During my time as a horror film critic, and much to the annoyance of my late parents, I would list the iconic The Exorcist as being among my Top Ten Best Movies.
It was particularly disturbing for dad as when it was released in 1973, the north east Ulster Bible Belt was not ready for the cinematic horrors of demon possession.
In some cases, ambulances would be parked outside a cinema as people were greatly upset with the graphic scenes as Hollywood legend Max von Sydow as Father Merrin battled to save the soul of the 12-year-old girl, Regan, played by child actress Linda Blair.
The bible belt political rulers of that time became so concerned about the impact the movie would have on the community that they formed a delegation of clergy to view the film and give a verdict as to whether it should continue to be shown.
Dad was included in that delegation and viewed the film in a Ballymena cinema. Whilst there have been many films before and since which have included the subject of demonic possession, The Exorcist is in a league of its own.
However, dad did not see it that way and gave it a damning critique with the recommendation that no one should view it. For me, as a film critic, The Exorcist was a film ahead of its time. The notorious Regan projectile vomiting scene is legendary in horror cinematography.
Ironically, it was that scene which later sparked the mischievous rumour in church circles that I had secretly auditioned for that part of the demonic child!
A few years before, as a primary school child, I had become part of the traditional Sunday school choir which sang hymns, duets and solos on what became known as Children’s Sunday in Clough Presbyterian Church, near Ballymena.
All the girls would be dressed in white dresses, while us young lads would wear white shirts, red ties and dark trousers.
As the minister’s son - whether I wanted to or not! - I had been selected to sing a piece at the Sunday evening Children’s Day service as part of a small group of lads.
Whilst in my life I have been a member of a number of church and school choirs, such as the Clough Children’s Day choir, Boys’ Brigade Choir, Ballymena Academy Preparatory Form Two Choir, and Maghaberry Elim Men’s Fellowship Choir, I was never a singer and was only selected for those choirs simply either to make up numbers, or because I was the minister’s son! My later short-lived career with The Clergy heavy metal band would confirm that ‘vocalist’ was not a talent.
In terms of singing, I tended to view my role as similar to that of so-called ‘dummy fluters’ in loyalist marching bands!
But on that particular Sunday evening in the late Sixties, I was exceptionally nervous at being part of a small singing trio in the Children’s Day choir. When the entire choir of more than 30 boys and girls were singing, all I had to do was move my lips and the bluff was complete.
But this was no bluffing matter. I would have to sing a hymn along with a couple of other lads - and I was in the trio simply because I was the preacher’s kid!
As the day wore on, I became increasingly more anxious. My pleas to be excused from this singing nightmare fell on deaf ears. What made matters worse was that being smaller than my other singing partners, I was in the front row so physically, there could be no backing away.
Then the moment came at church. We trooped into our seats normally occupied by the adult choir members.
My tummy was churning as if I’d just completed a few laps of the once famous roller coaster at Portrush’s former Barry’s Amusements.
Dad went through the opening devotions and prayer. Then the fateful moment arrived. He announced the hymn we lads would be singing. Up we stood; I was at the front. Organist Mrs Sadie McWilliams played the opening bars on the organ.
And then it happened. I opened my mouth, but the words of the hymn did not emerge. Instead, I sprayed that section of the choir area, including the chairs and the beautiful carpet, with projectile vomit that actress Linda Blair would have been proud of!
By sheer good fortune, unlike the original Exorcist, my projectile vomiting didn’t spray anyone!
But with my ‘audition’ for The Exorcist complete, I was hurriedly ushered out of my seat and into the church kitchen for a clean-up before my embarrassed mother brought me back to the Presbyterian Manse and straight to bed to recover.
As usual, my ‘Exorcist’ impression (even though it would be another four years until the film was released) was the talk of the congregation.
Indeed, it was to emerge as a convenient ‘party trick’ at church events when I became very bored with either the service or the Sunday school event - when in doubt, boke!
Until I entered journalism in 1978, I was a generally nervous person because of the pressures of being the minister’s son.
When I found myself coerced into a situation simply for being the minister’s son, projectile vomiting - even the threat of it - was enough to get me off the hook.
I did it once in the Sunday school, which got me out of taking a catechism exam which I didn’t fully revise for.
I did it again at church when I had to do a role which I hadn’t fully prepared for, and again in primary school when I was given a part in a play that I didn’t fully rehearse!
While my ‘party trick’ is now fainting when I get a needle injected into me, when I became a born again Christian in 1972, the vomiting ‘demon’ left me.
Oh yes, there would be many’s a church event which I would find stomach-churning, but the ‘boking bouts’ ceased for decades to come - until one fateful evening in my fifties.
Until then, the only time I’d been physically ill on a journalistic assignment was a trip to the Auschwitz-Birkenau memorial and museum in Poland.
As I walked into the camp under that notorious German sign ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ (work makes you free), I felt the same stomach-churning sensation prior to my Clough church Children’s Day escapade.
Luckily, on that summer’s day in Poland, I rushed into the nearby visitors’ centre toilets in time to avoid my ‘Exorcist’ impression being relived in front of the tourists.
A few years ago, when the abortion debate was reaching a crescendo in Northern Ireland, a pro-life group put on a demonstration in a Pentecostal church. I was with the Irish Daily Star at the time and decided it would make a good subject for a column.
The church hosted a delicious free supper prior to the event in the church hall. Then it was into the church for the start of the demonstration. We were only a couple of minutes into the presentation when the pro-life spokesman decided to show a large-screen video of a termination taking place.
For my tummy, with a full supper inside, it was as if I had been transported back in time to that fateful Sunday evening Children’s Day service in Clough.
By then, I was in my fifties, I had read the signs of a looming ‘Exorcist’ impression. As with the Auschwitz trip, I dashed from the church to the toilet - in time again for another Linda Blair demonstration.
Whilst I’ve been a life-long pro-life supporter, the impact of that demonstration and presentation tactic that evening nearly propelled me ideologically into the pro-choice camp! Like it or not, the ‘boking demon’ had returned with a vengeance!
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