Belfast

The cover of the current issue of Ireland's Own caught my eye.

Donncha with mike in hand reminded me of a trip to Belfast on the toy train at the height of the troubles. If I remember correctly Donncha had either organised it or was part of the organising group. The idea was to bring toys up to Belfast from the south for the children of internees in the north. We were also to provide some entertainment for the kids and to this end a number of "celebrities" had signed up for the trip. When it came to the crunch that morning in Connolly Station it turned out a fair few of them had funked it.

The kids were assembled in the Ardoyne Hall and I distinguished myself by knocking over a fully lit Christmas tree as I went out on stage. The kids thought that was great. I told them I was going to sing a song and they could clap or tap their feet along with it. This was greeted by a thunderous roar of stamping feet which it took the stewards a good few minute to quieten down. Then I canvassed animal names for Old McDonald had a Farm and was totally mystified by the response of one of the youngsters. The animal in question finally turned out to be a cow but the unaccustomedly strong Belfast accent made it sound like a totally new species.

Anyway, the song was sung and the toys were distributed and the southerners returned safely home.

My first visit to Belfast was passing through in the 1950s when we went on holidays to nearby Bangor. I particularly remember three things from that holiday in Bangor. Much to our surprise, disgust and fear, our landlord turned out wearing a sash in the Orange parade on the twalfth of July. Post WWII rationing was still in force in the north and we got what we thought was our chocolate coupons for the first week of our fortnight's stay. We were very surprised and disappointed when we went back for our second week's coupons to find we had already consumed our full fortnight's ration. And, finally, I remember cutting the ads off the town map which was available for free at the Pickie Pool, opposite our lodgings, and selling copies in the street for a penny each. Happy Days.

My third time in Belfast was with the Irish language folk group Tŷ Bach when we made an LP, Téanam Ort, in Billy McBurney's recording studio. It should be worth a few bucks now as a vinyl rarity.

Little did I think then that I would later return on business as co-chair of the EU Peace Programme Monitoring Committee. I don't know if it's apocryphal, but the rumour was that the original name for the programme was Special Northern Ireland Programme for Economic Recovery but that some wide awake acronymist nipped that one in the bud (SNIPER).

And my last time in Belfast was last year to attend Craig Murray's talk on the Falls Road during Féile an Phobail.

But back to Donncha. The occasion of the extensive article by Gerry Breen in Ireland's Eye was the publication last September by Three Sisters Press of Donncha's new book Donncha's World - The Roads, the Stories, and the Wireless, in conversation with Declan Lyons. .

Good to see he's still on the go. The only man I know who could talk the hind legs off a leprechaun.

Update: Sadly Donncha died on 4/9/2021. RIP

When out walking the other day I remembered another Donncha story.

Donncha's wife taught in a boy's primary school in Ballybrack, where I used to live. At some stage Donncha asked me if I would do a presentation for the class on the history of Ballybrack as he knew I had a talk on that subject.

I said OK but nothing specific was arranged at that stage. Imagine my surprise when, one morning out of the blue, I got an emergency call from Donncha in my work in town. Donncha had told his wife I'd do the presentation and she had set a date. But nobody told me and he apologetically explained that I had been billed for that very morning.

Fortunately I was able to leave work and rush out to Ballybrack school, but I had nothing prepared. So I decided to tell them about the French invasion of Killiney Bay that never was. But in the telling I conjured up the most gorey images I could think of out of what might have been.

Apparently it went down a bomb with the lads. Job Oxo.

Whistleblower

Craig Murray

This is an opportune time to return to Craig Murray.

He rose to eminence as a UK ambassador. He became a whistleblower over UK collusion with torture in Uzbekistan. He was smeared and "sacked" by the UK Foreign Office, then under the sleazeball Foreign Secretary, Jack Straw. And he has had to make his own way in the world ever since.

He is, in effect, a precursor of Bradley Manning and Edward Snowden, except his authorities did not succeed in criminalising him, despite their best efforts to do so.

He is now a writer and campaigner for human rights, and his latest foray into the field was a talk at Belfast's Féile an Phobail yesterday evening (1/8/2013).

His theme was The Respectability of Torture a subject on which he was well qualified to speak.

Bill Rolston introduces Craig

The venue was St. Mary's University College, a former teacher training college and now a constituent college of Queen's University. The significance of its location on the Falls Road in Belfast was not lost on the audience and it was remarked that there were probably people present who came from a community that had experienced torture first hand, not from Uzbekistan's Islam Karimov, but from "their own" UK authorities, who still claim jurisdiction over the six counties of Northern Ireland.

Craig was introduced by Bill Rolston, and if you think there are a few empty seats there, be assured they were filled by the time Bill finished his introduction. Attendance was round the 60 mark, which wasn't far off the capacity of the lecture theatre itself. The audience was attentive and involved and Craig's talk was followed by a lively discussion.

Craig in action

Craig started, in his usual quiet informal and intimate manner, by recapping on his own experience, from the time he was posted as UK ambassador to Uzbekistan in 2002. Online, you can read the whole story in Wikipedia or listen to Craig tell it himself in RTÉ's radio series on whistleblowers (2006).

He has written a book about his experiences relating to Uzbekistan which is available via Amazon.

