I love Derry.
I lived there for 8 magical years from 1978-86 and go back as often as I can. For my sins and the love of a good man, I’ve been parked in Brum for the last 26 years and have ties to bind me here. However, all things being equal and yer man willing, I’d like nothing so much as to see out my days in Doire. And that’s a huge compliment to the city from a woman born and bred in the sumptuously beautiful, supremely friendly Cushendall which also holds so many wonderful memories and a host of fabulous people.
So, what is it about Derry which grabs the heart of a runner like me? Why is it that most of my closest connections and fondest reminiscences have root in that wee corner of the North West? Now in my seventies, I have an overwhelming urge to record my stupendously happy and fulfilling Derry days. While I still have my wits about me. I think.
Let’s start.
I nearly got to Derry in my teens. I had a ticket to see The Who in The Guildhall but the concert got cancelled. Not a good beginning.
However, serendipity attended every aspect of moving more permanently some years later. My late husband, Bryan, got promoted to a post in Derry and, more importantly, got sober at the same time. (He made no secret of the fact that he was an alcoholic.) We bought the dinkiest wee bungalow in Drumahoe for what seemed like the huge sum of £23,000 and I applied for a post teaching English just across the road in Faughan Valley Secondary School. Everything seemed to be going our way.
Except. The evening of the interview I found myself snowed in in Cushendall. Panic ensued and I phoned the principal. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘the job’s yours anyway.’ Couldn’t happen now.
And so, hubby, son and I found ourselves on the cusp of a new adventure. New location, new house, new jobs and a new man in the house who came home from work on time and didn’t keep the pubs in business. With ready-made friends in AA and Al-Anon, welcoming neighbours and helpful work colleagues, what wasn’t to like?
I adored my house and my street and the range of characters who lived there. We were in a little cul-de-sac, where most of us had young children. The kitchens faced the street and all of us could keep an eye on the congregation of kids playing outside. I acquired a daughter in Derry and just next door was Barbara, who had a boy and a girl a year older than mine. She only bought the best for her two and considered her family complete, so I was the grateful recipient of high-class cast-offs. They all went to the same school, so I got uniforms as well. I think I only ever bought mine new knickers when I lived there.
Then there was the man who was car-proud beyond words. Rarely seen without a chamois in his hand, his house-bound wife wasn’t allowed to take the family car out when it rained and his company vehicle took the brunt of it. Our street’s house-proud couple took the biscuit however. This was my first encounter with removing shoes on entry and entry appeared to be into a small furniture shop. Sofa and armchairs had never been divested of their plastic and price-tags still dangled from table lamps and other sundry items. Or the guy who was quite high up in one of the services. We got complacent at the sight of emergency vehicles, sirens going, lights flashing outside. It was him testing response times. Stupid bugger.
As for my work, well that was interesting to say the least. Extrovert show-off that I am, with my interest in public speaking, debating and drama, I was hailed as the person who would rope in lots of accolades for the school. The first play the principal wanted me to produce was ‘Equus’. But that’s another story…