tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post2258652906807224841..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: At Synge’s ChairKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-76618558709952693012018-09-22T16:34:04.573+01:002018-09-22T16:34:04.573+01:00We have an Arran isle in our neck of the woods—two...We have an Arran isle in our neck of the woods—two r’s. As a child growing up in the west of Scotland it was a constant on the horizon although it was seventeen years before I stepped off the ferry for the first time with my first proper girlfriend. The second and last time was three years later with my first proper wife. I tell my daughter that’s where she was conceived. I’ve no idea if it’s true but the sums added up and it’s a nice story so it’s probably not. So, forty-two years. What can I remember of that first trip? It was blisteringly hot, the middle of summer, and the midges were out in force. We stopped at a café and I asked for some raspberryade but for some reason it wasn’t for sale to the general public. Seeing my disappointment the woman relented and it was lovely. I’m not sure I’ve ever drunk raspberryade since. (The only time I ever drank pineappleade was with my first wife but that’s another story.) Later, strolling back towards the ferry, I noticed a brand new Harley-Davidson XLCR parked outside a different café. I said to Frances, “I bet that belongs to my mate Big Tom” (I had two best friends at the time both called Tom), and who should pop his head out the door but Tom himself with that ridiculous shit-eating grin on his face! He’d bought the bike only the day before although what possessed him to bring it over to Arran I’ve no idea; it’s not as if he could open her up or anything. Later I asked him to make Frances a friendship ring—he was, and still is, a jeweller—which he did and which she refused before shortly thereafter breaking up with me.<br /><br />The second time I visited Arran was with the other Tom (Wee Tom). He wanted an excuse to get away with his (then) girlfriend and somehow my wife and I got roped in. A lot of drinking took place. That I do recall and I remember especially the four of us staggering around on a rocky beach late at night three sheets to the wind. We never really worked as a foursome although we persisted for years trying to keep the flame alive. <br /><br />No cows either time. In fact I have no memorable recollections to share that involve any kind of bovine. They were always around growing up but they never took much of an interest in me and I returned the favour. Horses were different. Awfy curious creatures in my experience. All you ever had to do was stand by a fence and one of them would eventually have to wander over to see what you were all about.<br /><br />I’ll likely never visit Arran again. Not that I actually saw that much of it. Brodick and Lamlash and that was it. Wee Tom insisted we go out in a boat and he took us down as far as Dippen Head. Scared the shit out on me turning the thing round to come back up the coast and I swore that’d be the last time I’d get on-board a seagoing vessel weighing less than 5000 tons. In fact I think that was the last time I was ever on water.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-13030969961403176212018-09-16T20:59:24.858+01:002018-09-16T20:59:24.858+01:00This reminds me of a moment in my childhood. On ho...This reminds me of a moment in my childhood. On holiday in the West Country, we went for a stroll along a coastal path that rose steeply. At the summit we encountered, on one side of us, a bull and on the other, a sheer drop into the ocean. As we tip-toed by the beast I gained a new appreciation of suspense.Marc Patersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16124869545439738846noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-28427534854805396372018-09-16T17:43:46.287+01:002018-09-16T17:43:46.287+01:00thanks for the info. i will pass that along to he ...thanks for the info. i will pass that along to he who must be obeyed, a/k/a the driver. <br /><br />i had to look up ‘mooching around.’ it’s one of those phrases that means something else stateside.RobertAhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03405396888529187807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-35288799703875482502018-09-16T12:06:10.339+01:002018-09-16T12:06:10.339+01:00Thanks Roberta. I'm glad you found it evocativ...Thanks Roberta. I'm glad you found it evocative, I feared it was a bit workmanlike myself. :)<br /><br />You can get a ferry out from Connemeara at 10.30ish and get it back at 4.30 and that leaves a nice few hours for mooching around. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-61909940786431815372018-09-16T10:59:24.706+01:002018-09-16T10:59:24.706+01:00Ken,
what an evocative post. now I need to go to ...Ken,<br /><br />what an evocative post. now I need to go to Synge country again. didn't realize it is a day trip. of course, I wouldn't have gotten past that cow, not without calling for help.<br /><br />(your piece also brings to mind "Synge & The Aran Islands" a free performance which I saw at Westport's Park Terrace Theatre in the Wyatt Hotel. It's one of the readings running through the end of September.)<br /><br />well done, Ken!<br /><br />Roberta Bearyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11651098848744500023noreply@blogger.com