First, the bad news. Not for love nor money will you get tickets for the highlight, CLANNAD, fronted by Moya Brennan, next Friday night. I was really looking forward to this concert, but I too was slow (all tickets went on the internet and were snatched up like hot buns.)
Tickets for all other events (at least, as I write) are available. We booked only one Concert, Zodomo, next Saturday. Zoe Conway, Donal Lunny and Martin O’Connor. What a line-up. I can’t wait. We will attend other concerts, but will go as it suits. There are many alternatives, if any of these end up booked out.
We will go to Setting the Scene at Fiddlers Green (Sun 21 July at 12.00) and take the grandchildren – and a picnic – as always. The same evening we return to attend 10X9, where nine people have each ten minutes to recount a true story from their lives. [An Cuin]. Always a highlight for us six! Then a pint in INF (with a session) before we return home.
Monday, it’s Sionan Murphy at the Lunchtime Folk Club, followed by Ceili House with my mate Alfie Corr (that’s him on the banjo). That night the Corner House Clan are in the GAA Members Bar. If any energy remains, we will return for that.
That’s enough for now. We have to save some energy for the other seven drunken nights! Tell you later.
My song for you this evening, it’s not to make you sad Nor for adding to the sorrows of this troubled northern land, But lately I’ve been thinking and it just won’t leave my mind I’ll tell you of two friends one time who were both good friends of mine.
Allan Bell from Benagh, he lived just across the fields, A great man for the music and the dancing and the reels. O’Malley came from South Armagh to court young Alice fair, And we’d often meet on the Ryan Road and the laughter filled the air.
There were roses, roses, there were roses, and the tears of the people ran together.
Though Allan, he was Protestant, and Sean was Catholic born, It never made a difference for the friendship, it was strong. And sometimes in the evening when we heard the sound of drums We’d say, “It won’t divide us. We always will be one.”
For the ground our fathers plowed in, the soil, it is the same, And the places where we say our prayers have just got different names. We talked about the friends who died, and we hoped there’d be no more. It’s little then we realized the tragedy in store.
It was on a Sunday morning when the awful news came round. Another killing has been done just outside Newry Town. We knew that Allan danced up there, we knew he liked the band. When we heard that he was dead we just could not understand.
We gathered at the graveside on that cold and rainy day, And the minster he closed his eyes and prayed for no revenge. All of us who knew him from along the Ryan Road, We bowed our heads and said a prayer for the resting of his soul.
Now fear, it filled the countryside, there was fear in every home When a car of death came prowling round the lonely Ryan Road. A Catholic would be killed tonight to even up the score. “Oh, Christ! It’s young O’Malley that they’ve taken from the door.”
“Allan was my friend,” he cried. He begged them with his fear, But centuries of hatred have ears that cannot hear. An eye for an eye was all that filled their mind
And another eye for another eye till everyone is blind.
So my song for you this evening, it’s not to make you sad Nor for adding to the sorrows of our troubled northern land, But lately I’ve been thinking and it just won’t leave my mind. I’ll tell you of two friends one time who were both good friends of mine.
I don’t know where the moral is or where this song should end, But I wondered just how many wars are fought between good friends. And those who give the orders are not the ones to die. It’s Bell and O’Malley and the likes of you and I. ..
There were roses, roses, there were roses, and the tears of the people ran together.
This poignant Sands’ song has become a perennial favourite – with many hearers accepting the simplicity of the equation. Simple – and true in some respects, it fails to tell the whole story. Indeed that may never be told – as evidenced by the duplicity and evasion of both candidates for next Prime Minister of the UK, over their obsession with absolving their ‘security forces’ of all wrongdoing during our Troubles.
But for the efforts of
pioneering researchers, we’d never know the truth. All efforts are made to suppress the work of
such people, especially in the UK and the occupied counties.
Therefore I urge you to watch Unquiet Graves to be screened on RTE1 on Monday week 29 July at 9.35 pm.
This ‘correction’ is posted at 22.50 on July 29 2019. Tonight’s programme “Unquiet Graves” has been postponed for ‘technical’ reasons. I suspect political reasons. If you are determined to see it, you can, at a cost of £3.50 view it via the following link. https://www.journeyman.tv/film/7506/unquiet-graves Good luck!
Director Sean Murray’s documentary of the story of the Glenanne Gang is a must-see.
More than 120 of our friends and neighbours in Armagh and Tyrone were brutally slaughtered by this combination of RUC and UDR men, British soldiers and loyalist paramilitaries. Among newly aired allegations is one that British intelligence tried to get the UVF to attack a Catholic Primary School in Co Armagh, in supposed retaliation for the Kingsmills massacre.
