Ballycarson Blues Page 3

  Indeed in its implementation of the Peace Process the Council had been most energetic in taking down what were now regarded as reactionary and offensive signs. Apart from areas in the eastern enclaves where Loyalism still held sway, the public areas of Ballycarson had been stripped of any hint of links with the British royal family and the United Kingdom. The policy was zealously enforced. Even the Jehovah’s Witnesses had received an official letter from the Council inviting them to consider altering the name “Kingdom Hall”. It was further rumoured that the poker club at O’Neill’s bar had been requested to examine their decks of cards and substitute president and first lady cards for the four kings and queens. There was no issue about the knave as every political system, Royalist or Republican, possessed such a character. The proposal, so the rumour went, had not been implemented, only because the newly elected feminists on the Council had vetoed the priority given to men in the highest value card. The Unionists stirred the pot further by objecting to the identification of the remainder of the playing cards by Roman numerals. The local newspaper, the Provincial Enquirer, picked up on this political game of poker and reported the debate about the decks of cards under the inquisitive heading: ‘Royals to be Flushed Away?’

  Despite all the hot air and controversy, one coincidence of political strategies proved a happy one. In honour of the recent German incomers and, more importantly, to further the Peace Process, the councillors passed a resolution urging the local bakeries to re-name “Empire biscuits” with their original name “German biscuits”. Sweeteners were offered for compliance. If the bakers co-operated, the councillors would instruct their canteen to place a special order for Battenburg cake.

  “If you want to see symbols of British rule, then you should go over the border” became the official Ballycarson Council policy immediately after the Nationalist and Republican coalition took power.

  This policy was based on the strange irony that in border market towns in the Irish Republic the most impressive pre-1922 buildings were still adorned with the British Royal Crest and Arms. Indeed considerable sums of European Union money were being spent to retain and restore this heritage in the South whilst twenty miles away in the North the same money was being spent in removing it. A business, known as “the arms trade”, grew up of selling the heraldic items removed in the North to eager purchasers in the South. The policy of removal of symbols was accelerated in the North by the increasing demands from the south. In his oft-repeated speech of welcome to each newly arrived group of German refugees, the Ballycarson Council vice-chairperson, Councillor Seoras O’Duffy, made extensive reference to this policy of “reconstructive anonymisation”. The truculent tirade culminated with the words of triumph: “We want refugees to come here and feel stateless!”

  For the first few years all appeared to be going well in the tiny German enclave within Ballycarson. However, there must have been some unperceived undercurrents of angst. Whatever it was, it was not picked up by the health board social workers as they gathered at their frequent case conferences. These meetings were styled as a modern form of collective quasi-religious confession to reveal, explore and discuss human failings and frailties. Of course these flaws of character were not the participants’ own failings and frailties but those of other people. Each with a six-month part-time study diploma in social work from the local university (thank goodness, it was no longer just the technical college), the participating social workers were the only people in a position to carry out this important work. All those who lacked such undoubted success in certificated formal education, in their collective view, were stupid. Thus the health board social workers were able to raise themselves above the common herd.

  That said, only so much dirty linen can be washed in public at any one time and the ladies in question had no desire to make themselves feel like common washerwomen. It simply would not fit their desired image, as most of them were doctors’ wives with a certain standing in the community. The remainder comprised wives of Council-employed environmental health officials who wished they had been doctors’ wives. A few of this remainder still struggled to alter their status should opportunity arise, but, with only three medical practices in the town, there was a limited supply of the objects of desire. So, rather than insult their collective intelligence by considering the lives of stupid people for the entire length of the meeting, the tawdry business of social work proper was confined to the first five or ten minutes of every gathering. As for the remainder of the meeting the following two hours were turned over to more select activities.

  The principal task at these case conferences was to exchange notes on the various types of Blackforest gateaux in the newly established Schwarzwald Konditorei located in what had been the Ballycarson market square. So the case conferences, by fortunate typing mistake, became known as the “cake conferences”. For the owner of the cake shop establishment the business of salacious gossip brought with it the prospect of filthy lucre. By attracting such luminaries of the social science world, the baking establishment had got off to a flying start. It probably had a lot to do with the notice in the window of the establishment: “Genuine Ersatz Coffee”. If an enquiring scientific mind can uncover all sorts of shady practices, then a suitably vague answer can produce a satisfied customer. And so it was when a social worker enquired where was the origin of the coffee, the German host was able to respond that Ersatz was a major coffee and timber-producing province in Bolivia. The social workers then began to dream of holidays in Ersatz, sitting under an Ersatz sun, acquiring an Ersatz tan, participating in an Ersatz conference to obtain an Ersatz diploma. Yes, there was a genuine need for all things Ersatz.

