Author Topic: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.  (Read 2048769 times)

James James

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13050 on: May 28, 2019, 06:48:58 AM »
What church is it,... and when was it. ?

I think this is the Church my grand-parents got married in.

Image result for photo of Arosa Parade Belfast

welder

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13051 on: May 28, 2019, 05:32:42 PM »


I think it was St Silas and James Christ Church James, blitzed WWII
If the fates decree you're going to lose give them a damn good fight...

Dargan

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13052 on: June 01, 2019, 11:48:44 PM »
Good evening. So as we don't have a flat, empty and sad Saturday night it's time for a bit of music and an opportunity to roll back the years and think of what we were doing on the Shore Road when this was in the charts. Yea, I know we're hitting the subject matter at a very oblique angle,  but so what?  I hope you enjoy this. As an amatuer music-producer and composer, I like to marvel and revel in what the professionals do, particularly when they do it as impeccably as this. It's a standard to try to emulate - albeit a very tall order for the likes of me. Well, I was dandering around a shop today and it came on and put me off the mundane task of contrasting the price of Ryvita against Nairns oat crackers, and rightly so. I was transported back and delighted to hear this. What a song it is, and what a road the Shore Road was to grow up on. Salutations!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYP6F3gX68Q

This week's Shore Road number one: Tip Head Blues by Mad Mick and the Troglodytes.

Bigali

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13053 on: June 01, 2019, 11:52:18 PM »
 :party: :party:
Support Soldier F Support Soldier B

The courageous deeds and sacrifices of the RUC and UDR must never be airbrushed from history .

James James

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13054 on: June 02, 2019, 02:35:49 AM »
Ryvita V Nairns ?!,... that's a hard  assessment to make !,... no pun intended,... but the Roxy Music video is great.


brixmis

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13055 on: June 03, 2019, 10:00:35 AM »
Ryvita V Nairns ?!,... that's a hard  assessment to make !,... no pun intended,... but the Roxy Music video is great.


He always seemed like a bit sleazy to me. I don't know why.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
Support Soldier F. He's my brother.
Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense.

welder

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13056 on: June 03, 2019, 10:08:53 AM »


His former partner Jerry Hall left him for Mick Jagger, left Mick foe Rupert Murdoch
If the fates decree you're going to lose give them a damn good fight...

James James

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13057 on: June 04, 2019, 08:46:10 AM »

https://www.xsnoize.com/bryan-ferry-to-play-belfast-waterfront-for-one-night-only-april-2018/
"BRYAN FERRY – To Play BELFAST, WATERFRONT – For ONE NIGHT ONLY, APRIL 2018"


Dargan

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13058 on: June 08, 2019, 01:08:48 PM »
 It's no secret what I thought of Graymount School. It surprises me that no-one else has ever come on here and slated Graymount, but then again we must, mustn't we, superimpose on reality? Well I hated it and so did my pals. It was full of bullies, snobs and Christians. The latter wanted us to absorb the folklore of the ancient Middle East and live by it because they did, and naturally they were right and were going to heaven by dint of it (aye, in a corned beef tin so says the rhyme). I remember one girl even said to me, regarding her spiritual being as a corrective force: "I'm not pretty but I radiate beauty."
 
How do you actually answer a thing like that truthfully without being insulting? The old "self-praise is no recommendation line" is about the best you can do. But all because she believed such things as some gringo holding up a stick to open up the sea for a lot of migrants fleeing lock, stock and barrel. I wonder why they wanted to leave when they'd good jobs in the building trade putting up the pyramids? It was a job for life. The things people will do to get past border control!
 
 But anyway these Christians in school were smug and adamant they'd the last word on reality. It was part of a many-pronged attack at Graymount, for meanwhile the teachers told us that all we'd be fit for was licking stamps in an office, and then there was the residue whose only inspiration in life was to try to knock seven bells out of us. Crushed Roaches later smoked were an option, but the more inventive approach was preferable to alleviate the sheer repression.
 
