Ballycarson Blues Read online

  To ensure the complete success of the presidential visit, further compromises had to be made and largesse distributed by the American aides. As the route from the baseball park to the Peace Wall ran through the east of the town and lay wholly within the domain of Big David, he was in a position to extract the concessions. Big David’s list of demands was relayed by phone and, apart from the last, instantly accepted. The demands included:

  a)

  The Ballycarson 1690 Young Defenders Flute Band was to lead the presidential parade. The suggestion seemed to fly in the face of the desire of the Americans to seek out a Nationalist slant on the event. “But Loyalism can be dressed up in different ways,” suggested Big David as he recalled an earlier sartorial surprise not originally of his own making or design. The Americans accepted the suggestion of the band’s leadership of the parade only because the band uniforms were not traditional flute band uniforms but, instead, were sequinned white Elvis Presley Las Vegas-style outfits. It would be the second outing for the outfits. The uniforms had already proved their worth when poking fun at Councillor Finvola O’Duffy’s engagement ring. Now Big David saw the chance of a double dividend. However, no matter how the band was dressed up, Big David still wanted to keep control of such a potentially revolutionary entity. The ranks of the band would be greatly expanded by placed men from Big David’s security organisation.

  b)

  Big David was to receive the catering contract to supply food for the entire event. For all official participants there would be special packed lunches of Big Micks and sliced salami. Desert would come in the form of presidential-size doughnuts drizzled with the words “Ich bin ein Berliner” to celebrate the anniversary of the earlier presidential speech on 26th June 1963.

  c)

  The president was to visit Big David in the east before meeting any Nationalist leaders in the west. The parade would pass right underneath the newly decorated Queen Anne Boleyn Bridge and move all the way up the hill to the L.H.O. hall. The president would then officiate at the dedication of the new band uniforms and flutes and cut the ribbon on the newly renovated band practice room at the L.H.O. hall. The geriatric cameramen and women in the Spion Kop bus stop would be able to film it all for posterity.

  d)

  The president would inspect the Red Army. Of course this one was turned down as it might have generated awkward headlines for the president. But Big David knew how to negotiate. He had to allow the American aides to report to their superiors that they had been able to knock back Big David on something. The pleasure of reviewing the Red Army was something both he and the American president could forego.

  It all looked good for Big David. He considered his negotiated achievement. There may soon be a Nationalist diamond-studded replica dog on a presidential desk back in Washington, but that would remain a minor detail obscured forever from public view. What the world would see was global television coverage of the parade, the catering arrangements and the visit of the American president to his headquarters. Who said that only Irish Republicans and Nationalists were adept at using propaganda?

  But in any negotiated settlement there are always loopholes and compromises. It did not all go Big David’s way. Big David wanted to stuff the flute band with his own men. Eva Brunette proved equal to the threat to band autonomy. She avoided the inevitable disruption to the musical outcome by insisting that the tone-deaf incomers would be inserted at the centre of the band so they could not be easily seen. In addition, they would be armed not with black flutes but with silent substitutes – the black bicycle pumps taken from the box at the back of the Council lost property shed. With his lack of musical knowledge, Big David believed her when she explained that these pumps could be used as “trombone flutes” and that they could be extended to reach the really high notes. Donald Oskar Gormley’s treasure trove of collectables had saved the day again. Furthermore, the Americans managed to manipulate the news of the visit to Big David to deflate any problem with the Irish-Americans back home. Not only did they employ Big David’s other, less favoured nickname but they also presented the whole story as some banal domestic presidential travel. The Provincial Observer picked up the headline fed by the American publicity machine:

  PRESIDENT

  TO VISIT CAMP

  DAVID BEFORE

  GOING WEST

  During all this frenzy of last-minute announcements and backroom deals about the practicalities of the presidential visit, the search for the lost presidential relative continued with even more desperation than before. It was now the last few business hours of the day before the anticipated presidential visit and the results from the continuous clerical and congregational consultation were still discouraging. There was still no trace of any non-Nationalist close relative of the president other than the man with the enormous Loyalist tattoos. “Do the search again,” ordered Big David for the third time that day. “Start at the beginning and do it again,” he yelled down the phone. “I know it’s a last ditch,” said Big David, “but see if you can come up with anything in the German community and don’t forget that church that nobody knows.” It was to turn out to be an instruction of genius fortuitously found by Big David as he fumbled about in the dark.

