Stormclouds

by Brian Gallagher

  ‘Men on the moon, me backside!’ said Da, as he cast his fishing line out over the gently-flowing waters of the river Lagan. ‘Won’t put bread on our table, will it?’

  ‘I suppose not, Da,’ said Sammy with a smile.

  The first astronauts had landed on the moon, and half the world seemed to be going mad with excitement, but Sammy was amused by his father’s practical view of how little it would affect their lives. He cast his own line out over the river, its surface rippled by a soft July breeze. It was at times like this that he got on best with Da, and he knew that his sisters begrudged him the treat of going fishing with their father.

  ‘What’s the point of going to the moon?’ said Da. ‘It must have cost millions of dollars – billions, probably. Take that money, divide it between every man, woman and child in America, and then everyone would have got something out of it. Amn’t I right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sammy.

  ‘And as for your man’s speech: One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind, I bet he thought that was really smart. I bet he spent weeks making that up!’

  Even though Da was being negative, he was doing it in a good-humoured way that Sammy found entertaining.

  ‘Moon landing, me eye!’ said his father. ‘Linfield for the cup and more fish in the Lagan, eh, Sammy?!’

  ‘Now you’re talking, Da!’

  Sammy watched as his father settled back easily on the river bank, and he allowed his own thoughts to wander. The last ten days had seen widespread rioting, and things seemed to be getting worse by the day. Despite that, he had met up with Maeve, and they had grown friendlier while the Goldmans were away on holidays. Both Sammy and Maeve had summer jobs so they couldn’t get together during the day, but on several evenings they had arranged to meet, and he had even gone into the forbidden territory of the Falls Road to cheer her on in a race, and to meet the famous Mr D, Maeve’s colourful coach. The more he got to know her the more he liked her, and although he didn’t share her nationalist views, he had found himself influenced by some of the things she said.

  Sammy had always loved the bonfires and celebrations on the eve of the twefth of July, but though he had enjoyed the fun at his local bonfire, this year he was aware of what Maeve had said about marching. He still thought that Orangemen were entitled to have their traditional marches, but maybe Maeve had a point about not deliberately provoking their Catholic neighbours.

  Sammy watched his father as he adjusted his fishing line and thought how angry Da would be if he knew what he was thinking. Da had marched on the Twefth and his response to the violence that followed the marches this year was to blame the nationalists. Sammy, however, could see that it wasn’t a black and white issue, and it was worrying that Da was so blinkered. Two civilians had been killed in the last week, and with the violence spreading, Sammy feared that his father was becoming involved with local men that were in the Ulster Volunteer Force. The UVF was the loyalist version of the IRA, the illegal nationalist army, and Sammy wished Da wouldn’t get caught up with these men.

  Saying anything on the subject now risked spoiling the mood, but in spite of all Da’s faults Sammy cared for him and couldn’t just do nothing. Now was his chance and maybe if he came at the subject sideways he could discuss the UVF without making his father angry. He was nervous and didn’t know how to start, so he decided to plunge in before he lost his nerve. ‘Da, can I ask you something?’

  ‘What’s that, son?’

  ‘All the riots and fighting … what’s … what’s going to happen?’

  ‘It’s going to get worse.’

  ‘Really?’ This wasn’t what Sammy had hoped to hear. ‘Why’s that, Da?’

  ‘Because the marching season is in full swing. The Taigs have lost the run of themselves with all this civil rights stuff. Telling us where we can march? Over my dead body! Or better yet, over their dead bodies!’

  His father said this with a bitter laugh, but Sammy saw nothing remotely funny about it.

  ‘If anything happened you, Da, it would be … it would be awful for the family.’

  ‘I can handle myself, nothing will happen me.’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘Relax, Sammy,’ said Da authoratively. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  There was no way to bring up the UVF now, so Sammy nodded. ‘OK, Da.’

  ‘It’s the Taigs who need to worry,’ continued his father.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The Specials are mobilised. The police are getting stuck in. If the Taigs fancy their chances in an uprising let them try it, and we’ll slaughter them!’

