Childhood

It was bad enough being the only Catholics in the street where we lived but the four of us were also in the undesirable position of being ‘blessed’ with bright, red hair. We were like freaks of nature living in the Scottish enclave of an Orange Institution. Nuneaton Street in Bridgeton was a hotbed of Protestantism but we were in hiding from my dad and we knew that he would be guarded about entering hostile territory. So as not to raise suspicion my sister and I decided to call our brothers Billie and Willie. How smart was that?

It was like the march of the Red Brigade when we were out together. There was safety in numbers so we never left the house alone. The four of us, two brothers and two sisters, were a force to be damned with. Although my mother told us how special we were there was no denying that we had a fight on our hands. She said we were ‘blest by angels’ but that didn’t cut it when faced with a gang of the East End opposition party. The Gaza strip had nothing on the green line we had to embark on every morning to get to school.

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