BALLYCARRY EX-PAT TELLS OF LIFE IN THE FAST LANE
I'VE enjoyed a long bank holiday weekend and so I've decided this week to give the column over to an ex-pat of Ballycarry who has just written a book about his lifelong love affair with motorbikes.
Robin Armstrong, 59, was born in Belfast but had the good fortune to move to Ballycarry in 1953 when he was three years old. He lived in the village until 1970 with his parents Hubert and Dorothy - now of Taylors Avenue in Carrickfergus - who are now in their eighties.
Schooled at Ballycarry Primary, Greenland Secondary and Larne Tech, Robin was apprenticed at AEI between 1966-70, after which he moved to Middlesborough (as he says "following a girl ... later wife").
For two years he served with the Middlesborough Police but "chasing skinheads up back allies was not my idea of a career" and emigrated to Canada in 1975, having holidayed there the year before.
Today the father-of-three is a technical representative for the Girotti Machine Co at St Catharines, Ontario.
As you'll see from this highly entertaining extract from Robin's book Over My Shoulder, he is besotted with bikes and has been since he was a toddler.
Even now he is "still working, playing with bikes, riding and tinkering". He's a member of the Canadian Vintage Motorcycle Group, which numbers quite a few ex-pats like himself wondering how things are going at the Tandragee, the North West and the Ulster.
Hardly surprising then that Robin makes a return visit every couple of years and is still in contact with friends from youth Janice King, John Wadley, Ted Sturdy, John McClintock.
We heard about Robin through Stella Patterson, who as previously reported is researching a book about the people on the shop floors at the long gone Larne factories like AEI, GEC and BTH.
After our article appeared Robin - and a number of other former factory workers at home and broad - contacted Stella who wants to hear any stories, poems or photos that anyone may have.
Stella can be contacted at 59 Feystown Road, Glenarm; tel 028 28841031; or e-mail stellapatterson@btinternet.com
It occurs to me that Robin is one of hundreds of Larne ex-pats with a story to tell. Whether you are reading this in print or on the web, why not get in touch? I'd be interested to hear from any of you out there. Email me at nemo@larnetimes.co.uk or write to Nemo, Larne Times, 8 Dunluce Street, Larne BT40 1JG.
Read on ...
August '69 ... The Ulster Grand Prix
Three years is not a long time, but in the life of a 19-year-old lad from Ballycarry it is my whole life, or the only part that counts up until now. It is 16th August 1969, this is my third year going to the Ulster Grand Prix. I am an old hand now and I am taking my girlfriend, so she can see how smart and worldly I am.
Having one of the worlds greatest races right in your back yard is not lost on us. The locals are very proud of the racing heritage around here. The Ulster stretches back to 1922 and its location in Northern Ireland is unique in the British Isles as legislation, namely The Road Races Act, is in effect by the efforts of one Mr Thomas Moles, a motorcycle enthusiast and Member of the Ulster Parliament. He helped to push through the first Road Races Act, which made it legal for the Clady Course near Belfast to be closed for the first Ulster Grand Prix on 14 October 1922. Ulster is the only place, other than the Isle of Man, in The UK where the roads can be closed for racing. That's why we get to see all the English stars and others from the continent.
Many of the names of the past champions were known to me as a wee boy of eight or nine, running about, chasing a bike wheel rim up and down the street with a bit of a stick. I would imagine I was on a powerful racing motorbike at The Ulster, laying her over, blasting out of Quarterlands Corner and setting up for the left into Ireland's bend.
The smell of hot oil and the noise of the mega, bouncing of the trees. Then I'd get called in to our house for pie and gravy at lunch. My grandma would ask me what I was doing, all hot and bothered,
"Oh nuthin, just playin." But I could hear the clicking sound of the exhaust as the bike cooled off, hidden behind the hedge where nobody would see her, waiting for me to go out for practice again.
The first time I saw a motorbike, I think I was about four. It was just after we moved into the rented house in Ballycarry. I never did understand why we moved quietly, out of the farm with all our stuff, late at night. I was only four and didnt really give a care. It was a better life in the village. I saw there were kids living one door down and Janice's dad had a Norton.
Sam King, the poor old man: I think he was nearly 30 - real old. He couldnt get in the house for his tea after coming home from work without taking his kids up the street, one at a time on the tank.
As the new kid, I stood up on the wall at our house watching. I figured it was time to become friends with these people.
I found out that the carb on a Norton has a huge hole you can look into and see right into the engine, or so it seemed. It was easy for me, I was at about eye level with it. Janice would use both hands to reach up and twist the thing on the handlebar and the shinny thing in the carb would move up so I could see inside.
