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Ann Allan: Memories No 11 London Here we Come.

Posted on 20/04/201509/08/2021 by Chatter

1967: Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association founded in Belfast

In September 1967 I agreed to go on a holiday to London with one of my flat mates. Her sister lived in Clapham and she was very happy to put us up for the fortnight. My romance was still going strong but the temptation to see London was so great that I was able to leave him for a couple of weeks. We booked our tickets on the Belfast to Heysham ferry. I think it was around £3 for a return but we were unaware when we booked that we only got a seat out on the deck. However, it was a lovely September night and although we were unable to sleep it was a pleasant crossing. We arrived at Heysham early in the morning and were herded on to a train that would take us to London’s Euston station. If I remember rightly the carriage had to reverse to Morecambe to couple up with our train.

We were running on adrenalin and by the time we had arrived in London we had neither eaten nor slept for eighteen hours. But it didn’t matter. We were overawed by the iconic sights we were seeing as we made our way in a London cab to our destination. We passed the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace and it felt unreal. We were in London in the sixties and it was going to be brilliant. It was the summer of love, flower power the Beatles and Carnaby Street. On arrival at Eileen’s sisters house we collapsed from sheer exhaustion and slept for 3 or 4 hours. On wakening we were so disoriented that we hadn’t a clue where we where. But on hearing a radio broadcasting from the capitol we realised where we where. It all seemed so unreal to two 18 year olds from
Belfast. The following day we couldn’t wait to get out and start exploring. We got directions to the nearest tube station and the route we should take into the centre of London. So we left from the tube station at Camden town on the Northern line, passing through Goodge St and Warren St and changing at Tottenham court on the central line. This took us to Oxford Circus and central London. We headed for Oxford St and were amazed at the number of people and the different nationalities we encountered.

Laughing I said to my friend “we’ll never meet anyone we know here in the middle of Oxford Street. ” Two minutes later we met a young man from Newry who was working at Broadcasting house. He was as surprised as I was. We had been friends back home during our school days. His name was Edgar Martin and he went onto work for the Beeb in Belfast.
The mini skirt was just becoming fashionable in Northern Ireland in 1967 but the problem was that with stockings and suspenders they were neither modest nor practical to wear. So it was with great excitement we purchased our first pair of tights in one of Oxford street’s large department stores. Oh the joy of dispensing with the roll on and stockings and the great feeling of comfort with tights. I brought my mum a pair even though they were quite expensive. No more worrying about going upstairs with someone trying to look up your skirt. No more looking for a button or threepenny bit ( ladies of a certain age will understand ) and our bottoms were a lot warmer. Not so sure it went down well with the male population. Mary Quant had a lot to answer.

We spent our days visiting the tourist sites and became experts at using the underground. We got caught on two occasions without a ticket. Funds were running low but we pleaded ignorance and got away with it. I loved the underground. The smell and the rush of air as a train was coming. The convenience of getting around. Not so sure I’d feel the same today.

Carnaby street in the 60s was one of my favourite places. The smell of incense, the strange fashions, the music playing. It all added up to create a wonderful sense of the change that was happening in the sixties. As I said it was the era of flower power, hippies and free love. We felt we were so part of the scene . I visited it again many years later but it had changed. Much more commercialised and contrived.
I had my first ever real curry in London. Unfortunately my only experience of a curry was a Vesta curry so I was unprepared for the heat. I had set out to meet my best friend Moira who was living in London at the time. Imagine, negotiating my way round London on my own. She took me to an authentic Indian restaurant and ordered a Vindaloo. I really thought I was going to die. I didn’ t realise that drinking water actually made it worse and with streaming eyes and lobster red faces we both gave up and headed for a Wimpy.

A visit to London had to include a visit to a club. The Whisky a ‘gogo in Wardour St. ( I believe it is now an Irish pub) was decided on. I ‘m not sure we got in there and I think we ended up in the Marquee club. From what I remember it was bright and garish with a lot of red plastic chairs. I’m surprised at 18 we were allowed in. We sat down and I think we had an nonalcoholic drink. A young man of African descent sat down beside me and started chatting. He told me he was an African prince. His father was a king back in Nigeria and he was in London looking for a wife. Although I don’t think I was the one he was looking for the title of Princess Ann was quite appealing.

A visit to Epson where I lost a shilling on a horse was another highlight. It was the first and last time I have ever been to a race course but it was exciting even though a shilling was a lot to lose in 1967.
After an exhilarating fortnight it was time to head back to Belfast. The gods and the weather, however, were not on our side on the way home. A force 8 gale meant that sitting out on the deck wasn’t possible so we were allowed inside. I spent most of the night lying on the floor in the ladies being sick and praying that the boat would sink. When we reached the lough and the boat stopped swaying it was like heaven.

