Ballycarson Blues

by Roderick Paisley

  “The dogs were German breeds and were clearly barking in German. We could not understand a word. Yours disgusted, Ballycarson,” ran the letter addressed to Councillor Fitzmaurice.

  Councillor Fitzmaurice was a man known not to mince his words when it came to the salami factory. After an enquiry the Council formally requested Big David to ensure some CDs were made of the barking of Irish wolfhounds, Irish terriers, Irish spaniels or Irish setters.

  “You’ve got plenty of choice with this array of local breeds, so there is no excuse,” read the official letter of condemnation. “In the future we want to hear breed-balanced barking.”

  Despite the justified and completely understandable outrage at Big David’s ignorance of local dog breeds, at an emergency meeting of the councillors’ Canine Concern Committee, specially called to deal with the issue, it was indicated that, this time and this time only, the Council were prepared to go easy on the factory. Next time matters would be different. A strong mitigating factor for the present was the excellent supply of low-fat bacon at a special low-fat rate to the Council canteen.

  “Leniency Linked to Lean Meat. Next Time Fat Will Be in the Fire” ran the headline in the Provincial Observer.

  However, the detail of the Canine Concern Committee minutes provided a further insight into the machinations of local government. It was noted that Councillor Finvola O’Duffy had suggested that in the future unfortunate incidents of a similar nature might be avoided if the CD output could be monitored and playlists vetted in advance by a new Council-run body to be entitled the “Music and Cultural Heritage Office”. This had been immediately rejected by the member representing the Republican and Unionist Feminists (known as the “RUF women”) not only because it would place a politically correct dead hand on genuine artistic creativity but also because of the unhappy acronym “MACHO”. Consequently the proposal had been speedily rejected as the agenda moved on to the more important dog-related issue – the privatisation of the Zapper.

  CHAPTER 13

  A SPARKLING FUTURE

  A traditional comforting image coupled with ruthless innovation. That was how local political and business dynasties reflected an image of the past, exploited the present and secured their future. Councillor Finvola O’Duffy knew the secret only too well. Dressed all in black, with a discreet black armband on her right sleeve, she suited the part of an undertaker. Only her greying hair and pale complexion somewhat spoiled the overall sombre image. But even here there was a traditional Irish advantage. From a distance she had the appearance of a settled glass of stout. Here was a woman who did not want curves. Looking in the mirror she thought to herself, I hope my bum does not look big in this or I will look like a bottle of Coke and not a bottle of Guinness. I had better wear a trouser suit and lose a few pounds to complete the shape. A black cheroot would help as well. So the local gatekeeper to the afterlife studiously maintained her image. In her own eyes she was the local beauty, eternally pristine and ever eager to keep her reputation so that she might live up to the accolade first won by her, some decades previously, in open competition at the Thirteenth Annual Rural Ulster Female Undertaking and Funereal Assistant Beauty Contest. It was at that august gathering in the annexe to the Ballycarson Parochial Hall, wearing a demure black swimsuit lit by a sudden blaze of glory projected from the flash bulb of the cameraman from the local paper, that she had been crowned with the title “Miss Underworld 1982”. From then on there would be no change. Here indeed was a woman who, at least as regards her outward appearance, had traded all of her tomorrows for a single yesterday.

  But external impressions are not the whole picture. When it came to making money Councillor Finvola O’Duffy knew how to seize the day. Profit was right here, right now. For Councillor Finvola O’Duffy business was booming. She had recently launched a loyalty card for her customers giving them exclusive access to the benefits of “the Coffin Club”. Each of them had the shiny black card in their wallet and collected tombstone points every time they attended a funeral organised by the O’Duffy business empire. Thirty Coffin Points afforded to the holder a ten percent discount on the full works at an O’Duffy funeral. A steady procession of custom was rolling in, or at least was being carried in. What was the attraction? It was not just the monetary discount, convenient though that was, to allow the savings to be spent on the wake. Membership of the Coffin Club had social benefits too. The Coffin Club ensured a large attendance of mourners at every participating funeral. The grieving family was assured of solicitation on a large scale even for the greatest scoundrel. Esteem for the deceased was acquired by flexing the black plastic card.

