Playing by the rules

Red:Writers is one of our excellent groups that meet around the city twice a month. You can find out more about red:writers here. Here is a sample of some of the things they have been up to. Enjoy!

My grandma’s house always smelled of cinnamon.  Looking back on it, that doesn’t make a lot of sense since my grandma once made me open the car window because I was eating cinnamon lozenges and she couldn’t stand the smell.  From this angle in time it’s hard to distinguish the difference between my 7 year old perception of the situation and the reality of it. If there’s even a difference.  I loved going to my grandma’s house. Just as you came in the front door there was a life sized statue of a tiger, she was mesmerising. We called her Sheba.  I used to sit for what felt like hours, running my hand from between her vacant eyes down her long elegant back.  In a house full of squealing sisters and wrestling brothers, those moments formed an oasis of intimacy as I whispered childhood secrets into her voiceless ears. 
When I wasn’t curling up beside Sheba I would often be plaguing my oldest sister to take me to the park round the corner.  I grew up in the country and therefore to be able to play in a park without the fuss of rounding up and packing all seven children into a car was like a dream come true. The city of Belfast was, to me, synonymous with being independent, being allowed to go to a park without my parents. When I was there I would meet other children, children who got to enjoy this pleasure on a daily basis and never truly appreciated its charm.  There was nothing especially interesting that would distinguish this park from any other, if anything, it was quite run down and had none of the new gadgets that were beginning to appear in other parks.

On this particular day the park held the same liberating allure as always and I was giddy with excitement as I followed my brother and sister round the corner.  The park was relatively empty for a Saturday afternoon with a handful of kids hanging out around the swings.  Although I was far from having friends at the park, I could generally recognise the ‘regulars’ but I had never seen any of these children around before.  I wasn’t a shy child but I was still slightly intimidated by a group of kids I didn’t know so I headed straight for the slide even though the swings would normally be my first port of call. I was revelling in my newfound independence and barely noticed that my brother and sister were at the far side of the park, racing each other up and down the climbing frame.

I had been up and down the slide a few times, trying out different techniques (the art of sliding is not to be taken lightly) when I realised that the group by the swings were moving my way.  At the age of seven I was well aware of ‘stranger danger’ but I was also a child who came from an extremely safe world and it never occurred to me that the group was anything but keen to make friends. They seemed friendly enough at first although I was confused when they told me that I had to do them a few favours before I was allowed to go down the slide again.  At first I thought that it was some kind of game that Belfast kids played so I went along with what they were asking. I said my alphabet and I told them I preferred Coke over Pepsi. I even told them the names of all my brothers and sisters.  They still made me perch at the top of that slide. When I got home I asked my mum what a ‘taig’ was.  It took me years to figure out what that game was all about, but what I do know is that I now had new secrets to whisper to Sheba and I never had the courage to go back to the park again. 

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