Ann Allan: Memories 21: 1973 Civil Unrest and Personal Loss.

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Wednesday 1 January1973: Two men were found shot dead near Burnfoot, County Donegal, they had been killed by an unidentified Loyalist paramilitary group.

Wednesday 31 January 1973: A Catholic boy, Philip Rafferty (14), was abducted and killed by Loyalists in Belfast.

This was the start of another violent year in Northern Ireland. We were leaving 1972 behind and little had changed. Violence was rife and murders common place. It was also the year that the UK joined the EEC ( EU) and the year that a referendum about a United Ireland was held. This was a non-event as Nationalists boycotted the referendum and so the result was an overwhelming majority to stay in the UK.

Meanwhile on a personal level, life was continuing in Comber. On New Years Day we invited the in-laws and my brother and his wife for dinner. The hubby suggested we have roast duck. Now although I considered myself a reasonably good cook, duck had never been a big part of the cuisine in either of our households.  But always one to try something new I bought the duck. I thought when putting it into the oven there didn’t seem to be much meat on it but I pressed on regardless and hoped for the best. The embarrassment when I served up one small slice of duck to each person stayed with me for many years. I’ve steered clear of roast duck ever since unless it’s in a carton and has Marks and Spencers on it.

I have had reservations about writing about 1973 and I have been procrastinating as it was a partcularly tough year for me. I discovered I was pregnant at the end of January and I was delighted.  Life was good and I was practising hard for my driving test at the time and felt well. On Wednesday 7 February,  the United Loyalist Council organised a one-day general strike. It happened to coincide with my driving test. There were power cuts and roads were blocked. Many were intimidated into not going to work but my driving test inspector turned up and with little traffic on the roads I passed my test with flying imagecolours. It was great to be mobile but it did prove problematic with only one car ( the norm in the 70’s ) so we spent our time organising lifts when one of us wanted the car. I think it was 2000 before I got the keys to my very own car.

I announced my pregnancy after three months as did a colleague in my office. Our babies were due in the same week in September. I started knitting baby things but I was not a knitter, never have been and never will be and so the two matinée coats I managed to finish were a disaster. My parents and my in-laws weren’t exactly over the moon with the news. No hugs or congratulations. More like ‘how will you manage with one job?’ It wasn’t the done thing to talk about pregnancy apparently and so a lot of the joy that I felt quickly disappeared. Also the religious aspect was probably high on the agenda.

At the beginning of Easter week I began to have some symptoms that were a cause for concern. The doctor was called and suggested bed rest. For four days I lay in bed. On Good Friday I was in such distress that Gordon took me straight to A&E. There, a doctor examined me and without any softening of the bad news told me my baby had died in my womb. He explained that I was in labour and there was no alternative but to deliver the baby naturally.  I won’t go into the details but it was one of the worst experiences of my life. I wasn’t told whether it was a boy or a girl. I cried for days. I had no family near me and I’m not sure Gordon and I as a young couple knew how to deal with the loss. We didn’t talk much about it and my grief was compounded when it was suggested to me that my continuing to work had possibly contributed to the miscarriage.  So along with the heartbreak of losing our baby I now had the guilt that it might have been my own fault. I know now that was not the case.

After a few weeks recovering I went back to work. The hard bit was that those who didn’t know about the miscarriage kept asking me when was the baby due. We tried to accept that many first pregnancies end in miscarriage and this wouldn’t happen next time but I felt alone and probably needed some follow-up counselling but I was discharged from hospital and had no choice but to get on with it. It was rarely mentioned again.

Around this time and probably feeling the need to be parents we acquired a dog. I say acquired because it was never my intention to have one. We visited friends whose dog had just had puppies. We left with a small black and white terrier who we christened Cotton ( after the small cigars). He was a lively pup and didn’t take long to acquaint himself with the surrounding countryside. One whiff of freedom and he was away, chasing the cows in the farmers field behind us and returning home smelling of badgers poo.Yuck. There were no restrictions on dogs in the 70’s so he headed into Comber and met up with his mates. Many nights he wouldn’t return until midnight, at which time he would stand at the front door barking, until one of us stumbled downstairs to let him in. I think he thought he was a cat. However we loved him and put up with him until one day he was chasing cars ( one of his favourite past times) was hit by one of the said cars and we had to make a decision to have him put down.  The house was empty without him and I swore never to have another dog. I have kept my word.image

Tuesday 12 June 1973
item markSix Protestant civilians, aged between 60 and 76, were killed when a car-bomb exploded in Railway Road, Coleraine. The attack was carried out by the Irish Republican Army (IRA) who had given an inadequate warning of the bomb.

