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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1596678-belfast-child
by markir
Rated: E · Other · Experience · #1596678
The other side of growing up in an undeclared war, my first attempt at writing.
It was good to be young and innocent; summer seemed to last for half the year with fun filled days that were also much longer than adult days. I don’t even remember it raining but since I lived in Belfast I am sure it did. Happy memories, happy families, never aware that things would change forever in a few short years.

My best friend, Jerome and I would make little wooden guns and play soldier in the untended part of the local park. Our families had been among the first to move into a new development on the outskirts of Belfast and it was slowly filling up with first time buyers starting their life together, many with young children.

In school I learned about a proud country, an industrial country and a world beating country with a long history of world class innovation and success. The huge shipyard, the world’s biggest rope works, the constant drone of aircraft being tested at the local factory. The empty hulks of the linen mills dominating the skyline and serving as a warning that nothing lasts forever.

As children, Jerome’s father used to take us, once a week to his workplace’s swimming club which was held in an otherwise always crowded and noisy pubic pool. In the middle of the summer there was always a big parade, with many drum and flute bands, colorful banners and thousands of men in bowler has walking in unison celebrating some historical event hundreds of years ago. I didn’t really understand but knew it was something to be proud of and that Jerome and his family always seemed to go away around this time. I even joined my grandfather one year and walked the 10 miles through the city centre while the roads were lined with spectators, old women wearing union jack aprons and small children waving flags and waving to some of the walkers that they knew, frantically calling out “Daddy” or “Uncle”. I felt so grown up as I strained my little legs trying to keep step with these polished walkers while marveling at walking where every other day the cars and trucks ruled the road and the trolley buses buzzed past with the long pole reaching up to the electric cables stretched overhead.

I grew up watching the Vietnam war unfolding on the 6 O’ Clock news, but the first military experience I ever had was watching as what seemed like dozens of army helicopters flew overhead as we played in the  park one hot summer day. I never heard what they were doing but we used that event as inspiration for our soldier games, and it made it seem so much more real. Other than that the only inspiration was the war stories on the outer cover of the comic books my Dad used to bring home for me. Dad never really talked bout the 5 years he spent in the Royal Air Force fighting Germans, even when I found his medals in the wardrobe one day.

Then one night my childhood ended, I can’t remember the date but I can still remember the detail as if it happened yesterday, and not forty years ago. It was pool night, Jerome’s father was working but we were to make our way there on the bus and he would pick us up when it ended. Jerome and I along with his younger brother, Seamus thought it was quite and adventure, to go on the bus unaccompanied in the dark. I remember that it was dark so it had to be winter time. We were walking from the bus stop to the pool when two older boys called out for us to stop. I urged the other two to carry on, I don’t know why, but I knew that this was not good. Jerome and Seamus lagged behind as the older youths kept talking, saying they went to some school that I did not know and then they asked the other two to say a Hail Mary.  Had no idea what that was but to my surprise, Jerome and Seamus starting reciting some sort of poem. I just kept walking on as I could see the bath house entrance, only knowing that I was on some strange street and feeling somewhat scared, not of the monster under the bed, but of something real, visible and in front of me. I had no idea what had happened or why anyone should ask some kids, on their way to the pool, such a strange question. One thing was certain, I didn’t have much fun that night and my parents would only let me go back if someone gave us a lift.

Looking back, I knew things would never be the same again, I just didn’t know how different they would become, and nobody did.

© Copyright 2009 markir (marknir at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1596678-belfast-child