What’s worse than a woman scorned? Jack Smith lived in one of the big houses on the front of the Pass. When we were going to Porters school the idea of class and money didn’t really mean a lot to me, but as I grew older I started to notice the differences. I enjoyed being with Jack. We played football in the alley beside the school before assembly. We played in the back streets and eventually up at the Ulidia playing fields, Ormeau Park, back of the Botanic Gardens, etc. Jack was well built, attractive to the girls and looked far older than his years. He was sporty, was Captain of ‘the Porters’ football team and was always well dressed. While I would go into the house looking like I had spent a couple of hours wrestling with the coalman, he’d go home spotlessly clean. He had a full set of white teeth; my teeth were one of my many weak points. The first time I had a ‘bees and birds’ talk with my father all he said was not to smile at any potential girlfriend; so as not to scare her off. My confidence and self-esteem were like used chewing gum - on the ground, flat and quite useless. All I wanted to know was how to lumber properly. Jack also had the social graces. My mum thought he was great. He would always be, ‘can I do this, and can I do that’. Jacks such a nice boy. Sickening really. I wonder what mother would have said if she knew Jack got me started on the cigs down Robbs entry? He was invited to our house for dinner a few times. I was embarrassed at us getting fish fingers and beans. He of course complimented my mother on her cooking. When I was invited to his house it was steak and homemade chips with gravy; it was heavenly. We went to the B.B. together (he was a leader), went to the swimmers at Ormeau Avenue; yes you guessed it he was the best swimmer and so on. In short I grew to hate him. But he was also a good scrapper so I kept my views to myself. After leaving school and getting our first jobs and wages we would go drinking up the entry of the Dublin Road. I couldn’t even finish a bottle of Woodpecker. He could down the lot and still speak straight while I was chittering like a busted washing machine. To top it all off was Dorothy Baker. Dorothy lived up in Ratcliffe Street at the Posnett Street end. In short she was a ‘honey’. She had everything I would want in a girlfriend. Pleasant, smart, quiet, beautiful and kind. She was my Miss World. This crush had started in Porters and had never left me. More than once I got caught day dreaming about her by Mr Beattie in P.7. But I never once had to courage to ask her out. A rejection would have been crushing. My heart was broke again when I failed the 11+ with flying colours while she passed and went to Methody. They were all snobs in that school; except her. I knew she had a part time job in a paper shop in Great Victoria Street. If my da wanted a Tele I would pass all the shops in the Pass and go there hoping she would serve me. And of course Jack had to be going out with her. Being a teenager in love in 1975 was great. There was a great summer and great music. To be honest we were at an age where we all thought we were jack the lads. We had done the disco thing but Ben Sherman’s, Wranglers and DM’s were still the ‘in thing’. Some of the older guys had got their own houses which was great. Party time. Bring your own drink. I had moved up market on to Bulmer’s by now. The L.P. was still king so we would bring our L.P. s to a party. I treasured my Rod Stewart and Smiler. David Bowie and Diamond Dogs. Led Zepp and Physical Graffiti. I even had clear vinyl covers for all my LPs. I wouldn’t let anyone touch my records . I had seen what had happened to other LPs once the drunks started to hog the Dansette record player. And so my heart was broken when Jack and Dot became an item. And sadly I have to say they looked a lovely couple. She seemed so happy and would be always wearing that heart melting smile. Of course Jack would not be behind the door on saying how beautiful she was. I also noticed how less time he was spending with his mates as he and Dot were going to places and parties we weren’t invited to. I was fully expecting some day for someone to ask why I was turning green. However Belfast was not short of smart and good looking girls and things have to move on. I had started working down town in a large shopping store. One benefit of this job was that most of the staff were women; young women. The break times were good fun with plenty of banter. I only recognised one woman who had lived in the Pass but the family had moved to Walmer Street. Her name was Jane Whyte. Jane was the polar opposite to Dorothy. Think of Elly Mae Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies with a Belfast accent. Jane was loud, rough, outgoing and embarrassed me on more than one occasion with her language. She was tall and lean with long jet black hair. Sometimes after work we would walk up to the City Hall where she would get the bus up the Ormeau. In fact after a while I saw her more as a mate but not a girlfriend. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in July when things would start to change. I was on the bus coming down from Breda Park. My Granny and Uncle Jimmy had moved up there only last year. Our family took it in turns to go and see her. She would often ask about girlfriends and I would evade her questions. Uncle Jimmy would disappear at this point because it was him who told me, when I was younger, why buy a book when’s there’s a library? Maybe that’s why he’s still single and living with his 70 year old mother. Granny would often tell me about good girls that I should go and ask out. I knew things were bad when a grandmother acts as your matchmaker and agony aunt. Anyway, I was sitting upstairs in the bus just daydreaming, past the roundabout with the Ravenhill Road, past St Jude’s Church and past Jameson Avenue. There was M’Gurrans pub on the corner and right next door the Curzon picture house. Where I saw my first ever movie. Where I seen lots of movies