Northern Ireland

Anne Clarke: Anita Robinson, a friend like no other

Anne Clarke pays a very personal tribute to her dear friend of forty years, Anita Robinson, whose funeral takes place at St Eugene's Cathedral, Derry today.

Anita Robinson and her dear friend Anne Clarke
Anita Robinson and her dear friend Anne Clarke Anita Robinson and her dear friend Anne Clarke

"How did I ever fall in with a character like you?" Anita often lamented, choosing to forget that over 40 years ago she ‘bought’ me. Cheap as chips I was and she nearly ran me into the ground.

I didn’t so much meet Anita as experience her. With both my junior and senior teams entered in the Colmcille Debating Society Schools’ Competition – and both going through to the finals – we often found ourselves subjected to her incisive adjudications, all delivered with wit and wisdom by this self-assured fashion-plate who seemed to waft in from a superior planet.

She scared hell out of me, but I must have held my own because she offered to pay my debating society membership if I joined her team for a forthcoming event. I felt honoured and terrified. And later exhausted by the rigorous research and preparation she expected of me. She was a perfectionist and a hard taskmaster. I often heard: "Anne, I’m not so sure about X. Wouldn't Y be better?" She was always right.

The late and wonderful Dr Áine Downey was also on our team. I recently came across a diary entry from that time where I noted my sense of awe in the company of Anita and Áine, and bemoaned the fact that I could never hope to aspire to their intellectual level.

I never could or did, but the warmth of these two amazing women kicked my sense of inferiority into the long grass. They took me into their arms and, like a debutante, they introduced me to some of the most incredible characters in Derry society, many of them ‘blow-ins’ or ‘runners’ like myself. I adored the debating society, the palpable love of words and appreciation of a case well argued, the wit and heady humour, the zany social events, the camaraderie. I owe Anita big time for introducing me to such an energising and egalitarian society.

Our exposure and contacts there led to freelance work with Radio Foyle, which was still operating from Rock Road. We cut our broadcasting teeth together in the days when everything was more hands-on. We did our own editing with razor blades and sticky tape and this was one of the few areas where I had the edge over Anita. My stumpy nails enabled much more speed than her longer, perfectly varnished ones.

As were both teaching full-time, we'd roll up in the evenings to the beautiful old house on Rock Road, totter down to the basement, through the boiler room, out and up the steps and into the cramped, soundproofed portable building which contained the studio and three editing machines. We sat among miles of discarded tape, sometimes having to rummage on the floor for a bit of a sentence thrown down by mistake. We did damage to countless packs of cigarettes as we worked. Anita was convinced that Loving Spouse, the sainted Trevor, didn’t know she smoked. (Yeah...) Before leaving for home, often in the wee hours, she’d throw a few Polo mints into her mouth and spray a gallon of Shalimar round herself. We nearly asphyxiated ourselves driving home.

"How did I ever fall in with a character like you?" Well, the falling in with was easy enough; our friendship going the distance was the conundrum. Classic chalk and cheese we two.

"Why don’t you come over for coffee or a glass of wine?" I asked one Saturday afternoon.

"No, I can’t today, Anne. I have to go to Austins to replace my autumn eye colours."

Whaaat? I thought guiltily of my grubby make-up bag which still held eyeshadows from university days.

Then there was our first shopping trip to Belfast. On the train Anita explained the rules. Rules? For shopping? Oh yes indeed. We would look in the morning, discuss what we’d seen over lunch, go back and buy in the afternoon. So I’d seen this oatmeal sweater I loved. What did I have to match it? A skirt, trousers, shoes? This type of interrogation was alien territory for me. I’m an impulse buyer, not a military operation purchaser.

Our Anita’s biggest weakness was for shoes. Once, on a mission to replace her old beige heels, we went into a very upmarket outlet. She explained exactly what she wanted. When the assistant asked what size madam took, yer woman replied, "Anything between a 4 and a half and a 6, depending on how much I like them". No wonder she needed four hip replacements.

Our friendship took root in debating, flourished in broadcasting and was fertilised by endless banter and wittering on about something or nothing. (True testament to our conversational versatility is the fact that we spoke for at least half an hour every day from the first lockdown, mostly with damn all news to exchange.)

I loved Anita. I may have a host of great memories to tap into, but nothing can ever compensate for the rib-breaking hugs when we met or the "evening all" which preceded our nightly calls. Rest in peace, my lovely wee pet.