As I was going home to Rostrevor (there was only one phone call home in the two weeks so, I had to see the parents), I had to make my way from the docks to Gt. Victoria St in order to catch a bus to Newry. I think I had enough money left to get a taxi to the station. I must have dropped off to sleep on the bus because I awoke to see two young boys on their way to school gazing at me over the edge of the seat. One was asking the other if he thought I was dead. By the time I reached home I was beginning to wish I was but it was worth itevery minute of it. And mum loved her tights.

Fighting Homophobia

Posted on 15/04/201528/04/2021 by Chatter

I think I have always known that my Grandson was gay. From a very early age he loved to dress up. He hated getting dirty and he didn’t like playing outdoor games. He tended to make friends with girls as he found boys too rough. It was at the back of my mind, as I compared him to his cousin, that he might be gay. His school friends loved the rough and tumble of games. They didn’t care how muddy or dirty they got. And at that young age they hated girls. So it didn’t come as a great surprise when I discovered that my Grandson had announced to his parents that he was gay. He cried as he told them and his parents cried with him. Not because they had any problems with him being gay but because they knew the prejudice he was going to have to deal with as he made his way through life. There was the worry as to whether he would be bullied at school, attacked by homophobes or whether he would be ostracised by relations and so-called friends.

His grandfather and I have no problems with his sexuality and like his parents and close family will love and support him in every way. I’m writing this so that those who say that homosexuality is a lifestyle choice need to think again. My Grandson has not chosen his lifestyle. Christians who condem homosexualitiy as a sin should consider that if you do believe in God, then you obviously believe that he is a caring and loving God. Who are you to judge? I seem to remember a quote from the bible which says ” Judge not, lest you be judged” So when you spout your anti gay rants in future, or you vote for conversion therapy, remember young adults like my Grandson may be listening. What you may say, could, through his naïevite, affect the way he feels, and could scar him for life.

Please also tell your children not to taunt or bully anyone who is different. He/she may not have come to terms with their sexuality and are confused. Please don’t make it worse for them. I am asking this as a fellow parent and grandparent and more importantly as a fellow human being. So we will love our Grandson, we will treat him as we treat his his cousins and we will try to protect him from narrow-minded religious bigots who live in this country and from the religious fundamentalists who unfortunately still hold power in Northern Ireland.

Author’s name has been withheld to protect identity.

http://rainbow-project.org

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Ann Allan: Open Government Network NI.

Posted on 11/04/201511/09/2023 by Chatter

“Citizens are demanding that the state should be their servant and that information that governments hold should be open for everyone to see.”

Rt Hon.Francis Maude MP Last year I wrote a blog on vixenswithconvictions.com about my reasons for joining the open Government Network in Northern Ireland. They are probably different reasons why others joined and I won’t go over them again. You can however read them here… http://vixenswithconvictions.com/2014/10/25/ann-allan-why-im-going-to-malone-house/

Suffice to say that I hadn’t a clue what I was getting in to but as they say in Norn Iron I went along for the craic. I didn’t know what it was about nor what I was expected to do. So I did what any sane person would do and for the first couple of meetings and kept my mouth shut. I was afraid that I might say something stupid but I soon learned a lot of what was being discussed was common sense. When I got round to stuttering my first question and nobody batted an eye lid I knew that this was something to which I could contribute. Age and experience are a great asset when facing an unknown scenario. So what in simple terms is it all about and how can we as citizens find out what decisions are being taken on our behalf? I see it as an attempt to gain insight as to what goes on behind the closed doors of Stormont and our local councils. I think our elected representatives need to be much more accountable for their actions? Don’t you? We have seen from recent television programmes such as Spotlight that we certainly need more transparency as to where tax payers money is going. Do you ever stop and wonder “Why in the world would any one decide that” or ” I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when that decision was made.” At the launch in Malone House Felicity Huston brought to our attention a subject that caused some amusement but is a problem for many residents of East Belfast. Dogs that for years were allowed to roam freely in the Stormont estate were without rhyme or reason now confined to walking on the lead. Various attempts were made to find out from those that made the decision what the reasoning was behind it but to date to no avail. Not a matter of life and death I hear you, say but a major bugbear for the dog walkers of the area and of course the dogs. We had a very successful launch on the 5th November. Don’t think there was any significance in the date. We hope to use more persuasive methods than gunpowder to encourage our MLAs to be more open with their citizens. There was an excellent turnout. Simon Hamilton, the Northern Ireland finance minister,even came along. He conjured up a picture of men in white coats when he informed us that he had set up a Public Sector innovation lab. This ‘lab’ would explore the feasibility of open policy making. Ok, my hopes were somewhat dashed as I thought the men in white coats could be planning an intervention at Stormont. Peter Osborne and Paul Braithwaite both of whom have been responsible, with others, for progressing the open government network were present . Peter had carried out face to face interviews with those local politicians who had agreed to take part in a survey regarding awareness of open government action plans. However out of 22% of those interviewed only 4% were actively involved. Sort of reinforces the notion that they want to make decisions with the least possibly scrutiny. There have been some very productive meetings since then and a temporary steering committee has been set up. We are in the process of choosing office bearers and also identifying an organisation to take on the function of a network secretariat over the next two years at least. We are still at the embryonic stage but hope to give birth to a fully formed and effective organisation. We need assistance to grow and strengthen. This is how you can help. We need volunteers. We will need help in spreading the word. How? I hear you asking. Well, maybe you would like to go along to your local council meetings and tweet what is happening. Perhaps you are good at communicating information and could attend our workshops or give talks to local organisations. You may have ideas to promote and support the network. So if you would like to help make our elected officials more accountable to you as a citizen and you have a few hours to spare, or if you just want to know more, click on to http://wp.me/p2MI58-1S for more information.

