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"...stories birling ..."

The Bully up the Brae

24/2/2016

15 Comments

 
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The Bully up the Brae

​I went to Moyle Primary School. It was the best school in Larne. It was the best school in County Antrim. It was the best school in Northern Ireland. It was the best school in Europe. It was the best school on earth. It was the best school in the universe.

It was wile good.

I liked Moyle Primary School, but on my first day, there were girls and boys who were crying to go home. What did they have to cry about? There were fat, juicy pencils, the likes of which I’d never seen at home. There were trays with coloured cubes that made me feel so happy that my tummy got a wee bit fluttery. There were easels with big, white pages. They were the widest, shiniest pages I’d ever seen. I wanted to dip a brush into a big blob of blue paint and make a line of sky.

‘Attention children!’

That was Miss McBride. She said children instead of weans. She had black hair and a lovely, long skirt that matched her scarf. She had a wile nice smile when she was happy, but when she was cross, she would say, ‘Now children. Don’t be naughty!’ 

We learned to read and write at Moyle Primary School. The teachers were smart, but they didnae understand the local language.
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I would say to my p2 teacher, ‘I cannae spell that.’

She would say to me, ‘You mean you can’t spell that, Angeline.’

I would say, ‘Aye.’

She would say, ‘You mean yes.’

I would say, ‘Mm hmm.’

I didnae like food, so I didnae. That means, ‘I didn’t like food’ in case you’re a teacher at Moyle Primary School who didnae learn the local language. My mammy tried to get me to eat food all the time. She tried to get me to eat the jam sandwiches in my piece. The jam seeped through the bread and made the bread pink and squelchy. Every day my mammy would look in my lunch box with its uneaten sandwich and say, ‘There are hungry weans in Africa.’

I felt right and sorry for the hungry weans in Africa.

There was a brae on the way up to Moyle Primary School. It was for the weans from the 'Fectory.' The Fectory was a place that used to have a factory and the brae was the steepest brae in the universe. Beside the brae, there was a spooky graveyard. It had grey stones and twisted trees and a big, wide wall that was covered in spiders.

It was wile scary.

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There was a bully who walked down the brae every day. She would gulder at the P5s. That means she would do an awful lot of shouting, just in case you’re a teacher at Moyle Primary School who didnae learn the local language. I was feard of thon yin: frightened of that particular girl.

My sandwich problem didnae improve. My mammy tried everything: soda bread, pan bread, plain bread, wheaten bread, Robinson’s jam with bits, Robinson’s jam without bits, Hartley’s jam with bits, Hartley’s jam without bits and even my aunt Nan’s homemade jam. Nothing worked, for I didnae like food.

One day, as I walked down the steepest brae in the universe, I came up with a plan. My friend Melanie was footering away with her recorder and the bully was at the bottom of the brae near Myra, the Lollipop lady. I took a deep breath and tossed my pan bread seeped in Hartley’s blackcurrant jam (without bits) over the wall of the graveyard. Melanie was brave and engrossed in ‘Ode to joy’, so she didnae notice the joy on my face. From that moment, I was the happiest wean in Larne. I was the happiest wean in the universe. 

But I felt right and sorry for the hungry weans in Africa.

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The bully got me one day. She got me at the top of the brae and she grabbed me by my pigtail and she spat on my shoe and she said, ‘You’re wile skinny!’ 

I was wile feard. 

I was alone at the top of the brae and my big brother was already at the wee park near the Fectory. I had to think fast. 

I said to the bully, ‘There are ghosts in that graveyard and they can see everything you’re doing!’

She said, ‘No there areny.’

I said, ‘Yes there are. And they dinnae like bullies, so they dinnae’

She said, ‘I’m telling my daddy on you, so I am.’

I was so feard that my skinny legs trembled like Bambi’s when Bambi was learning to walk.

‘So!’ I said, squeezing the strap of my leather bag to quell the shaking.


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The teachers still hadn’t learned the local language by P5, so when Mrs Bell spoke to me the next day, she said, ‘Angeline, did you annoy this girl in p6?’

I said, ‘No, I didnae.’

She said, ‘You mean, you didn’t?’

I said, ‘Aye.’

She said. ‘You mean, yes?’

I said, ‘Mm hmm’

The next day, the bully was waiting for me at the top of the brae. I was shaking like a leaf.

‘I taul on you,’ she said.

‘So what?’ I said.

‘My daddy said there areny any ghosts in the graveyard,’ she said.

‘There are!’ I said. 

I was asking for trouble.

‘How do you know?’ she said.

