Firstly, remember the police’s ‘one punch campaign’; ignore that at your peril as this tale could be so easily being written from my jail cell where I am completing a long sentence for involuntary manslaughter.
Secondly, to all my fellow minister’s sons and daughters, listen to these words of wisdom based on experience - never ever start a physical fight as the preacher’s kid will always come out the loser.
Let we take you back to the early Seventies when as a teenager I had the mother of all crushes on a lassie in the north east Ulster Bible Belt. Let’s call her Cynthia (not her real name).
She was the one girl that telling I was the minister’s son had no impact. I spent a fair chunk of my weekly pocket money buying cards with supposedly romantic messages penned on them, but to no avail with her.
The one girl I wanted to date was seemingly beyond reach. I even tried asking her relations to ‘put in a good word for me’, but it all appeared to fall on deaf ears.
Okay, so I was only in my early teens, but I genuinely believed I had found my soul mate for life. I just had to convince her about her future role!
Then she dropped a bombshell on me. One summer’s evening at the Sunday church meeting in the Bible Belt, she began to date a chap I’ll call Herbert (again, not his real name).
I was flabbergasted and intensely jealous. Finally, in the late summer holidays, a matter of days after returning from the Boys’ Brigade camp, jealousy got the better of me.
Saturday evenings witnessed the summer church youth clubs held in church halls. I heard on the gossip grapevine that Cynthia might be at one, so off I went with a school chum. Sure enough, there she was … with Herbert!
They waited until the opening religious devotions had finished and the club activities started, then sneaked outside where they would snog in Herbert’s brother’s car. Jealousy in your teens can lead you to do all sort of crazy things.
After pacing the hall for about 15 minutes, out I marched to the car. I called out Herbert’s name and at the same time, kicked the brother’s car, putting a small dent in the rear driver’s side door.
I waited for Herbert – who had done absolutely nothing wrong, or against me – to get out. At this point, I should add that in terms of fisty-cuffs, I could not punch my way out of a wet paper bag.
While my dad had been a member of the Army cadets in his youth with boxing as his preferred sport, which helped earn him a commission to Sandhurst Military Academy, these genes did not pass their way to me.
While other farmers’ sons knew how to handle themselves in a scrap, I had no idea what to do in a fight because no one would ever touch a minister’s son. To fight with the preacher’s kid was simply ‘not the done thing’.
Unexpectedly, Herbert got out the other side and came round behind me. I turned round and was punched in the stomach, but not hard enough to wind me. I just lashed out with my fist.
As it had been a few moments after I began shouting at Herbert and Cynthia inside the car, word quickly spread around the youth club that I was trying to start a fight – another incident unheard of in the Presbyterian community. The minister’s son simply did not resort to violence.
This was one of those fluke one-punches in life. I caught Herbert on the face, sending him reeling back onto the bonnet of the car behind his brother’s.
Herbert was stunned, partly by the punch which ironically had cut him, partly by the fact the preacher’s kid was using violence.
I consider myself very lucky to have only hit Herbert on the face. A few inches lower and I would have caught him full-on in the throat, delivering what could have been a one-punch fatal blow.
I am also very lucky Herbert did not report me to the police for assault and the damage to his brother’s car.
I walked to the other side of the road. Herbert, by this time, was off the bonnet of the car and asking me what he did to deserve being hit. But what could I tell him? He would only laugh if I said I was jealous.
I made up a total lie that a chap from an Exclusive Brethren Hall in the Bible Belt had told me Herbert was ‘bad mouthing’ me. Luckily for me, a good friend and fellow minister’s son came out and tried to calm me down.
Unlike me at this time in life, my fellow minister’s son was a level-headed person who could see I would be in a lot of trouble for starting a fight at the joint church youth club. I’ll call him Thomas (again, not his real name)
Thomas brought me inside and calmed me down. When I told him the real reason for the fight with Herbert, he told me I was “a total twit” and was asking for major trouble. It arrived shortly afterwards in the form of dad.
It was dad’s turn on the rota of ministers to take the closing epilogue at the end of the evening’s activities. The youth club leader – who later became a Presbyterian minister and was one of my spiritual mentors at university – broke the news to dad that I had started a fight.
The problem was if I was ‘let off’ because I was a minister’s son, it would send the wrong signal to the other young people and fighting would become a regular occurrence. I had to be made an example of. I got suspended from that youth club for six months, but was allowed to attend youth fellowship meetings on Sunday evenings.
