TNH – The Northern Hemisphere

Strategic Manoeuvres With a Manchester United Fan and Ballad Of George Formby featured in issue 13 of VFTAE (October 2019):

The sleet falls down on a hum drum town, I shall stop now in fear of potential copyright infringement, you get the picture I am sat on coach in Leeds bus station on a cold January midweek morning. The prospect of the next 36 hours ahead is one I am increasingly struggling to relish.

But I am here for better or worse, I could get off now and redeem this situation to the rear cerebral cortex never to be mentioned or thought of again, but my luggage has been uncaringly discarded in the hold with the rest of the passenger’s bags.

I have also failed to mention we have an elephant in the room, my travel companion is a Manchester United fan.

A loud beeping noise, as our coach reverses out of Leeds coach station.

Staring out of the window with this piercing noise in my head what I say and what I do are two completely different things.

“Giggs is playing well mate, having a strong season!” (I couldn’t really care about Giggs season, but fast forward and his purchase of Salford City FC and their success is something he can be proud of, so fair play to him and the other owners).

What I am really thinking is though “Are you Man U You??”

It’s the mid-nineties I am travelling with my Irish mate from Sligo, a well-educated follower of the red army.

To be fair his old man is a school teacher so he is from prominent stock! But what is with all these Irish lads supporting Manchester United?

Next stop Meadowhall, Sheffield has two football clubs, you would not think so with the cliental boarding this coach, let’s just say shoppers with too much time on their hands.

This coach is feeling like the pied piper…..next stop!!!!

I won’t bore you with every coach stop but as you can gather it’s a painfully long journey, and yes “Man U” is still at my side, he talks a good talk and likes a Guinness, guess what he has brought us some coach cans! “Con, you like the Black stuff?”

Sat on this coach I am looking around thinking, this isn’t racist, drug related, so must be Guinness!

“yeah mate, anything to numb the pain, a long trip!”

We finally arrive at Holyhead, its 4am.

What can only be described as a disused aircraft hangar we get unloaded at Holyhead ferry port, we step off the coach all feeling like we have just scaled Everest in our bare feet.

The place is deserted as it is 4.15 in the morning, we have a 30-minute wait for the ferry. We find a vending machine in the far corner of the waiting room. I need a cold drink and some chocolate to rehydrate me from the painfully long coach journey.

The time passes quickly and we board the ferry as foot passengers. We didn’t book a cabin to keep the costs down as we a travelling on a tight budget and really didn’t seem worth it for a steady 3.5-hour crossing to Dublin. How wrong was I!!

We make our way to the bar and seating area with the other foot passengers, rejuvenated with sugary drinks and chocolate I brave a pint of Guinness, well what else am I going to do on a ferry to Dublin full of Irish comrades?

It goes down surprisingly well baring in mind the journey we have been on to get to this point.

My travelling companion is in fine spirits as always, he seems to run on fumes! He is making friends with the other travellers. Stories of him growing up in Sligo, watching Sligo Rovers play in the 1970’s. He relives the famous 1977 season when Rovers were league leaders after playing 11 games by Christmas with a 3-1 win over Drogheda. Followed then by back to back wins against Home Farm and Athlore both games Rovers won 5-0. He smiles proudly and his voice gets louder as the Guinness flows and the crowd of listeners grow, ordering another Guinness for himself and me he confirms that Sligo Rovers remained the top of the table for the rest of the season. All of a sudden there is a sudden judder and the boat sways quite violently “turbulence!” he shouts, it doesn’t deter him as he continues reliving the season as a young boy going to the games with his Father and Brother who is now also a teacher, a music teacher in a middle school in Sligo.

The boat rocks again “So the final game of the season” he bellows was against Shamrock Rovers and Sligo need to win for the league title.

The game is played on Easter Sunday so crowds are high and full of expectation. An early goal by Gary Holmes put Sligo in the lead, the Easter crowd erupts he recalls as young boy.

Still 1-0 to Sligo by the end of the first half, things are looking good. Second half and Shamrock equalise 1-1, the crowd goes quiet and look slightly subdued.