http://youtu.be/eDCKGqA3eq0

http://www.nicva.org/article/new-open-data-culture-northern-ireland Andrea Thornberry

Ann Allan – My Thoughts On Open Government Network NI Launch

Ann Allan: Why Cavemen Didn’t Have Sore Backs

Posted on 08/04/201506/07/2015 by Chatter

I have a feeling that stone age man didn’t suffer from back pain. Why would I think that? Well there were, I think, many advantages to life in a cave. Lets face it compared to what modern man has to put up with, life must have been a doddle. My reasons are:

1. The absence of social media meant that there was no sitting hunched up over a computer, iPad or iPhone waiting for a new follower or for someone to retweet or favourite your tweet. You just stood outside your cave and surveyed the land. A few ‘ugs’ to a passer-by and all was well. No backache involved.

2. There were no supermarkets. The pain that has to be endured to carry fully laden bags of food that will be out of date before you can eat them is excruciating. Even worse if you can’t get your car parked on the pavement in front of the main door. The pain as the plastic bag wraps its way round your fingers, cutting off the blood supply. In the Stone Age all you had to do was wander out with your bow and arrow, shoot a mammoth, drag it back to your cave, dissect it and salt the parts to see you through the winter.

3. Think about those ‘soft, mould to your body ‘ mattresses. You sink in and your body becomes really relaxed. Result: you don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. Stone Age man plonks himself down on a mammoth skin on the floor. Next morning can’t wait to get up and out in search of something to do.

4. High heels. Have you seem the heels some of us have to walk on? They look as if they wouldn’t support a fly but still we balance precariously, risking the damage we are doing to our backs. All in the name of fashion. We are martyrs to the discomfort. Our cave dwelling cousins wrapped their feet in a piece of leather or went barefoot as nature intended. As my old granny used to say if we were meant to wear shoes we’d be born wearing Jimmy Choos.

5. There were no Stone Age pubs. No lifting heavy pint glasses to down a pint of Guinness or beer. Puts a strain on the back all that heavy lifting.
6. Almost every house has a comfortable couch, usually positioned in front of a TV. Couch potatoes are those that slouch in chairs not moving for long periods. Bad posture causes bad backs. Cave dweller on the other hand soon got fed up looking at the cave walls and went for a walk.
7. Carry outs and fast food outlets can cause back pain. The extra weight attributed to eating fast foods puts pressure on the spine. I imagine the diet of our Stone Age ancestors, mostly berries and an occasional piece of meat, kept then thin and fit.

8. Have a cold, pop a pill. Have a headache, pop a pill. Thankfully we don’t need to suffer, but medication, especially steroids can weaken bones resulting in, you guessed it, sore backs. Mrs Caveman had a good excuse when she said she had a headache, she really did.
So there it is. My belief is that ancient man may have been better off in some ways but I think I’d rather put up with my sore back than go back to living in a cave.

Ann Allan: My Update of my Round up of 2014 !!

Posted on 07/04/201521/08/2018 by Chatter

Now that we are a few days into 2015 and all the Christmas decos are down I thought I’d have a look back at 2014. This was the year when I discovered I had one leg shorter than the other, one foot shorter than the other and as a result am now listing to one side. I don’t have to list but I feel I need to compensate. I constantly bump into people in the street as I look in shop windows checking how upright I actually am. My only problem is standing on a slope.

