Showing posts with label local history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label local history. Show all posts

Monday, June 26, 2017

The Everlasting Sweet Pea




Lathyrus grandiflorus

The other day Bert asked me if I’d noticed the everlasting sweet pea that grows through the hedge next door. I certainly had spotted it for I look out for it every summer and this year it is especially gorgeous. Bert continued,



Sam Hamilton hated it, tried to cut it away. Then he tried to dig it out but it always defeated him. He said it was a weed.


 Did he? I think it is beautiful. Who was Sam Hamilton anyway?

Sam and Lizzie Hamilton lived in that house after Clint’s granny died. The McKays lived next door.

There were two houses?

Aye. They were both wee places. That’s why Clint’s ma and da moved out.

Is Sam Hamilton dead?

He would be. He was a good bit older than my father.


I’ve been thinking about Sam Hamilton and his battle with lathyrus grandiflorus ever since. It didn’t escape me that he had the same name as Adam Trask’s good friend and neighbour in East of Eden. Our road would have been a lot quieter then and Sam wouldn’t have been in fear of his life as he stood on the verge hacking at that terrible sweet pea that he hated so much. He must have been a neat Presbyterian sort of a man, a good Ulster-Scot who would not have wanted such a flamboyant weed rambling through his tidy hedges.



The house that stands there now was built on the site of those two small cottages that had previously belonged to Bert’s father. Sometimes I wonder if it is an unlucky place for it has been lying near derelict for many years, the family that lived there long gone and scattered.


Clint was the boy next door when Bert was a child. He was a bit older than Bert but company was scarce in the countryside and they spent long hours playing together, sometimes getting into trouble such as the time they broke down Johnny’s chicken shed. When Bert’s very cross parent arrived on the scene Clint quickly disappeared down the lane to the safety of the house next door. Truth is, he had little to fear as Johnny was a mild-tempered man.


Eventually the family moved to a bigger house and their place was taken by Clint’s Granny, a slight widow woman who lived there until she came to a very strange end. One morning Bert’s father was passing the place and saw that the windows were discoloured. He discovered the old woman lying on the floor beside fireplace, all that remained of her, her lower legs still clad in little slippers. She must have ‘taken a turn’ and fallen too close to the fire. The room was undamaged and the fireside chair intact. The only thing was that the interior walls and windows were covered with a dark sooty grease.




Tropaeolum speciosum

I believe I have a packet of everlasting sweet pea somewhere around but as it’s at least a year old it might not take. So I must try to remember to collect some seed from the bane of Sam Hamilton’s life for that must be a very vigorous strain. Where I should put it I don’t know as our hedges are under planted with tropaeolum speciosum, the gorgeous Scottish flame creeper and I think they’d clash with the pinks and purples of lathyrus grandiflorus. If I can get it started I’ll plant it somewhere and it will remind me of all the people who lived on this road before me and mine ever stepped foot upon it.






Monday, January 23, 2017

Travelling Back In Time

The other day I had a conversation with some friends about what we’d do if we had the opportunity to go backwards or forwards in time. Everyone, apart from me, was curious about the future but I’d be far too scared to know the future. Surely it would be far better not to know and retain some semblance of hope and optimism than to see the worst. I’d prefer to travel to the past.

Hannah said,

So you could prevent Trump becoming President?

I said,

I think that one might be entirely outside my control. And, going by popular fiction, it might be a very bad idea to meddle in those big events. The only thing I’d change would be to unfriend that blade on Facebook before I ever got to see the picture of the poor, tortured dog that she shared.

No. If I had a time machine, magic wardrobe or whatever, I’d go back to around 80 – 150 years ago and I’d stay in my own locality so I could see what the world looked like to our recent ancestors. I’d enjoy travelling the old roads, streets and loanins to see how my grandparents and great-grandparents lived. I know it’s mundane but it’s what I’d enjoy and I’d try very hard not to interfere too much in their lives in case I screwed up the future a la Marty McFly.

So, while I wait for the mad scientist and his time machine I can search the newspaper archives to get a taste of the past and it seems that that’s a very dangerous and frightening place too. There was carnage on the highways at the dawn of the twentieth century. There may have little need to worry about motor vehicles – horses and carts could mow a pedestrian down just as efficiently as the horses were always bolting and when that happened it was advisable that anyone who could should run for their life.


Derry Journal, October 1909.




Also in the Derry Journal, October 1909.




The fellow up the tree would have been my grandfather. His younger brothers would have been at college, Joe training to be a priest and James at medical school in Dublin.




Saturday, December 10, 2016

Connections



I really need to keep tonight's blog post short and sweet as it is a Saturday (Treat Night) and that means I am drinking wine.

Tonight's story is about connections. Northern Ireland is a very small place and, I often think, take us all far back enough and we're probably all each other's cousins and, never mind all that Protestant and Catholic stuff, I reckon we married and mated all over the place in days gone by and we're all mixed up.

When Hannah was a teenager she'd mention a friend of hers and I'd say what's the surname, and she'd say, Mum! You wouldn't know him/her, yet nine times out of ten, if she even knew her friends' surname I'd know who they were.

So, this afternoon her friend's father gave her a lift home and he got invited in for a cup of tea and we got chatting about this and that. I've met him before, he's a local historian and before long we were chatting about the war years (after my time). he tells me that he was in Belfast when things started to get a bit hot and heavy and his father moved them to a place called Tannaghmore.

Tannaghmore! Tannaghmore where I was reared?
Yes. It's about halfway between Ballymena and Antrim.
I know! It's my home place. Where did you live?
There's three little houses, I think there is more than three now, near a pub, Byrne's pub.
 I know! Those three little houses (and the other one) where right at the top of the road I lived on.

Turns out he knew lots of people that I knew yet was gone from Tannaghmore 12 years before my mother got there and 13 before I was born. He even went to the same school my father attended. It's a small place, these six counties. All you have to do is get chatting. Incidentally,  the last time we chatted we discovered that one of his associate historians is my second cousin, once removed.


Saturday, September 03, 2016

Empty Streets and Dry Garages



When Lizzie was here yesterday we got talking about a photograph of Pearlie taken as she cycled through Cullybackey when she was in her early twenties. Lizzie claimed that it had been made into a postcard. No one could recall where we'd last seen it.  So today when Bert and I called in at the Cullybackey Historical Society Open Day we were pleased to see that very picture. We cannot be certain it was Pearlie but the timescale fits and it looks like her. According to Bert his father didn't own a car back then so cycling or walking would have been her only option. I'm sure that's not true. Johnny is bound to have owned a car in the 1950s. How else would he have got to Portrush? And he was always in Portrush. Bert asked me if my father had a car back then.

Of course he had a car! He might have had to share it with his six brothers but they always had cars. Sure they had a petrol pump. They'd have looked well walking or cycling when they had access to free petrol. And how could they have courted girls on the far side of Randalstown without wheels? Not like your lot who wouldn't have walked the length of themselves for a woman. Folk who thought three fields away was a big distance!

And speaking of modern day petrol stations I have sad news to report for one of the guys in the garage has been rather dry with me these past couple of weeks. Normally he's all friendly banter which  I thoroughly enjoy. The first time I noticed he was a bit 'off' with me I thought he was distracted, maybe having an off day. He's been 'off' with me for a couple of weeks now and I think I must have offended him in some way. Perhaps because a couple of weeks ago I couldn't recall receiving change and when I queried it, it turned out I had. I should have been embarrassed but I wasn't and maybe that is the problem. Ah well. I hope he gets over it soon. I miss his banter.