  With all this daydreaming the world can slip by. The social workers found it difficult to realise there was a real world outside their wooded glade of pseudo academic discussion and genuine cake consumption. Their motto could easily have been: “Ours not to do or die; ours is just to eat the pie.” Clearly there was a complete absence of reasoning why. Reality, however, eventually did knock on the door even of the Schwarzwald Konditorei. Whatever the cause, one morning the neighbourhood awoke to find that two German neighbours living side by side in semi-detached houses had fallen out over something. Whatever the differences were they were irreconcilable. The social workers made a suitable report to the Council. Under the heading “Needle in Close Knit Community”, it was full of analysis and tentative conclusions but wholly lacking in suggestions, recommendations or advice. The Council were left in a moral and political vacuum to decide what to do. Perhaps the report was not so bad as first seemed. Arguably, it comprised advice tailored to the character of the client. However, a practical solution substituted for an absence of any principle. For the elected members of the Council, separation of the ways was deemed a suitable solution. But the Ballycarson Council did not wish to be seen to force out any of the welcome newcomers who had already been collectively deeply offended by the window advert of a local travel agents reading “Do Us a Favour and Go Away”. The pictures of the smiling Germans at the Munich beer festival and on Rhine cruises in the immediately adjacent window posters had not assisted the overall impression.

  The local authority’s quandry in the face of this general sensitivity and the particular passions of the two German neighbours was solved in a special general meeting of the councillors. Both German protagonists were invited to remain in their present houses but were given planning permission to separate their backyards more completely by building a fifteen-foot wall, complete with a barbed wire flourish at the top. To avoid offending the two German belligerents, it was declared at a Council meeting that the new construction was never to be referred to as a “wall”. Such a word could only inflame an already difficult situation. Instead the construction was to be known by the more acceptable euphemism as a “Separation Structure” – or “S.S.” for short. Each of the Germans would be given a grant to pursue their separate but equal development. There was much backslapping at the drinks party after the Council mee
ting. A tricky situation had been solved. The Council had given a certain and decisive lead. Maybe there was more room for such decisive acts in the future? Maybe the separate but equal doctrine could be introduced on a wider scale with even greater benefits reaped as a result?

  The enthusiasm was not shared by all. For many in Ballycarson the acts of the Council were divisive and not decisive. The Provincial Enquirer summed up their mood when it ran a headline:

  Division Decision Deserves Derision.

  “Uncertain Street” was the main shopping street leading to the area previously known as the market square in Ballycarson. Completely rebuilt and renamed after repeated bombing in the 1980s, Uncertain Street had received its new name immediately prior to one local Council election. At that time noone could predict exactly which political party would win. The Council official dealing with the street renaming did not wish to blot his copybook with anyone who was about to become his new political master, so he had completed the form for the new name of the street with the word “Uncertain”. The name stuck. Nobody could ever agree on a replacement. The “market square”, however was renamed as soon as the Republicans gained power. The traditional name was seen as having direct links to capitalism and overtones of Masonic ritual. It was hastily renamed “the Communal Rectangle”. Fortunately, the new name did not stick. Even in official Council correspondence, the centre of town was still referred to as “the area previously known as the market square”. If anything, the episode seemed symbolic of a political regime adept at getting rid of things but utterly incapable of putting anything useful in its place.

  Despite the constant revision of names, when anyone wanted to know which way the political wind was blowing in Ballycarson, they went to Uncertain Street and not just to stick their finger in the air. More exactly, they went to Cecil Pitman’s newsagent at the top end of Uncertain Street to read the headlines. Rumours of sales of top shelf material by Cecil Pitman had led to suspicion amongst the more proper elements of Ballycarson society. The suspected salacious sales had earned for Cecil Pitman’s establishment the nickname “the Cess Pit”. Due to repeated tip-offs prior to police raids, the rumours were never substantiated and the Cess Pit continued to deliver what some regarded as an essential, if sordid, semi-secret service.

  The shop, like Cecil himself, appeared to have a split personality. As well as diverting the attention of the locals into the gutter of life, the shop contents genuinely did assist in broadening the horizons of the locals to some extent. Maybe it was just a very broad gutter. The tiny shop was hardly an internet café, but it provided a link with the outside world even though most of the news was local. Outside the Cess Pit, the advertising boards of the Provincial Enquirer heralded the latest developments in the locality. The principles of the Peace Process had required that there always would be two headlines (even if there was no news) so that the paper had something to offer each community. This was based on the principle that politics in Northern Ireland was always a zero sum game. According to this theory any event that conferred an advantage on one community would naturally and inexorably confer an equal disadvantage on the other. Those interested in realpolitik found pseudo-justification in Newton’s Law: “To every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction.” This was the Eternal Truth for political commentators in Ulster. Consequently, for the politically correct class in Ulster, things could never get worse and things could never get better. The province was preordained to a perpetual plateau of petrified political platitudes. However, looking on the bright side, in broad overview, all news was neutral in its effect. The two posters outside the newsagent were intended to implement this policy of political stagnation, or “golden stagnation” as its proponents named it.

