leaving it all astern

One of my favourite vistas, the ship fading into a speck on the horizon and me being carried away at high speed in the opposite direction. The water in the photo being churned up by the launches twin props is Southampton water, as I left the ship at anchor near the Isle of Wight, and got a boat trip into Southampton docks, before being taxied up to Heathrow for further processing.
I don’t know what it is about the English but they have some sort of Irish detection thing going on, I don’t know if it was my leprechaun looks and the bright green outfit with large black belt and shillelagh, while I tugged my forelock shouting “begorrah and top of the morning to you” even though it was 3 in the afternoon or they had been given intelligence prior to my landing on the deck, but the first thing the coxswain said to me was, “You’re Irish, aren’t you?” No good afternoon sir or sit down and let me take your shillelagh and bags of gold sir, straight to the identification of nationality, No I replied Judas like, I’m from Kilburn, London and was raised by an itinerant builder named O’ Sweeney due to the fact that I was orphaned at birth so in fact I’m as English as you are….I only picked up the accent from my guardian and mentor O’Sweeney, …….
Naturally I was taken aback with the sudden request for an authentication of my origin, Yes I replied, Irish as Guinness and Shergar, the two lads in the boat gave a laugh and both started to relate their experiences of Ireland as if I would be in the slightest bit interested. They didn’t ask me if I was a member of the IRA, but mentioned Mountbatten, I said it wasn’t anything to do with me being only 10 at the time. I wondered silently if any other nationalities got the same treatment or was it only reserved for the Irish.

They left me on the docks in the good hands of a taxi driver, who said “You’re Irish, aren’t you?” No I said American from South Boston, but the accent kicks in thanks to a genetic code and the proximity of Ireland, the closer I get the more thick the brogue, and if I landed in Shannon for example I wouldn’t even be able to understand myself.

Yes I said I’m Irish as DeValera and U2, what he said? Nothing I replied a bit of Irish humour.

He of course turned out to be an ex-military and proceed to tell me all about Norn Iron, as if I had never heard of the place and how the problem could be solved, more military seemed to be the gist of his argument. I begged to differ and suggested that the “problems” were being sorted out better now that in a long time and maybe better off to be sorted out by the people that actually live there. This seemed to be an alien and incompatible suggestion, and he changed the subject to his love of tanks and how he had driven across Salisbury plain in one and fulfilled a boyhood dream. Dream on I thought, but said no more as it was he that was driving me to the airport and imminent departure.

I had been dreading the thoughts of Heathrow the whole time, my least favourite airport on the planet, but terminal 4 has now become a ghost town thanks to the new terminal 5, and was manned by a population almost exclusively descended entirely from South East Asia, they were friendly and not really interested in me at all, and they didn’t say “You’re Irish, aren’t you?”