Bernadette

It's fifty years today since Bernadette Devlin was elected to parliament as the member for Mid Ulster. She was 21 years old. I was a few years younger than that, too young to vote but still very keen on politics. I remember her as one of the few who could give Ian Paisley a bloody good argument in the TV political discussion programmes at that time. How we cheered her in our house. For Paisley was a verbal bully and our Bernadette was well able for him.

When she was elected to Westminster the Daily Mirror had her on the front page. I don't remember the headline but it was patronising, concentrating on her gender, youth and fashion sense. She was photographed on a playground swing as if she was a little girl. I was very cross about this. Hardly a mention of her fierce socialist politics, instead comments on the length of her skirt. But it was 1969! Everyone wore short skirts then, even Elizabeth Windsor.

I tried to find the photograph on the internet using the keywords  'Bernadette Devlin Daily Mirror Swing'. No luck. Except for the news item about her taking a 'swing' at the Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling on the day following Bloody Sunday. 

Heatwave!

Whenever County Antrim folk (and other North Irish people) are blessed with a prolonged spell of hot weather we may well experience the following:

The Common Herd

Disbelief. This can't be happening to us! Why it's hotter than Spain.

Elation. I'll bet all those folk flying off to Spain will wish they'd stayed at home.

Pessimism. It can't last. This will probably be all the summer we'll get.

Despair. It's far too hot! It's too warm to work. I'm not worth tuppence in this heat.

Cattle Farmers

Hope. Good to see a blink of sun and the cattle are out in the fields again. Maybe we'll get a bit of grass this year.

Making Hay. Every farmer in the country. Last year was so wet that hay was worth its weight in gold.

Pessimism. This year hay will probably fetch about three quid a bale.

Despair. We need rain! The grass has stopped growing.

Nellybert

Delight. Boys-a-dear. Isn't this great? I thought we were never going to see a decent summer again. Fantastic gardening weather.

Irritation. Every other bugger in the country is lying sunning themselves in their back garden and we're watering from morning to night.

Pessimism. The state of those roses. They're wilting in this weather. And the irises hardly lasted a week in the heat. And those bloody weeds! Nothing stops them!

Looking On The Bright Side. At least the slugs and snails are giving it a rest.

Dogs

Fetch ball! Sleep! Drink water! Go to the river! Fetch stick! Swim! Eat! Sleep!

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

Forty Years Ago

In my last post I wrote a little about the Dublin-Monaghan bombings that occurred 40 years ago during the Ulster Worker's Council (UWC) strike. I did not add that I was pregnant with my first child at this time. Perhaps it was being pregnant that made me feel so thin-skinned about everything that had happened. I remember walking at dusk feeling as if a cloud of dread was enveloping me. I felt terribly apprehensive to be bringing new life into the world at such a dangerous and precarious time.

Daddy brought the terrible news to us. A young man, Michael Mallon, from Cargin, near Toome, had been found beaten and shot on the outskirts of Belfast. He was twenty years old, a student at Queen's University in Belfast. I did not know Mickey but my sister did and our family knew his family. My father and my sister went to his funeral. So did my Uncle Sean, who is supposed to have remarked that the funeral was a big one and he hoped not to be at such a one for a very long time. His own funeral would be held less than a week later.

Mickey Mallon was the closest that the Troubles had come to us but it would be closer again within days. I will write about it on the anniversary.

Michael Joseph Mallon was found murdered, at the age of 20, forty years ago today.

Looking Back In Anger

In February 1973, during the first Loyalist Workers Strike, I was working in the Ballymena branch of Crazy Prices. There was a prolonged power cut and all the freezers powered down. Urged by our managers we worked on. Until the cry went up, 'the Tartan Gangs are coming!' And sure enough, gangs of youths, wearing denim, big boots and tartan scarves were rampaging along Broughshane Street, smashing windows as they went. Managers hastily locked the doors and told us to get ourselves off home but not before allowing us to help ourselves from the freezers. So it was I phoned Daddy to come and rescue me and my big cardboard box full of frozen food. Seamus was not afraid of any Tartan Gang.

That is my abiding memory of the 1973 Loyalist strike. Tartan Gangs and a surfeit of frozen food to which we were certainly not accustomed. Of course the power cuts meant that we couldn't refrigerate the food and a good deal of it had to be thrown out anyway.

This month is the 40^th anniversary of the second, and even more sinister, Loyalist strike, the one that brought down the power sharing executive, and the one that Ian Paisley and his ilk supported to the hilt.  

Today is also the 40^th anniversary of the co-ordinated bombings in Dublin and Monaghan. On the third day of the UWC strike thirty-three people died, the greatest number of people killed on any one day. A full-term unborn infant is not included in the list of dead but tiny sisters Jacqueline and Anne Marie O'Brien are. They were 17 and 5 months respectively and their parents died with them.

No-one has ever been charged in relation to the murders in Dublin and Monaghan.

It was thirty-three years later, again in the month of May, that Ian Paisley, who had been so vehemently opposed to the idea of power-sharing, accepted the post of First Minister of Northern Ireland, in an assembly that included Martin McGuinness of Sinn Fein as Deputy First Minister. It is rumoured that the two of them got on so well they were dubbed the Chuckle Brothers.