This week on It’s a Scullion Thing,
Buckle up, because today’s story dives headfirst into the fast and foolish antics of a young Seamie Scullion — a rebel without a clue, a boy with big dreams and zero street smarts, and a heroic partner-in-crime that quite literally brought him down.
Welcome to West Belfast in the 1970s — a place where kids ran wild, mothers ran mad, and dogs ran the show. Seamie, like most Scullion children, was a headstrong little banshee with a severe allergy to authority and an intense passion for justice… mainly the kind that suited him. He wasn’t bad bad, just chaotically mischievous – the kind of kid who’d get detention for punching a teacher because she disrespected his sandwich. You know the type.
But more than anything, Seamie loved animals – especially dogs. Enter Cheetah – the family’s beloved (and questionably named) German Shepherd. Why “Cheetah”? According to my mummy, “Because it was black.” Make of that what you will. Honestly, trying to understand OG Scullion logic is like trying to read IKEA instructions drunk.
Anyway, one fateful day, young Seamie had had enough. He’d been wronged by the family system one too many times (probably someone ate the last sausage), and in a moment of melodramatic brilliance, he decided to run away from home. Not just a walk round the block. No no — Seamie envisioned himself as a West Belfast Butch Cassidy, roaming the land, righting wrongs, and leaving heartbreak in his wake. And of course, Cheetah was coming with him.
Picture it: a young lad, a loyal dog, a stolen loaf of bread, and enough delusion to power a small nation. He wandered through the Andersonstown streets like The Littlest Hobo meets The Terminator, imagining a life of fame, freedom, and hot-wired Ford Escorts.
But reality has a funny way of hitting Scullions square in the gob.
As night fell, Seamie and Cheetah grew cold, hungry, and desperate. So naturally, Seamie’s next move was to break into a car for shelter. Totally normal runaway behaviour. After 15 minutes of fighting the lock with the finesse of a drunk octopus, he was in. Success! But Seamie wasn’t done. Oh no. Our hero attempted to hotwire the car with zero knowledge, training, or actual wires that connected to anything useful.
What did he achieve? Nothing. Except accidentally turning on the full beam headlights, which lit up the street like the Fourth of July — and the living room of the car’s very angry owner.
Cue the entrance of West Belfast’s answer to The Terminator: a man with a bat, zero chill, and the stamina of a triathlete. Seamie and Cheetah legged it. But in a dramatic plot twist, Cheetah tripped him up — launching Seamie into the air like a human firework and scraping every inch of skin off his body on landing.
The angry man caught up, gave Seamie a clout (it was the 70s, remember), and dragged him — bleeding and blubbering — back to his mommy’s house. Only to discover… Seamie had made it three streets away. That’s it. Three.
When Bridie opened the door, she didn’t gasp in horror. She didn’t break down crying. She simply said: “I thought you were in bed.” Honestly, Seamie would’ve rather the bat.
Humiliated, bruised, and betrayed by his own dog, Seamie was frogmarched back to his room — only to be met by his brothers, who immediately burst into roars of laughter at the state of him.
No sympathy. No solidarity. Just classic Scullion sibling banter: “Seamie’s in trouble! Seamie’s in trouble!”
And the best bit? Bridie shouted up the stairs: “And don’t think you’re getting any dinner! I know it was you that stole my loaf!”
Justice. Served cold.
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