God, Glengormley! The flood-gates of memory have opened now. Four short tales of the "Church" area.
One. The first time I was in Glengormley it was because my ma drove her cousin up there to go to view a house in one of the Church streets. I was trailed along and had to wait in the car. I was raging because I missed When The Boat Comes In. She bought the place and moved there from Keadyville Avenue.
Two. I once went to guitar lessons somewhere about Church Crescent. The guy looked like Walter Becker from Steely Dan. I learned next to nothing but it wasn't really the man's fault because when I was there I was a bit twitchy knowing that the Edenmore was in full swing. I learned to play one song which went, "Dance Gypsy, dance Gypsy, laugh and romance Gypsy," and then it all got too much for me knowing my pals were drinking snake-bites down the road on the sewer pipe that led out into the lough while they were rustling other people's birth certificates hoping they'd get into the Edenmore.
Three. Then there was a school-friend called Julie. She was from the Church area too. We had one or two things in common such as being obsessed with Dracula, but where we differed was that she was into horses and Gary Glitter. Looking back on that roughcast and rum fella, his music, no doubt, was highly exciting in spite of what he was. But what did we know back then? For the carry-on of the likes of him was tolerated, and even the BBC turned blind eyes.
Four. Now the fourth and final person I knew from the Church area: it was a fella I went out with. Then one day his sister told me he kept my photograph in an old broken teapot, and that was that. When I look back now it seems quaint, but back then it wasn't "snappy" enough for me.
Hapy memories of Glengormley. Regards.
