A series of books I enjoy is the Irish Country Doctor books by Patrick Taylor, a native of Northern Ireland. They take place in fictional Ballybucklebo near Bangor in County Down. I don't have Gordon's perspective, and of course they are a bit romanticized, but they are good reads that leave you feeling good.
-----Original Message----- From: CoTyroneList <cotyronelist-boun...@cotyroneireland.com> On Behalf Of Gordon Wilkinson via CoTyroneList Sent: Tuesday, June 30, 2020 12:12 AM To: cotyronelist@cotyroneireland.com Cc: Gordon Wilkinson <nere...@ozemail.com.au> Subject: [CoTyroneMailingList] Bob the Protestant Horse. We've mentioned "Bob, the Protestant Horse" by Michael McDonald. Once I started to read it, I couldn't but it down. It is a humourous, whimsical and very true description of Irish rural life in the 1950s. Loved his dry Irish humour. I can vouch that what the author says is true, every word! I suspect that it is a real account of his early life experences 'down on the farm'. The memories it brought back to me. My paternal ancestors came from Blackwater country near Dungannon, and on the maternal side, from Portadown, although my parents were born and bred in Belfast. Like our wee Michael in the book, I too was not born in Ireland, but in England, and when we returned to Belfast during the war, I was always referred to as the foreigner. My story is so much a mirror of wee Michael's I could have almost written it. I recall the "brown" of Belfast - clothing, decor, everything seemed to be brown!!! Even the black & white, hand-coloured photos of our family taken at the time are with brown clothes! The memories kept swarming back: the wet cobble stones and square-sets of the roads, the draught-horses slipping on the ice, the smell and noise of the city, the Saturday night tin bath in front of the fire - coal in Belfast. Living with my grandparents until we emigrated to Australia, I recall G'dad's taciturn nature. He adored my younger sister, but had little time for an over-active 6 yo. Then spending summer holidays on Robbo's farm (the Robinsons had a farm at Hillsborough, Co. Down) helping with the harvest, early morning chores like milk, eggs, water from the pump in the yard - no running water, earthen floor. I can't recall wearing anythig but wellies, except in summer when we went barefoot. Rationing on all things except chewing gum and ice-cream, making butter in the churn, coal fire in Belfast, peat in Hillsborough, the new Ferguson tractor (father's business was making agricultural machinery and selling tractors), oh the awful butter-milk which, like wee Michael, I just couldn't stomach. Then the religious divide - so real and so unnesessary. I think that that was one reason my parents chose to emigrate. But perhaps the most striking feature of the story, written in conversational style, is the phraseology. It is so like our family conversations. The words, the expressions, the dropped letters, the way the sentences are structured - I can hear, now, my aunt, mother and gran in the kitchen, all talking simultaneously to each other and yet each following the other's conversation perfectly. A lovely story, thanks for mentioning it. Gordon BTW, when we arrived in Australia in '48 my sister and I spent several summers with an aunt and uncle in rural Victoria. Although the most densely populated state, that town wasn't connected to the grid until 1968, so we were already accustomed to the oil lamps and wood-fired stove. _______________________________________________ CoTyroneList Mailing List Mailing List Email Address: CoTyroneList@cotyroneireland.com Change Your Preferences: http://cotyroneireland.com/mailman/listinfo/cotyronelist_cotyroneireland.com Mailing List Archive: https://goo.gl/mQCKrY _______________________________________________ CoTyroneList Mailing List Mailing List Email Address: CoTyroneList@cotyroneireland.com Change Your Preferences: http://cotyroneireland.com/mailman/listinfo/cotyronelist_cotyroneireland.com Mailing List Archive: https://goo.gl/mQCKrY
