The Beginning It was during the autumn months of 76 that my two trusted friends and I first realized that

something was about to change. When, where and how this was going to affect us was still pretty much a mystery. We were only fifteen years old; we didn't know what it was. Nor would we have ever guessed in a million years that it was going to cause such a strange, yet dramatic twist to our lives. All we could do was to hope and pray that it was for the better, but now I think of it, anything would have been better than what we were used to. At the time, we all lived in a quiet leafy suburb of east Belfast known as Belmont. A mixed; middle class area that was detached from the troubled hot spots this city was famous for. Although that doesn't mean to say that we weren't affected by the troubles, of course we were. Our suburban life styles may have been somewhat subdued compared to other parts of the city, but our views, beliefs, our feeling would have still been very much a one sided affair nonetheless. We were no different; we too had developed that one sided opinion, the one sided hatred but in saying that, I wouldn't want you to think that our parents were at fault. You can blame that one on our society, the churches, and the education system. They were the ones who encouraged it. It was they who insisted the truth be kept from us, and it was they who refused to teach us our own history, a ruling which we all have had to suffer. They created the apathy that led to the one sided views and beliefs, or what we have grown to commonly known here in Northern Ireland as religious bigotry. They created it, and they let it spill out onto the streets of a venerable society, which incidentally happened to be their master plan. As I have pointed out, Belfast in the mid-70s wasnt a nice place to be; what with the troubles raging on our door step for near on seven years. Thats more or less half

of our entire life by the time 1976 came a knocking on our door. We knew no better; in fact we thought this was normal, how the rest of the world lived, but how wrong were we. It was like being caught in a Rat Trap with no way out, we hadnt a clue as to what life was like outside our own area; in the north, south or west of the city. We only knew what we had seen on Television, or from the stories we had heard on the streets, and in school playground, but that would only give us a slight indication of the true reality. As our parents would be trying desperately at the same time to protect us from the horrible truths that Ulster had to offer. From a very early age we were given a basic set of rules to follow by our own parents. Rules we had to obey were constantly drummed into us, and it was on your head be it if you didnt comply with those rules. We had restrictions and limitations; God alone knows of the many obstacles that weve had constantly thrown in our path. Boundaries set with dos and donts, and there never any mention of compromise. All this simply meant, was we were allowed to get familiar with our own area and those nearby. Only ever given enough rope to hang ourselves with, like chained dogs roaming around in circles with nowhere to go during these our darkest days. It was because of the many dangers that lurked around every street corner and every back alley of our city that strict rules had been laid down so heavily. We had a gang culture that was far more sinister than any other UK city, a gang structure which drove fear into the streets of Belfast. A gang mentality known as the Tartan Gangs, ranks ranging between 14 and 20 years old, full of bitterness and stretching across the Ulster countryside. A teenage army who wore the same uniform of blue jeans and denim jackets, who proudly wore their famous Tartan scarves, a symbol of their Scottish and Protestant ancestry.

With each area; came a different coloured Tartan, which identified the clan they belonged to; as well as pointing out their religious beliefs. The early vigilantes who ruled Belfast in the early 70s, roaming the streets at night in a macabre way; believing they were providing some kind of protection to the area in which they lived. This was before they eventually evolved into something far more sinister, a force that proved to be an even greater threat to this our ailing society. They would still roam the streets of the city in numbers, only now they answered to a different name. 1972 saw the Tartan gangs answering to a name of the UDA the same members, protecting the same areas, only now they were united, organized and they ruled by the gun. The loyalist had now followed their republican counterparts, turning their own streets into no go areas. Thankfully today we are now different people, you could say, grown wiser in our old age, but that wasnt always the case. Before 76 we actually believed the propaganda we constantly heard on the streets and in school playgrounds. Sadly thats was lifes, just because we were fortunate enough to live in a middle class suburb of east Belfast, doesnt mean to say we werent like all the other teenage boys in Ulster, we were. We were just as impressionable, just as nave as anyone else out there. We were also inseparable, constantly in each others pockets, day and night. We had the same interest, with only the slightest of diversities between one and another. Our own individual likes and dislikes that quite often ended in heated debates. We argued, but never fought or fell out with one another. The rule was if you hit one, you had hit all, thats the way it was growing up. We were in the same loyalist flute band; we had that same bitter streak running though our veins. Dont be fooled by the middle class upbringing, what we learn t at school, we brought

home meaning all three of us had bought into fairy tale, our lives were being moulded, the motto being For God and Ulster . The only time we werent together apart from when we were asleep, was when we were at school, which happens to be one of the differences there was between us. Coming from the same area didnt necessarily mean we went to the same schools: while Gus and I went to the notorious Ashfield Boys; Ken went to Orangefield. In different areas of East Belfast they may have been but believe me, the attitude among the pupils of both these schools were the same. Their mentalities were identical; they had that same arrogance- ignorance you choose oozing from every pour. It was here, that the loyalist bigotry that was bred, here in the corridors and playgrounds of schools just like these throughout the province of Ulster. It was in schools right across Ulster, where these teenage armies grew, were the hatred and our sectarian culture thrived. Both these schools were the breeding grounds for the loyalist paramilitaries of east Belfast. And it was here, that we found the hatred we directed at Catholicism - Republicanism, which we had been taught to believe at the time, to be one of the same. We knew no difference nor did we care, all we knew was how to hate. When you see all these facts laid down like that this, is it any wonder why the outside world saw Belfast Ulster on a par with likes of Beirut or Damascus the Middle East. And can you blame the world for thinking that way? I know I dont, but all jokes a side this wasnt the Far East, it was Northern Ireland. A civilized country where things like that these werent meant to happen, in Afghanistan or Libya maybe but not here. It just goes to show you. This new state of theirs didnt turn out to be the Safe European Home they had hoped for, when they planned the partition of Ireland. Instead they had

created a hostile environment, cursed with politicians and clergymen alike, bigots who found it so easy to hide behind their churches. It angered me then, and it angers me now to see these figureheads of society, on both sides of the religious divide, who stand there before each other like a fighting Jesus leading the blind against the blind. With sadly the vast majority believing the lies that divided the population, and which found many young men and women prepared to follow these religious fools like lambs to the slaughter. Whilst listening to their arrogant demands, for control over the six counties. To the point of failing to notice, that with those cold demands, came a very high price to pay. And it would be the youth of Ulster who have to pay this price. They had turned us all into a by-product of neglect; a generation starved of live entertainment, deprived of all international sporting events. Even the worlds tourist industry had avoided the beauties of the Ulster countryside, all because of the terrorist threat, but still those mindless morons carried on with their political feud. With their bombing, their shooting, turning Northern Ireland into the land which time had forgot. It was thanks to them that Ulster became a no go area, off limits to the outside world, as if, we had been erased from the world map all together. What was left in its wake was a political situation in Ulster that gave way to a nation of blinkered teenagers from all walks of life the perfect opportunity, to vent their anger, their frustration against the establishment who were behind their apathy. Many joined the various paramilitary groups, which allowed them to carrying out acts of violence, and crimes against the state. Giving them the belief they had some kind of purpose in life, an air of grace, a feeling of importance, as if.

Well I didnt want to be one those young men who had been brain washed into fighting a bitter war of religion. Nor did I want to follow in the footsteps of their forefathers. The kind of hatred bigotry whatever you want to call it that had been passed down through their generations; from their fathers to son, I simply wasnt prepared to accept. I didnt have that same bitterness drummed into me by blinkered ancestors who knew no better. It was society which placed that burden upon me, but believe me all that was about to change. Those days were seriously numbered as the youth of Ulster my two mates and I included began to slowly turn our backs on those dark times. We didnt ask for the life style we were given it, so why the hell should we have to accept it. We knew with that kind of life style you had no choice, you were what you were born, the area you were born told others what you were. Orange or Green, Loyalist or Nationalist, and with that came the age old argument are you British or Irish? There was simply nothing you could do; but get used to it, these were the signs of the times; this was the future that we were faced with. Communities confined to their own areas, hoping that their suburbia life style would protect them from the all horrors which surrounded them. And at the same time, praying for the religious conflict to stay away, which it didnt. Even the middle classes in suburbia experienced the odd close encounter with the terrorist in Ulster. For one, they had no preferences, two, we werent that far away from it all, as the victims found out. I cant express my gratitude enough for those changes, but when I look back, its not as if we were consciously crying out for change to happen. And to be honest, I am not sure if we even wanted it, but when the opportunity came along in the autumn of 76, the attraction was far too great. And although this might sound a bit ridiculous but its true, we suffered

months of mental torture not knowing what the hell it was all about at first. As you can probably guess, this wasnt going to be a transformation that simply happened overnight, nor was it a transition that would just affect the three of us. This phenomenon would prove to be the turning point for many a young people throughout the province of Ulster. So many lives; in so many ways would change, including the lives of people you would never have imagined could changed, it changed. Still to this day, its hard to believe just how much of a difference we really made even for the likes of me who was there almost ever step of the way, it truly is phenomenal. We were only teenagers, and like most, we were confusion, faced with uncertainties, forced into a life of contradictions, which left us not knowing what or who to believe, never mind trust any more. So is it any wonder I jumped at the chance I had been given as those summer months of 76 drew to a close. To be handed an opportunity to change my life, was a God send, an offer to good to be true. So at the tender age of just fifteen years old I found myself standing on the edge of society, looking down and watching, as a new chapter in our history was being written, but I also realized that as time itself progressed, standing on the edge just wouldnt be good enough. An observation that became more and more apparent as each day passed by. Believe me; it wasnt long before we too took that leap of faith, an entered the unknown, and unwittingly become part of our own history. We were about to enter a new era; confront a new beginning, which brought a new generation, who were ready and willing to embrace the future, psyched up and wanting to make those changes work. A generation prepared to rip up the rule book and start all over again if necessary, and thats what happened.