"Youve got to move quick and not get your hand cut off if I let go," she would say. Not many people know that Norton made guillotines.
Sammy King's Norton was only an Inter, whatever that is; not a Manx that can really go. So what ? I have never even seen a Manx, but I did get to ride all the way up the street on an Inter. It seemed like miles. It was about a hundred yards.
I was a bit embarrassed when my dad only bought a Raleigh Runabout to ride to work. He had one hand that worked right and had mangled the other, falling off a barbed wire fence as a boy. So he looked like he was going to fall off, trying to make it go and change gear with that daft lever up on the handlebar.
He and I never really talked bikes. I would not be seen dead near a moped. Mind you, I was only six and still trying to learn how to ride a push bike at the time. If he did fall off and get hurt, I might not get to eat, regular like, but that's way too deep for a six-year-old.
Now I'm grown up we are away for the day, on a '59 Norton 600, with a packed lunch. My pal, Big Freddie Ewing, can't ride it. He crashed his brother's scooter into a Beetle. He broke all kinds of things like ankles and wrists. He is lying in hospital and can't use the Norton.
So I, an apprentice machinist, being a budding mechanic and a great friend, am fixing it up for him. I've got to keep the battery tuned up in the meantime. Six thousand miles on it this summer should do the job. He is going to be pissed when he finds out, but that will be later, no worries.
It is a bit strange, riding in traffic, watching out for cops all the time, but I just haven't had the time, or the right bike. You see I need a 250 to do the driving test. The Francis Barnet won't run long enough.
We're watching at the exit of the Hairpin, by ourselves. I didnt want my buddies to know I had taken a girl to the races. We are lying under the hedge, watching the action on the road. If I was stupid enough to stick my hand out, Ago (world champion Giacamo Agostini) would run over it. The funny part is he would hit the same knuckle every time. The man rides like a machine, a clock maybe.
The last couple of years, I had watched Ago's style at Quarterlands corner, with Wadley and Bertie Paisley. I rode pillion to the races, behind Bertie on his '62 Tiger 90 and then on his '65 Bonnie the next year.
It was a great spot. I was right in line with the exhaust of the MV as he hit the power out of the corner. How come it kicks in at, like, thousands of revs? The Fanny B and old B31 back at home take half the day to get going. Ago would hit a blade of grass on the bank with his shoulder, same bit every time.
The guys said it was easy for him to win as nobody was pushing him. All the really fast guys had moved on and Honda had dropped out.
I never did see Hailwood race. I feel deprived, really. When we are bragging about all we know, I'm out of it. Oh I can say I saw the big duel between Ivy and Read. I never did like Read. Bill Ivy is a real neat rider though, short like me, bit faster mind, but I never did see Mike The Bike.
The programmes for the past couple of years read like a who's who of the bike world, so I have seen some of the greats.
I did get to hear the Honda 4 when Ralph Bryans ran it down through the town at Portrush this year at the Northwest 200. It was just a demo run, but the sound bouncing off the walls of those wee houses was magic.
The racing at the North West is better, or maybe it is just that it is at the seaside with all the carnival rides, caravans and such. We stay overnight camping in the old band stand down by the sea, drinking Carling Black Label and acting silly.
We cant spell. Oscar carved Hells Angles into the ceiling. I think they are a gang of welders.
At the 200 we saw Rod Gould from Australia or somewhere; he had one of those funny visor things on his helmet this year, all clear plastic. You still can't really see his face, not like with the good old goggles and the puddn' bowl helmet. Mind you, where we sit, just beside the road at the railway bridge, it is amazing how much detail we do see.
Just a thought: it is a wonder we don't get moved on, but nobody is going to fall off and hit the wall right there. Yeah, right, that would be silly.
Speaking of who's who today at the Ulster Our Brian Steenson, on the big Seeley in the 500 race, is sure giving Ago a run for his money. Or he was until he got passed and I'm not sure but by no Ago might have lapped everybody but himself.
It is hard to tell who is where when you only see a little bit of the track. It would be great if they would cover this on the telly. They are too busy covering every damned horse race so people's dads can spend the rent money, betting on three-legged horses.
Anyway it was great to see Our Brian out on the 250 QUB Seeley. Dr. Blair, a professor up in Queen's University, has come up with some neat ideas on how to make a two-stroke run. He uses all kinds of math and a computer to figure out volumes, exhaust tapers, back pressure and stuff. He might even be able to tune up our Fanny B to get a bit more grunt out of it.
Maybe he can get it to start back up when it is hot. After lunch it wont run, no matter how long we kick it, or push it up and down the lane.
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Thursday 09 February 2012
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