North Antrim: A political fairy tale

Since time immemorial, his people had thrown their support behind the Lord’s dynasty, ensuring years of hereditary rule. But trouble was stirring in the land and the great Lord, who had grown complacent in his position, made a series of judgements which brought fear to his subjects. Down through the years, the Lord’s ancestors had pledged themselves to the will of the people and in turn, the people had shown faith in the dynasty.

Alas, when the Lord sought to make friends with the tribe which his people feared most, whisperings of dissent and rebellion began to circulate amongst his advisors and men-at-arms.

“Who shall save us from this foolish Lord,” cried the people.

In the marketplaces and the taverns, the tumult grew until one day a stern, bull voiced champion appeared and rallied the disaffected with a cry of ‘no surrender’.

And, lo, the people flocked to his flag and more allied themselves to his banner when he marched through the countryside. Thus the Lord’s dynasty fell and his name was no longer spoken.

For many years the land was tranquil. The people worshipped their new Lord and he had no rivals to his throne. He was proud of his fearsome reputation and ridiculed neighbouring rulers for their lack of spirit and endeavour.

These qualities bonded to him a band of like-minded spirits who vowed to follow the new Lord wherever he would go and they adopted for their slogan the mantra ‘never, never, never’.

But as the years passed, the new Lord decided that the time of strife and enmity must come to an end. Like his ill-fated predecessor, he met with the people’s sworn enemies and concluded a treaty. Some amongst his subjects, weary of the struggle against all and sundry, kept faith with their Lord.

Others, those who had most loyally served the Lord in times of danger and trouble, were sore afraid. And their fears heightened as they witnessed their once strong leader laugh and joke with the enemies of the people, and many were broken of heart.

In the marketplaces and taverns, the tumult grew until one day a stern, hard voiced champion appeared and rallied the disaffected with a cry of ‘no surrender’ ….

As the days passed, the Lord’s men-at-arms slipped away and joined the camp of the confident champion. They harkened to the traditional views he expressed and cast aside their old allegiances to the Lord, now pledging themselves to his downfall.

But the Lord had grown old and weary of the machinations of power. On the eve of a great battle, he abdicated the throne in favour of his son, telling him he must do battle with the growing host of the young champion.

The land was filled with confusion and the scribes and prophets had not eyes to see the future.

And they all lived happily ever after (when the count was over).

Yours etc.,

‘Seasoned Campaigner’name and address supplied).