When Terry Met Paddy
by Brendan Gisby
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: They say you should never mention politics or religion in a bar, but Terry didn't seem to know that.
_____________________________________________________________________
The following conversation is real. It took place in a basement bar in Edinburgh’s West End on a late Friday afternoon in 1985. Earlier that same week, the Anglo-Irish Agreement had been signed by British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, and the Irish Taoiseach, Garret FitzGerald. Some conversations are never forgotten.
“Hi.”
“Hi, how ye doin’?”
“Fine, thanks. No’ a bad wee place this. First time I’ve been doon here. Passed it by hunners o’ times. But awfie quiet, though.”
“It’s early yet oan a Friday. It’ll be heavin’ soon enough. Office workers, mainly.”
“Ah, right.”
“Can I buy you a pint? Lager, is it?”
“Aye, it is, thanks very much. That’s very civil o’ ye.”
“Nae bother.”
“I’m oan ma way hame, likes. A couple o’ pints here, then I’m aff fur the bus. Back tae Sighthill.”
“Awright.”
“Aye, I’ve jist goat aff the train fae Glasgow. Maryhill. D’ye ken it?”
“I’ve heard o’ it, aye, but I’ve never been there.”
“A guid Loyalist area is Maryhill. Jist like Sighthill. Aye, there wis a big meetin’ there the day.”
“In Maryhill?”
“Aye. At the Lodge. Hence the tin flute ‘n’ aw that.”
“Oh aye?”
“Aye, tae decide what we’re gonnae dae aboot this Anglo-fuckin’-Irish Agreement that cunt Thatcher has jist signed. Total cunt. Kowtowin’ tae the fuckin’ Papes. Next ’hing she’ll be handin’ Ulster ower tae they IRA bastards.”
“So what did yous decide, then?”
“Eh?”
“Aboot the Anglo-Irish Agreement?”
“Oh, aye. Well nuhin’ much really. Nuhin’ much we can dae – within the law, likes. Some big marches are bein’ planned. Tae protest, like. That’s aboot it.”
“Right.”
“Ye ken, the world wid be a much better place if the Airmy ower in Northern Ireland pit a bullet through the heids o’ ev’ry Pape in the place, includin’ ev’ry wan o’ they IRA cunts. That’s what needs tae be done, I tell ye.”
“Mmm.”
“Ma name’s Terry, by the way. Terry fae Londonderry, that’s what they call me. Ken, no surrender ‘n’ aw that?”
“Oh, aye, I ken. Nice tae talk tae ye, Terry. Ma name’s Patrick. Paddy, they call me. I huv tae tell ye that ma mother wis Irish, makin’ me half-Irish, like. An’ her faither, ma gradfaither, wis a member o’ the original Irish Republican Army back in the day. A Lieutenant-Colonel. But dinnae worry, I don’t hold wi’ what the new lot, the Provos, huv been daein’ lately. I stay well oot o’ it.”
“Fuck, is that the time? I’ll need tae get ma skates oan if I’m gonnae make that bus. Thanks fur the pint… em… P-P-Paddy.
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: They say you should never mention politics or religion in a bar, but Terry didn't seem to know that.
_____________________________________________________________________
The following conversation is real. It took place in a basement bar in Edinburgh’s West End on a late Friday afternoon in 1985. Earlier that same week, the Anglo-Irish Agreement had been signed by British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, and the Irish Taoiseach, Garret FitzGerald. Some conversations are never forgotten.
“Hi.”
“Hi, how ye doin’?”
“Fine, thanks. No’ a bad wee place this. First time I’ve been doon here. Passed it by hunners o’ times. But awfie quiet, though.”
“It’s early yet oan a Friday. It’ll be heavin’ soon enough. Office workers, mainly.”
“Ah, right.”
“Can I buy you a pint? Lager, is it?”
“Aye, it is, thanks very much. That’s very civil o’ ye.”
“Nae bother.”
“I’m oan ma way hame, likes. A couple o’ pints here, then I’m aff fur the bus. Back tae Sighthill.”
“Awright.”
“Aye, I’ve jist goat aff the train fae Glasgow. Maryhill. D’ye ken it?”
“I’ve heard o’ it, aye, but I’ve never been there.”
“A guid Loyalist area is Maryhill. Jist like Sighthill. Aye, there wis a big meetin’ there the day.”
“In Maryhill?”
“Aye. At the Lodge. Hence the tin flute ‘n’ aw that.”
“Oh aye?”
“Aye, tae decide what we’re gonnae dae aboot this Anglo-fuckin’-Irish Agreement that cunt Thatcher has jist signed. Total cunt. Kowtowin’ tae the fuckin’ Papes. Next ’hing she’ll be handin’ Ulster ower tae they IRA bastards.”
“So what did yous decide, then?”
“Eh?”
“Aboot the Anglo-Irish Agreement?”
“Oh, aye. Well nuhin’ much really. Nuhin’ much we can dae – within the law, likes. Some big marches are bein’ planned. Tae protest, like. That’s aboot it.”
“Right.”
“Ye ken, the world wid be a much better place if the Airmy ower in Northern Ireland pit a bullet through the heids o’ ev’ry Pape in the place, includin’ ev’ry wan o’ they IRA cunts. That’s what needs tae be done, I tell ye.”
“Mmm.”
“Ma name’s Terry, by the way. Terry fae Londonderry, that’s what they call me. Ken, no surrender ‘n’ aw that?”
“Oh, aye, I ken. Nice tae talk tae ye, Terry. Ma name’s Patrick. Paddy, they call me. I huv tae tell ye that ma mother wis Irish, makin’ me half-Irish, like. An’ her faither, ma gradfaither, wis a member o’ the original Irish Republican Army back in the day. A Lieutenant-Colonel. But dinnae worry, I don’t hold wi’ what the new lot, the Provos, huv been daein’ lately. I stay well oot o’ it.”
“Fuck, is that the time? I’ll need tae get ma skates oan if I’m gonnae make that bus. Thanks fur the pint… em… P-P-Paddy.
About the Author
Brendan Gisby is McStoryteller-in-Residence. He's the author of three novels, three biographies and several short story collections.
His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.
And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.
His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.
And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.