SANTA IN THE GARDEN

 

Santa likes to dig-dig-dig,

Santa likes to grow-grow-grow,

Santa likes to rake-rake-rake,

But most of all,

Santa likes to hoe-hoe-hoe

CHRISTMAS CRIB OUTSIDE ST TERESA'S CHURCH, GLEN ROAD, BELFAST - A MEMORY

It was the highlight of the year,
apart from toys on Christmas day,
to see the outdoor crib
where the baby Jesus lay.

Memory and maturity spoil
the wonder of it all
for the star was a bulb

and Jesus was a doll. 

MOTHER'S SON

 

It doesn’t take much –

the sizzle of bacon frying,

a wasp squashed by a newspaper,

a dandelion,

a soft handshake,

the smell of bleach,

champ and butter,

raindrops on a window,

an ink blot,

finding coins down the back of a sofa,

tomato sandwiches,

a TV theme tune,

washing up liquid bubbles,

stewed tea,

whispering a prayer,

melting candle wax,

talcum powder,

a full moon,

the rush of a tide,

a crying baby,

good manners,

a church spire,

daffodils,

Bisto,

knitting needles,

paraffin,

Forty Shades of Green,

furniture polish,

rosary beads,

snooker -

all this and more - 

mother's son.

IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR AGAIN - HO, HO, HO!

 

Link to publisher FeedARead {It is no longer on Amazon.} - 

https://www.feedaread.com/books/Only-Yules-Verses-9781784070823.aspx

This book was published in 2013. An unsolicited comment appeared on Amazon. I call stuff like this little nudges of encouragement. Of course, for every flattering nudge, there are several pokes in the eye waiting in the wings. 

Here’s the comment from a man called Joe Koot:

“Only Yules and Verses is one of those special little books that you happen upon serendipitously. I have read authors' blurbs before extolling the mirth to be found in THEIR book only to buy the book and be severely disappointed. What an unexpected joy, therefore, to pick up this little gem and read it to the end with smiles, a few laughs out loud and some headshakes at the ingenuity of Joe Cushnan. I thoroughly enjoyed this and wholeheartedly recommend it to everyone. P.S. I am not a friend or family member of the author, but how I wish I were!”

Here's a sample:

WENCESLAS WEATHER

 

Good King Wenceslas looked out

And did a double take,

Despite all his initial doubt,

He rubbed his eyes awake.

Brightly shone the sun that day,

Sweltering hot and sticky,

He thought as this is Christmas Eve,

The forecast’s a bit dicky.

 

“Bring me shorts Bermuda-style,

Bring me sun tan lotion,

Bring me cola by the crate

And ice cubes by the ocean.

Bring my sunbed by the pool,

I can’t believe this weather,

I can swim around all day

In the altogether.”

 

Good King Wenceslas’s dream

Ended with a bump,

He fell out of his bed it seems

And bruised his ample rump,

Groggy from his accident

And dazed and half-asleep,

He gaped out through the curtain gap

To see snow six-feet deep.

‘APPY CHRISTMAS

To gadget geeks – Appy Christmas

To bakers – Bappy Christmas

To dentists – Cappy Christmas

To good blokes – Chappy Christmas

To audiences – Clappy Christmas

To birds – Flappy Christmas

To Tube guards – Gappy Christmas

To motor racers – Lappy Christmas

To explorers – Mappy Christmas

To babies – Nappy Christmas

To urban singers – Rappy Christmas

To boxers – Scrappy Christmas

To make-up artists – Slappy Christmas

To crocodiles – Snappy Christmas

To plumbers – Tappy Christmas

To puppies – Yappy Christmas

To video game players – Zappy Christmas

100 YEARS OF THE ULSTER GRAND PRIX - A CENTURY OF ROAD RACING

 

100 Years of the Ulster Grand Prix

A Century of Road Racing

by

Norman Windrum

https://blackstaffpress.com/100-years-of-the-ulster-grand-prix-9781780733050

I will take a stab at 1965/66, when I was just pre-teen.  My big brother Paul was a massive fan of motorcycle racing and especially the Ulster Grand Prix.  He took me with him a couple of times.  This was the era of Mike Hailwood, Giacomo Agostini, Tommy Robb and Phil Read riding big name bikes such as Honda, MV, Bultaco and Yamaha.  I recall the pits were open to the public and pre-race we would wander through to see mechanics tinkering with motorbikes and, occasionally, we would spot a famous racer.  The prize for a spectator, according to my brother, was to ask a Honda crew member for (and get) his Honda baseball cap.  I remember the thunderous noise as bikes were revved and the intoxicating smell of fuel fumes.  It was amazing and exciting to be at the Ulster Grand Prix.

 

These memories have been reignited on reading 100 Years of the Ulster Grand Prix – A Century of Road Racing by Norman Windrum.  And what an excellent achievement it is.  He charts the beginnings of the fixture, the trials and tribulations of getting the event off the ground, the debatable timing of such a notion in the politically troubled and unstable political landscape in early 1920s Ireland and the anxieties of the 1970s troubles.  But determination and growing public interest eventually won the day.  Motorcycle companies, racers and spectator enthusiasm helped the UGP become prestigious on the sporting calendar.  The first phase of the UGP story centred on a road circuit in Clady, County Antrim before moving to Dundrod , near Lisburn.  

It has to be said that health and safety were not a particular priority as fans lined the roadside, sometimes risking life and limb as bikes raced by.  Over time, of course, safety became paramount.  

 

Even from my long-ago memories of attending the Ulster Grand Prix, it’s the speed and the bravery of racers always rising to the challenge and pushing for faster laps that make up the thrill of it all.  There have been superheroes, glorious triumphs and, sadly, many tragedies.

 

The story of the UGP is told via Norman Windrum’s detailed and loving narrative enhanced by historical programme covers and many action photographs.  The forty-five pages of statistics at the end are fascinating in themselves.  The book, by Blackstaff Press, is a beautiful production.

Anyone with even just an inkling of interest in motorcycle racing and Northern Irish sport generally would do themselves a favour and buy this book.  Die-hard enthusiasts should not hesitate to get a hold of it and marvel at 100 years of the Ulster Grand Prix.

AN INCIDENT BETWEEN MY MOTHER AND THE REVEREND IAN PAISLEY

 

This happened sometime in the early 1970s in our Belfast living room.


In an uncharacteristic burst of anger,
my mother removed her slipper,
concentrated hard, took careful aim
and let fly at the television set.

On impact, the vase on top wobbled,
we kids tranced between gasp and cough,
and the reason for mother's missile -
Ian Paisley shouting his mouth off.