Chapter 2

There were very few places to go in Belfast at the time 'cos most of them had been blown up. People didn't really venture into town at night anymore, so the pubs were very much not the sort of place you would take your girl. Entertainment was either the cinema, the local shebeen or, for those with transport, going down to Bangor. At the time, this was a Victorian seaside town of faded glory, but there was an old amusement arcade, a small roller coaster, a few pubs you could take a girl into, a cinema, a theatre, (like I would be seen in something like that), two dancehalls without a drinks licence, and one with. A few of the old hotels put on some local wannabe band, and charged hotel prices for drink. I also had the option of the company bar on our lines.

Since we couldn't really let our guard down in public, the battalion paid something towards a few dances during the year, and we would raise some money amongst the troops to get a better band and pay for a buffet. The officers and sergeants chipped in as well and we usually held an all-ranks do. There was always some transport arranged so everyone could get as drunk as they wanted and still get home safe. It really was a family organisation.

Jean and I used all the options except the shebeen. They were all illegal drinking clubs run by the paramilitaries. If we went down to Bangor, I was usually driving, and, since I carried a gun as well, I wouldn't have more than one pint. I had fitted a couple of seats in the back of the van so we could take some mates with us, and usually there were more mates than seats, but hey, I had my get-out-of-jail-free card, and so had most of the blokes. (We always said half our school friends carried guns legally and the other half, illegally.) Anyway, there wasn't all that much traffic about in those days, because cars were still a bit of a luxury and people didn't want to be out late at nights. As long as the driver was sober, and you weren't tearing the arse out of it, the police would use their discretion. They just wanted to see people get home safe. So we had a high old time when we could.

Okay, by now you have a broad outline of our lifestyle. Basically, it was like serving in the Balkans, Iraq, or Afghanistan, but at the same time, living at home, leading as normal a life as possible. The main difference was that the 'enemy' looked like you, went to the same shops, pubs, and cinemas as you, and sometimes had been at the same school as you. So, courtship was the same as anywhere else.

As a youngster I had done all the usual teenage things. Trying to cop a feel, moving on to going steady and 'heavy petting', the occasional wank, and, eventually, actually having sex. I'm not going to discuss the girls concerned since we all move on and make a life for ourselves, but that doesn't mean I can't relate some of the background. N.I. is, even now, a pretty religious country and morals are still taught. Back then though; the swinging sixties hadn't had much impact on our wee province. On the catholic side, the priest's word still had power, and on the protestant side, the Orange Order and the Black Preceptory were still staunchly religious and required members to adhere to Christian standards. Sadly, the canker of turning a blind eye to the hoodlums in our midst has eroded much of this. We supped with the devil but didn't use a long enough spoon.

Less moralising, this is supposed to be a love story, of sorts.

At the hospital, student nurses could start training at sixteen to become State Enrolled Nurses. These girls tended to be the bottom rung of the system and did a lot of the general work on the wards, especially the bedpans and things. As a porter, I was in and out of the wards and got to know them, even though they were under the eagle eye of Sister, or, God help us, Matron. Nevertheless we would be able to sneak into one of the storerooms for a quick 'sesh'. The girls were supposed to go back to the Nurses Home but they had to do their shopping sometimes, didn't they? So we could sometimes get together at my parents house during the day if our shifts allowed it, or meet at the nurses' home.

This was much more difficult as it could loose the girl her training position, so it was pretty restricted in what we could do. As I said, N.I. was morally strict, and communities were pretty tight. People didn't want to let their family down so you didn't push things too far. There were, of course, some who went further than others, but, hey, "there's a war going on around us, we might get blown up tomorrow, please let me?" Most of the time it didn't work, so, what's new?

Jean and I started going out when Tech and duties allowed it. Two people were a bit much for the 175 so I sold it. I made money on the sale 'cos I had bought it as a non-runner and done it up. I got a '69 Triumph Tiger 90, (350cc), that had been off the road for a while. All it needed was a good service and new tyres, chain, cogs, and brake shoes. I reckoned I'd make a few bob on it too, when I sold it. Together Jean and I would go touring all round the province. (Motorcycling was and is very popular in Ulster and we have still have organised road racing, at least until the health and safety people get it banned).

Autumn and winter can be quite bleak, so when the weather was any good we would explore as much of Ireland as we could. It was fairly easy to cross the border into Donegal and if we planned on doing that I had to make sure I didn't have my gun on me otherwise I might be charged with invading Eire or something. We cruised the Coast Road round Antrim and visited the Glens. We visited the Giants Causeway and got round much further than you can nowadays. Coastal erosion has meant some of the really spectacular sections are closed.

We walked in the Mournes covered in snow and I understood how C. S. Lewis saw them as the Land of Narnia. They were very eerie in the strange, soft, light that filtered through the clouds. It was really something to share these places with Jean. We were seeing most of them for the first time, and we were doing it together.

Sometimes, of course, we would have the mates in the van and we would tour the Ards peninsula, visiting the little pubs and ice-cream shops, dandering along the beaches, and generally acting like young people who had just discovered freedoms that our parents never had. The ever-present police and army checkpoints didn't bother us overmuch even though the traffic might tailback.

Since Jean had a flat we would often spend the evenings together. Naturally Sandra would be there a lot of the time. She had a few boyfriends, and one in particular, David, turned out to be real scroat. At first he appeared decent enough. Then he went all religious, and yet, at the same time, he was trying to get Sandra to go to bed with him. Somehow it didn't seem quite normal, so Sandra dumped him. Then he started appearing everywhere. Nowadays he would be called a stalker, back then we just called them creepy bastards. Sandra was getting pretty upset over all this and it started to affect Jean too. I took steps to resolve the matter by bumping into him one night outside the flat and explaining to him what happens to people who fuck with my friends.