Teenage
Kicks
Belfast, 14th June 1978
A roar went up as Terri Hooley walked onto the
stage, clutching a piece of white paper. ‘Before I introduce the next band,‘ he
said in his gravelly Belfast accent, ‘I need to read you this telegram I
received today from New York city.’ He unfolded the paper ceremoniously before
saying, ‘Dear Terri, good luck with the show at Queen’s University from John
Lennon and Yoko Ono. Tell the young folk to have a blast.’ Only a few people in
the hall suspected he was making the whole thing up, just as he had fooled the
stuffy university into allowing the ‘battle of the bands’ by claiming it was
under the auspices of the posh Belfast Musical Society. One would have to
wonder too if a wordsmith as talented as the aforementioned Mr Lennon would be
so careless with words, in the current circumstances the north of Ireland found
itself in, to say ‘have a blast’ but Terri’s intentions were good. He knew how
to sell tickets.
Terry was well known as the driving force behind
the burgeoning punk scene in Belfast and used music to bring young people from
both communities together in a safe space, even as their parents ripped their
society apart at the seams. When the cheering subsided, he smiled at the
hundreds of sweat covered young faces gazing at him. A slight haze of cigarette
smoke and body heat hung in the air above them, ‘you want more?’ They roared
loudly as he turned and roared, ‘give a big Belfast welcome to… the
Undertones!’
Feargal Sharkey strode onto the small stage,
grabbed the microphone and shouted into it, ‘Hello Belfast!’ As the first beats
of Teenage Kicks filled the air, the crowd roared and began to move in unison,
lost in the music. It was as if the guitar and drums could cast a spell on them
and they became one, totally shutting out the world beyond the doors of
McMordie Hall. This was their space, their time and the world outside with all
its violence and ugliness could wait.
Two hours slipped past in a hypnotic haze of sound
and movement and then it was over and the hundreds of young people, still high
on adrenalin and youth headed for the exits. Gabe Sheridan smiled, his arm
around the shoulder of his lifelong friend who stood, red faced and sweating
beside him. ‘That was class, Spider, well done getting us tickets.’ Paul
Donaghy, who was nicknamed Spider after going to buy a shirt in Belfast
city centre and returning with four pairs of jeans, returned his smile, ‘aye,
it was great night, Gabe, we just need to get home in one piece now.’ Gabe put
his arm around his friend, ‘we’ll be grand, the old banger will see us safely
up the road.’
As they approached the exit door, Gabe saw a small,
red purse on the floor. He picked it up and opened it, seeing inside some
crumpled pound notes and a student union card in the name of Philomena Boyd. As
they exited the hall into the cool of a June night, he shouted to the departing
crowd, ‘anyone know a Philomena Boyd?’ Some young women to his left stopped and
turned to face him. One regarded him suspiciously, ‘aye, what if we do?’ He
held up the purse, his face wearing what he hoped was his best smile. ‘I think
she might have dropped this.’ A dark-haired, young woman with intelligent blue
eyes stepped towards him, ‘Ah grand, isn’t that just like me? I’d lose my head
if it wasn’t screwed on.’ He handed her the purse, ‘glad I could help.’ Their
eyes locked for a second before she spoke, ‘I’m Phil, nice to meet you.’ Gabe
nodded, ‘likewise, I’m Gabe and this is Spider.’ Not wanting the conversation
to stop, he added seamlessly, ‘what did you think of the show? The Undertones
are the business, eh?’ She smiled, ‘I liked Rudi best but I have to say the
Undertones sure got us all moving.’ A voice behind her called, ‘Phil, we’re
going, we’d best we stick together.’ She smiled at him again, ‘well, thanks
again, Gabe. Good-night, stay safe.’ He watched her join her friends and head
across the grass towards the impressive brick-built university building. ‘You
not get her number?’ Spider smiled. ‘Shut it, you,’ Gabe replied.
‘Teenage dreams are so hard to beat, every time she
walks down the street. Another girl in the neighbourhood-wish she was mine, she
looks so good…’
The Undertones: Teenage Kicks
Gabe guided his ancient Mini through the darkening
streets, his eyes always alert for trouble. He knew his native city well and
could distinguish the invisible sectarian demarcation lines which cut Belfast
up into a patchwork quilt of safe, unsafe and neutral zones. It wouldn’t do to
break down in some of these streets. He and Spider wouldn’t totally relax until
they were back on home turf in Andytown.
As they moved along the Falls Road, towards Glen
Road, a convoy of six army vehicles trundled past them, going in the other
direction. A heavy silence filled the car, there was always a degree of tension
when they passed any army patrols. They two friends had seen enough casual
brutality in their young lives to distrust anyone in uniform. They’d had a good
night up at the Uni but it was safer to be tucked up in your bed when the
witching hour struck in old Belfast town.
Friday 16 June 1978: A Catholic civilian, was found beaten to
death on a rubbish tip at Glencairn Road, Belfast. He had been killed by
Loyalists.
The city centre was starting to resemble a high
security prison. Gabe lined up with dozens of other people in front of the
‘cage,’ a metal construct which funnelled people into lanes where they were
searched before being allowed into the city centre shopping area. The rather
crude security measures were meant to stop the destruction of the town centre which
seemed to be a major objective of the bombers in the early years of the
troubles. Two bored looking soldiers stood by the entrance; their rifles held
across the front of their bodies. A burly man in front of Gabe spoke to one of
the soldiers, ‘you’d be better employed getting up the Falls and dealing with
the fuckers who’re burning the shops, not standing there as if you’re waiting
for a bus.’ The soldier looked at him with tired eyes, ‘just move along, Sir.’
As Gabe passed the soldiers he heard one mumble to his colleague, ‘fucking
Paddies.’ That’s all the two tribes of Ulster were to most English people.