over the years. I always had a good look into the Ulidia grounds in case a match was on. The bus slowed down at the junction of Haywood and St Jude’s Avenue. I looked down at the Pavilion bar. A couple were snogging at the side of the bar in broad daylight. For God’s sake. Then I took a second look. And a third look. I couldn’t mistake him; it was Jack with a bird. Who definitely wasn’t Dot. Dot always worked on a Saturday in the paper shop. It was like my legs had a mind of their own. I was downstairs and off the bus before I could think of what may happen to me. I slunk up the Ormeau Rd past the Orange Hall to Browns paper shop at the corner of Haywood. I went in letting on to flick through the magazines. I could see out the front window across the Ormeau and into St Jude’s. It did seem a bit sneaky. OK, a lot sneaky but I still held out a candle for Dorothy and this dirty rat was two timing her. Finally they broke their clinch. The girl looked dreamy but it was a dreamy Jane. I leaned forward to be absolutely sure. I was totally sure. My attention was broken by the shop lady saying, ‘you going to stand there all day or buy that’? I fumbled for change and got the magazine. It was the only time in my life that I had bought ‘Jackie’. I decided to walk down Sunnyside Street and through the Gardies to go home in case Jack the Rat would go down the Ormeau after his little tryst. That evening I decided to read the Jackie magazine. Well I didn’t want to waste sixpence did I? There was a nice letter sent in about a girl who and been two timed and what should she do. A plan started to form in my mind and I reached for a pen. It was a beautiful Friday evening with the promise of a great weekend. I was getting out of work at 5 and had arranged to meet Barney Thompson at the City Hall. I wanted to treat him to a drink in the Crown. After a couple of pints I noted the time. It was just after 6. I said to Barney ‘Come on let’s live dangerously and have a drink in the Europa. ‘ ‘Aye OK. R’re buying?’ ‘Of course’ I said ‘Don’t I always’, but my mind was elsewhere. We crossed Great Victoria Street and through the security. I always imagined it was easier to get through the Berlin wall than into the Europa hotel. Europe’s most bombed hotel. I casually suggested the lounge and took my time having a good look about. Sure enough I saw two ladies huddled in the corner, deep in conversation. I motioned to Barney to stand up at the bar - as obvious as possible. After a few minutes I just ‘happened’ to turn round and there was Dot catching my eye. Then Jane turned round to look at me. Dot called me over. ‘Hello Dorothy, Hello Jane.’ I said calmly. ‘Fancy seeing you here’ ‘Brian, sit down for a minute please’ said Dorothy. That was no problem. If she had said ‘stand on your head’ I’d have done it a hundred times over. ‘Yeah sure, but that’s Barney up there. We’re going to the Regency later.’ Jane leant over to me. ‘Brian, are you still friends with Jack Smith?’ ‘Yeah, I see him all the time. Why?’ Dorothy grabbed my arm. ‘Brian I need you to promise us that you won’t say a word to Jack about us meeting like this. You promise? Please?’ She touched me. Someone was playing soft music somewhere and the room moved. ‘Well ok but....’ ‘We’ll explain later,’ said Jane quickly. ‘Ok, no problems’. I got up and went back to the bar. I did feel guilty for about two seconds but I couldn’t tell them I wrote identical notes to them saying that Jack was a two timer and they should meet in the Europa, Friday at 6 o’clock. Barney was just a cover for me. I bought him a double vodka and coke to lessen my guilt for using him. But I got him plastered that night so he was happy enough. Now I had to wait. The rest of the story I was told by third parties. Sadly I missed the big event. Despite their very different personalities Jane and Dorothy got on like a house on fire and became friends. Apparently Dot arranged to see ‘Jack the rat’ one evening in the Europa. Nice touch. Only Jane would be waiting in the other bar. By sheer luck that night one of my sisters was in the Europa with her new boyfriend. I always thought she would be a great naturalist, like David Attenborough, because she used to bring home some rare specimens. She seen it all and retold the events in glorious Technicolor detail. Jack was sitting beside Dot, arm round the shoulder, when Jane walked in. Jack and Dot both stood up. Jane started, at the top of her voice; which is very loud. ‘Are you seeing both of us you cheating xxxxxxx, xxxxxxx? You xxxxxxx of xxxxxxx’ Jane then burst into tears and Dorothy took over. ‘How dare you do this to me? You, you....’ Unbelievably and no doubt taking Jack by complete surprise she landed a left hook to his jaw. I didn’t think my Dorothy had it in her. As Jack was lifting himself of the floor Jane stopped crying just long enough to walk over and lash the boot into him. By now there was a crowd viewing the merry mayhem. To add insult to injury the bouncers came in, had one look, thought Jack was the guilty party and dragged him out of the hotel. The assembled crowd cheered. Dot and Jane proceeded to the bar where they downed quite a few Babychams to settle their nerves. And so this story has a sad ending. Alas, I did not get to go out with Dorothy. By the time a decent period had elapsed I did ask if she would go out with me only to discover that she had started seeing a guy from the Village. By all accounts he was a decent big spud. Jane made it clear to me that she didn’t want to speak about the affair. She ended up going steady with some bloke from the Annadale flats. I don’t know him but someone said he looked like a bald ‘Joe 90’, that is he had a stammer, wore big thick glasses and had no hair. Me? I was able to go home and get my records out. Many nights you would hear my favourite record wafting out from the parlour window as I play a certain song by Gilbert O Sullivan - “Alone again naturally”.
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 07:49:46 +0000