Well we stuck together because we hated it all. To try to get through it we made our own entertainment. I suppose, like anything else, it wasn't really all bad, but the yin and the yang of the thing meant the white side of it all was out of kilter with the black which dominated. Anybody who thinks that's a racist remark can go away now, for it's the last thing on my mind.
 
As time went on, things got a bit better. We gave up P.E. in fourth form because you had a choice between it or music. It was easier to sleep during music. From the perspective of the music room we watched the others doing netball in the yards beyond, thinking they were mental. You could see them flying around demented trying to stick a ball into a net on a pole about 7 feet high. "Goal Shooter" and "Goal Attack" sounded far too much like what happened round the streets and we were always anxious to get away from that sort of thing, for let's face it: when young, who wouldn't have wanted to go across the lines to see what the talent was like on forbidden roads? Alas! it was never to be.
 
But  anyway, sometimes it got a bit interesting in the music class. The teacher decided one time to educate us about good music and brought the old record player out and a number of L.P's. She gave us Prokofiev, Mozart and Beethoven and names which conjured up, by their very sound, more dreariness. They made me think of a lifetime of dark afternoons with a wooden leg.   
 
The music room was like an auditorium and our chairs were on stepped rows, meaning that if you were at the back row you were higher up. Well, the teacher positioned the record player on the lowest level and had a good view of us all as she trotted out these masters. I was pleasantly surprised that I liked pretty much everything, and in particular Vltava by Bedrich Smetana. I wouldn't have admitted it though because some of the bullies were as lazy as us  and they gave up P.E. too and were lurking with menace nearest the windows. They always sat there for they were nosy baxters and thrived on the stupidest of events. There was a fight once and someone dropped their cookery and it scattered all over the Whitewell Road, and I heard one of the bullies say, "and what did you make?" But mainly the window was their preferred perch as they could eye up the painters or any other workmen on the premises. If there was anybody half-decent looking they were having them, presumably whether the fellas liked it or not.
 
Back to classical music: these days I like Bach, but a dissenting voice on Sean Rafferty's show reckons there's a school of thought which believes that it was actually Mrs Bach who was responsible for some of his catchiest numbers. That could well be the size of it, for we ladies are so often in the deplorable situation of being completely overlooked.
 
So, as it was a fair and equitable world (ha ha) we were allowed to bring in our own records. It was like for like: she played something to us, then we played something to her. She encouraged it, though it was easy to see by her face that she expected that the stuff we brought in would be the most plebeian of offerings masquerading as music. She won't have been right about that, and who could deny that the 70s and 80s produced stuff way up there in terms of audible creations destined to endure? Her being sniffy was a bit of a cheek seeing as she could only play the piano with one hand and tinkled everything out like she was behind the wheel of an ice-cream van.
 
Well, it was all pre-arranged. Nobody was to dare to bring in anything else this particular week. The thing was that this girl was to be the only one who brought in a record so the teacher wouldn't be able to let anyone else have a turn. Her record would have to be played. On the back row that day, we shuffled our feet and coughed in anticipation of the moment. How would the teacher react?
 
Kathy boldly went up, set the thing going and the first crackles of her record were heard as she retreated to the front row about 12-15 feet away from the teacher. In fact, Kathy took one hell of a chance because of course in those days teachers had the full weight of the law behind them to knock seven bells out of us and could exercise this right with the utmost enthusiasm, and no doubt this is where the bullies got the idea in the first place. It could take only the slightest provocation and they were in assault mode, faces often enough like snorting bullocks. I remember one time this maths teacher lost her engagement ring and doled out more pastings than enough until it turned up again – probably inside her boxing gloves. However, the music teacher in question was slim, mean and I'd seen her fly into rages before with the speed of a coiled cobra unfurling. And how many of us can come on and tell the different ways they saw teachers assault children? Too many, I shouldn't wonder.
 