We made the decision that as we were going to have two salaries coming in for another while it was time to replace the small country-style suite we had for something a bit more substantial and comfortable. We went into Wright’s arcade in Newtownards where Mr.Wright was serving that day. He was very kind and we chatted. When he heard what had happened he gave us a great bargain on a suite and also threw in a coffee table which we have until this day. When the suite was delivered it was way too big for our tiny living room but we loved it and we had plenty of room to stretch out.

Thursday 16 August 1973:  Two members of the IRA died when a mortar bomb exploded prematurely during an attack on the Army at a base in Pomeroy.

September was a challenging time. My work colleague had her baby and it was difficult to visit her in hospital. Her baby arrived a couple of days after mine would have been due. However by now we were trying again and we were having a lot of fun trying!!

We had changed our car around this time. We bought it from a small garage at the bottom of University Street. It was a Morris something or other and I guess they saw us coming. After a couple of months the exhaust developed a hole.  What was it with us and exhausts? The sound as the car set off in the morning was noisy to say the least. No sleep-ins for the neighbours. Gordon spent hours under the car, rather than in it, plastering the exhaust with Gun gum ( a seal for exhaust). It would hold for a few days and then blow again. Like the Mini Cooper which was our first car, the floor in the back was also proving effective as an air conditioning system, and if I remember correctly I don’t think the heater worked but it just about got us from A to B so that was a bonus.

The year ended with a statement from the Northern Ireland Executive following its first meeting. The statement set out the Executive’s hopes for the future and called on people in Northern Ireland to allow 1974 to be ‘ The Year of Reconciliation’

Yes that was 1974. I guess reconciliation in Northern Ireland is a very, very, slow process.

 

http://Cain.ulst.ac.uk/othelem/chron/ch73.htm. A chronicle of the troubles 1973

 

 

 

 

 

 

Get a Grip

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After listening to all the rubbish spouted over the last few months by various parties in Norn Iron I have decided to form my own party. It will be called the Get-a-grip party. I intend to stand at the next election and my manifesto will be as follows:
The word ‘detritus’ will be banned from all literature.( personal dislike, there has to be some benefits for me)

The words, shared future, dignified, parity of esteem, themuns, scum,will no longer be bandied about as will offensive names regarding members of the varying religions in Norn Iron.

All children will be educated together.

All children born from now on will be given numbers instead of names thus foiling any attempts to ascertain religious background.

The twelfth will be held on St Patrick’s day and vice versa.

To solve recent squabbling over the name of the Irish/Ulster fry, it will be renamed ‘you are heading for a heart attack fry.’
National flags will be banned and only flags with Eamonn Holmes on them will be permitted.

All parades will be conga style and dress code will be tasteful onesies. ( From Primark)

As a munificent leader I will be open to my constituents suggestions.

 

Ends

Ann Allan:Letting them go.

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I was sitting in the heat in the early morning, unable to sleep, 3-45 am actually and it was peaceful and quiet. I started thinking about my grandson and his dad, my nephew and niece all heading for France at the weekend.  I felt uneasy for them all and for the other youngsters and their dads heading off, and for the wives, girlfriends and family members who will spend the next four weeks worrying about their loved ones. We have heard about the threats, we don’t know how serious they are but they are casting a shadow over what should be a happy occasion. Two teams from this small island. Great achievement. Let’s hope each side can be magnanimous and wish the other team well.
We women in particular spend our time worrying about things that could happen and which in most cases don’t. From the moment we become parents we try to protect them. But also from the moment they are born we are raising them to leave us. We nurse our babies close for the first few months but then we trust them with others and are content to leave them in the hands of nurseries, family members and child-minders. Babies become used to seeing new faces and learn to trust them.
Those of you who are parents know that feeling when you let go of a toddler’s  hand and he/she makes a break for freedom. They don’t want to hold your hand, they’re getting confidence to break away.
Primary school looms. For months you dread leaving them. But in most cases they run in and go to find a favourite toy and you’re quickly forgotten.
Grammar school and you’re a complete embarrassment. No kisses goodbye, sometimes not even a goodbye just a grunt. The gap is becoming wider.
And don’t talk to me about teens. They know it all. They are brimming with hormones and testosterone and mood swings.  We feel we’ll never communicate.