The thrust of his talk was how human rights are ignored and collusion with torture becomes a routine part of an administration's plunder of other people's resources, particularly when they find themselves relying on the cooperation of totalitarian leaders.

When Craig raised their collusion in torture with his authorites he was more or less told to shut up and just play second fiddle to the US ambassador in Tashkent. He was told he was "overfocussed on human rights". When he didn't shut up, he was accused of some 18 "offences", some of them criminal, such as selling passports for sex, and being constantly drunk on the job. In the middle of all this, he suffered a relatively rare and mysterious illness, which in the light of what happened to Dr. David Kelly and others, might just have been an attempt to send him back to his maker.

So where does the respectability come in? Well, as Craig explained, this torture is being carried out, colluded in, or justified, by administrations which otherwise hold themselves out as models of democracy, human rights and the rule of law (which, of course, they are not). Craig also mentioned the rampant self-censorship in the mainstream media (MSM), who contrive to ignore all of this even when it is put under their nose. He was a bit at a loss to give a definitive explanation for this perverse behaviour. However, as we all know, the MSM have, by and large, become the creatures of political and commercial vested interests, and, in any event, lack the courage of the Pilgers and Fisks of this world to resist the huge pressure put on them.

Craig told us that he himself has been banned from the BBC. The exception is when he is in the area of one of their outposts who are not up to speed on the ban, as with BBC Radio Ulster yesterday morning when they interviewed him as a speaker at the local (mispronounced) Féile an Phobail.

As it turned out, Craig was eventually cleared of all the charges laid against him by the Foreign Office, except one: that he had revealed the other charges!

The Belfast session was a wonderful experience, and a great tribute to Craig for delivering it, to the Féile's organisers for organising it, and to the audience for turning up to be sensitised to one of the greatest scandals of our time.

Máirtín Ó Muilleoir

The newly elected Lord Mayor of Belfast, Máirtín Ó Muilleoir, turned up, chain and all. No need to tell you which community he came out of. The first thing he did when he came in the door was to take a photo of Craig.

Danny Morrison

Also in attendance was Danny Morrisson, Cathaoirleach na Féile.

Craig blogs at craigmurray.org.uk

Fasten your Seatbelt

This is the Kincora Boys Home in Belfast. In the 1980s it was exposed as a centre for paedophile activity and some staff were tried and imprisoned.

In the light of what is now coming out all over the UK and the Channel Islands about the extent to which this type of activity was covered up, the inquiry into Kincora has been reopened. It remains to be seen whether this will lead to the unmasking of the many powerful and famous people, both from north and south of the border, who are alleged to have availed of its services.


This is Kincora in Abbeyquarter, Ballyhaunis, Co. Mayo. A different Kincora entirely and one of very happy memories. It's just that the re-emergence of the name Kincora, and the bay windows, reminded me of some youthful adventures in my father's home town.

The house was a child's paradise. At least, one room of it was. And that is where my older cousins' toys were kept. They had gone off to become priests and I had the run of their toyboxes, full of model soldiers and the like.

What comes to mind every bit as much as the toys was the day I took the small tricycle out onto the steep hill road outside the house.

I leapt up on the tricycle and went shooting down the hill. It was only then that I found out the tricycle had no brakes. And at the bottom of the hill was the main road which could have any class of a vehicle trundling or speeding along it.

What was I to do?

I was quickly gaining speed and had got beyond the point of putting my foot into the spokes - that would have taken me straight to the moon, or beyond, and left me permanently toeless. And even if there was no traffic on the main road when I hit it, my speed by then would have ensured a serious injury.

There was only one thing to do. There was a long high bank along the right hand side of the road.

In the flash that it took for this looming disaster to hit me, I turned the wheel and crashed into the bank. I emerged battered but not broken.

The real mystery is how a child who could make an intelligent, dangerous, but necessary decision in a flash, turned into today's ditherer and procrastinator.

One for my psychiatrist, perhaps? Or will I just wait till I finally get to the other side, if there is one?


Kincora, the steep hill road, and the disappeared bank.

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Update 6/9/2013
And just in case you thought I was imagining the bank, today my cousin Carmel produced a photo of herself and myself sitting on it at around the time I'm talking about and in the company of the two family dogs.

On the Fiddle

I could have been Bob Dylan, but then I wouldn't be able to play the harmonica, or the mouth organ as it was vulgarly known in my day. I could even have been Joan Baez, but the gender transition might have been painful.

I could have been Bill Clinton, but then I would have had to sleep with the harridan, initially at least.

So I am glad I opted for the Fritz Kreisler route. It has brought me lots of fulfilment and variety in my life. I have played in the Workman's Club with a well known and talented accompanist (above). I have "entertained" the orphans in Stanhope Street convent on many a Stephen's Day. I have played the Francis Xavier and Father Mathew Halls. I have twice played for President de Valera and Sinéad, in the Coláiste Mhuire and Gate theatres. I have made a record in Billy McBurney's studio in Central Belfast during the height of the Troubles. I have even appeared on RTÉ television, no less (below). And all with the fiddle in hand.

So to hell with the international circuit and the crashes and the comebacks. There's no place like home when you're on the fiddle.

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