 Well the teacher sat and waited, feigning interest and, in readiness, tilting her head to assess what was coming along. The same way as that Tory Pillock John Redwood carried on when he was pretending to know the Welsh National Anthem and made a right twIt of himself (with an "A). When this was all in the planning stage we had thought of such tunes as "Anarchy in the U.K." or the beautiful Carol Bayer Sager's "You're Moving Out Today" which  back then would have been viewed by many as a racy little tale about the end of a co-habitation put to a jaunty tune. For Graymount, it would have offended the Christians, outraged the conventionalist teachers and on the strength of some tenuous shard of logic, the bullies would have found yet another reason to beat people to a pulp.
 
So the link to what was chosen is below, and although teachers set my teeth on edge I'll say this for the old bat: she didn't bat an eyelid. We probably confirmed her suspicions that all we were just a pack of halyons in skirts. It will have been moral outrage combined with its companion the superiority complex which kept her as still as the stagnant ditch water at the back of pre-fabs.
 
After the first chorus the back row was doubled-up laughing, but not really because of what was immediately occurring: someone amongst us, in the middle of laughing, spotted a sight and managed to point it out whilst sliding off her chair: one of the bullies at the window in a lower row had a lump of chewing gum stuck behind her ear.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPvRsLWlDXw&list=RDPPvRsLWlDXw&start_radio=1

 
 
 
This week's Shore Road number one: Tip Head Blues by Mad Mick and the Troglodytes.

James James

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13059 on: June 09, 2019, 02:22:02 AM »
Sounds like a fun place !,... and it was obviously a memorable one, and for all of the wrong reasons that still sometimes apply too often today to some schools.

The part about the emigration reminds me of this recent event and the reasons for it.
https://news.sky.com/story/migrant-sailing-to-uk-on-raft-made-of-flower-pots-wood-and-rope-rescued-in-north-sea-11733620

"The wood-framed raft was made of flower pots, empty bottles and insulation foam."


Great and very well written read. You should have a weekly column in the local press.

Let's lament your experiences and celebrate your prose with Vltava by Bedrich Smetana.

I suppose that these days he would have been criticised for being an eastern European. !

Nice video, even though the sound quality doesn't always match the video quality.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exz6zD056zk



The sound quality in this version is much better though,...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6kqu2mk-Kw



I can't wait to find out what the record was that Kathy and the collective chose and brought to the music class. !

 :)  Great and very creative choice,... and a fantastic video !,... but I won't spoil the surprise.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPvRsLWlDXw&list=RDPPvRsLWlDXw&start_radio=1

Had a school experience with the guy at the 1 minute 58 second point.

The one memorable schooling artistic experience.

A great young Belfast touring repertory company came and put on a great performance of Anthony and Cleopatra.
https://youtu.be/M0B1xgqAdkM

The otherwise pretty uninspiring English teacher got very enthused, and explained the plot, staging, and some of the dialogue to us.

I thought this lot will be larking about and bantering throughout it,... but not at all,  everybody was riveted and really enjoyed it, and we got the opportunity of chatting to the cast afterwards.

It was really memorable.

tommytwotoes

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13060 on: June 09, 2019, 12:34:22 PM »

great wee story threre Helen ,,, found this lovely pic of the old fortwilliam depot 
regards tommy  :-*



i never drop players ,i only make changes (shanks) justice for the 96

roycraw.

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13061 on: June 10, 2019, 10:53:19 AM »
The McVeighs I was talking about was on the Shore Rd , opposite the bottom of Whitewell Rd in Greencastle. I can't remember it's proper name, Mr McVeigh was the landlord, I've got a photo somewhere but don't know where. (Railway Inn springs to mind, but I'm not sure)
hi loco.   the pub was McVeighs railway bar, ( my first drink and many more after) and wee jimmy was the landlord, a great wee pub. all the best.

James James

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13062 on: June 10, 2019, 03:49:58 PM »
Cave Hill 1980's.


