At the Dublin launch of ‘The Traveller’s Tale. Standing left author Ray Bassett with former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern. Seated is former editor of the Irish Press and author of ‘The IRA’ Tim Pat Coogan.
The night Tim Pat Coogan and Ray Bassett experienced The 12th – From Bassett’s new book The Traveller’s
I am not sure anything or anybody could prepare an outsider for some of the unsavoury elements of the Twelfth of July in Belfast. As a young child, I had heard my mother talk about my aunt’s experience in the Waterside in Derry. Aunt Annie regularly came to Dublin, especially around the Orange Festival. She said she had wonderful neighbours in Duke Street for eleven months of the year but in July something strange happened to some of them, and it was best to avoid that period. On the other hand, BBC Northern Ireland TV annually portrayed a totally different picture. It beamed reports of happy families with smiling children throughout the North. It looked like a quaint folk festival. The contrast in perception of this annual commemoration between the two communities could not have been greater.
Now that I was posted to Belfast, I was to experience the Orange Festival close up. The month of July represented a steep rise in communal tension in what was popularly described as the marching season. It was hard work and at times hectic. Drumcree of course dominated for years. In Belfast on the day itself, I used to send out members of the secretariat to monitor regular flashpoints, including the Ormeau Bridge, Ardoyne shops and St Matthews Chapel in the Short Strand. They would stand with representatives of the local community and report back to me on any developments. In Bedford Street, the main Belfast march passed outside our offices. My day was spent collating reports from the various areas and relaying them back to Dublin.
There was a special eeriness about the eve of the Twelfth. That night was associated with murder and sectarian attacks. In the Loyalist areas, where the bonfires were lit, a sense of general lawlessness descended on these areas. I lived in the high-rise Somerset House and my apartment was at the top of the building. From there I overlooked the Loyalist Donegall Pass area and I could also see into the Sandy Row, both areas were hives of activity on the Eleventh night. Inside Donegall Pass, throughout the evening a loudspeaker blasted out the vilest sectarian songs about murdering papists and bloodcurdling threats against all outsiders. It was an orgy of bigotry and binge drinking, like a scene from a Medieval painting.
Occasionally loud disputes suddenly erupted and physical fights often broke out among the drinkers. The bonfire in the centre of proceedings burnt furiously and even in my building, I could feel the heat of it, as I watched the goings on from my balcony. Plumes of smoke stretched high into the sky. The one further away at Sandy Row was even bigger. The loud music went on throughout the night. The whole place was a mess afterwards.
For all the attempts at making the Twelfth into an Orange Fest, I have to say that during my time in Belfast, it was nothing of the sort in the two Loyalist areas near my apartment. I fully accept that these areas do not represent the full picture, but they were shocking enough to leave a very bad taste. Why this particular section of the community displayed such hatred for Irish Catholics seemed irrational and a relic of a dark history and to somebody from my own tradition intensely personal, maybe that is why it disturbed me so much. It brought back echoes of a very dark past.
On one occasion, I had the former editor of the Irish Press and successful author, Tim Pat Coogan, staying with me. Tim Pat had come up to see the Twelfth at first hand. On the Eleventh night, we travelled up to the Felons Club in West Belfast. In complete contrast with the Loyalist areas, there was an edgy quietness about the Nationalist districts.
Inside the Felons, we noticed a lack of young men. We were told that the local people mobilised to ensure that no overexcited Orange mob attacked their district. That job fell to the young men of the area. Later that evening we went with a secretariat car across the city to view some of the bonfires. Apart from the Irish tricolour, pictures of Sinn Féin politicians were on the top of the pile. I remember Tim Pat commenting on the secularisation of the occasion, unlike older times, there was no image of the Pope. Soon after we recrossed back into the Nationalist side, our car was stopped by a group of men, asking where we were going. It was clearly an IRA patrol.
They were suspicious of a car coming from a hardline Loyalist area. However, one of their party recognised Tim Pat and soon they all wanted to shake his hand. Many had read his books, and they clearly wanted to show their appreciation of his pro-Republican position.
Back in the Felons, people spoke of the fear and apprehension that their community felt about the annual celebration of the Battle of the Boyne. There was a long history of sectarian attacks on Catholics in Belfast associated with the Twelfth. Those who could go on holiday went away, especially to the Republic, and those who could not, lived in the hope that it would pass relatively peacefully. For many Catholics it was the worst time of year. They had no confidence that the police would protect their areas, and experience had taught them that they needed to be able to defend themselves. If ever a society needed a nonpartisan and effective police service, it was Belfast at that time.
To be honest, the activities around the eve of the Twelfth were the most depressing element I experienced in my almost two decades working there. The nightmarish scenes will be in my consciousness forever.
