The Kettle's Boyled: Waving red and green rags at bulls

We always had a bull when I was growing up, each successive one called ‘Sam’ for some reason. I found out early on that bulls were dangerous unless they were handled carefully. I learned how to use the bull-ringer to punch a hole in the animal’s nasal septum, and how to insert the copper nose ring that allowed even a small child to handle a massive animal safely. Their noses are highly sensitive, and if you are holding their nose-ring they will do exactly as they are told.

One of our Sams hated our neighbour’s bull, and indeed the feeling was mutual. They spent a lot of time roaring at each other across the lane and two hedges that separated them, but that was mostly bluff. However, their bull broke through that border one day and a war started. It’s a sight to see, two bulls fighting; they charged at each other repeatedly, and the dull sound of their broad foreheads thudding together could be heard for half a mile. Their hooves had ploughed up an acre of ground from a battle that would not end until one of them died or surrendered. My father grabbed two pitchforks and told me to come with him. No explanation was ever given on these missions, you just did as you were told.

At the edge of the field I was told take off my jacket, it was flapping about and might spook the bulls. I was ordered to wait while he approached the invader and took control of him by inserting a prong of the pitchfork through his nose-ring, and he shouted at me to do the same with Sam. I entered the arena, scared out of my wits but more scared of my father, and I duly stabbed at Sam until I scored a hit on his ring and moved him away from his opponent. Peace was restored.

I held Sam while the other bull was taken back to his own field, then my father returned and we brought Sam to his shed. That was when I learned bulls are not spooked by the proverbial red rag, simply because they are colour blind, and any kind of fluttering cloth will do the trick. You learn something every day.

I was reminded of that episode recently when politicians started rabbiting on about imminent Irish unity and border polls, a bit of spin that was nothing more than a deflection from an abysmal electoral showing by one of their parties. The imminent marching season for the main sectarian parties in Northern Ireland is just like bulls roaring at each other across a hedge, and it gets worse when the pieces of coloured cloth are taken out and fluttered about.