We were on holiday in Northern Island, in a Nationalist area. while there we went to Belfast to see the house were my wife's father lived as a boy. On the way we passed through Unionist villages, with bonfires ready for the July 12th commemorations.
Cushendall 1998
All we had to understand
on John Bull’s other island.
Cushendall where we were
holidaying; and being English
our accents soon gave us away,
despite the Scotch - Irish descent.
That day we’d walked to the pub
to meet some friends for a walk;
when out came the landlord
and his wife – just for a chat,
saying how nice it was to have
tourists back, and we’d liked that.
Then our friends arrived so we
stood up, as habit said we should;
and so, it appeared that we had
‘only’ been waiting; then before
we knew – we were left alone in
the historic misunderstanding
© D G Moody 2022
(Image courtesy of Rossographer)
Poetry by D G Moody
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Written on 2022-02-08 at 16:16
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