September 19th

The 19th September - the anniversary of Miss Martha's birth and the sad, sad anniversary of Shirley's death. That photograph was taken more than eleven years ago when Shirley would have been in her very early twenties. If she were alive today she'd be in her mid-thirties, still young.

A while ago whilst searching on-line for Susan McKay, for I'd just read her book, Northern Protestants: an Unsettled People, I came across this article. It's a bit sketchy on Shirley's life in Ballymena but otherwise an accurate enough account of some of the events that lead to her death.

And I'll only speak for myself when I say she was let down. She became a lost soul and easy prey for the predator who ended her life. Susan McKay should have concentrated more on Ballymena for it's Ballymena that knows what happened to wee Shirley.

September

...is a bittersweet month for me. That is because it is the end of the summer, the garden is about to go dormant and it is back to school. The latter holds less dread for me now as (a) I am not a teacher T.G., (b) I have left school and (c) so have my kids. But every September that comes brings all those brats back on the roads, and even worse, their parents in their huge cars running the little darlings to school. Why can't the great lumps walk? Three miles I walked to Primary School, just from the bus station when I was at St Louis but with a huge bag of books and perished elastic in my cherubs. Imagine me at 12 lugging the huge satchel in one hand and holding up my knickers with the other. Those were the days, happiest days of my life. (Not)

The picture I am about to post is an end of summer picture of my beloved. That is a whistle in his hand and he has just broken off from playing some traditional ditty called "The Soldier's Jig" note not "Song". He used to flute in an Orange band but now he says those tunes are far too easy.