Fortnight Publications Ltd.

Nativity StoreyAuthor(s): Mark StoreySource: Fortnight, No. 30 (Dec. 15, 1971), pp. 9-10Published by: Fortnight Publications Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25543852 .

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FORTNIGHT 9

Shock Treatment

Martyn Ttorner

During the third week in October

Fortnight received, a letter which stated

that the power station at Ballylumford was

operating at one third of its capacity and

the the government wasn't telling

anyone about it and its inevitable

consequence - that there would be power

cuts this winter. We receive a fair amount

of information like this in our post. A lot

of it is, regrettably, such that it cannot be

checked, or verified, and therefore not

suitable for publication. The information

regarding Ballylumford was different,

however, as a detailed examination of Northern Ireland's electricity supply was

available from the Marsh Report. It was

clear from the figures within the report that any problem with supply from

Ballylumford would put the whole system in jeapardy. In the course of checking the

story we received confirmation from two

of the local papers that they had been told

that Ballylumford was in trouble and

that there was likely to be supply failure at

some time in the winter. They also, added

that the local papers were unwilling to

publish the story because, firstly, they didn't want the responsibility of increasing I.R.A. attacks on power stations and,

secondly, because publication of the story would do nothing more than give the

I.R.A. the satisfaction of knowing that their campaign

was meeting with success.

The arguments for publication centred around the theme that to be forewarned is to be fore armed.

Industry had already been given warning with the introduction of the government grants for standby generating.

No one had bothered to tell smaller industrial concerns, agricultural

enterprises or the private consumer. Many small enterprises, for example the rearing of day old chicks, are dependant upon a continuous power supply. With warning the domestic user, would be able to lessen the blow by getting in alternative sources

of lighting and heating for use in the event of an electricity break-down.

Following the appearance of the article 'In The Dark' in the issue of Friday 12th

November not one of the papers took up out point about the liklihood of cuts

despite the fact that the publication of the affair meant a lessening of their fear of having the responsibility of increasing I.R.A. sabotage. The only people who become interested in the story were the B.B.C. On Monday following the appearance of Fortnight the B.B.C. phoned to say they wished to do an item

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about the electricity situation. While this conversation was going on another could

be heard in the background, with the E.B.N.I. at the other end. The outcome

was that the E.B.N.I. said they hadn't read the article and would not comment until they had. A provisional scheme to record a 'confrontation' between Fortnight and the E.B.N.I. on the same evening

was thus postponed to give the E.B.N.I. time to study the text of 'In The Dark'.

In order to add a little more weight to our argument we spent the time doing

more checking on the story. Contact with three people produced three direct hits.

One person at present engaged on work at

Ballylumford, confirmed that there was a dire shortage of supply, but refused to say

more. An electrical engineer engaged

upon research at present said that one of the many problems was that after the outer casings of the damages boilers were

repaired it was discovered that the

damage was greater than at first feared.

Hairline fractures had been discovered in both the concrete and metal casings of the boilers. This meant that work had to start from the beginning again. Our third source said he thought everyone know about Ballylumford (!) and that the imminence of power cuts was common

knowledge. The B.B.C. did not contact us again.

The E.B.N.I., we learnt later, had said

that the matter was nothing to do with them and no other official agency was

willing to comment.

In the light of Mr. Faulkner's recent declarations about allowing the press to

print the whole truth etc. etc. this makes dismal reading. Nothing one can actually pin point but seemingly all along the line a

high degree of self censorship by the local news media. This is the second major case that had received no publicity at the time it most mattered. The water shortage was

inevitable as from June, yet no efforts to conserve resources or warn the public was

made until many months later when drastic rationing was imposed.

Since our article was published three

developments have taken place. On the debit side the Government has introduced

legislation to be given emergency powers in the event of any sort of supply failure of

essential services. Not concrete evidence but a little more smoke to go with the

generator grants scheme. On the credit side. . . we have had some quite harsh

weather conditions in the past two weeks. Conditions which often lead to over use of the power supplies, icy mornings and in

evenings. The electricity supply managed to survive these and this may be some slender hope that we will survive the

winter. Further the E.B.N.I. announced

that as there was less electricity being used at present they were going to raise the prices. If the drop in consumption is such as to guarantee continual supply throughout the winter then, for once, this

price rise must be welcomed.

Nativity

Storey Mark Storey

In this traditionally festive season,

thoughts turn to children and especially to the problems of childbirth ....

Having a baby in Ulster is a woman's

job; according to belief, the man is either an uninteresting, not particularly interested, partner to a pretty frequent

occurence, or is he is a disgusting irrelevance. Certainly when you bring

your ripe and fruitful womankind to the hospital, you might, more often than

not, just as well be dumping the dirty laundry. No time for fond farewells, and

strict segregation (sexual) in these lifts that whish the hapless females up into the skies of the top floor; husbands are instructed to 'wait here for the case'. Sure

enough, five minutes later, down CQmes the case, and you're sent off briskly, like a

naughty boy caught in flagrante delicto. They're a bit put out when you say you want to be there when it happens. Uood heavens, man, what will you suggest next. The usual formulae are trundled out with some pride: of yes, we're an efficient lot

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10 WEDNESDAY, 15th DECEMBER, 1971

here, you know. You've got to have your doctor's permission (and if I have my way you're not going to get it, says that rather assualted look. For goodness sake woman, I don't want to watch your baby popping out). Ah, but it's got to be in writing, in advance. A good ploy this : make sure the

game's nearly over, and then tell them the rules. If it's not in writing you're on a

sticky wicket. The only thing to do is to stand firm and resolute. Yes, he knows all about it, its been talked over (and how), he dosen't mind a bit (if I'm fool enough to want to be in at the kill). No, I haven't

got his written permission, I'm sorry, I shan't make the same mistake again

heavens, what am I saying?). I just want to be there when the baby's born (if you'll pardon the phrase). Compassion wins the

day. Come back in an hour and a half's

time; nothing can happen before then (you bet it can't don't you people ever learn:

I tlBgj) 1 the place is rife with rumours of babies

born on the floor and on the ward beds, with everyone miles away tra la).