Take my word for it, the politicians and clergymen who had long tried to rule this country of ours, had taken their little world far too much for granted. Amidst their bickering, they had overlooked a few important factors along the way. They never once give the power of youth the credit it deserves. Nor did they fully understand our will to change, and last but not least. They never saw the arrival of Punk Rock, but then again, who could have foreseen the arrival of such a powerful movement. As far as I am concerned this was to be the killer blow against the sectarian powers, which have tried to controlled Ulster. I somehow knew that life just wasnt going to be the same. Life in our middle class suburban bubble prior to the summer of 76 had become a sorry state of existence. The same boring routines with the same old face living the same childish and mundane life. They wore yesterday clothes as if it was the latest London fashion, only we knew differently. They roamed the streets of Belmont imitating the Tartan gangs from the road; only they werent prepared to defend their area in the same way. Their knowledge of the outside world had been limited; even though they found themselves in same rut as we did, there was a difference. And that difference was, we had started to realize that this wasnt the life style that we wanted. They gave the impression that things would never changes, and for them it hasnt, its as though they have been trapped in that same time warp all this time. None of them showed any signs of moving on, no attempt to change in any way. There wasnt even the slightest show of imagination within that group, so you can forget about trying to find a creative mind among them. There weekly highlight, was to attending the Blue Lamp Discos that were run by the RUC (the police) with hopes riding high for a quick snog and a sly grope of a tit at the end of the

night, while we want more, a lot more. And with this knowledge in mind, it wasnt long for us to notice that we no longer had anything in common with those who we had grown up with. We realized in such a short time that we were worlds apart; the closer we got to Christmas it became them and us, so to speak. Knowing that were different, in the same way we knew there was a new era drawing closer and closer. So we began to prepare ourselves for the change that was coming. We could see beyond the boundaries of the estate in which we lived, in our mind we had reaching out even further than our beloved East Belfast, but in all fairness, we did have a slight advantage, which came in the form of Kens older brother who was leap years ahead of us. He was couple of years older, already working, and not forgetting the fact that he had been playing in a band called Rudi for well over a year. They were playing regular gigs in pubs and clubs all over the country; they dressed slightly different from us, but not in any way that would alarm our suspicions. I can remember the three of us on many an occasion standing outside Knock Youth club (YPOK), staring through the windows like three peeping toms as they practiced. The muffled sound that vibrated through those old Edwardian window frames, we new but that was as far as we got. Have you any idea what its like having the little brother syndrome, well that was us. Two and three years younger than Ronnie and his mates, there was no way they were going to welcomed us with open arms. In fact we werent welcomed at all, but no one can fault us for not trying. We tried our damnedest to muscle our way in, but it was to no avail, they were having none of it. Then there was the time we would meet in the street, and they would take to their heel and run the other way and hide when they seen us coming, but you cant really blame them. I mean, what older brother in their right mind

would want their kid brother and his two cronies hanging off his shirt tails. They were all around seventeen and eighteen years old at that time and the last thing they wanted was three fifteen year olds tagging along behind them cramping their style. Or was it steeling there thunder? All said and done, there was something good that came out of that situation for the three of us. While big Ronnie was out posing and playing the pop star, the three of us would congregate in Kens house, where our own music studies began. It was there we learnt the secrets of this modern day music, while listening to Big Rons record collection. And he had shit loads. Bands I had never of heard off, bands like the New York Dolls, The Velvet Underground, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop and not forgetting The Runaways. Ahhh!!! What an album to find at fifteen and half years old, just as you are going through puberty, but more importantly, not long after realizing what your dick was actually for! That was the type of album you had to listen to in the sanctuary of your bedroom away from prying eyes if you know what I mean. Five teenage American girls scantily dressed in stockings and suspenders playing rock music; it was seer ecstasy, but all jokes a side. These were bands records, I probably wouldnt have heard at that young age if it hadnt been for big Ronnie. You certainly wouldnt have heard any of them on day time Radio, thats for sure. It was all new to me, before the summer of 76 I had no real interest in the charts, I didnt listen to the radio, and very rarely watch Top of the pops. I had no interest, I did I want to see or hear the Bay City Rollers or Shawaddy Waddy, and I certainly didnt want to look like them. In my mind I was a young militant, I was a proud member of a loyalist flute band, a wood-be football hooligan who loved and enjoyed the violence seen on the terraces. I had heard of Bowie, Boland, Alice Cooper, the Sweet and Slade, I liked them but they

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really didnt excite me the way the New York Dolls excited me. The down sidewas, I didnt know where to go to get these records, and that maddened me. I can remember going with my parents on many occasions to Woolco shopping centre in Ards; and while my parents done their weekly shop, I would trawl through the rows and rows of records desperately trying to find, hoping to at least one gem, but to no avail. It was the same with the little at record shop at Ballyhackamore, Grahams record shop on the Albertbridge Road, but who was I trying to kid. This was Belfast they wouldnt have heard of the New York Dolls or Lou Reed, but that wasnt to help me. Our senses had been alerted to these new sounds, and we were slowly starting to realize that the outside world had a lot more to offer than we first imagined. We no longer had to listen to the stories of the bombing and the shooting, not now that we had found an alternative. Something that would distract us from the every day bump and grind that Belfast had to offer. Its hard to believe but in such a short period of time so much was going to happen, so many changes were to occur that would leave us not knowing where to turn. I am talking about weeks not months, and in some case even days, one minute there was nothing, the next our life was changing all around us. It was once again through big Ronnie via Ken of course that we first learnt about the John Peel Show. A late night radio program that not only played the kind of music that we wanted to hear, but also allowed the kind of bands that you would never have seen or heard on top of the pops play live in the studio. Through John Peel we learnt of the New Musical Express, better known as the NME A weekly music paper that told us all about the bands John Peel was playing on his show, but there was still something missing and we

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knew it. They always say the book is better than the film, and that radio doesnt distract you from your everyday life, and thats true, but not in this case. What we were hearing on the Peel show did distract us from life in Belfast. What we read in the NME had us craving for this new vision, which was the missing link. It came to us around the end of October 1976 as we stood on the upper Newtownards Road, on the corner of Belmont Church Road. As usual looking bored and acting like fools when it first appeared on our radar. I not sure who saw it first, but I do remember the moment I turned round and saw him- it walking towards us on the opposite side of the road. And from the moment our eyes locked on to this being, we were mesmerized, as though were in some kind of trance. All three following him with our eyes along the road, wondering what the fuck it was, then, as soon as he was out of range we fell about laughing. Now I know this must sound a bit hypocritical but remember where we were, try and remember our surrounding. The imagery we would have been used to at the time, the hobbies, and the past times that we were involved in. To see that guy for the very first time, it was only obvious what our first reaction; our first impression, our first response right down to our first insult, would be. Fagot, gay boy, and queer, we had never seen anything like him before. He was like some kind of 1950s throwback with his straight leg jeans, his winkle picker shoes, and his black leather jacket. And not just any old leather jacket. This was the kind Marlon Brandon wore in The Wild One, definitely not the kind of jacket you would have found in Belfasts city centre, thats for sure. It had to be imported from London or maybe even further afield, but it was probably the fact that he had short jet black hair with these blue strikes up either side of his head that made us throw those insults. I mean apart from women who else dyes their fucking hair (no pretend I didnt say that).

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We may well have laughed, made fun and even called him names that first time, but as we began to gather all the pieces we soon realize that they were from the same puzzle. We may not have had all the pieces, nor did we have any idea of what the finish picture would look like, but we somehow knew that we would be in there somewhere.

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The Peel Show It may only be a hunch, but I do believe that the twelve month period between the summers of 76 to 77, would have been a pretty confusing time for most teenagers throughout the province of Ulster. Especially for those who had recently discovered the same growing interest as we had for this new craze. From my own experience; I would imagine there would have been quite a few issues to deal with, regardless of their religious and political back ground. And like I said, I for one was no exception to the rule, thats for sure. Spring 76; as I said I had just turned fifteen years old, and I had not long joined the Ulster Volunteer Flute band. For me that was an achievement in itself, considering it had been a lifelong ambition of my mine. Thats right; my whole life had been spent dreaming of one day walking with a loyalist flute band on the twelfth of July. So when I reached that goal, and finally learnt how to play the auld orange flute, all I wanted to do thereafter, was to join the best flute band in the land, which was in my mind the Ulster Volunteer Flute. Better known in east of the city as the UVF band, and to be honest; it was all my mates and I ever talked about, before and during spells with lesser known bands. You have no idea what it was like when not only the opportunity came along for us to join the band, but also; when the summer holidays arrived and the marching seasons began. Believe me; the last thing that I want was disruption in my life to come along causing all sorts of distractions that could possibly put my role in the band in jeopardy. It had been a long time coming, and I am pretty sure that I can speak for the other two, when I say that we could hardly contain ourselves with excitement. We got to walk in Orange parades that we never knew existed, parades such as the Whiterock. A parade

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designed for the insane, and only those who have ever walked that route will understand what I mean. The rest of you will no doubt find it hard to believe as I did the first time; the only difference was I was there to witness it with my own eyes. This wasnt just an Orange parade that walked past a catholic area, the way we had done on many other occasions. This was an Orange parade that walked right through the heart of Nationalist West Belfast, bandit country, right through an IRA stronghold. What ever you want to call it, I can tell you now; its an area where most protestant wouldnt want to find themselves day or night. This was like a white power movement marching through Harlem; or the National Front through Notting Hill, if you can imagine that then you can imagine the Whiterock parade. For at least twenty minute or so you are surrounded by hard core republicans on all sides, their anger is heard, their hatred is felt. And although most people who have walked that route wont actually admit to it, believe me; you are shitting yourself. From the moment you pass through those peace gates at Workmans Avenue until you hit the Highfield estate you are aware of your surroundings. Its one of those adrenaline rushes that you definitely wont forget in a hurry, I can tell you. The Whiterock was then followed with a weekend away in Glasgow for the Scottish twelfth; again it wasnt until that year that found out they had such parades in Scotland. Yet another surprise, yet another childhood experience to tell the grandkids. Three days on the piss with no one telling you off, being treated like Royalty by the locals. While young girl threw themselves that you, who the hell in their right mind wouldnt want to be in a Protestant flute band? The summer holidays that year were just unbelievable, the 1st and 12 th of July, throw in the Whiterock, followed by a weekend in Glasgow. And then whisked off to Londonderry to commemorate the opening or closing I can never remember which the

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gates of Derry with the Apprentice Boys. I was going to place, seeing and doing things I had never done before, and for a fifteen year old loyalist from east Belfast it was just heaven. Honestly; it couldnt have got much better, could it? You would have thought that a summer of that calibre would have been enough to keep the loyalist flame burning bright, but you would be wrong. By the end of autumn that year I had slowly started to realize that this wasnt exactly the life style I wanted. A new burning desire had been ignited within me that was far stronger than any loyalist call. And within no time at all, was pointing me in a new brand direction. As I said before; I had not long turned fifteen; and was looking forward to finishing school, and enter the real world. There I would start working, and finally getting my chance to walk that pathway to manhood. It may have only had a measly nine month to wait; merely the length of time to produce a human life, but in my mind; it would be more like a life time, but you know what. I couldnt have been further away from the truth. Honestly there so much shit going on in my head during the nine months that followed, I can hardly remember one day from the next. I do however; remember it all began to change shortly after my return to school, which happened to be my final year. Thats when I first began to notice all those weird and wonderful transformation starting to slowly take place in my life. Only at that time, I didnt exactly understand what it was all about. That first term back, the last four months of 76, I really didnt know whether I was coming or going most of the time. Although I do remember I still had that religious monkey on my back, which twisted ever single thought in my mind. Which I suppose lead to all the confusion, those clouded visions. It was because of him; I was drawn to the local football scene, why I became a hooligan. An attraction caused purely by the religious bigotry that