But no matter how old they are, we worry about them and for a large number of us in Ireland, North and South over the next four weeks we will worry until we see them all home safe and sound.  So I wish both teams all the best, and their supporters a safe trip. Be vigilant and look out for each other and may the best team win.

 

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Ann Allan: Pro Choice

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What makes a woman of mature age call for the imprisonment of a young 19 year old for having an abortion?

Why would she stand outside a Marie Stopes clinic berating those going inside?

Who has given her the right to become judge and jury as to how others choose to live?

Is there something in her past that has stripped away the compassion that one woman should feel towards another. Is that what she would want for a female relative who decided to go down that route?

Most women who choose to have an abortion, choose it because they do not want a pregnancy at that time, whatever the reason or the circumstance. Alright for Precious Life to say ‘ we’ll show you an alternative, We’ll help you through your pregnancy’ But parenthood is for life or at least for eighteen years. By that time I imagine PL will be long gone. We don’t know the circumstances of this particular conception. Incest, rape or the woman feeling she can’t cope. All reasons why she may not want to bring this foetus to full term and birth.

There are thousands of children today being born into a life of poverty, hunger and abuse. Why doesn’t Bernie and her cohorts pay attention to those children already born. Those children who are dying every day in huge numbers.  Leave those woman alone who have to make a difficult and I would imagine traumatic decision to have an abortion to be in control of  their own bodies.
The fact that we are still being bound by a law dating back to 1861 shows how backward looking our laws are in Northern Ireland. We need to put pressure on our new assembly to amend the abortion laws so that no more cases like this occur and then maybe women will be left in peace to make their own choice. I think it’s time for a referendum!

Ann Allan: NI 21

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imageI first became aware of Basil McCrea when in February 2013 he left the UUP after a disagreement over the fielding of a unionist unity candidate in mid ulster. I had listened to Basil and his then friend John McCallister on television debates and I liked what I heard. They both appeared to be in favour of a Northern Ireland where it was possible to aspire to having an Irish or British identity. That appealed to me as I feel proud of both my identities, the one that is native Irish and the one from Somerset that can be traced back to Sir Walter Raleigh. I hoped that they would set up a new party so when they launched NI21 on the 6 June 2013 I thought, even at this late stage in my life this is a party with which I can identify. I did not see myself getting actively involved but was persuaded to go to a meet and greet in the Europa hotel.
I had no preconceptions but had a few points I thought worth bringing up. There were others there, some of whom were already committed to the party. Basil went round each one asking for their views. I remember saying that they were losing momentum from the date of the launch, that it seemed a bit like the Basil party and I wanted to know how they were different from the Alliance. I think Basil thought I was cheeky but he was charming and if that annoyed him he said nothing. I think that might be when he daubed me as feisty.
I came away convinced that this was a party that was going somewhere. I read all the adverse comments by commentators and wondered why they would want to slate a party who genuinely wanted to make a difference. Basil was passionate about the new party. I had no way of assessing Mr McCallister’s commitment as I never really met him. He was at a meeting I attended but had to rush away after a few minutes. The conference came and went. It was very successful. Both Basil and John made rousing speeches which were well received and got standing ovations.
We were promised that day in November that things would swing into action and this would be up to David Rose. I heard later that due to other commitments he wasn’t able to fulfil that role.
I think it was around that time that our local commentators started trying to demean the party. We had the beauty pageant incident, possibly an error of judgement on Basil’s part, but the detractors licked their lips and scented blood.
John McCallister started to be as illusive a sight as a Duper in the Vatican and it appeared that the administration was under pressure. Egos got a battering. One trying to outdo the other as to their importance in the party. Personnel came and went. Things were beginning to fall apart. Candidates should have been announced much more in advance but for various reasons we were still in the dark until just six weeks before the election.  I got a phone call two days before the election from a candidate telling me that we were redesignating. I have to be honest and say that we both thought this was a risky strategy.  I was present three weeks before the election when Basil Mc Crea was told that John McCallister was intending to leave the party. He was not happy with Basil being leader. He wasn’t happy with the executive although they were voted in by the membership on the day of the conference. He was no longer supportive of the party and that was obvious from the fact that he didn’t actually know all the candidates. Perhaps he was annoyed that he not been chosen as the MEP candidate?
Basil was distraught . He had worked incredibly hard and found it difficult to manage all that he was expected to do. The fact that he no longer had John’s support was a major problem. He knew what would happen if the press got wind of the dissention in the party. This could jeopardise the election and all the hard work put in by the candidates. I advised him to speak to John and ask that for the sake of the 47 candidates he put this challenge off until after the election. I understand a meeting, which was quite heated, took place but I understood a truce was arranged until after the election.
They were barely speaking and had I also been told that there had been a rumour of inappropriate behaviour. These allegations had still not been made known to Basil Mc Crea (apart from the Ashleigh Murray allegation ) two weeks after John McCallister had passed the names on to Carecall.  I understand someone was threatening to go the press with these allegations. What has also been overlooked is the fact that at least one of those who saw Carecall had not progressed any allegations. This was due to the fact that they had been mislead over the purpose of the Carecall enquiry. Carecall is not an investigative organisation, more a counselling organisation designed to solve problems between employers and employees. I don’t know why John  chose the time to release details of the enquiry to the News Letter two days before the election. Was it in a fit of pique over the designation? No one was in any danger if he had waited a few days.
I have met Basil McCrea on many occasions since the election. His physical and mental health have been a cause for concern and I feel for his family. To date no one has made any allegations to the PSNI. He was under pressure to get things done and didn’t always cope well and I know he would admit that there was a lot of pressure on him. He had no experience of setting up a party and made many mistakes. However I feel he has suffered enough. His future is uncertain, his reputation has been tarnished and so called friends have deserted him. He is a man who has been let down by his friend.  Those who continue to make snide remarks, hint at goings on that they didnt’t know the truth about, read the report and  see what was going on to bring NI21 down
Hopefully the release of the report clearing Basil of any wrongdoing will allow him to move on and also reinvigorate NI21.

