Running With Cuchulainn

Running With Cuchulainn

By Paul McCann

Every street in Ardoyne had there own wee groups that would play games and tell stories , There was a group of us in Duneden Parl that did just that , we played together , and sat around telling stories .S Some we made up others we just knew and shared

Cuchulainn was my childhood hero and I loved to tell stories about his feats of strength . Mr Cushenan my scout master would always read stories from a book to us and all of us were mesmerized and enchanted about  how  Cuchulann was so strong and so fast that he could hit the ball with a hurley stick from one end of the field and run up to the other end of the field hit it back again and then continue to play a game of hurley with himself running back and forward on a field with no opponent . We were told that Cuchulainn was so strong that he could lift his own legs up and hold himself up in the air . This made a powerful impression on me .

Telling stories in our street groups was one way of letting loose our imaginations and when you’re only very young you lived in your own mythical and magical place  .

Children as we once were demanded a constant attention to making up stories and songs . It was a child’s duty to do so and seek out life on the far side between worlds that no one had ever seen and where no one had ever been before .

For a while I was able to combine the two worlds as one . Nothing was more true than running around inside a cardboard box thinking it was a racing car , or riding a wild horse with both reins held tightly in your hands , or using you pointer finger as a pistol and shooting Indians who were firing arrows with invisible bows .

The desire to create stories then as a child was like squeezing out bits of colour from invisible paintboxes in your free time which was about fifty five percent of out everyday childhood . We were running free around the street so Ardoyne with nothing better to do that play and have fun .

As a child I thought it was our job to invent  stories and little plays . It was a quest and we had to save the world from being too serious about life . As children we managed to escape through the mists of time with Cuchulann and play hurley with the red hound on a ground so soft and it was a cushion under the soles of our feet . We played out our stories on the streets . sitting underneath cars and eating chewing gum that was stuck to the ground . We took on names of those that meant something special .

Like all myths there was a need to discover our hearts quest on a journey to find
where the magic of our childhood was . It would be impossible to remember all the stories we made up but it was how we spent our childhood then in an enchanted land . What a time we all had , kicking balls against brick walls ,
and singing songs like Queenio and on a hillside stood a lady , who she was I do not know . Girls skipped on their my feet with a quare rhythm to their jump . We were all  such happy children , young and fit and full of it . We walked on our hands and did handstands with our heads up in the clouds we could walk on the clouds and dream about Mr Whippy's ice creams and looking for that special place where no one had ever seen . In those days of enchantment we were neither here nor there and I think somehow as children we were all dressed in wealth no matter where we lived . It was a wealth of innocence that made us shine and we could see hidden things in a place lost in time that was all around us everyday . There were fairies there and children who would often play riding on sailboat clouds . We could fly here and there with our feet walking on air in the light of the day keeping out of sight in case we were caught by the man who kicked the tin .There some houses where fairies lived and danced with the children who spent their afternoons making up stories and riding on their horses with innocence saddled at their side . As children we all had to grow up and the enchantment ended and still I know that even though our wings have been clipped back by the hands of time we can still remember those days when we were happy running wild and free  

By Paul McCann

.