John the Geologist

After almost 84 years, the Adams family bid farewell to Hamilton’s Bawn today, with the completion of the sale of my Mum’s house.

My grandfather and grandmother first moved to the village in 1926, my father was born there and lived all his life there, and me and my brothers grew up in the village. My parents built a new bungalow on a greenfield site opposite my grandparent’s house in 1967, moving in in 1968, and lived there for the rest of their lives.

The house as a building site in 1967

The house in 2010

My grandfather and father were heavily involved in the local branches of the Orange, Black and Masonic orders, they were both founding members of the local Silver Band in 1947 and they had a really strong personal identity with the area.

However me and my brothers all moved away in our late teens and have lost our connection with the village on the death of both our parents. While I am really pleased that we’ve been able to sell the house to a young family and we hope that they’ll be very happy there, the sale breaks that 84-year link between our family and “The Bawn”.

There’s something about our identities that will always mean that we’re from that particular place. We’ve been shaped by it’s history, particularly during the troubled times of the 1970s and 1980s, but also by the history of our family in that small area. The view from the front of the house across to Garvagh Hill is imprinted on my brain and I’ll never ever forget that I’m from “The Bawn”.

I’ve just planted three rows of potatoes in my Mum’s garden.

These are the old varieties I remember my Dad growing:

• Home Guard
• British Queen
• Navan

I’m looking forward to seeing how they grow with minimal interference!

Just what Ireland needs, a new superhero.

a) There’s no trace of irony.
b) You couldn’t make it up.

Update 16/12/2007 - from Quentin Devine on YouTube

Portadown suffers, not entirely unjustifiably, from a negative public image. It is therefore not the first place you would look for high quality grub.

I had lunch in the Yellow Door Deli with my Mum today. The front of the shop is the bakery and deli counter, and the front window is full of freshly baked loaves. There is a surprisingly large eating area at the rear of the deli, which was busy but still warm and welcoming.

As soon as we ordered, the waitress brought us a small selection of breads – wheaten, sourdough, cheese-topped white, tomato, herbed. I was a bit more full than I intended when the rest of the food arrived. I’ll be more prepared for that the next time.

There was a wide choice – various sandwiches using the in-house bread, soups and main courses. Mum chose the fusilli pasta with chicken in a cream sauce, accompanied by sourdough garlic bread. She pronounced it “lovely” with a big smile on her face! I chose a sandwich – confit of duck, hoisin sauce and sesame seeds on a sourdough roll. It came with nicely dressed leaves and small portions of greek and potato salad. Nicely packed and just the right amount.

We declined the offer of cake or patisserie for dessert, simply beacause we were both full.

Looking around at the other tables, the other dishes looked equally good. In particular, the brown stew came in a large bowl with potatoes and caramelised root veg. Had we been there for breakfast, there were some further tempting things on the menu (French toast with bacon and maple syrup for example).

Overall, this was a real find. OK, it’s made it into the Guardian directory and UKTV food heroes, but it was so different from the more typical Northern Irish lunch offerings that it is worth a visit. There’s not many places in Co. Armagh I could say that about.

My only negative comment is about their website. Not only does it use Flash rather than proper XHTML, but it has white text on a light yellow background on some pages, with no way of changing font size or colour, or even selecting the text to highlight it. Some screens are unreadable. Sack your design team and find someone who knows what they are doing!

I was 8 when the first soldiers arrived in Northern Ireland.

My Dad, a ‘B’ Special, had been away from home a lot just before, policing riots in Derry.

I remember the first road block they set up outside our house. I was fascinated and wanted to welcome them with a cup of tea like I’d seen on TV. I thought that was the thing to do.

I remember the road noise of Land Rovers driving down country roads. They could be heard approaching from about a mile away.

I remember going with my Dad after he joined the UDR in the early 1970s to help fill sandbags at an electricity substation near Tandragee.

I remember my Mum and Dad inviting two soldiers for Christmas dinner – I was around 11 or 12, and they brought me a leather football.

I remember waiting in my Dad’s car as he worked in army barracks – Gough, Glenanne, Drumadd.

I remember meeting older soldiers in the UDR – our postman had fought at El Alamein – a natural choice for Company Sergeant Major. WW2 was as close as we are to the Falklands conflict.

I remember checking underneath my Dad’s car for bombs each morning.

I remember his personal protection weapon in his bedside drawer.

I remember him attending countless funerals.

I remember waiting for him to come home from duty each night.

And I remember people who didn’t.

I am glad Operation Banner is over.