We should hae mind o Macassey for twa o his notions: the yin was a thraveless whigmaleerie, but a baul yin an croose. He had taen the notion for tae big a brig atween Ulster an Scotlan. A kin o suspended tunnel tae pend the North Channel, Beaufort's Dyke ana. He thoucht tae cleek thegither twa countries baith forenent an throuither in folk an tongue. A brig tae bate Finn McCool nae less - a quare notion richt eneuch.
Noo thon brig wasnae biggit ava, but anither o his notions was, an stauns yet tae this day. They caa it "The Silent Valley" reservoir.
Think o him danderin aboot Victorian Belfast, an Empire's siller plooterin in. Doonby the Lagan he stops an keeks doon intae the clarry water, snootcloot owre his neb tae fend aff the reek. He taks a quare scunner as he keeks at the shite an smells the stroan. Doon a close a puckle o cloots shifts an an airch o boke skites owre his shoon. Typhus.
Later he stauns in a valley, clabber sooks at his shoon an birdsang japs fae the trees. The Mournes birl roond his heid. A skifter skites owre the moontains forenent an a watergaw swuthers in the sky. He kens this is the place tae big a reservoir for tae gie Belfast an mony ither toons in Ulster the water they need tae redd oot the disease.
It taks a quare fella tae even dwam o cleekin thegither twa countries. An it taks forby, a quare fella tae redd the birdsang fae a valley an mak it wheest, tae culf up a burn, tae mak a reservoir, an tae gar the callar water babble intae a clarty city.
Sae tak the tumbler in your haun, prie it, an whan you dae, hae min o the baul Macassey.
