Ann Allan: Why Cavemen Didn’t Have Sore Backs

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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.IMG_2394 2

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 The pain that has to be endured to carry fully laden bags of food that will be out of date before you can eat them is excruciating.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.

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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.

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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 !!

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.images-3

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.IMG_2391

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.

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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.Unknown-3

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.floralhall2historygallery

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.

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Brian McGregor: Lady Grey.

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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.

Linda at HelmMonday 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 13th 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

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.IMG_0131

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.2904192609_775c066f0e_o
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.

UnknownTheir 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.

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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.

E1FE0443-D879-4C7C-8A5C-B650867DE977 2DE092C34-0DF1-40DD-BC21-10013B8E6547 2Which 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!images

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.
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ANN ALLAN: HAPPY MEMORIES of EAST BELFAST

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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

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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 ustormont play parkp 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)

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 pantsfat-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.

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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.

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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 bedimage

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

Ann Allan: Memories No 9 Welcome to the real world.

Over the next eight months there were many clandestine meetings. At the weekends I would return home to Rostrevor.  A trip to Newry on a Saturday afternoon was spent in Foster’s coffee lounge. Fosters was a family department store with a lovely restaurant. Russian tea was very much in fashion. It was basically black tea served with lemon but we thought at seventeen we were very sophisticated and so Russian tea became the drink to be seen with. They also served the most delicious lemon meringue pie. Many happy hours were spent there, planning IMG_0223for the future. Saturday evenings were spent at the local cinema, the Aurora. The owner, George Tinnelly, was an old romantic and knowing our story allowed me to hide in the shop in the foyer until Gordon arrived, just in case my dad was on the prowl. He became a facilitator for our Saturday nights over the next few years.

Life  was difficult at the weekends. There was constant scrutiny as to where I was going and who I was going with and I had to plan my meetings with Gordon with military precision. Back in Belfast in 1966 there were few means of corresponding. The hostel had a phone but it was always in use.  Phone boxes were not always IMG_0226available or had large queues of people waiting to make a call.  Writing was the other means of correspondence. So we started writing to each other. I still have those letters. Reading back on them now I see how immature we were during that first year. However I still read them from time to time and they bring back such happy memories.

Over the next eight months before Gordon moved to Belfast we managed to see each other at least once during the week. During the week Gordon would borrow his dad’s car to go and play badminton. Now I know this is not legal but he learned how to put the mileage clock on the car back and he then headed for Belfast. His dad thought he was playing badminton locally. I couldn’t wait until the next morning to check the news and be reassured that there were no accidents the previous night. On one occasion he met a car coming towards him on the wrong side of the motorway. Scary times.  I was earning the princely sum of £29 per month so  I supplied the ten shillings for the petrol. Many a night was spent at Shaw’s Bridge sitting in his dad’s Wolsey Hornet. Other nights we went to concerts or the ‘hops’ at the students union. On one occasion he took a mutual friend from Newry with him. We went to see Cream at the students union. The concert ran late and her mother became concerned. She rang my mother and explained that her daughter had gone to a concert with Gordon and Ann in Belfast. Merry hell broke out.

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Apparently there were phone calls to the hostel but as it was after midnight no one answered.  But come the morning I got a right earful and more pressure to break up with Gordon.There were many incidences like that but we were a real couple now and no one was going to break us up.

I was working in Dundonald House at that time.  I had arrived straight from school and was totally bewildered with the officialdom present in the Northern Ireland Civil Service. It was quite stifling. Many employees were ex army officials and ran their sections like a regiment.

My Head of Section came in to work in uniform one day a week ( she belonged to some section of the Territorial army ) but it was off-putting in a work environment. I was also told that she had prided herself in having an all Protestant section until I arrived and upset the apple cart. Such was the ethos in NI in the late sixties. Sexual harassment was also a big problem but there were no laws in those days and most of us had to put up with it. On many occasions I had to fight off older men in positions of power who thought it ok to chase you round the office and in some cases pin you down on your desk. Inappropriate comments were common place. I remember one particular gentlemen ( I use the term gentleman loosely) who I dreaded. He took a shine to me and would send for me to come to his office. He was badly injured in the war and was disfigured. He would leer over the desk and ask me for a kiss. Thankfully he couldn’t move very quickly and so it was possible to move out of his way when he lunged at me. But it was not a pleasant situation and complaining to higher ups was greeted with ‘There’s life in the old boy yet’. Sexual harassment was not treated with any seriousness in the 60’s or 70’s.