Those of you who have followed previous blogs will know that I am in the process of having implants. No, not breast implants, teeth; I’m getting new teeth. It has been a long process since that first consultation when I heard the bad news that to have the new teeth I had to have all the bottom teeth extracted. You can read what led up to this in my previous blog…………. But on a cold day in November I had the job done. Two had previously been removed. The seven remaining all came out in one go. No knocking out for me. I was a brave little soldier and had them out under local anaesthetic. There were enough injections to ensure I stayed frozen for at least five hours but at least there was no pain. As soon as they were out the dentist shoved a temporary plate in on top of the raw gums assuring me I would get used to them. I have to admit they looked well but felt awful. As a result they are more often out than in and I look more like my granny every day. She’s been dead for 50 years so it’s not a pretty picture. I had great difficulty eating over Christmas so one benefit is that I didn’t put on too much extra weight. Roll on 19 January for next stage of procedure.

Update: Had procedure on 19th January. Got base for implants inserted. Had a mouthful of stitches for two weeks. Hoping to finally get teeth in May. I now speak with a lisp and have the most awful diet as I couldn’t manage the temporary teeth. Roll on May or I’ll be the size of a house.

2014 saw the setting up of the Opengovnetworkni. Got involved by chance but it felt good to be part of it. Too much is hidden from the public re decisions taken by our elected representatives. We, as members of civil society need to be much more involved in decisions and our aim is to try and change things with much more openness and accountability. I have made many new friends through the open network and feel I have, in my own way, contributed to it. Still time to get involved at @opengovni

Update: The newly elected steering committee are having their first meeting on Thursday. I’ve never been on a steering committee before so lots to learn.

We had elections in 2014. I enthusiastically campaigned on the doorsteps for NI21. No need to go into what happened now. I’ll save that for a later date as there is much more to come out as to what actually happened. Watch this space!!

I became a blogger in 2014 for Vixens. I try to be honest and forthright in what I write. Thank you to those who follow and comment. I’ve already told you how my life was devoted to my family for a number of years and I had little interest in what was going on in the ‘outside’ world. I felt that this was my lot and I would never again be a valuable member of society. I feel in my own small way I have achieved something and to the 604 genuine followers I have built up on Twitter, thank you.

Update: I have set up my own Blog site called Chatter.

I don’t know about you but I feel Christmas comes round quicker and quicker every year. It seems like I have just taken the Christmas decorations down when it’s time to put them up again.

Then there are the presents. This Christmas was different from others. When I asked the grandchildren what they wanted for Christmas they couldn’t come up with anything. Why? Because they have everything. They have iPods, iPhone, iPads, Macs, TVs, DVDs, play stations etc., etc. etc. the Wi-Fi flying around their houses must be horrendous. So I bought some surprise presents. Now I don’t know about you but I resent the waste of Christmas wrapping paper. For a few years I used those fancy Christmas bags that cost a couple of pounds in M&S but they were past their best so I looked for an alternative. The alternative was a large black bag, into which I put the pressies unwrapped. When it came to the present giving I dived into the bag and produced a present. Instant gratification, no unwrapping. Everyone saw what the other got and there was no torn paper to gather up. That will go down a treat next year too.

Christmas cards are another bugbear. I haven’t sent any for years. Instead I put a note on Facebook wishing everyone a Happy Christmas and informing them that I’ve put the money that I would have spent on cards and stamps into buying goats. Over the years I’m sure I’ve bought a herd and I have the satisfaction of knowing that a family in Africa will benefit from those goats for years to come. As I tipped the many cards I still receive in the recycling I thought ‘what a waste of money.’

Christmas was a low-key affair. After the present giving on Christmas Eve it was just him and me for dinner on Christmas day. Craigantlet turkeys supplied a delicious Turkey. The fridge was packed. We could have survived for weeks on what was purchased for just the two of us. We wouldn’t normally eat orange and carrot jelly, but we just might so I thought we’d better have it just in case. Actually it was quite refreshing with the turkey salad. With no one to exchange niceties we both pigged out on the reclining chairs with a box of chocs and fell asleep. Bliss.

So now it’s over for another year. What for 2015? As we move into the New Year there is a campaign being mounted to save the Floral Hall. In the late sixties I attended a Manfred Mann concert. It was a freezing night as I recall but the hubby-to-be borrowed the father’s car and we drove up the Antrim Road in style. He was supposed to be playing badminton in Newry but I gave him five shillings towards the petrol and he diverted to Belfast. Mike D’Abo had taken over from lead singer Paul Jones.

