Volume 1 (1999/2000)
Issue 1 (March 1999)
Issue 2 (Nov. 1999)
Issue 3 (Dec. 1999)
Issue 4 (Feb. 2000)
Issue 5 (March 2000)
Issue 6 (April 2000)
Issue 7 (May 2000)

Volume 2 (2000/2001)
Issue 1 (Sept. 2000)
Issue 2 (Oct. 2000)
Issue 3 (Jan. 2001)
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Issue 5 (April 2001)
Issue 6 (May 2001)

Volume 3 (2001)
Issue 1 (Sept. 2001)
Issue 2 (Nov. 2001)

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Event: 1 2 3

The Queue

Holly Mack
Portmarnock CS, Co. Dublin

It was early Monday morning. The sun beat down on the six kilometre long queue of tourists from assorted countries around the world. We were all waiting for the same thing - a ticket to one of the biggest concerts the world would ever see. This was to be held in Atlanta - Woodstock 2001.

People had been camping nearby, staying in nearby hotels and even sleeping right there in the queue, complete with sleeping bags. Everyone seemed to be quite excited, wanting a ticket to this ‘music phenomenon’ which was to take place. But, overall, all was rather quiet, and dull.

Near lunch, the people around me seemed to be growing irritable. It was a scorching day and some people in the queue were getting incredibly sun burnt. I had thought of that beforehand and was totally set up with my lightweight deckchair, sunglasses, hat and cooler bag. It was going to be a long day that was for sure. The line had moved about two meters in four long, hot hours.

The line of people in front and behind me continued as far as the eye could see. News helicopters swarmed above us, shooting the queue for the nine o’clock news, I presumed. I examined the people near me. There were two Australians, who seemed to be enjoying the wait, bronzing in the sun like two lazy lizards on a hot garden wall.

Then there was a large, noisy group of about seven oriental teenage girls, just ahead of them. They were kitted out with walkmans and soft drinks and were causing havoc with the three American boys near them. The boys, aged about seventeen or eighteen seemed very strange to me. They particularly looked like they were on their own private planet, far, far away.

There was an elderly couple behind me, Jamaican, I guessed from their loud accents, with cameras slung around their necks and about nine different maps and travel guides. Did they know what queue they were standing in?

Another group I saw, a little way behind me, was one consisting of three African ladies, dressed in full African print dresses and lots of beaded jewellery. Suddenly, the interesting group of American boys came alive. One started singing the chorus to "Fast Car," a Tracy Chapman song, at the top of his voice. The other two proceeded to join him. The short, blonde one started clicking his fingers while waving his hands in the air, and his black-haired friend started dancing around crazily.

The Oriental girls just loved this and started singing, dancing and clapping along with the boys. Soon, the elderly Jamaican couple joined in, adding some rather nice dance moves, and the song moved on to an ‘oldie’ by the Beatles, ‘Obla-di, Obla-da’.

It was a song I particularly liked and so I joined in, picking up this friendly vibe that seemed to become contagious. The Australians started too, adding some music with a didgeridoo, which one of them had miraculously produced. The melody was amazing and people around us were smiling and laughing.

The African ladies began singing too, beating along to the rhythm with a nice added African beat, on one of their suitcases. It was not long before we had people singing, dancing and clapping for hundreds of meters up and down the queue, some adding melodies from harmonicas or just whistling in tune. It was fantastic. The nine o’clock news helicopters were frantically and furiously filming from above.

It was a strange, close happening; hundreds of people from different parts of the world joined together by worldwide known songs and music, strangely spiced with the different nationalities. It was a day that sparked magic in the hearts of those who were there.

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