The city centre was one of the few neutral zones
where people from both communities mixed freely although it was best to keep
conversation to a minimum, and not advertise your identity. It was not uncommon
for the so-called tartan gangs to seek out lone Catholics for a ‘digging’ as it
was known. That’s why Gabe always went into town early; most thugs liked their
bed too much to be up and about on a Saturday morning. Still, his radar was
good and he’d scan ahead looking for any possible problems and simply do a u
turn or head into a store if he had any concerns. Growing up in the chaos of a
virtual civil war had sharpened his senses and made his caution second nature.
Gabe liked the city centre though, as it had that
almost forgotten sense of normality that was missing in many people’s lives.
People just saw each other as people as they passed in the street. There were
some who wore their allegiances like a badge but most were happy with the
anonymity and near normality of just going about their business. He reached the
Woolworths store, a large L shaped building at the corner of the High Street
and Cornmarket. In the window was a fairly amateurish sign which read ‘business
as usual’ as if they were trying to revive the spirit of the blitz. He entered
the store and headed for the music counter. He scanned the LPs and singles
looking for anything by the Undertones. There was no sign of any records by
them, perhaps they weren’t famous enough to have been offered a record deal
yet.
He approached the counter where the assistant
seemed to be busy kneeling down and organising stock. ‘Excuse me,‘ Gabe said
quietly to the invisible but noisy assistant, ‘I’m looking for anything by the
Undertones, do you have any of their records in stock?’ The young woman stood
and regarded him, ‘why if it isn’t the good Samaritan who gave me back my
purse,’ she said with a broad smile. Gabe was genuinely surprised to see
Philomena in her Woolworths’ overall. ‘Jesus, if it isn’t Philomena! Sure, it’s
a small world.’ She smiled, pleased he recalled her name, ‘aye it is indeed,
Gabriel, but we students need to earn some money so here I am every Saturday
and most holidays too.’ They looked at each other for a second before she
continued. ‘If they’ve recorded anything, I think you’ll get it over at the
Good Vibrations shop. It needs to hit the charts before we stock it.’ He
nodded, ‘I know that wee shop well. I’ll get over there shortly.’ She regarded
him with her bright, intelligent eyes, ‘I get half an hour for lunch starting
at twelve so if your still in town and feeling hungry, we have a good wee
restaurant on the top floor. I could meet you there? It’d be nice to have
someone to chat to who is nearer my own age.’ Gabe felt a small and unexpected
wave of elation travel through his body. ‘Sure, that’d be grand, I’ll see you
then.’ He turned and walked towards the exit of the store, trying to suppress
the smile he felt creeping across his face.
He watched her talking in the restaurant, noticing
every hand gesture and facial expression. She was so animated, so vibrant and
bright. It was as if he’d been invited to a play performed for an audience of
one, and it entranced him. She told him about her father being interned in 71, her
mother’s struggles to bring up three children on her own and her love of music
and books. ‘you’re not saying much?’ she smiled, ‘my ma says I need to learn to
shut up and let other people get a word in.’ Gabe smiled, ‘you’re grand, Phil.
I could listen to you all day.’ She smiled, enjoying his admiration, ‘aye, but
do butt in now and then, eh?’ They were comfortable in each other’s company and
felt as if they’d known each other for a long time.
Thirty minutes slipped past in what seemed an
instant. She looked at her watch, ‘I’d better get back, best not be late, old
Prendergast doesn’t need much of an excuse to give me a hard time. He’s not
fond of our sort working here.’ She stood, tidying her cutlery and regarded him
for a moment before saying in that disconcertingly blunt way of hers, ‘well
Gabriel Sheridan, are ye gonna ask me out or what?’ Gabe laughed, ’well, if you
insist. Philomena, would you be free any day soon as I’d love to see you
again?’ She smiled, ‘oh what a surprise! I suppose so, I’m free on Thursday. No
work that day and classes over till September.’ He laughed, ‘write your address
and I’ll pick you up at say, eleven?’ She tilted her head, an amused look on
her face, ‘eleven, is it? Are you taking me to mass on our first date?’ He
laughed out loud, ‘no, I thought we could drive into the hills. Get away from
the city and all the hassle but feel free to pray at any time.’ She nodded, a
smile on her face, ‘eleven it is them.’ He stood and almost as an afterthought,
handed her a single by the band Rudi they’d seen at the University. ‘I
thought you’d like this.’ She took it and nodded, ‘that’s really thoughtful of
you, Gabriel. Goes to show that losing your purse isn’t always a bad thing.’
Wednesday 21 June
1978
Three members of the Irish Republican
Army and a passing Protestant civilian were shot dead by undercover members of
the British Army.
Gabe picked Philomena up in his trusty old Mini and
they drove out of the city and up to Cave Hill. Her home in Ardoyne was much
like his although it seemed almost as if the area was under siege, surrounded
as it was by loyalist districts. They parked and walked to the top of the hill
and glanced down at the small city spread out before them. They could see the
whole panorama of Belfast from their vantage point. The sunshine glinted of the
silver ribbon of the Lagan and cumulus clouds dotted the blue sky like sheep on
a pasture. It was almost beautiful, if you forgot about the things that were
going on in the shaded streets below.
‘Hard to believe there’s so much trouble in that
small town,’ she said, sitting on the grass in the June sunshine. Gabe followed
her gaze, the tall cranes of Harland and Wolfe’s shipyard visible in the
distance. There’s a lot of history in this area. That’s McArt’s Fort over
there,’ he said, sitting beside her and pointing at a flat area of ground on
top of what seemed like a plateau. ‘There was a hill fort there two thousand
years ago.’ She nodded, ‘seems like people have always been fighting over this
land.’ Gabe regarded her as the wind moved her hair like barley in a summer
breeze. Her pale skin was flawless and she needed no make-up to enhance a face,
he thought quite lovely. ‘Our whole history seems to be one long struggle,’ he
said quietly. She leaned on him, sighing and placing her head on his shoulder,
‘I wish it’d all just stop but it won’t till the British leave us alone.’ Gabe
smiled inwardly at the unexpected physical contact and looped his arm across
her shoulders. They had met three times now, but he felt he’d known her much
longer. He knew she was from a Republican family and held strong views about
the conflict. His own thoughts were more ambiguous as he’d seen some pretty
awful things done by all sides, He wanted them to have a frictionless date and
if he was honest, he wanted to kiss her at some point. Perhaps a fractious
political discussion wouldn’t be conducive to that.
