One From Nineteen Years Ago

 

Hannah has a new enemy although she remains at daggers drawn with her old enemy Evil Nat West. She declared war on Evil Northern Ireland Railway yesterday evening after one of their vile and smelly trains refused to let her off at Cullybackey. The door wouldn't open and she was whizzing off to Ballymoney before she knew it.

All that after a hard day at Nixt! and an evening session with the dentist. She had been so pleased to make the train as, ever the considerate daughter, she wanted to save me the trouble of picking her up in town.

But oh! The rage. Apparently, she gave the poor guard a right earful. And her with the frozen mouth and all. I bet he was scared. He refused to take any responsibility at all. All I could do as she raged all this down the phone to me was agree with her that NIR were evil and their employees all stupid. And of course, their trains are crap.

Bert the Wonderful volunteered to pick her up in Ballymoney. By the time he got her home, she had calmed down. A little.

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The above was posted in 2006 – a lifetime ago. Why, I was only a girl back then, rather than the decrepit old crone I am today.

We no longer think of NIR as evil; in fact, I took two train trips just this past week. The first was to Holywood, a town I had never visited before, and the second to Ballymoney, from where I continued on to Balnamore – a village I've never been to, despite it being a mere sixteen miles away.

I was going to see Leitrim Sister and her extended family and friends, who were staying in what was once Balnamore Hall – an intriguing house that I hope to visit again.

The main purpose of this visit was to meet the apple of Leitrim Sister's (and Dmitri's) eye a little fellow just two and a half. He was definitely the star of the show and well worth the journey.

Mussenden Temple and Some Other Places

Our youngest brother Joe invited Ganching and me on a Mystery Tour. This was always a great ruse on our father's part from when we were small. He'd take a carload of us on a Mystery Tour and, for some reason, this was so exciting to me. We weren't going to the Glens, or the seaside, or to Tardree. We were going somewhere different, somewhere mysterious. Looking back, I think he might just have wanted to incorporate getting us from under our mother's feet with some jaunt to a building project he was interested in or a drive-by some farm of land an acquaintance had acquired. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a sail up some long lane so he 'could have a word with a boy', as it was never a word, it was many, many words and we were never allowed out of the car and there was always at least one collie dog in the yard and maybe some children peeking at us that we never ever got to play with.

At the end of it all, there would often be sweets so that made everything worthwhile.

Joe's Mystery Tour took us to the next county, to Downhill, to the mountain above it and back down to the Downhill Demesne and the Mussenden Temple. Such a while since I'd been there. Last time my hair was brown and Danny was in his prime and he's been dead now for seventeen years.

Danny and Nelly, early nineties. Photo by Bert.

This picture was taken at the same time. The National Trust has made many changes to the site with smart fencing, car parking, gravel paths and meadows but the old tree still remains.

The Derry Train

The coastal railway route from Coleraine to Derry is spectacular and has been rightly extolled by train enthusiasts such as Michael Portillo and Michael Palin who described it as "one of the most beautiful rail journeys in the world". Seeing that train made me wonder why I wasn't dusting off the railcard and taking a wee trip to the Maiden City someday very soon.

One thing that delighted me about the Downhill Demesne was the meadow planting. It is so much more beautiful than mown grass.  On the way back we passed swathes of yellow rattle gone to seed. I was tempted to harvest a pocketful but did not. It will do far better where it is. 

To end (for now) a fantastic day out in the best company, with people I've known and loved for half a century and more. I know I promised Other Places in the title but that will do for another post. 

A Day Out In Great Company

 

Strange to see the toys we used to play with on an antique stall

Evie and I planned this long-overdue day out last Monday. Big Sis was going school uniform shopping with her Mum so Evie was at a loose end. Our first stop, Evie's choice, was St George's Market. It has been a long time since I was there and apart from masks and hand sanitisers, it was all much as usual. There were the regular interesting stalls but we were only there for the food. Although had I a spare couple of hundred on me, I might have been tempted by a big dramatic painting of a jackdaw. 

