It's Been A Bit Of A Green Week

 A few days after the Assembly elections, Banjo Man looked out our window and remarked, 

Have you noticed how green everything is since Sinn Fein won the election?

He was right of course. The grass was lush and emerald and the beech trees were newly furled and fresh-looking. It was May after all.

Out in the polytunnels, the new irrigation system was performing well and all the seedlings and plug plants were flourishing.

I'm still feeling enthused about my compost project. Got an additional bin from Dee Mac and started another pile. I'm getting so into it that I've started to slightly resent all the vegetable peelings and such that Rusty and Lily eat. 

Fred has found the Catnip (Nepeta cataria) we planted. About two-thirds of cats respond to it and he is one of them.

Thursday was our day out in Derry, enjoyed by all despite it being a bit damp.

Our first stop was the Plantation of Ulster exhibition at the Guildhall. Martha is becoming a history buff so she found this really interesting. She was even more interested when she found there were dressing up opportunities.

Zoe decided to be a Gael, that was easy, all she need to do was wrap herself in a couple of lengths of homespun. The girls were Planters (better clothes). The first picture is planter Evie oppressing native Zoe.

Then a walk around the walls. Matha lectured us on the architecture and told us all about oubliettes and murder holes. They're doing the Normans at school. We checked the famous mural. Those green school uniforms fit my theme. I don't know what's going on with the mini-diggers and the hi-viz guys but we'll find out someday.

Bert didn't do no-mow May. He didn't have to as he already has no-spray, let-it-grow, glorious wilderness all year round and that wee patch of a lawn gives him a lot of pleasure. This is more than can be said for his two new frames of bees. They are savages. The girls do gymnastics on the grass and poor Evie was stung on Friday. She was stoic and couldn't understand why I panicked. It was Bert's turn the following day. One actually flew up his nostril and stung him. I am giving them a wide berth.

The week ended with an enjoyable lunch, more gardening and a lot of hoo-ha about the platinum jubilee. Apparently, some of it turned out to be enjoyable, especially when the Johnsons got booed. There was something twee with Paddington which I must admit I rather liked. There is a sweetness about that bear and it seemed to rub off on the (green) Queen. 

Day Out In Derry 2/2022

A few weeks back Jazzer and I took a day out in Derry. The main reason for our visit was to visit the Museum of Free Derry. I was also on the lookout for a craft shop where I hoped to acquire some lovely new knitting yarn. Somehow we managed not to find it.

On Wednesday last I decided to try again. Up early, chores all done and was wearing an actual dress, nice wee boots and some red tights as I stood by the door waiting for a lift to the train. Bert said,

Doesn't take you long to get ready for a day out in Derry.

I waited for the compliment that was sure to follow.

Instead...

When are you going to get your hair cut?

I was raging. 

It's true that a visit to Rhonda was well overdue. But that was not what I needed to hear. It's not as if I could do anything about it at that point. I made my feelings on the subject very clear and he was contrite. As we parted at the station I told him that I'd have forgotten his careless comment by the time I got to Ballymoney. This wasn't entirely true but it made him feel a little better.

Where devout Derry people get their holy statues, holy pictures and rosary beads. It seems to have survived lockdown. I can't imagine that such items of holiness would be considered essential. Maybe I'm wrong.

 Flowering currant in the grounds of St Columb's Cathedral.

Jackdaw on Derry's Walls

St Augustine's Church on Derry's Walls. This is a beautiful little church but, unfortunately, it was closed the day I was there. I would have liked to get a closer look at the glorious magnolia by the door.

There was a selection of painted garden benches outside The Yellow Yard. I liked the pastel stripes but couldn't have got it on the train. 

I did find that craft shop and it was a big disappointment. The one in Ballymena is miles better.

And two days later I managed to make it to Rhonda's to get the whin bush sorted. Bert paid.

The Worst Year of the Conflict

In terms of people killed during the north of Ireland conflict, 1972 was the worst year for fatalities. There were 497 people killed over half of which were what is termed as civilians, people who were not part of the security forces or proscribed armed groups.

I was 18 years old for the most of 1972 and one of those people, as yet, living in an area relatively untouched by the troubles. The first casualty of that year (I refer to Lost Lives) was an 18-year-old English soldier. No doubt his death was announced on the evening news. I don't recall. The news on the 30th of January, exactly fifty years ago was much more dramatic. Thirteen men and boys were shot dead on the streets of Derry by British soldiers. This atrocity came to be known as Bloody Sunday. I remember it but, to be honest, at the time it didn't sink in. 

