Memories
of Dromore...
by Mr. B Grime
I
can of course remember many things about 1920s Dromore - but I fear that, since
most of these memories are those of a child, they would afford but little interest
to a modern adult.
But how's this: I can recall
summer evenings when my uncle Davy -
together with other young men of of the
immediate neighbourhood (Fred Pantridge, Roy Hamilton &c) PLAYING MARBLES
in the middle of the Banbridge Road! And this the main Belfast - Dublin Road!
Well, Aunt Jenny told me they were playing marbles. Later years made me think
that maybe it wasn't marbles. Perhaps the frowned-upon (and I believe,
illegal,
) "Pitch and Toss". I never got close enough to see!
I remember being taken to the Signal Box at the railway station and being absolutely
fascinated by the miniature "repeater" Distant Signal encased in a glass
box and which replicated the position of the invisible yellow Distant signal when
the Signalman (a friend of Uncle Davy) pulled the (to me) huge lever.
But, do you know, the outstanding symbol of Dromore to me was the stack of the
scutching mill with its unique cusp. Many many times it
came to me. If anyone
ever mentioned Dromore to me the picture of
the scutching mill chimney invariably
came to my mind. Very odd!
I remember the
bedroom window of the house in the terrace at the junction of Castle Street being
removed "because a little boy was dying of consumption". What dread
and sorrow came to me whenever we
walked past - on the other side of course.
And fear and apprehension
always closed in when walking past the gloomy "old
castle" when the evening sky was darkening.
Our house in Belfast was lit by gas and it was absolute magic to press the brass
switch and get electric light in Dromore. I was occasionally allowed to go into
the Electric Station - another adventure into the
fantastic
novelties of
staying in Dromore
The Town Hall! To me a
somewhat less than impressive building during
the week - even with the stocks.
(What were they for anyway!) But come Saturday night it became the Teatro Royale
with wooden seats where I saw Jackie Coogan, Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Fatty
Arbuckle et al - the
stars
of the shaky silent pictures. No-one ever called
them "movies" then!
A few other
little memories - the raindrops on the wild roses by the
side
of the Quilly
Road. The walk to the milestone on the Banbridge Road where one might be lucky
enough to see a GNR train passing (SO superior to our home grown BCDR in Belfast!).
The coach building workshop behind Uncle Davy's house and Shannon's farmyard just
beside it. Getting water and
carrying
it in white pails from the pump -
the only water supply. The coldness and
the
spiders in the outside privy
at the bottom of the garden.
Sorry - I've
gone on too long. There are many more memories which even
now can bring a tear
of nostalgia. I can almost hear you say "What a
tiresome
sentimental
old fool I've found here!".
Many kind
regards to you
(Bryan Grime)
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