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he generated, which in turn fuelled the hatred for people I didnt even know, but now was I beginning to see another side of myself, a side I had never noticed before. I can only now guess that these were signs that the unavoidable transformation had begun. I didnt realize it at the time but I was just about to embark on a roller coaster ride of a life time. A life changing experience, which I was never going to forget as long as I lived, and it all began just as the summer of 76 came to an end, as the seasons changed so did I. I have said it once, I will say it again, life just wasnt going to be the same again, and I am not just talking about my own. I mean the lives of so many were about to be altered. I quickly started to notice changes slowly occurring all around me; and within me. I found confidence in myself for the first time and with doing so my nature changed. I discovered an aggressive side that I never knew I had. I began standing up for myself and fighting back when ever the need, or was it opportunity arose. Either way; long gone were the days of being bullied in school. I began to develop my own personality, which was soon followed with a new identity, and new interests. Its was only a matter of time, but obviously my life began taking several dramatic twists along the way. The further I got into 76 the more I realized that my favourite past time of kicking a ball around a field with the other kids I had grown up with, would no longer float my boat. It was as though another being had taken over my body and mind, the interest I once had, seemed to no longer have any importance. I know that this will sound a bit dramatic, a bit corny, but thats the only way I can explain how that transition affected me back then. And it wasnt just me; my two mates were the same, which meant there were others out there just like us. This was a transformation that began slowly at first, but quickly gained momentum as the weeks turned to months. I started to distancing myself from the classic but dated Belfast

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Boot boy look toning down at first, then slowly removing that tired old uniform that I not only become accustomed to but had grown so tired off. The Oxford Boots were replaced with the ox blood D Ms, the wrangler skinners first grew in length, only to be replaced several times over. The Oxford Bags came and went, when I began experimenting with my mothers old sewing machine, copying, and then altering whatever I saw in magazines. The Crombie coat and the Wrangler jackets traded places with the various coloured Harringtons, which I had recently become the proud owner off. But the most noticeable; and most satisfying change had to be the day that ridiculous and out dated hairstyle was removed for good. I dont know whether it was the after shock of Scotland kicking in. Or whether it was the affect of seeing Josh Cochrane and Alan Revel and all the other Young Americans running around the streets close to where I lived. Or was it my own consciousness letting me know, that I too had finally reached my own cross roads in life. To the point of existence where I finally realized that some serious decisions had to be made, either way; the time for me to grow up had arrived. I would soon be entering into the realms of manhood, so I had to choose carefully and wisely. Remember this was Belfast, at time when many young teenage boys often made the wrong decisions in life, which usually ended up in the middle of some tragic story, dead, kneecapped or in prison. When they tell you life is in your own hands, back then in Belfast they really meant it. Just imagine it, if I had lived in another area of Belfast other than Belmont. I probably would never have meet Ken, Gus, or big Ronnie comes to think off it, who are all lifelong friends.

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If I had come from another part of the city; would I ever have seen the likes Of Josh Cochran, the Allen Brothers or Alan Revelle parading around those suburb streets, on those cold winter nights of 1976? And who knows; I might be writing a different story today or worse again, someone else may well have written a book about me. That painted a picture of a martyr, or a cold blooded murderer who knows. Thankfully I made the right choice back then, and even though I was still very much confused as to what was to become of me in later life, or should I say what I would become. It was only after seeing those guys strut their stuff around suburbia, which somehow gave me the inspiration, the courage to start to make certain changes for myself. It was watching them that helped me make those all important decision. The more I watched, the more I wanted to change, the more I wanted to be just like them. It was their influence, their creativity, their unique style that not only inspired me but also convinced me that the time was right to make those changes myself, and thats what I done. I cant exactly remember the precise date and time, apart from it was one Saturday morning around end of - the start of, October - November 76. When I first took myself down the Newtownards Road, to mens hairdressers called the Cambridge, and let a pretty young female hairdresser lose on my hair. It was she who began my transformation; it was she who sent me on a journey that would change my life, were I would find myself. It was a journey that found me in a shit load of trouble more like it, trouble from my parents, at school, and with other kids in other areas, but what the hell; you cant stick it back on, and it was well worth it.

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It was like having a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. Finally I was no longer one of those pitifully clones that floated around Belfast with no meaning in life. For once I could see thing the way they were, and from that day forth everything seemed so much brighter, so much clearer. I felt like a blind man who had just had his sight returned. Strange as it might seem, but it was as if the religious bigotry which had been smothering me for so long had finally been lifted. From that day forwards, I would proudly strutted my stuff around the corridors and playgrounds of Ashfield Boys School, with an aura of pure arrogance. Some might say ignorance but are they not the same thing. Whatever way you wanna call it, it didnt really go down to well with other pupils and teachers alike. It was an arrogance which landed me in all sorts of trouble, but by then I didnt care. I was pleased with my new identity, I felt alive; finally I began to feel good in myself, not to mention extremely confident within. As I said earlier; so much happened in such short time, October 76, I began listening to the late John Peels show, the true God Father of Punk Rock. There are those who have laid claim to that role but John Peel was the true Daddy of them all. The modern day shaman who helped many young dreams comes true. A man who gave so much hope and selfbelief to so many others, me included. Without John Peel; the punk scene would never have taken off the way it did, certainly not here in Belfast. When it came down music the man was a pure genius; and from my own personal experience a gentleman. A man whom I was proud to have had the privilege met on two separate but memorable occasions, a man who was at the centre off it all, who kept the momentum moving with his wisdom and passion.

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Monday to Friday I would lying on my bed, room pitch black with my head phones in place, carefully listening to what the man had to offer. Almost in an altered state; drifting in and out consciousness, between reality and my fantasy world. I would often fall asleep still with my headphones still attached, leaving the radio playing all night long. By the end of that year I loved the show with such a passion, I would never have missed it, but I have to admit, not everything the great man played back in those early days filled me with excitement. If I am honest; I would have to say that there were many bands that John Peel thought were out this world, but to me they were complete and otter shit but who was I to complain. He was the expert who was keeping us all informed as to how the music world was progressing. It was he who told us who, what, where and when it was all happening, sharing his enthusiasm, passing on his excitement the way no other could. He always gave his audience their moneys worth, always leaving them wanting more. I know thats how I felt on Thursdays 9th December 1976 after listening to the John Peel show, eight days after the Bill Grundy fiasco. That was the night my whole life changed for good, it was as if Christmas had come early, for me it was the sign that the festive season had arrived. Believe me or believe me not but its true. As I lay on my bed preparing myself for the show as I usual did, just as I placed my headphones over my ears. I heard his voice mentioning those two but very important little words to my ears Punk Rock'. As I listening to his introduction through my headphone; I heard these unforgettable words . Tonight we are going to be taking a look at Punk Rock. Mind you no two people seem to agree just what Punk Rock is. As it is as by evidence that someone has been phoning us off and on today trying to convince us that our guest The Damned are not a Punk Rock

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band and that Punk Rock clearly means something different to Americans. Anyway we will hear a lot of music that maybe Punk Rock and a lot that certainly is, we will start with the Damned, go ahead boys and play. I knew it was out there; the problem was its just that it hadnt reached me until that night. I dont know whether it was because it was the first time I had ever heard the words Punk Rock being mentioned. Or the fact that I had never heard a Punk band playing live on the radio before, I just dont know. Something inside my head that night just snapped; something that I just cant explain. I mean he had already played Anarchy in the UK and New Rose a couple of times before on the show, but to hear it live was taking to another dimension, another level. I had heard other live sessions, and yes I enjoyed them but they never really fizzed on me that much, but as I lay on my bed that night listening to the Dammed playing live, I fell in love with the noise that poured through my headphones. The same way I had fallen in love with the New York Dolls and Lou Reed in Kens house weeks - months earlier. The same way I had fallen in love with Eddie and the Hot Rods and Dr Feelgood, who were my favourite bands up until that night. And I am not going to deny it; all those bands were - are simply brilliant, and their music will never become dated in my eyes, but sadly; at that moment in time they were so last year. The Dammed on the other hand; well where do I start, apart from they were new, they were happening at that moment in time, they were exciting, and they had a new raw energy about them. An energy that you just didnt hear but you also felt. I know I certainly felt the raw energy they produced on the Peel show that night. The four tracks they played that night just blew me away So smashed up with the words so fucked up bleeped out. Then

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there was Neat-Neat-Neat and New Rose and last but not least Stab Your Back. But honestly it was Neat-neat-neat with that simple driving Bass line ripping right through me, which got me excited. And what can I say about New Rose apart from it is probably one of the best single of all time, without a doubt its up there. I still have the original C60 cassette tape battered and bruised after all those years, still with that session along and with many others that were recorded from the John Peel show. Thats how we got the majority our music from back then, and if we really like it, we would go out and buy the record ourselves. And thanks to the modern day computer all those old session are now safely on C D for all eternity. I have to admit that 1976 was defiantly a strange year for me, especially when you look at the facts. My two trusted friend and I were still members of the Ulster Volunteer Flute Band, but by the end of that year that loyalist bravado we once had, was rapidly fading by the day. We suddenly began to lose interest, or immune to the bigotry which had been rammed down our throats for so long. We no longer had any confidence in the loyalist propaganda machine that we once followed so faithfully. The excitement that we once felt leading up to the marching season had by then become a mundane past time; seeing it as a meaningless task. Come to think of it, it had been while since we had proudly walking the streets of Belmont with our trusted flutes in hand. We no longer intimidated the Catholic minority of Belmont with our loyalist folk tunes. Nor did we prance around demonstrating our own brand of sectarian hatred that we had been nurturing for the years. We had found a new way to annoyed the fuck out of our protestant neighbours who made up the rest of the middle class population where we lived. Fuck all that; we were spending more and more time in

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each others houses. Listening to our new found love, borrowing albums from one another to tape, that way saving money for other things, such as more and more records. We had embraced the spirit of 76, and we were preparing to follow our dreams, this new music was taking over our world, and nothing else seemed to matter. That all-important transformation had begun, and was closing in on us much faster than anyone had expected, especially my father, much to his dismay. He really didnt approve of my new rebellious attitude, what with his military background God love him. He and every other parent of that era had no idea what lay just around the corner. They couldnt see what was right in front of their very own eyes, and my old man was a classic example. A father who hadnt a fucking clue as to what his darling son was about to become. Needless to say, when the transition finally happened he wasnt one bit happy I can tell you, although it did grow on him. He did learn to accept the fact that his son was a Punk Rocker, not that he had much of a say in the matter. And you know what, I think if you had have asked him when he was still alive. He would have told you that he was proud of the fact that my mates and I were all part of the Ulster Punk scene. He realized years later just what Punk Rock had done for Ulster, even though the vast majority of this population still havent a fucking clue. Thats why I take my hat of to him because my old man did; he was able to see the changes that we made. He knew that it was my generation, the class of 76 who first planted the seeds of peace all those years ago, and its about time the rest of the country realized it. Fuck it; lets tell the world. Never before, have the people of Northern Ireland ever witnessed the likes of it, not in the Fifties when Rock n Roll and the Teddy Boys hit the streets of Belfast. Even though Protestants and Catholic alike congregate in and around the city centre, attending the same

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Dance Halls, but the two sides never mix as one, the way we did. Again in the 1960s we had a similar occurrence with the Mods and Rockers, but this time I have to be fair. That may well have been down to the troubles in Ulster raised its ugly head once again in 1969 well after their era. So not even they have an excuse not to mix with one and another, but my generation on the other, none that is a totally different story. We were born and taught from an early age not to mix with the other side, but did that stop us, no. We were forced to live, and had to grow up through those troubled times, we were pressured into a life of hatred by the very same society, but did we follow their lead, no. While the troubles in Ulster were in full swing in the mid-70s did we fall into their trap and take up arms, no. Instead; we found like minded teenagers from all over the province of Ulster. Kids who had been given the very same chance as their fathers; and their fathers father had been given. The same chance as we had been given, and that was the chance to make a difference, And thats what we done. For the first time in the history Ulster; we the youth came together as never seen before. Protestants and Catholic standing as one, the kids throughout the province of Ulster had finally found something to unite them. Although back then not too many people would have believed you, but we now know its true. Whatever way you wanna look at it, it was because of our actions all those years ago that made this country of ours the way it is today. It was our solidarity, that bond of friendship that we created in the mid-70s. Friendships which have changed the way future generations approach life in Ulster, and if you ask me thats something we should be proud off. And one last thing, despite the years of bloodshed, the hatred, the arguments between the different religions, and cultures, those friendships are still in place today, and you know what probable more so.