The airing of this
documentary will not result in closure, but it is a step on the way.
Boris will see it as the
hounding of ‘our selfless heroes’.
In Newry Town I was bred and born
In Steven’s Green now I’ll lie in scorn
I served my time at the saddler’s trade
And I always was a roving blade
At seventeen I took a wife
And I loved her dearer than I loved my life
And for to keep her both fine and gay
I went a-robbing on the King’s highway
I’ve never robbed any poor man yet
Nor any tradesman caused I to fret
But I robbed Lords and their Ladies fine
And I carried their gold home to my heart’s delight
To Covent Garden I took my way
With my dear wife for to see the play
Lord Fielding’s men, they did me pursue
And taken was I by that cursed crew
My father cried “My darling son”
My wife, she cried “I am undone”
My mother tore her white locks and cried
That in the cradle I should have died
When I am dead, aye, and for my grave
A flashy funeral pray let me have
Six highwaymen for to carry me
Give them broadswords and sweet liberty
Six pretty fair maids to bear my pall
Give them white ribbons and green garlands all
When I am dead, they may speak the truth
“He was a wild and a wicked youth”
In Newry Town I was bred and born
In Steven’s Green now I’ll lie in scorn
I served my time at the saddler’s trade
And I always was a roving blade.
One knows one is ageing fast when yesterday’s happenings are
surreal, like a dream, quickly forgotten, yet events of 50 years ago shine
brightly in one’s memory.
Today’s Irish News, ON THIS DAY column, recounts the events
surrounding a Peoples Democracy protest in Armagh City on July 11 1969. Despite the detail below, I remember it for
two reasons :
1. This was my first
direct confrontation with the extremism and bitterness of loyalism, led of
course by the great Satan himself, Ian Paisley – and I was shocked and very
scared, knowing that these counter-demonstrators would like nothing better than
to attack and severely injure – if not kill – us, for demanding One Man One
Vote and equal rights and treatment. There was no doubt whatsoever that the police –
RUC – were on their side and, but for the TV cameras, would also like such a
result.
2. One of our number,
my school colleague and friend from Derrybeg Estate Newry, Gerry Ruddy, was
accompanied by a young Queens student, Briege, from The Bone, Ardoyne, North
Belfast, and the two were inseparable and very much in love. As always, the human story was more
meaningful to me.
I am happy to report that they married soon after, reared a
family and are together to this day.
Briege was a lovely girl, is a fine lady and occasionally makes the
headlines this time of year, representing the interests of the much beleaguered
residents of the Holy Land. Anyway, the
story from the newspaper follows …
Four members of Armagh
Civil Rights Committee, including Senator Garry Lennon, leader of the
Nationalist Party in the Senate, staged an all-night sit-in at Armagh City
Hall.
This followed clashes in the streets between members of Peoples Democracy and the police. About 200 PD supporters staged an impromptu march.
When they reached the
top of Scotch Street, which leads to a Protestant area (sic!) they were
confronted by 30 policemen And three Land Rovers.
Scuffles broke out and
stones and bottles were thrown.
Two PD members were
reported to have been slightly injured.
Karen couldn’t quite believe her good fortune. It had been her ambition since childhood to
carve for herself a career in front of the TV cameras. To that end she had taken elocution lessons,
attended Drama School for three years, fared well academically and even
acquired a few diplomas – some with commendation – along the way.
Hundreds had applied for the advertised post of Assistant BBC TV
Newsreader and only five had been shortlisted for interview. And she was one!
Why me? She wondered idly as she waited to be called. Perhaps it was my qualifications, my
experience, maybe they were impressed with the newsreading rehearsal video I
sent, perhaps even my appearance. She
discretely withdrew a make-up mirror from her purse to examine her image.
On the advice of her father, she had opted for an understated charcoal grey suit, with knee-length skirt, an open-necked white blouse, buttoned to the neck, and a ‘sensible’ pair of slip-on black (flat) shoes.
Her father – a long-retired radio (yes.. just radio .. she’d go one
better!) announcer, and her best friend, had tutored her on all aspects of the
interview and prospective profession, though, she reflected carefully, things
might just have changed a little since his day.
..
“I knew your father, way back in the day – when I first started!”
confided the bespectacled grey suit (colour-matching her own !!) across the
city desk from her. He watched for her
reaction.
‘He pulled strings!’ Karen thought, and was certain that her eyes
betrayed her emotions. She quickly
recovered and smiled sweetly, nodding demurely.
“The bad old days!” the suit continued. Again her eyes gave her away.
“Can you roll your R’s ?” he suddenly spurted. Karen panicked. As she covered her alarm with another demure
smile, she asked herself: Did he just say R’s ?