The hall was beautiful and I remember the ceiling in particular but at 19 I didn’t appreciate its grandeur. I was in front of the stage and more interested in the group. Not sure whether we went outside for a ciggie or a snog but the doorman wouldn’t let us back in again. We ended up listening to the rest of the concert though an open window at the side of the building. I can now appreciate its Art Deco style and would love to see it restored to its former glory. So Belfast City Council I hope you will give it serious consideration so that a building that holds many memories for the older generation of Belfast can also be appreciated by future generations. Another observation from those days of the Floral Hall, the Astor and the Orpheus. All religions mixed together and nobody queried what religion you were. Venues like this tend to encourage integration.

We also have elections looming. A disillusioned electorate who may or may not vote will again determine our future. Camp Twaddell will probably still be there waiting for a hero. The parade season will begin again and we will continue to chase our tails and not get anywhere. But most of us will get on with the important things in life and to those who do, especially our doctors and nurses, and our police, fire and ambulance services, I hope 2015 brings you all that you want and deserve.

Brian McGregor: Lady Grey.

Posted on 02/04/201502/04/2015 by Chatter

Lady Grey is a 50 year old cutter rigged cruising yacht, built for comfort not for speed. My wife Linda and I have been cruising the West of Scotland with Lady Grey for 16 years. Last year I noticed a slight smell of burning oil coming from the the original 12 horse power Petters oil engine . In March I decide to investigate and so off with the cylinder heads. The bores are a bit worn so the barrels are removed in order to examine the pistons. New pistons and liners are obtained along with some new gaskets and four valve guides.

I fit the pistons and liners, OD Cars look after the heads, Gary Wishart in Ballymena sorts out the injector pumps. The injectors are ok, and soon the engine is going again complete with a new coat of paint. I get a new pair of sailing wellies from Caters and during the first week of May all stores are brought aboard.

Saturday 9th May The grass is cut and we board Lady Grey. After a couple of pints in the club in Carrick we settle down for the night aiming for a 0330 start, planning to anchor off at Glenarm for three hours and take the next tide for Gigha.

Sunday 10th May. As it happens the alarm on my new mobile phone fails and I wake at 0400. We dress hastily and are away by 0415. Cloghan Jetty slips by in daylight and we encounter foul tide at Muck due to the delay. We carry on past Glenarm and proceed Northwards down to three Knots as we tuck into bacon butties. By 1245 (HW Dover) we are making 4.5 knots abeam Rathlin. The sea is smooth and it is a beautiful sunny day. We see several porpoises. Off the Mull we are at mid tide and the GPS indicates nine knots, great stuff! The sky remains cloudless as we pick up a mooring in Ardminish Bay at 1815, fourteen hours out of Carrickfergus.It has been a long day so we dine on board and turn in early.

Monday 11th May It is a glorious morning and although there was some wind coming into the bay during the night, by morning it has eased and the bay is calm. After breakfast we go ashore but first a visit to the shop. Paul left in February and the new owners are a Dutch couple, Rudi and Ali. They are not used to Norn Iron accents yet and my request for a Daily Telegraph produces nil response!

Next off to visit our good friend John Martin at Burnside. As usual his door is unlocked and we go on in. He emerges from the shower, dons his dressing gown and greets us in his usual hearty manner. It is agreed that John will dine with us on board Lady Grey this evening, also if we can locate her, Vi Tulloch, the island sculptress. Meanwhile we go off to visit the Achamore Gardens. This is the first time we have been here in May and the Rhododendrons are magnificent. I take a few photos.

By the time we get back to the shop the papers are in, even a Daily Telegraph.

We proceed to the Hotel for a pint and a look at the crossword. This sailing lark is all very strenuous. Vi is out, so we go back on board to get the cottage pie ready. As we have some time in hand we dinghy to the beach by the old boathouse to sunbathe. Linda has the misfortune to be attacked by a mad collie dog, fortunately it is muzzled and no blood is drawn but it is a scary moment, the dog could have been seriously injured!!

Back on board the coastguard is predicting Easterly 5 to 7 for Wednesday so we decide we will move to Craobh Haven tomorrow. I go ashore to meet up with John and call with Vi, she is delighted to be asked out for dinner and we meet John in the hotel.

Vi is now in her ninetieth year and her sight is failing but she is a rare and gutsy character, getting her on board is made easier as we have brought the boarding ladder this year. Dinner is excellent as usual, Vi enjoys the red wine and reckons it is just the right temperature, the craic is mighty. Vi cruised some years ago with a friend in his Clyde Cruiser Racer and has many exciting tales to tell. Anyway, by 2230 I dinghy the visitors ashore. There is a little concern regarding the two sailors on a nearby yacht who motored off in their dinghy this morning, they have not yet returned,. John will inform the coastguard.