They talked for hours about their childhoods, their
families, their hopes and dreams for the future. They laughed a lot too and
just enjoyed being together. Later, as they strolled down the hill in the June
sunshine, she slipped her hand into his. ‘It’s been lovely getting out of town.
It’s like the weight bearing down on us in those streets down there is lifted
off us for a while.’ Gabe nodded, ‘it’s been great, Phil, you’re amazing
company.’ They stopped halfway down the hill and faced each other. Their eyes
met, magnets locking together. For a long moment the only sound was the wind,
restlessly moving through the trees, as it had done since time began. Gabe
leaned forward and gently kissed her. There on a hill where their people had
lived for thousands of years, an old story was beginning again.
‘Just For you, here’s a love song, and it makes me
glad to say, it’s been a lovely day and it’s okay.’ The Damned:
Love Song.
Tuesday 11th July
1978
A Catholic teenager, was mistakenly
shot dead by undercover members of the British Army near an Irish Republican
Army arms dump in County Antrim.
Gabe sat on a rickety wooden chair in the small
office of the meat plant. It looked to be the only warm room in the factory. Mr
Prentice, a craggy man of around fifty with a heavily lined face and a shock of
white hair, was spelling out the conditions of the job. ‘Ye leave the politics
and religion at the door. We work hard here and ye forget any o’ that oul shite
going on in the world outside till yer shift is over. You got me?’ Gabe
nodded and with a firm shake of the hand had a job.
His main task involved carrying big sides of beef
from the delivery trucks to the cold storage room, which was in essence a large
metallic freezer. He would then fetch it out as and when the cutters demanded
it and ensure the finished product was boxed and back in the cold room as soon
as possible. He kept himself to himself for the first week or so and things
seemed to be going well. One Tuesday lunchtime as he sat in the small canteen
with a few of the other workers, he opened the sandwiches his mother had made
him and bit into one. He spat it out over the table as some of his co-workers
laughed, while others looked on with what could have been sympathy. Someone had
layered cigarette ash in his sandwiches. He had laughed it off as a prank on
the new boy but was worried that it was more than that.
Big Johnny Campbell was Gabe’s line manager
although he seldom spoke to him beyond barking out orders or telling him to
‘fucking move it’ when the work was demanding. He was an intimidating presence,
standing at least six feet four and had a strong physique from years of manual
labour. He was always careful in the busier parts of the factory or when people
were around not to speak out of turn, but when he and Gabe were alone,
especially in the cold room, he would mutter things such as, ‘you’d best be
finding another job, Taig.’ On one occasion, Gabe was waiting by a delivery
lorry for the driver to come and open it up for him to unload. Campbell
approached him and looked around slyly, before saying quietly to Gabe. ‘I’ve
given your name to the boyos. Either you’re gone by Friday or your fucking knee
caps are.’ Gabe felt a mixture of fear and fury rising in him and he snarled in
reply, ‘You listen to me you fucking school bully, I know some boyos too and if
anything happens to me, they’ll be scraping you off the road with tea spoons
like fuckin jam.’ Gabe surprised himself with the vehemence of his words and
hoped Campbell was just another mouthy blowhard. The big man clenched his
fists, his face reddening with anger. He was about to speak when Mr Prentice
appeared, ‘where’s the bloody driver? We don’t have all day. Get this truck
unloaded.’ Campbell sneered at Gabe and stomped off, ‘I’ll find him boss.’
Sunday 30 July 1978
Tomás Ó Fiaich, Catholic Primate of
Ireland, paid a visit to Republican prisoners in the Maze Prison. The prisoners
were taking part in the ‘blanket protest’. Over 300 Republican prisoners were
refusing to wear prison clothes or follow normal prison regulations in an
attempt to secure a return of special category status.
As summer turned to autumn and the days shortened,
Gabe saw Philomena almost every day. Only the occasional riot kept him from
making the drive to her home to listen to music in her room and just be happy
hanging out together. He had told her about his problems at work with Campbell
and his camp followers, and she had suggested he quit the job. He told her he
needed the money to keep his car going and to buy petrol for their frequent
trips out of the city. ‘Just you be careful. This guy might be all talk but
then he might actually know some of the thugs out there.’ Gabe pretended to be
more in control of the situation than he actually was and told her not to
worry.
During the first week of October, she had phoned
him in a really distressed state. Her father, a known Republican activist
though not, as far as Gabe knew, active in the armed struggle, was walking home
from the bookmakers when a baton round was fired from a passing army vehicle.
It had hit him in the face and he was in a bad way at the Royal Victoria
hospital. The news reported that the soldiers had been defending themselves
from a stone throwing mob. Local people though, had said that the disorder only
happened in response to the wounding of Jimmy Boyd and that the streets were
quiet before that. That seemed the more plausible story to Gabe. Truth, as
always, seemed to be the first casualty.
They walked up the stairs to the second-floor ward
where her father lay, hooked up to a series of machines. His face was swollen
and purple, and he had yet to gain consciousness. Gabe held Philomena’s hand as
she sobbed by the bedside. ‘Oh daddy, what they done to you? What have the
bastards done?’ She held her father’s hand as the machines clicked and beeped
around them. Gabe just held her, let her know she wasn’t alone. It pierced his
heart to see her in so much pain.