 

Ann Allan: Shattered Dreams

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Margaret Gibson Simpson was born in the station house at Broighter IMG_3707near Limavady in 1886. She was one of 12 children and her father was the Station Master. Agnes his wife was the Post Mistress. The station house was not suitable for 12 children. It was riddled with damp and one by one the children succumbed to TB until only two were left,  Margaret and her sister Hilda. They were beautiful children and the apple of their daddy’s eye. William was in his late forties when the two little girls were born and having buried the other ten he cherished and protected them as best he could. Every day,  the train passed by their house rattling the windows and shaking the house. When they were young they would cry and William would comfort them but as they grew  older they loved to hear the train coming and would rush out to see the passengers as they disembarked. A donkey and cart would be waiting to take them to their destination.
Both girls were pretty with long fair hair. They had attended the local
school where they learned to read and to write and they attended
church every Sunday. They learned to sew and to cook and were able
to help in the home where Agnes,their mother, was now frail and needed help. When Margaret was sixteen it was decided that she would go to the ‘big house’ close by, as a servant to the local Landowner and Hilda would stay and look after the home. For many years she served below stairs but when the children came along she began to take care of them and with her household skills and her way with the children, Margaret soon became a favourite within the household and before long became a nanny to the children in the house. She was highly respected by the family and so many years later when they decided to move to England she was asked to go with them.

Breaking the news to her parents was difficult. This didn’t happen in
Limavady in 1914. The usual plan for a girl was to find herself a husband, settle down and have children. As Margaret was almost thirty and had not found a suitable husband her father thought this might be a sensible move.  He was distraught at her going but he knew that this was a great opportunity for her and he had the assurance of the family that they would look after her like one of their own. Her mother and father had conflicting views. Agnes knew that she wasn’t going to live much longer and the chances of seeing her daughter again were slim but William persuaded her that it was the right thing to do. With a heavy heart she agreed.

And so, on 28 June 1914, Margaret along with her new employers
boarded the train at Broighter and headed to Belfast where a boat was waiting to take them across the Irish Sea to Liverpool. Arriving at the docks she had her first glimpse of the ship that would bring her to a new and exciting world. The Graphic was the name of the ship, built by Harland and Wolff. Little did she know that the very same ship would have an encounter with a U-boat during the First World War. It did escape, however, and Margaret travelled home on it on a number of occasions over the coming years. As they drove through the streets of Liverpool in their taxi cabin she noticed a newspaper stand which declared that Archduke Ferdinand and his wife had been assassinated. She felt uneasy but was unaware of the significance of the event. She heard her employers talking quietly and noticed that they look concerned. She realised that things were serious and she began to wonder if she had made the right decision. After an overnight stay in the newly erected Adelphi hotel they all boarded a train, which would take them to London and eventually to the leafy suburbs of Surrey and to a beautiful house called Tudor Lodge.