  The orange paper poster on one board on the right foot of the main door of the newsagent – known as the “right footer board” – followed the latest neighbourhood developments from the point of view of the Loyalist and Unionist community. The other, a green poster, set on the left foot of the door – the “left footer board” – contained matters of interest to the Nationalist and Republican community. Often, the two headlines bore different, indeed starkly different, if not wholly opposing and irreconcilable, “takes” on a particular incident. They were a true reflection of society in Ballycarson as viewed by the traditional political pundits. This was typified on one particular day when the newspaper headlines addressed the incident of Councillor Eugene Gerald Fitzmaurice writing to the Provincial Enquirer to complain that the Ballycarson Bluegrass Festival Committee were disclosing unsuitable political bias in their very name.

  “Every idiot should know that grass is emerald green, particularly, traditional Irish grass. Just look at our new town plaza to see the truth,” ran his polished published pontification.

  The headline on the right footer board ran: “Councillor Sounds Foolish Note”. The left footer board commented: “Councillor Does Not Sound Foolish Note”. Equilibrium was maintained by the dissonance.

  But stories relative to the German community had broken the mould and noone had yet got round to producing a third noticeboard. The small space above the door of the Cess Pit was already taken by a hastily hand-painted sign reading “Licensed for the sale of alcohol and racy literature”. With the middle ground already occupied by these more important matters, the result was that the most trivial of partisan aspects for each local community was sought out in any story affecting the Germans. If none could be found, the story was ignored.

  On this particular day the story of the wall-building German neighbours was regarded as of marginal interest to the Loyalists and Unionists because the local Loyalist big man, Big David, had got the contract to paint both sides of the newly erected Separation Structure keeping the feuding Germans apart. That had been a relief to him as he had lost out in painting the new town plaza green. With the German aspect dominating the new painting story, no positive angle could be found for the Nationalist community. The result was that their noticeboard simply contained the usual blandishment used by the newspaper to advertise itself when there was no news of interest. However, even on this day one could not avoid reading one community headline like a comment on the other. The first of the adjacent noticeboards shouted in block capitals:

  PROVINCIAL

  ENQUIRER

  LOCAL GERMANS

  FALL OUT

  The second gleefully observed:

  PROVINCIAL

  ENQUIRER

  THE BEST

  NEWS YET

  And what was so great about this news? Well, perhaps the Germans had started to assimilate. Maybe, they would soon fit the local mould and engage in unfathomable and irreconcilable disputes. However, there was still hope.

  CHAPTER 3

  NO-MAN’S-LAND

  Not all messages are as short lived or as easily removed as those on the publicity boards of local newspapers. In a country such as Northern Ireland where the past had been ongoing for a long time, something more permanent had to be sought. Usually, the solution was several layers of exterior gloss paint. And this was all the more so as it was now the second half of June and the time was fast approaching the traditional July marching season.

  That particular day William Henry’s paint job at the Queen Anne Boleyn Bridge was complete, at least for that particular morning. Another Ulster landmark had been renovated for the benefit of locals and any more German incomers who might be bussed into the town. William Henry set down his paint pot and brush and surveyed his work.

  William Henry always did what he was told. As a conscripted member of Big David’s Volunteer Defenders, he was a loyal “No Man”. He alone was responsible for the “NOs”. This gave him status – and political status at that. Here was no artist struggling in obscurity without recognition. He was a man of influence and his work was world famous, if only locally. So influential, indeed, was he that the very name of the site of his recent artistic efforts was linked to him. The site of the disused railway bridge over the main road
into the east side of Ballycarson was known locally as “No-Man’s-Land”.

  It was not the case that this title of No-Man’s-Land indicated a shell-marked strip of land beyond the control by any one side in the Ulster divide. The six tattered Ulster flags (one for each county in Northern Ireland) and the various slogans painted on the bridge all shouted to the contrary. This indeed was the last redoubt of Loyalism.

  Right in the middle of the archway over the roadway, in big, white, block letters, was the traditional rallying call:

  NO SURRENDER

  And that was not all. Clearly there was continued loyalist resistance in this place, despite the onslaught of the Peace Process. Immediately underneath the big “NO” in a vertical column of unmistakable loyalist assertiveness were three other recently completed NOs. These were the still wet product of William Henry’s very recently accomplished painting mission. It was “NO SURRENDER” and three times “NO”.

  But this was not evidence of a community hard-boiled in bigotry or fossilised in prejudice. No way. Not at all. Not a bit. The entire space under the word “SURRENDER” and beside the added NOs was blank. The three recently painted NOs were the unaccompanied and unadulterated denials of something yet to be determined. The local loyalist big man, Camp David (although William Henry would never use that version of the name, as he might be asked to decamp), had told William Henry to paint on three more NOs and nothing more just yet.

  Whatever Big David did not like in the future could easily be added from time to time into the spaces immediately to the right of each NO.