Ballycarson Blues Read online

  His first venture into the field had been to collect the several published volumes of a peculiar hagiographical and overblown work entitled The Alphabetical Encyclopaedia of Ulster Politics. Unknown to Wee Joe, this particular collection had never been completed as every volume was already complete in itself. Each book was a complete bore. Even amongst the family members and employees of politicians (a wide enough potential constituency in itself to justify the publishing venture in the first place), the readership fell off sharply when it was realised that nothing ever changed in Ulster politics and each volume basically repeated the contents of the first one. Still, the published set of books, even if incomplete, was well bound in expensive black faux leather and had golden letters on the spine of each large volume indicating the range of coverage in each volume. On the shelf behind the coffee machine in Wee Joe’s café, his customers could read and were intrigued by the wording on each consecutive volume: Abhorrent to All, Born to Corruption, Destined to Fail, Fools to Govern and Payments to Politicians. And there the alphabetically arranged volumes ended. Apparently, enough had been said on the topic.

  Despite this disappointment, Wee Joe Forsale’s taste for encyclopaedias had been whetted. He widened his search out to other topics and acquired volume after volume. He felt sorry for these extended paper tomes as new electronic media appeared likely to render them extinct. He was particularly fond of pre-war editions of these encyclopaedic works where one or two volumes were missing. His role in life, he thought, was reconciliation not of people but of books. The thrill for him came not from actually reading the contents. Wee Joe simply wanted to find the lost volumes and complete the dozens of sets that now filled his spare room, garage, his store and all other available space. Perhaps the truth was that Wee Joe had become more like the natives than he dared to admit. He retained these ancient literary works no matter how misleading their outdated wisdom had become in modern times. So too, in select parts of rural Ulster, history, no matter how incompletely or inaccurately recalled, was never truly scrapped. “The good old days” – that was a phrase to describe the present usually followed by the words “long may they continue!”

  As regards the actual contents of the books Wee Joe Forsale’s personal motto was “the volume of volumes speaks volumes”. Wee Joe Forsale was one of those men who thought the obtaining of knowledge involved the mere acquisition of more and more material. It didn’t matter that the books acquired by him were never actually read. For him literary analysis simply meant stacking the valuable volumes in the right order. Wee Joe had only the vaguest of notions that he wanted to build up a resource he could eventually leave to the town library for the edification of future generations. Just like the local politicians he could endow the future with yesterday’s solutions and today’s irrelevancies. Unfortunately, the present political situation made that impossible as yet. The sad truth was that Wee Joe’s weakness for literature left him vulnerable to blackmail, denunciation and worse.

  In the land of saints and scholars one might have anticipated a traditional respect for education and learning. Unfortunately, in the eyes of the self-appointed guardians of each of the two communities in Ballycarson this was the case only with the “approved” sort of education and learning. Wee Joe Forsale’s tragedy was that he lived in the Nationalist west of the town, but the principal object of his most recent literary passion was the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Mere possession of a work with such a name so brazenly printed on the cover left Wee Joe dangerously exposed to investigation by the self-appointed Nationalist community guardians. Wee Joe knew only too well what had happened to the instruments of one of the local Nationalist pipe bands when they had started to learn the competition march “King George the Fifth’s Army”. At any time Wee Joe could be exposed and pilloried by those carrying out the community protection and continuous revolution on the west side of town. It was all the worse for Wee Joe because his wife was a local woman with well-known hard-line Republican sympathies. The potential for denunciation came from within the home itself. So Wee Joe had rows and rows of encyclopaedias backed in brown paper lining the walls of his shed and packed in boxes in his industrial freezer. Some far off, happy day, he thought, the brown paper could come off, the truth revealed and wisdom could come in from the cold.

  In the meantime Wee Joe traded up-to-date information obtained from his wife for more and more books, which he acquired wherever he could. The main recipient of the information – and also the main source of the books – was Donald Oskar Gormley. It was a pattern of trade that repeated itself many times. Donald supplied smaller quantities of similar illicit material to other individuals all around Ballycarson, again for information. The end result was that the best informed man about town was Donald Oskar Gormley.