They had grown so close over the summer and he had
first told her he loved her as they strolled along the beach at Portnoo in
Donegal. The Atlantic wind seemed to seize the words from his mouth and scatter
them across the world like confetti at a wedding. There was no calling them
back. They had driven there to get away from the tension in the city during the
marching season and at low tide had walked out to the island of Inishkeel.
There they had explored the ruins of two churches which were said to have been
built in the 6th century. They had
lingered a little too long on the deserted island and had to wade through two
feet of chilly, Atlantic water to get back to shore. They had laughed at their wet
feet and shoes, enjoying these adventures together.
As they left the hospital, two orderlies and
several other medical staff rushed past then pushing a trolley bed on which lay
a prostate man, His head was swathed in crimson stained bandages and his eyes
were closed tightly, as if he never wanted to open them again. Gabe heard one
of the nurses say as they raced past him, ‘Get the trauma room ready and page
Doctor Ward. Tell him RUC man, 29 years old, suspected fracture of the skull…’
Gabe sighed as he took Philomena’s hand. What sort of society had they created
here? Two families would be wracked with pain tonight.
They learned three days later that Philomena’s
father would not regain his sight. The baton round had shattered one eye and
severed the optic nerve in the other. Her sorrow gave way to anger and then a
sort of sullen bitterness. He had tried to assuage her anger but it was leading
to friction between them. ‘The bastards just shot him in the face for no
reason!’ she had said coldly, ‘I hope some of them get a taste of their own
medicine.’ Gabe had said quietly, ‘violence just leads to more violence and
nothing changes.’ She had turned to face him, ‘they portray us as terrorists
for defending our own people! Who were the terrorists on Bloody Sunday or in
Ballymurphy? They’re a crowd of murdering bastards in cahoots with the local
loyalist psychos.’ It was hard for him to disagree with much of what she was
saying and he knew many others who thought the same way. ‘But Phil, this won’t
last forever. One day the killing will stop. We are going to have to live
together on this island one way or another.’ She shook her head, ‘The Brits
chose sides and like to pretend to the world that they’re not biased but they
bloody are and you know it.’
Thursday 12 October
1978
The Irish Republican Army planted a
bomb on the Belfast to Dublin train. One woman was killed and two others
injured when it exploded without adequate warning.
That winter, the skies over Belfast glowered and
brooded as if reflecting the mood in the city. Gabe’s car was off the road for
repairs after being deliberately shunted by an army Saracen car when he stopped
at lights. The soldier driving had smirked at him and driven off. Gabe needed
to see Phil so he figured out the safest bus route from his home to the north
of the city where she lived. His mother had told him to wait till his car was
repaired as it was dangerous to move about the city, especially in the dark and
gloomy winter days. She also knew that
dangerous men sometimes trawled the streets at night like malevolent hyenas
looking for some isolated victim. ‘I’ll be fine, ma,‘ he smiled at her, ‘I know
this old town like the back of my hand and besides, there’s not a faster runner
in Belfast.’
Ardoyne was a proud community which wore the scars
of war stoically. Being geographically almost surrounded by loyalist areas, it
was important Gabe planned his trips well. It was best to move about in the
rush hour when there were lots of people around and the Police and army were in
evidence too. He had visited Philomena a few times using the bus and things had
gone smoothly. The trick was to time it so that he was on the bus with the
minimum time spent hanging around. It was on a cold and windy night in December
when his bus didn’t show up for the return trip home. Tonight though, he had
lingered with Phil for longer than he planned. She was still deeply upset about
what had happened to her father.
It was well after ten o’clock when he had slipped
out to catch the late bus. An old woman with a face lined by many winters and
framed by a white head scarf, stood in the bus shelter beside him. ‘Sure, the
bus will have been hijacked again by that shower in Crumlin, we won’t have any
left at this rate.’ Gabe looked her, ‘when’s the next one if this doesn’t show
up?’ The old woman, who stood barely five feet tall, shook her head, ‘God only
knows, sure I’ve stood here many a time after the bingo with a face as long as
a Lurgan spade and nothing showed up.’ Gabe pondered what to do. He could walk
down to Crumlin Road and pick up another bus service or wait here in forlorn
hope that a bus would show up at some point. In the end he decided to walk down
to Crumlin Road.
His watch told him it was ten thirty as he passed
Holy Cross church and headed for the deserted bus stop. The streets were
eerily quiet, with only the odd car scurrying homeward as night embraced
the city in her dark and frigid arms. Gabe kept his eyes open as he stood in
the chill, his breath visible on the cold air. A black taxi passed him on the
opposite side of the road, the driver’s dead eyes staring out at him as he
stood alone by the bus stop. In the rear of the cab sat two shadowy wraiths.
Gabe avoided eye contact and looked away but an icy chill rippled down his
spine. He glanced to his right and saw the brake lights come on as the taxi
slowed and stopped a hundred metres from him. ‘Shit.’ It came to rest by the
kerb but no one got out and no one got in. It just sat there for a long moment,
as if pondering what to do. Gabe’s pounding heart was the only sound he heard
as he watched the cab, a feeling of dread filling his soul. When the taxi
turned and crawled back towards him, Gabe looked around the street for a
possible escape route, his senses quickening and his mind racing as danger
approached.
He took a deep breath as the slowing taxi
approached him. This time it was the passenger window that was open and a man
stared at him. His face was coarse and brutal and his eyes, like those of the
driver, were empty, shark like. From somewhere deep inside his being Gabe found
words and rolled the dice. He grinned at the man and shouted, ‘No Surrender!’
The man looked blankly at him, as if calculating the veracity of Gabe’s words.
In that split second, Gabe felt his life hanging by the slenderest of threads.
Two vehicles, one of them a bus, appeared behind the taxi and broke the spell.
