Showing posts with label Randalstown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Randalstown. Show all posts

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Look Back In Bemusement



I am planning a visit to Belfast* for recent pokings about online has led to me discovering little snippets of family history on one those genealogy sites. Of course, I could register and pay for more information but why would a penniless not-even a pensioner** wish to do that when she’s in possession of a free travel pass and could do with a day out in the big city. Through reading these snippets I discovered that I come from a family of incorrigible lawbreakers. Don’t worry, Mammy’s ones – it’s all on the da’s side so far.

The great-grandmother set it all in motion back in 1906 and 1907 with several summonses for allowing drinking in her public house outside opening hours. It was to be hoped that when, in 1910, she transferred the licence to her son, our grandfather, that a more law-abiding era would ensue. Alas, this was not to be for the granda was in the papers a time or two himself for selling hard liquor after hours. It can only be assumed that they were at this kind of thing a lot as the peelers couldn’t have caught them every single time.

Then the young ones grew up and what a crew of villains they turned out to be. Never out of the news from 1939-1950. Out after dark with no lights on the bicycle, fined one shilling, shamed in the papers. That happened a lot. Then there were the motoring offences. The roads were a lot quieter in those days and, where we came from, chances were that the only vehicles on the local roads would be driven either by a police officer or one of the Byrnes. Easy pickings for the constabulory.

The authorities must have taken a very dim view of motoring offences as fines were massive. In 1941 Shemus*** (the da) was fined 15 shillings for having no insurance for a tractor and no brakes on the trailer. His brother was fined at the same court for some other piece of motoring villainy. Outlaws. The bobbies sure took no nonsense from the public in those days.



Meanwhile in Randalstown in 1924 a Constable Seay summoned five young boys, aged about 9 or thereabouts and hauled them off to a special Children’s Court. Despite their young age, they were named in the papers. Two of them were friends of my mother’s family. Their crime? Playing football in the street. What happened to them? I don’t know for I only got to see a snippet but the full story will be there in the newspaper archives in our local library. I do know that at least one of those boys died at Gallipoli whilst serving in the British Army.

Constable Seay must have been a terror to the people of Randalstown and about. In 1924 he charged an omnibus driver for allowing more passengers on his vehicle than were permitted by law. In 1926 he charged a Moneyglass man for working a pony in an unfit condition so, obviously, he wasn’t all bad. Seay must have had a soft spot for the animals for in 1934 he went after a man who shot a duck on a Sunday. He persecuted drunks from Toomebridge to Ballymena and, sad to say, was himself assaulted by a Mr and Mrs Clifford on the Twelfth Day in the year 1934. I believe the Cliffords were intoxicated.

*Newspaper archives, Belfast Central Library.
**Sore point.
***How the paper spelled it.



Monday, July 27, 2009

Rare Books, Even Rarer Prices

Matty and I went to Randalstown's very fine charity shop today. I have to say it is one of my 'finest kind' charity shops, it being independent and unthemed. You just wouldn't know what you might find there. The last time we went I bought Matty a piece of SylVac pottery. It was far from being a bargain but Matty liked it, so what the hell. It's all for a good cause, the education of under privileged children somewhere in Africa, I'm told.

Since my last visit they have expanded the book section and I made straight for the shelves containing old hardback books. You never know what gems you'll turn up among old or out of print books. But did I get a shock. Someone seems to think that just because a book is over thirty years old it must be very valuable. The first book I opened was by Philippa Carr, who was a popular historical novelist from way back when. I have read her for I once had a great liking for historical romance. I was very young at the time so you will have to forgive me. The price that they were asking for that book was an unbelievable seventeen quid! For a Philippa Carr, published 1n 1980, a BCA edition, no dust jacket - an author who sold in her many incarnations (Jean Plaidy, Victoria Holt et al) 100 million books during her lifetime. I picked up another - Arthur Grimble's A Pattern of Islands. It was another book club edition although rather nice, you'll know the one I mean, published in the fifties. Twenty-four pounds! That book is very far from being rare. There was a book on Winston Churchill, published maybe 20 years ago, rather scruffy dust jacket, ex-library edition for which they were asking twelve pounds. You know I could nearly see them getting that if some mad Churchill fan came in and didn't have any access to eBay.

I can't wait to go back to see how the books are selling.

So what did I buy? The Big Book of Animal Fables, Margaret Green, illustrated by Janusz Grabianski for one fine pound. Bargain. I intend to read it to my grandchild in a couple of years or so.

Monday, April 09, 2007

"Randalstown is..."

The following 'facts' were gleaned from the interweb. Obviously this means that they are indisputable.I have it on the best authority that the fellow on the left is (allegedly) a fourth cousin, twice removed, of John Wayne the Hollywood film star. I think you'll have to agree that the resemblance is startling.