  CHAPTER 15

  POLITICAL FACTS AND FIGURES

  The election of the first Nationalist administration in Ballycarson since the Ulster Plantation had been a watershed for the town. At least that was the view of the Nationalist parties. The very course of world history had been changed. It was not just in relation to those run-of-the-mill issues such as freedom, justice and equality. No, the transformation had gone much deeper than that. It had even managed to affect some of the Council’s procedures. The new Nationalist administration repeatedly trumpeted the fact that they were fully determined to extirpate some of the well-entrenched practices of their Unionist predecessors.

  Every new governing body needs a big idea. The big idea of the Nationalist administration was to concentrate on their appeal to the collective heart of the Irish Diaspora the world over. If Ireland were seen to be completely and demonstrably miserable, these homesick and rootless émigrés would feel sorry for the old country.

  So it was time to get rid of some so-called improvements in Council functions introduced during Unionist hegemony. Those new highfaluting Council titles could go for a start. Council Chairperson Finvola O’Duffy knew where to apply the axe. In the very last crisis of the previous Unionist administration, the Council chairman, Tim Boyne, vainly tried to keep some of the less loyal Loyalist rebels in line by doling out promotions. All the councillors were endowed with the new title of “Alderman” in a special week of ceremonial activities commemorating some previously overlooked anniversary. It was an elevation to a higher status universally applied – at least within the local political elite. The snag, then, was that the currency of civic recognition had been debased. When there was a forest of aldermen, how would you see the wood for the trees? So the policy of appeasement by promotion had not pacified the Loyalist rebels and they proceeded to bring down the administration on a point of principle. The Council minutes did not identify what the principle was and, when asked, the disloyal Loyalists could not immediately remember. But it was still a point of principle, probably one so fundamental that it did not need to be articulated, and that was all that mattered.

  The elections came and went. A new era was ushered in. In the new Nationalist administration, the Council Chairperson Finvola O’Duffy was determined that there would be no reversion to such trading in titular upgrading. It was degrading. It was time to stick to practicalities and to polish up pre-prepared pious and backward-looking stereotypes. She was presently arranging for the aides of the United States president to be taken on a misery tour. This would involve views of two of the overgrown graveyards and the silted-up Union Canal – that clogged-up ancient artery of commerce would have to be renamed immediately (it was fortunate that the sign at the side of the canal had rusted over and could not easily be read). Lunch, comprising a plate of steamed cabbage and a bowl of thin gruel, would be served at the site of the old poor house kitchen. Thereafter, the real highlight, the afternoon would be spent at the dentist’s surgery in Irish Street where at least one hunger striker had had a tooth pulled as a child. Tradition had it that the British National Health Service, somehow recognising this particular child’s future role in the armed struggle and wishing to punish him in advance (without a trial) fo
r his as yet undiscovered contribution to rebellion, had paid for the extraction but not the anaesthetic. It was a classic tour of pain, misery and degradation. But the vehicle or means of transport appropriate to a grand misery tour had to be ready. No detail was to be left unprepared. Councillor Finvola O’Duffy had noticed that the green minibus that was to be used in the tour had a broken headlight. That would leave a bad impression. She had just ordered one of her volunteers to smash the other one so they would match. Uniformity was everything even if it meant leaving everyone in the dark ages. Yes, that was the principle put into practice. Everything and everyone should have that down-at-heel look. The minibus driver should have a broken arm, bad teeth and a poor haircut. Better still if he spoke in broken English as if he had been forced to learn it. That would make the Irish-American visitors feel good because they could then think Just look at how far I have come since my folks left this place! Such pleasant thoughts from closed minds would lead to opened wallets.