The man rolled up the window and the taxi eased off into the night.
Gabe paid his fare and sat at the back of the bus
trying to come to terms with what had just happened. As the bus lumbered
through the night towards home and safety, his body shook involuntarily and
tears rolled down his face. He felt like a moth that had strayed very close to
the flame.
21 December 1978: Three British soldiers died after a foot patrol was
fired on from a passing van in Crossmaglen, South Armagh.
The small hall packed with expectant young people
waiting for the show to begin. Gabe and Phil were near the stage as was Spider
and his new love, a girl called Siobhan whom he had affectionately nicknamed,
‘Cat.’ Gabe could see why, there was a feline quality about her and the way she
moved. She wore ripped Jeans; Doc Marten boots and her black eye shadow and
wild black hair completed the punk look. Gabe liked her, she was foul mouthed
but funny and drank pints like a guy. There was a roar as Stiff Little Fingers
appeared on stage and with not a single word of introduction blasted straight
into their set.
The hundreds of young people swayed and moved in
unison as the electric guitars boomed out their hypnotic pulses over their
heads. Gabe smiled at Phil as she bounced up and down, punching the air lost in
the music. This was it- this was their escape from all that shit out there, the
music, the joy of just being young. Gabe loved it all; the melting away of
division, of even individuality as the audience become one, lost in the moment
and the music. It could bring him close to tears seeing all of these young people
not giving a damn about where you came from or what your daddy’s politics were.
They were one, why couldn’t the older generation see that and put the bloody
guns away. Gabe could feel the drum beat vibrate in his being, the guitars
screaming out their rage but also their joy at the music they made.
‘Take a look where you’re living, got the army on
your street. Got the RUC dog of repression barking at your feet. Is this the
kind of place you wanna live? Is this where you wanna be? Is this the
only life we’re gonna have? What we need is an Alternative Ulster, grab it and
change it-it’s yours!’
Stiff Little Fingers: Alternative Ulster
24th February 1979. Two 16-year-old boys were killed by a
remote-controlled bomb hidden in a trailer and detonated as they walked past.
It is thought they were mistaken for a British Army foot patrol.
It had taken Gabe a while to convince Philomena to
come with him to Dublin for the Papal visit. He knew that the grip the church
had on the young was loosening slightly and that she no longer attended mass
but he impressed her with the historical significance of the visit and the fact
that they might never get to see such a day again. He also convinced her that a
couple of days away might do them both the world of good. She worried about her
mother, of course, being left alone to deal with her blind father but in the
end she had agreed. ‘I’ll go Gabriel, sure old JP2 looks a good fella but if
things change with my da, I’ll be staying.’
Gabe had saved up hard all that summer and booked a
room in a small guesthouse in Glasnevin. It was the cheapest he could find as
Dublin was upping the prices with so many visitors expected. Spider and Cat
decided to come too, ‘it’d be good craic, I reckon,’ Cat had smiled, ‘always wanted
to go to Dublin and a wee road trip sounds fun.’ They agreed to drive to Dublin
the day before the Pope was due to celebrate mass in front of an expected
million people in Phoenix Park. He would undoubtedly be calling for peace but
Gabe wondered if those engaged in violence would be listening.
27th August 1979: 18 soldiers are killed and 20 others wounded in a
devastating ambush at Warrenpoint in County Down.
‘I could be a soldier go out there to fight and
save this land, be a People’s soldier, paramilitary gun in my hand, I won’t be
a soldier. I won’t take orders from no one, stuff their fucking armies, killing
isn’t my idea of fun.’
Stiff Little Fingers- Wasted Life.
Spider sat in the back of the car drinking a can of
beer as Cat sang along with the radio at the top of her voice. Gabe smiled at
Phil, who placed her hand on his knee as he guided the car onto the A1 for the
three-hour trip to Dublin. By leaving a day early, they’d planned to miss the
traffic which would undoubtedly be heavy the following day, as every parish in
Belfast was preparing buses and cars for the Papal Mass in Dublin. When Cat had
finished singing along with ‘I don’t like Mondays’ by the Boomtown Rats, Gabe
glanced at her the rear-view mirror, ‘sure you have a grand voice, Cat. We
should start a band when we get back.’ Spider grinned, ‘a good idea apart from
the fact we have no instruments, couldn’t play them even if we had and I’m not
having my Cat exploited by a talentless eejit like you.’ Gabe laughed, ‘so it’s
‘my Cat’ now, is it? You her manager are ye?’ Spider drained his beer can
before responding, ‘Listen, ya spoon ye, we all know you can’t carry a tune,
even Miss Wilson at school thought your voice was like a pig giving birth. Cat
and I might start a duo or maybe even a trio if Philomena can hit a tambourine,
but you my talentless pal, are roadie material at best!’ Gabe shook his head,
‘ach, catch yersel on, ya eejit. Any more of it and you’ll be walkin’ to
Dublin.’
The two young women exchanged glances, smiling.
They enjoyed the banter between these two lifelong friends. Sure, they could be
fierce with each other but the underlying affection and sense of fun was always
there. Cat handed Gabe a tape from her bag, ‘would you two idiots stop arguing
and let’s hear a decent tune or two.’ She had made a mix tape for the journey
and as the car sped down the A1, it was full of laughter and singing.
The army check point just outside Bessbrook changed
the mood in the car. Gabe turned the music down as he waited in the small queue
of vehicles waiting to be allowed to proceed. One of the soldiers approached
the car and Gabe rolled down the window. The soldier, a man of around thirty
with rather unkempt hair sticking out of his beret, spoke in a local accent.