  For Councillor Finvola O’Duffy the political future looked bright too. The real significance of the Nationalist victory in the recent local elections became apparent only in the working out of the detail of the post-election administrative agenda.

  In accordance with regulations on Private Finance Initiatives and Best Value Policies the operation of the Zapper was outsourced, causing a major shift in the commercial and political balance of power within Ballycarson. The Zapper operation contract had been awarded to Councillor Finvola O’Duffy’s One Stop Store comprising pet supplies, floor coverings, jeweller’s shop and funeral parlour. Because of the last of its functions, the One Stop Store was known throughout Ballycarson as the Final Stop Store. “You Won’t Walk Past Our Window” were the words on the advertising poster outside the shop. Everyone knew that would be true eventually. To complete the picture of funereal and retail harmony were two granite headstones set on either side of the front door to the shop. The first bore the word “Reliability” where a family name should be and, underneath, the words of comfort “We’ll be the last to let you down”. On the other, the heading “Cost-effective” with the sentimental under-text “Rest In Peace: One year’s free credit on all headstones”. On the face of it there could be no easier way to ease oneself in to eternity.

  The awarding of the contract for the Zapper shouldn’t have happened as it had, at least if the double control system designed by the human rights lawyers and the electricians had worked. However, all this had been short-circuited by Councillor Finvola O’Duffy.

  The terms of the Zapper privatisation contract and the design of the machine itself required that there had to be “dual control” with two separate keys to operate the machine. The concern of the electricians was that no single employee could start the machine by accident and find himself trapped inside with shocking results. So, two special keys were issued, each attached to a special key ring. The system was simple enough to understand. The key ring bearing the letter “L” was attached to the key that, when turned, connected the Live wire. The key ring bearing the letter “N” was attached to the key that operated the Neutral wire. It was known in the electrical trade as “Mutually Assured Non-destruction”. The contractual clauses added by the lawyers were designed to ensure cross-community benefit. According to the principles of the Peace Process, a Council contract could be awarded only to firms engaging employees from both traditions. So in the eyes of the human rights lawyers the “L” key ring was to be held by an individual who was a Loyalist whilst the “N” key ring was to be operated by a Nationalist.

  Inevitably these theories were just as detached from reality as the key rings were detachable from the keys. In the event, one employee only ended up holding both keys and operating the machine alone. Sole power rested with Councillor Finvola O’Duffy.

  The job of holding the two keys was given to a particular employee who had proved herself well capable not only of being in two places at the one time but of being two persons at the one time. This extraordinarily talented individual was known locally as “Val Kerry Val Kerry”. So named was she not because of some bizarre local tradition of repetitive double-barrelled names. No, the name “Val Kerry Val Kerry” had been conferred upon the originally named “Val Kerry” because she was well known to have voted twice at a considerable number of local government and national elections.
However, she had never been prosecuted for personation because in the era of the Peace Process the authorities took the view that it was better to encourage the citizens to vote than leave them to resort to alternative means of being heard. In the bureaucratic jargon of the Peace Process, Val Kerry was to be regarded as being merely “over zealous in her exercise of the democratic franchise”.

  The strategic investment in the Zapper contract had enabled Councillor Finvola O’Duffy to achieve what she regarded as a political and commercial double whammy. At a stroke, as Councillor Finvola O’Duffy reflected happily, not only had she secured control of a potentially lucrative source of income but also the Loyalist community had suffered a major reverse. Big David was immediately deprived of a source of live guard dogs for his security business.

