Dr John Coulter ✍ Boasting is an attribute that is always frowned upon if you are a Presbyterian minister’s son.
But there is one personal boast I will never stop shouting about - I had the best dad any son could ask for.
Since 2018, this past weekend has always been very emotionally difficult for me. Eight years ago, one of my biggest heroes in life - namely my father, Rev Dr Robert Coulter MBE - died.
I miss him so very much, especially his solid fatherly advice and spiritual support. I was sitting beside him when he slipped into eternity at 9.15 pm that September in Coleraine’s Causeway Hospital surrounded by family members.
A few days earlier, I had celebrated my birthday. Last week, I turned 67 and I thought back to what dad was doing when he celebrated his 67th birthday.
It was 1996. He had just completed a three-year term as Mayor of Ballymena before being elected as a UUP member for North Antrim to the Northern Ireland Forum for Political Dialogue. Party leader David Trimble appointed him as UUP Chief Whip for the Forum delegation.
The Forum photo with this tribute column to mark the eighth anniversary of dad’s passing has dad, seated left, then Ken Maginnis, the former Fermanagh and South Tyrone MP, and then David Trimble, later Lord Trimble.
I was dad’s press officer and speech writer, and also served as his note taker in confidential meetings. The Forum was the forerunner to the current Stormont Assembly.
As a son, I was so proud when it was announced he was to be UUP Chief Whip. It had been such a long journey since those dark days when he was minister of Clough Presbyterian Church in Co Antrim in the late Seventies and a liberal clique within the congregation left him with no other option but to resign.
It’s all very well for folk to say - ‘those events in Clough Presbyterian Church happened nearly half a century ago, so move on Coulter and get over it.’ But there is still the guilt on my part that my decision to do a wee blue award in the Boys’ Brigade, called the President’s Badge, escalated into such a row that dad had to quit as minister.
In spite of the overwhelming friendliness of the people in the church, I always suspected there was a liberal clique in that Clough congregation who could not tolerate my dad’s evangelical preaching of the Gospel and decided he had to go.
In 2026, the Presbyterian Church in Ireland (PCI) as a denomination is going through a very challenging phase in its history over the safeguarding crisis. Old wounds will be reopened.
This year, I have clocked up 48 years as a journalist. Since I became a born again Christian in January 1972, I had always thought God was calling me to follow in dad’s footsteps and become a Presbyterian minister.
But in December 1977, when we returned from a family wedding to find foul-mouthed graffiti on the Presbyterian Manse front gate, I binned my application to what is now Union Theological College in Belfast.
We had already endured hate mail and early morning phone calls to disrupt our sleep, but the graffiti was the final straw. Mum’s mental health began deteriorating rapidly after that and by March 1978 dad had no other option, but to resign and find a job in lecturing in the then Ballymena Technical College.
Dad lost his job as minister of Clough Presbyterian Church doing his first love - preaching the Gospel; we lost our home in the Manse and had to rent a small damp farmhouse; mum lost her health. All these sacrifices were because I wanted to do the BB President’s Badge.
Dad could easily have said - go to another BB company and do it there. I eventually joined another BB company, but not in time to save dad’s ministry in Clough Presbyterian Church in 1978.
From time to time over the years, dad and I would have speculated. If I had decided to move to another BB company in 1976 shortly after I got my O Level results and do my President’s Badge there, would he have been able to remain as minister in Clough Presbyterian Church?
Dad was firmly off the opinion that such was the determination of that liberal clique in the congregation to get rid of him in the late Seventies, that they would have found another excuse.
Again, I hear some folk saying - ‘let it go Coulter; you’ve got your wee President’s Badge and your parents are dead. There’s no use digging up the past!’ They may well have a point as many of the liberals in that north Antrim congregation who left us with no other alternative but to leave are now dead, too.