  In the main office of Councillor Finvola O’Duffy an enormous plasma screen was showing the latest preparations for the American presidential visit to Ballycarson. The pictures were of a large, recently constructed wooden stage. It had been erected in good time by the Ballycarson Council in a location tight up against the Peace Wall. This was the perfect backdrop for the eagerly anticipated presidential address.

  Not willing to lose out on such a readymade propaganda opportunity, Councillor Finvola O’Duffy already had some of her employees and supporters try out the venue. They were making uplifting speeches from the temporary but lavish podium bedecked with an Irish tricolour and several adverts for special deals at the O’Duffy carpet and linoleum factory. Councillor Finvola O’Duffy asserted it was only a test run for the presidential big day, although the test had now been going on for ten times longer than the projected main event. These test speeches were being broadcast on three of the publicly funded community channels as a form of breakfast TV. It seemed to many that it was an encouragement to get the populace out to work early. However, for Finvola O’Duffy, it was an all-day breakfast.

  The original point of the community TV channels had been to enable both of the Loyalist and Nationalist communities to receive programmes dedicated to their own needs and distinctive tastes. Very much as an after-thought to secure international funding for the protection of minority interests, a third channel was dedicated to the recent German incomers. The Peace Process would be fostered in that each community would feel they had been selected for something special. Indeed that aim was the principal reason why the project had received substantial financial support from diverse European sources. This diversity remained intact until Councillor Finvola O’Duffy got her hands on the position of leader of the Ballycarson Council Broadcast Committee. What was once cast broadly was now cast as narrowly as she wanted. Two of the channels simply showed the simultaneous pictures of the same events. Those events were chosen by Councillor Finvola O’Duffy as editor in chief. There was nothing wrong with that, opined Councillor Finvola O’Duffy in the preface to her new glossy official Broadcast Committee report. One channel showed what the Nationalist community wanted to see and the other showed what the Loyalists did not want to see. It was a classic case of diversity within unity. The third channel, dedicated to the local Germans, showed the same pictures except that the programming was twenty-three hours behind. That, reasoned Councillor Finvola O’Duffy, was roughly the equivalent of an hour ahead, but it let her have plenty of time to edit out unwanted and unexpected incidents and re-write history for her Central European constituents in a manner more to her liking. The German-aimed programmes were broadcast at Central European time just as if the anticipated viewers had been in Berlin, Frankfurt, Stuttgart or Munich. Noone could complain of ethnic insensitivity. The lavish funding remained secure.

  Despite her overall control of matters, things on stage were not always to the councillor’s liking. With current live events or even with repeat practices for future live events, not all could be stage-managed. It looked like one of those unwanted and unexpected incidents was in the making. As she watched the screen, Finvola O’Duffy was on the phone to one of her aides at the podium site.

  “Move that tricolour a bit to the right,” she growled. “It is blocking part of the advert for our new floor covering range. Better still, get a slightly smaller flag and a bigger advert. No, make it two more adverts and put them on the Peace Wall itself.”

  One of the adverts for the O’Duffy floor covering business clearly bore a large picture of the Titanic underneath the words “The Lino that Launched a Liner”. It was the classic product of the factory.

  Councillor Finvola O’Duffy continued her instructions. “Make sure that poster is right beside the president when he speaks and can be seen by everyone. The president will want his image associated with a ship and a floor covering of such quality and endurance. Maybe we need a new strap-line. What about ‘the Lino that Outlasted a Liner’ or ‘Waterproof Floor Coverings Are Our Speciality’?” The questions did not anticipate any answer except “Yes, ma’am, immediately, ma’am.”

  As the televised backdrop was being reorganised to suit the councillor’s retail requirements, she could clearly hear that the series of practice speeches was continuing. The nameless employee presently behind the microphone was explaining how he, as a political prisoner, had been let out of jail early. He had not renewed his active military involvement with the volunteers against the British war machine, but, instead, he was assisting the Nationalist effort and Peace Process by working at the O’Duffy carpet and linoleum factory. It was the same struggle, he explained, carried out by different means. Because she employed volunteers, the councillor was able to undercut all the Loyalist-owned businesses for miles around and it was all paid for by the European Union by grants under the work programme known as “Head-starts for New-starts”. It was an utter disgrace that the Unionist press had simply derided this valuable programme as “Kick-starts for Up-starts”.