I had a friend from Derry, her name was Marian, a student nurse at Musgrave Park Hospital. Marian was a goth before goths were even a thing. My Daddy used to call her the wee black crow. She was always staying at our house and this one time she invited me to come to her house in Derry. She lived in Irish Street which I found odd as it was a loyalist area. But Marian was no loyalist. She socialised across the bridge and on that particular night she took me to a republican club. Marian told me that it was a 'Stickies' club and I had not a clue what that meant. Later on, I came to realise that the Stickies were the Official IRA which would be superseded by the Provisional IRA. It was all a mystery to me.

Back then I didn't even know that fifty years earlier my own Granda had been in the IRA. For some reason, it was not something openly discussed in our family. I knew my Granny was always ranting talking about the Easter Rising, the perfidy of the British and the tragedy of the Irish martyrs. I remember her shaking her stick at me in a rage because I didn't know who James Connolly was. So, suffice to say, I was a total ignoramus when it came to Irish history - even though I was living through it.

The day we took the bus to her city Marian brought home to me what Bloody Sunday meant to the people of Derry. She opened her bag and took out a handful of Mass cards. Showed them to me, pictures of wee fellows, some of them younger than me. she'd say about one, I went out with his brother. About another, I was at school with his sister. Another, my ma was friends with his ma. These were her people.

Years later and not long after the findings of the Savile enquiry, Bert and I went to the Museum of Free Derry. It was heart-rending. The man at the desk was one of the relatives and he told us that to hear that the enquiry had found all 14 victims innocent of all accusations originally used against them was a wonderful moment. I saw him on the news this evening. He is still fighting for justice.

 

Lough Patrick

Today, Bert and I went to Lough Patrick, near Draperstown in County Derry. We only heard about it last week from our friend Howard. He told us that it was a place of pilgrimage with wooden crosses dotted round its rim. I realised that it must be a place where Catholics performed the stations. Howard being C of E knew nothing of stations. He enthused about the stillness and peace of the lough and, like a true traditional pilgrim, he'd gone barefoot.

The lough sits in a bowl shaped hollow with the surrounding landscape out of view. There is a feeling of isolation, even eeriness. It is easy to see why it has been a holy place since pagan times. The lough's water was reputed to have healing properties and it was said that no one could ever drown there. When Christianity came here these wild places were absorbed and the Church added its own stories and rituals. In Ireland holy places abound and some of the old pagan superstitions associated with them continue to this day.

Centuries ago pilgrims came to Lough Patrick from all around and even from as far away as Scotland and England. Eventually the church started to frown upon it. I suspect that some sort of a Fair Day atmosphere might have prevailed with improper behaviour such as the taking of strong drink and, among the younger folk, dancing and kissing.

At the very start we took a wrong turn and found ourselves at the ninth station.

If it hadn't been for the wind turbine sited unfortunately close to the lough it would have been easy to imagine those days, long ago, when people travelled from afar to do the stations at Lough Patrick. There was a great deal of protesting about the turbine from both an environmental and a heritage viewpoint. At around the same time there were plans put forward to build a turbine near Slemish mountain, another site associated with Saint Patrick, but in that case it was found that breeding pairs of the protected curlew bird inhabited the area. No curlews at Lough Patrick so up went the turbine.

I didn't do the stations as it was hard enough just to make my way over the scrags of heather and the boggy patches. It really is a very boggy place. Bert's hiking boots kept the water out but my trainers were quickly soaked through and, like the pilgrims of long ago, I found it far better to go barefoot. And I kept stopping to take photographs. Bert, as always, strode far ahead of me. When I joined up with him he asked if I'd prayed or done anything 'paganish'. I replied that I had not as I'd spent most of my time cursing and swearing as I tripped on heather roots or went up to my knees in a patch of bog. All being well the immersion will have cured my stiff knees. I'm hopeful.

On the way back we spotted in the distance a lanky man with two sprollies approaching. It was Howard, back for another visit to this magical place. And Bert plans to go back tomorrow. For he lost his phone, probably when he tripped on a heather root.

Stroke City Again

Every year I hope for a decent summer and wish for an Indian summer. This year my hopes and wishes came true. At the back of my mind I worry that this is climate change in action then, being sensible, remember that climate change and the weather are different things. Still, it is good to know that fine summers are not a thing of the past.