Dargan

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13063 on: June 15, 2019, 11:44:22 AM »
 More about Graymount
 
In danger of sounding like a malcontent, I suppose I'd better say that there were a few things which were passable, and even more than passable. But, thinking about it, most of these things belong to outside the school premises such as the fights to get on the bus first (there was never an orderly queue) and wading thought the leaves which had floated down from the elegant avenue of Lime trees fringing the old driveway up to the joint – at one time the route for the horses and carriages arriving or departing from the big house when it was a residence; when bleaching greens lay in the acreage at the back of it up to the foot of the Cavehill, and later on when whatever vehicles conveyed people to and from the fever hospital, a matter of urgency at times being the order of the day. I can't recall if Graymount was an ARP post in the same way as Mount Vernon House. I know it will be on the thread but don't remind me. Think, instead, of all the dramas, conversations and sidelights of life enacted in these places over the years and you will spend your life in a pleasant reverie – should you choose to avoid all the reality which added up to complete harassment or downright guano. I like to give vent to them for they make a rounded picture of it all, not some fairy-tale of cottages with roses round the door.
 
I must say that by our day, the vestiges of the place as a fever hospital were more dominant than anything else from the history of the place, though the sanitary smell was severely challenged by the many soap-dodgers mulling around. They were a great antidote to disinfectant. It wasn't just teachers, snobs and bullies who stank, it was also the rest of us. Some took it to an art form and thought carbolic was the unabridged form of the swear word (but that might be easy to see why if you read on). You know the one I mean, and I think I’ll be safe enough to use the archaic word "coillons" to pinpoint it, as it's not likely to be in the list of censored language (unless the moderators have gone back into history to cull from the rich language around hundreds of years ago).
 
It was Graymount that taught me this word by running "The Pardoner's Tale" by us. As far as I can gather all it is, is a mediaeval catalogue of insults hurled at one another by pilgrims on their way to Canterbury. Religionists again! You think the profane can swear and construct vile insults, well this was a crowd never to be bettered at it.
 
"I wolde I hadde thy coillons in myn hond,"  said some cheeky person hundreds of years ago walking along pretending to be a penitent, and meaning he wanted to grab hold of his rival's coillons. We were told all about it and asked to comment and even write about it in an exam! So how can you praise a school that thinks it's ok to tell you to grab someone by the coillons? It's not seemly. No wonder we never washed for it was all part of a downward spiral promoted by the very school itself. But it got worse, for it goes on to say that the same angry gringo feigning a devoted stance on the path of righteousness, further threatens that he's going to have these appendages belonging to his rival, cut off. He then offers to carry them and later have them shrined in, of all things, a hog's "toord." I jest ye not, this is what it says and it was taught at school. I'd lodge a complaint somewhere if it wasn't for the fact that someone behind a desk wouldn't have a clue what infringement of human rights to file it under. And who could blame them?

 
So how's that for double-standards? Were we to have gone around yelling the odds about coillons and hogs' toords we would have been thrashed whilst within those grim walls. Oh aye, but it was all right for religionists years ago to carry on like this, for of course they had divine permission to use foul language and utter threats that even the school bullies couldn't have dreamt up.
 
Well what was all this really about? Your guess is as good as mine. On the face of it, the educational aspect was supposed to centre around the visibility, here, of the mix of European languages with some native Celtic tongue. That was supposed to be the pull of it all. I say, what use is that when you were in the local shops with the perennial worry of being diddled? Yet the same scholastic establishment was prepared to overlook the likes of the link below as a thoughtful piece of work. I once saw the guy who wrote this song go by on the Rochdale canal on his barge playing the record one sunny day. It's a bit of a treasured memory. At the helm, he steered the barge into the distance, a silvery trail of water in its wake as the sun gleamed down, his tune fading out like it never did in reality. I'd give it 20 out of 10.
 
However, I mustn't get lost in the melodic outline of this, so back to school: I remember once a cookery teacher was so annoyed by the smell of us souring the milk that she decided to do something about it and went on a complete rant about cleanliness. I never lived down the humiliation of being pointed out as someone who would definitely have clean feet if socks were removed. Furthermore I died a thousand deaths waiting to see if she was going to make me take my socks off as it was cast-iron guaranteed my feet were blacker than everybody else's. I was very fond of having outdoor fires of an evening and running through the resulting charcoal pretending I was one of those fire-walkers seen on Blue Peter. John Noakes went up in my estimation from a pillock to someone reasonably interesting when he had a go. Well, she must have seen the fear in my eyes and let it drop. That woman was "for" me for a reason I'll never know. It must have been pity.
 