  It was not long before the shortage of potential guard dogs began to bite into Big David’s profits. But the automatic dog bounded to the rescue. Who said that man’s best friend had to be a real dog? Instead of being crowded out by a pack of live hounds, the recording studio echoed to the barking of Big David’s directors, William Henry, Billie King with a backing pack comprising the Red Army, and Frankie Alphabet’s sons. Particularly successful was the recording known as “Howling Hell Hounds”. The whole revamp of the quasi-canine recordings was a roaring success and, unaware of the background, clients complimented Big David on the amazing improvement in the quality of the product.

  “You could say I’ve collared the market with a new supplier,” responded Big David modestly.

  Had it not been for the restrictions imposed by copyright and intellectual property rights, Big David joked he would have been tempted to release the CDs under the label of His Master’s Voice.

  Indeed the benefit to Big David was even more widespread. The on-costs of providing the human barkers were cheaper than the costs of the real dogs. Instead of having to provide cans of the locally produced dog food “Happy Mutt” he now could supply his barking directors with “Big Micks”. Both were products of the salami factory – indeed they had substantially the same content – but the latter was marginally cheaper to manufacture and was subjected to less rigorous environmental health controls. The only snag was that his human pack of hounds was putting on weight at a rather alarming rate. If this continued unabated Big David would soon not be able to fit the entire pack into the recording studio for each recording session. Perhaps he would have to consider the manufacture of a diet version of the product. He would have to substitute the existing meat substitute with something even less nourishing. The broad vista of an entirely new line of production and sale opened out. Yes, there was potential for profit there too.

  However, not all of Councillor Finvola O’Duffy’s political machinations were dogged with failure. A worthwhile consequence of the privatisation of the Zapper was the potential for benefitting Councillor Finvola O’Duffy’s own business interests. The truth of the matter was particularly shocking, but everything was perfectly compliant with all relevant Council regulations and policies. The minutes of the relevant Council meeting showed that, after a suitable disclosure of interest, the contract had been awarded to Councillor Finvola O’Duffy because she was able to promise operation of the Zapper in a manner that would comply with recycling directives and minimisation of land refill. In short, she would dispose of the canine corpses without burial. So, in future, the Council would avoid howls of protest such as those heard when the site of the last pet cemetery was redeveloped as a tourist interpretative centre and watch tower for the Ballycarson Peace Wall. Instead of fearing the ghosts of dogs past coming back to haunt them, the councillors were impressed that the remains of the electrocuted dogs were to be incinerated and compressed.

  The discreet black-rimmed notice in the window of the O’Duffy Final Stop Store confirmed that it had been providing a cremation service for the grief-stricken owners of pampered pooches for a number of years. Business had been lively. The disposal of un-owned dogs collected by the Council would be an adjunct to that service, using the existing state-of-the-art facilities. All this demonstrated, thought Councillor Finvola O’Duffy, that she had a social conscience by providing a service for the most vulnerable animals in society. That would look good in the next manifesto, particularly if she could have a picture taken beside a dog with both of them wearing an appropriately coloured rosette or collar. However, outwith the periodical election campaigns, she could adopt a different approach. For a caring outward appearance with cross-community appeal it might even be better if she could find various miniature breeds of dog. She could then adorn the dogs with variously coloured collarettes and appeal to surviving families of members of various select organisations.

  Of course private enterprise did play a part in the economy of the cremations. Disconsolate pet owners wishing to say fond farewells could pay extra for the “Silver”, the “Gold” and even the deluxe “Diamond” service.

  The “Diamond” service was exactly what it said it was. “Wear your pet with pride” were the words in the notice in the shop window, causing only a minor ripple of offence amongst those who thought it had something to do with fur farming or the new fashion of lizard-skin boots. But Councillor Finvola O’Duffy’s talents were not aimed at the provision of pathetic pelts or furry footwear. No, she was interested in doggy diamonds. After cremation the ashes were condensed and returned to the owner to brighten the hand that fed. And the jewellers employed by Councillor Finvola O’Duffy would ensure the gem would be set in an appropriate ring supplied at an appropriate price. So from Councillor Finvola O’Duffy’s perspective there was no incongruity of mixing loss and grief with goods and services. The pet owner’s loss was her gain. All grief was good grief. The phoenix of a financial return would rise from the ashes of despair.

