Information courtesy of John McLaughlin
I never met my brother
During the 2nd World War a white pigeon landed on our house, he sat on the windowsill and, because a white pigeon near the house was supposed to be unlucky, my mother tried to chase it away. Our house was in Rosshead, Glenhead, by the sea. From the window we could see the cliffs, the fishing rocks and the sea stretching across to Portrush and Rathlin Island.
I came from a family of twelve children. The oldest boy was called Barney, and, being the first born, I always felt that he was my mother’s favourite. I often heard people talk about him but I’d never met him as he lived in England. He was the oldest and I was the youngest and he’d left Ireland before I was born. The reason that he’s left was that he’d been distilling and making poiteen, he had been charged by the Gardi and sent to Mountjoy jail, Dublin for three months. Upon his release he went to live in England, never to return.
During the war I remember a telegram arriving at our house from the War Office, saying that Barney’s ship had been torpedoed by the Germans. The whole family was devastated and my mother was heartbroken for a week until another telegram arrived from the War Office. They told us that there had been a mistake, Barney was not on the ship he should have been on. Seemingly that day he’d missed the ship because he’d got drunk. Because he did this he was jailed for one week, this was looked on as a serious crime as fishermen were fishing for food for the nation.
As far as I know he kept his roots and remained a fisherman for the rest of his life. He died 25 years ago and is buried in Hull. Since then I’ve met his son and daughter but I will never meet my brother. Every time that I see a white pigeon I think of Barney.