‘Now where would you folks be going today?’ Gabe glanced at the UDR insignia on
his shoulder, the locally raised regiment of the British army had a bad
reputation, much of it deserved. ‘Off to visit relatives in Dublin,’ Gabe said,
thinking it best not to mention the papal visit. ‘Get out and open the boot for
me, will you?’ the man said in a monotone voice. Gabe got out of the car as the
others sat in silence. He opened the boot and the soldier poked around the bags
and various accoutrements the women had brought on the trip. The soldier picked
up Cat’s hairdryer with a smile, ‘ah women, can’t go anywhere without their
gear, eh?’ Gabe nodded. The soldier smiled at him, ‘enjoy Dublin, young fellah.
Be busy with the Pope due tomorrow.’ Gabe thanked him and closed the boot. As
he headed for the driver’s door the soldier passed him, saying, ‘relax son,
we’re not all bigots or psychos. Some of us just want to help stop the shit
that’s going on.’ Gabe nodded and got into the car as another soldier waved him
through the checkpoint.
Dublin was an assault on the senses. The noise and
hustle of its streets made them realise how stunted life in Belfast had been
made by the violence. They dropped their bags off at the small guesthouse not
far from Bon Secours hospital and headed into the city centre on foot. The four
friends blended in seamlessly among the crowds on O’Connell Street. Gabe held
Phil’s hand as they strolled towards O’Connell Bridge before turning right
along Bachelor’s walk. ‘Not a checkpoint or soldier in sight,’ he smiled, ‘and
the people don’t have that worried look on their faces.’ Philomena nodded,
‘it’s a different world. It’s as if all the trouble up the road isn’t
happening.’ Part of her felt a little angry that people here had such freedom
to go about their lives whilst a hundred miles away there was a virtual war
going on.’ Spider seemed to sense her annoyance, ‘Sure they had car bombs here
a few years ago that killed and maimed a lot of people. They know what’s going
on but I think they just choose to get on with their lives.’ Gabe looked him,
‘aye, yer right Spider, but we’re here to forget all of that for a couple of
days. Do ye fancy a pint?’ His friend smiled, ’does a bear shit in the woods?’
The four friends had strolled down past St
Stephen’s Green looking for a suitable place to share a drink. Gabe had asked
some younger folk queuing outside a fairly rundown looking building if they
knew a good place for a cheap pint and maybe some music. A young man of similar
age to himself, sporting a denim jacket covered with Sex Pistols patches,
informed him that they were queuing to watch live music today and that it was
free to watch. ‘What sort of music?’ Gabe had asked the blonde-haired young
man. ‘Mostly new wave or new local bands looking for a chance to play in front
of an audience.’ Gabe persuaded Spider, Phil and Cat that it might be fun and
they joined the queue.
McGonagle’s was an old-fashioned sort of place
which had once been a ballroom but now sought to survive by appealing to a
wider audience. It had a very small stage which was outlined by an odd white,
tubular frame which made it look like a football goal in a sci-fi movie. A good
crowd of young people had already filed in and crowded the area in front of the
stage. An air of expectation was evident as some decent bands had emerged from
the Dublin scene. As the small venue filled, Gabe stood behind Philomena, his
hands wrapped around her and clasped on her stomach. She leaned into him,
enjoying that he was protective towards her.
Spider and Cat returned from the bar with plastic
tumblers full of beer. ‘So, who’s playing, do we know yet?’ A nearby young
woman smiled at Spider, ’I hear tell it’s the Rads, you’ll love them if it is.’
Spider nodded, ‘Right, Ta.’ The young woman recognising his northern accent,
continued, ‘you from up north?’ Cat slipped her arm around Spider’s waist and
replied for him, in a voice both friendly and firm, ‘aye, we all are. Down for
a wee break.’ The young woman recognised the universal sign of ownership and
smiled at Cat, ‘ah sure that’s grand now. Enjoy the show.’ With that she turned
her head towards the stage. Spider caught Gabe’s eye for a split second and
raised an eyebrow. Gabe smiled, almost imperceptibly. It was flattering when
your girl laid down a wee marker.
As they finished their drinks, a man of around 40
appeared on stage, ‘Welcome to the best live music venue in Dublin!’ There was
a cheer from the packed little hall as he continued, ‘now, without further ado,
here’s the Radiators from Outer Space!’ The crowd roared as Gabe and Spider
exchanged looks which said, ‘never heard of them.’ The five-piece band started
a guitar into which immediately drew them in. ‘These guys can play,’ Gabe said
in Phil’s ear as they began to move to the music. They lyric to their first
song spoke to Gabe as he realised that there was so much more to the music
scene in Ireland than Belfast’s punk bands…
This graveyard
hides a million secrets and the trees know more than they will tell, but the
ghosts of the saints and scholars will haunt you in heaven or in hell. Rattled
by the Glimmerman, the Bogey-man, the Holy man and living in the shadows, in
the shadows of the gunman. Rattled like the coppers in your greasy till.
Rattled until time stood still., Look across your shoulder as the school bell
rings. Another day of made-to-measure history, Well I don’t mind that your
heroes all have wings but your terrible beauty is torn. Faithful
Departed, we fickle-hearted, as you are now so once were we. Faithful departed,
we the meek hearted with graces imparted, Bring flowers to thee.’
The Radiators from
Space: Faithful departed.
‘Your terrible beauty is torn, what a line that
is,’ said Gabe as they strolled along O’Connell Street, the last rays of the
setting sun slipping between the buildings. ‘They were bloody good, that bass
player was unreal’ said Cat, ‘glad we decided to go into that place.’ Spider
nodded, ‘aye, just shows that young folk all over are just the same, all they
want is a good time and a bit of craic and music.’ Gabe slipped his arm around
Philomena’s shoulder, ‘glad ye came?’ She nodded, ‘I am, Gabriel, it’s been
great so far but I think tomorrow will be something altogether different. They
say they a million people will be heading to Phoenix Park.’ He caressed the
skin on her bare arm, ‘a wee bit of history for us to share.’