Sure enough, upon returning to said

establishment, things are beginning to

happen. In no time at all it's all over; the

poor mite emerges, looking a bit the worse

for wear, and do you wonder with that big fellow yanking and tugging at him.

Another job finished, you can take your mask and boots off now (my word,

though, they do make you look rather

dashing). A quick look at the little

monster and he's carted off; no nice cup of

tea to revive man and wife after the

ordeal. Just wait for your grub, there'll be

some before night fall. Big deal. The good news is hearalded abroad (yes

another another boy; you mean you didn't know she was pregnant yes, I was there,

ring-side seat), euphoria subsidies and

implications impinge on your dulled brain.

Visiting is allowed, but only just. It tends

to be in the evening (husbands only) and

is rather a macabre ritual. It's almost fatal

to go in the daytime, unless you're cleric in which case you have free run of the place, and only the filthy habit of

breast-feeding can deter proselytising zeal. At night the poor unfortunates with their burdens of responsibility lurk, smoking, at at the corner, waiting for the magic hour when the door will open; they clutch at

selophaned flowers and fruit, chocolates,

magazines, all the flotsam and jetsam of a world they have just enlarged. Once in, it's a rather doleful stampede; the

respective womenfolk are either propped up in bed, or flitting around lightheadedlv, or dozing against the muddled blare of the

television, eyeing resentfully those blessed with a visit. Curtains are quickly drawn round the lucky ones, the presents offered and accepted and opened and munched and crunched, the wretched, frustrated

men getting in a quick slobber before the bell goes and hot chocolate comes round for the inmates. The infant screams in its cot. Oh, that's ours; it usually is.

After a week or so, you go and fetch the

laundry, now nicely cleaned up. But if

you're misguided, you proceed to claim

your Maternity Grant. This would be

quite amusing if you didn't actually want the money. The problems come when for some reason or other you need to make up

contributions. You fill in the forms and send them off. Back comes a letter telling you to write somewhere else. You do so,

and back comes a reply telling you to write to where you first wrote. You ring up, and are eventually told what to do; go to the nice little place in Fredrick Street behind the Co-op, and hand over the necessary stamps class 3. All will be well .

Said place is calculated to induce despair; if they have any money, which looks

doubtful, its unlikely that they're going to

part with it without a struggle. There is a

snag. You need written approval from the

people who told you to go there. But they told me to come here, and never said

anything about a letter. Ah, well, you need a letter. Of course, you could stick the

stamps of that card you've got there. But it wouldn't do you much good. You see

(the plot thickens, constructioning obstacles), you see, Class 3 stamps, which

you've paid through the nose for, won't

do; you can only make up the

contributions with Class 1 stamps. And since you were not employed in that in that period, that would be illegal; in

addition, the cost (exorbitant) would

outweigh the advantages of the grant, and

you'd be running the risk of arrest as well Ho ho ho what a joker this fellow is.

Dejected you write to the head office

again, explaining all. No reply. You write

again. No reply. Time is running out. You

ring up, and are told that you and your wife don't exist. However, we'll see what

can be done. Then, out of the blue, the

money comes in the post from Newcastle on Tyne. You can get back to the nappies. The Min. of Health and Soc. Sec. loves

you after all.

SIDELIMES

Good

Newes

The papers and the media are always under attack these days for providing an undiluted diet of gloom and despondency It is not all their fault, of course. No-one has yet suggested that the Irish News or the Belfast Newsletter has moved from

simple distortion of the news to actually arranging for things to happen the way they want them to. But the critics have a

point. A lot of the news could be

presented in a more cheerful way. Like this perhaps: 'Last week's visit by the

Minister of State, Dr. Newe, to Newry was considerabl e success. Three quarters of those involved enjoyed a splendid

Turkey Dinner in the Hotel Ballroom, leaving only a small minority protesting

outside in the rain. And some of those were observed to make off for a quiet drink as the evening progressed. A fine time was had by all! Or this perhaps: 'During the month of November almost

half a million Ulster men and women kept at their jobs; a mere 40,000 were out of

work. This was less than half the adjusted figure for the Republic of 94,000 (including underemployed farm workers). It all depends how you put things, doesn't it? Or does it?

For the past six months the Ministry of Defence have been denying the presence

in Northern Ireland of the SAS, described

by some observers as the british

equivalent of the Green Berets. Reports of their activities within Northern Ireland,

especially with regard to special interrogation techniques at Holywood

Barracks, have been published from time to time. A small but steady flow of informationon the techniques and

personnel of the SAS has appeared in the

following journals; Irish Press, Private

Eye, Sunday News, Hiberia and the Irish Times. Nevertheless despite these reports they, officially, are not operating in

Belfast. So where are they not housed when they're not doing what they don't do in the Palace Barracks? No one, of course,

knows, how can they since they aren't here. Visitors to the Northern Ireland Tourist Board offices in River House, High Street, however, are advised to make sure they go into the proper offices. A visit

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