By Sean O’Tuaisceart
When I left school in Skibbereen in 1981 I fancied a gap year doing charity work abroad. I got in touch with a helpful organisation called Volunteer Ulster and joined a jungle-clearing project to build a new town called Limavady, near the modern city of Londonderry in a place called Northern Ireland. No one in west Cork had heard of Northern Ireland in 1981, and in the absence of Google maps, my father spent long weeks of research in Skibbereen library until he eventually found the place – a barren outpost of humanity halfways to Iceland, with a climate to match. He made a photocopy of the map and when he showed it to my mother, I remember she cried bitter tears on it until the ink ran, and she hasn’t stopped since.
Northern Ireland was completely inaccessible except by road, so I bribed my uncle Pat to drive me there. I hugged my parents goodbye knowing we would never see each other again, and 11 hours later we were at Aughnacloy staring at a bilingual road sign that said “Welcome to Northern Ireland, conduire à gauche”. A primal fear gripped my uncle and he would drive no further, on any side of the road, despite my inducements of alcohol and trinkets. Thus I found myself covering the remaining 70 miles on foot, with the north star my only satnav.
The first thing that strikes you as you cross the Blackwater into the north is that it is physically connected to the south in many ways, leaving aside the water in the river. If you think of Ireland as a small furry dinosaur, the north would be the head. I noticed that many local people were turning their heads as I made my way; I must have cut something of an exotic figure, I suppose, in my green suit with matching top hat and fake ginger beard, but nothing was said. The native tribes I encountered were friendly on the whole, bartering bibles and guns in exchange for my Dunnes Stores underwear and socks, which seemed to fascinate them to a great degree.
And so I arrived in the Roe Valley for my charity project a week later, with the big silver buckles on my brogues looking a bit worse for the wear, and my crock of gold feeling noticeably lighter by the day. I met up with my friendly crew of Ulster volunteers, we quickly cleared the jungle and built Limavady in a day. That gap year was 35 years ago, and I have never left. I bought a house in town for £27 and it is now worth double that, if not more. Nine years ago, after much soul searching, I finally came out as northern myself and married another northern person, and we now have five northern children.
These days I am in touch with my old friends in Southern Ireland via social media – there was no internet up north in 1981 of course. There was internment, but it’s not the same thing, don’t let anyone try to tell you that. My friends always ask me the same question: ‘Would you ever think of coming back to Skibbereen?’ I say nothing.
Sean O’Tuaisceart was in conversation with comedian Kevin McAleer
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