Tuesday 12th May After a quick foray ashore for a paper we cast off and head North. The wind is easterly in the Sound of Jura, quite fresh at times and we make good progress. Corrievreckan, the eddies are spectacular. A call to Croabh is made and we slip into berth B28 at 1750, journey time seven hours and 36 miles covered. In spite of the rather strong wind at times it has been a pleasant sunny day and on our pontoon at Craobh we can barely feel a breeze.

Linda is soon busy in the galley and before you know it John’s razor clams are served with garlic butter. The remainder of yesterday’s mince is turned into patties and goes down well with fresh veg. It is a beautiful settled evening as we call up Sandy and Rhona, our friends who live nearby at Ardfern. We arrange to see them the next day at lunchtime.

Wednesday 13^th May After breakfast we put on the walking gear and proceed over the hill to Ardfern. Sandy is busy concreting-in some posts to form a retaining wall, he is just finishing as we arrive and is washing out the mixer.Soon the wine is opened and we enjoy a bit of chat over a glass or two then lunch of Rhona’s delicious panninis.

We later make a risky decision to visit the yacht haven shop where, sure enough, Linda finds a very nice Joules top. Lady Grey is treated to a new engine battery and Sandy kindly returns us to Craobh in his Volvo.

This evening we dine in Lord Of The Isles, Linda enjoyed her salmon and my pork loin was excellent. If only they would heat the plates!

Anyway, we enjoyed another settled night in Craobh. Tomorrow the Cuan Sound is fair from around 1500 so there is no rush in the morning.

Ann Allan: Memories No 10 Belfast in the late 60’s

Posted on 01/04/201504/07/2024 by Chatter

Thinking back on my days in Belfast in the late sixties brought back many memories as to how alive the city was in those days. After my spell in East Belfast, myself and a few of my friends moved to the university area. Thanks to a sub from my father, we were able to put a months deposit on a flat in Cromwell Road. I think it was a tenner. It was a peculiar setup with us renting the ground and second floor and three other girls had the first floor. The landlady was a buxom woman from Donaghadee, a staunch Presbyterian with a pint-sized husband who followed at heel, occasionally muttering ‘yes dear’. It was obvious within a week we were not suitable tenants. However we had signed a six month lease and we were going nowhere.

Our local drinking hole was the Regency Hotel and many nights saw us heading out for a drink. Unlike today’s youth I had my first drink at 17 and that was either a Dubonnet and white lemonade or a Babysham.
One of our ex Lord Mayors, Dixie Gilmore had a shop on the corner of Lawrence Street. We lived royally on Cadbury’s smash, vegetable roll and baked beans from Dixie’s shop. His beautiful Sri Lankan wife would let us owe a penny or two till the end of the month if our money ran out. Dixie became Lord Mayor in 1987.

Belfast had many good restaurants in the sixties. When payday came around we treated ourselves at the Quic Snac in Shaftesbury Square ( wonderful omelettes). A newly opened restaurant opposite the Black Man called the Scandia was the ‘in’ place to go and the Chicken Maryland and the Strawberry Pavlova ‘ were to die for’. I still miss the Skandia. Other popular eating places were the Chalet D’Or (gorgeous pork chops). Cotters Kitchen ( great home cooking) and the Wimpey Bar in Wellington Place.

Their hamburgers and their waffles were delicious. I think they were the first place to introduce tomato sauce in a plastic tomato. Oh! The sophistication. McD’s were such a disappointment when they arrived. Tasteless meat in cardboard.

Lots of groups visited Belfast in those few years before the troubles started. Older readers will remember Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich, the Troggs, Merseybeats, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Manfred Mann and Cream. The Beach Boys, Gene Pitney I could go on and on.

When there were no groups playing this was the era of the show band. The Astor and the Orpheus echoed to the beat of all the big bands , such as the Freshmen, the Hilton Showband and The Miami Showband ( many members tragically murmured in 1975). I think Monday night was Astor night and Tuesday and Thursday were Orpheus nights. Wednesday night was the Queens Hop in the student union.