‘Because ghosts eat jam sandwiches, and look down there!’

I was in luck. It was a Friday. I pointed to the sandwiches scattered all the way down the graveyard.

The bully gasped, turned a shade of ghostly white and sprinted towards the Fectory.

I was so feard of seeing the bully again that I told Melanie I couldnae go to the wee park by the Fectory.

‘Och!’ she said. ‘Snot fair.’

That weekend, I felt right and sorry for the starving children in Africa, so when no one was watching, I made myself a ham sandwich with a plain loaf, no butter and the crumbs cut off the ham. It was better than the soggy jam. So, I said to my mammy.

‘Mammy, I want a piece ‘n ham.’

‘Ham in your piece?’ she said. ‘Sure you dinnae like ham.’

‘Aye, well, I dinnae like jam,’ I said.

‘Ye hud better eat it,’ she said, ‘for there’s starvin’ weans in Africa.’

‘Mm hmm,’ I said.

The weekend passed by in a blur of drizzle, kerbsy and cabbage patch kids. On the Monday, I was glad to get back to my reading and writing. 

I was wile good at it.

On the way home, I was less feard and I only threw the ham to the ghosts. The ham sandwich with plain loaf and no butter tasted better without it. 

I never bumped into the bully on the brae again. I was ready to tell her that the ghosts didnae like jam anymore, and that they were there eating their ham (with no crumbs), but I didnae have to bother for she never bullied anyone near the graveyard with the spiders on the wall ever again. 

That made me wile happy.


Children of Latharna: 
Above is the original version of the story, but the Bully Up the Brae led to a fully illustrated book. You can check out the other stories and some pictures from the book here. Please email angelinekingkelly@gmail.com if you would like to order a copy.


Other books:

Irish Dancing: The festival story
A history of dancing in Ulster with a focus on the festival tradition of Irish Dancing.

Snugville Street

"An enjoyable coming-of-age tale with a Belfast twist" (The Irish Times)
​Click here to start reading.


A Belfast Tale: 
“Uniquely, authentically and enjoyably Belfast" (Tony Macaulay, author of Paperboy.) 
Click here to start reading






15 Comments
Melanie
24/2/2016 22:53:21

Fantastic really enjoyed this

Reply
Angeline
24/2/2016 23:14:58

He he! I hope Christopher enjoys it tomorrow:)

Reply
Nigel
24/2/2016 23:15:40

Very good Angeline, wile easy tae read.

Reply
Angeline King
24/2/2016 23:21:36

Thank ye kindly:)

Reply
Debbie
24/2/2016 23:22:53

Loved this Angeline! So many memories of Moyle Primary School, the teachers and that spooky wee path down the side of the graveyard.

Reply
Angeline King
24/2/2016 23:26:07

Thanks Debbie. My first attempt at a children's story. I think the adults might like it better:)

Reply
Gill
24/2/2016 23:54:29

Excellent easy read Angeline 😊 Well done

Reply
Angeline
25/2/2016 00:00:18

Hope Christopher finds it as easy:) His local language isn't that strong either:)

Reply
Angeline King
25/2/2016 12:08:10

My favourite response so far on Facebook: A dinae understand how ye cudnae like food, what's wrang wi ye?!? Imagine gien good bried til thon bogies ye wee skitter ye. A cudnae cope way the waste an all thon wee starvin' weans I'm Afrikey. Thon's wile, thon. A wudne see ye stuck way them there sandwiches, a wuda gien ye a wee han way them. A was always starvin and wud eat oniethin, mither called me a big gannit or gorb or somethin and towl me my eyes were bigger than my belly.
All this talk aboot food is makin me starvin, a wush a wus hame this minit for a dacent cup o tay an a piece

Reply
Jim King (Sen)
25/2/2016 13:09:58

I had-nae had as good a laff in a lang time .Bully tae you yer-sel .

Reply
Angeline King
25/2/2016 21:35:25

Ha ha! Did you not know I was bullied?

Reply
Gillian
25/2/2016 18:29:09

Brilliant Angeline well done

Reply
Rebecca
1/3/2016 21:00:48

Really enjoyed that. Great memories of growing up.

Reply
Evan
23/9/2016 20:21:26

Was lovely reading this, I really enjoyed it (so I did!). Left Moyle Primary School in '98 myself :)

Reply
Angeline
16/11/2018 12:03:33

Glad you enjoyed it Evan!

Reply



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    Prose

    Scene from Snugville Street
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    82 Waterloo Road
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    ​The Children of Latharna
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    The Bully up the Brae

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    ​The Protestant in Irish Fiction.
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