One From 21 Years Ago

Twenty-one years ago, I was working in Mill House, Harryville, which at that time was a hostel for women temporarily without homes. We were in the process of selling number 61 and renovating the house we're living in now.. I still have those shabby paperbacks from 35 years ago, although they have now been cluttering up my bookshelves for 56 years. That is far too long, especially as they would probably fall to pieces in my hands if I were to attempt a re-read.

Those Happy, Happy Days

I’m doing an extra shift this weekend, which I didn’t even have to be persuaded to take on. First I thought – well what else would I be doing? Then I thought – I could catch up on blogging. Finally I thought – extra money! Good oh!

I spend a huge amount of time on my computer. Since it’s been sick I have spent that time house cleaning, packing away, reading and watching Celebrity Big Brother. As this house must be valued, I thought it might be nice for the estate agent to be able to see past all the stuff. So I have been sorting, packing and throwing out. What a ball of crap I’ve gathered up over the years. I still own ancient paperbacks that I bought in Smithfield Market 35 years ago. Looking at those ancient Orwells, Steinbecks, Drabbles and Murdochs reminded me of some of the happiest days of my life, my school days – the days that I was not in attendance.

When school* was dreary I used to play truant, or mitch. One of the dreariest of the dreary classes was Anatomy and Physiology. This class was taken by a local GP called Dr R. It always took place last two periods. Dr R. never bothered to call a roll so our class got into the habit of deciding among ourselves who’d be cutting it that afternoon. There had to be at least half a dozen of us stay for the class or Dr R. would report us to the head.

In good weather we’d head for the Castle grounds, which were much wilder and much more fun than they are today. In damper weather it would be O’Neill’s café if we could scrape up the price of a coffee to be lingered over for hours. How my heart did race when we were joined by some handsome Stanley or Eugene.**

Mitching on my own I started off by going to Belfast Airport and watching the planes take off and land. Then when I got braver I’d hitch to Belfast town. I’d often get a lift with Dan the Coalman and he’d take me round the docks. I think he bought his coal straight off the boats. Another guy who used to give me lifts was Johnny the Gallaher Man. Imagine getting a lift on a wagon carrying (at today’s prices) millions of pounds worth of cigarettes. Nowadays Gallaher's sends Dublin’s cigarettes via Liverpool rather than run the risk of hijacking at the border.

My favourite places in Belfast then were Fresh Garbage (still going) and Smithfield Market (not what it was.) That is where I bought all those second hand books.

And what of Anatomy and Physiology at ‘O’ level? A big fat fail was my deserved reward. But I still know the names of nearly all the bones in the human body and I can tell you the places where you’ll find squamous epithelium. Some of them are a bit rude.

*Antrim Technical College – Pre-Nursing Class 1968-1970
** Any reader familiar with this era or place please note that I do not refer to the publican Mr M. who would have been a child and unknown to me at that time. 

The Robin

It snowed heavily over the weekend, and outdoors became a veritable winter wonderland. For the cats, it was a great hunting opportunity, as the garden birds were both easily visible and stupefied by the cold.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for Bert to scatter breadcrumbs right outside the glass double doors. It’s charming to see the robin come so close to the door for its feast, but it was also close enough to make the cats acutely aware of the birds’ presence, or availability.

So, when I spotted Woody carrying a limp body in his mouth, my first fear was for the robin. But there appeared to be a long, dark dangler hanging from his jaw. A young rat. That would be all right, better than killing one of Bert’s robins.

Then Hannah’s wee dog Chico spotted it. Chico likes to bullyWoody and steal his kills. He got outside and took the little dead thing. I pulled wellies on and went out into the snowy garden to take the creature off him. It wasn’t easy persuading him to give it up. And when I did, I saw that the dangly thing wasn’t a rat’s tail. It was a long, limp bird’s leg. A robin. All bedraggled, yet unbloodied. Did Woody kill it? Or did he find it after it had perished? It might have died from the cold. I decided not to mention it to Bert and put it in the bin.

Bert was away when all this occurred, driving Hannah to work. When he got home, he went straight to the cats, both standing to attention and looking for their breakfast. He petted and stroked them both. It is funny to think how he used to dislike cats. Harry de Cat changed his mind, then Holly. He adored Holly. Big Fat Fred was another favourite. All those cats are gone now, but Bert still has a lot of time for Pippin and Woody, especially Pippin.

I was wondering why I feel less uneasy when cats kill rats rather than robins. Surely rats have as much right to existence as robins. But rats have such a bad reputation, disease, dirt and all that. That’s not entirely fair, for the wee birdies are pretty disease-ridden too, and when our cats eat them, they can pick up parasitic pests. Despite their worms and mites, I still prefer robins, wrens and goldfinches to rodents. Apart from shrew mice*. It’s so sad when the cats get them, for they are so sweet and cute, with those little pointed snouts. Adorable. Yet it feels wrong to make the distinction. Who knows where that might lead one?

Woody and Chico

Happy to report that the robin Bert was feeding by the door has survived another day. The feeding station has been moved further away.

*Not rodents, although cats don't make a distinction. They are one of the most common mammals in the British Isles.