Or .rs. ?
“Roland Rat rode rigorously round the ring road”, she enunciated in
her best plummy Estuary Accent and elocution voice, emphasising each R as she
rolled her tongue in the middle of her mouth, and shaped her lips in a perfect
O.
“No! No! No!” he cried in clear dismay. “I mean, like Naomi Campbell on the catwalk, or Rachel Riley on Countdown!
Rachel Riley
“And forget the fake so-called BBC newsreader accent. That was back in the 1950-70s, in your father’s day. Now you gotta sound like … well .. for example .. Steph McGovern!”
As she struggled to cover her dismay and alarm, he leaned discreetly
forward and punched a button on the machine before him.
A dreadful cacophony of noise erupted, splitting the room and piercing
her ears. A frenzied drummer was
hammering out rolls and riffs, punctuated with crashing cymbals while the brass
section – trumpets, sax, trombones and horn – was giving free vent to its
collective musical creativity.
“Go ahead!” said the suit. “Read the news from the sheet in front of
you. ABOVE the sound of the intro. You’ll
have to adopt a high-pitched falsetto tone – just to be heard above the
musicians.” And he smiled. He actually
smiled. He was enjoying this.
“And for heaven’s sake, undo the top three buttons of that blouse,
relax and give us some flash of cleavage!
And accent the words completely at random: Breathe in all the wrong places: If there’s a number in there, put heavy
emphasis of the first syllable (THOUS
..ands) to grab the audience’s attention.
We need a bit of interpretation in the news today!” He paused.
“Have you got all that?” He
allowed one second for her reaction, which didn’t come in that short time.
“You’re only getting this interview as a favour to your father! You appreciate that?”
That was it. Karen could take
no more and she burst out crying. She
hastily fetched a tissue from her purse to wipe away her tears.
The suit jumped to his feet, beaming, his eyes alight with excitement.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed.
“Exactly! Our audience just LOVES
to see emotional reaction like that! By
the way, was that natural or affected?”
Yesterday evening my wife and I attended Julie’s superb concert in Rosemary St First Presbyterian Church, which featured also her husband Eamon Doorley AND John McIntyre and Zoe Conway – who are also husband and wife.
There was an autumnal feel for the unveiling of the signage on the William Alexander Davis Garden on Monday 12th November 2018 but there were smiles on the faces of everyone involved. Volunteers and staff from Clanrye Group and members of Newry 2020 came together for the erection of the sign naming the garden as the ‘William Alexander Davis Garden’.
Back: Judith Poucher (Clanrye Group Deputy Manager), Connor McClorey, James Thompson, Lee Kearney, Amy Moore, Jonny McCullagh (Newry 2020), Adam Boswell
Front: Jackie Campbell (Regener8 Co-ordinator), Dara O’Hagan (Manager of Youth and Family Service), Tony McAteer (Regener8 Co-ordinator), Shannon Laffin, Liam Devine (Manager Clanrye Group), Caoimhe Quinn, Leah Stuttard (Admin), John McCullagh, Garry McElherron (Newry 2020), Shane Smith (Tutor).
Local historian John McCullagh, who provided the inspiration for the naming of the garden, described the effects of the ‘Great Famine’ in Ireland 170 years before when the destitute flocked to Newry Workhouse. The conditions for the poor in the workhouse were forbidding with the only positives in the records of the time about William Alexander Davis who championed nutrition and health for the inhabitants of Newry Workhouse.
There is a stark difference in the before-and-after photos of the old subway steps at the junction of High Street and North Street. The steps had been closed off for decades and left derelict by the DfI/Roads Service. In an effort to improve the eye-sore, Newry 2020 members Garry McElherron and Jonny McCullagh obtained funding from Newry BID and ‘Live Here, Love Here’ to transform the steps into a terraced garden.
Difficulties in bringing the garden to fruition included challenges with ownership, permission, insurance and ultimately the difficulty in finding building expertise to complete the project within the budget.
The Clanrye Group volunteers (pictured here) led by Tony McAteer exceeded all expectations within the tight budget to produce a pleasant garden admired by many passers-by. The subway is a busy route for pedestrians from the car park on North Street to shops on Hill Street.
The success of this small project would not have been possible without the support of Newry BID and local retailers. Speaking about the project Eamonn Connolly described “the pride of Newry people in ensuring a vibrant environment to work, shop and live”. Nicola Fitzsimons of ‘Live Here, Love Here‘ described the funding of the project as demonstrating “the Adopt-A-Spot concept, taking something run down and making it into something beautiful … the group have demonstrated incredible tenacity with this project to overcome every barrier”.