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The Filth and the Fury Now I know that we were the only ones in Belfast who were religiously listening to the John Peel show. Or that it was just the three of us who read the NME, of course there were others; the only problem was that we didnt know any of them. The fact of the matter is we were totally unaware that this sub cultural movement which had attracted our undivided attention had actually made its way across the Irish Sea. Which just goes to show how nave, and blinkered our lives we were back then, although I personally prefer to think of it, as the learning curve period. Its beyond me how we didnt twig on to it sooner, especially when you see all the fact laid before you. I lived just six doors away from Ronnie Matthews, I ran about with his younger brother Ken, I was in their house most days, but that didnt aide my progress in any way, no. Nor did the fact that we all lived in the same area most of our lives, roaming those same streets night after night. Thinking we knew them pretty well, and believing we were street wise, all clued in as to what was going on around us in our own back yard, who was who, and what was what. Well; we didnt, we didnt know that all this was happening in the Glenmachan stables and Girton Lodge. Venues, less than two miles either side of where we lived, venues on our on front door. If the truth be known, we didnt even know that these two places existed, but there again it wouldnt have mattered one bit. We were far too young get in, and even if was possible for us to gain access, there was no way are parents would have let us go, I know mine wouldnt have. Its hard to believe that we were that close, but yet still unaware that big Ronnie and his mates had already been dabbling in this secret world? And may I add, had been for quite

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some time, but there again, how could we have known. Its not as if they were dressing like, or dying their hair the way the Young Americans did. And even if they did, it still wouldnt have made much difference, they didnt talk to us. We were lucky if we got the occasional grunt. We knew that he was playing in a band, and that the band had been gigging locally, but we didnt get told about these gigs. Not a mention of when or where, never mind an invite. It was like being in a state of limbo, the three of us were getting excited, but we were unsure as to what it was, or who else (if any) had caught the same bug. It wasnt really until the end of November 76 that we really started to understand the writing on the wall. Before then, the information that we were receiving was pretty limited, but I suppose that was always going to be the case for those living in a so called war zone. The reality of it all is, no matter who you are, or where you are in life. Everyone is dependent on the local press to give you them crucial information they need to survive. I mean its sods law; if you want to move forward in life. Then you really needed to know what the fuck was going on in the real world, or at least what was happening all around you. What is it those wise men say; you have to have knowledge in life if you want to succeed. Well that was the problem we had here in Belfast, we had a lot of so called wise men, but none of them ever delivered on the knowledge we need, never mind the knowledge we wanted. And as for the local press, they were no better. The news that was received on a daily bases in Ulster wasnt designed to cater for youth of this land. Youre the average family newspaper in Northern Ireland spoke of nothing but the death, destruction, in two little words the Troubles. Thats why we had to rely on the John Peel show and the NME. It was through the power of the media, the radio, and the written word that enabled us to stay in touch with the outside

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world, but more importantly, what was happening in the music world. We didnt have the luxury of those ITV channels, and the kind of chat shows they had on the mainland such as Thames Television and other TV channels. TV Channels that were keeping the Great British public well informed as to what was, and what wasnt happening in London, and every other English cities come to think off it. All we got in Belfast was the constant drone of that same old news, telling us the same old stories, which always caused the same old arguments, and believe me; we were well bored with that shit. This may not have been London, and I am sorry for having to keep pointing that fact out time and time again, but if it had have been, then we too would have had the luxury of the grape vine just like they had on the Kings Road. Then we too would have been able to spread the word around the town as to when, where and what the hell was going on, but it wasnt London, and we didnt have such splendour as the grape vine. Thats why the majority of us were unaware of our own little underground movement that was steadily growing right here, right under our bloody noses. You see sadly, the grape vine in Ulster was used for a completely different reason; it had far more sinister purpose. Used to spread the propaganda from town to town, to poison and corrupt the minds of the young. To help grow, promote and then spread the bigotry across this fair land of ours. And I am ashamed to admit this, but that at time both my mates and I were no different from the rest. Even though we had the slight advantage of living in Belmont which was probably our saving grace we were nonetheless, still affected and scared by the troubles. Seeing those Young Americans strut their stuff around the streets and surrounding areas where we lived, I can confidently say helped without a doubt. It was those sightings which

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made the three of us aware of all the subtle changes that were slowly starting to occur all around us. As well as those subtle changes that were happening within, but technically speaking. We were still just like all the other board teenage that could be found dotted around the Ulster country side if you looked hard enough. Its only now that we stop and wonder just how many of seized the opportunity they were given, and actually made the changes that we did. I know as we came to the end of 76; we were aware of the changes that were going on in the music world, we knew that something brewing across the Irish Sea. And that something not only intrigued us, but it also inspired us. And even though we were unsure as to what Punk Rock actually was, we were still very much excited about the whole affair. Excited enough to want to be a part of it, and excited enough to want the chance to experience those changes ourselves, but without John Peel and the NME, I know that would never have been possible. You have to be truthful with yourself, would we have learnt of the London scene, all the new, up and coming bands, not forgetting all those famous venues? Probably; but as usual it would have been far too late to have been of any great importance. It certainly wouldnt have had the same impact the as it did. Which would be just typical, the same old story as all the other times. Whenever something big or of any importance happened in and around the world. It would take a life time to reach these shores, and by that time, like I said, it was usually as a dying cause. All washed up and ready to be hung out dry. You think I jest. Well I can remember that same summer when we went to Glasgow with the band. Each and every one of us convinced that we all looked the dogs bollocks.

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Actually believing that we were all dressed in latest fashion, but when we arrived in Rutherglen; were we in for a shock or what. When we arrived in that Glaswegian suburb we realized that all the Scottish teenagers wearing the latest fashion. Or as we saw it next years fucking fashion. Can you imagine what that was like standing there in brand new clothes, looking as if you wearing your older brothers cast offs, or worse again, as if we had just walked out of a fucking orphanage. Talk about being deflated, ahhh the embarrassment of it all, but there again we really should have been well used to it by then. After all from 1969 we have always been the ones left to bringing up the rear. When it came down to being part of the Modern World, weve always been the ones left behind. A society left dragging their heels, always those few short steps behind the rest of the pack, and why, because of the troubles of course. I know, its a bit lame to keep blaming everything on the religious conflict in Ulster but sadly that was the underlying problem. I mean who else can we blame it on? Its not as if we can blame the fashion houses, they werent the ones who excluded Northern Ireland. Nor can we fault the retailers for closing their doors to the public during the out break of war in the early 70s, what would you have done in their shoes. We could, however blame the security forces for not doing enough to protect the towns and cities from the terrorist threat, but honestly that wouldnt be fair either. At the end of the day, they were only taking orders after all; a bit like us, they were only given so much rope, but if there again if you are going analyse everything, you will find that there are a million and one excuses to choose from, but not one of them would be the right one.

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You have to ask yourself, it could have been the people who were at fault. Could the troubles really have caused the people of Ulster to retreat that far back into their own communities? To the point where they actually lost all their self-esteem, their own identity, were they no longer cared about their own appearances? I believe the answer to these questions could be yes. Lets face it; I for one cant remember any dramatic changes happening in Northern Ireland prior to the arrival of Punk movement. As far back as my earliest memories take me; it was as if we had been frozen in time. Trapped in a political time warp, exposed to the world, dissected and ridiculed for ever false move we ever made. A society disowned by civilization, and that was accepted by one and all. We had simply been cut a drift from the rest of Britain in every sense. We felt that we hadnt been given the same chances, the same opportunities; and treated like second class citizens. And to be honest, history doesnt lie, the English didnt want us, and who can blame them. As far as they were concerned we were just a bunch of trouble making Paddies, so why include us in their world. No Irish, no Black and no dogs, wasnt just a title of a book by John Lydon, it was fact. An exclusion order extended to the lowest levels the Media, the Press our old friends the tabloids. If a bomb was to go of in London or anywhere else in the UK, we were told about it, because that concerned us. Or should I say that we were held responsible, purely out of their ignorance. They didnt know how to differentiate between the North South divide, between a prod and taig. So you can forget about all this bollock regarding your Loyalist or Republican beliefs. To them were all the same , we were all fucking the terrorists. We had the Mail, the Sun and the Mirror, but from what I remember, any mainland news that it didnt involve the troubles was excluded from our editions. We didnt get their gossip;

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we never got any of the juicy bits, the scandal. The reports on the dirty dealing that was being held behind closed doors. It wasnt until the 2nd December 1976, the day after the Bill Grundy scandal, that the juicy bits hit the street of Belfast. Or was this just me taking an interest for the first time. You know before now I havent really thought of it that much, but with all this research I have done for this book, I starting to look at to world in a different light. Which is a logical explanation considering the interesting fact that I have so far discovered, stories which no one has ever told before now. So while we are on that note, why did the tabloids change the rules that day? Were they all in on it together? Was it really a chance occurrence that Queen cancelled at the last minute? They were on EMI, so could this have been one of those Great big publicity stunts, and Northern Ireland was for once part of their plan, or what? What was behind the dramatic changed? The one thing I am certain of is, they werent the usual headlines that we were used to, no bloodshed, no one was killed, hurt maimed, and certainly no terrorist involvement in anyway, so why? I guess its one of those mysteries that will never be answered, a J.F Kennedy, a Marline Monroe. The truth behind Apollo eleven, did man really walk on the moon? Its has me wondering if this really was one of those big conspiracies. And or if, the person behind it all, had ever thought off the impact it would have on the world? One thing is for sure, I bet they never thought for one second that it would help bring peace to Northern Ireland. A thought like that would never have been in their understanding, never mind their plans, but nonetheless we needed something to get the wheels in motion, and those headlines seemed to have done the trick. The Filth and the Fury the headline which caused the world to sit up and take notice, but