Goal!! Sligo score to put them back in the lead 2-1, the pace of the game and flow steady’s until local winger Paul “Ski” McGee scores to make it 3-1 and title is well and truly secured, what a season!

The gathering crowd around our bar stools cheer as the story draws to a conclusion. By this time the empty Guinness glasses have piled up on the bar next to us. Again, the boat rocks and the empty Guinness glasses all shift down the bar like something out of a Sergio Leone Spaghetti Western.

Something is wrong the turbulence is getting gradually worse we go look out of the window but cannot see much as it is dark outside, ordering another pint we think it may be wise to go sit on one of the sofa’s in the lounge/bar area. As we make our way across the boat rocks, glasses fly off tables and smash on the floor. I am now starting to feel a little uneasy, I check my watch another hour at least to go until we arrive in Dublin. We take a seat next to a bloke with a guitar playing from what I recognise Pogues songs from their 1989 album Peace and Love. Even he is looking unwell and starting to sound out of tune.

The turbulence just gets worse and worse, as most of the travellers in the bar have obviously had a few drinks some of them are not taking this very well and start being sick. This then seems to have a domino effect and others follow suit. What was a joyous scene with singing, story telling and drinks flowing has turned into carrot swilling carnage!

After an hour of hell and tightly grabbing the arms of the faux leather chair I am sat in we finally arrive in Dublin port, I really cannot wait to get off this ferry. We move hastily along with the other ill and bewildered passengers and make our way to queue to get off the boat. Walking as fast as I can after a night of unrest, I see daylight through the door of the ferry port. At last fresh air and dry land!! A journey I never want to repeat and is giving me palpitations thinking about it all these years later.

As we walk to down the tunnel to what now seems like freedom, we brush past the customs officers. “Hold on there lads” a voice shouts, we turn round they are talking to us. Pointing at my mate they summons him over, they must have heard his Irish accent. This is the las thing we need after a night of hell on the Titanic. They check his papers and ask for the purpose of his visit.

Now in Southern Ireland we take a walk in the crisp January morning air to Dublin (Busaras) Bus Station. We need to complete the first part of our Irish leg of the trip to Castlewellan in Northern Ireland:

The bus from Dublin only takes us as far as Rathfriland which is in between Newry and Castlewellan. We get our tickets and board the bus, I am tired but also looking forward to seeing the Southern Irish countryside and crossing the border into Northern Ireland at Warrenpoint.

I get a window seat and make myself comfortable, I am hoping for a relaxing journey now.

I must have fallen asleep, my eyes open I feel a little groggy, but also refreshed from a well-deserved sleep.

I get my bearings, let’s hope I haven’t been snoring but no one is giving me funny looks and my mate never says anything. I look out of the window and can see a sign on the road side for Dundalk. We have made great progress and once we get past Dundalk the next destination is Newry.

On the outskirts of Newry just a few years before on the Dublin to Belfast road was where the British Army Checkpoint was situated. During the height of the troubles in the rush hour traffic it was known to take more than an hour to pass through from the Republic of Ireland into Northern Ireland, if stopped you were asked for your name, address, date of Birth and reason for travel, destination of your journey and in some cases yourself and vehicle searched.

The Checkpoint at Newry was dismantled as part of the IRA ceasefire and subsequently all the checkpoints disappeared after the Good Friday agreement.

With the blink of an eye the checkpoint has passed us by, the bus gathers some momentum and slight increase in speed as we head into Newry, we pass the town hall over the bridge, old age and my failing memory I don’t recall much more about Newry.

What I do remember is they do have a football team “Newry City FC” or as they are now known “Newry City AFC” after the club was dissolved in 2012 and a new club formed in 2013 “Newry City AFC”. You need good eyesight to spot the name difference!

They are a semi professional football team who play in the NIFL Premiership following promotion from the NIFL Championship in the 2017/18 season.

Heading out of town the clouds start to thicken and the air feels cooler on the bus, as we head to our last stop on this bus to Rathfriland it starts to snow. The countryside and surroundings are rural, bleak at times but stunningly beautiful, steeped in deep history of the troubles that have had such a lasting effect on so many.

