Throughout my early childhood I’d always been pretty much in awe of my Da and aspired to be like him. When I was a child my Uncle and Aunty and my four cousins lived in the house directly facing ours. We were all of a similar age and like one big family and it was great craic having two houses to run in and out of.
Then came the 1970s – I know I definitely hadn’t reached double figures when this incident occurred, I am the youngest. I was woken up by a huge commotion in the middle of the night. I ran downstairs to investigate … My Da was halfway out the front door, my Ma and my 5 siblings were all on top of him, trying to drag him back. Beyond him all I could see were Saracens, ferret cars, land rovers and British soldiers everywhere. My uncle was being dragged down his path by a gang of Brits. It is the first and only time I saw my father lose that cool, calm demeanor he had. He was shouting and screaming “get off my brother youse bastards!” He was trying to get out the front door to get at them. The weight of my brothers and sisters and my Ma was preventing him – but he was still making progress – so much so that a brit crossed the street and pointed his rifle at him and threatened to shoot him. I was 8/9 years old so the Brits with their armoured cars and SLRs didn’t faze me.
The
things that have stuck in my mind since that night are: the hysterical screams
from my Ma and my sisters, which reached an alarming pitch when the Brit
cocked his weapon as he pointed it at my Da’s head; the fact that the British
soldier was so cool, calm and collected (to borrow a cliché) when he threatened
to shoot my Da; the barking of orders in an upper class English accent to
“restrain that man” didn’t faze me; the scream of the engines of the “pigs” as
they reversed and regrouped as neighbours started coming out of their houses
didn’t faze me.
What fazed me was the absolutely stunning, unbelievable fact
that my Da was wearing the same underpants as me. Here was my Da, my hero -
wearing the same underpants as me (so was therefore just another ordinary human
being.) That traumatised me the most. It was right up there with finding out
that Santa didn’t exist, only worse … My Da was just another ordinary man and he
wore the same underpants as me … Nothing would ever be the same again – for any
of us …
There is always something deeply endearing about this type of narrative: the combination of writing style and story content have an alluring charm.
ReplyDeleteBit of a Roddy Doyle in there. Interesting reminiscence. Enjoyable too compared to Oscar Wilde who asserted people eventually judge their parents....some forgive them.
ReplyDeleteA truly wonderful article. Long may they continue
ReplyDeleteAs one of Martins cousins I remember this incident, it is a memory from deep inside that is only brought back to life when asked of my earliest memory. The year was 1972, At 6 yrs old I distinctively remember this raid on my home, myself and my 3 sisters huddled around a lino floor in front of a fire, I remember screaming 'Bastards' at the British Army as they dragged my Da down the garden path, my uncle Patsy being held back, a terrible scenrio when looked at with todays ethiics and standards. Those where the days when playing in my garden i would see unarmed Foot patrols of armed teenagers, the likes of Willie G and V murphy to name but a few take on helicopters who dared to grace the skies of the Ballycolman. personally speaking the hijacking of the bread lorries were my childhood favourite, fancy buns and all the toast you could eat. RIP uncle Patsy, the only McGarrigle I ever respected.
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