against the Dimplex radiator for heat. On other nights, I stretched out contentedly on top of my single bed and lost myself in the latest book I was reading: Once There Was a War, Anna Karenina, 1984 and Persuasion, to name but a few. Given any opportunity, I would turn to the Singer sewing machine at the end of my bed, and while away the hours turning out simple garments for my mother or myself.
Suzette, who lived just a couple of doors away, was my most regular visitor. Having already left school, she relished being free from homework and revision and we spent hours in each other’s houses – gossiping, listening to music on the radio or playing vinyl records, if I succeeded in commandeering the family record player for my own use. Surrounded by clothes, records, magazines and books strewn untidily about the room, we consumed gallons of tea. Whatever I was doing, I insisted the boys had to knock to get in. When distant plumes of thick smoke signalled a vehicle or building on fire, I would peer out the window guessing at its source, until a news bulletin confirmed a riot or an explosion. Sometimes I sewed; anything to relieve the dreadful boredom of those dismal January days.
Within the first few days of the New Year, it was depressingly clear that the temporary respite provided by the Christmas celebrations had been just that: temporary. As my teenage world continued to contract, the obligation to update my Collins diary became a vital part of my daily routine.
Fri, Jan 7
I wanted to go down town today but not allowed, I go down to Suzette’s, she’s home for the weekend. Bored in their house – only talk of nursing and holidays.
Went over to the Co-op with Mammy, heard all these stories about men being lifted by army – is very frightening. Daddy could be lifted any time.
Mammy and Daddy went to visit Aunt Alice and Josephine – they weren’t in. They had a terrible interrogation at a roadblock by army – names, addresses, occupation, where they were going and why, and then they had to wait to be cleared from army headquarters.
I intended doing some studying for the exams but I just can’t be bothered – will do it tomorrow (or some other time).
Sat, Jan 8
Got up to rain and cold and went into town with Mammy. Town was deserted – the same as it was before Christmas – almost as many soldiers as people. I got a letter today from Agnes. She says she’s having a great time in the Shetlands – so peaceful and normal.
Last night was a bad night. I was sewing all night. It passes the time instead of sitting watching TV. I can’t wait to get back to school on Monday.
Today’s exactly one week since New Year’s Day. It seems so long since we went to Dublin.
Sun, Jan 9
Dense fog. Went to Mass in St. Michael’s new church. Beautiful church, although very plain. We went to an Andersonstown Civil Resistance meeting in the afternoon – a marvellous meeting. John Hume, Paddy Devlin, Jock Stallard (English Labour) and Michael Farrell all there.
Mrs E. came over and we spent the night playing records of the Civil Rights Association.
Shudder at the thought of school tomorrow again. I’ve a lack of interest in going back for the first time. I can’t even find my pencil case. I hope to get half day – if so, I’ll be able to get done some of the work that I intended to do over the holidays.
A great escape bid from Crumlin Road jail was foiled last night by the discovery of 3 underground tunnels. S. Kelly, a neighbour and welfare worker, was lifted on Friday and not released after 48 hours. Interned on the Maidstone – shocked to hear this.
At sixteen and a half, I was midway through my Lower Sixth year at St Dominic’s Girls’ Grammar School – a diligent student, proud of the exam grades I achieved the previous summer. The start of the autumn term had seen me happy to concentrate single-mindedly on the English, French and Maths I was studying for A-Levels. But, as the world I knew began to disintegrate, I became easily distracted.
With class tests imminent and A-Levels just over a year away, a conscientious voice in my head told me that I should be applying myself seriously to homework and revision. Instead, I was becoming more and more obsessed with what was happening around us.
My father, like many working-class Belfast men of his generation, left school at 14 and was self-educated. My mother, by contrast, had the benefit of a full, convent-school secondary education in Dundalk. What my father lacked, though, in terms of formal education, he more than compensated for through his passion for literature, history and politics, and books were always present in our home. Ensuring that my brothers and I got the best education possible was a priority for both my parents. My father especially urged us to read newspapers, to take an interest in and listen to ‘the news’ and care about what was happening in our troubled city.
He self-deprecatingly described his job in the Post Office as that of ‘a minor civil servant’ and claimed the position prevented him from ever becoming publicly involved in party politics. I suspect it suited his modest personality to commit himself instead to decades of unpaid, behind-the-scenes involvement in politics, civil rights and social justice issues.
He and my mother were involved with the constitutional, nationalist Social Democratic and Labour Party – the SDLP – since its inception in 1970, and he was a member of the Citizens’ Defence Committee – the CDC – for roughly the same time. The latter organisation, which included local business people and members of the Catholic clergy, set itself the tasks of highlighting nationalist grievances, and campaigning peacefully for civil rights and an end to internment.
Night after night – sometimes dodging bullets to get there – he attended meetings of the fledgling SDLP or spent hours with his CDC colleagues in their cold, draughty offices at the bottom of the Falls Road ‘trying to keep a lid on things’: intervening with the security forces when their behaviour was excessive; recording allegations of army harassment and brutality; detailing sectarian attacks by loyalists; supporting internees’ families; and helping to re-house families who’d been intimidated from their homes.
I was proud and excited to accompany him, at the beginning of January, to my first political rally. Both of us were equally curious to hear at first hand, and see in the flesh, some of the public figures who were making the news.
Mon, Jan 10
Back to school but we got half-day. Spent afternoon in the house alone, terrified in case someone should attempt to break in. It was bucketing all day and freezing cold.
There was a big explosion and fire in town – Talbot Street. Building went on fire – just got a slight mention on the news, so commonplace now. Oh! In Derry, 157 pairs of army trousers and 160 flak jackets were stolen from a drycleaners – and then the following day, a riot begins where rioters fired CS gas at the army. Very suspicious!
Denise F. came into school wearing an engagement ring – at least, so we thought. She was only messing by wearing a ring on the wrong hand – gave us all a bit of a jolt.
Tues, Jan 11
The fellow who was shot last week is buried today, so the buses were taken off. It was pouring rain and we had to walk home. We were soaked to the skin,
