I was wondering if a hunger strike might work in relation to Twaddell Roundabout . You’d never know until you tried, would you?There’s not much written about that whole situation in the mainstream press , but the assumption is that there is a cadre of men trapped like North Pole explorers in their tent awaiting the winter’s thaw.These men have marched into a cul- de- sac and are now entrapped , unable to get home to their families. Apparently they are living in a small caravan which they found abandoned at the edge of a crevasse and are currently eking out their meagre rations of prawn potato crisps and capfuls of Buckfast fortified wine, in the hope that rescue might be imminent. There’s a human interest story to be written there , isn’t there? What about their grieving families and their children crying “I want my daddy home for Christmas!”. Supermarket magazines would be full of this . it would be blazing out in red and blue from “Now”, “Grazia” and “OK” . Bob Geldof would be cussing and fussing and making a special Christmas record with a raft of second-string pop stars. A rescue plan would be mounted by the governments of the UK and the Republic of Ireland.The cry would go up …”Get Our Boys Home!”.
Most of us would have no notion of crossing the Niagara Falls or the Atlantic Ocean, alone in a barrel , for example, but some people are driven to climb Mount Everest, although a lot of them die in the attempt; some will throw themselves off the top of mountains with only a skimpy flying suit and hope to fly safely earthwards or launch off on a snowboard; some will rise in a balloon to the edge of space and jump out with nothing but a silken parachute.These people are what is called “Risk Takers”. Some might say “They’ve a wee want in them”. Well , maybe , but it takes all sorts of adventure-seekers to ever get anything done in the world.These men at Twaddell Rounabout are obviously cut from that same heroic, if foolhardy, cloth .
In Nornneverland political talks were afoot and the hope was that with the unveiling of the Big Theory to Solve Every Problem in that benighted land , the Twadellites would be part of a General Reprieve and money and supplies could be somehow budgeted for their rescue by Christmas 2014. With the collapse of the Big Talks again , they may have to wait until this time next year for another window of opportunity. It’s a seasonal thing , you see. These talks only happen a few weeks before each Christmas . Can they survive? These talks look like they could run annually for at least another generation or two….possibly right into the twenty-second century.
So what are we to do ? Anyone living outside of Norneverland may be totally unaware of the inhospitable situation . Currently some £12 million sterling is being spent annually to police this area with sharpshooters, ever on alert to kill any rampaging polar bears which might enter the zone and attack these plucky explorers .Even with that financial spend, there are not enough men nor money available to perform a rescue .It is a step too far.The government can only spend that kind of money on water meters , ministerial underlings and the like. The UK Prime Minister, Mr Cameron has already stated that there is no more money .There is one possibility which might just change the public’s mood and raise them from torpor .If a message could somehow be be passed out , maybe by pigeon or raven , that a hunger strike was imminent, maybe then the authorities would finally take note.
If they are abandoned much longer by this penny-pinching government , they’ll starve to death anyway. Prawn crisps and Buckfast wine will not last forever and really offer very little sustenance anyway .What have they got to lose? Life can’t be much fun , living for years in a leaky caravan. A hunger strike to the bitter end might just be the ticket. Either way it’ll solve the problem of the annual £12 million spend.
You say that prawn crisps and Buckfast offer little sustenance, but look how Stephen Nolan grew up to be a very big boy on the same regime.
They may not starve, but what of their mental condition after such a marathon siege? They are bound to be mentally scarred – or on the other hand, if they had any mental capacity would they sit/stand up in that God-forsaken spot indefinitely?
Especially when they have virtually no support from their politicians – I can’t remember when a loyalist politician was last there for a photo opportunity.
Great piece on these brave intrepid souls left to flounder on cold forgotten Twadell Island,these(mostly)men haven’t seen the warmth of their homes since being cruelly forced to abandon their trek home having only finished 98% of their never ending march over a year ago with only an English fleg to keep them warm.
Be careful you could be tempting fate by mentioning fraud geldof. A wee nudge from his friends and he would on twaddle like white on rice. ; )
Do they know it’s Christmas?…..That’s the question, eh?
in a word – headbangers
https://eurofree3.wordpress.com/2014/12/08/headbangers/
though this refers to the drumcree crew – same epithet applies!