I grew up quickly back in those days. I began to get restless living in a hostel. Myself and a few friends I had made started looking around for a flat. We reckoned that there would be a good social life in the University area and so we moved to Cromwell Road. Not long after our move we got to go to our first formal as a couple. One of my flat mates attended the Art College and Gordon and I accompanied her to the annual formal. My dress was a beautiful green sateen with the price tag of £6 and I loved it. I think I got a few more formals out of it. Oh to be that weight again! Looking at the photo now we look like twelve year olds! IMG_0211

When Gordon  moved up to Belfast in July of 67 and he found a flat nearby we had no choice but to become adults living in the real world. Budgeting, cooking and cleaning.  But we were still only 18 and despite all the opposition to our romance we had some good times before the troubles started.

*If you have been a victim of sexual harassment and need confidential advice please click here

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/law-and-courts/discrimination/what-are-the-different-types-of-discrimination/sexual-harassment/

Ann Allan :Memories No 8: I Arrive in East Belfast

In September 1966 I headed back to school to study English and French at A level. Gordon and I were still an item. It wasn’t a big deal at home as I hadn’t really got round to mentioning to the family that I was ‘going out’ with a Prod. It was decided that as my academic excellence hadn’t as yet shone through I should also take a night class in typing at Warrenpoint Technical/ Primary school. I could hardly suppress my enthusiasm. Plans were already being made for a secret rendezvous. So on Tech.night I would meet Gordon and we had two precious hours to kill. Many of those nights were spent sitting on the shore, looking over Carlingford Lough. On one occasion we saw a shooting star and I had a wish. It did come true. My mother didn’t get a chance to find out that I never did learn to type until I got a computer.

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Warrenpoint being a small place it didn’t take long for the romance to reach the ears of my parents in Rostrevor. They weren’t amused and I was told that I was to stop seeing Gordon. I was heartbroken but not surprised at the reaction. There were few relationships between different religions in those days and my family was determined that I wasn’t going to be one of them. There had never been any animosity towards our protestant neighbours but dating one was a no-no. Gordon’s parents were oblivious to the romance at this stage. It was, of course, early days and it could easily have come to a natural end, but I was a teenager, quite rebellious and nobody was going to tell me what to do. So the objections made me much more determined and I vowed that they would not break us up.
Those of you that  have read my blogs on Chatter will have noticed that teeth have played a big part in my life and even at this early stage they came into play in directing my future. In September I needed two crowns. Gordon ‘mitched off ‘school and waited while I was at the dentist. I came out frozen to the gills and he suggested we pop into a nearby pub where I could get a cup of tea. If I remember rightly he had a beer. Ok, I know the sight of two students, in full school uniform, from different schools , and on a school day, in a pub sent out the wrong signalimg_0216

I guess the Manager of the pub did too because when I returned to school, I was summoned to the headmistress ‘s office and reprimanded. The parents were informed and I was warned that the romance was to end immediately. I realised then that I was going to be under constant scrutiny and made the decision that I was leaving school. I applied to the Northern Ireland Civil Service and was successful in obtaining a post as a Clerical Officer. I think my parents were secretly quite pleased. The love birds would be split up and the distance would ensure that it couldn’t survive. How wrong they were.

In October 1966 I packed my things and headed for Belfast.

I arrived in Belfast naive and apprehensive. Apart from my trip to France earlier in the summer I had never been away from home on my own. But the pressure of living in Rostrevor had become too great and the local Parish Priest had been tipped off that one of his parishioners was walking out with a young Scottish Protestant. My mother had managed to get me into a hostel in Bryson street, supervised by nuns,  and it was there that I would spend the next nine months or so. I think she thought I’d be safe in the care of the nuns but it didn’t work out like that. We were given a key and could go and come as we pleased!img_0214

Anyway, I arrived in Bryson Street at St. Paul’s hostel. It was run by the Cross and Passion sisters and Sister Adriana was in charge.  We were all afraid of her especially when she took a walk around the hostel. The charge was £2 per week. This was to include breakfast, evening meal and supper. Ten shillings extra if you stayed the weekend. Hot water was provided on a Monday night for two hours, otherwise the water was freezing. By the time we all tried to wash our hair, there was no hot water left. Anything left on the floor of the dorm was confiscated and two old pence per item would be charged for its return. There were about 30 girls in the hostel and we slept in individual cubicles surrounded by a flimsy curtain, our only bit of privacy.

