Belfast 1981

Hello everybody

 I promised a while ago to continue the story of our trip in 1981 to an embattled, torn and weary Ireland. Let’s go there. 

Dublin          Republic of Ireland         May 13  1981

It was the day after the riot. We did a show at the Boxing Arena in Dublin to a very appreciative audience that went without incident. The city seemed sedate. Too sedate, as if it was balancing the activity from the night before. We made our way back to the Gresham hotel, no Danny Boy this time, it was off to bed but not before a little meeting with our promoter’s assistant, Noel, who assured us that our next hotel, the Belfast Europa, was a very safe haven amongst the chaos of war torn Northern Ireland. 

Belfast         Northern Ireland      May 14 1981

The trip north from Dublin to Belfast is interesting and scenic. About 166 kilometres, it takes less than two hours to drive using the M1 and the A1, both modern highways comparable to many interstates or the 400 series in Ontario. In 1981 there were some two lane sections but I don’t recall it taking any more than three hours in our tour bus that we’d hired out of London. 

As we approached Belfast city centre it was as if we’d landed in a 1950’s BBC documentary. The colours seemed to fade to sepia then to black and white. Everywhere there were military vehicles, soldiers in battle dress carrying rifles and these unusual huts or shacks in front of most business establishments that turned out to be security checkpoints. We were required to pass two of these to get into our hotel, one of which included a body frisk. There’s no doubt that there are more awkward things in life but it’s difficult retaining your dignity when they’re checking your thighs for explosives.

So why did our inn have two security checks? Well, this “safe haven” as it was described, turned out to be the most bombed hotel in all of 

Europe including WWII. In order to avoid too loud a blast from the BS Buzzer I have to say that  for a long time I was suspicious that this was merely hearsay that had become part of the mythos of the war, but after just a little online research the facts were clear: The Belfast Europa was bombed thirty six(!!!) times during the “Troubles”. No other hotel in Europe ( and two gets you twenty that no other structure of any kind ) came anywhere close.

Fine…… right after surviving a riot in usually peaceful Dublin they drop us into the epicentre of man’s inhumanity to man, a firestorm of anger with an horrific stripping of basic human rights and billet us in a renowned target that practically advertises “step right up folks, don’t be shy, who wants to make it thirty seven?”

Because I’m curious, brave and a little thick, I quickly stowed my bags in my room and went out for a walk. We were warned not to take pictures. The British military took a dim view of any unauthorized photography. The reason we were given was that terrorists from both sides would take pictures of intended victims to assassinate and buildings to bomb. The real reason, it was obvious to me, was to control, edit and censor the flow of information to the outside world. Draconian war procedures that suspend all human rights are regularly employed by bully regimes and justified as “desperate times call for desperate measures”.

Now to be fair, Britain had a responsibility to protect all the citizens of the United Kingdom. Taken a step further, it had a responsibility to hundreds of millions of people in the Commonwealth……………..That will have to be another post. Did Britain turn out to be the dead beat father of rampant and irresponsible colonialism?

I don’t have a colourful story to tell like I did about Dublin. There were no riots or piano sing-a-longs. No heroic poses on the steps of the post office. No tear gas or burning rubber. Just a washed-out sepia shroud that had descended over a defiant working class city determined to carry on business as usual. 

The security at our sold-out show was interesting. Once you entered the hall, you were not allowed to leave until the show was over. The idea was that no one would bring a bomb in that was going to blow them to smithereens……………..Questionable logic if you ask me when dealing with fanatics.

Apparently, during our twenty minute intermission, a cop who was part of our security received a message that a British armoured vehicle had just been destroyed by an explosive missile a few blocks away. I need verification on that if anyone cares to go to the trouble.

There was a bar on the top floor of the Europa Hotel and I stayed there much too late. We had an early call to go to the airport and fly to Liverpool for our next show. I figured I could get some sleep when we arrived there. Wrong. Somehow I missed the band Limo in Liverpool and spent a good part of the day with Gord and the promoter doing a tour of old churches and cathedrals.