  Sammy was horrified. But surely talk of an uprising had to be an exaggeration. ‘An uprising, Da? Could that happen?’

  ‘Some of our lads expect it. Even if there’s not an actual uprising, you mark my words, things are coming to a head.’ Just then Da got a bite on his line, and he began reeling in.

  Sammy looked out across the peacefully flowing waters of the Lagan, but the peacefulness was misleading, and he felt that his father might be right, and that the worst was yet to come.

  ‘It was a brilliant book, I couldn’t put it down!’ said Maeve.

  ‘I was the same,’ agreed Sammy.

  ‘Aunt Nan even caught me reading it in bed with a torch.’

  ‘Did you get in trouble?’

  ‘A bit. And I was bleary-eyed next morning, but I didn’t care, I had to find out what happened after the kidnapping!’

  Maeve and Sammy were sitting on the grass in Donegall Square, the ornate façade of Belfast City Hall framed behind them against the blue of the evening sky. The city centre location was a neutral venue, neither loyalist nor nationalist. Because it was about the same distance from both their homes, Maeve had arranged to meet there to return a novel that Sammy had lent her.

  ‘It’s the best adventure story I’ve read in ages,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, it’s kind of a boy’s story, but I thought you might like it.’

  Maeve wasn’t sure this was a compliment and she looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Why – because I’m a tomboy?’

  ‘No,’ answered Sammy at once. ‘No, it’s because … well, because you’re adventurous yourself.’

  This was a better answer, Maeve thought, but she wasn’t going to let Sammy off completely. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘why shouldn’t girls enjoy adventure stories as much as boys?’

  Sammy thought a moment, then nodded. ‘No reason really, I suppose.’

  One of the things Maeve liked about Sammy was that he wasn’t set in his ways, and if you made a good point he could be swayed by it. She smiled at him now. ‘Anyway, thanks again for the lend.’

  ‘You’re grand.’

  Maeve leaned back and looked up at the evening sky, where the first hints of dusk were darkening its colour. ‘What would you say the twins are doing now?’ she asked.

  Sammy considered briefly. ‘Emma’s probably stopping Spanish people in the street to record their accents,’ he answered with a grin. ‘And Dylan is probably trying to dazzle the locals with his soccer skills!’

  Maeve nodded. ‘I’d say you’re not a million miles off.’

  ‘It’ll be good to have them back, won’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m dying to see them.’

  The Goldmans had been gone for nearly three weeks now, but were due back in a couple of days. But although Maeve missed Emma and Dylan, she had become closer to Sammy while their mutual friends were away. They had become trusting enough to exchange confidences, and Maeve had felt flattered when Sammy revealed to her his secret dream of one day being a doctor. She in turn had told him of her wish that Da would leave the army, and that they would live together in Maeve’s dream house – whose back garden would run down to a river!

  Maeve was friends with other girls in her neighbourhood, but it was nice to have a friend like Sammy that you could share confidences with, and Maeve thought that her increased closeness with him was the one good thing to come
out of a bad period of growing violence.

  ‘So, are you nearly finished making the documentary?’ asked Sammy now.

  ‘Yeah. Emma has been showing me how to edit the tapes.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s where you take all the recordings and pick out the best bits. Then you can rearrange them and use music to put it all together as a programme. Mr Goldman taught Emma.’

  ‘Sounds brilliant,’ said Sammy, ‘I’m dying to hear it. Well, apart from hearing my own voice.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s weird how different the recording is from how you think you sound!’

  Just then a nearby clock tolled out the hour and Sammy stretched, before getting up. ‘I’d better be heading back.’

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Maeve as she rose from the grass.

  ‘See you on Tuesday night in Goldmans?’ said Sammy, referring to a reunion that had been agreed even before the twins had set off for Spain.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Maeve. ‘And Sammy?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Don’t Lose your Hucklebuck Shoes!’ This was the title of a pop song, and had become a jokey catchphrase between the four friends.

  ‘Never go anywhere without them!’ said Sammy, then he gave a wave of farewell and headed off in the direction of Donegall Road.