I soon settled in and got to know my way round the area. Some areas are no longer there, having been demolished to make way for a new housing development which became known as Short Strand. Seaforde Street, Chemical Street and the Newtownards Road were part of the local area. A local chip shop on the Newtownards Road helped to sustain us growing girls. They were served in newspaper in those days. A small corner shop at Chemical St or Susan St ( I can’t remember which ) sold cheese from a large block. We were able to buy it by the slice. No Health and Safety in those days. Inglis had a bakery beside the Ropeworks and the pastries were delicious. As we passed the houses on our way to the hostel each evening the residents came out to say hello and everyone was friendly. On many occasions we went over to the Protestant church  on the Newtownards Road and had a chat with the Minister. In those days a trolley bus ticket into town was four old pence 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.
Over the next eight months until Gordon joined me in Belfast we became experts at subterfuge and deceit.

Ben ( Aged 13) : Are Teenagers Slaves to Advertising?

Advertisers today believe that teenagers today are especially susceptible to persuasive devices used in advertising. So much so that advertisers have metaphorically used the term “slaves” to describe teenagers. This is used to emphasise their point, a slave does what his master says.  Advertisers use linguistic,  presentational and persuasive devices to encouage the client to buy the product thus encouraging teenagers to act in a slavish manner. But is it true that teenagers are so easily influenced?

imageThis brings us to product releasing. Companies will build hype up to their next major release, whether it be a game,  a computer or a phone.  They will try and make people as excited as possible about the product . Adults with spare time on their hands, and with persuasion from their children, might even camp outside stores to get their hands on the product before it sells out. Advertising is huge in modern society.  It is practically impossible to escape from it.  Television,  mobile phones, the internet and the newspapers are common places for ads to be found. Typically teenagers use these devices phones, more than the average adult or child, making them more vulnerable to its message. Teenagers are more susceptible to it,  but cannot afford the products. If the consumer has no money to buy the item and no purchase has made, the advertisers attempt at selling the product has essentially failed.

Teenagers normally get pocket money, which is usually very limited.  Older teens may have a job with a small income, but even older teenagers can’t buy everything they see, making the advertising industry a battle between companies to make their products appeal more to the public.
Teenagers are also less responsible with money, so are more likely to go on a shopping spree, or make ‘impulse buys’ based on an advert  which made the product look attractive.
Teenagers have little time to buy things.  They have school,  which means they can’t take a day off whenever they want to go shopping.

 

Most teens want to break free from the ways of the previous generation. They don’t like being told what to do and that creates the urge to do things differently.  This gives teens a sense of individuality,  rebellion and power, so manufacturers that use this to their advantage will be more successful. Teenagers want to be liked by their friends or peers, and in school will try to become popular.  Being  in possession of material things give students a higher sense of self worth and boosts fragile egos.  Adverts that play on this make the consumer think they’ll become cool and appealing if they purchase the product.  This can cause rivalry between teenagers with competition to buy the better product or the newer phone.
imageIn TV advertisements  humour or repetition can be used to make the ad more memorable. This is especially effective with teenagers as they are more receptive.  They  are generally more easily entertained and if the advert is very entertaining they can make it an inside joke in their friendship group. Making the advert memorable it becomes iconic and so makes it more likely that they will want to buy it.

Teenagers are individuals and like different things. and they  have different morals and beliefs.  Popularity isn’t important to some people but it is to others, so they will buy products that boost their popularity.
Another thing that may make teens buy a product is when it is sponsered by a celebrity.  I personality wouldnt be that influenced but if I was choosing between two products and one was sponsored by Demi Lovato, I’d buy that one.  This is because teenagers imageidolise celebrities and see them as role models because they are cool. Most want to aspire to be rich, famous, and talented.  Some celebrities are just famous for being famous.  Celebreties such as Paris Hilton or the Kardashians, yet, people still idolise them.

As I mentioned before, teenagers are individuals, not mindless robots that buy without thought. They do think for themselves and decide whether they really need the product. Advertising helps them make a more informed choice. Without it, they would be making more impulse buys.

So in conclusion,  teenagers are definitely influenced by advertising. However I wouldn’t go as far as to say they are slaves because they are under no direct control by these advertisements. They are simply there to help people make more informed purchases and convince the consumer to buy the product. Teenagers can think for themselves and make a sensible decision on whether to buy or not to buy.   Part of that decision will be affected by the points previously mentioned. This does make them more susceptible to advertising, but not under complete control.