Laden down with buckets and spades

Windbreaks, towels and togs

Overloaded with cases and bags

Pulling and hauling the dogs

 

Sandwiches, lemonade, crisps and buns

Cups and saucers and plates

Fold up tables, collapsible chairs

Relax! Isn’t life great!

 

The sun is out for half an hour

Everything eaten in haste

With seagulls hovering round the crowds

No food will go to waste

 

Skies turn grey, light grows dim

All is packed up fast

That glorious sun, it couldn’t be true

Was far too warm to last

 

Now its time for amusement arcades

Next thing on the day out list

Rides and games for Mum and kids

Dads just go and get pissed

 

Time for home, the kids are tired

And Dad is feeling sick

Mum has had enough for today

Let’s get this lot home quick.

 

It was a rare  oul day in the thriving borough of Andersonstown in West Belfast. Rare in the sense that a golden sun shone down from a cloudless sky turning grey pavements into sparkling slabs embedded with hidden diamonds, windows gleaming with rainbow smiles. The population of the surrounding district were encouraged to cast off winter blues, divest themselves of bulbous layers and light heartedly, where possible, skip to their places of employment.

There hadn’t been a day like this for quite some time and folk were going to make the most of it. Indeed a higher authority might have planned it this way, because today, April 3rd, the pupils of St Teresa’s Primary School, Glen Road, were to be treated to an unexpected outing. A trip to the local park to become one with nature, to smell the flowers, pick some for Mum on this glorious day, gambol and gallop like little forest people intent on fun. Or, a dip in the outside pool, Pickie Pool, as it was named, located at the very back of the Falls Park, to splash, play, dive, swim and cool of in the crystal clear waters.

No – it seems that these sensible activities would not be enjoyed on this great morning, the powers that be would decide. And decide they did! The children were to attend an outdoor Mass – an outdoor Mass! What joy! But the children didn’t seem to mind and that was the main thing, it was all the same to them. They would be escaping the confines of the dreaded classroom, the boredom of repetitive lessons and the fear of wrong answers. Their silvery, young voices echoed around the playground, excitement manifesting itself in their rosy cheeks and unfettered exuberance.

One little girl appeared to be a little more ecstatic than most – nun material perhaps! Teresa Killen danced and jigged circles in front of her best friend.

“Do you think the Holy Woman will be there, do you?””                     

“Teresa, it’s the Holy Lady, Our Lady, God’s Mother and I don’t know.” the long suffering Claire answered.

“Right, girls. Form a line, two by two.” The authoritarian voice of Miss Owens cleaved the air. Silence prevailed instantly. It wasn’t that she was a strict teacher but that cane she owned was deterrent enough. No lawyers or judges in this particular era to curtail corporal punishment in schools or to protect the rights of children. Marching like soldiers on parade, the little group traversed the school yard to the back lawn of the parish church where the priest of the day awaited, enjoying his time in the sun also. The makeshift altar was draped in white linen with purple overtones, as was our resident saint, Father Rory – purple was the colour for Lent  sacrifice time for sinful, penitent Catholics. Quite a good ploy for dieters and smokers eager to slim or quit. Forty days and forty nights without their chosen demon would either kill or cure them.

“Claire, Claire, isn’t it lovely out here. Why is the Mass here instead of inside? Is the chapel broken, is the roof leaking? Does Jesus just like the sun?” Teresa’s words tumbled over each other until Claire loudly whispered:

“Teresa I don’t know. You have to be quiet. Miss is looking at us. Sshhh!”

“Sorry Claire but isn’t it grand.”

She sighed contentedly and gently took her friend’s hand as Father Rory prepared to address the worshipping crowd.

“Welcome children. Sure isn’t this a great turnout for our first outside Mass. The Good Lord has deigned fit to give us this lovely day to adore him.”

No mention of the daily weather forecasts and the fact that they had been studied for weeks to  ensure this lovely, God given dry weather.

