‘THERE’S ONLY ONE NACHO NOVO,

HE SAID NO – TO THE PROVOS,

HE SAID NO THANKS, YA BUNCH AE WANKS,

WALKIN IN A NOVO WONDERLAND!’

The place is buzzin, totally alive. The streets fill wae cunts wearin colours n motors start appearin on the road. Normal life kin resume n it’s as if some wicked spell hus been lifted aff everycunt. That static charge in the air seems tae earth n we leave three hundred years n ninety minutes ae religious conflict behind us. At least until next season or the big walk in July, where tensions wid rise again n grown men in Celtic taps would spit at yi n call yi a wee fuckin Orange bastard. It’s a momentary division, superficial here really, despite everycunt’s best act that it isnae.

Down the shop, we see the Republican half ae the Young Team comin fae the other pub, where they aw congregate in when we’re in the Orange Hall. They’re aw draped in Irish Tricolours n green n white n yella Celtic taps. We’re still singin n geein it laldi. They’re awready shoutin abuse n IRA slogans up at us.

‘YA FUCKIN ORANGE BASTARDS!’

‘Tiocfaidh ár lá, ya dirty hun cunts!’

We’re no geein a fuck n we’re singin our songs over them. Big Kenzie is at the front, then Wee Kenzie, Danny, Briggy n Finnegan, wae a khaki balaclava n a Tricolour wrapped roon his waist, n Wee Gunny. They’re shoutin the odds n singin their own songs ae tradition n rebellion.

‘By a lone-ly prison wall-ll,

I heard a young man calll-ing,

“Nothing matters, Ma-ry, when you’re free!

AGAINST THE FAMINE AND THE CROWN,

I RE-BELLED, THEY CUT ME DOWN!

Now you must, raise our child – with digni-ty”.’

We’re standin on opposite sides ae the road geein each other abuse. Motors ir slowin doon tae look n residents ir hurryin by. They think there’s gonnae be a riot. There isnae but n the fitbaw is practically forgotten, apart fae our colours n flags. The YT always took precedence over any sectarian divide. Big Kenzie n Eck bounce in fur a healthy cargo n we aw start walkin doon the park.

There’s nae park really, just skeletons ae swings n the remnants ae other climbin frames n shite. The place is forgotten but it’s ours. A’m lookin aboot as we bounce through the gate n start joggin doon the ash path. A watch as ma troops jump the fence, wae our blue cairy-oot bags swingin tae the beat, aw bammin each other up aboot the game n chattin shite. Big Kenzie n Eck ir at the back, pushin each other n wrestlin as they walk. Me n Toffey n Danny ir walkin next n Finnegan n Addison n the rest ae the younger wans ir up ahead. ‘Dae yi want a chicken supper, Bobby Sands?’ Eck is shoutin, steamin. Big Kenzie’s yellin back tae him. ‘Aye, gee him a bit ae yours, ya fat fuckin proddy cunt!’ We’re aw laughin at them. Big Kenzie’s got Eck in a heed-lock n they’re tryin tae sweep each other then rollin aboot the grass fightin.