The next place Evie wanted to visit was Victoria Square because there were 'lots of shops'. It turned out that as far as she was concerned there was only one store she wanted to visit - the dreaded Claire's Accessories. I waited outside the door while she spent a good twenty minutes (I timed her) examining the merchandise. Only one purchase was made - a present for her sister.

The next place she needed to visit was Smiggle which is actually worse than Claire's. Evie looked at everything and then bought one thing, some sort of a puzzle. The moment she got outside she ripped the packaging apart and immediately regretted buying it. That put a damper on things for thirty minutes or so during which time we went to Matchetts to buy Bert some clarinet reeds. Then the next stop was Waterstones, a store we both like. We chose two books each and then had lunch in the cafe. 

By the time we left the bookshop, Evie had decided she did like her new puzzle

Of all the street musicians we heard in Belfast, Evie said this percussionist was the best. 

He beat out an impressive rhythm using old plastic buckets, saucepans and other bits and pieces. I suggested to Evie I might buy her some drumsticks and set her loose on the contents of my kitchen cupboards. She seemed to like the idea.

Evie's next port of call was Søstrene Grene but by this time we were hot and tired and as it was getting close to home time, and we took a slow leisurely stroll to the train station. It was more than thirty minutes to departure but we found a cool spot to relax and read our new books.

Heading home

Evie got met at the station by Big Sis and I travelled the next stop along and got met by Bert and the dogs, fashionably late as usual. It was a most enjoyable day.

The books I bought

I chose Starve Acre because of this review,

'The best closing line of any novel we have read this year... A strange and unsettling read'

And knew that as soon as Bert picked it up and read that he'd turn straight to the last page. Which he did this morning. 

Ink On Her Hands

Some Thursdays Miss Evie alights from the school bus in something of a rage. Yesterday was one of these days. I understand this for the trials of Year 3 must be difficult for a young person. She was crying frustrated tears, I went to take her little paw but she pulled it away. Why? She had ink on her hands. And she had - the sort of thick and sticky ink contained in cheap ballpoint pens.

So we had to go to the bus station toilets. There were quite a few people waiting on the seats for it was a cold and windy day. I looked meaningfully at a young man with a holdall on the seat beside him. He removed it and I sat down because I knew it might be a long time before Evie and Martha would emerge. There was some light conversation with the other people waiting while behind the toilet door I could hear Evie’s frustrated sobs and Martha attempting to soothe her. Then the outside door opened and a tall young man burst in shouting.

You have to help me! You have to help me!

We all looked at him with interest. I don’t know what the other people thought but my guess was a medical emergency and that the bus station staff would take care of it. First aid, ambulances, that sort of thing. Probably happens all the time at bus stations.

He went on,

My girlfriend was on the train but she couldn’t open the door! And now she’s gone and she’s a foreigner and she won’t know what to do!

The person behind the desk explained to the young man that she couldn’t do anything as it was a matter for the railway staff and he’d have to ask them to help. But the next stop was Cullybackey and his friend could always get off there.

The young man was sobbing and distraught. He left the waiting room and another young fellow got up to see if he could help him which I thought very kind of him. But he was back in soon after as there was nothing to be done.

Meanwhile, Martha opens the door and says,

Granny, we need your help.

I went in. Evie still had ink on her hands and it wasn’t shifting. I told her not to worry as I had special stuff at home that would take it off and that mollified her. We left the waiting area.

The young man who had lost his girlfriend was outside, still distraught. It occurred to me that I was going to Cullybackey and that, teens of years ago, I’d have involved myself in his drama and ended up regretting it. But I didn’t because, for all I know, his girlfriend (if she even was his girlfriend) might have looked out to the platform, saw him, and thought to herself,

I’m not too sure about this one. I’m not getting off this train!

And we had our own drama to contend with. The ink on Evie’s hands.

When we got home I mixed sugar and cooking oil into a paste and Evie rubbed it into her hands and most of the ink disappeared. I told her the rest would wear off and that the sugar and oil paste was a special trick I learned from her Great-Grandmother Martha. She was OK after that.