In now blizzard conditions we arrive in Rathfriland, we all get off the bus. I say all but between myself and my mate there are only now another 3 passengers left on. They scurry off sheltering from the blizzard to where they are going to, probably home to a real fire and warm drink. We make our way to Rathfriland bus station, a strange looking building with a high peaked roof like a large garage with two entrances for buses to drive in and out of, there is a sign on the wall saying “ulsterbus”.

We have no ideas of bus times and just hope we don’t have to wait long, plan B in the back of my mind is if there is a long wait to find a local pub with a real fire and sample an Irish Whiskey.

Lucky or unlucky I will let you decide as we walk into the bus depot a bus is just reversing in. As it stops, I let my mate take the lead and he asks what time the next bus goes through to Castlewellan. He seems like a jolly chap and advises this bus does but it doesn’t leave for 10 minutes but says we are welcome to sit on it and wait for it to depart. As we chat to the driver, he says we have been lucky as the bus to Castlewellan only runs every two hours. As I say lucky or unlucky!

He advises its only a 14-minute journey depending on the traffic. At last our destination is in sight. My mate glances across to me and says “I can’t wait to see my wee boy”. What I failed to mention as we left Leeds coach station all those hours ago was the purpose of our trip. We are heading to my mate’s ex-wifes to see his son. The second part of the trip we will then travel to Sligo with his son to see his Grandparents. I am just along for the ride so to speak with promises of the best Guinness you will ever drink in the North and the possibility of catching a Sligo Rovers home game in the South.

No other passengers get on the bus, the blizzard which has now cleared to just a light snow shower has deterred them or this is a bus service which is not in popular demand on a snowy January lunchtime

The 14-minute journey which has been calculated to accurate perfection goes quickly as we chat with the jolly bus driver.

We say our goodbyes as we get off the bus at the bottom of Castlewellan Main Street, on the right-hand side is a pub. We definitely need a celebratory pint now we have finally arrived in our destination. My mate also says his young son will still be at school so we have a couple of hours for a drink and a wonder around.

I open the door of pub to be completely overwhelmed with wooden décor, a long wooden bar running down the left with a wooden floor and matching bar stools. As we walk in it’s the old cliché “the piano stops” all the locals stare at us, I say all the locals there are about 5 blokes all must be over 60 sat on bar stools at the bar. “what you having lads?” the barman asks. We order two pints of Guinness and go sit in the corner. Something catches my eye and it’s the same with all these men at the bar they all have carrier bags at the side of their bar stools. When we sit down I ask my mate what’s with the carrier bags? He says as they are locals, they are allowed to bring their own cans as long as they still buy the odd pint during the day. I thought how not to run a successful business, but I guess these local pubs are more of a hub in the community rather than a money-spinning investment opportunity.

After a couple of pints of Guinness my mate says he is going to pick his son up from school. I order another pint and say I will meet him at his ex-wife’s flat later on. He says we will have a look at Sligo Rovers fixtures this evening for a home game on Saturday, I hadn’t mentioned this to him as I thought he had already sorted it.

As I look out of the window of the warm bar, the aroma of highly polished oak is almost overwhelming but somehow comforting. The snow is now falling again and darkness is only broken by the street lights on Castlewellan Main Street.

I say my goodbyes to the barman and the now friendly locals, as I head onto the street, my breathe is taken away by the bitterness of the winter evening as the snow soon covers my clothing.

Luckily the flat is only a short walk up the road, I can see the welcoming lights in the window. Making my way up the stairs to the flat I am feeling extremely hungry, something is definitely cooking. I am hoping its not my mates handy work as let’s just say his culinary skills leave a lot to be desired, I am sure the local fire brigade has been called out at least once in the past!

Introductions and pleasantries out of the way we sit down with a large glass of Merlot and are presented with a steaming bowl of Irish Stew, this is the traditional recipe made with Mutton and Potato and served with Colcannon. I know all this because I quizzed the “chef”, Colcannon by the way is Mashed Potato with Kale, Spring Onions and Butter. The perfect meal after nearly 2 days of travelling.

After we finish our food, I take my bag to the room I am staying and get settled, this bed is so comfy………

I wake up to the high pitched almost bell like call of the Waxwing, whose species invade parts of Ireland during the winter Months if their food supply in Southern Scandinavia have been exhausted.

