Solutions Collection 1 Friendship Worksheet 1.4 Coca-Cola ‘Friendly Twist Marketing Campaign’ (Textbook: P

Home , Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, Roddy Doyle

Solutions Collection 1 Friendship Worksheet 1.4 Coca-Cola ‘Friendly Twist Marketing Campaign’ (textbook: p. 13; TRB: p. 7) First day of college Coca-Cola presents: A day when talks and interactions are reduced to zero. The Friendly Twist So we thought of something special to make freshmen bond. A cap that can’t be opened An exercise to break the ice Until you match it with another one. And make them start talking. Open a Coke. A Coke bottle like any other, Open a new friendship. But with a little twist. Coca-Cola – Open Happiness. Booker Prize (p. 17) Irish authors who have won the Booker Prize for Fiction Iris Murdoch, The Sea, the Sea (1978) Roddy Doyle, Paddy Clarke, Ha Ha Ha (1993) John Banville, The Sea (2005) Anne Enright, The Gathering (2007) Shortlisted authors of the Booker Prize for Fiction Iris Murdoch, The Nice and the Good (1969) Roddy Doyle, The Van (1991) William Trevor, Mrs Eckdorf in O’Neill’s Hotel (1970) Patrick McCabe, The Butcher Boy (1992) Iris Murdoch, Bruno’s Dream (1970) Seamus Deane, Reading in the Dark (1996) Thomas Kilroy, The Big Chapel (1971) Bernard MacLaverty, Grace Notes (1997) Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince (1973) Patrick McCabe, Breakfast on Pluto (1998) William Trevor, The Children of Dynmouth (1976) Colm Tóibín, The Blackwater Lightship (1999) Julia O’Faolain, No Country for Young Men (1980) Michael Collins, The Keepers of Truth (2000) Iris Murdoch, The Good Apprentice (1985) William Trevor, The Story of Lucy Gault (2002) Brian Moore, The Colour of Blood (1987) Colm Tóibín, The Master (2004) Iris Murdoch, The Book and the Brotherhood (1987) Sebastian Barry, A Long Long Way (2005) John Banville, The Book of Evidence (1989) Sebastian Barry, The Secret Scripture (2008) John McGahern, Amongst Women (1990) Emma Donoghue, Room (2010) Brian Moore, Lies of Silence (1990) Colm Tóibín, The Testament of Mary (2013) William Trevor, Reading Turgenev (1991) (This list includes winners and those who made the shortlist. Other Irish authors, such as Donal Ryan, made it to the longlist.)

Worksheet 1.7 ‘Picturing the Past’ (textbook: p. 39; TRB: p. 10) The photograph was taken in the summer of 1956. It shows children in a suburban garden holding hands, encircling a girl whose birthday it was, all wearing pretty party frocks, beaming up at the camera. Over forty years later I still have my copy of that picture, and I’m still friends with Beverly the birthday girl. That photograph captures for me the essence of my growing up in Dublin in the fifties. For so many, that time meant poverty and despair, repression and ignorance. But my photograph reflects a different image; we were part of a new prosperous Ireland, offspring of professional and commercial people who owned their mortgaged houses, drove cars and sent their children to nice schools. But more importantly, the photograph is significant because it encapsulates another aspect of the Ireland I grew up in. Of the ten little girls in the picture, three were Jewish, two were Protestant and the five others Catholics. We went to different schools and churches and learned the ethos of our separate religious identities, but we came home and played in each other’s gardens. While we were conscious of our differences, they rarely impinged on our friendships, having no more bearing than being on opposing teams for a game of tag. © Gill Education SOLUTIONSD133 Except for one potentially combustible occasion. On a summer’s day, shortly before her birthday, Beverly was taking me and another friend, Maura, to the Macabi Club, a Jewish sports and social club near the Kimmage Cross Roads. I had been to the club before, but it was Maura’s first visit and she felt a little apprehensive about entering a Jewish enclave. For some reason she chose that moment to tell Beverly that the Jews had murdered Jesus. Beverly hotly retorted that Jesus himself was a Jew, and besides he wasn’t the Messiah, just a prophet and a holy man. This piece of blasphemy staggered Maura, especially as we were passing the Holy Ghost Fathers at the time. ‘Jews are doomed to eternal damnation in the fires of hell for not believing in our Lord,’ Maura solemnly warned. Then, looking at me, added in equally regretful tones, ‘So are Protestants for not believing in Our Lady.’ That led to a good old, stand up ecclesiastical knockabout that involved a bit of hair-pulling and a kick on someone’s shin. An adult cycling by ordered us to behave ourselves and the holy war ceased abruptly. In festering silence, we crossed the Kimmage Road and were about to enter the club grounds when Beverly pulled off a theological masterstroke. ‘Catholics aren’t allowed in here,’ she announced, as Maura’s jaw dropped open, ‘but Protestants are,’ she added triumphantly, grabbing my arm and hauling me off towards the clubhouse. Maura’s eyes were brimming with tears as we left her standing outside the gate, thirsting after the promised lemonade. There was no intentional sectarianism, just words and attitudes that had filtered down from the grown-up world, a world we would one day inherit ourselves. It took a week and a packet of Matzo biscuits to patch up that row, but we were pals again in time for the birthday party that was to be captured in a photograph for all time.