Jackie McGregor: Northern Irish humour - The craic’s the cure, if you didn’t laugh you’d cry
While I was strolling down the road a small dog came barrelling towards his garden gate and began yapping noisily.
The woman walking slightly ahead of me screamed with fright. So did I! The dog owner, who’d been titivating his herbaceous borders, popped his head up and apologised. “I’m so sorry, he’s frightened quite a few people recently, I’m going to put a sign up on the gate, warning about his barking!” he said.
“But will the dog be able to read it?” the woman in front of me quipped and flounced off, as the man began to explain the sign wasn’t for the dog, then caught himself on. I tittered heartily.
Later, I was in a shop when an elderly man in conversation with two women made his excuses to leave. “I’ve got to get home, I’m cooking tonight, I’m making gold soup.”
“I’ve never heard of that, what’s in it?” asked one woman perplexed.
“Twenty-four carrots!” he sniggered and made his exit. I couldn’t help smiling as the women giggled.
The real comedy gold came on my walk back home when a man came towards me on the road driving a mini digger. He was travelling at a snail’s pace with a line of traffic behind him.
“Excuse me missus,” he yelled in a culchie accent, “could you tell me how to get to Donegal?” My face went into shock mode as my brain computed the sheer distance and time this would take him. Then he burst out laughing and tootled off. I chuckled the whole way home.
My quick trip to the shops cheered me up, thanks to the Northern Irish sense of humour, where would we be without it? Our brand of wit is often dark, sometimes savage and usually self-deprecating. We tend to not take ourselves too seriously.
Having a bit of “craic,” has been an essential coping mechanism for Northern Irish natives, one that helped people get through the Troubles.
As a child I remember my parents guffawing at comedian James Young. His comedy albums addressing the Troubles were known off-by-heart to many in the 1970s. He brought much needed comedy during that awful period in our history, with characters like The Lady from Cherryvalley and Orange Lil, one of his best-known catchphrases was, “For God’s sake, stop fightin’!” His cross-community satire joined people together in shared laughter.
Another comedy act who kept spirits up during the Troubles was the showband Clubsound, who played regularly at The Abercorn. Their comedy songs like “Shankill Airways,” (anyone with a parachute is a spoilsport!) provided much needed escapism, helping many find light in the darkest of days.
More recently, the “Give My Head Peace,” cast has given us much needed chuckles.
When living through traumatic times like the Troubles, humour helps to normalise the unthinkable. It provides a way to talk about taboo or painful things. Psychoanalyst, Sigmund Freud, described humour as “the highest of defence mechanisms” because it tackles threats directly with wit rather than avoidance.
For locals in the province, wit has long been a key tool of resilience, a humour based in the knowledge that life can be terrible and hilarious all at once.
A little daily laughter is important to wellbeing, as a wise man once said: “Seven days without laughter makes one weak.”