When you marry out of sight you must have something to hide, especially when you come home with your tail between your legs and no husband. Auntie Eileen says he died but Mammy says, pah, I’d be surprised if he ever existed! But sure, he must have existed or where did she get Bernie from? It takes a husband to give you a baby.

We went to Carncloon to buy a brand-new pair of white knee socks for the Communion. Daddy stayed in the car because the army blows up unattended vehicles so I carry the bags for Mammy. Shopping is a woman’s job. She made me look at a wall where someone had painted the words: UP THE PROVOS! I don’t know why I had to look or what it means but if she smiles, I smile too. It’s safer.

My head bounces from Belfast to Derry to Dublin and back to Bloody Westminster, which I know now is a big castle in London. Granda Ban says it’s called the Houses of ParleyMint. I’m glad there are only two sides in this war. The Loyalists are them and the Nationalists are us. The Loyalists have King Billy the Dutchman on a white horse from Orange, the Queen of England and the red, white and blue of the Union Jack which flutters on every tree and telegraph pole for miles in the Protestant areas.

The Nationalists want the border to be taken away so that the Six Counties can join back up with the other twenty-six counties of Ireland and we can be a nation once again because we already have a song that says that. Our flag is green, white and gold. It flies from every telegraph pole lining the road in from The Hill to Carncloon. We have had to pay dear for the civil rights.

Auntie Eileen caused a load of bother when she left Bernie with us and headed off to Derry last year because she wanted to march up and down for the civil rights. But marching is not allowed and the British soldiers shot at us. Not all of the bullets were rubber. Daddy made us say extra prayers when it came on the news and Auntie Eileen still hadn’t appeared. Her day out is called Bloody Sunday now because loads of Catholics died.