Which reminds me of something and I blush even thinking about it. Surprisingly while the future hubby was still at school in Newry and I was up in Belfast I did have a few admirers. One such admirer invited me to a Queens hop and with permission from my beloved I agreed to go. On the day of the hop I’d had a temporary tooth fitted and set off for the hop feeling that it was quite secure. (Why have teeth played such a big part in my life? ) While dancing with my date I noticed he was looking at me peculiarly. As I leaned over to ask what the problem was, my temporary tooth became dislodged and fell on the floor. I felt the colour rise and madly searched the floor for my tooth. It wasn’t hard to see cause in those days they used ultra violet light for effect. The down side was that it showed up everything white including white underwear and yes, a false white tooth. Can you imagine the effect every time I had smiled, my one tooth had been shining like a beacon. No need to ask If ever saw Gerry again. No, not that Gerry!

On another occasion, heading out to the Regency for a drink, I wasn’t ready when everyone started to leave. Just out of a bath ( there were no showers in flats in those days) I hastily pulled on a dress with buttons that opened down the front. No bra. Well I was only 7 stone in those days. Sitting in the Regency I stretched over to lift my drink and the buttons popped and I did my one and only topless to my fellow companions. Oops!! When not out enjoying what the city had to offer we often sat up at night playing whist and poker. Falling into bed at 2 a.m and hearing the alarm go off at 7 am to get up for work or uni. was no joke. Zombie like I crossed the city normally missing the signing in book at work by a few minutes.

Towards the end of our tenancy agreement one of my friends who was at the art college decided to have a music session in the flat. Unfortunately it went round the art college like wildfire. Yes, we managed in those days without Twitter. I think it was called face to face communication. So many turned up they were singing out in the street. Bodhráns, guitars, tin whistles. Boy the craic was ninety. It was like St Patrick’s Day in the Holyland. ( A student enclave in Belfast for readers not familiar with the Holylands). Mrs H was phoned by an irate neighbour and she arrived next morning to find a couple of her armchairs halfway up Cromwell Road and about six squatters of indeterminate character sleeping off hangovers in the front ‘parlour’. We were given our marching orders. The shame of it. Still we were young and within a few days we had secured a new home. I hope she managed to get rid of all those discarded milk bottles in the back yard! We moved in to a beautiful flat in India street, above the late John Anderson, a well known hairdresser in the sixties in Belfast. Another chapter of my live had begun.

ANN ALLAN: HAPPY MEMORIES of EAST BELFAST

Posted on 26/03/201508/09/2022 by Chatter

I arrived in East Belfast in October 1966. I was 17 and apart from an exchange visit to France for a month I had never been away from home on my own. I came from Rostrevor, a small seaside town and I was used to all the comforts of home. I had left school and was lucky to get a job in the Civil Service as a Clerical Officer. Things weren’t going too well at home as I had fallen for a young Scottish protestant. This was not on for a young Irish Catholic girl in those days. It was many years later when tracing my family tree that I discovered that I was not actually native Irish on my father’s side. My ancestors had moved here from Somerset in the 1600 ‘s and intermarried. Oh the irony!

The local Parish Priest had been alerted that one of his flock was ‘walking out’ with a protestant and he was none too pleased. stock-photo-funny-hand-painted-priest-on-white-background-illustration-61934521

where

In those days a trolley bus ticket into town was 4d and it was possible to walk home in the early hours of the morning from The Orpheus, The Astor and the students union at Queens, crossing the Queens bridge without any hassle. Those were carefree years and we enjoyed them to the full. All the big groups came to Belfast and there was always a show to see. I saw the Beach Boys, Gene Pitney, Neil Sedaka, Them, to mention a few. I saw the premiere of The Sound of Music in the Odeon while the Free Presbyterians demonstrated outside, because of the Catholic theme of the film .
After a year a few us moved to a flat in the university area and my Scotish planter joined me up in Belfast. Within a short time the troubles started and the nights echoed to the sound of gunfire and bombs. The theatres closed and Belfast became a no go area for tourists. Many nights returning from home after the weekend, our bus was diverted through streets that had burning barricades and we travelled in fear of been hijacked.
But I loved Belfast and I returned to East Belfast with Gordon and we have been together for almost 49 years. I was 16 when we met and married at 21. We weren’t allowed to marry in my home town and I have happy memories of being escorted up the Crumlin Road by two army jeeps. We planted some seeds of our own and our offspring grew up mixing with all religions and kept u stormont play park p the tradition set by their parents. East Belfast unfortunately gets bad press but it is a lovely place to live and I remember the 60’s with great affection.

TINA CALDER: THE IMAGE OF INSANITY (and the love of fat pants)

Posted on 24/03/201524/03/2015 by Chatter

FIRST PUBLISHED: NOVEMBER 28, 2014 ~ EXCALIBURPRESS

Imagine the scene…I’ve tried on at least five dresses of which three I knew I hadn’t a hope in hell of fitting into even with the help of heavy plant machinery.