The hedgerows are loaded with berries and, as always, I've been out picking blackberries, I've not had to walk further than ten minutes from the house to gather pounds and pounds of them. Stretching for the juiciest berries, always high in the hedge, is doing wonders for my stiff shoulders. It's a bitter sweet thing gathering blackberries for I'm loaded with memories of my younger days and remembering 2012, gathering berries for consolation as my dear cousin Joe lay dying.

I hope the Indian summer continues into October as we expect many family visitors. Ganching is doing a tour of Ireland and Vancouver Brother will be here in just over a week. He is including London and France in his grand tour. Leitrim Sister will be popping up at some point, London Sister is expected near the end of the month and everything would be complete if Kerry Sister could make Antrim this side of Christmas.

And I've just had daughter Katy and her husband to stay. It was little more than a long weekend but still a delight to have them. On Tuesday we went to Derry on the train. It was rather a dull day but we were able to appreciate the spectacular scenery between Coleraine and the Maiden City, described by Michael Palin as “one of the most beautiful rail journeys in the world”.

We visited the murals in the Bogside and Mark was taken aback to see graffiti stating 'Brits Out.' Katy was quick to reassure him that this didn't apply to the average Englishman, rather to the British state and government. I'm not certain that he was completely consoled by this knowledge.

Katy and Mark in the Craft Village

Derry is not a big city and the part within its walls is small too. We visited Bedlam and I noted that the crocheted and knitted cladding is looking less vibrant than before. The weather takes its toll. The Bernadette mural in the Bogside is in need of restoration too. Before Derry became the City of Culture many of its buildings were dilapidated and overgrown with buddleia. Now there are signs of a return to dilapidation. Despite this I love Derry, I love its history and I love its vibrancy. Some say that it is a violent city by night but I find its people to be incredibly welcoming and friendly.

On the way home we sat on the other side of the train, the side that does not look out to the sea and instead admired the hills. A worthwhile visit for sure and I look forward to going back very soon.

Places we enjoyed visiting in Stroke City.

Derry's Walls

St Augustine's Church

The Craft Village

The Guildhall

Bedlam

The Bogside Murals

Bedlam Market

Where else but in Derry would you find an old convent clad in the country's biggest crocheted blanket? That would be Bedlam Market in Pump Street.

The market before its adornment

The glorious blanket that keeps the old convent warm and cosy

 The Last Man Standing

Just some of the delights to be found inside

Turner Prize 2013

I went to the Turner Prize 2013 exhibition in Derry today. I had quite a bit to do before I left which resulted in an inadequate breakfast. By the time I reached Ebrington Square I was very hungry. I don't know about you guys but I prefer to experience innovative art on a full stomach. Luckily there was a food cart in the square. I purchased a bacon and tomato wrap and a bottle of water. The delightful young woman who served me said, "Butter? Mayo?" and, in haste, I replied "Mayo." I vaguely wondered if it was a mistake but brushed the thought away, thinking,

Sure - it's only food.

I ate half the wrap and stashed the rest for later. Some of the mayo squirted on to my coat but luckily I noticed this and licked it off. I saw someone looking at me from a window and decided I did not care.

Into the exhibition. Could the gallery staff have been any friendlier, more helpful or more polite. No they could not! Derry people and people associated with Derry are, in my experience, a delight.

I went to each gallery in turn. David Shrigley's Life Model installation was the first. This has been much talked about. I liked it well enough but there wasn't enough going on. Not enough people participating and I didn't either.

Gallery 2 was Laure Prouvost's (the 2013 winner) installation. This was very engaging. After watching the video Wantee I went into the area to view Grandma's Dream. At first this was very playful then it darkened, The floor was on a carpeted slope although there was a seating platform. I did not dare sit down as my silly old knees would have prevented me from rising in a dignified manner. I left the room and spent some time viewing the objects and pictures. Then left. Then found myself very emotional and near to tears. I had to sit and compose myself for a while.

Gallery 3 - Lynette Yiadom-Boakye. Initially underwhelmed I felt, when I'd left, that I had not given this artist the time she deserved. I may have to come back to this one.

