Teenage Kicks

 

Teenage Kicks

Belfast, 14^th 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 11^th 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 6^th 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

24^th 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.

27^th 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.

3^rd 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.

5^th 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....

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