or three baby buggies would dangle precariously from the gaping boot, but as long as the doors could be slammed closed nobody complained. The gossip and banter, always witty and often edgy, never ceased.
Unlike the buses, the ‘black hacks’ had no official ‘stops’; passengers simply called out, or used a coin to rap the sliding glass partition separating front and back, when they neared their destination. The most hazardous part of the journey was having to clamber across up to half a dozen people and their bags of shopping, while trying to retain a modicum of decency.
Those journeys were not for the faint-hearted. Winter or summer, the air inside the cabs was thick and stale as odours from sweaty bodies, babies, cigarette smoke, damp clothes, food and alcohol combined in a fetid mix.
The drivers, many of whom had been interned or in jail, knew every twist and turn in the road, every side street and short cut in West Belfast. Regardless of disorder and weather, their battered vehicles trundled through the debris of street battles, negotiating their way around burnt-out vehicles and makeshift barricades. Few incidents, bomb scares or obstacles deterred them from reaching their destinations.
Wed, Jan 12
Oonagh didn’t come in today, neither did Eleanor or Jackie. Agnes rang to say she’s just back from the Shetlands but will be in school tomorrow. We were trying to arrange our holidays in France – we need something cheap!
Mrs Mc Glade called in tonight and there was one huge explosion – only a mine, although we thought it was in the front garden! I went to bed quite early because I felt miserable and tired – but I read away until one o’clock. I know I’ll pay for it in the morning.
Then Daddy told me about man being shot dead on the Falls Road. This morning, a 16-year-old boy shot himself accidentally – and I felt all I wanted was to get out of this place forever.
Thurs, Jan 13
Agnes was back – I was glad to see her, with so many being absent at the moment. She gave me a lovely leather purse from the Shetlands.
Oh, we all had bright ideas about France. Have decided to go to work in the Shetlands for 5 weeks in the summer, can earn £15 a week gutting fish and then we’ll go on to France. I suppose it’s all very well to dream.
Tonight Mammy made me change from ‘Top of the Pops’ to the film on the other side. I just left the living-room, came upstairs and sat crying my eyes out – not over TV – just boredom, (fear of exams), and tension.
Another 3 explosions tonight. Another man shot dead.
Fri, Jan 14
Last night, after I wrote my diary, there was a terrible incident outside. Going to bed, 11.30 – heard huge bang and thought it was a nail-bomb in the street. Opened the door and saw and heard the army. A Saracen had crashed into a neighbour’s car and wrecked it completely. She was injured and taken to hospital.
Daddy and Mr McGlade began giving off to the soldiers, only to receive ignorance and insolence in return – and were threatened with being ‘lifted’. Soldiers drove off, no one bothered about the girl or the car – and that was it!
Had to walk home from school today. IRA funeral, therefore no buses. Suzette is home for the weekend – as usual she was up to see me. Stayed for few hours, then I went down to her house for half an hour or so. I never realised before that I was so nervous till Mrs McGlade told me – every little noise made me jump. Talk about being jittery!
STILL trying to arrange holidays.
I was delighted to see Agnes back from her short holiday. She was my closest school friend at that particular time and her deceptively ‘saintly’ demeanour made her a favourite of the nuns. Our friendship, though, extended little beyond class times and phone calls, as she lived in the north of the city on the Cavehill Road. Occasionally, we spent a night in each other’s homes but crossing after dark from her part of Belfast to mine, or vice versa, was too fraught with danger for us to do so with any regularity.
By the end of that second week of the new year, when she returned to school with enviable tales of her visit to the Shetland Islands, seven men had been shot dead in separate incidents in Belfast. I realised that despite all my dreams of 1972 being my year – when normality would be restored – it was going to be no better than the final months of 1971. The possibility of getting away grew more appealing every day.
I wanted to go to France more than anywhere else and to practise the language I was learning for A-Levels. Regardless though of where I might end up, I needed a part-time job to pay for it. I already knew that the chances of an unqualified 16-year-old like me finding work were slight; my reluctance to work in certain areas reduced them even further.
IRA bomb attacks in the city centre meant that my parents preferred me to look for work locally or in the safer outskirts of the city where we shopped. Working in a staunchly ‘Protestant’ area was out of the question. I, meanwhile, would happily have settled for a working holiday, if it took me out of Belfast. I was becoming so desperate that even the previously utterly repulsive idea of gutting fish in the Shetland Islands, where Agnes’s brother was living, began to look attractive. Some girls at school were considering fruit-picking in Norfolk as an option but even fish-gutting appealed to me more than such back-breaking work. Besides, I didn’t want to go to England.
Sat, Jan 15
Didn’t even stir before twenty past eleven. It’s a horrible day, raining and foggy and cold. Bought a record this morning by Congregation, ‘Softly Whispering I Love You’.
Last night was quiet, only a couple of incidents.
Mon, Jan 17
A boring day. I hate Mondays because we have double classes of everything.
I was speaking to Agnes today. She broke it off with David today because he has been warned what would happen to him if he was seen with her again. (He’s not a Catholic).
At about 8 p.m., soldiers arrived outside and searched cars in Kennedy Way. We guessed something was going on – we were right.
On 9 o’clock news, hear that 7 men escaped from the Maidstone and swam to shore, then hijacked a bus (in their underwear) and drove to The Markets. Hope they’re not caught.
Mammy rang Auntie Kathleen. She sent us a bouquet of flowers but we never got them.
Tues, Jan 18
Men from the Maidstone still not caught. According to the news, one of the escapees went to a bus driver, told him he had fallen into water and asked for some clothes. Driver brought him in to the fire, gave him his jacket – and then the escapee collected the other 6 and they went off to freedom in the hijacked bus!
Shock announcement today that Faulkner has extended the ban on parades for one year – therefore, no 12th July for the first time ever. Great anger in Orange Order circles.
A man was shot dead tonight. Don’t know why yet.
Concert on in school (Thurs) so we have free afternoon. Everybody in school concentrating on our Fancy Fair – no work being done.
Have nearly decided to go on a course to France.
Still trying to get a job somewhere but prospects are rather hopeless. I don’t want a job in a shop in town because I wouldn’t feel too safe.
Wed, Jan 19
We were making jewellery for Fancy Fair. At lunch-time, we had a ‘record session’ up in the classroom – charged everyone 1p to get in. Amazing how many people