Her employer was the son of an hereditary peer. He had taken ill and
was not expected to live and so his son had been summoned back to
take over the running of their estate. There was mounting speculation that war was imminent and fears that her employer would have to fight for his country. It was becoming clear to Margaret that things were moving along fast and on a number of occasions she heard war mentioned. She wondered if her parents back in Ireland had also heard the news and were worrying about her.

Tudor Lodge was beautiful. For the first time she had a room with an adjoining sitting room and she spent her days looking after the children that she had grown to love. Her employer’s younger brother,  Nigel, a Naval Officer, was a frequent visitor to the house. It was fair to say that from the moment she set eyes on him she was smitten. At first he acknowledged her politely and there was little conversation. However, not long after their arrival her employer’s father died and as she wandered around the house helping to make arrangements for the funeral she came across the Naval Officer in the drawing-room. She offered her sympathy and before long they were chatting. She told him about life in Ireland and he spoke about his naval career. Over the following days they frequently bumped into each other and it was obvious that he was smitten too. Margaret was worried about the fact that although she was a valued employee, she was just that, and she felt that the romance would be frowned on by her employers. She broached the subject with Nigel but he reassured her that was not the case. They started having walks around the large gardens of the estate and he told her of his fears should war break out.

On July 25 Austria – Hungary severed all diplomatic ties with Serbia and began to mobilise troops. A family gathering was organised at Tudor Lodge that evening and Margaret was surprised to be included. She knew now that she was accepted by the family and that her romance had been validated.  Nigel arrived looking very handsome in his uniform. He called her to one side and handed her a present. It was a silver dressing table set on which he had her initials MGS-Margaret Gibson Simpson inscribed. Overwhelmed and somewhat surprised, she wondered how he knew her middle name. He explained that it was on her trunk which he had seen sitting in the hall on the day she arrived. Talk turned to the prospect of war. It was now 31 July and reacting to Austria attacking Serbia, Russia had begun mobilising her troops. It wasn’t looking good and the chances were that war would soon be declared on Germany as they were now in combat with Russia, France and Belgium. Margaret knew nothing of world affairs and all the talk of different countries at war was hard to understand. She hoped that they would sort it out and things would go back to how they were. A letter had arrived from home saying how worried they were and pleading with her to return home. Margaret knew however that her future lay in England and that she and Nigel had plans to marry.

It was now August and the Austrian – Hungarian empire had declared
war on Russia. There was a sense of dread hanging over Tudor Lodge.
Baronet McLintock as he had become on the death of his father was
spending more time in London and when he returned at weekends he looked worried and agitated. This was affecting the mood in the house and everyone sensed that something awful was going to happen.

A sombre looking young Naval Officer called to see Margaret on 12 August 1914. The conflict now involved Great Britain and war was declared. Nigel McLintock  informed Margaret that he was joining the Grand Fleet, which was at that time based in the North Sea. It was there to combat the Germans. Margaret was devastated. She pleaded with him not to go but he assured her that the war would last only a few weeks and he would soon be home. He also said that he had written to her father to ask for his approval for their marriage.  They began to make plans for a wedding on his return. As he left to return to London he gave her a beautiful silver jewellery box again inscribed with her initials. She embraced him and said goodbye.

That was the last time Margaret saw Nigel. In the early hours of 22 September 1914, the cruiser H.M Cressy was torpedoed and sunk. A total of 149 were drowned including Nigel McLintock .

Margaret Simpson never married. She remained with the McLintock
family for many years and died a spinster in 1954. She traveled the
world with the family but never met anyone to compare to her first love. She was buried in Wandsworth cemetery in London and Thompson McLintock one of her charges was a witness on her death certificate. The war had ruined her chance of having a happy life but she never regretted  meeting Nigel.  She was grateful for the short time they had together. The trunk now sits in the home of her great-niece in Normandy and the jewellery box and dressing table set are in the home of her great -nephew in Belfast.

 

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Based on a true story.  Dramatic licence!

 

Ann Allan: ‘There seemed to be a Purple glow over the city’

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As a blogger I’m always on the look out for a subject for my next blog.  In my case it is usually something witty ( hopefully) and the word ‘me’ or ‘I’ comes up quite a lot. As I lay in bed last night unable to sleep I was thinking about what I was going to write about for my next blog. It was going to involve what I’ve been doing over the last few days and it was  probably going to feature me.

