what we did on our holiday, November 87

Cherry

By Coolhermit

Sun, 22 Nov 2020
  • 555 reads
4 comments
 
'what we did on our holiday, November 87'
 
 
God helps three kinds of people:
fools, children, and drunkards –
we were two of the three.
 
we were on a jaunt,
Carolyn and I that is,
in her beat up van
with two ounces of hashish
and headed nowhere special.
 
mooching round Ireland,
in and out the Republic,
crossing the border
when munchies or booze ran low,
driving slow and staying cool.
 
Fermanagh? scenic.
Enniskillen?  half-asleep.
Remembrance Sunday,
a massive parade was due
so Carolyn and I split –
 
we did not fancy
poppies, flutes, drums, marching bands,
we drove through Belcoo,
Sligo, into Donegal –
stashed the hash near Pettigo
 
around a corner,
soldiers and a barricade –
oil drums, bollards.
lots of shouting, I recall,
“hands up! out that fucking van!”
 
was that hands up first
and then open the van door?
we were hard-yanked out - ,
to a volley of questions,
“name? date of birth?  place of birth?”
 
all our stuff got turfed
over the bloody pavement,
dogs nuzzled the pile.
“they sniffing for bombs? or what?”
“what do you know about bombs?”
 
“nowt, bongs more my style”
“fuckin’ hippies, fuck off – NOW!”
so, Remembrance Day
in Tullyhommon, large crowds
on the streets, with marching bands,
 
heavy-armed soldiers,
R.U.C. in uniform
and a hidden bomb
(that never detonated)
no one knows what went wrong,
 
or rather went right,
orders issued from ‘on high?’
second thoughts from ‘somewhere else?’
or did a tractor wheel cut,
or cows munch the command wire?
 
probable carnage
with hundreds slain – averted
the ‘neutralised’ bomb
went largely unreported
(publicity served no side)
 
Carolyn and I
watched the parade glassy eyed,
stoned, giggling, waving
a plastic Union Jack
at flutes, and drums, marching past.
 
twice protected from,
sudden death in Pettigo
and Enniskillen,
we came,  we saw, we left town,
with the flag, four packets of
 
white Cadbury’s buttons
(Cazzie’s favourite munchies)
bottle of Black Bush
a tank full of red diesel
a clenched fist of memories.
 
[Tullyhommon  is adjacent to Pettigo - this piece is written in tanka format] 
 
 
Certificate 15
Poem
Biography

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

It's experiences like this that make memories you can smile at, knowing you came through and can now write about.

In 1976 I travelled with a a couple of hippy friends in a van around Holland. We got stopped by the dutch police for drugs. Our van was completely gutted, all the seats torn and there wasn't a thing we could do. My boyfriend at the time was able to get it all fixed due to his dutch connections, but it was a terrible experience, though I can smile about it now.

I do enjoy reading about others adventures, as I did yours.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Coolhermit on

that was quite some trip - I changed the girlfriend's name (naturally) I knew nothing of the Tullyhommon bomb until a couple of years ago a friend from Enniskillen performed a poem about the bombing there and mentioned in passing the far more deadly one that was all but under our feet! Ignorance is bliss eh?

Rick.

 

Submitted by Coolhermit on

prior to that escape the most exciting thing we did on our holiday was to cross into Strabane from the Republic to sign on  - those were still, just about, days fit for humanity in the DWP 

Rick

 

Submitted by marandina on

Maybe things have moved on now. Hopefully for good. Super read.