If you have ever seen the television programme The Dukes of
Hazzard then that is what life in Warrenpoint was like. Smuggling moonshine, or in our case poteen,
fast cars, although rather than have a Dodge Charger we began with a Ford
Anglia. There was quite a large circle
of friends in Warrenpoint. Many of us
worked in the pubs and clubs and bars which not only gave us all some spending money
but allowed most of us to drink for free.
And as they said in the Blues Brothers, we had both types of music, we
had country and we had western!
Certain key members had real jobs, like Phelim Fegan who was
a diesel mechanic for his father’s haulage firm. Then there was the O Neill twins, no
relation, their family operated the ferry boats that ran between Warrenpoint in
the North of Ireland and Omeath in the republic. This meant that we could enjoy free passage;
of course sometimes we would help out and not expect any reward.
My first part time job was not working behind a bar but was
picking potatoes. It was a Saturday and
I had to be in the square at some ridiculous time in the morning that up until
then I didn’t know existed. I will never
forget turning into the Duke Street and seeing hundreds of sheep skittering all
over the place. It was the old tradition
of holding market. Small pens were
erected along either side of the street and local farmers brought their produce
and animals into town to barter and exchange.
I was off to the Newcastle area for a day’s spud
picking. A local hotel, the Ballyedmund
Castle hotel, was the ‘in’ spot and we needed a few pennies to get there for a
function that evening. I’ll never forget
the soil of that potato field. It was
soft and moist and black as coal. It
also clung to your feet in clumps and was probably the most physical job I have
ever done in my life. I do remember
getting home and having cleaned the soil out of every crevice in my body I
felt more like lying in a nice warm bath all evening rather than go strut my stuff
at the Ballyedmund.
I would say that there must have been about twenty of us that
hung around together so transport was one problem. Most of us were far too young to drive, which
of course didn’t stop us. In fact it
would be quite normal for Fegan to come around disconnect the speed odometer on
your parent’s car which was then used for the night out. The cable would be reconnected the following morning
and the parents would be none the wiser.
One day a few of us were hanging around the Dole office corner, we were
not cool enough to hang around the Bank corner.
When one of Fegan’s lorries came rumbling down the road. Nothing special about that, but it caused
some concern as we couldn’t see who was driving it. Only when it drew parallel with us could we
see that it was Phelim’s younger brother.
A ten year old shouldn’t really be driving a juggernaut, but hey, this
was Ireland and he was only taking it over to the docks where the real driver
was waiting.
And to add a little excitement to the mix remember this is
when Northern Ireland was going through the period that was known as ‘the
troubles’ so there would be roadblocks popping up all over the place. A car
with five seats would have seven or eight passengers all dressed in their
finery, flared trousers and platform shoes.
Add to that the fact that it had been taken without the owner’s consent
and that the driver would probably not have a license, as they would be too
young to drive and of course drink would have been taken. Lots and lots of drink.
Before we fell under the spell of the booze we led simple
lives. There was a cinema, but that was
three miles away in Rostrevor. We would
go to the cinema but if you wanted to see the final ten minutes of the movie
you had to miss the last bus home and walk. I do remember after a Brue Lee movie we
managed to catch the bus home. As any
young person would we emulated Brue Lee, kicking and screaming all the way to Warrenpoint,
the seats in the bus didn’t fare too well.
And after Darby O Gill and the Little People we walked home and it must
have been the most terrifying walk of my life, for the land between Warrenpoint
and Rostrevor is littered with little people, headless horsemen and banshees.
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