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you still have to ask yourself, what was the true message behind those headlines on the 2 nd December 1976? Were they out to promote and lunch Punk Rock, or were they really out to derail the movement before it got the chance to pick up a momentum? The papers may not have been full of praise on the day, but think about it. By shocking the faint hearted, and causing a national outrage, surely such a scandal would have attracted the rebel element of the country, and with that in mind, they must have know that serious damage would be done. Well that may well have been the case on the mainland, and the stories do paint a pretty picture of success, but here in Northern Ireland they had little or no effect at all. Why; thats anyones guess? It might have been the case that we never seen the Bill Grundy show on the night, but there again, it could have simply been a case that London England was across the water, and the people of Ulster didnt believe it would have ever arrived? Or if it did, it wouldnt have worked. It just didnt have the same effect, and if that was their theory, well then you can see where they are coming from. I mean how could it have worked? Was there not too great of a divide in our society, too much of a split for any new sub culture to work. Would that not mean Catholics and Protestants having to mix with another, and that could never happen. Could it? But when you think about, it wasnt a bad idea. We had all the right ingredients, the right mixture, and the right reasons, with the added advantage off a population that had suffered many years of conflict. So when you put all that together its clearly obvious that we would have the right attitude. As Terry Hoolie once said, Punk Rock was designed for Ulster, and for once the old fool is right, but it wasnt going to be easy.

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Getting involved in a movement that lent towards Anarchy, spoke of the Anarchist, and wanted to get pissed and destroy, was going to prove very hard indeed. As those actually brave enough to follow this movement were to found out for themselves. You just had to look at the way this country had become during the high of the troubles. It had become a Bible bashing community, of powerful people in powerful places within the political circles, hiding behind their religion. Their aim was to fool the people into believing they were religiously motivated. This makes me laugh, that they were close to their church and even closer to God, well if you believe that youll believe anything. A province full of hypocrites, a land full of pretentious snobbery, bigots, who were hell bent on ruining the society in which we lived. We had unionist politicians doubling up as Government official Monday to Friday; and men of the cloth on Sunday, ramming their Presbyterian beliefs down our throats. While on the other side of the political coin, we had Catholic Priests who were not only condoning the nationalists violence, but also letting their churches to be used by Republican gun men. And it didnt stop there either; there was no rocking in the free world as far as we were concerned. There was no sporting or social events held here on a Sunday. Pubs, clubs and sporting arenas all closed on the Lords day. As all, was forbidden on the day of rest, but it was a different story in the republican enclaves. Gallic sport clubs were opened for business on a Sunday, as was their sporting events. Gallic Football and Hurling games were staged in front of very large crowds. It was these differences which added to the growing apathy that was already at an all-time low by this stage. The tension that was on the streets was steadily growing at an un-nerving pace on both side of the Irish Sea. The

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UKs anger was slowly rising to the surface; it was only a matter of time, it was enviable that something had to give. I tell you no lies These were the signs of the time Britannia was no longer ruling the waves; she was in melt down. The facts were visible; the poor girl was only moments away from pushing the self-destruct button when Bill Grundy came along. The knight in not so shinny armour, who has been branded a drunken clown for the way he introduced Punk Rock to the world. When really we in Ulster should be praising him rather than ridiculing him. Would it be so bold of me, to speak out for my generation, by saying thanks? Thanks from everyone who ever had the courage to embrace the Punk movement in Ulster? Bill Grundy may well have fucked off a lot of people across the water with his drunken foolery, but at the same time he caused a hell lot of kids from this wee country to sit up and take heed, the rest is history; or is it? They are those who would have you believing that was the case, but I know thats not the truth of the matter. Rumour has it; that it all began with a small handful of individuals; creative minds who wanted to be noticed, not just heard, but who were these individuals. Billy Idol once said during a TV documentary called Punk Britannia which was made for BBC 4, and shown in the summer of 2012; thirty six years after the horse had bolted. And I Quote there were only five-six hundred people around the country who were actually involved in Punk Rock at that time, and you pretty much new every face Well Billy tell me, who the fuck were they, were did they come from. Would it be a surprise if I were to told you some of them actually came from Northern Ireland? Now that would sort of contradict Siouxsie Sue; of the Siouxsie and the Banshees. Who said in the same programme;

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I Quote no one had really heard of Punk Rock until the Bill Grundy interview Now thats quite true, but I know what she was trying to say, its just that she got it slightly wrong. Now dont take this the wrong way, I am not trying to take anything away from of Siouxsie Sue or Billy Idol, I am not that stupid. They obviously played their part in the whole affair, but so did people from Ulster, from east Belfast, from County Down. People like Paul Stockman, Clifton Boyland, Cess and Paul Murray to name but a few. And if youre not convinced; just look at the some of the photos of the Sex Pistols and the Bromley Contingent. You will clearly see for yourself the influence that those Young Americans not only brought with them, but also left behind each time they frequented Sex. The Bill Grundy scandal certainly caused a reaction, one of Shock horror which was accompanied by the nationwide hate champagne. The old British stiff upper lip was nowhere to be seen on the morning of 2nd December 1976. He left the Great British public seething with anger, spitting teeth and pulling out hair. A nation blind with rage, but you have to ask yourself, did anyone stop and think that this would turn into an Adolph Hitler moment, today London tomorrow the rest of the UK and beyond. For many it was an attraction too good to miss and I was one of them. Just nine month earlier it all began at the 100 Club; six months later our senses had been altered, sending us into frenzy, searching, questioning, wondering, but finally on 2nd December 1976, the gestation period had come to an abrupt end, the day that Punk Rock was born. I can still remember my own fathers comments on those very same headlines when he came home from work that night. Back then his word made me laugh, the same way as they do today. And I can clearly remember those words as he finished reading out the Daily Mails headlines to my mother, in his angry voice thats fucking disgraceful, using fucking

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language like that finished with who the fuck do these Punk Rockers think they are. He then threw the paper down onto the family sofa in disgust, the words Punk Rockers quickly aroused my attention and I swiftly picked up the newspaper and began to read. As I did so; I quietly smiled and looked up at my father who was still showing his anger and disgust at the article. Thinking to myself, should you not have at least finished the sentence with on T V father dear. It was my fathers own reaction of the said article that drew my attention to the paper in the first place. Normally I wouldnt waist my time reading such crap, I never had found much interest in what those daily tabloids had to say. And I suppose if I hadve been your average run of the mill school kid, that article wouldnt bothered me either, but I wasnt. Thats why I made it my business to read the article. And once read I was well and truly hooked. With the end conclusion being, December 1976, what month, what a year, and what found memories I hold. Four months of my life had just passed by in a blink of an eye. And in the space of just ten short days I had been transformed from a young boy full of confusion. To an adolescent who had found a future to focus on. The month of December had certainly left me in a state of shock, but in a totally different way from the rest of the nation. It wasnt shock horror with me; it was case of oh-my-God. As far as I was concern I had tried and tested the ultimate drug and I was hooked. And I knew fine rightly that as time progressed I would need more and more off this drug to feed my cravings, to calm my needs, to satisfy my urges. I knew at that early stage in my life, that there was hell of a lot more to come, and that meant both good and bad. As we entered the New Year it was as if we had been given a reason to live, this was our Time to be Proud. We had been given a brand new agenda, a new set of rules for those

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willing, and wanting to follow the path away from the hatred that we were all so familiar with. The seed had now been planted, and pretty soon we would be seeing a new breed of teenager revolutionary emerging from the citys streets of Belfast. Normal middle class kids clawing their way out of suburbia with a new outlook on life, kids who finally had found a new direction in life. .

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Caroline Music Whether you had been involved at the time, or just like me you were standing on the outside looking in. You would have to agree that it was one hell of away end to the year. A little bit of scandal, a lot of controversy, but more to the point. Yet another split within a society that was already bitterly divided, but on the bright side. That bitterness we once knew eventually started to fade, and somehow stem the flow of hatred within this province of ours. And I personally, think you couldnt have asked for a better ending. As I said, I was fifteen and half years old, and was fast approaching the festive season. A time for families to get together, exchange gifts with one another, and celebrate the birth of Christ. Well let me tell you, a week or two earlier and I would have been well up for that, but not after the way the month of December had started. Dont take this the wrong way, but I couldnt have cared less about Christmas. It not as if Santa brought me the new the Ramones album for Xmas 76, like he did for a certain bass player in Londonderry, but there was one thing I was sure off. And that was the road that lay ahead had become a hell of a lot clearer for us to see. Finally there was a light beginning to appear at the end of that very long tunnel, but still. There was a Question on my mind, and I suspect many more just like me were asking that very same question. What secrets did the New Year have in store for us? Well you can rest assured as we entered the year 1977, the last thing the Great British public wanted or needed. Was to be nursing an unwanted hangover from the previous year, but thats exactly what they got. As for us; well 1976 quickly drifted back into the mist of yesteryear

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leaving memories not to be forgotten, but at the same time it left in its wake, the un-expecting population of Ulster, somewhat unprepared as to what the future was about to bring to them. The vast majority were still enthralled with the religious conflict that surrounded them. They werent going to see the sights, nor hear the sounds that this new era was about to inflict on the world. We are talking about a population that was still trapped within the mist of their deluded past. Locked in the dark ages and sadly for us; still listening to the ghosts of their ancestors. Crying out for a United Ireland whilst listening to their adversaries screaming out their war cries of No Surrender and REM 1690. One island, two enemies cast from the same mould, and both as equally afraid of change as the other. Unfortunately for them, the year 1977 was the year of change, and with it, came the beginning of the end of our darkened past of bloodshed and tears. The life of misery which had been enforced upon the people of Ulster was now being challenged, and choice was now being offered in its place. This was a change that would make way for a new generation, one of hope, and full of imagination. A new generation that would bring that much need expectation that was essential for our little country to move forward. This was to be the generation that would eventually open up doors, which would one day lead to a much brighter future. It was all starting to make sense to me. As if that dark shadow which had been hanging over us for so long, had somehow been lifted. Allowing the light to shine over the province of Ulster once again, a light that enable us to see for the very first time, all those pieces fall directly into place. From the sudden interest in rock N roll that lead to the demise of our religious and political beliefs, to how we formed a long distant love affair with John Peel. Combining all that with the fixation we had found with those weird and wonderful characters, that we often seen

