The drama tends to be on the seaward side of our road. It is a favourite spot for photographers, walkers, joggers, bird watchers and idlers. We get both sunrise and moonrise. Mountainous seas may hurl themselves at the White Wall. Low spring tides may retreat almost to the horizon and a walk to the island becomes irresistible.
It is altogether safer to walk on the landward side in the shelter of the high Rugby club wall, especially when the wind and rain come from the west. The slip-stream of the C.I.E. bus is less alarming. Outbound traffic on the seaward side, impelled by the camber and centrifugal force, threatens to hop onto the pavement or shed its load on the hapless pedestrian. A sly wave may take the opportunity to give you a refreshing shower. You may be obliged to break into a trot if the old bones permit.
When we were kids the wall at the Rugby pitch was a low, crumbling, stone wall, overgrown with red and green succulent weeds. There was no pavement on the west side. There was no refuge from the east wind for either players or spectators. We were fascinated by and wary of, Bang and Wallop, an eccentric old couple who lived on the other side of Curkeen Hill. They did their shopping on Saturday afternoons and cycled home along this road. Bang, (not her real name but an appropriate one by all accounts,) had brakes on her bike. It was her task to cycle ahead and give the all-clear to her husband who had no brakes, by means of a football whistle. This gave him, as we say in management-speak, a window of opportunity to get farther around the bend in safety. The rules of Rugby Football are complicated enough as they stand. They made no provision whatsoever for Bang’s whistle. As I get further and further around the bend myself, I appreciate their caution.Traffic was sparse in those days. I presume they pushed their shopping-laden bikes up Curkeen Hill. I never saw their white-knuckle ride down the hill. I rode up that hill once, in later years, on a twelve gear mountain bike in a vain effort to get fit. I made it. I saw silver-fish in my vision and heard whistling noises all around me. My heart was going ‘bang and wallop’. I turned around and freewheeled homewards, with cautious touches on the breaks. Enough of that carry-on.
My little son said to me once: ‘I heard on the radio that C.I.E. lost ninety million pounds. I’m keeping an eye out for it, in case it fell off the bus.’ Buses had open platforms at the back in those days. ‘What would you do if you found it?’ ‘I would give most of it back….but I would keep enough for a Rally Chopper.’ That sounded reasonable to me. I decided to keep an eye out for it myself. I noticed that there is always an accumulation of dust, sand, sweet papers and in season, crackling withered leaves, at one point on the bend, as if there is a demarcation dispute between winds coming up the road and winds coming down. I found also that at the same point, the car radio cut out, just for two or three seconds. The Twilight Zone. It was in the days of ‘Medium and Long wave transmission.
He came back to me. ‘You know how I thought that rubbish liked me, because it always followed me up the road?’ ‘Hmm? Well you are a likeable sort of fellow.’ ‘Well it does. I found a twenty pound note in the leaves.’ It’s a start. Only£89,999,980 to go. He has gone from Raleigh Choppers to B.M.X, to multigear, carbon frame racing bikes with wireless gears. He likes cycling up hills. These are expensive items. If I find that he hasn’t come clean on the rest of the money, I may have to blow the whistle on him…unless of course we can reach some eh, understanding. I made a tentative enquiry concerning same. The reply was a not very encouraging ‘On yer bike.’
There appear to be rich pickings on the other side of the wall.