That is obviously a photo of my late grandfather headed home, after a night at the pub in Ballyclagh, to his house at Croughta.

It happened in 1954, while my brother and I were staying with the grandparents for the summer.

As grandad was riding his bike (as usual, without lights) down the pitch black Croughta road, he saw the lights of two cyclists bumping and bouncing along in the other direction.

I should point out that he had a weird sense of humour, plus a considerable load of the falling down water, and the two conspired to make him believe it would be incredibly funny to scare the bejeezis out of these two by riding at top speed between them, the while yelling his head off.

The other two were indeed seriously startled, when there was a loud thump, an agonised shriek, and my grandfather shot over the top of their car, which they had been bouncing in an attemopt to free a jammed starter.

When the gravel rash had subsided, after about a month, he saw the funny side of it, but from then to his death in the seventies, he WALKED home from the pub.



Don T.