  Last on the alphabetical list of Ballycarson churches was a church that appeared to have broken the mould. It had been left to the end because it wasn’t even in the alphabet, the phone book or any list at all. This was the Church of the Reverend X located in the street with no name. Consonant with this low-key approach to evangelism, the church had no noticeboard at the gate and was known as “the church with no name”. Preaching from a church with no name in a street with no name, the whole idea of the Reverend X was to avoid the name-calling that blighted religious discussion in Ulster. He remembered only too well the confusion and moral outrage that had erupted when a previous Protestant church had tried to tie down its particular brand of doctrine by an overly detailed title. The Free Evangelical Non-Integrated And Non-Subscribing Church had suffered irreparable damage in the esteem of potential adherents when some local wag had abbreviated their name by use of the acronym the “FENIANS”. Unfortunately, the total avoidance of any name brought difficulties too. The attempt at anonymity had hit an immediate snag as it was generally the case throughout Ireland that the only church never to have a noticeboard at the gate was the Roman Catholic Church. Within that particular church it was presumed by the incumbent clerics that, of course, everyone should know their institution. In their view, the one true Church did not need to advertise. So, when the Reverend X failed to put up a noticeboard, the local parish priest in Ballycarson was perturbed and put out by the Reverend X’s presumption. Again some cross-community negotiation was needed. It was indeed pleasing to see that an outcome was achieved without anyone compromising on their strongly held principles. To avoid confusion, a notice was projected from the spire of the Roman Catholic chapel across the street onto the gable wall of the Reverend X’s church. On this dark surface the projected letters of light enlightened the casual reader: “This building used to be a German church”. It was a solution of genius. No noticeboard was erected within the boundaries of the Reverend X’s building. No words confirmed the present use of the building. The information was useless to any visitor to the town or any bypasser who might otherwise be tempted to enter. Despite that, the terms of the projected sign were absolutely and completely accurate. It was a diplomatic achievement comprising both total historic accuracy and a present lack of utility. Even the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office would have been proud of it.

  The church with no name was indeed a building formerly used by a long-dissolved congregation of a tiny German Protestant sect. All that remained of their gatherings was a large box of mouldering records. It had lain undisturbed under the church stairs for years. These were the archives that were to prove to be the salvation of Big David and the Unionist cause. It was there that the searchers discovered the familial link between the president and a present-day resi
dent of Ballycarson.

  The presidential relative in question turned out to be none other than Donald Oskar Gormley. He was German on his mother’s side. As a direct descendant of the seventeenth-century German incomers to Ulster, he could be linked directly to the American president’s ancestral village in the Sudetenland and was easily the president’s closest direct living relative in Ballycarson. The ace in the pack was the fact that Donald had been declared dead and already held his own death certificate. If the whole “meet the Irish relative event” went badly, the president could truthfully deny he had met such a living soul in Ballycarson. It was a classic example of the principle of plausible deniability in action.

  More last-minute deals had to be done to persuade Donald Oskar Gormley to appear on the presidential podium and have his photograph taken. Of course, Donald’s dog could appear on stage to meet the president. But this time it was the Council and not the Americans who had to provide the majority of the incentives. Donald was promised an exclusive franchise for his activities at the border. The activities weren’t rendered legal, of course, because that would spoil the fun and ruin Donald’s image. Parking places for his vehicles, whatever they might be, were to be constructed at suitable locations around the town. He was to be provided with an unlimited supply of second-hand chip vans and a first call on any washing machines fished out of the canal that once was called the Union Canal. And there was to be some continuity in all of this benevolence. Donald was to have a job for life at the Council. Well, you can’t change everything. But perhaps there was indeed something new. He would have a job for his afterlife since, at least in the eyes of the law, Donald was already dead.

  The final touch for the presidential visit comprised the significant additions to the painting on the Queen Anne Boleyn Bridge. A huge German flag was to fly over the bridge to accompany the nine flags already there. Even in Loyalist and Unionist Ballycarson, a Republican tricolour of black, red and gold was perfectly acceptable. The symbolism extended to words reflecting the complete alignment of the theme of the presidential visit and Big David’s commercial motto. Painted on the bridge to complete the spaces left beside the three NOs was the following inspiring message:

  “NOTHING

  KNOCKS

  NOSTALGIA”

  Never before had two such seemingly irreconcilable interests been so speedily realigned to arrive at a more satisfactory conclusion. Never had the transatlantic alliance appeared more solid and vibrant. All that was necessary now was for the president to arrive.

  ENDNOTE

  The normal state of affairs is often reversed in Northern Ireland. In homage to this principle, the introduction is at the back of this book. Those seeking a brief guide to some of the persons and events mentioned in the story may find it there. So too this endnote is at the start and may encourage those who wish to read no further. Others may decide to plunge straight into the text and consult the tail-end repository of wisdom only when they encounter something they do not understand. Reflecting Ulster politics, those who seek answers will often be disappointed. Of course, the only real introduction to politics in that province is actually to have been there and, perhaps, to have remained confused by what occurred. Nevertheless, it is hoped this book will convey some of the flavour of events in the north of Ireland.

  Although mired in the general history and political culture of the six northern counties of Ireland, nothing in this book should be taken as denoting any living person. This is a work of fiction. So far as the author is aware, there is no town with the name “Ballycarson” anywhere in Ireland or elsewhere. In one respect this book is also deliberately misleading and unrepresentative of real life. Noone is killed. Even in a novel the author would not wish to see that occur again.

  A final warning: those who are colour blind should not bother to read on.