Drive-in, Ulster style

Much of Northern Ireland is steeped in religion, as you probably know.  There's a long tradition of evangelical preaching across our little land.  Not so many years ago if you ventured into town on a Saturday, as almost everyone did in those days, your ears would be blasted by the Pavement Preachers, complete with mic and speaker, who would regale you with dire predictions of what would happen if you didn't repent your sins and turn to God.  These (predominately) old guys would literally be queuing up to take their turn on the mic and often they would work themselves up into a lather once they got going.  Perhaps there was some sort of competition going on that I wasn't aware of...

That seems to have stopped in recent times but replaced from time to time with 'healers' who invite you to sit (in the middle of the town, in full view of everyone) and 'have the hands laid on you'.  I try not to be too sceptical but there seems to be a disproportionally large number of healers for our little community.

This particular drive-in snapped below lies between Portstewart and Portrush - in fact, it's the location of the start/pit area of the North West 200 motorcycle races.  The other 11 months of the year it's just an unused park so I guess it's ideal for this sort of thing:

Drive-in, Portrush, 2021.  HP5+ on Ilford Classic fibre paper.

I don't know how well this event is attended, but I suspect it's pretty popular - maybe more than ever in these times of shielding.  Certainly the bigger churches in the area seem to do a roaring trade on a Sunday.  Perhaps I'll have a wee drive-past myself this Sunday afternoon...

When I was young my father sang in the Church Choir so that meant that we all went to Church on a Sunday - well, up until we hit the teenage years, when it was left up to us whether or not we wanted to go.  Most times we elected not to - my overriding memory of the minister we had was not a favourable one.  He was nearing retirement and the sermons were long, very long and very boring for a young boy.  A Presbyterian Church Service in the 1970s in Northern Ireland was a very rigid thing - there was a traditional way of doing things and that never changed...there would be lots of singing (which my dad liked but I was tone deaf and couldn't hold a note if you paid me), a bit of praying, one short sermon and then the main event - a long sermon.  If you were very young you would escape the long sermon and exit with the other kids through a door in the back of the Church to a Sunday School, which was a bit more relaxed but when you hit a certain age you were expected to sit with your parents and listen attently.  The main sermon was, well, long and held nothing of interest to me.  Looking back, from what I can remember, there was little attempt to make it interesting - it would consist of readings from various parts of the New Testament and then a very literal interpretation of the words.  The Minister never strayed too far from the text - repetition seemed to be key and there was no attempt made to put the words into any sort of historical context or bring any other writers or thinkers into the sermon - it was the Word of God, every week.  And in those days everyone knew everyone else in the town and appearances had to be kept up, so everyone had on their Sunday Best and dutifully went along with the whole thing without question.

So there were a few years in my early teens I was very glad not to have to go to Church, although my father still donned his blazer and tie and sang in the Choir.  I don't know what took me back but when I hit about 16 or 17 I decided to get Confirmed.  I suspect Dad had a part to play in that decision (not Mum, who by then had given up on the whole Church Thing) but I don't remember being coerced into anything - I genuinely wanted to do it.   There wasn't much to the whole thing as I remember it - yes there were classes to go to and then an interview with the Minister where you had to formally accept Christ into your heart and life.  Then the following Sunday your name (along with any others engaged in the same process) was read out in Church and the elders formally welcomed you, shook your hand.  And that was pretty much that.  Shortly after that I left Northern Ireland for University in the South of England.  I remember going once or maybe twice to the Campus Church but there were too many other distractions and I very quickly lost my new-found faith.