  1. Randalstown is a small town in County Antrim, Northern Ireland

  1. Randalstown is where John Wayne’s ancestors come from

  1. Randalstown is a lovely wee town

  1. Randalstown is approximately 6.75 kilometres long

  1. Randalstown is a relatively narrow and undulating rural route

  1. Randalstown is a pretty village on Lough Neagh

  1. Randalstown is behind us

  1. Randalstown is being used

  1. Randalstown is still unsettled, and likely to be so for some time

  1. Randalstown is going to wreck and cannot recover unless the mills are occupied

  1. Randalstown is a City in Antrim

  1. Randalstown is not the correct location

  1. Randalstown is fairly evenly balanced (54% Catholic)

  1. Randalstown is actively involved in the family farm

  1. Randalstown is a place of thrills

  1. Randalstown is offline

  1. Randalstown is noted for its beautiful arched stone bridges

  1. Randalstown is entirely heated by two 30kW geothermal heat pumps

  1. Randalstown is the Best

  1. Randalstown is a complete shithole

  1. Randalstown is absolutely rubbish

  1. Randalstown is only up the road frum ickle me!!!

  1. Randalstown is so much more than that. We got two bridges…

  1. Randalstown is a fenian hole

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Not So Shabby Shit

You know by the time I’ve driven Matty on this errand and that errand I could have taken her to Dublin and back. Today I would have liked to take her for a trip to the coast but, as always, she had different ideas.

First trip was to her new GP in Kells & Connor. I chatted her into changing because of the interminable long waits at her previous surgery. An hour and a half’s wait to see the doc was not uncommon at her old place, the car park was tiny and the wait for an appointment far too long.

Before we left for Kells Matty said,


Are you planning on going into Antrim?

No. Are you planning on going into Antrim?

Well it’s just that I’ve got these bags of coins….

Oh bloody hell! Not more bags of coins. Why don’t you just spend the money instead of bagging it up and trailing it into the bank? Sure the bank people hate seeing wee grannies coming with their bloody bags of coins.

Well if you don’t want to go to Antrim I could always get a taxi* and…

Oh I’ll take you to Antrim if you must but I’d far rather take you to Carnlough

So after the docs we went to Antrim. I dropped her off and went to visit Daddy’s grave where I deadheaded Ganching’s pansies and got all emotional.

Then I gathered up Matty again and suggested a coffee. But where? She says brightly,


Randalstown?

OK. Randalstown it is.

On the way to Randalstown we had this conversation,


It’s our Claire’s birthday today. It’s her 70th.

Is it? It’s a wonder you didn’t want to go down and see her.

Well I had a card and present for her on the kitchen table but you were that crabbit I was scared to ask you.
I cringe at this. I’m a Bad Daughter. We get to Randalstown and I swing straight back to the home parish to collect Claire’s card and present. Then back to Randalstown, then up to Claire’s house. She’s out. Probably being treated to a birthday lunch so I leave card and present on her windowsill and we go to The Forge for coffee.

After coffee we go to a little knick-knack cum antique shop that is only recently opened. Matty buys some pretty padded dress hangers. Back in the car I say to Matty,


Nice place that. You know you’d call that sort of style shabby chic.

Shabby shit? D’ye think so?

Hanging out with the hard of hearing does have its amusing moments.

Then we went to visit Matty’s neighbour who is really ill. They are a lovely family and we’ve always been close to them. Now they are going through a similar experience to what we were going through 12 months ago.

Afterwards the oldest daughter asked us up to her house to peer into the nest of Wagtails on her front doorstep. Last year during Daddy’s wake I remember watching a group of young Wagtails cavorting in the stream at the bottom of this house’s garden. There are so many memories coming back to me and I could cry for any reason. Even this lovely warm weather is making me feel sad.



Grey Wagtail
<><><><><>

I could always get a taxi* The taxi company that Matty frequently threatens to use is called Guilt Trip Cabs. This taxi is always mentioned when anyone (it’s usually me) shows any reluctance to drive her wherever she wants to go.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Saint Patrick, You Blert, We Need You

Young Rainey called round this evening. He told us the following tale.

Young Rainey: I was in the Mace in Randalstown today and this hardcore Goth girl came in and you know what she’d got around her neck?

Hannah: A collar?

Young Rainey: No! A snake!

Nelly: A plastic snake?

Young Rainey: No! A real live snake! And you know those women who work in the Mace – they’ve been there since the Mace was built…

Nelly: You mean since Randalstown was built?

Young Rainey: Yeah right! Anyways they say, ‘What’s that you’ve got round your neck love?’ and the wee Goth says, ‘It’s a snake.’ And they step back and go ‘Aaagh!’

Nelly: What kind of a snake was it?

Young Rainey: Oh maybe a bull python or a rock python.

Hannah: And did she have a collar round her neck?

Young Rainey & Nelly: No! A snake!

Nelly: Can I blog this story?

Young Rainey: Aye, if you want.

Nelly: What shall I call you? Young Rooney?

Young David Rainey from Randalstown: You can call me whatever you want.