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casually, drifting in and out of suburbia without a care in the world. There are those who would say this was new, that it didnt happen until much later in the year. Well let me tell you straight, it wasnt new. It had been around for ages, we had noticed it, its just that we hadnt put the two together until now. To think of all those months, that had been filled full of confusion, as we desperately tried to work this mystery out. And all along the answer was right here in front of us, starring us straight in the face. Can you believe it, the proto types of the Ulster Punk scene; the path finders so to speak. Quietly moulding their Private World all around us, creating, and making a difference in a quite coastal town in County Down. To think for so long we knew nothing of this secret world. A world which they had kept concealed from the publics glair for far too long, but it was a world that wasnt going to be a secret for much longer. As the stories, and the rumours of the Young Americans, the Viking began to echo out from the sea side town of Bangor. Similar stories of the Glenmachan and the Girton Lodge began reverberating around the suburban streets of east Belfast were we lived. Calling out but only reaching the chosen few, attracting only the ones who really mattered, the ones who were brave enough to make the difference. Do you think I am being over dramatic? Well I dont think so; you see history has cruelly kept the truth hidden from us for too long, but not anymore. Not now that I now have the proof. Not now that I can prove that Bangor was our Canvey Island. That the Viking was Ulster answer to the Wigan Casino, and the Young Americans, well they were everything the Bromley Contingent ever wanted to be. Long before the likes of Siouxsie Sue and Billy Idol had come to our attention, even before John Lydon alias Johnny Rotten and the Sex Pistols hit the airways on the 1st December 1976. These; the forerunners of the Ulster Punk scene, while holding

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Court in the Legendry Viking, where they labelled themselves the Y As, and began making their own personal statements. I have already told you once, not to be fooled by what you hear. Belfast didnt just follow New York and London; the three cities began this journey together. It was the rest of the world that followed them, but we werent to know that at the time. We didnt know of the trips to London, of the friendships that sprang to life on the Kings Road in such places as Sex and Beaufort Market. Could you believe a group of teenagers from Northern Ireland would be mixing with the likes of Vivien Westwood and Malcolm McLaren, but they were? Would you have thought a bunch of middle classed kids from a war torn city such as Belfast, would be sharing their thoughts and ideas with two of the most iconic fashion designers of the twentieth century? Inspiring them, stroking their egos, helping them to find the inspiration they needed to change the way the world looked and sounded. I know I wouldnt have believed it, but these are the facts. While kids like me and my mates were left in Belfast wondering what the hell it was all about. They were back and forth to London, in and out of Sex and rubbing shoulders with the creators of Punk, it was they themselves who began to sow the seeds of success. Now I am not saying that it was the Young Americans that created the Punk look? Because that would be just silly, but they certainly influenced the fashion. And all this was happening long before me and my mates living in Sweet Suburbia had ever noticed those Y As roaming the streets, and long before the end of 76.

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Joss Cochrane once said to me, it all started with three young boys walking down the Comber Road, while listening to the chart show one Sunday afternoon. Lou Reeds Walk on the Wild side came on the radio and everything changed from then on in, life was never the same. Now this was November 72; he would have been fourteen and half, the other two boys; were the Allen brothers, Sam and John who were slightly older than Joss. Just like me and my two mates, so I can relate to that, I know exactly where he is coming from. Its more or less the way it happened with us. Only with me it was the New York Dolls, Pills the thought of a rock N roll nurse making me worse, the sexy Guitar rift intro, just everything about song, drove me wild. Even though Belfast was still frozen in time, the fuse had been lit, things were slowly starting to happen. It was especially noticeable in the eastern suburbs of the city, the epicentre where it all began. From January 77 it appeared that more of these weird looking creatures were beginning to pop up all over the show, but we no longer saw them in that light. We now admired them as much as we envy them, but it was always from a distance. Often wondering whether or not there had been a recent influx of new additions, which had simply come along to join the party, or whether they were just the same ones. Either way, the sightings were becoming more and more frequent, the look more outrageous, more outlandish and even more flamboyant than ever before. I kid you not; if you hadve seen these boys and girls roaming around the streets of east Belfast. You too would have definitely remembered them without doubt; you just wouldnt want to forget them. Sadly for us, it was the same old story; the kid brother syndrome was back. The fact that we were a few years younger, we were seen from a different era. As far as they were concerned we may as well have been a different world. They didnt notice us or if they did, they probably

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saw us as annoying little wankers, an irritation. After all thats what big Ron and his mates thought at first. So why the fuck should those guys be any different, its not as if we were anything special; although believe me we wanted to be. I think that may have been the reason why we were so determent, I dont know; would you call it; proving a point, over coming the fear, what was the attraction that was pulling us deeper and deeper. Was it the uncertainty, the wanting to know how people would react towards us? Please dont try and tell me that we were only at that the age when curiosity runs wild, because that doesnt makes sense, there had to be more. We were well aware of where we lived, well aware of the fact that it was a very dangerous place. And we often wondered how those guys got away with it, because it couldnt have been easy. If I may Quote words of the late Joe Strummer if life was hard being a Punk, but it was ten times harder being a Punk in Belfast Believe me; never a truer word has ever been spoken by an English man regarding the situation in Ulster, but old Joe didnt know the half of it, because if he did then he probably wouldnt have set foot in the province. Nonetheless; this is where the restrictions, the limitations, and the no hope in hell of any kind of compromise really came into play. And by that, I just dont mean the rules set by our parents, we could cope with them. Half the time our parent didnt know what the fuck we were up to, never mind knowing where the fuck we were, those rules were there to be broken. Once outside the house that old dated rule book was well and truly disregarded. You just hoped you didnt get caught, but really thats not what I am talking about here. I am talking about the facts that were hearing all these new bands on the John Peel show, and at the same time reading about them in the NME. And we only knew of only one Place where we could get these records and that meant breaking every rule the book.

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These are the limitation that I am talking about. You couldnt just walk into your local record stores, and hope that those records would just jump out at you. I had already found that out myself a few months earlier that year. Although I do have to confess I did find a couple of Dr Feelgood Albums Malpractice and Stupidity which I bought at the start of November 76. Brought from a little record shop called Spin-a-Disc, on the Casltereagh Road in east Belfast, but honestly that was a fluke if you ask me. A one off, I know for certain if I had have walked into that same shop, or any other record shop within my parental controlled zone during that period, and asked for the likes of Anarchy in the U K or New Rose. They would have looked at me as though I had two heads. They werent the kind of record shops that would stock the bands, the records that were looking for. The truth is they probably hadnt even heard of them by that stage. Now if you were looking for Tammy Wynett, Johnny Cash or the latest recording of Albertbridge According Band well you need look no further. If you were into Gary Glitter (would you admit it) Shawaddy Waddy or the Bay city Roller then you were in luck. They would have had everything there was to offer, from records to poster, even the odd (the very odd) T-shirts, but you try ask for the likes of Clash, the Damned and especially the Sex Pistols. Now that was another issue. Asking questions like that in East Belfast at any time during 77, would have earned you some very strange looks from the locals. Fast forward a few months closer to the summer and thereafter. You didnt have to ask such ridiculous questions, and it wasnt just strange looks we received, if you get my drift. I can tell you now, and this comes straight from the heart. Being fifteen years old and living in Belfast during the mid-70s, life could be cruel. There was a lot of resentment, hatred, and a lack of respect. No trust for those whom you didnt know. When Punk Rock arrived for the likes

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of me it caused life to become even more frustrating. Simply because of the fact that we werent old enough, therefore we werent allowed to grasp hold of it with both hands, to become part of it. It wasnt because we did understand it; we did, it was our parents who didnt understand, but that didnt matter, those restrictions were to be up held. So Lets Face It without the possibility of compromise, those restrictions that were imposed on us by our parents simply clashed with the limitations caused by our own society. So something had to give, its only human nature, when youre told you cant do or have something, you just have to do - have it no matter what the consequences are. And thats what it was like for us as we entered 77, we knew what it was we wanted, but how we were going to get it was the problem. We werent long into the New Year, and already we were starting to hear of new bands emerging from all over the U K. From such cities as Manchester- Birmingham- Newcastle, and even Glasgow, but Belfast was never mentioned. There was no mention of any local band breaking through that we knew off. Day by Day a new band would emerge and John Peel would inform us; as to when their singles were to be released. As to when and where they would be playing their next gig. And always with that air of excitement in his voice as he read out their tour list, we would sit there waiting in anticipation, but never once did he mention Belfast, once again it was as if we didnt exist. The only thing we had to look forward too was the forth coming albums which were to be released over the months that followed. The Damned, Ultravox, the Clash, the Stranglers and the Jam to name but a few. At the time it seemed as if there was one a week, when actually it was more like one a month. This was the kind of dilemma that we were faced with.

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From January right through into the middle of February thats all we heard, and we knew fine rightly that had to over step the mark if we want own these records. There is no point telling you lies, its simple, drastic measures had to be made, and made quickly. Now I am quite sure that you are sitting reading this and thinking to yourself you Wally whats the big deal. Well the big deal was the fact that this was Belfast, it was the mid-70s, and back then Belfast was wrapped in a ring of steel. Huge security gates erected at each of the main entrances to the city centre. Each gate manned by civilian searchers, backed by the British soldiers and local police. In an attempt to prevent the terrorist forces from causing further damage to the Victorian Architecture, which made Belfast so spectacular. Once inside you were faced with yet another problem, which was, you really needed to know your way around our urban fortress. Each little side street within that ring of steel had been closed off, some but not all had turnstiles for public use. If the needed arose or you had to get away in a hurry, you couldnt afford to take the wrong turn leaving yourself trapped. Belfast was a war zone, it was the heights of the troubles, and we were faced with the constant threat of sectarian violence. There was peace walls built some forty feet high, scattered all over the city. Dividing the two sides from one another just like Berlin, albeit on a smaller scale it may have been, but in Belfast we didnt have just the one wall, we had many. Belfast was a city that was constantly rocked by the bomb not by music. A city forced to close its gate to its public at six oclock each night. A closure that left a deadly silence, which resembled the sound of dust settling just moments after the bomb, had dropped. It was still normal to hear of dead bodies, and knee cap victims found lying in heaps up back alleys. Where members of the security forces had to constantly checking under their cars, making sure it was safe to turn the key.

