that is a habit I have to this very day.
The house sorted, I began on the garden. I'd never had my own garden before and I was very excited. With help from my father, I began to create a lawn for the children to play on. It was hard work breaking the soil, getting the stones and builder's rubble out and raking and finishing. At last, Daddy pronounced it ready for sowing and gave me a plastic bag of grass seed. I scattered, sowed and waited with mounting anticipation.
It wasn't long before the first green shoots appeared. At first, it was only a light green haze but as the days progressed it became greener and greener. My father came to look at it. There were a lot of areas where the seed hadn't taken. He said, "Don't worry. They'll fill in."
The grass continued to grow. It actually started to look quite lush. Except... except it didn't really look like grass. Daddy said, "Redshank." I was very disappointed. My first attempt at sowing a lawn and I had created a weed patch. A lush and green weed patch but a weed patch all the same. I asked my father what I should do. He said, "Just cut them back, don't let them flower, the grass will come through."
I didn't even have garden shears so I tackled my weed patch with the kitchen scissors. It took a long time and I got blisters. But the grass came through just like Daddy said. Of course, the kitchen scissors proved impractical when that needed cutting and I acquired garden shears from somewhere and used them to keep the grass in check. To tell the truth, it was never much of a lawn but it was good enough for my children to play on.
Nowadays I have a lawn and a ride-on mower and a man to cut the grass for me. It's not the best lawn in the world but it's certainly good enough for my grandchildren to play on.