Jackie McGregor: ​Vintage Easters: The stairway to heaven and a thieving elephant

On Easter Sunday, my parents and I, and seemingly most of the population of Northern Ireland, would make the pilgrimage up the Cavehill to the zoo, to visit the animals and more importantly, roll our hard-boiled eggs.

I had no idea then why we carried out this practice, but its tradition was a symbolic reenactment. The rolling of the egg represents the rolling away of the stone from Christ’s tomb, and the cracking open symbolises his Resurrection.

Against the backdrop of the Troubles, Easter Sunday at the zoo felt like sanctuary. The sight of the police in their RUC uniforms, manning city-centre checkpoints like Royal Avenue, was usually accompanied with a feeling of tension. However, seeing them standing on the Antrim Road outside the zoo entrance felt exciting, because this time, they were directing us towards a whole lot of fun.

My father wouldn’t take the car because of the customary zoo-bound traffic jams. We lived off the Antrim Road then, so it wasn’t far. Then came the immense feeling of excitement standing at the bottom of the Bellevue Steps, approximately 130 of them. To a child, it felt like climbing a stairway to heaven.

When the new zoo was developed in the late 1970s, the entrance was moved up the road, bypassing the original grand stone staircase.

The Floral Hall was where we would launch our eggs, where there was a deceptively steep slope. I wouldn’t just throw the egg; I would hurl myself after it, doing a human roll in pursuit.

I’d hear my mother’s voice fade into the distance as she yelled for me to come back. I can recall vividly the feeling of speed and excitement as I steamed down the hill.

I’d resurface with a dizzy head and grass stains on my Sunday best. It felt such an adventure during those troubles-soaked days.

Next, it was off to see Tina. She was a rascal - a kleptomaniac by all accounts, known for reaching down over her enclosure and swiping people’s hats, handbags, umbrellas, pokes – anything she could get her trunk on.

She became famed as the “elephant who took down the BBC” when she reached over her compound wall, dragged their broadcasting cables into her enclosure and munched through them.

Tina wasn’t just an animal; she was Queen of Bellevue. In the old zoo layout, crowds would huddle around her enclosure creating an electric atmosphere as she held court.

The Bellevue Steps where I once walked hand-in-hand with my parents, are overgrown now.

The Floral Hall lies sleeping in its faded Art Deco beauty, possibly dreaming of those countless happy children who rolled their eggs, and themselves, past its walls - a silent monument to bygone days.

Tina packed her trunk and took off for that great elephant haven in the sky, perhaps to thieve from the angels.

As for us Northern Irish kids of the 1970s, we carry those simpler days in our hearts. We found our joy where we could and proudly celebrated the meaning of Easter.

I treasure that lovely springtime of my life, back when hills were so much easier to climb.