Latest book from authoritative Ulster-Scots author

"The Man Frae the Ministry", the third novel of a trilogy of Ulster-Scots chronicles by Dr Philip Robinson, has just been published by the Ullans Press.

 Philip, originally from East Antrim but "leevin in Greba (Greyabbey, Co. Down) this twunty year", is well known in the Ulster-Scots world for authoritative works on Ulster-Scots grammar and literature, and  through his language classes at Ballyboley.

 He is currently serving as chairman of the Ulster-Scots Academy Implementation Group, is a founder member of the Ulster-Scots Language Society and a former Board member of the Ulster-Scots Agency.

 Philip explains the storyline behind the new novel and how it fits in with his other two novels, "Wake the Tribe o Dan" and "The Back Streets o the Claw".

 We also carry an extract from the new book, courtesy of the author.

 1. Tell us about the concept behind your new novel "The Man frae the Ministry"?
I wanted to take the setting as both an insider and an outsider description of life in an Ulster-Scots community Ð the "top-down" and the "bottom-up" view. Usually, this type of novel gives the "insider" perspective only, and so the reader gets a sense of what being an Ulster-Scot is all about simply by feeling part of the story. However, from the outside "academic" or "government" point of view, the Ulster-Scots phenomenon can seem a very different thing. Me? Well I have been at both ends of the pipe, and this is what made the idea of combining both views in a single story exciting and interesting. So, naturally, the twists and turns of the tale are largely about how these two worlds misunderstand (and sometimes dismiss) each other.

2. Why is it set in Canada and not, say, Ballymena?
Well, I hope folk don't twig that it is mostly set in a fictional overseas Ulster-Scots community until well into the book. There are, however, connections with the (also fictional) communities back home as portrayed in the two earlier novels. I enjoyed the "pun" of playing with the "other" community as "Gallic" - that is, French-speaking Canadians, but the real reason for the overseas connection was that I wanted to explore the whole "diaspora" or emigration dimension of our history.

3. It's the third in the trilogy of novels from you - what about the other two?
If the third one has the theme of the world-wide scattering of the Ulster-Scots - the diaspora - then the first and second cover two more basic themes. "Wake the Tribe o Dan", the first, was set in an idealised (and somewhat zany) rural community. "The Back Streets of the Claw", as the name suggests, then moved on to deal with the urban Ulster-Scots character - through the story's setting in the city of Bigganreek (which is, of course, obviously Belfast).

4. How much of your own personality and experiences are in the novels?
It is almost entirely based on my own life experience. I can't see any other way of writing, unless it isn't coming from the heart. Mind, although many of the characters and events are loosely based on real people and experiences, these don't appear as individuals in a one-for-one way. And that applies to myself too.

5. How is the Ulster-Scots language used in your novel?
In a fairly traditional "kail-yard" style - where the connecting prose is more or less in English, and the spoken dialogue is in Ulster-Scots. The broadness of the Ulster-Scots differs according to the character, and the situation in which they are speaking. In places I use the form of Ulster-Scots as a literary device - for example, when "book-learnt" speakers don't quite get it right!

6. How long did it take you to write this book?
About a year - and then another three of four years to beat it into shape!

7. Who do you think the book will appeal to?
I hope in the short term it will entertain those who simply read it at the level of a story, but also those who recognise the humour and irony in the story's twists. In the longer term, I would like to think it can stand as a satirical commentary on the Ulster-Scots revival - and the reaction of the outside world to that. 

8. What would be your wish achievement for this book?
The same as for the whole trilogy, and for my poetry and other writings. I would love to see my books become an accepted part of the current Ulster-Scots literary corpus. It won't win any Booker Prize as English literature, but if it is considered good Ulster-Scots literature, I will be more than pleased. Of course, there won't be such a corpus of writing unless more Ulster-Scots put pen to paper. I hope the book encourages our own Òcommunity of writers to go from strength to strength.

9. How do you answer some critics who think that writing in Ulster-Scots is irrelevant in today's world?
These people also believe that Ulster-Scots culture and identity is worse than irrelevant, but is some sort of threat to their own prides and prejudices. "The Man frae the Ministry" abounds in such characters, and I suppose my answer is the way that state of mind is ridiculed in the book.