Thankfully the moving finger wrote, and moved on. And what a spectacular way the rest of it all manifested! You see,  I was inadvertently rescued by a bold girl from Ivan Street who decided to argue the toss for the case for knocking around in a state of rottenness. She  spoke up in defence of being stinking with a practical argument, remarking that it was cold all the time in her house and why should she have to face getting washed in the cold mornings when life was as miserable as it was? I quite agreed with this but kept quiet in case the heat went back onto me and I was ordered to reveal my feet. Before central heating our house was dotted with different ineffectual heaters including ones which ran on paraffin. They were very difficult to crowd around to get any heat off and the paraffin burned the throat out of us, though they did look cute. Some of them looked like stoves but they were more or less useless. Three hours later and your kettle still wasn't boiled. Coal fires weren't a lot better for only the side of you looking at them was warm whilst shivers paraded up and down your back.
 
 Anyway, a lively exchange between the teacher and this particular girl ensued. This girl was no mug. Once her heckles were up she got redder and redder in the face yet still managed to put up a great verbal defence of being boggin,' and even managed to get the better of her "superior," for at a certain moment the teacher erupted and then fell into a stunned silence possibly overcome by the inner vision of what the girl said. Out-of-the-blue the girl announced defiantly that there was no point in the teacher going any further, for nothing nor nobody was going to stop her wearing her slippers in bed. "You'll get fleas!" the teacher screeched, and then sank back like a deflated air-ring.
 
It might have been a very curious coup de grace, but it was a winner, and anything at all that I saw which equated with a victory for girls against teachers was fine by me for the very fact that the majority of these old blades hated the sight of us from the outset and made no bones about it. They were bitter that they were there with us: the unclean proletariat who had not passed the 11 plus. They were set in their mortally-wounded ways. They decided we were as numb as [censored] on clapping eyes on us. (The fact they'd not managed to land jobs in grammar schools was our fault?!)
Inspired to the hilt, that night I tried my slippers in bed and haven't looked back since.
 
But it's occurring to me that I'm getting into a malcontented frame again, so I better mention something else which I've just thought of, and which introduces a much more romantic slant on things:
 
 The area where the kitchens had been in Graymount House was a very dark rabbit-warren of small spaces poorly lit, and it was no doubt the place you felt you would most likely catch a glimpse of some Victorian Scullery girl fixing a bowl of furmity for an ailing tradesman cook had taken pity on. This place was well below stairs, and the slope down into it was like a run into a stable. The entrance to it within the main body of the house must have marked a striking contrast when the corridor of access had fine furnishings and d้cor. Maybe there had been doors to this stone-flagged run-in, but from what I can remember the infamous spiral staircase was adjacent to it, and so in my mind's eye there was nowhere to actually hang a door. Early on I was caught up in looking at all the features of the house and it did thrill me to consider who had traipsed through these mean passages and in and out of these solid doors, and who'd had had their collions caught in a rat-trap.
 
Where was I? Yes, getting onto the bus outside Herbert Stewart's yard watched by a few elderly people with worried expressions in that single storey row of cottages with the half doors. No wonder they were wary. Bus drivers are a notoriously cross breed of people, but none of their numbers were ever man enough to chastise the bunch of about 20 - 25 girls trying to get onto his vehicle at the same time in what was an unruly knot. That's probably because none of them carried a cattle-prod to poke them off again. Well, you had a choice: either you joined in and tried to get your token into the "kerching" machine first. If successful your street credibility soared for a day or two. This, though, also had its disadvantages as you then fell under the notice of the bullies who didn't like your popularity. Or else you stood back and observed. If you opted for joining in the melee it meant you could very easily be flung onto the footpath on your ear, or strangled by someone else's scarf. And you had to be careful because other, less predictable fates, could be the result: you might end up tangled with a hardened soap dodger and later couldn't shift the smell for love nor money. Or you could end up being host to someone else's dandruff. Joining in was a risky business.
 