This was one occasion when being a preacher’s kid was a definite disadvantage. The message to the other young people was simple – if this is what we do to punish the minister’s kid, none of the rest of you step out of line!
News of my misdemeanour spread around the congregations like wildfire. It was a question of keeping my head down for several weeks – and enduring watching Cynthia and Herbert sitting cosily together at church events.
Some of my best friends had a good laugh at my expense over the youth club debacle. One told me ‘you should have played her at her own game’. As the minister’s son, I had been so used getting my own way in matters, but here was a gorgeous young lassie who would not go on a date with me.
His advice was sound for one a few years younger than me – get another girlfriend and show Cynthia you can live without her. Now why could I not have come up with that solution?
My love of heavy metal when all around me were country music fans plus the youth club incident had given me a ‘bad boy’ image. A steady girlfriend would also serve to take some heat off me, and reduce the amount of criticism about me in the congregations.
While I never had any intention of joining the Young Farmers’ Club movement, it did not stop me attending its public functions. In the Seventies, the clubs located in that north east Ulster Bible Belt organised a series of concerts.
Dad would take the religious devotions at such events, and I was allowed a reprieve from my ban at the youth club to attend. By sheer chance, I was seated beside two girls – let’s call them Claire and Chloe (obviously, not their real names!).
At the end of the night, I took a chance and asked Chloe if Claire would like to ‘go with me’ – teen speak for becoming my girlfriend. To my utter surprise, Chloe returned with the message that Claire had said ‘yes’.
Claire and I unveiled what became known in the church community as “The Big Romance” a few days later at a function involving the Junior Section of the Boys’ Brigade. There was enough of Cynthia’s acquaintances there to get the message back to her – John Boy has moved on!
Claire was very attractive, too, and there was a string of lads who wanted to date her, but I couldn’t care less about this – as long as I was seen with her. Then the ban was lifted on me at the youth club. Bingo! I could be seen with Claire at church events in front of Cynthia.
The plan was working. Claire and myself were like a mini celebrity couple at that stage in the north east Ulster Bible Belt. At church functions, the church photographer would take our photos. One of my level-headed chums was my social advisor. He told me how to act around Cynthia – to stop behaving like a love-sick puppy, and act as if I couldn’t care less about her.
A Company section Boys’ Brigade display was the high point of the relationship with Claire. The annual BB display was one of the major social occasions in the church life. I was awarded the Scripture Cup for scoring 100% in the Battalion Scripture competition, as well as the Ballymena Battalion award.
The tactic was simple. Anything Cynthia could do, I could match. Claire was giving me mega hugs for winning the prizes. For some reason, Herbert could not attend, so Cynthia was sitting with her chums. I was pretending to ignore her, but secretly pining for her.
How much longer would she go out with Herbert? As soon as she dumped Herbert, I would make my move. What could possibly go wrong? Things did.
Of all the organisations which had the most influence among the young people in that north east Ulster Bible Belt, it was the church youth fellowships. For years on from the great evangelistic mission of 1972, young people were still becoming born again believers.
Herbert had become a Christian and one Sunday evening at a youth meeting, he gave his testimony on how Jesus Christ had come into his life and made such a difference. You could have heard a pin drop during his talk – and Cynthia was so moved, she became a born again Christian that night, too.
Honestly, I had totally mixed emotions. There was tremendous joy that Cynthia had got ‘saved’, but intense jealousy again that with both Herbert and her now born again believers, it could be several more months before she dumped him – if ever!
And so church life continued in this tit-for-tat battle of romance; myself and Claire versus Cynthia and Herbert as to who could be the most loving couple!
In reality, it was only about 18 months, but to me it seemed a lifetime; then the inevitable happened. It was a typical Sunday evening youth fellowship event. I was enjoying a cuppa when suddenly out of the main hall walked Herbert.
Unusually for him, he was in tears. The gossip grapevine soon provided the answer. He’d been dumped by Cynthia. Now was my chance!
Unfortunately, my immature thuggish behaviour at that church youth club had not been forgotten by Cynthia. I never did get that date. Here’s the lesson from that early Seventies north east Ulster Bible Belt which is as relevant in 2026 as it was then - violence solves nothing!
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| Follow Dr John Coulter on Twitter @JohnAHCoulter Dr Coulter has been a journalist since 1978 and is currently a political commentator with GB News. |