Ahern. Seated is former editor of the Irish Press and author of ‘The IRA’ Tim Pat Coogan.
The night Tim Pat Coogan and Ray Bassett experienced The 12th – From Bassett’s new book The Traveller’s
I am not sure anything or anybody could prepare an outsider for some of the unsavoury elements of the Twelfth of July in Belfast. As a young child, I had heard my mother talk about my aunt’s experience in the Waterside in Derry. Aunt Annie regularly came to Dublin, especially around the Orange Festival. She said she had wonderful neighbours in Duke Street for eleven months of the year but in July something strange happened to some of them, and it was best to avoid that period. On the other hand, BBC Northern Ireland TV annually portrayed a totally different picture. It beamed reports of happy families with smiling children throughout the North. It looked like a quaint folk festival. The contrast in perception of this annual commemoration between the two communities could not have been greater.
Now that I was posted to Belfast, I was to experience the Orange Festival close up. The month of July represented a steep rise in communal tension in what was popularly described as the marching season. It was hard work and at times hectic. Drumcree of course
dominated for years. In Belfast on the day itself, I used to send out members of the secretariat to monitor regular flashpoints, including
the Ormeau Bridge, Ardoyne shops and St Matthews Chapel in the Short Strand. They would stand with representatives of the local
community and report back to me on any developments. In Bedford Street, the main Belfast march passed outside our offices. My day
was spent collating reports from the various areas and relaying them back to Dublin.
There was a special eeriness about the eve of the Twelfth. That night was associated with murder and sectarian attacks. In the Loyalist
areas, where the bonfires were lit, a sense of general lawlessness descended on these areas. I lived in the high-rise Somerset House and
my apartment was at the top of the building. From there I overlooked the Loyalist Donegall Pass area and I could also see into the Sandy
Row, both areas were hives of activity on the Eleventh night. Inside Donegall Pass, throughout the evening a loudspeaker blasted out the vilest sectarian songs about murdering papists and bloodcurdling threats against all outsiders. It was an orgy of bigotry and binge drinking, like a scene from a Medieval painting.
Occasionally loud disputes suddenly erupted and physical fights often broke out among the drinkers. The bonfire in the centre of
proceedings burnt furiously and even in my building, I could feel the heat of it, as I watched the goings on from my balcony. Plumes of
smoke stretched high into the sky. The one further away at Sandy Row was even bigger. The loud music went on throughout the night. The whole place was a mess afterwards.
For all the attempts at making the Twelfth into an Orange Fest, I have to say that during my time in Belfast, it was nothing of the sort
in the two Loyalist areas near my apartment. I fully accept that these areas do not represent the full picture, but they were shocking
enough to leave a very bad taste. Why this particular section of the community displayed such hatred for Irish Catholics seemed irrational and a relic of a dark history and to somebody from my own tradition intensely personal, maybe that is why it disturbed me so much. It brought back echoes of a very dark past.
On one occasion, I had the former editor of the Irish Press and successful author, Tim Pat Coogan, staying with me. Tim Pat had
come up to see the Twelfth at first hand. On the Eleventh night, we travelled up to the Felons Club in West Belfast. In complete contrast
with the Loyalist areas, there was an edgy quietness about the Nationalist districts.
Inside the Felons, we noticed a lack of young men. We were told that the local people mobilised to ensure that no overexcited Orange mob attacked their district. That job fell to the young men of the area. Later that evening we went with a secretariat car across the city to view some of the bonfires. Apart from the Irish tricolour, pictures of Sinn Féin politicians were on the top of the pile. I remember Tim Pat commenting on the secularisation of the occasion, unlike older times, there was no image of the Pope. Soon after we recrossed back
into the Nationalist side, our car was stopped by a group of men, asking where we were going. It was clearly an IRA patrol.
They were suspicious of a car coming from a hardline Loyalist area. However, one of their party recognised Tim Pat and soon they all wanted to shake his hand. Many had read his books, and they clearly wanted to show their appreciation of his pro-Republican position.
Back in the Felons, people spoke of the fear and apprehension that their community felt about the annual celebration of the Battle of the
Boyne. There was a long history of sectarian attacks on Catholics in Belfast associated with the Twelfth. Those who could go on holiday
went away, especially to the Republic, and those who could not, lived in the hope that it would pass relatively peacefully. For many Catholics it was the worst time of year. They had no confidence that the police would protect their areas, and experience had taught them that they needed to be able to defend themselves. If ever a society needed a nonpartisan and effective police service, it was Belfast at that time.
To be honest, the activities around the eve of the Twelfth were the most depressing element I experienced in my almost two decades
working there. The nightmarish scenes will be in my consciousness forever.