And then I thought about where I had been on Monday and I abandoned any idea of being witty and self-deprecating and decided to concentrate on the hours of Monday afternoon. I have to be honest and say I wasn’t looking forward to the event I was going to but I was going with my friend Olive and so that didn’t matter. She is great company and we can talk for hours. Olive collected me at 3p.m. and we headed for Stormont. A car parking space had been pre booked so we didn’t have to drive around looking for a space.
After the formalities of getting though security we headed for the long hall. I admired Olive’s purple nails. They looked gorgeous. We took the lift to the first floor where we were joined by Olive’s partner.

We had arrived at the launch of Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month  # PCAM . We were early and took our seats. Basil McCrea came and said hello and Joanne Dobson who sponsored the event arrived shortly after. The team from the UK led by David Parke also arrived and after introducing themselves proceeded to set things up.

After an introduction by Joanne Dobson, Victoria Poole spoke about how she had recently lost her grandmother due to late diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. She explained that she now worked in PR and was using her skills to raise awareness of the condition and how the symptoms don’t always present themselves until it’s too late. Victoria has become a spokesperson for Pancreatic Cancer Uk in NI. She thanked the large number of MLAs who turned out for the event.To give them their due,  there were a large number present.
Next to speak was Gráinne O’Neill. Gráinne recently lost her mother, again due to pancreatic cancer. She talked poignantly about how herself and her siblings were dealing with the loss. Again she highlighted late and misdiagnosis were a contributing factor to her mother’s death.
And then it was Olive’s turn. Olive told a hushed audience how she had been recently diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer. She had noticed no obvious symptoms and it was only when imageshe went to her doctor when she noticed her skin becoming yellow that alarm bells began to ring. She listed the symptoms to look out for which are:

stomach pain,

weight loss,

yellow skin or eyes or itchy skin,

 oily, floating faeces.

The Northern Ireland Public Health Agency’s ‘Be Cancer Aware’ campaign publicise these danger signals. It is understood that PCUK are campaigning for the symptoms of pancreatic cancer to be included in their ‘Be Cancer Aware’ campaign.

Olive addressed those MLAs who are on the health committee and in a position to influence policy about the use of drugs provided in NI. The availability of these drugs, she said could mean adding months to her life expectancy. My admiration for Olive is immense. The strength it took to stand up and tell us her story was inspirational and I was so proud to be there. You can watch it here:

http://www.youtube.com/attribution_link?a=HQd2AA-znTs&u=/watch%3Fv%3DxpB0MZJqBNg%26feature%3Dem-upload_owner

Thanks to all the team from the UK who braved the weather to come to Belfast. After a very successful launch we headed out to the cool night air and as we gazed down over the city there seemed to be a purple glow dotted with the orange street lights.

If you would like more information or you would like some advice you can contact:

http://www.pancreaticcancer.org

Pancreatic Cancer UK Support Line: freephone 0808 801 0707

* Since writing this piece it has been announced that as of today, the 4th November, the life extending drug Abraxane is no longer available in England, ( through the Cancer Drugs Fund ), to newly eligible patients with advanced pancreatic cancer.

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Ann Allan : Spotlight Special.

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Rewind that, I shouted to the hubby. I had, as usual, got my head in my iPad commenting on Twitter on something that was brought up in the Sunday politics show. I had just caught the end of the announcement. A special edition of Spotlight was going to be recorded on Tuesday 5th and viewers were invited to go apply for tickets. Hmm I though I fancy going to that. One of my usual companions for such an event was in Brighton running the gauntlet at the Conservative conference so I told the hubby,  sorry,  invited the hubby  to come along with me. A quick email was dispatched,  as requested,  and on Monday a reply was received asking me to ring the Beeb and give some personal details.  Well you would have thought I was trying to get into the White House! But having recruited audiences for similar shows in the past  I realised that a good cross-section is needed to balance the audience and the lady on the phone was extremely nice.  Hubby then got the same grilling and we were told we could collect our tickets at the door.

That was when I started worrying. What will I wear? Should I get my hair done?  Will we be seen in the audience?  Will the hubby look as if he’s enjoying himself?  Should I tell anyone to look out for us? Oh God, maybe we will be asked to ask a question!  Decided that the hair needed done and maybe a new top was called for.  However, on reflection, I went for the hair-do but opted for a black tee-shirt hoping I would blend in with the background.