  Here again was another unexpected and unwanted incident, albeit one of potentially greater political and commercial magnitude.

  “Get that guy off the stage immediately,” shouted Councillor Finvola O’Duffy. “He will let the cat out of the bag.”

  The tactless employee’s potted public politico-economic analysis was brought to a sharp end. He was swiftly replaced by a similar man expressing similar political sentiments but with considerably more acceptable subtlety and less factual revelation. Yes, Councillor Finvola O’Duffy had made a lot of money out of ex-paramilitaries working for her on early release schemes so they could be rehabilitated into a peace-loving society. She had even been nominated for a Peace Process award for her boundless enthusiasm in accepting the old volunteers into a workplace environment. She liked the mixture of the spirit of volunteering and the professional ethic. She was the professional businesswoman and the government could pay for her volunteers. But the financial secrets of the success of her floor covering business had to be kept under the carpet.

  That’s more like it, reflected Councillor Finvola O’Duffy as she heard the new speaker, another released volunteer, indicate that the local population should all be glad because the new Nationalist-led Council had made a number of things in Ballycarson better than they had been for him in the jail. Even as a political prisoner, who had gained a PhD in Sociology, Internationalisation and Republican studies, it had been tough for him on the inside. Content with the substance and phrasing of the renewed message, Councillor Finvola O’Duffy let the broadcast words slip from her immediate attention. She had more important and pressing things to attend. But the plasma screen remained switched on and the incessant and un-altering political message continued to form the background noise of her day’s activity. She would have been lost without it. It formed the wallpaper music to her life.

  Another phone rang in the office. The ringtone was the opening bars of John Philip Sousa’s “The Stars and Stripes Forever”. The call itself brought im
portant news. The news had finally broken that the president of the United States would be arriving in Ballycarson in two days’ time. It was time for the full weight of the O’Duffy political and commercial machine to swing into action.

  The combined application of political and commercial weight often involves waiting. However, that did not matter. “It will not take us long waiting two days,” was the inspirational message of Councillor Finvola O’Duffy as she broadcast the information over the tannoy system to her workers at the O’Duffy carpet and linoleum factory. “Get the presidential green carpet ready by 6 p.m. tonight.” And, just as she clicked off the switch to the tannoy system, a further thought crossed her mind. After the American president had gone home the carpet might even suit to cover the aisle of the chapel at her own wedding. It wouldn’t be a second-hand carpet, after all, just a pre-enjoyed one. That was no mere play on her own much-used, sales-orientated words. For the carpet in question would never have had a previous owner. She would have owned it all the time. It didn’t matter at all that the carpet in question was really a large section of Astroturf that her workers were cutting into slices. She had recently re-acquired it when the local Gaelic Athletic Association Club went into liquidation and could not afford the payments on their new artificial playing surface. It was a good job Finvola had supplied this surface on Hire Purchase as it had always remained her property and she just had her repossession men roll up in lorries to roll up and roll away the surface. Yes, those legal and commercial technicalities were truly vital especially for an event such as a dynastic marriage that had such potentially important legal and political consequences in rural Ulster. And the further benefit? She could confirm she truly had a “Green” wedding in every sense of the word. Her guests would benefit from that genuine reproduction outdoor feel as they walked up and down the grassed chapel aisle on her big day. And the final bonus? On the day after the big event the carpet could be cut up even further into smaller sections, sold and fitted as extremely hard-wearing carpets for council house floors in the west side of town. And, as for the final cut-offs, she might even be able to sell them to the Americans cut up even smaller into one-inch square pieces of genuine reproduction Irish greener than green grass. There would be no waste at all. It was all win-win for Councillor Finvola O’Duffy.