{"id":3051,"date":"2015-02-24T08:10:19","date_gmt":"2015-02-24T08:10:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.longkeshinsideout.co.uk\/?p=3051"},"modified":"2015-02-24T08:10:19","modified_gmt":"2015-02-24T08:10:19","slug":"colin-a-story-by-primo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.longkeshinsideout.co.uk\/?p=3051","title":{"rendered":"Colin: A story by Primo"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u2018Colin\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

1975 in Belfast was a violent year. Many people died due to the troubles, many more were wounded both physically and mentally.\u00a0 This is the story of one of those victims. \u00a0For reasons outlined later Im not using his real name.\u00a0 Slightly older than myself I recall him from my school days. A bit chubby,\u00a0 easy going\u00a0 and very quiet. Not one of us who run the streets kicking football, collecting for the boney and later drinking cider up the local entry. He lived with his mum. One night he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was hit by an IRA bullet. One other man died. One other was injured. Colin \u00a0had never been in trouble. Had never been in court. But as well as his physical wounds the attack left a terrible mental legacy. Colin\u00a0 had what we called in the old days a nervous \u00a0breakdown. He was never the same person after the IRA shot him for being at a pub door.\u00a0 Undoubtedly an innocent bystander, an unfortunate,\u00a0 collateral damage, just the way things were. No apology was offered to him or his mother.\u00a0 His physical wounds healed but it was obvious that Colin had changed greatly and was not coping.\u00a0 Colin would never marry, never have children, never have a full time job, and never go on a big holiday.<\/p>\n

Only for his mother I wonder what would have become of Colin. His mother was a small, quiet, house proud ,working class Belfast woman. I most often saw her out brushing and sweeping the front of her home. Her neighbour was a good friend of our family. She lived yards from my parents.\u00a0 It was a tight knit community were people knew each other over decades. I would stop and chat with her and ask about Colin. A stable form of routine and stability had been established. Colin was a real Linfield man. He would go watch a match then go for a drink,\u00a0 then home. His mother done all the cleaning, \u00a0cooking and everything else.<\/p>\n

Colin \u00a0then started to sport a beard.\u00a0 When we talked I would be teasing and slagging about the blues. (Despite being a supporter myself!) I then started to tease him about the beard. Which actually suited him.\u00a0 If he had the correct attire he would remind me of some pictures of Henry VIII.\u00a0 We had some discussion about his excessive drinking of Coke. This, \u00a0despite the diabetes that he had developed.\u00a0 It all came crashing to an abrupt end in 1994. I lived close by and someone came to the door to say that Colins mother had taken seriously ill and was in hospital. \u00a0Eventually I got talking to Colin \u00a0and he explained as best he could. I offered to go to the RVH with him.\u00a0 His mum was in bed unconscious and hadn\u2019t spoken since admission. The nurse was keen to talk to me and ask various questions. Obviously they had assessed the mental state of Colin \u00a0and wanted someone else as a contact.\u00a0 I gave my contact details.
\nIt was explained that the mother had suffered a major stroke and was not expected to survive. I stood beside Colin \u00a0at the bedside. He looked puzzled. \u00a0He wasn\u2019t given to expressing how he was feeling.<\/p>\n

He simply said that he mum wasn\u2019t well. I agreed and tried to explain the situation. I was unsure as to his level of comprehension.\u00a0 Eventually we went home. I asked if he was OK and he said yes. I returned home to my wife and children. No sooner had I got into bed than the phone rang and it was the RVH. Please get Colin up here asap.\u00a0 Up out of bed, \u00a0dragging clothes on, grabbling car keys. Rapping and kicking Colins door. \u00a0Urging him to hurry. It was late and thankfully with next to no traffic. I may \u00a0have went through some red lights?\u00a0 I was prepared to take the consequences but I needed Colin \u00a0to see his mum. While she was still alive.<\/p>\n

It was too late. She had died peacefully. We told Colin quietly. I will never forget that scene. Colin was standing beside his mother\u2019s bed. The ward was deathly quiet. And dark. I walked away to give Colin \u00a0some privacy to say whatever he had to say.\u00a0 He turned to me and said,\u00a0 \u2018my mums sleeping\u2019.\u00a0 I just agreed.\u00a0\u00a0 Eventually we had to go home. I rang my wife and said I was staying with Colin \u00a0for that night. Then another bombshell.\u00a0 There had been a major falling out in the family and there was no one to take over the situation.\u00a0 I took work off the next day.\u00a0 Undertaker,\u00a0 hospital, \u00a0register death, check insurance policies, make lunch, pick a coffin, contact friends, death notice in the Tele.\u00a0 I was watching for any signs that Colin was not coping with this but he seemed unperturbed and strangely calm.\u00a0 The funeral came and went. It was with pride that I think back to the circle of friends and mates that Colin had.\u00a0 Collectively we helped him through. That circle of friends would be needed again.<\/p>\n

What now?<\/p>\n

Colin carried on in his home\u00a0 with good \u00a0outside support around cleaning and cooking. And he got back to a routine which was important for him. Neighbours kept an eye out. I dropped the bantering and teasing. We spent a bit more time talking to him but his general health started to fail. One day I was told that Colin was in the City hospital. His stays in hospital were becoming more frequent. When I visited him I felt he was a bit failed. Some weight loss? We went out of the ward to a visitor\u2019s room where he told me that he had MRSA.\u00a0 This was when MRSA was making its way into the public consciousness and was seen as akin to the black plague.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t seem to fuss or upset him. Then again nothing seemed to fuss him.\u00a0 I had never heard him bewail his situation. Or curse fate. Or wish it all away. No moaning,\u00a0 no self-pity or\u00a0 bitterness.<\/p>\n

The inevitable came and Colin died of a range of issues. \u00a0The ceasefires had come into being but far, far too late for Colin.\u00a0 Again friends rallied round. The small funeral parlour service was packed.\u00a0 Out at the cemetery we buried Colin with his mother. I think she would be happy with that.\u00a0 Her only child was now back with her. She spent her lifetime looking after him.\u00a0 And now,\u00a0 together for ever.<\/p>\n

There are no poems or songs about Colin. There were no TV people\u00a0 or journalists asking about his story.\u00a0 No name on a wall plaque. No bands with his name emblazoned on a drum. A Google search does not produce one mention of the man or his life.\u00a0 Another forgotten victim of the troubles.\u00a0 His story is part of the price paid by so many no matter where they came from.\u00a0 The unseen and unmeasured suffering\u00a0\u00a0 that dominated so many lives. The IRA men were caught and imprisoned for life.\u00a0 They were all out by the time Colin\u2019s mother had died. Colin didn\u2019t die that dark cold night in \u201975 \u00a0but in a way his future died.\u00a0\u00a0 Maybe we should tell the story of everybody hurt through the troubles?\u00a0 Get away from the hierarchy of victims.\u00a0 Drop the them and us?\u00a0 See the person and not the label?<\/p>\n

Primo<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Share\"\/<\/a>