A short poem from someone who was an eye witness to those terrible events of forty years ago…..
One Friday in Late July…..
A schoolboy running errands—a milkman doing his round
A bustling city hard at work—just like other Irish towns
Kids at play, on a summer day, beneath a faultless azure sky
At the end of play on that fateful day, the question asked was—Why?
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The Men Behind The Ire
Isn’t it strange to be reading and hearing of the many republicans who feel as if they have been shafted by the modern day Provisional/Sinn Fein. Accusations levelled at SF include—misleading the general Nationalist population—selling out—becoming West Brits under Stormont’s roof—all adding up to the allegations of treason. Gerry Adams and his cohorts are blamed for leading their constituents and followers a merry dance and basically using them for their own selfish ends. How ironic is this? Over forty years ago many young men from the Loyalist working classes were duped by their vociferous sabre rattling representatives who marched the masses right to the top of the hill–but luckily remained at the bottom themselves. The moniker—The Grand Old Duke of York—was duly bestowed upon one of those most actively involved in this practice.
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McGladdery’s Last Night
Mid-winter-a few short days to Yuletide
Lies back upon a single bunk and stares at a grimy mottled ceiling
Hands behind head—a now familiar pose—practised often lately
Thinking of a night eleven months ago—and recalling evil feelings.
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THE TWELFTH MORNING—TEMPLEMORE AVENUE
Bunting, fluttering, skipping in the early morning draught
A long lonely note of a fife carried on the breeze
Strong smell of burnt wood drifting– catching every breath
Bleary eyed and weary we head towards the assemblage in the Avenue.
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For most young working class loyalists the routine would have been the same: When school finished st the end of June the period between then and the eleventh night centered around the “boney”. Most of your waking hours were spent there and sometimes you slept in the hut as well–guarding the wood from raiders. You took a piece out of the house–jam and bread–Veda and cheese–and stayed there till all hours. You became so attached that when bonfire night came round you didnt want to see the wood being burned………………
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Where Now?
Where now the No Surrender men
Where now their cries of Never?
Where now the pledges cheaply made,
Without the courage to deliver?
Where now the hands that would not shake,
The bloody hands of slaughter?
Where now the papers boastfully waved
For guns that would not utter?
Where now the wavers of the flag,
Where now the ranks of marchers?
Where now the Resistance Red berets?
All sold out by your masters.
All sold for riches, power and fame
Lie betrayed the cannon fodder
Misused, disowned, shamefully cast aside
In exchange for Stormont’s plunder.
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The Titanic Boys Preview
On Friday last I was lucky enough to attend a short preview of the forthcoming Martin Lynch play—The Titanic Boys due to open up in the Opera House in August this year. Originally entitled-The Guarantee Boys-the drama tells the true story of four young Harland and Wolff apprentices who were handpicked to sail on the ill fated vessel to ensure the smooth running in the various departments. They were actually selected by Thomas Andrews himself just weeks before the Titanic sailed. Although this was only in preview form the short 15 minute excerpt was moving and powerful enough to anticipate the full length version. The four young actors on show were a delight and performed the short piece with commendable vigour. As well as Lynch’s expected informative and witty script to look forward to there is an added bonus of a musical input. And like the Dancing Shoes drama—George Best story—from 2010 Martin has employed a top class collaborator in J.J. Gilmour. The two songs performed in this review certainly live up to the standards of Dancing Shoes and hopefully are the sign of things to come. Some of the other cast members and production team were in the invited audience and there was a palpable air of anticipation. Although not performing on the day, seasoned local actors like Paddy Jenkins and Jimmy Doran were “ champing at the bit “. Martin Lynch has nothing to prove within the theatre world of Northern Ireland and at times has had the audiences here eating out of his hand and begging for more. From Chronicle of Long Kesh to The History of the Troubles—from Dancing Shoes to Dockers he rarely fails to hit the heights. It is my opinion that come August we may be party to his greatest creation yet.
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(An article originally written for the Arts Council)
This is not a piece about Loyalist art per se. Rather,
it is the narrative that explains Loyalist’s contribution to art in all its forms and how art influenced the thinking of incarcerated Loyalists. Our thinking, which underpins the reasons to write this piece, is that it is important that this narrative gets its rightful position in the annals of history and has the opportunity to challenge the typical Loyalist stereotypes.
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