  Maeve turned away and began walking along Wellington Place, making for Albert Street and the way back to her neighbourhood. She hadn’t told her aunt and uncle that she was meeting Sammy, and now she speeded up her pace. She wanted to be home before the dusk deepened, and before the other children of the neighbourhood – with whom Aunt Nan would assume she was playing – were called in for the night. She reached the Lower Falls Road, then turned into Sevastopol Street and headed towards Clonard Gardens and the monastery. At the junction of Bombay Street she greeted some of the neighbourhood girls who were playing skipping, but she didn’t linger and instead made for her hall door. She knew that some of the local kids resented her friendship with the Goldmans. One really spiteful girl, Cathy Riordan, had even said she was a Jew-lover. Maeve had told Cathy bluntly that she was pathetic, and she had resolved that she wasn’t going to let other people decide who her friends were. Emma, Dylan and Sammy had turned out to be great friends, and she was pleased that while loyalists and nationalists had been at each other’s throats recently, she and Sammy had become even firmer friends.

  She opened the hall door and entered the house, to find Aunt Nan and Uncle Jim sitting at the kitchen table. She greeted them but picked up on a tense atmosphere. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Maeve.

  ‘I’ve been offered a full time job, but it’s in Donegal,’ said her uncle.

  Maeve realised at once what a dilemma this presented. Donegal was too far from Belfast for him to commute, so he would only see them at weekends. Maeve had overheard her aunt and uncle arguing during the week, with Uncle Jim insisting that he couldn’t take any more charity from her father. Maeve actually thought there was no shame in family members helping each other out. Aunt Nan was a full time housewife who also did some voluntary work with the elderly, and Maeve felt that Uncle Jim put too much importance on being the sole provider. But that was his nature, and his pride was at stake, so now she tried to be supportive. ‘Well, if that’s where you have to go, Uncle Jim, that’s where you have to go. It’ll probably only be for a while.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been saying,’ said Aunt Nan.

  ‘If it was any other time I wouldn’t hesitate,’ said her uncle. ‘But with all this trouble I’m not happy leaving you alone here.’

  ‘We’ll be fine, Jim. Things will settle down eventually.’

  Maeve wasn’t so sure about that. And now that she had been forced to think about it, it would be a bit scary not having the comforting presence of her uncle about the place. But she had to be brave. ‘It’ll be all right, Uncle Jim, we’ll manage OK.’

  Maeve could see that he was nearly persuaded. ‘Really we will. Aunt Nan and I will look out for each other, won’t we, Aunt Nan?’

  ‘Of course we will.’

  Uncle Jim hesitated for a moment more, then nodded. ‘All right then. I’ll tell them I’m taking the job.’

  ‘Great,’ said Maeve, ‘congratulations.’ She smiled reassuringly at her uncle, and hoped that she had done the right thing.

  ‘There’s so much to catch up on,’ said Emma, ‘I don’t know where to start!’

  ‘Start by serving up the hamburgers,’ said Dylan as he flipped the last one off the barbecue and onto a plate, ‘we’re all starving.’

  Emma served up the food with a smile, delighted to be back with her friends. She had arrived in Belfast with Mom and Dylan the previous day, and it had been great to be reunited with Dad. She thought he looked tired from working so hard covering the conflict, but it had still been lovely to have all the family together again. And now, catching up with Maeve and Sammy, she complimented herself on having planned this reunion barbecue before she had left.

  ‘So, what’s been happening?’ she asked as they relaxed in the back garden of her home, eating their food while a Beach Boys record played on her portable record player.

  ‘Well, men landed on the moon while you were gone.’ said Sammy between bites of his hamburger.

  ‘I know that! They do have televisions in Spain.’

  ‘And Tony Jacklin won the British Open in the golf,’ added Sammy.

  ‘Yeah, we heard about that too,’ said Emma. ‘But I meant what’s been happening here.’

  ‘Marches, riots, fighting,’ said Maeve. ‘But do we have to talk about that?

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Dylan. ‘We’re still on holidays, so let’s forget all that stuff. So, what have you two been up to?’

  ‘Not much really,’ answered Sammy. ‘We went to Bangor on a family outing.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ said Emma.