“On your knees, children.”  Miss Hillen, the headmistress possessed one of those loud, strident voices, which vibrated through every eardrum, and poured into dark corners  to extract malingers and frighten little souls into submission. The children dropped rather than sank gracefully to the ground, their fear was so great. All except Teresa. So intent had she been on picking daisies from the grass and so terrified of what she saw there, that Miss Hillen’s voice was indistinguishable from the roaring in her head. The child froze. Her tiny knees were not going to touch that grass, she was sure of that She would run first, run home, home where it was safe, home where there were none of the slithery, slimy, sliding, squirmy fat pink worms, entwining, circling, climbing over each other on the ground at her feet.

“Teresa Killen, down on the grass now,” Miss Hillen shrieked over the heads of the crowd. “Now, do you hear me?”

Slowly Teresa’s paralysis broke  and she looked at her friend.

“Claire, don’t you see them? On the grass. Crawling worms. Hundreds of them. Really. Say you see them Claire.”

But Claire shook her head, concern for her close friend lending her courage, and standing she clasped Teresa’s hand.

“Girls, girls! Kneel now or the cane for you.” Miss Owens joined in the threats. Teresa knew that if she lowered her eyes she would see them again, coiling and curling like slippery eels, ugly slick mini monsters. But she wouldn’t allow her friend to suffer on her account, so keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Claire’s face she slowly bent and knelt among them.

There is no after to this story. Imagined horrors or not, over excitement perhaps being the cause, the terror in that child’s heart on that day in 1960 was very real and very terrifying. She feared the creatures but loved her friend more. Neither her teachers nor her parents ever knew about the trauma she suffered. Did she faint? Was the unmitigated horror too much and was the memory of that day lanced from her   mind. She succumbed to untold horrors and revulsion without sound, without protest. Did the bouts of depression which haunted her adult life take root on that fateful day?

 

 

BELFAST CITY CENTRE – SOUNDS OF TRAFFIC, HORNS BLARING AND OUR INTREPID TOUR GUIDE (KEN) TOUTING FOR BUSINESS. PASSER BY NAMED SEAN, HECKLING. BUS DRIVER NAMED LIAM

KEN: C’Mon, Ladies and Gentlemen see the real Belfast, all the sights and sounds of the Big Smoke, good and bad. Twenty quid return and rest assured we will return you here. Won’t leave you stranded in bandit country. Ha, Ha,Ha!!

SEAN: Big Smoke! Are you havin’ a laugh, mucker? You’re standing outside the Europa the most bombed hotel in Belfast. How did ye ever get this job? An English Belfast tour guide. I bet ye don’t stop the bus in some places, ye plonker. Give yer job to somebody who knows the place before yer knees get shaped different, know what I mean,mate?

KEN: (glancing nervously behind him at Europa): Are you threatening me, Sir? I’ll have you know that I know Belfast like the back of my hand.

SEAN: Aye and that’s covered in black hairs. Couldn’t find yer way to yer knuckle.

KEN: Friends in low places, I have. Did more than one tour round this city.

SEAN: Ach, No! No! ye weren’t? Oh, Jesus you were a squaddie! Showing murals and bullet holes round the war zones. Well, you should know where they are, ye fired a lot of them. I’m off! Don’t wanna be caught in the crossfire. See ya around, Bullseye!

KEN: Bullseye?

SEAN:  Aye, you’re a target!

KEN: Yeah yeah!  Roll up, roll up, folks! Take a trip on the big, red bus!

CHINESE VOICE: Excuse, plees, you take us to wall holes?

KEN: Hey, what? What?

(a dozen Chinese voices gabble at once)

CHINESE: Wall holes! PLees.

KEN: Oh, you mean hole in wall, get money out? Right?

(more Chinese chatter)

CHINESE: No, No, wall holes. Guns shoot at soldiers. They miss. Wall holes. Like Dublin post office. Yes!

KEN: Bullet holes! In the wall. Well, I don’t know about that.

JIMMY: Yeah, yeah, you do! Falls Road Library (WHISPERS TO KEN) It’s old. Bound to be a few holes in the walls, and the Beehive bar. My brother got shot in the arse there. Picking shrapnel outta his rear end for months, they were. Passing car, know what I mean.

KEN: Why the hell was his rear end pointing towards the road? No, don’t tell me. No mental pictures please.

JIMMY: Card school, ye pillock.

KEN: (SHOUTING ABOVE GABBLING CHINESE) No problem, Gents. Wall holes it is.