10. What else now for Philip Robinson, writer and poet?
I'm not too sure. Writing from the heart depends entirely on a wait for the muses to descend. That wait is sometimes a lengthy one. I love experimenting in new styles and genres - but I don't want to become so "fancy" that I start to write for the Art World, and not our own community. One thing I have found recently in teaching Ulster-Scots is the pleasure to be had in encouraging good native speakers to write themselves. So I'm playing with the idea of some sort of collective writing project - probably on a story-telling, local history mix around Greba here in the Ards Peninsula.

A short extract from "The Man Frae The Ministry"

by Philip Robinson.

The truck driver looked nothing like the young lad from the country that he was.  His sense of belonging was here - to the road itself.  His identity was here - he owned the road.  His sense of place, his home, was his cab which had been fitted out to suit.  He had become a water rat, a pipe dweller.  But Anthony "Scaldie" Patterson had been reared in the quiet back hills ayont Blackfort.  His sharp features, small beady eyes and close-cropped hair made him look just like his nickname, for "scaldie" was the local Scotch word they used for a freshly-hatched bird.  Scaldie was no fledgling but.  If he'd known who was in the car that had just passed dooting his horn, he would have been up its airse with 40 tons of mobile steel.  Eddie and him had crossed swords at a Saturday night dance in Blackfort Guild Hall.  Years back!. 
 That was before Eddie joined the police, and before Scaldie was driving trucks.  Scaldie pulled a knife and the dance had scattered to the four walls as he dared them all, turning like a crab in the middle of the floor.  Then Eddie stood forward to take up the challenge.  Scaldie smiled his top teeth and lunged at him in great leaps.  Quick as a flash, Eddie grabbed a wooden chair in a lion-tamer grip, and tossed it at Scaldie's feet.  It was a perfect lob, almost in slow motion. 
 Scaldie was lucky not to stab himself as he fell headlong in a crash of tangled limbs and wooden legs.  His moment of disgrace was Eddie's moment of glory.  Unexpected fame, maybe even a hero in the making.  Destiny is a funny thing.  If Eddie hadn't gone to the dance that night, he would never have even thought of joining the police. 
 Back on the road, Scaldie spotted another of McKinty Brothers' trucks coming the other way.  He flashed his lights before he could make out who the driver was.  There weren't that many McKinty Bros trucks on the road, not even on their own road.  Near all Italians or French or the like, on the long-distance hauls.  Scaldie reached his tattooed right arm across to turn off the tape and pick up his CB speaker.
"Scaldie to Bald Eagle."
  The other driver was, unlike Scaldie, a natural skin-head of the middle-aged variety.
 "A hae ye, Scaldie.  What's the crack in Carson City?"
 Bald Eagle, like most of the drivers working for McKinty Bros Transport, lived right and near the country depot at Blackfort.  One or two were townies who had come to live in the new houses at Blackfort after they were taken on as drivers.  The big smoke, or "Carson City," as its CB handle was, set the fashion for everything.  Like a mountain god. 
 If Carson City was quiet, the world was resting.  If busy, then all the pipes into the hinterland were pumping action, like fury.  And if there was trouble in Carson City, you could cut the atmosphere in Blackfort with a knife.
 Another car slid past Scaldie on the northward bound lanes.  This time he recognised young Cloche Johnstone, the Chemist's daughter from Blackfort.  She had a job at the college on the south side of the city, but came home for weekends. 
 A bit stuck up, but that just made Scaldie more bullish.  He accelerated right up behind her, overtook, and waited for her to try and pass again.  Then he kept up beside her on the inside lane, honking his horn and making suckling, kissing gestures at her.  Cloche looked away in disgust, annoyed she had even caught his eye.  The thought of getting into that cab.  Ugh! 
 Scaldie laughed when he saw her expression.  He enjoyed shocking people.  Not many folk from Blackfort had four-letter words tattooed on them, HATE being the only repeatable one.  But that word was needled in smudgy blue on his tongue, a tongue he could flash with dramatic, silent effect when he saw anybody staring at him.

The Man Frae the Ministry by Philip Robinson.
Published by Ullans Press.  Price £8.50, available from good bookshops or directly from the Ulster-Scots Language Society (Telephone: 028 9075 8985) or Books Ulster, 12 Bayview Road, Bangor, Co Down BT19 6AL (Telephone: 028 9146 1055)