  ‘Well, it was till my sister Florrie stuffed herself and vomited over Ma on the train home.’

  ‘Thanks, Sammy,’ said Emma, dramatically lowering her plate, ‘I was actually enjoying my hamburger!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Sammy with a grin. ‘The other good thing was my da took me fishing. We caught trout and fried them for supper.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Dylan.

  ‘What about you, Maeve?’ asked Emma, returning to eating her burger.

  ‘I went swimming at Donaghadee with my aunt and uncle, and we saw a sea lion.’

  ‘Great. How is he, by the way?’

  ‘The sea lion? He never said!’

  Emma laughed. ‘Your uncle. You said he’d lost his job.’

  ‘He’s getting a new one. But it means moving to Donegal, so we’ll only see him at the weekends.’

  ‘Pity we couldn’t get my da a job in Donegal!’ said Sammy.

  He said it with a grin, but Emma couldn’t help feeling that it would actually be good for Sammy and his family if their unpredictable father got a steady job that kept him over eighty miles distant. She couldn’t say that, of course, so she switched the topic to holiday souvenirs. Pooling her money with Dylan, they had bought Sammy a leather belt and Maeve a Spanish shawl, and both friends had enthused about the presents. Now, though, she discussed her trainer. ‘I never told you what I got for Mr D. I felt I had to get him some souvenir of Nerja, but he’s really hard to buy for.’

  ‘Buckie was easy,’ said Dylan. ‘I knew a bottle of Spanish brandy would be right up his alley!’

  ‘But Mr D doesn’t smoke or drink,’ said Emma. ‘And he wears really old fashioned clothes.’

  Maeve grinned. ‘No sombrero then?!’

  ‘No. And apart from running, the only other thing we know he loves is the Irish language.’

  ‘So what did you get him?’ asked Maeve.

  ‘A picture of the Madonna and Child,’ answered Emma. ‘He’s dead religious, so we thought that might do it.’

  ‘But then we were thinking,’ said Dylan. ‘He wouldn’t feel there was anything wrong with Jews giving
him a picture of Jesus, would he?’

  ‘Gordon Elliott might think that, but I don’t think anyone else would,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Mr D might even feel he was half way to converting you!’ said Maeve with a laugh.

  Emma felt relieved. She put down her empty plate. ‘Apple pie anyone?’

  ‘Sure why not?’ answered Maeve. ‘As Uncle Jim says, ‘a refusal might give offence’!’

  Emma laughed and began to cut the apple pie.

  ‘Maeve told me you’re nearly finished the documentary,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Yeah, we hope to get it wrapped up in the next couple of weeks. I’m really looking forward to finishing it.’

  ‘And I’m really looking forward–’ began Dylan, but he stopped mid-sentence.

  A series of shots carried on the breeze from the direction of the city. For a moment nobody said anything, then Sammy spoke. ‘It’s getting worse.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Maeve quietly. She held out her plate to Emma. ‘That apple pie looks great,’ she said.

  Emma realised that her friend was gamely trying to keep the atmosphere going and to hold the outside world at bay. She smiled at Maeve and cut her a slice. But inside she had a sinking feeling that time was running out, and that nothing they could do would stop the trouble that was coming.

  Buckie was trying to whip up the team with his pre-match talk, but today Dylan found it hard to concentrate on the coach’s words. They were in the home dressing room for a match against a team from Woodvale, and instead of listening to Buckie, Dylan found his attention wandering to the coach’s shining black eye.

  Earlier he had given Buckie the present of the Spanish brandy. The coach had thanked him politely, but Dylan had sensed at once that the older man wasn’t in the mood for banter, and he had resisted the temptation to ask about the injury. There had been serious rioting last weekend, and Dylan suspected that Buckie must have been involved as a part-time constable with the B Specials, or maybe simply as a loyalist rioter.

  ‘OK, lads,’ said the coach now, finishing up his talk. ‘Go out there and get stuck in!’ Buckie headed out towards the pitch, and Gordon Elliott smirked. ‘I heard Buckie got stuck in himself. I wouldn’t like to be the Taig who gave him that shiner!’