Green Races Red. Maurice Hamilton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ then, and it makes sense now. If you live in Northern Ireland and you are not Irish, then what are you? Saying you are British is not the answer. The front of the ‘British’ passport says ‘The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland’. Strictly speaking, people from the north of Ireland are part of the UK. A number say they are British and hold allegiance to The Queen but – and this is just my personal opinion – The Queen is only a figure head, someone who mainly attracts tourists. And you have to say that she does not bring many visitors to Northern Ireland. I agree with having a Queen but I think the rest of the Royal family and the hangers-on are nothing more than a total waste of money.

      I would class myself as Irish in the same way that David Coulthard says he is Scottish. A Scotsman doesn’t necessarily say he’s British even though, in the strictest sense, he has more right to make that claim than someone from Northern Ireland.

      Obviously there has been a lot of talk over the years about Northern Ireland losing its links with Great Britain. I’ve heard it said in the North that the people from the South want to come along and take over Northern Ireland because it’s ‘a great little country with a great little economy’.

      They must be joking. Northern Ireland is a wonderful place but, when you look at the infrastructure, you can see there’s not a lot going for it. The main industries are heavily subsidised by the British government; we produce very little off our own bat that is financially viable in a big way. If Northern Ireland lost its links with Britain, it would be an economic disaster. The Republic of Ireland has a forward thinking, young government. But it couldn’t cope with the financial burden which would come with the North if we were to have a totally united Ireland. There has got to be some sort of compromise and I’m sure one could be worked out if intelligent, logical people were allowed to get on with it.

      In my opinion the younger generation, North and South, are not really bothered about this old fashioned dogma about keeping the two sides apart. I am convinced that if there was better cross-border transport communication – a much-improved train or bus service, for instance – then the flow back and forth would help to heal the divide. Young people are not into the politics. They simply want to live their lives on both sides of the border and better communications would help them do that and strengthen the bond as a matter of course. I should stress that this is a personal opinion, although I would like to think that I am not alone in my views.

      The trouble is, people on both sides of the border are hamstrung by minorities living in the past. I find the Reverend Ian Paisley a total embarrassment, a man who has set the Unionist cause back a hundred years. When we went to Argentina for the Grand Prix, I was with some friends when the television news showed Orangemen (Protestants) having a punch-up in Belfast. They wanted to walk down a certain road and the police wouldn’t let them because it would inflame the situation in a sensitive area where Catholics lived. They were shouting and screaming, intent on causing aggravation on the pretext that they had walked down the road for donkey’s years, so why should they change now. My friends wanted to know what the trouble was all about. I said: ‘Don’t even ask, it’s just too difficult to explain. You wouldn’t believe it possible of grown men.’

      I have to admit I was put on a bit of a spot when I came into Formula 1 and certain assumptions were made about the orange and green on my crash helmet. I had started out with a plain white helmet but I was advised early in my career to make it more distinctive. I chose orange because it stood out. Okay, it was a coincidence that there was the orange connection with Northern Ireland, but there was no political statement involved whatsoever. If the Orangemen’s colour had been purple, there would not have been purple on the helmet. I wanted a bright colour. Yellow had been taken by someone else. So I chose orange.

      The original markings along the side made the helmet looked similar to Ayrton Senna’s; it was assumed I was modelling myself on him. In fact, the shade of orange I used at first made the helmet look yellow in photographs. I changed it to a richer shade of orange and then added the green stripes, just to make a point about the Irish connection and the orange not being a political statement.

      I have to admit I played on it a bit when asked. I would make comments about the religious divisions in Northern Ireland and journalists didn’t know how to take it. This is obviously a serious subject and they weren’t sure whether or not I was joking; they didn’t want to cause offence over a matter which, sadly, is life and death for some people on both sides of the Irish border.

      The fact is that I that I haven’t been to church since I was old enough to avoid going to Sunday School. And I have no intention of going to church now because, in Ireland, religion creates so much aggravation. My parents and my grandparents were not churchgoers even though, in Northern Ireland, the majority of the community attended church. The numbers have dropped in recent years but, even so, church attendance in Northern Ireland remains much higher than in most parts of the United Kingdom.

      I don’t have strong feelings either way. I think you are either good or you are bad. I don’t know which is right and which is wrong. There may be a lot of people who are right but, on the other hand, there seems to be a tremendous number who are wrong. Who’s to say which is correct? Is it right to say that anyone living in the jungle, because of their lack of knowledge of religion as we know it, will automatically go to hell? What kind of logic is that? But then, the way things have been with the situation in Northern Ireland during the past twenty-five years, it’s not for me to talk about logic!

      I was actually acting a bit stupid myself during the few days I had off between the Australian Grand Prix and the next race in Brazil. I decided to have a go at sorting out the back garden of my house in Dublin. I went at it like a bull in a china shop and ended up hurting my shoulder, which was a silly thing to do. My house is in Dalkey, a very nice area just south of Dublin. The garden covers about half an acre and the guy who had the house before me cut down a number of trees in order to improve the view across Killiney Bay. I was to discover that he had trouble with the neighbours; the police had been called in to try and stop him and I only wish they had succeeded. I would prefer to look at trees rather than the water; I can walk to the bottom of the garden any time I feel like a view of the Irish Sea. Now, after this man’s over-enthusiasm with a saw, the garden had been left in a right mess. There were bits of tree everywhere. I had to chop them up and drag them out of the garden. I like doing that sort of thing; it makes you feel as if you are achieving something instead of going round in circles all your life.

      I don’t want to create the impression that I like manicured lawns and neat gardens; quite the opposite, in fact. Given the choice, I would prefer a forest. I like to let it grow and forget about it. But, before I could leave the place to its own devices, I had to drag the felled trees out of the way. That’s when I hurt my shoulder; as a result, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the overnight flight to South America.

      In fact, it was great. British Airways had seats in First Class which folded into beds. I find it very difficult to sleep on my back but this meant I was able to lie on my front. It was fantastic. I didn’t have dinner on the flight; just a small snack, which I much prefer. Then, head down, off to sleep, no problem at all. I woke up with half an hour to go before landing in Brazil.

      It was living in the lap of luxury; a complete contrast to what greets you on arrival in Sao Paulo. It amazes me how the Brazilians can be such happy people while living under such terrible conditions. Looking at it logically, if you weren’t an optimistic, easy-going person, you couldn’t live the way they do. I like Brazilians; they’re good fun. But I certainly don’t like Sao Paulo. The river that runs alongside the road from the airport is a rich brown colour. It’s probably not as bad as it looks because there are birds catching fish, so the water must be able to support life. But I wouldn’t like to go for a swim in it.

      I don’t feel comfortable being in Brazil. When you think about the money people earn from Grand Prix racing, it is put in perspective when you see the way so many hundreds of thousands have to live Sao СКАЧАТЬ