  This market was of course principally aimed at the Pomeranian and miniature poodle market where the owners were likely to be sufficiently well heeled to afford such extravagance. The problem was that such miniature breeds produced little in the way of ashes, resulting in tiny diamonds and commensurately small profits. So the O’Duffy business mind hit on the solution of padding out the remains with the ashes from other dogs – the abandoned dogs – without, of course, unduly worrying the paying owner. Naturally, Councillor Finvola O’Duffy had some misgivings about using the remains of the abandoned dogs in this way. She had a conscience after all. However, she prevented the pangs of conscience from developing into scars by ensuring that the blend for each diamond comprised only dogs of a similar or better pedigree. Yes, there was discrimination even in death. It wasn’t a case of “adulteration”, “impurity” or even “homogenisation” after all. Indeed with a suitable mixture some dogs might even be upgraded to a higher canine caste. These would be augmented ashes. So much for death being a great leveller.

  So proud indeed was Councillor Finvola O’Duffy of her service to society, she even coined a slogan in delicately crafted doggerel for her business card:

  “The ideal blend

  for man’s best friend.

  The perfect match

  for that final dispatch.”

  To Councillor Finvola O’Duffy it was clear that such local artistry must have come to the attention of those rumoured to be arranging the proposed visit from the White House. A message had been received by the Ballycarson Council that the president would find a gift of a local product most acceptable. So Councillor Finvola O’Duffy instructed her jeweller’s to import a miniature silver replica of an Irish wolfhound. Its eyes would then be set with locally produced diamonds. With such an animal as a paperweight on the mantelpiece in the Oval Office the Nationalist triumph would be complete and Big David and his Loyalist crew consigned to the international doghouse.

  CHAPTER 14

  BARKING MAD

  It all seemed like Councillor Finvola O’Duffy was on a continuing roll of success. In addition, this particular roll looked like it was about to be recognised internationally. However, appearances can be deceptive. The dog warden a
nd lost property man, Donald Oskar Gormley, knew there was much less to Councillor Finvola O’Duffy than met the eye.

  How did he have this talent for clairvoyance? Perhaps it was because Donald Oskar Gormley was reputed to be one of the Ballycarson travelling people. But that was not to say he was a Romany, a Sinti, a gypsy or even a tinker. No, Donald Oskar Gormley simply had no fixed abode. He just lived and slept in whatever vehicle he possessed from time to time. He had no home to go to but went everywhere with his home. His I.D. card for his Council job indicated his address as “in transit”, which was sufficiently accurate, he thought, because for a couple of years he had lived in the back of a Ford transit van.

  And what of Donald’s political clear-sightedness? He had no crystal ball. It may simply have had something to do with the fact that he did not let the acquisition of possessions clutter his view. But he was no aesthete or social outcast sitting in judgement on the norms of Ballycarson society in general. He did not despise faith, piety or religion. He simply preferred to see them put into practice rather than argued about. Deep down, he had a suspicion of the mixture of politics and religion encountered in the political chat rooms on both sides of Ballycarson. He saw how religion was used there to further the aims and aspirations of politicians but never to circumscribe them. Putting it another way, he had reservations about the sort of God who hated the same people the politicians hated.

  Donald’s lack of permanent accommodation didn’t appear to worry him in the slightest. He had the respect of the local population on both sides of the political and religious divide. Not only did he possess this rare commodity but he had not struggled or schemed to obtain it. It seemed to come as an unsought byproduct. How was this so? The answer: Donald knew the secret of status in Ireland. To be truly respectable in Ireland everyone had to believe you were really up to something, but nobody should know for certain what it was. And Donald made sure that as few as possible really knew what he was up to because he had only ever told his secrets to Gretel.