Caught by the River spent 2023 sentencing writers and artists to time in a tower in a far corner of these islands. A year to the day, eighth Curfew Tower inmate Lally MacBeth shares notes and observations from beside the gorse-loaded range of Johnny Joe’s Pub.
Letter 2
Johnny Joe’s Pub, 26th October, 19.35
We have decamped to the pub. Luckily, we arrived early and two seats are free by the range in the back room. There is a thick layer of coffee-coloured enamel paint all the way around the range and above are two Staffordshire dogs on a shelf, and a photograph of an anonymous man (we later find out that he used to sit in the chair below and sing). We sit in the seats. I gaze at the tiled floor. Hundreds of green, brown and beige hexagons. I gaze at the wallpapered walls. A swirly mass of gold leaves and powder-blue pomegranates. Above is a frieze of another wallpaper featuring different seasons, each represented by a human in an elaborate 18th century costume. We talk to the landlord Shaun who tells us there’s music on a Friday and Saturday. At some point a man called Alec joins us and sits on one of the wooden chairs across from us. He runs the B&B across the road. There’s a quiz happening in the back room and people gradually pile in for it.
‘They don’t always welcome newcomers but they don’t mind them either’.
There’s a couple from England via Glasgow who sit with us in the back room for a while. They order an expensive whiskey and don’t drink it. They’re visiting a university friend who is getting married in Antrim tomorrow.
I can see scampi fries and bacon frazzles through the serving hatch.
Later on, two women join us and we strike up a conversation. They’re intrigued by why we’re here and what we’re doing in The Tower. One of them lives away now but is back for a few days.
This is the warmest I’ve been in days. Shaun keeps loading the range with gorse. It burns quickly and makes the room sweltering. When we tell him we bought logs from the Eurospar he chuckles and informs us we can get much cheaper fuel at the hardware shop across the road.
Another Guinness. Another Baileys. It’s hard to leave this warm enclave that we’ve found ourselves in.
‘I’m as well as can be expected’.