Martha and Nelly's Day Out

Miss Martha and Granny are going today

To Belfast on the train

Miss Martha is fervently hoping

That Granny won't be a pain

Martha and I had our eagerly anticipated day out in Belfast on Saturday. That was three days ago and I'm only just beginning to recover. You see, I thought because Martha was a big sensible four-year-old that we could make a longer day of it. What I didn't take into consideration was how exhausted I would get. People of Martha's age have an inexhaustible supply of energy. People my age - not as much.

The Charity Shops

Martha's main aim was to replenish the dressing up box. She wanted a cocktail dress or a wedding dress and insisted that I measure these articles against her. It was difficult to persuade her that a dress meant for a tall and buxom bride was not going to do for her. And even size 6 party dresses were going to swamp a little girl. If the sparkly, sequinned dresses had only been a few pounds I might have let her have one but they were in the £6-10 range and far too expensive for dressing up. I explained that it would not be fair for Martha to take these for dressing up when there were big girls who needed them for parties. She understood.

The Ulster Museum

We went to see the Curious Beasts exhibition which is on loan from the British Museum. Martha found it a little disconcerting. Or was that me? I'm not sure.

Notions of Forever

This suited us better. Notions of Forever is a special exhibition, part of the Belfast Children's Festival. Its theme was how people's imaginations change as they move from childhood to old age. Martha and I didn't really understand it fully at the time but I think we both found it intriguing and I definitely found it moving and heartfelt.

Martha with the artist, Liz Cullinane

Botanic Gardens

A run round the big flower bed outside the Palm House.
A sniff at the beautiful flowers inside the Palm House.
A discussion about dead fish in the Tropical Ravine.
A terrifying incident when young adults dressed up as Foxes and Other Curious Beasts had a mock sword fight at the bandstand.

The Play Park

Lots of racing around and swinging and climbing and round-abouting whilst Granny had a wee rest on a bench.

The Train Home

Because we were both very good we rewarded ourselves with magazines for the train journey home. I had the Guardian and Martha had a My Little Pony magazine chosen for the quality of the gift sellotaped to its front. It was a plastic toy pink and purple mobile phone with a carrying case and a sheet of stickers. I got to read a bit of the paper while Martha chatted on her new phone. She was talking to 'a man'. The gist of the conversation was that the man's wife was in hospital having a baby and that he wanted to take photographs as it was 'coming out' and then he wanted to make a calendar featuring the photographs. He was negotiating with Martha about stickers to decorate the calendar and wanted 'baby' stickers but she told him she only had 'unicorn' stickers and he apparently agreed to this. Or so she told me. Needless to say I found all this much more entertaining than the Guardian.

On the train home wearing new tiara found in a charity shop

Little Children

Nellybert has been getting out and about recently, taking advantage of the esteemable Pearl-Ri being in The Home For Crabbit Oul Dragons for a fortnight. Of course, anyone else would have taken a holiday but, what with the Martha sitting, the signing on the dole and the hospital appointments, we hadn't a minute.

So we took a 24 hour break to the Inishowen Peninsula at the end of last week and today we went to Derry City on the train.

Let the train take the strain. Hardly! For some reason the world and his wife was out today with all their whinging, squalling bratlings in tow. A young one screeched its head off from Ballymoney to Derry on the way down. I was harbouring nasty thoughts. Then when we got off I saw its wee face and it looked so miserable that I felt bad for wanting it and its Ma thrown off the train. But here's a thing - during the entire journey, during its intermittent yelling and screechings the mother never once spoke to the child or tried to comfort it. Expect if I'd been it I might have hollered my head off too.

There were more monsters on the way home. A wee lad, probably about 4 or 5 wailed himself into sobs and hiccups for twenty minutes steady. I think he wanted something he didn't get. Once again there was no interaction from the parents. The child was completely ignored.

I'm sure it's not universal but I do notice that lots of parents do not give their children any time or attention when they are out in public. Even the seemingly good kids get ignored. There were three generations sitting opposite us - a little girl of about eight, her mum and the granny. Mum and Granny had a continuous and very repetitive and dreary conversation for nearly an hour. The child was hardly spoken too. When she got excited about something she spotted from the train window she was roundly ignored. Wise up adults! Children, if you give them a chance, can be interesting too.