Growing up in Northern Ireland – An Odyssey…

Sixty odd years gone and there’s still life (I think) in this old dog. It was great to sing “When I’m sixty four” at the time, now I’m looking forward to “Never thought I’d live to be a 100” by good old prog rockers The Moody Blues. However in this article I’m going to look back.

When was I first aware of “themmuns”? Sometime I think between 7 and 10. I remember thinking “Catholics are somehow different and are sort of looked down on, why?” You see I grew up on a newly built mixed estate, 70:30 Protestant I would guess. My friends were all Protestant except for one. Within my group of friends there were never any anti Catholic sentiments but we all knew who the Catholic families in the area were. My Protestant friend next door explained the significance of the last Saturday in August to me and my Catholic friend told me all about confession as I accompanied him there one day. A good lad, straight in and out, no misdemeanours or impure thoughts to unburden! Of course there was a lot simmering beneath the surface back then. Years later when I was old enough to understand, my father who was an active trade unionist, told me that a rumour had deliberately been put about that me and my siblings were being educated at the local Catholic primary school. Even more mysterious was the policeman who moved in next door for about a year and was known to ask a lot of questions about us. Well the powers that be finally got one over on my Da when he was paid off from the Shipyard and blacklisted, a situation that he dealt with and overcame. Through hard work he prospered in life.

Being at grammar school in the sixties was a happy time. I remember a school friend telling me once about an incident from years back when a member of the public was dragged off a bus and shot dead. I can remember being very shocked by this, thinking “could you imagine something like that happening today”. Little did I, or indeed anybody, know what was in store for us. Towards the end of the sixties I became aware of news stories of a minister marching round places like Cromac Street and stirring up trouble. Me, a well educated lad, hadn’t a clue what it was all about. My ignorance of local politics betrayed me again in August 1969. I had just finished a summer job in Kent and was leaving on the Saturday. The landlady where I was staying told me that there had been serious trouble in NI the night before. I told her that I didn’t really understand why as I thought that all their (Civil Rights Association) demands had been met. Boy had I a lot of learning to do! Another uncomfortable history lesson came courtesey of a student colleague from Ardoyne in my first year at university. A bit of a history discussion got heated and he let me have it with both barrels! He countered my arguments with stuff that I was totally ignorant of and left me speechless and embarrassed. Being the gentleman that I am I licked my wounds, realised that there was more learning to be done and (kind of) forgave him. Whose fault was it that I had been so hijacked by what he had to say? Well I had never been exposed to any of those opinions before. It wasn’t out there, if you were a Prod you simply didn’t hear about it, read about it or watch it on TV.

In the years since I have done my learning on the job you might say. I’ve lived and breathed the troubles and tried to make sense of it. I believe that most people who lived through the troubles have suffered trauma. I have been lucky, the Troubles were largely a working class conflict. The working classes suffered disproportionately but very few of us have not been affected in some way. I remember one Friday afternoon looking out my window at work towards the centre of Belfast wondering what the clouds of smoke were rising in the distance at regular intervals. It was Bloody Friday. I had to get a bus home from the centre of Belfast. The fear was palpable. I know what it means to say you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Living through the Troubles takes its toll I believe. So many bad things, they build one on the other, year after year. I still have dreams about being in Belfast in vaguely perilous situations, yet I know I was one of the lucky ones.

I am thankful for being brought up in a family that did not preach intolerance. Who knows what the future holds for us. I have my own thoughts. It’s an imperfect place we live in but preferable to where we have come from.

By John Pike

“Belfast, Northern Ireland | June 10, 2017” by _ferloz is licensed under CC BY-SA