*Sigh* I exasperated as I imagined how my fully sequinned vintage number would look on me in a parallel universe whilst the voice inside my brain was exclaiming “what planet are you on you mad cat, you’re still the size you were last time you tried this dust collector on”.

Next I was hunched over like a school child forced to wear a naff coat your great auntie Josephine bought and I had a short reminder of how I looked and felt while heavily pregnant in a dress that’s only redeeming quality is the plunging neckline.

On, off, on, off.

“Oh for fuck sake I suppose I better shave my legs” I moan.

“Curly or straight” I holler down the stairs to which I get a reply something along the lines of “curly, get a girlfriend”.

Can’t find a clean towel. Probably among the several bags of clean washing I have now scattered across the upper floor of our house. “This will do” as I fling it on the bathroom floor and hurriedly jump in the shower.

Legs shaved with Gillette Venus razor probably older than my nearly two year old son I’m on the hunt…

Disaster…

The fat pants are alluding me. I’m only a recent convert and somewhat still addicted to the fact that by carefully pouring every inch of my lower body into a teeny tiny pair of industrial elastic strength pants fat-pants I can turn what looks like more than one roll of “baby weight” (ha…like it wasn’t hanging around before hand) in to a sleek curvature that almost looks natural – albeit bigger than I would prefer – but that’s the price of pizza *sigh*.

Anyway, the fat pant hunt is on…time is of the essence…let the angels rejoice they have been recovered.

Thanks to said fat pants I slide into a wee lacy number that more celebrates my lumps, bumps, curves and imperfections than attempts to conceal them.

“In for a penny, in for a pound” I say as I sing a wee line of “I am who I am, am who I am, needs no excuses” to make myself feel better.

For those who know me they will know I’m not overly vain but I’m not going to pretend I don’t care.

I’m not skinny, I never will be and I’m fine with that especially now I have discovered the true genius of fat pants at the grand old age of 36.

So here’s what I have to say to all the women who try to tell us that how we look doesn’t matter and what we wear doesn’t make a difference to who we are – BULLSHIT.

I like feeling good and I feel good when I delude myself into believing I look as good as I can with the help of some silly wee pants and a dollop of makeup.

I believe in a woman’s right to choose and this woman chooses the right to be a woman and to be free to feel like wearing fat pants and push up bras to make myself feel good.

I don’t wear them for anyone else but me and why shouldn’t I? Why should I be subjected to people accusing me of buying into societies prejudice against women when the reality is it’s me who’s making this choice? And I’m bloody glad I did otherwise I would have been carrying around that spare tyre unnecessarily recently !

@ Tina Calder

http://www.moostoday.wordpress.com

Denise O’Neill: Oh Titanic of the Sea.

Posted on 22/03/201522/03/2015 by Chatter

I wrote this poem the day ‘Titanic Belfast’, the wonderful tourist attraction, was launched on 31st March 2012. I was inspired to write it by the fact that my grandfather, Hugh McGurnaghan, worked in the Belfast Shipyard.

He started as an apprentice wireman (electrician) on March 3rd 1919. I have a copy of his Indenture (employment contract) with Harland and Wolff Ltd. framed and hanging on my wall. Whilst he didn’t work on building the Titanic, he started working in the shipyard only seven years after the tragic sinking of the ship and this fact instilled an emotional connection with me.

I am so proud of my grandfather working in the shipyard. It was hard work and he had to travel from Lisburn every day, starting very early in the morning and getting home late in the evening. He earned 6 shillings per week for the first year, working his way up to 15 shillings per week in year five . At the bottom of the Indenture is his signature, written in the most beautiful handwriting (you can just see the formation of each letter being the result of hours and hours of practice at school – a practice sadly lost now). I never met my grandfather as he died four years before I was born but I love that I have a part of him, his signature, to look at.

I have visited the Titanic tourist attraction twice and it is beautiful – something that Belfast is very proud of. I hope you like my poem.

Oh Titanic of the Sea

Oh Titanic of the sea

I hear you cry …

What do you say to me?

When you left your place of birth

The men who built you knew your worth.

With majestic certainty you sailed away

But on Belfast shore it was your last day.

On 15th April when you went to bed

Many went with you, hundreds dead.

Men, women and children gone

Missed by their loved ones … their memories live on.

For one hundred years you’ve been asleep

Hidden … troubled … in the deep.

Awakened now, glistening and proud

As ‘Titanic Belfast’ we shout aloud!

Oh Titanic of the sea

I hear you cry …

What do you say to me?

By Denise O’Neill

31 March 2012

Author: Chatter

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