Hubby was excited, ( grumpy about having to get up when he’d rather doze in his chair). Headed into town. Car parking was convenient but we didn’t have enough money for the machine. Tried phoning the number to pay with my credit card. The facility only had details for my old car. Tried three times to give my new registration number and every time the voice repeated an incorrect number.  Could tell the hubby was getting annoyed as he headed off to the cinema on the Dublin Road looking for change.image
Arrived at Blackstaff studios. Sorry  luv,  doors not open yet, come back at 6.30. With 15 mins to pass we headed down Gt.Victoria St.  Reminisced about how it looked in our day.  Where did all those restaurants come from?  As the rain started to fall I began to think this wasn’t such a good idea.
At 6.30 we we headed back to the studio and joined the queue. We showed our ID and were ushered into the waiting area. Unfortunately we were there for over an hour and were subjected to re-runs of old Spotlights so we were reminded of Asher-gate and some homophobic nonsense from Jeffrey Donaldson.

We were asked to write a question to put to the panel. I wanted to know that if Simon Hamilton maintains that the Health Service is working in his absence,  maybe we should be considering part-time Ministers. Save a fortune.  We also got a peep at who was on the panel. Gregory Campbell, Claire Hanna, Mike Nesbitt, Michelle O’Neill and I was delighted to see my friend Mairia Cahill was also on the panel. If it hadn’t been for Mairia I would never have started writing.  Look what you’d have missed.

The staff were lovely.  The floor managers went around talking to everyone ( about 100 in the audience ) thanking us for coming and making us feel comfortable.  A guy sitting next to us had his leg in a cast. He had been waiting for 18 months for an operation. Noel Thompson referred to him during the programme.
At about 7.30 we entered the recording studio and took our seats.  A well-known face from the past, Paddy O’Flaherty, came out to warm up the audience. After a light-hearted bit of banter we were instructed to raise our hands if we had something to say, clap if we liked a point and generally get involved.  As I’m still getting used to my new teeth I decided not to saying anything as I had visions of getting nervous, and my teeth flying across the studio in full view of the tv cameras.
Mr. Suave himself, Noel Thompson, appeared and took his seat together with the other panelists. In the glare of powerful overhead lights the show was about to start. But wait, we heard Noel speak to the producer. He hadn’t got a script. A floor runner was hastily dispatched to get the script which imageapparently  was still being typed. A few minutes later and we were off. No hitches and straight through the recording. All ready for transmission later on Tuesday evening.  All very professional. It was also noticeable that having three female members on the panel resulted in a more reasoned and tempered debate.
Came out to a wet but warm evening and headed for home to watch the recording. Ok watch the recording to see if we could spot ourselves ( we did ). What is the fascination with seeing yourself on the tv?
All in all it was an enjoyable experience and one which I ( and him) would like to repeat.

You can watch a recording of the programme at

http://bbc.in/1RtWeIF

Sarah Walsh: I’m Perfect Just as I am.

Posted on by Chatter

Chatter has gone global. I am delighted to publish Sarah Walsh’s courageous account of dealing with her disability. Written when she was just thirteen it shows a great maturity on her outlook on life. Ann Allan

My name is Sarah. I’m in a wheelchair and I’m 13. But that’s only the outside stuff, the obvious things. I have Irish heritage on my dad’s side, and Scottish on my mum’s side. I was born 30th May in Canberra. I have a thing called Ulrich Congenital Muscular Dystrophy which basically means weird skin, weak muscles, thin bones and this is all caused by a lack of collagen 6. But the weird thing is, I didn’t have that diagnosis until I was 7, so for 7 years of my life I was basically living a lie.
Over the years I’ve had many significant moments, all worthy of being in this speech. But there’s only one moment that really deserves to be said aloud. That moment is my first MD camp.image
You see, in 2007 I had an operation to try to help me walk, but it had the opposite effect. It stopped me walking altogether. So, I kind of wasn’t myself for 2 years, saying things like “I hate myself” and apologising when anything happened that involved my wheelchair, as I felt it was my fault I was like this. Really, when I think about it, the only thing that ended up taking me out of that phase was this camp.
I can remember that I wasn’t too thrilled to be going. I don’t like being out of my comfort zone, and the idea of making new friends really scares me. Of course, seeing that nothing ever happens in Canberra, we had to go to Sydney for this camp Narrabeen Sports and Rec camp to be precise. The drive took at least 4 hours, so naturally I was bored out of my mind. When we arrived, you can imagine I was nervous as I just couldn’t imagine 30 kids in wheelchairs being in one spot all week. It would just be hectic and there wouldn’t be enough space. Or so I thought.
So we went to meet my carer,  Kelly,  who would help me with everything throughout the week (the carers were physiotherapy students). We went to our room and a few minutes later my roommate arrived. Her name was Bodene and her carer was Elise.  Bodene was 4 years older than me, but that didn’t stop us from clicking straight away. After we settled in and had the first awkward conversation and figured out that Bodene and I were completely obsessed with Twilight, we were told we had to go out and do the first activity.