They walked through Dublin towards their guest
house, feeling a release, a peace of mind they had lost in Belfast. The lack of
security forces on the street and the tension they brought was noticeable as
was the sheer number of people in town for the Pope’s appearance the following
day. As darkness fell, they reached the small guest house where old Mrs Dunne welcomed
them in. ‘I’ve a bit of supper left over if yer wanting any?’ The four young
people shook their heads, ‘no yer alright, Mrs Dunne, we caught a bite in
town.’ The old woman fiddled with a small cross which hung around her neck, ‘ah
good now. The keys to your rooms are on the table there. Girls will be in room
9 and you young fellas in room 12. I would appreciate a bit of quiet after
eleven as I have a party of Notre Dame sisters staying and they’re used to a
good sleep.’ Gabe nodded, ‘we’re all knackered anyway, Mrs Dunne. I think we’ll
be asleep before them, and besides, tomorrow is a big day.’
Gabe and Spider lay awake in the darkness, talking
in whispers. ‘What time is it now?’ enquired Spider. ‘Nearly half twelve,’ Gabe
replied. ‘And ye synchronised yer watches, did ye?’ Gabe smiled, ‘we’re not
parachuting into occupied France, Spider but yeh, we did.’ There was silence
for a few moments before Gabe spoke, ‘Okay, that’s time. I’ll see ye at six.’
With that he got up and gently eased the room door open before stepping into
the carpeted hallway. As he crept along towards room 12, the door opened a
little and Cat looked out. She tiptoed past Gabe with just a cursory smile and nod
of her head before she let herself into room 9 where Spider was waiting. Gabe
quietly closed the door of room 12 and in the darkness, sensed Philomena
waiting for him.
The welcoming warmth of her body enveloped him. He
felt as if his whole life had been leading up to this moment. He and Philomena
had been hugely attracted to each other but the crowded homes they came from in
Belfast meant that chances to be alone were limited. As he whispered to her in
the darkness and they shared the same breath, he knew he wanted to be with her
always. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, utter contentment written on
their faces.
‘Have I ever told you how good it feels to hold
you? It isn’t easy to explain. And though I’m really trying, I think I may
start crying, my heart can’t wait another day. When you kiss me I just gotta
say- Baby I love you, come on baby, Baby I love you, baby I love only you.‘ The Ramones: Baby I love you.
The following morning the small breakfast room was
full as Gabe and Spider entered to find the girls. Philomena and Cat sat at a
small table in the bay window, eating toast and drinking tea. Gabe waved,
‘we’ll get some scran and join you.’ As they collected their breakfast from the
long table by the wall, Gabe said quietly, ‘you get on alright last night,
Spider?’ His friend looked at him with a small smile, ‘Aye not bad, but Red
Riding Hood’s in town so no cleaning the cobwebs with the womb broom, for me.’
‘What the feck are you on about ya spoon?’ Spider continued his list of idioms
until Gabe got the picture, ‘she’s flying the Japanese flag. It’s shark week,
she’s drinking a bloody Mary, wearing the red badge of courage, riding the
crimson wave? You got me?’ Gabe shook with quiet laughter, ‘now that’s bad luck
pal, but your day will come!’ Spider grinned, ‘aye, eight of us in my
house and seven in hers, this was a big chance missed.’ Gabe picked up his
cereal, ‘we’ll organise another road trip soon, Pal, hang in there.’
As they sat eating their breakfast, Mrs Dunne moved
among the tables, making small talk with the nuns and topping up tea cups. When
she reached Gabe’s table, she smiled, ‘did we get a good night’s sleep? A long
day ahead with the holy father visiting.’ Gabe returned her smile, ‘I did, Mrs
Dunne. Never had a better sleep.’ Philomena drank her tea in silence, her
cheeks almost imperceptibly reddening. ‘Ah that’s grand, that’ll be all the
exercise you had yesterday.’ Gabe stifled the urge to smile as she continued,
‘traipsing about Dublin would wear you out.’ ‘You going to Phoenix Park, Mrs
Dunne?’ Spider enquired of the older woman. She nodded, touching her crucifix
again as if for reassurance, ‘Sure I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We won’t
see such a day again in my time.’
More than one and a quarter million people filled
Phoenix Park in Dublin for the Mass with Pope John Paul II. They were young and
old, from every corner of Ireland and from every walk of life. The four young
people from the troubled north of the country found themselves in a section of
the crowd facing a huge cross which towered above the congregation and glinted
in the early autumn sunshine. Below the huge silver cross was the altar which
was under a steel frame which looked like the outline of a house or perhaps the
skeleton of a cathedral. A row of huge white banners stood behind the altar
forming a quite brilliant backdrop. ‘My God,’ said Cat, ‘they sure know how to
put on a show.’ Before anyone could respond, a huge roar rumbled across the
park like distant thunder. Thousands of yellow and white papal flags fluttered
in the breeze, a kaleidoscope of butterflies, to welcome the Pope. The
helicopter drifted over the huge gathering of humanity as if carried on its
cheers and love. It flew lower, behind the huge altar till at last it was lost
to their sight. After some moments, the choir began to sing and two rows of
white robed priests began walking towards the altar. It could have been
choreographed by Cecil B DeMille.
As the Pope appeared at last, there were deafening
cheers from a million throats. Gabe glanced around him at the awe-inspiring
sight of more than a third of the population of Ireland gathered in one place.
‘Jesus,’ he mumbled, pulling Philomena close to him, ‘this is incredible.’ As
the Pope began the mass, an astonishing thing happened; over a million
people became a single congregation and respectful silence fell over the whole park.
The mass followed the familiar pattern Gabe had known since childhood and he
responded to the prayers almost automatically. It seemed as if every priest in
Ireland was involved in distributing the host to the vast crowd. The four
friends had their own opinions about the church and its role in Irish history
but for that one day, they were part of something much bigger than themselves,
something that would live in history.