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I kid you not; the people of Ulster were living on a Knifes Edge. Belfast a once vibrant city during the nineteen Sixties had been reduced to a Ghost Town. Were gules and goblins roamed the streets like creatures of the night, in search for their next victims. Believe me, this is no fair story; everyone felt the fear in Belfast, regardless of which foot you kicked with. Remember; at one time this was the Shankill Butchers hunting ground, and they didnt care if you were a Prod or a Taig. And dont be put off by the fact that they were all behind bars when Punk reached the city. The memories which they had left behind were still fresh in everyones mind. It was certainly on our mind when we first began contemplating our parent defying trip into the city in search of Caroline Music. A shop we knew only by the name, not of its ware a bouts, but still we were prepared to take the risk, prepared to break all those rules. Rules that had been carefully carved out in stone by our parents for a reason, laws never to be defied and regulation put in place to protect us from all evils. I knew that if my mother found out that I had ventured into the city centre on a Saturday afternoon, at the age of just fifteen and a half to buy records. She would have killed me of that I am sure, but it had to be done. The Damned and Ultravox had not long released their first albums, so we had to find the courage for somewhere. And if my memory serves me right; we walked roughly about two miles down the Upper Newtownards Road to where it meet North Road that Saturday. Just to catch a bus that went right past the estate where we lived. The theory behind that was so no one would see us getting on a bus that was heading towards the town centre. You can laugh but we didnt, the whole time on that bus we were crapping ourselves. And once In the City centre it was no better. We were constantly looking over our shoulders hoping and praying

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we wouldnt bump into anyone we knew, i.e. family, family friends or worse again, those nosy neighbours who somehow found it hard to keep their mouths shut. We traipsed around the main thoroughfares of the city until we finally found Caroline Music, situated just inside the steel perimeter, on the corner of Ann Street and Church Lane. Painted a deep burgundy colour, with the words Caroline Music in big Gold letters directly above a large shop window. The shop was tiny but it had everything you could ever have asked for. Like Aldens cave, full of weird and wonderful things in all shapes, sizes and colours, but mainly black and round. As you entered, you were faced with a large counter that ran from right to left. Rapped around the internal walls were rows and rows of records all in alphabetical order with one double row right in the centre. The walls were tastefully decorating with an array of promotional poster, and behind the counter was the U Ks top forty singles. All racked up, bolted to the back wall, and directly below sat the faithful Techniques blasting out the latest sounds onto the cold city centre streets of Belfast, for all to hear. You got that same feeling of excitement as you entered Caroline Music as you got listening to the John Peel. It had that same magnetic pull which seemed to draw you in. And once inside there was a different aura, you could feel the atmosphere change the moment you walked in. In the same way you couldnt help but notice the different standard of people congregated on this hallowed ground. All searching for those elusive records, but what made Caroline Music stand out above the rest was the two guys who ran the shop. Robin and Kyle, to say they were like chalk and cheese would be the understatement of the year. At first glance they looked like any other shop assistant, but believe me; their knowledge of music

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world was second to none. What these two guys didnt know about the music business wasnt worth knowing. They could tell you what was coming out, to when it was being released before anyone else. They were the life and the soul of the party, and without them Caroline Music would have been just like another record shop in the city, just plan boring. In the background Kyle fought and argued with owners, with Robin constantly bring up the rear guard, telling them what music that should bring in. It was their persistence, which caused Caroline Music to be the first record shop in Belfast to break the mould. Robin and Kyle brought those early singles and albums to us, and they never got the recognition they deserved, for the personal role which they played. It was their initiative, their vision; it was they who saw the direction music was taking, and by doing so they created the attraction, which was Caroline Music. It was thanks to them, we looked forward to our Saturday afternoons trips into Belfast. The hours of fun we had rummaging through the racks of LPs, curiosity running wild. Curious as to what the day would bring, to whom we would meet, and to what new faces (if any) would show up. Saturday afternoons soon became the highlight of our week, from one week to the next; the days would drag past as we eagerly waited for the weekend to come round once again. Within a matter of weeks we were regular visitors to the shop, it had become our Mecca. With each trip we made, the more our confidence grew. With each new friend we met, the more our attitudes changed. We were beginning to see for the first time a different side off life, a side that we had never seen before, and we like it. These were the reason why we took

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those chances in the first place. Why we broke all those golden rules. Why we had crossed that forbidden line. We overstepped the mark in search of a new beginning, and believe me we found what we were looking for, and the reward was well worth it risk. Caroline Music was now the main attraction around town, a meeting place in Belfast for all wood-be Punks to congregate, and we were no exception. This was another world to the three of us. Church Lane with the Viking; Anne Street had Caroline Music. This was our Kings Road in our own back yard; it was the height of the troubles yet a part of Belfast which had suddenly become a melting pot for this new generation, which happened to be my generation. Finally; we had found a place where likeminded people with the same passion, the same interests, all wishing for the same dream to come true, came together. This was our escape, our get away from Belfast and the troubles; even though it was only for a few hours one day a week. Its where a generation meet and bonded. Where dreams were planned, and executed. For the lucky few, their dreams did come true, but most of all, its where the hope of a brighter future started. Where the seeds of peace were truly scattered and where friendships were made. There are those who will find this hard to believe, but its true, Caroline Music was the place kids from all four corners of the city, and obviously from both side of the religious divide came together. It was there we found our common ground, where the hatred and the bigotry stopped. At first it was for just day at a time, but just look where we are today. Saturdays afternoons on Anne Street became our no mans land, where the two tribes came face to face, just like our ancestors did on Christmas Day at Somme. No one ask what you were, or where you came from because nobody cared. And I am proud

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to admit that for the first time in my life I felt that way too. Never once asking nor even thinking to ask such questions. Finally I had started to understand that we were all same, and there was no reason for me to have all this hatred eating away inside me. This is when I first realized that the past didnt matter anymore. It was the sign that the good times were coming back to Belfast, and you know what, I dont think I wasnt wrong.

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Coming of age After we had established the fact that the sole purposes of those early trips into town, were to find and buy the records that we wanted. We soon realized they werent only the things that were on offer. Believe me, there was so much more for us to discover. The secrets which were held by those who frequented Caroline Music for one. The fact is, the more we got to know them; the more we heard the rumours. Stories of the Viking, the Glenmachan stables frequently circulated among the Caroline congregation, but I have to admit. At first we thought that those rumours; the stories were about the Viking in Church Lane. Not the legendary Venue in Bangor. The truth is; we hadnt yet heard of Bangor scene, let alone the Viking. So all said and done, its was an easy enough mistake to make considering, it was within a stones throw of Caroline Music. We had innocently found ourselves right bang in the middle of it all, at the place where this story first began. Were those early Young Americans worked, rested and played. To think, all this attention was centred on a handful of shops which were situated in one little street, right on the edge of Belfasts infamous ring of steel. It was in image hair salon where they first began experimenting with colours and cuts. Workers, friends alike only too glad to be participating, each one willing to offer their services, not knowing or even caring what the end result looked like. It would then be off to the Viking, where they would proudly show of their newly formed creation over a lunch time special. It was here the forerunners of the Ulster Punk scene would share their ideas, create and perfect their image, while innocently waiting for the weekend to start. In this, their city centre hideaway. This was Church Lane Anne Street at the start of 75, Image; the Viking, Caroline Music,

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this is where the dream was started. Those buildings are still the same today. Still the same shops, the same caf; two of three bars, only now, they have different owners, while others have sadly gone for good. Image, the Viking, reduced to a betting shop and Caroline Music, now a mans Bouquet. They have all lost their spark; the location no longer possesses the imagination that once produced those creative minds. The sad fact is, without Image, the Viking and Caroline Music, all that is left are the memories of a selected few. Until now that is. Its now down to me to try and put all the pieces back together, in an attempt to paint a clear enough picture of the past for you all to see. I can only hope I do it justice. The spring of 77 we were new to the scene, we were young. So we can be excused for making that simple mistake between the two, but, for not knowing where the Glenmachan was, now that is unforgivable. As I said before, it was an establishment that was less than two miles away from where we lived, but in our defence we werent alone. In fact, its unthinkable. The amount people that were out there, who were in the same boat as us, kids the same age, each and every one of them searching, looking for the same answers. All hoping that they too would one day find their way out of this rut. This was the calm before the storm, the lull before the big attack. It was the distraction which enabled us to distance ourselves from the blood upon the streets of where we lived. It wasnt easy; it was all fun and games, of that I can assure you. The truth is we stumbled our way through the spring of 77; and at times our excitement could have quite easily been mistaken for confusion. We didnt appreciate nor did we fully understand the opportunity that we were being handed. The fact of the matter is. We hadnt yet felt the full impact that this phenomenon was about to instil on the province of Ulster. We were barely into our teens, still wet behind the ears; nave, unprepared. Call it what you

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want, but there is no denying it. We were totally unaware of all the obstacles that we would have to overcome. Three young boys innocently bemused, but at the same time totally overwhelmed by the crude yet energizing way in which we had been introduced to the world of Punk Rock. Yes, it was a highly exciting experience, and yes it was one, which certainly helped to block out the decadence that surrounded us, but at the same time, it also had the tendency to over shadow the important things in life. It was my final year at school; I had exams to think about, God knows; I should have been preparing myself for my working life, but instead my two mates and I found ourselves falling deeper and deeper into this musical revolution. Up until this point, we had survived on second hand information. And we knew only too well what it was like to imagine life outside Ulster, and yes, it drove us mad. We would spend countless hours in conversations which usually end with our dreams revolving around an imaginary world. A world in which we believed would never exist, or should I say, a world in which we thought we never would belong to, but thank God we wrong. And the proof of that was in the months that were to follow. It was during the spring of 77 that we truly began learning of this new sub culture, which had been steadily growing all around us. Only now we almost felt as if we belonged, it was as if people had finally started to take notice in us, although they probably hadnt. It wasnt long after those early trips into town began, that Ken decided to add to the rumours, which had been echoing around Anne Street and Church Lane. And if memory serves me right, it was during that first week of March, that he came to us with information that his older brothers band Rudi, would soon be playing at the Glenmachan. Now to give

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you an idea of just how nave we were back then, his news bulletin went straight over or heads. We didnt associate Rudi with Punk Rock. I mean the name alone doesnt put them in that ball park does it. It doesnt have that same Punky ring to it, like The Damned, the Sex Pistols or the Clash. Even though all the signs were there, his record collection, his appearance, the fact (without even knowing) we were learning from him, but still, we just could see the connection. Little did we know that one day they would become one of, if not the biggest, certainly the best Punk Band to come out of Ulster. Just goes to show you that there was still a lot we had to learn, like finding out just how close we actually were, without even knowing. The months that followed saw birthdays come and go, 26 th May 1977, I turned sixteen, done my last exam and left school all on the same day. In my mind I had entered my adult life, and I was seriously looking forward to the day I started work, but that was still seven week away. And sadly during those seven weeks temptation was once again thrust upon us. Even though the change had begun, and was rapidly taking over our lives in more ways than one. We still foolishly found ourselves, albeit momentarily; being dragged back into the bitter side of life. Taking us straight back to the same old routine, the same old rut that we had tried so hard to escape from, but this time, I can honestly say it was different. This time our hearts and minds were no longer focusing on the Battle of the Boyne and Dollies Brea. Those auld Orange flutes that we once cherished would soon be replaced with electric guitars. The marching band uniforms would be cast a side, and the street parades exchanged for many stages of every dingy little club throughout Ulster that would let us play. It was those clubs that we would get the chance to express ourselves for whom we

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were, not what we were. Zips and chains, with leather and studs, an attitude with a choice, and for once our future in our own hands. I can remember every parade I have walked in over the years, and I am not ashamed in any way or form, it all just part of growing up, but heres strange thing for you. Those parades of the summer of 77 are just a blur; it as if they have been erased from my memory. And I have asked myself the same question many times, but I have never been able to come up with a rational answer. All I know is those first two weeks in July passed me by in just a blink of an eye. I dont wither it was simply because I no longer had an interest, but can a person really change that quickly? I was about to start work straight after the twelfth fortnight, so could it have been the excitement of reaching yet another mile stone in life. Was it those first day nerves starting to kick in that caused my mind to go blank? Why is it? I can remember the weeks leading up to July, and I can certainly remember the weeks after, especially the week starting with Monday the 18th of July 1977. The day that I started work in Charles Hurst, on the Ravenhill Road, and if you were me, believe me; you too would remember it. At first this might sound a bit like a fairy tale, and I suppose in a way its exactly that, for me anyway. It was the day that everything changed in my life; you could say it was my Joss Cochrane moment My time to take a walk on the wild side so to speak. Once again I had reached yet another mile stone in life, yet another day full of surprises. Surprises which I really wasnt expecting, but you can rest assured; they were the surprises which I was only glad to have experienced. This was me, my coming of age, the day my eyes were opened wide to the world. And it was the day I started work for the first time; and heres where the fairy tale comes in to play.