Actually, now I come to think of it there were one or two incidents which witnessed the bus-drivers fighting back, but I can't give any details as I just don't remember. I can faintly hear a raised male voice and some kind of an insult connected to Planet of the Apes being a more civilised place, and maybe the odd threat to squeal to the head teacher, old Mary, who was so keen on giving people thrashings that her log-legs stalked the corridors for stray pupils she didn't like the look of. If you couldn't provide that sadistic old bag with a good reason as to why you were there, you'd had it. I remember once the white roots of her hair were showing through and everyone was terrified in case she thought they were staring at her. In this case, there would have been no argument against being accused of having eyes in the back of your head. You had them, and you were being caned, and that was that.
 
But if you decided to watch the others fight their way onto the bus and thereby resign yourself to later getting on with no chance of a seat, another menace could appear on the scene: sometimes, curious bullies from Dunlambert gathered as onlookers, or else to throw in a punch or two. Their pleasant little rhyme which began "Graymount Grannies"  and ended with a rhyming word, slang for another body part, – a part we were supposed to lack according to the totality of the rhyme – revealed that they too were exposed to these bawdy mediaeval books and that they'd actually rubbed off on them. We didn't ever retaliate with our own rhyme, for what rhymes with "dunces"? All I can say in retaliation all these years on and in the limited circumstances of a moderated forum is that in needle-work we managed to avoid [censored].

 
It's funny, but I never saw any bullies join in with this ritual of getting onto the bus. It's likely because they were quite aloof and had to preserve a remoteness characteristic of Big Harry Grout in Porridge, their retinue of hand-maidens doing the dirty work of spreading the word whenever it was to be put about that they intended to knock someone senseless for being fancied by someone the bully fancied (yes, we had our admirers in spite of it all and some were in a worse state of cleanliness than we were, hence the attraction).
 
Some of the Christians stuck their toe in the water of normal life and got swirled all over the Shore Road in these bus do's. Afterwards  they were well trained for the parting of Belfast Lough and that escape through the Tip Head to the Holywood Shores should someone have stepped forward with the offer of deliverance avoiding the town centre. But who the hell in their right mind would have wanted to go over there? Nothing ever happened over there as far as we could see. It was a place where people spent their lives minding their peas and onions and polishing their cars and bibles on Sundays. I can imagine them training their field glasses at night on the Shore Road and homing in on the antics with the relish of the snob who uses other people's lives to feel better about their own. Afterwards they probably got university grants to print pamphlets on how to wreck a set of traffic lights in ten minutes flat.
 
However, some Christians took to normality. In fact some were smittle and even welcomed it all with open arms, never looking back. You knew that they had reached the actual  doors of perception and had ditched all the sham morality when they were spied putting the tracts in a bin and replacing them with a packet of fags. (I still have a "banda'd" tract that was given to me at Graymount. It resides in the centre of my dartboard). That was one of the most wholesome sights I ever witnessed at that school: the end of people's Christian delusions. Another was when rival bullies came to blows. The pinnacle was when teachers fell off the stage, and once, for her sins, old Mary did a fair impression of someone falling over after a bottle of Woodpecker. Countless people will have been caned that day, and I don't know for sure, but there's a good chance she damaged her own coillons.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=low6Coqrw9Y

 
 
 
This week's Shore Road number one: Tip Head Blues by Mad Mick and the Troglodytes.

Jack The Kipper

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Re: Anyone from the shore road area of Belfast?.
« Reply #13064 on: June 16, 2019, 07:48:04 AM »


Dargan I'am not from the Shore Rd but I love reading your posts, they always make a good easy read.
God Bless President Trump! God Bless Israel....and God Bless Big Rosie up our street!!!