But I got a kicking in that Clough church hall one Sunday morning before Bible class as a teenager. Yes, it was just one kick to my lower back on the left hand side. But whether by accident or design, it was a perfectly placed kick. Twice a day, I still at 67 have to take my medication to cope with the effects of that kick.
I can’t forget the physical and verbal abuse I suffered simply for being a Presbyterian minister’s son. Journalism has been my escape from the ministry. Mentally, journalism also helped me suppress the memories of how I was treated in that congregation during that President’s Badge saga.
When I joined the BBC in 1981 after graduation, the Troubles were still raging. Reporting on the conflict became an occupational springboard to move to either the mainland or abroad. Quite a few of my colleagues from those early Eighties did. My personal plan was simple; gain that necessary experience in the Belfast newsroom, then move to the mainland and as far away from Clough Presbyterian Church as possible.
But in late 1982 came a challenge. Dad told us following private conversations he had had with UUP leader Jim Molyneaux and South Belfast UUP MP and Orange Order chief Rev Martin Smyth that he had decided to go into politics himself.
Obviously, he would need a press officer and speech writer - transferable skills I had acquired as a journalist. This was an opportunity to give something back to dad for all the sacrifices he had made for me in Clough Presbyterian Church.
Just as I had binned the dream of becoming a Presbyterian minister at Christmas 1977, so too at Christmas 1982, I decided to bin any desire to move to the mainland.
My first press release for dad in 1982 was confirming he was seeking the UUP nomination for North Antrim at the expected Westminster General Election in 1983. And as the saying goes, the rest is history. I wrote his press statements and speeches until dad retired from public life in 2011.
For the record, the evangelicals eventually gained control of Clough Presbyterian Church and in later years, my parents were invited to rejoin the congregation which they did.
Dad’s journey in life was briefly retold at his funeral service in Clough in September 2018 - although the so-called President’s Badge saga was diplomatically omitted.
With the safeguarding crisis gripping PCI, the time has come to tell my story. After all, I am a journalist and that’s what we do in the media; words are our weapons.
I will forever remember my dad as the father who had the courage to sacrifice his much-loved career as a minister for his son.
Since 2018, this past weekend has always been very emotionally difficult for me. Eight years ago, one of my biggest heroes in life - namely my father, Rev Dr Robert Coulter MBE - died.
I miss him so very much, especially his solid fatherly advice and spiritual support. I was sitting beside him when he slipped into eternity at 9.15 pm that September in Coleraine’s Causeway Hospital surrounded by family members.
A few days earlier, I had celebrated my birthday. Last week, I turned 67 and I thought back to what dad was doing when he celebrated his 67th birthday.
It was 1996. He had just completed a three-year term as Mayor of Ballymena before being elected as a UUP member for North Antrim to the Northern Ireland Forum for Political Dialogue. Party leader David Trimble appointed him as UUP Chief Whip for the Forum delegation.
The Forum photo with this tribute column to mark the eighth anniversary of dad’s passing has dad, seated left, then Ken Maginnis, the former Fermanagh and South Tyrone MP, and then David Trimble, later Lord Trimble.
I was dad’s press officer and speech writer, and also served as his note taker in confidential meetings. The Forum was the forerunner to the current Stormont Assembly.
As a son, I was so proud when it was announced he was to be UUP Chief Whip. It had been such a long journey since those dark days when he was minister of Clough Presbyterian Church in Co Antrim in the late Seventies and a liberal clique within the congregation left him with no other option but to resign.
It’s all very well for folk to say - ‘those events in Clough Presbyterian Church happened nearly half a century ago, so move on Coulter and get over it.’ But there is still the guilt on my part that my decision to do a wee blue award in the Boys’ Brigade, called the President’s Badge, escalated into such a row that dad had to quit as minister.
In spite of the overwhelming friendliness of the people in the church, I always suspected there was a liberal clique in that Clough congregation who could not tolerate my dad’s evangelical preaching of the Gospel and decided he had to go.