(SOUNDS OF SHUFFLING FEET, CLICKING CAMERAS AND MORE GABBLING)

CHINESE: We get pictures, yes.

KEN: Yeah, yeah, lots of pictures.

CHINESE: Camera is top range. Yasamakaki!

KEN: Aye, well Yasamakaki on down the bus there, please. Or on top, if you prefer.

CHINESE: Up top! Hee, hee! I likee up top!

(CHINESE GIGGLES)

KEN: Jesus, God help me.

JIMMY: On topee! I Likee on topee!

KEN: Shut up!

DEEP VOICE (BEHIND KEN): Make way for His Royal Highness Prince Abdul Harim and entourage.

KEN: What the….?

DEEP VOICE OF ARAB: Prince Abdul Harim wishes to board your vehicle for tour of historic battle sites and colourful graffiti.

JIMMY: Here, you, Maharajah, Them’s not graffiti, them’s art.

ARAB: (IGNORING SEAN) Would there be ample accommodation for the Prince’s Harem.

JIMMY: Harem! Jesus, now I’ve heard it all. One wife not enough for you, Mate.You have to suffer – Hmm!- (COUNTING) one, two, three, Christ eight times. You’re a sadist, so ye are, or a pervert. Wait, hold on there. One for each night and an extra in case you’re feeling energetic. You’ve got your head screwed on, Son and no mistake. You’ll do for me.

KEN: Do you guys not have limos at your disposal? Not that I don’t want the custom, mind you.

ARAB: Ten other wives have gone shopping. The Prince is not pleased. Western fashion offends his fragile sensibilities.

(CLATTER AS JIMMY FALLS OF HIS PERCH)

JIMMY: Couldn’t be that fragile with frigging 18 wives. I’d be at death’s door but what a way to go! (DREAMILY)

KEN: (SIGHING) Hop on. We’ll scour the battlefields.

JIMMY: (GETTING OFF THE FLOOR) I’m even knackered thinking about it. What next? Blimey, who or what is this?

ITALIAN VOICE: Buon Giorno, Senors. I may come aboard, Si. Why those lovely ladies have their faces hidden. I can see by their eyes they are beautiful.

KEN: Get on the bus, please. Right Jimmy on our way.

SOMETIME LATER –  HALFWAY THROUGH TOUR. CLICKS OF CAMERA, WHISPERINGS OF EIGHT WIVES, SOUNDS OF COMMAND FROM HIS HIGHNESS.

ITALIAN: Beautiful lady in black, your eyes speak volumes. Please may I sit with you and drown in their depths.

JIMMY: You’ll be drowning in the Lagan, Mate if you make another move over there.

ITALIAN: But she shouldn’t be covered. It is her destiny to be loved to distraction. I have the gigolo’s skills to send her into a paroxysm of ecstasy.

JIMMY:   You’re sending her where, Mate. I think her hubby would rather have her where he can see her. She’s going nowhere.

ITALIAN: You misunderstand, my friend.

JIMMY: Don’t think so, Son. Sit down and don’t rock the boat. Calm your pecker or end up talking with a high voice. That’s my advice.

ARAB: You have insulted The Prince whose sexual prowess is legendary in his country. We will duel.

ITALIAN: Duel! But, Si, I love to sing. We will start with Amore.

(LAUNCHES INTO EXPRESSIVE RENDITION OF AMORE)                                         

JIMMY: I think he meant DU-ELL not DU-ETT, Guiseppe.

ITALIAN: My name is not Guiseppe, you imbecile.

(SOUND OF SCREECHING BRAKES)

JIMMY: What did you just call me, Eyetie?

KEN: Now folks, just calm down. Everybody sit back down. We are very near to the wall holes – hole walls – bullet holes! And the historic battlefields.

                                                 TOO LATE _ MUCH TOO LATE

(SOUNDS OF FIGHTING BETWEEN IRISH AND ITALIAN COMPLETE WITH THAT COUNTRYS EXPLETIVES, CLICKING CAMERAS AND LOUD ARAB VOICE PROCLAIMING:  Ladies, we are leaving this den of sin. This is not for your eyes or ears. Come, My Liege.

KEN: (sighing)   Hello, is that the police and ambulance. Maybe even fire brigade. Help please.