Now ..now… Ben where’s that christmas charity? …Headbanger…moi????
headbanger nat yew – yon twadelle lat –
Rem 1690 NS FGAU
Rem ” the Lord helps them wat helps thamselfs”.
Rem ” charity begins/is begat at hame”
Themmons at Twadelle kin help themselfs hame the nicht n begat thir ain Miss Xmas Charity, sister to the missus Prudence and Chastity!!
PS – isn’t my Oolster-Scats cummin alang bravely?
Yep Ben….another few lessons and you’ll reach the 17th century……then it’s all downhill…..you’ll soon be speaking like an American…or maybe an Aussie…who knows how it will turn out!!!
Great piece Harry, had me chuckling into my seasonal drink (tea of course…in a Santa mug) and for a while I actually thought you were being half serious until you mentioned those two words no true Loyalist ever wants to hear, or never hears, take your pick HUNGER STRIKE.
Well…that was the point really AJude…it would never happen would it? …Hope that was Punjana by the way…no sugar …just a wee squeak of milk…!!
A first glance at the photo, Harry, led one to mistakenly take if for Peter Sutherland, no less.
This was born of the fact that the latest trimming in a long, long litany of awards which Suds has been so deservingly saddled with is – gasp! – the Order of the Pole Star from the Swedish Government.
The mistake was caused by the remarkable resemblance, including girth, expression and pose, between the actual polar bear and that of the former prop forward of the Lansdowne RFC’s muddy Thirds.
That was before the Golden Boy became the Free Southern Stateen’s Attorney General on his upwardly mobile (restricted) and waddling way to becoming, simultaneously, Chairman of Goldman Sachs and Chairman of the London School of Economics.
Most folks make do with one chair upon which to park their back cracks but when one is as broad in the beam as Suds, well then, one begins to understand the need for two chairs. Besides, during his time as A.G. the good Suds always showed an above average interest in the wee, erm, Sachs.
And speaking of rugga, has anyone commented on the striking (not hunger) resemblance between the Alickados of Twickers and those of Twaddles? The same hipflasks of Buckfast, the same wooly bobble hats, the same blankets of fleece and fierce commitment made.
Paddykool raised the question: do the Twaddlers know it’s Christmas? Which begs another q.: do these billy boyos of Belfast know the provenance of Buckfast?
Bloody ‘ell, ‘arry: ruddy Benedictine !
Could be, of course, they already know that, even if the Twaddlers are also mistaken (the m-word is catching) in the particular Benedict which lends his name to the adjective. They appear to think it’s The Louis van Gaal lookalike himself, none other than the beloved Bee-droning Benedict Kiely.
That would be the darling of Dublin 4 and one time picketer of SF’s office, during its tenure out of office in Kevin Street, Dublin 1.
Bee-droning Benedict’s evocative ‘Proxopera’ is still particularly popular among elements of Loyalism, not least the pox doctor’s clerk’s cohort.
So, that’s all right, then.
Hah …Mighty Perk …you’ll be pleased at the further connections……My very own honeybees are originally of the Buckfast strain.
“The Buckfast bee is a strain of honey bee. It is a man-made bee race, a cross of many strains of bees, developed by “Brother Adam”, (born Karl Kehrle on 3 August 1898 in Germany), who was in charge of beekeeping at Buckfast Abbey, ‘s years…Honeybees were struck down with acarine disease and throughout the islands held by the Brit. pre 1916….
Revolution of another sort was afoot in 1916,…not only in Dublin, Ireland’s An Post…. what with only 16 surviving colonies of honeybees left in the abbey. All of them were either pure Ligurian (Italian) or of Ligurian origin, hybrids between Ligurian and the English black bee A. m. mellifera. Brother Adam also imported some more Italian queens. From these he began to develop what would come to be known as the Buckfast bee…”
My particular bees came originally from the Welsh border but subsequently new queens have mated with unfortunate local black Irish wild male drones…unfortunate in that they lose both their wedding tackle and their lives at the blissful moment of consummation…Strangely enough …or maybe not…. these new colonies are a little more aggressive than their original mothers. I can personally attest to the stinging capacity of these neo-Irish ingrates…..