We were put into groups and, because this camp was near Halloween, we made banners for our groups with Halloween kind of names. My group was called the “Bloodsucking Campers”. Unfortunately, Bodene and I weren’t in the same group but it was also a good thing. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone.
The rest of the week went by in the same way; spending time in our room getting to know each other, an activity, and back to the room partying and getting to know each other better. The more I got to know Bodene, the closer we got, and I found myself somehow forgiving myself for what happened on ’07.  Forgiving the surgeon and realising that I can be who I was; I just needed to understand that I won’t be the exact same, that things have changed. When I realised that, I was able to have more fun, throw more of me into the activities and not be so reserved.image
My favourite thing on this camp had to be the Halloween party! It was awesome!! It was on Wednesday night, so I had basically fully become a child and was doing everything I wanted and doing it with a smile on my face a smile that almost never left my face, which hadn’t happened since the operation.  We all had face paint on, and it wasn’t the face paint you get at fetes, this was movie worthy face paint! Warts, blood and all! The hall was filled with all sorts of things: streamers, Halloween decorations and Halloween food,  all of which Bodene and I helped set up.

They also had karaoke. I was so happy there was karaoke because I’ve always wanted to do it and I said to Bodene, “Dude, we have to do that”, but of course she said no, because she was too chicken! So I went with Elise because I didn’t want to go up alone. Then the next few times I did it, Bodene did it with me! I remember saying goodbye on Friday was really hard. There were quite a few tears, but I knew I was coming back next year as I just had so much fun and, for the first time in ages, I was fully myself and felt as though I belonged somewhere.image
This camp has helped shape my identity by making me realise that I’m not alone in what I’m going through. If I’m having a rough time, all I have to do is call my best friend and ask her for help seeing she’s already been through most of it.
This camp also shaped my identity by making me who I was when I was 10: a person who always smiles and makes pathetic jokes but still laughs like crazy at them. Without this camp, I would still hate myself, wishing I was “normal”. I’m perfect just as I am. And that’s the most important thing this camp has taught me.

Ullrich Congenital Muscular Dystrophy | MDA
https://www.mda.org/disease-name/ullrich-congenital-muscular-dystrophy
31 Mar 2015 – Children and adolescents with Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy or Bethlem myopathy are invited to participate in a study of a daily …

Ann Allan: Send in the Clowns.

Posted on by Chatter

imageDid you like myself and thousands of others stand beside the police at Twadell Avenue and watch a small bunch of thugs launch a horrific attack on our police force? Thanks to the fortitude of RL we watched from behind the camera,  as young boys and teenagers held Belfast up to ridicule throughout the world. We gaspedimage in horror as a missile hit its target and a policeman slumped to the ground. We saw him having to be literally dragged away by other policemen eager to protect him and get him to safety. We were able to see at close hand what these men have to put up with when crowds are brought on to the street without supervision.

Which begs the question, why were the nationalists out at the other side of the road? Why didn’t they go to their homes and leave the police to deal with the situation, or have riots now become a spectator sport? We hear about police brutality.  We were only defending ourselves, is the usual excuse. Well last night there was no police brutality, the police were stoic and patient. I would have been tempted to have gone across and grabbed Joey/James the clown and shoved him in a paddy wagon until he calmed down.

Close up pictures of the crowd showed middle-aged women laughing and egging on the young bucks who thought it clever to attack the police,  because the Godfathers are their idols and they listen to their outdated rhetoric.  Young children looked on, cheering when a missile hit home. Where were their parents? Behind them? Enjoying the spectacle with a can in their hand?  I would suggest that in future the water cannons have a coloured dye added to the water. It would make identification of these thugs a lot easier. Maybe I’m naïve, but I have been around a long time and last night was my first look at a riot from the policeman’s perspective. I scanned the crowds for evidence of a politician or a community worker grabbing one of the rioters and telling them to go home but I didn’t see any.  This was a PR disaster for the orange order in Belfast. It was a peaceful and enjoyable day everywhere else.  Going to bed last night I read that youths in the Bogside were intent in undoing the good work achieved in the city. For goodness sake, somebody, sort it out or we are saddling another generation with this crap.

Send in the clowns, don’t bother there here.