The car was quiet as Gabe turned onto the motorway
and left Dublin behind. They had been free to be themselves there and wandered
the streets without any of the tension that was so palpable in Belfast. ‘We
should come back here one day,’ Gabe said to no one in particular. ‘Philomena
nodded, ‘family keeps us in Belfast more than anything.’ Cat interjected,
‘that’s true but some of us are just plain stubborn and refuse to be driven out
of our home and why the hell should we be? Besides, much as it was good to see
old JP2, this place is still dominated by the church and I don’t think that’s
healthy for any country.’ Philomena nodded, but said nothing.
‘The Pope is in Drogheda today for another big get
together so we can expect more traffic as we get nearer to it,’ Gabe said as he
clicked the radio on. He smiled to hear Brendan Shine singing ‘catch me
if you can, me name is Dan and I’m your man.’ ‘Jesus,’ muttered Spider,
‘will ye get that oul eejit off? Reminds me of my da’s old LPs.’ Gabe laughed,
‘nothing wrong with a bit of oul Brendan Shine.’ ‘Aye, there is,’ responded
Spider, ‘he’s complete shite!’ Cat smiled at Philomena as the two friends began
one of their insult-filled arguments. Gabe turned the volume up and sang along
with the song. ‘Ach now yer taking the piss, ya hellion, ye!’ Spider said
rolling his eyes. ‘Gabe grinned, ‘join in will ye instead of sitting there like
a total slabber?’ Spider appealed to Philomena, ‘will ye push the cassette in,
Phil? I mean, I know yon prick is yer boyfriend but he’s not fit to be in
charge of a radio.’ Philomena glanced at Gabe, ‘It’s Gabriel’s car so the music
is up to him.’ Gabe smiled, ‘Alright, push in the tape and shut that cry baby
up.’ Philomena did as she was bid and ‘Teenage kicks’ by the
Undertones flooded into the car. ‘Now yer talkin!’ roared Spider as all four of
them joined in the song. The hypnotic power of the music brought a flood of joy
to them as they sped towards home and the gathering clouds of the north.
As they neared the border, Gabe had switched to the
radio in time to hear the familiar Slavic tones of Pope John Paul speaking at
Drogheda. The car became silent as the Pope spoke of the troubles in the north…
‘Now I wish to speak to all men and women engaged
in violence. I appeal to you in language of compassionate pleading, on my knees
I beg you to turn away from the path of violence and to return to the ways of
peace. You may claim to seek justice. All should believe in justice and seek
justice, but violence only delays the day of justice. Violence destroys the
work of justice. Further violence in Ireland will only drag down and ruin the
land you claim to love and the values you claim to cherish. In the Name of God,
I beg you to return to Christ who died so that man might live in forgiveness
and peace. He is waiting for you, longing for each one of you to come to Him so
that He may say to each of you, “Your sins are forgiven, go in peace.’
Cat spoke first, ‘Jeez, that’s powerful stuff, do
ye think the boyos will hang up their muskets?’ Spider shook his head, ‘I doubt
it, this shit will go on until everyone has been completely sickened by it.’
Gabe sighed, ‘I think you’re right, Spider. They’re too far in to stop now.’
Philomena said quietly, ‘it’ll go on till the Brits go home and admit they’ve
made a complete arse of themselves in Ireland.’ Gabe rested his hand on her
knee, ‘I think violence drives people apart. This stuff has come in cycles for
centuries and the people are just stuck in two camps repeating the same old
mistakes. If a million Protestants are ever gonna be persuaded to join up with
the Republic, the violence has set that back a hundred years.’
Philomena’s face flushed a little, ‘they’re bloody Irish and despite
treating us like shite for centuries, they should be glad we want to share a
country with them.’ Gabe realised he’d annoyed her said quietly, ‘they can’t be
forced into a united Ireland, Phil, they need to be convinced it’s in their
best interests. Bombs and bullets won’t do that.’ Before she could
respond, they passed a sign which read, ‘Welcome to Northern Ireland.’ She
gazed out the window and said nothing.
3rd October 1979: A Catholic woman was shot dead on her doorstep in
Belfast by the Ulster Volunteer Force.
‘They’re just facts and figures on your TV screen,
another child and another soldier, is peace just a dream? Can you hear the
mocking laughter from the ones that gain by it? They’re not in line for the
bullets, they’re the ones who started it. Last night another soldier, last
night another child, no one seems to worry, no one sees his mother cry.’
Angelic Upstarts: Another Soldier.
5th October 1979: A former UDR soldier was shot and killed by the
Irish Republican Army.
Gabe dropped Spider and Cat off at his mum’s house
in Andytown before heading for Ardoyne. The streets seemed quiet but the
detritus of civil strife was everywhere. Murals on the walls presented the
badly painted ‘heroes’ of both sides. Burnt out cars spoke mutely of the days
of rage people were living through and army patrols rumbled through the
streets. He watched as a clutch of scruffy children ran and played on the
pavement, sticks for guns, as if getting ready to do it all or real when they
grew up. Philomena had said little as they drove through the streets, but as
she neared her home, she turned to Gabe and said, ‘I love you Gabriel Sheridan,
I hope you know that.’ He knew she was making amends for her strong words to
him on the journey north, but it was more than that, it was a commitment. As he
parked the car close to her home, he turned and kissed her, whispering to her.
‘I know you do and I love you too.’ Gabe felt his eyes moisten as he held her
close.
Peace seemed a long way off but love still existed,
still clung on despite it all. Maybe there was hope after all.
This story is one of eighteen tales in the book 'the Gorbals Philosophy Club and other tales available on Kindle and in a day or two in book form. You can find it here, simply copy this link into your browser....
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BNF1H3B6