Gallery 4 - Tino Seghal. I was looking forward to this one and had a slight idea of what to expect. The gallery was white-walled and empty of visual stimulus. I was engaged in conversation by a member of gallery staff. She introduced the topic, the market economy. At first I was a bit lost for words and feeling self conscious about the gap in my teeth. I found myself looking at her teeth which were a bit misshapen but clean and white and real. I found my stride and we talked about give and take and bartering. I earned my pound coin but declined it.

After a bit of a wander I returned to Laure Prouvost's installation and while I was gazing at a teapot in a glass case I caught sight of my reflection. There on the left side of my mouth was a big splodge of mayonnaise. I quickly wiped it off realising that I'd been wandering around for two hours talking to gallery staff, seen by fellow visitors looking like a crazy woman with mayo on my face! No-one mentioned it so it can only stand to reason that everyone thought I was some class of a performance artist.

The Turner Prize 2013. I'd recommend it to anyone with an open mind and an imagination. Just wash your face before you go.

More Things Pearlie Doesn't Like

The Kitchen Tiles

In the New House

Pearlie: I dinny like those tiles. I’d sooner have the red tiles.

Nelly: Do you not like them? Funny’s enough I love them. They’re my favourite tiles in the whole house. I waited weeks to get those tiles I love them so much.

Pearlie: Well I dinny like them.

Cursing

Cullybackey Road Roundabout

Nelly: Would you come on to hell out of that? Sitting there like an eedjit!

Pearlie: (slapping Nelly’s arm) Stop that oul sweering.

Nelly: Sure I only said hell.

Pearlie: Saying hell is a terrible thing.

Nelly: Well you shouldn’t have slapped me. You could have put me off the road.

Pearlie: Sure it was only a wee light tap. Like this. (Slaps Nelly again to prove point)

Nelly: You nearly had me off the road there again. See when we get out to Matty’s you’re going in the back seat. Matty never slaps me for swearing at the other drivers.

Donkeys

The road to Magherafelt

Matty: There’s an awful lot of piebald horses about the country these days.

Nelly: Aye, there is. And I’m noticing a lot of people are back to keeping donkeys too.

Pearlie: Aye, the donkeys were very scarce there a while back.

Matty: They’ve got very dear too. They say you couldn’t get a donkey now for less than £500.

Nelly: I’m going to ask Bert to buy me a donkey for Christmas.

Pearlie. A donkey! What would ye want him to get ye a donkey for?

Nelly: I think they’re lovely.

Pearlie: Ye have no need of a donkey. I think it’s terrible you expecting Bert to spend all that money on ye.

Nelly: OK. I’ll ask him to get me a laptop then.

Pearlie: A laptop! That’s terrible. Sure ye hae a computer. What do ye want another one for……..

The outside bit of a wee cheesecake bun.

In Mrs Ditty’s of Dawson City

Nelly: So that’ll be two cups of coffee and two fruit scones. What about you Pearlie?

Pearlie: I’ll have tea for I dinny like the coffee ye get when ye’re oot for it’s too strong. And I dinny like scones so I’ll have a wee plain bun.

Waitress: A wee cheesecake bun?

Pearlie: Aye that’ll do.

Moments later Pearlie dashes up to confab with waitress. Returns.

Pearlie: I’m no getting a cheesecake bun. I like the inside bit o’ them but I dinny like the outside bit.

Derry

On Toome’s new bridge

Nelly: Well that’s us back in the County Antrim now.

Pearlie: Why? Where were we?

Nelly: We were in Derry.

Pearlie: Were we in Derry? Ye mean Londonderry! Ye should call it Londonderry!

Nelly: Sure I can call it whatever I like.

Pearlie: Ye should call it Londonderry for that’s its name. Ye live in this country and that’s what it’s called in this country. Why don’t ye call it Londonderry?

Nelly: Because I’m a Fenian. Fenians don’t say Londonderry. What do you call it Matty?

Matty: I call it Derry City.

Pearlie: Well yez should call it Londonderry!

Aah. The old arguments are always the best.

Banties shiteing on her doorstep.

Back Home

Pearlie: Och. Them wee gets. Messing up my doorstep.

Nelly: You’ll not be bothered with that when I have them in a run with all the other fowl I’m getting.

Pearlie: What! They’ll be in no pen.

Nelly: They will. I’m not having them shiteing all over my house.

Pearlie: They’ll not go near your house.

Nelly: They’ll not for they’ll be in a run with all their new friends.

Pearlie: They’ll be in no pen.

Nelly. They’ll be in a run or they’ll be in a pot. For broth.

Pearlie: Humph!