The curtains are open and I am fully dressed on top of the duvet, I must have nodded off, for a change!

Laying there staring out of the picturesque window I can see Ballymagreehan hill in the distance, a soothing sight on a cold winters morning with the snow capped on top from the previous days fall.

The bus from Castlewellan to Enniskillen takes approx. 4 and a half hours, the first part of the journey is via the Europa Bus Centre in Belfast.

I am now glad for the early night with the prospect of another long bus journey ahead, I am pleased my friends parents are meeting us off the bus in Enniskillen. My mind gets wondering to whether he has sorted the Sligo Rovers game, if he has he isn’t giving much away.

Arriving at Belfast bus station we make our connecting bus with plenty of time to spare. We get a coffee and I buy a newspaper to check the Irish football fixtures.

I now start thinking are there any Enniskillen football matches on this week, but I don’t even know if they have a football team!

Enniskillen Town United Football Club a name that immediately stands out in length, they are simply known as “The Town”. A relatively young club formed in 1970 their debut game was on 22/08/70 against Maguiresbridge, unfortunately not the start the club had hoped for they lost 4-1 a shock to the system and a steep learning curve lied ahead of them.

Fast forward 20 seasons later and the club win the Mulhern Cup, they won 2-0 against Shelbourne.

It took Enniskillen another four seasons to win its 2^nd Mulhern Cup with a 1-0 win against local town rivals Enniskillen Rangers.

The bus journey to Enniskillen is underway and I am happily reading the sports section of the local paper still trying to find anything remotely resembling the weekends football fixtures.

A few hours later we pull into Wellington Road and can see the bus station. Its nearly lunchtime and I am hoping my friends parents will take us somewhere for a decent lunch. We make our way off the bus and my mate waves to his parents waiting nearby.

We put our bags in the boot of the car and I say hello to the Sligo school teacher, he warmly welcomes me and has an emotional reunion with his Son and Grandson, comments on how the young boy has grown since his last visit and fondly ruffles his hair.

As we head out of the bus station the conversation turns to lunch, the young lad loudly announces he is hungry, well said young man and perfectly timed! You can always rely on the youngsters to cut through any politeness and get direct to the point.

We are informed we are heading to the nearby Killyhevlin Hotel where a table has been booked.

The hotel was the scene of the bombing during the first ceasefire, a jeep packed with over 1000 lbs of explosives parked in the hotel car park went off injuring 17 people in the hotel attending a wedding. The front of the hotel collapsed and it left a 12 foot crater in the carpark, as you can imagine the surrounding parked cars were all destroyed.

We pull into the car park of the newly refurbished hotel over looking Enniskillen Golf Club, a beautiful parkland course in grounds of the Castlecoole estate.

The crackle of the tyres driving over the loose pebbled drive into the hotel carpark remind me of my youth arriving on cold winters morning at the golf club in my local village, I still play there all these years later and still friendly with the owner, so the view of Enniskillen Golf Club is something that I relish.

We get seated in the hotel restaurant nothing to formal, we order from the menu but to the life of me I can’t remember what I ate I just know I was hungry and it was lovely.

Bill paid back in the car the final leg of the journey Enniskillen to Sligo:

Sat comfortable and full of food we embark on the last leg of our journey, unzipping my Adidas rucksack I get out my Sony CD Walkman which has been a savour on this journey, not that I haven’t enjoyed “Man U’s” company along the way. Just sometimes you need your own space and thoughts.

Limited for space I haven’t brought many CD’s and just the one book James Joyce Dubliners, so fittingly as I get the book out to find a CD to play directly underneath is Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks a bittersweet journey through childhood memories just like Joyce captures in his short stories in Dubliners.

We make it to Sligo in 1 hour 10 minutes a slight delay due to roadworks, we settle into our rooms only to be enticed downstairs in the evening by the smell of a ham cooking, served with potatoes and cabbage the end to a perfect day.

We never made it to a Sligo Rovers game and ironically I later found in life that my family is from Sligo after previously being told we come from County Mayo.