Electioneering can be difficult for the candidates
There was an election this week, not that you would have noticed in my corner of the universe.
We all went about our business as usual. Those standing chatting outside our local shop may have been discussing it but no-one was around handing out leaflets pestering us for our vote.
Elections are funny things. I remember them as a child when candidates rode around the countryside asking for votes. My mother wouldn’t give them the time of day as she believed they weren’t doing much for our corner of south Derry.
In fact my birthplace is not that much different today than it was in those days. In some ways I like that but then I see that as a sign that this corner of the world was badly neglected over the decades and any promises made by electioneers then never came to fruition.
Today, in that corner of the world, the beautiful, very old bridge we had to cross to get to the local shop on the other side of the Moyola River takes just pedestrians now, though I hear its strong
enough for a small car, but I don’t fancy testing it out so I walk across and look to see if any salmon have escaped up to that part of the river, something we did as children.
In prolonged dry weather we were able to go under the bridge and walk to the other side without getting our feet wet. I wouldn’t chance that today lest some lunatic lorry driver decided to ignore the signs and take a short cut across the bridge. Heavier vehicles than cars have been known to risk it.
With care this bridge could have proved a tourist attraction for an area which needs it. Political candidates over the years have had such suggestions made to them but nothing ever came of it. The
area was a mix of protestants and catholics – still is – and back in time the people were desperate for new housing. That came but very slowly and closer to the nearest towns, Magherafelt, Castledawson and the village of Ballyronan. So the bridge was not a priority and so it remains.
I’m always reminded of those years when my family lived in the area and the sight of an old rickety bus meant we could get to the nearest town. It was better than nothing, so when political candidates ventured into that territory looking for votes my parents and neighbours were apt to give them short shrift. And strangely enough when a electioneer comes round my door now those memories come flooding back even though I no longer live even close to that area.
I knew that Himself who came from Co Antrim had similar views about politicians as his homeland area was also fairly neglected.
And so when a candidate came around our door canvassing for this week’s election I knew he/she was not going to get much of a welcome. I knew by the sound of his voice when he answered the door that his memories of the neglect of his home town all those years ago was not forgotten or forgiven.