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We usually have to step around women who are down on their hands and knees scrubbing their front stoops. It gets to be a real
competition with the women as to who can have the cleanest place. Sometimes it gets out of hand and they end up scrubbing
the footpath as well, almost all the way out to the kerb.
We can always tell what neighbourhood we're in by glancing into the little porches between the outside door and the inside
door of each house. The Catholics have a picture of the Sacred Heart or the Pope, and the Protestants have a picture of the
King of England. Sometimes we'll be walking through the neighbourhood for quite a long time before we realise that we're in
a Protestant area. Maybe we've been too busy talking, or skipping to avoid cracks in the pavement. But when we start to notice
the King's pictures, we walk swiftly while trying to act natural, so that we won't seem out of place.
This afternoon we've ended up in the middle of the Shankill district.
"Jesus, Mary and holy Saint Joseph," Pauline says with a startled look. "This place is world famous for
its hatred of Catholics!" Irene and I look at her in alarm and she grabs our arms to stop us. "I know how we can
get out of this situation safe and sound," she says in a loud whisper." Let's sing 'God Save the King,' like we're
forced to at the end of the films. That way everyone will think we're Protestants." She has a satisfied look on her face
now, like she solved a major problem. We start to sing, and our Pauline has the most beautiful voice you ever heard.
There's a couple of old women wearing the shawls that people wore back in the olden days. They're standing talking, and
you can tell by the way their eyes are squinting that they're probably gossiping about one of their neighbours. The wee skinny
one is standing on her front porch and the other one is on the footpath with a shopping bag in her hand. She sets her bag
on the ground when she sees us, and looks like she's going to say something.
"Here, lassie, hold on a second. We're looking for a child with a voice just like yours. Would you like to come
over to the Orange Lodge next week and sing the very song you're singing, love?"
Pauline's big brown eyes are nearly popping out of her head now and she stutters, "Em... em... I'll have to ask my
mammy first, Missus, if that's all right with you."
"Well love, yi'll know where to find me. Right there, in the one with the beautiful window box." She points
to one of the houses that all look the same, but she does have some nice chrysanthemums under her front window.
"I'll let you know, Missus," Pauline says with a shaky voice, and the three of us skip away, trying to act
as much like Protestants as we can. When we finally reach the end of the street and turn the corner, Pauline and Irene double
over laughing and I don't feel nervous any more. "Did you ever notice that there are a lot more pubs in the Catholic
areas?" I ask.
"Yes, Patricia, and a lot more children too," Pauline says, and she and Irene laugh again.
Being in a district where we are hated reminds us of what Daddy told us about the dreaded Black and Tans. We walk swiftly
back to the safety of our own area while Pauline explains more about it.
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