Tuesday 4 March 2014

The Island Problem



               When my mum told me I would be following in my sisters’ footsteps and going to Barry Island Primary School I was terrified. We lived in Barry, on the mainland and although the island was not a real island, it still was place that struck fear into my 4 year old heart. I’d been there of course, picking my sisters up from school, running around on the beach or enjoying the ghost train in the funfair. It seemed a pleasant enough place but across the causeway that linked Barry to its island lurked a dark, violent secret.

               Almost everyday on the radio my mum played while making my lunch or the TV my dad slumped in front of after a hard day’s work, newsreaders spoke of the island problem, of bombs and guns and death and fear. I’d never experienced it first hand but it was there somewhere and now going to school in that evil place would surely heighten my chances of being affected by the violence.

               For the long hot summer of 1975 I wore a worry line on my forehead as the day of reckoning grew closer and closer. I tried to hide my trepidation, tried to play the part of a happy-go-lucky 4 year old, but anyone who took a good look at my face would see the tracks of my fears. Eventually I had to confront my mother about it.
               ‘Mum will I be safe in school?’ I asked one night as she was tucking me in.
               ‘Of course darling’ she said ruffling my hair. ‘assuming this was just a normal question, from a normal 4 year old about to start school. 
               ‘But what about the bombs?’ I asked.
My mum looked baffled.
               ‘The bombs in island.’ I explaind.
The penny dropped, my mum smiled.
               Those bombs are in Ireland my love’ she said doing a good job of not laughing in my face. ‘It’s a completely different place. Look! She stood up and went over to my bookshelf getting the My First Atlas down. She pointed to Wales and Cardiff and Barry and then pointed to Ireland, Dublin and Belfast. To my 4-year-old eyes the troubled land still looked too close for comfort but at least it wasn’t directly on my doorstep as I had previously thought.


               I slept better that night than I had done in ages and although I did feel a little foolish at least I could actively look forward to going to school.


If you enjoyed that, why not buy my new novel

Maggie’s Milkman? It is now available on Kindle - search 'Milkman Gareth Davies’ (the links are different in different countries)


and on other ebook readers at - 


By the way if you like the novel you could do a number of things to help me. 
Sharing the links on Facebook or twitter woud be really appreciated. 1 share might lead to 2 sales 

Writing a review on Amazon or Smashwords would come in handy too. 
Thank you 


Enjoy

By the way see my interview about the book here

1 comment:

  1. funny now but real horror to a kid:) when I was little i was convinced that inside my black and white TV (late 70s) there were real little people living and I was only waiting for my father to take off the back cover when the tv set stopped working. It often did stop working but somewhow these little people always hid then so that I couldn't see them:)

    ReplyDelete