48 Years Ago Today

Somehow, right now, these memories sting more. 

Lost Lives, pp 1522-1523, entries 1130, 1131 and 1132

Sean went to Micky Mallon's funeral, so did my father and sister. Sean is reputed to have said afterwards that it was 'a big funeral' and hoped he'd not be at as big a one again. Micky's father ran a country pub, as did Sean. His own funeral, a few days later was a big one too when he was laid to rest with his younger brother, Brendan.

There are three thousand, six hundred and ninety-seven entries in my copy of Lost Lives and that wasn't the end.

For all of the people who died during the conflict, there must be tens of thousands of people left grieving. May those days never return.

A Shooting at the Pub

Our Road

Wednesday Catch Up

Not much blogging last week reason being that this damn Bert Flu really kicks in at night and that's when I usually sort Nelly's Garden out. And I'm too tired and worn out to do it.

The news is, we had a Musical Evening on Saturday. Well, Hannah did. There were four or five guitarists, a banjo player, a violinist, a harmonica player and a clarinettist. There were several very good vocalists. There was someone playing the kazoo but he got a mild telling off from the gipsy jazz guitarist. It was very enjoyable but oh so tiring and Nellybert weren't worth tuppence on Sunday.

Monday was Back to Gardening Monday. No Dave, as he is Game of Throning in Moneyglass. Just Zoe and the girls. I made spaghetti meatballs and a Golden Syrup steamed pudding. Had a kitchen meltdown (too many people in it) and then got over it. Rod came out to see the dogs and brought me a bottle of wine. Most welcome.

Yesterday I pottered.

Today I finally got round to re-sowing chillis, this time in my brand new propagator that I bought on Saturday morning at Montrose Garden Supplies. The first lot I sowed before I went to Norfolk and they did absolutely nothing. Hopefully, the new lot will be more successful. Hannah headed off to Belfast as the first leg of her holiday. She's heading for the Canaries tomorrow.

Now the sombre news. We took Roy to the vet today as he had some sort of spot on his bum. Turns out it might be cancer. He has a course of antibiotics to take, then back to the vet next week to discuss his options. When he came to us we knew he wasn't neutered and decided not to do it because he was over ten. Turns out that if he had been neutered then he'd have been at less risk for this cancer that he might have. Anyway, we'll see. Dogs get old so fast. The poor old fellow also has mild heart disease which was diagnosed at his last checkup.

Prayer

I have great faith in the prayer the Memorare ever since it was taught to me by Mrs Magee at Tannaghmore  Primary School just before I went in to sit my 11+. Which exam I passed not that it ever did me much good. So that makes it around half a century I've been saying the prayer in my anxious times.

I've been saying it a lot this week for I have a special person who needs to find a bit of strength to keep her going. As always, my prayer is for the best possible outcome even if that outcome is not the most obvious one. Our Lady knows best.

Then it occurred to me that there might be another mother praying for her child and that she might be hoping for an outcome very different from mine. Still. Not to fret. Our Lady knows best.

Nobody Wants It

When I take Matty shopping on Thursday nights we usually go this convoluted journey that avoids both the rush hour traffic on the A26 and the narrow roads around Cookstown Junction. Tonight I found myself, without thinking, taking the narrow road instead of our usual route. I realised that I wanted to avoid passing the entrance to the army barracks where those two young men were murdered last Saturday night. I mentioned this to Matty.

She told me that on that night my 16 year old niece had been visiting a house very close to the barracks and had heard the shots and then afterwards the sirens. She knew that something very bad had happened. When she got home she found out, from Sky news, what exactly had taken place. The next day she told her granny that she felt very tired. When Matty asked why, she said she had been unable to sleep for thinking about the shooting.

I felt very sad about this. I really had dared to hope that her generation would not have to go through what we experienced.

For it was only when it was over, when I really, truly believed it was over, that I knew how much living with the troubles had blighted all our lives. I don't want those times to come back. Nobody wants it. Do they?