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Charles Hurst commercials L.T.D was on the Ravenhill Road, east Belfast. And where was I born, but 17 Shamrock Street. Which is not only just of the Ravenhill Road, but it is literally just around the corner from the main entrance of Charlies Hurst. Now you could say that this was coincidently, but I see it as fate. It was as if I had returned to my original birth place to be born again, only I wasnt to know that when I first left home that morning. I do however; remember it being a beautiful summers day as I left the house. As usual I was a wash with the customary emotions. Meaning I was shitting myself. Those memories of my first day at primary school came flooding back, only this time I wasnt going to cry. At least I hoped I wouldnt. The working day started at 08.45 am each morning, but on that first morning I was told to report to the work shop office by 08.30 for my induction. So I made it a point to arrive early that first morning, and much to my surprise I found the place deserted. As I began my long walk towards the workshop office that morning it felt so eerie. There wasnt a soul to be seen, and although it was a glorious sunny morning outside. Inside the work shop it was a very different story. It was dark and dreary, not to mention the fact that it was fucking freezing. With its high wooded roof, and grey concrete walls, you could hear every little noise echoing of the old structure. This is how I first heard the voices letting me know I wasnt alone. When I reached my destination I met my fellow apprentices, all fourteen. Who by this time were standing at the bottom of the stairs case, which lead up to the work shop office. They were picturesque, all sporting that same petrified look of mistrust, each one looking more nervous than the other.

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There was a few trying to make conversation, while the others stood with heads awkwardly bowed, gawking timidly at the floor. Just looking at them, I suddenly felt the confidence within me return, for the first time that morning, those first day nerves were gone. I no longer had that sickening, nerves feeling of fear that I had since getting out of bed that morning. So I took it upon myself to break the ice, by speaking out, and introducing myself. Followed by do you not think we should go inside and with that I made my way up the stairs to the work office, hoping the rest would follow me. I just got that Fuck it moment in my head, as I reflected back to my first day of school, remembering what a disaster that turned out to be. I had taken the timid approach all those years ago and it didnt work out for me then. I started off and remained a timid little boy right throughout primary school days, which done me no favours. It didnt help me to prepare myself for secondary school, a place where I was bullied during the first few years. So believe me; I wasnt about to take this kind of approach with me into my working life. I wasnt going to let anyone take me for a mug, not now, especially not now that I was about to enter into my adult life. That timid little boy was long gone. And I had long since made a conscientious discussion never to show him ever again. And anyway, my Uncle who also worked in Hurst, told me to go straight into the office the moment I arrived, so I was only doing what I was told. As I entered the work shop office that morning I should have known. I should have known the moment I was greeted by the work shop manager. That this wasnt youre normal, everyday, run of the mill, place of employment. Old man Kenny was an elderly gentleman of few words. He was around the sixty year old mark, about six feet tall in height, with reseeding grey hair. A strange man who, many within the work force believed, wasnt really the full schilling, a man short of a few playing cards, if

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you get my meaning. And that sadly included his own son Brian, who also worked at Hurst as diesel mechanic, but all said and done I thought he was a pleasant little man all the same. With the greetings and the welcoming speech over he began to explain what would happen next. Telling us, that we would all soon be introduced to our prospective foremen, and our working life would commence for real. He then returned to his morning paper and cuppa tea, leaving us all standing at the rear of the office, nervously waiting in line for our future to begin. It was during this time, I began to notice other people starting to arrive, and before I knew it. The work shop floor had become very busy place to be. The air soon filled with the sound of laughter, as work mates joked with one another. There were groups of men dotted all over the place talking about their weekend, the football, and their adventures on Saturday night. There were men shouting, while others threw playful obscenities at one another. While in the background, beneath the sound of the laughter, all the commotion that was going on. I could faintly hear the sound of the clock machine, counting the men into work for the day. It was so surreal, I can remember thinking to myself, was this really what it was like every day? The answer to that question came the following day and every day thereafter. And yes, this is how it was every day more or less, but that Monday just happened to be just that little bit special. As we all stood in line waiting for the next phase of life to begin, none of us were prepared for what was about to happen. And you can rest assured, that none of the other apprentices were affected in the same way as it affected me.

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We all stood listening to the commotion come in from the outside. Then suddenly, above the backdrop of all the laughter, masking out the abusive yet playful taunting. There emerged two solitary voices that were elevated above all the other noises, which were being created on the workshop floor. Shouting, laughing and being even more abusive but still, in that same playful way. In fact, they were making so much of a racket; it automatically drew all our attentions towards the office door, to the outside stairwell. My eyes became transfixed upon that area the moment I realized, that was where those voices echoed from. The curiosity getting the better of me, wondering who the fuck this could be, and how the hell could they get away with such behaviour, in this a place of employment. As the voices became louder, it became apparent that the two making all this noise, were in fact making their way towards the workshop office. Meaning, it was only a matter time before we all came face to face with the image accompanying all the commotion. And trust me, it was an image that would change my life forever, and once again, I am not be over dramatic. Looking back I can laugh about it, but back then it was one of those moments you just wished for the ground would open up and swallow you, talk about embarrassing. Im quite sure as the pair entered the office that morning; they thought I was some kind of window licker, because that just how I felt. Their presence that morning just left me stunned, never before or thereafter, have I been left speechless the way I was that day. The phrase gob smacked springs to mind. I can honestly say Ill never forget that feeling of embarrassment as long as I live. As for the look on my face, well it must have been priceless.

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All I know is, it all happened in slow motion; each and every movement giving the impression that life was running in frame by frame mode. Even the outside noise seemed to become muffled as though I was under water. It was sheer shock and excitement all rolled into one, as the reality of it all finally hit me right up the face. Never before had I seen such an image. Never before had I seen two characters like the two who stood there before me in the workshop office of Charles Hurst that morning. Apart from Da Kenny, all the attention in the room was directed towards the office door. Everyone full of anticipation, but no one in that room was prepared, for what was about to come crashing through the door, and none more excited than I. From the moment I clapped eyes on them. The moment I first made eye contact with those two individuals who had just entered the room, both still screaming, still shouting. I was like a rabbit that been caught in the heads light of an oncoming vehicle. I was speechless. As that door flew open, I found myself confronted with the two people who you could probably say, changed my life forever. Two guys who I later got to know as Billy Murray (who went on to be World Kick Boxing Champion four times over) the other, was Freddy Hands, a nice guy, but a total fucking head case. Both work in Hurst, and both had just treated themselves to new hairstyles that weekend. And it was those hairstyles which had caused all the commotion; it was those hairstyles that blew me away that first morning. Sorry for repeating myself, but I will never forget the first day of my working life as long as I live, it has left me scarred for life. And it wasnt just their appearance; nor was it their antics that first morning; it was just everything about them. I was at an impressionable age, and they were everything I wanted to be.

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Confused; well think how I felt. There I was on my first day at work, on my best behaviour, and thinking that everyone would have their serious heads on. Yeah right. I couldnt have been any further from the truth. This place where I was to start work was more like a lunatic asylum, crossed with Disney Land. And I now had the main stars of the show standing right in front of me, and they didnt show any sign of stage freight. As soon as Freddy realized he had new audience standing motionless at the rear of the office. It excited him, and he began to perform. Shouted out ARE THESE THE NEWBIES as he laughed into the face of those first in line. Informing them as to what we all had to look forward to, come Friday afternoon. Clapping and rubbing his hands with glee, screaming out like the mad man he was greasing time is here again You couldnt help but notice Freddy as he made his entrance that morning, but it was Billy who caught my attention. Billy Murray with his bright red hair, and no, I dont mean ginger, when I say red, I mean fire engine red. And he was aware that my attention was on him. Freddy continued with his showboating, intimidating the line of new comers, while Billy made a beeline for me. I had been staring at him for the moment they entered the room, and it was so obvious, but now he was standing directly in front of me. Looking down at me, staring straight into my eyes with an arrogant smile upon his face, and without any warning grabbed me by the bollocks saying do you like my hair kid. At first I was shocked at another man placing his hands on my genitals, but then I realised, he was just acting out the motions of a dog demonstrating its male dominance. By grabbing my balls this was Billy was humping my leg. He was the one who stood out of the crowd with his bright red hair; it was he who had the balls to be what I wanted to be.

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His actions that morning fairly changed the mood in the room, for a brief moment he had fourteen apprentices falling about the floor in fits of laughter. That was until they heard him say see you Friday kid. Once again the mood within that room changed only this time it was with total confusion. I knew what he meant, but I have my doubts regarding the others. Thats why I was able to reply back with that same arrogant smile strewn across my face you sure will big lad. I just had struck up a rapport with these two guys without even knowing them. Maybe they saw something others didnt, but what is more important is what I saw them. I had read the book, and now Id finally seen the moving pictures in full colour. I was so full of confidence, self-arrogance self-importance, that all that was left for me to do was to get the T-shirt for myself. Suddenly the past twelve months seemed a lot clearer. If there had have been any doubt in my mind, it had certainly been erased the morning of the 18 th July 1977, thats for sure, but I could see the untold grief, which this was going to cause between me and my parents. As I stood in that workshop office that morning, I knew this was going to trigger of countless agreements within the family home. With me being the main topic of my parents discussion / arguments. From the moment I saw those two walk into that room, I envisioned myself following their examples, knowing that my old man wasnt going to be overzealous. He wouldnt be happy with the idea of me wanting to die my hair all sorts of mad colours. I could just picture his face; and see the odd tear being shed over the forthcoming months. Because I just knew that day, nothing was going to get in my way. And that this new craze they called Punk Rock was going to take control over my entire life, and I wasnt wrong.

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