In 2026, the Presbyterian Church in Ireland (PCI) as a denomination is going through a very challenging phase in its history over the safeguarding crisis. Old wounds will be reopened.
This year, I have clocked up 48 years as a journalist. Since I became a born again Christian in January 1972, I had always thought God was calling me to follow in dad’s footsteps and become a Presbyterian minister.
But in December 1977, when we returned from a family wedding to find foul-mouthed graffiti on the Presbyterian Manse front gate, I binned my application to what is now Union Theological College in Belfast.
We had already endured hate mail and early morning phone calls to disrupt our sleep, but the graffiti was the final straw. Mum’s mental health began deteriorating rapidly after that and by March 1978 dad had no other option, but to resign and find a job in lecturing in the then Ballymena Technical College.
Dad lost his job as minister of Clough Presbyterian Church doing his first love - preaching the Gospel; we lost our home in the Manse and had to rent a small damp farmhouse; mum lost her health. All these sacrifices were because I wanted to do the BB President’s Badge.
Dad could easily have said - go to another BB company and do it there. I eventually joined another BB company, but not in time to save dad’s ministry in Clough Presbyterian Church in 1978.
From time to time over the years, dad and I would have speculated. If I had decided to move to another BB company in 1976 shortly after I got my O Level results and do my President’s Badge there, would he have been able to remain as minister in Clough Presbyterian Church?
Dad was firmly off the opinion that such was the determination of that liberal clique in the congregation to get rid of him in the late Seventies, that they would have found another excuse.
Again, I hear some folk saying - ‘let it go Coulter; you’ve got your wee President’s Badge and your parents are dead. There’s no use digging up the past!’ They may well have a point as many of the liberals in that north Antrim congregation who left us with no other alternative but to leave are now dead, too.
But I got a kicking in that Clough church hall one Sunday morning before Bible class as a teenager. Yes, it was just one kick to my lower back on the left hand side. But whether by accident or design, it was a perfectly placed kick. Twice a day, I still at 67 have to take my medication to cope with the effects of that kick.
I can’t forget the physical and verbal abuse I suffered simply for being a Presbyterian minister’s son. Journalism has been my escape from the ministry. Mentally, journalism also helped me suppress the memories of how I was treated in that congregation during that President’s Badge saga.
When I joined the BBC in 1981 after graduation, the Troubles were still raging. Reporting on the conflict became an occupational springboard to move to either the mainland or abroad. Quite a few of my colleagues from those early Eighties did. My personal plan was simple; gain that necessary experience in the Belfast newsroom, then move to the mainland and as far away from Clough Presbyterian Church as possible.
But in late 1982 came a challenge. Dad told us following private conversations he had had with UUP leader Jim Molyneaux and South Belfast UUP MP and Orange Order chief Rev Martin Smyth that he had decided to go into politics himself.
Obviously, he would need a press officer and speech writer - transferable skills I had acquired as a journalist. This was an opportunity to give something back to dad for all the sacrifices he had made for me in Clough Presbyterian Church.
Just as I had binned the dream of becoming a Presbyterian minister at Christmas 1977, so too at Christmas 1982, I decided to bin any desire to move to the mainland.
My first press release for dad in 1982 was confirming he was seeking the UUP nomination for North Antrim at the expected Westminster General Election in 1983. And as the saying goes, the rest is history. I wrote his press statements and speeches until dad retired from public life in 2011.
For the record, the evangelicals eventually gained control of Clough Presbyterian Church and in later years, my parents were invited to rejoin the congregation which they did.
Dad’s journey in life was briefly retold at his funeral service in Clough in September 2018 - although the so-called President’s Badge saga was diplomatically omitted.
With the safeguarding crisis gripping PCI, the time has come to tell my story. After all, I am a journalist and that’s what we do in the media; words are our weapons.
I will forever remember my dad as the father who had the courage to sacrifice his much-loved career as a minister for his son.




















