The Troubles

Free Derry, a Catholic-proclaimed no-go area for the British Army

I typed in the title to this blog and then stared at the empty screen. How can I explain to you what I’ve seen in Derry?

If you’re over 30, you’ve likely heard the words IRA, Belfast, and violence in the same sentence. But have you been following what’s happening in Northern Ireland over the years? I wasn’t. It was something I was going to look into one day, but never did—until now.

Before this trip, I couldn’t find a source on Northern Ireland’s Troubles that was intelligible to the uninitiated. They were heavy, scholarly works, and I couldn’t follow the morphing of paramilitary groups on both sides of the conflict as they split, tweaked agendas, and modified methods.

I knew Belfast wasn’t the only city in Northern Ireland to have troubles, but I didn’t realize how bad it was in Derry. On our first day in the city, we walked to the grocery store—right through the Bogside, the heart of the historic unrest. The murals were everywhere. I didn’t understand them, but the pain was obvious.

During our week, this is what I learned. It’s not comprehensive, but it’s a start.

  • In the 17th century, Scots were planted in Ulster to establish an English/Protestant base in an Irish/Catholic country. Protestants were given the political upper hand and managed to keep it, although greatly outnumbered by Catholics, through four centuries.
  • In the 20th century, the Catholics were still stuck in the bogland because the Protestant government thwarted every effort they made to improve their lives. 
    • Unemployment was as high as 20%, yet new factories were built elsewhere. 
    • The Protestant-controlled housing authority made it almost impossible for Catholics to obtain new housing because voting laws granted only one vote per residence. Multiple generations under one roof had only one vote. Business owners and owners of multiple properties (Protestants, for the most part) were awarded one vote per residence or business. 
    • Gerrymandering was rampant to prevent Catholics from diluting Protestant voting precincts.

Essentially, Protestants controlled Northern Ireland’s parliament and government agencies and were attempting to frustrate Catholics to the point of emigration—either to the Republic or abroad. By the 1960s, Catholics were still here and still fed up. They began to organize non-violent demonstrations patterned after Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. To the shock of the world, their peaceful protests were met with bullets.

In 1972 the atrocities in the Bogside reached a peak on Bloody Sunday. Fourteen unarmed protesters were shot and killed—and many more wounded—while fleeing from British soldiers or helping the wounded. Official reports claimed they were armed. Early investigations found the deaths justified. 

In 2010 a twelve-year investigation found that none of the victims was armed, and none of the deaths was justified. David Cameron, UK Prime Minister at the time, apologized to the families of the deceased on behalf of the British government. There are many more investigations in the works, and many more wounds to heal.

As difficult as it is, it’s time to own up, forgive, extend a hand, and move forward in peace. Northern Ireland has suffered long enough.

Slipping over the border

Horn Head

The day promised to be wet and windy, like 25 mph windy. But despite the horizontal rain we had in the early morning, it was relatively calm and dry as we checked out of our Airbnb and started our trek to Northern Ireland. We thought we’d squeeze in a sight or two, as long as the weather held. Our first, Horn Head, was only ten miles north, on the northern coast of Ireland, but by the time we got there the wind had picked up again. Or maybe we were just more exposed on this cliff 600 feet above the Atlantic. I was afraid to stand too near the edge, the wind was that strong. And then the rain started. I opted to shift my vantage point to the warmth of the car.

Lough Swilly with Inch Island midstream

An Grianán, one of those cool, circular Stone Age forts on a hill overlooking Lough Swilly, was our second stop, an easy forty miles closer to our destination. Lough Swilly is another one of those Irish fjords [Irish fjords], this one much longer and wider than Killary Harbour.

The wind at the top of the hill was ferocious. Jackets whipped liked sails in a tempest. Hair plastered to faces making it difficult to see. The temperature plummeted. I watched tourists trying to take photos in the elements. I just didn’t have it in me to get out of the car. Marcus found a parking spot overlooking the lough, and that’s where we enjoyed our English picnic. [Going local] One of the best views on a picnic so far, and no chasing sandwich wrappers and napkins across the car park.

As we drove down the hill from the fort, I entered the address of our Derry Airbnb into the SatNav (car navigation system). ETA: 15 minutes. What? That can’t be right. We’re still in Ireland. I looked up and saw a line on the road about fifty feet in front of the car, where the pavement was darker and smoother. I laughed. “I bet that’s the border.” Sure enough. No border control, not so much as a sign, just more cow pasture and white cottages. The few cars we encountered on this little slip of a farm road now had UK plates. 

“Welcome to the United Kingdom!” I said to Marcus.

Anti-climatic? Not at all. I hope that’s as much of a border as there will ever be between these two countries. And is it too much to hope that one day there is no border at all, physical or otherwise?

Crazy Castle

Clonmacnoise Castle

Just outside the monastic site were these crazy remains of Clonmacnoise Castle. One of the many Norman castles built in the 13th century to safeguard the Norman occupation of Ireland, this one was built to secure the midlands, specifically the bridge over the River Shannon, a vital trade route at the time.

We’ve seen lots of ruins, but never any seemingly dumped on their heads! How did this happen? My guess is Finn MacCool was responsible. The legendary Irish giant was accused of throwing boulders across the Irish Sea to Scotland. But more on him later as we make our way to Northern Ireland….

Happy trails!

at home on the St. Lucie River

We are home again, and it feels so good to be here. We’re looking forward to a long, beautiful Florida winter in one place, with no suitcases to pack and unpack, pack and unpack, pack and unpack.

We don’t use our elevator much, but there are a few times when it comes in extremely handy, like when you have a broken leg (Marcus 2017) or a carload of luggage, crates, tote bags, and a very heavy cooler to get up to the second and third floors (the day we got home). No sweat! We put the first load of stuff into the elevator and pushed the button. Nothing happened. After several failed attempts to get it operational–and after a long day driving–Marcus eventually had to lug everything upstairs himself. Add to to-do list: call elevator repair guy.

We spent several hours digging in to our first phase of unpacking. Lots of sweat! The AC chugged and wheezed, but only managed to push out air just slightly cooler than the ambient air. “It will catch up,” Marcus assured me. Exhausted, I showered and went to bed. I was very much looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again, but I just couldn’t get comfortable. The AC still wasn’t performing up to snuff, and I don’t sleep well in a room over 70°F. It was a fitful night. The next day, Marcus waffled over whether we should pay the premium for a weekend service call. “Do it!” I told him. “It’s either that or pay twice as much for me to stay in a hotel this weekend.” Add to to-do list: call AC repair guy.

I was looking forward to driving my Cute Little Blue Car again, to catch up on some long-delayed errands. The garage door opened easily, but wouldn’t close again. After considerable jostling with the door, the sensor, and the remotes, Marcus got it to cooperate…until the next time we tried to close it. Add to to-do list: call garage door repair guy.

Apparently our house missed us these past six weeks. I suppose, now that it’s in its teen years, it’s getting sullen and irritable when we’re away for too long. Makes me a wee bit thoughtful about planning any more extended trips. *pause* Okay, I’m over it. I’m thinking about Ireland next spring…three months traveling the whole island, north and south. What do you think?

Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

So, I need to get busy reading for the trip. Any good Irish literature you’d like to recommend? Send me an email.

And so, my friends, happy trails to you until we meet again–wherever the spinning compass may take us. Thanks for coming on this adventure. It was good to have you along.

Best~ Cindy

Under construction

We are home and planning our next adventure because the compass never stops spinning. Check out my Future Adventures tab to see some of the possibilities! I’d love your feedback and ideas.