Not in the mood to discuss, so here's part of APoS -- the People's March from Belfast to Derry beginning January 1, 1969. Brendan's older brother, Eamonn, is with the marchers. The Fountain is a Protestant enclave in the Bogside, pressed up against the Derry Walls.
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On New Year’s Day, word came the march had begun.
We followed it on Radio Eire, and to my fears, there was more than taunting along the way. And much more than occasional attacks. And the RUC did nothing about it but keep making the marchers change course -- including sending them into a group of Proddies waiting to attack, once -- while the Paisleyites swore to stop us at all costs -- and tried to in Antrim. Some fellow claiming to speak for Sinn Fein said it was ill-advised, this march; that pushing Westminster for improvements in the lot of all working men in The North would help Protestants as well as Catholics and it was necessary to educate those fighting us to show them they were being used by the landed gentry and fools on the councils and on and on and on. And Stormount’s attitude was that nothing much too serious was happening.
I’d pop over to Colm’s to watch the telly, since it was on the BBC, as well. And during one broadcast I caught sight of Eamonn walking close beside this pretty girl, and it looked like his arm was about her shoulders. She seemed upset and Eamonn was angry, but the newscaster would say only they’d been refused access to Knockloughrim en route to Maghera, which added some miles to their trek. Ma’s blanket was around the girl and I was glad he’d brought it for it was horrible cold out. But I also hoped Mrs. McKittrick wasn’t watching, that night, for Eamonn seemed more than friendly with that girl.
The coverage was fair intense as each day it documented more of the Loyalist’s obstructions and taunts and sneaking attacks. Those around the Bogside who’d been unsure of the correctness of the march grew more and more to be on our side with every push by the scum along the way. But progress was being made despite the RUC’s and Proddy’s best efforts. They were greeted well, here and there, and no one could say they’d done anything to provoke any sort of reprisal. Of course, they’d still have to cross the Foyle, but I’d slipped over to the Craigavon Bridge a few times to see if anyone was preparing for a fight, there, and saw nothing in the way of stones being laid up for tossing, so I began to feel I’d been overwrought.
Then on the third, I fixed a lamp for Mrs. Clark, in The Fountain. I’d done work for her, before, and she’d always treated me fair and given me cookies and tea along with a half-crown for my work, but this time she gave me no invite. Instead, she yanked open her door, took the lamp, shoved a full crown in my palm and barely gave me a “Thank you” before she’d closed the door. It took me aback. I glanced around to see if someone was watching and saw a couple of curtains move, slightly. Then I realized The Fountain was fair quiet. That’s when I knew something was up.
I slipped the crown in my pocket and walked away, trying to seem normal but shaking within. The moment I rounded the corner I raced over to the Craigavon -- but still there was nothing to see on our side. No RUC checkpoints. No stones or garbage piled up. No one waiting to have a go at some foolish University kids who still had dreams of peace in their hearts. Nothing.
I ran back to The Fountain and this time stopped at Billy’s home. I knocked and knocked, and I could see shadows moving inside, but his Ma never answered the door. I cried out, “Billy, Billy, you home, mate? Billy?!” But there came no response. I scrambled around to Bishop’s and onto the Derry Walls to run back and look into his garden -- and both his and his uncle’s bikes were gone.
It’s funny, but I wasn’t cold till that moment, and suddenly I shivering like I was ice. Billy wouldn’t join with his uncle on a tear against my brother? He couldn’t.
Throughout, I had heard noises coming from Guildhall Square, angry, dangerous shouts made the more nerve-wracking by the distance of them. I remembered hearing of Paisley maybe coming to town to speak at the Guildhall so ran down to check out the Square, and even before I got there I knew it was no small crowd of angry folk. Sure enough, the Square was filled with people, men and women both, milling about, angry and calling curses at the tops of their voices. I recognized many of them and realized there was nothing but Catholics about. And a line of nervous constables were placed between the hall’s doors and the swirling mob. Lights were on in the Guildhall but some from the Derry Housing Council were still occupying an office, as I understood. But this -- it stunned me. Had the Orangemen come en masse to wreak havoc on Eamonn’s march? Had I been so lost in fixing Mrs. Clark’s lamp I’d missed a call to arms?
I searched for Father Jack but could see him nowhere. I did see a neighbor lady and called down, “Mrs. McCory, up here -- it’s Brendan!”
She looked around and waved, actually smiling. “This is some show, wouldn’t ya say?”
“Smashing!” I took a wild leap and motioned to the Guildhall. “So how many Proddy bastards’re in there you think?”
“I’m hearin’ near five-hundred. And there’s more than a few would gladly burn the damned hall around them.”
“Have you seen Father Jack?”
Then we heard a man calling for the crowd to disperse, and she turned back to the crush. He told people that the whole purpose of the march was to show non-violence and if they did attack the Orangemen in the hall, they’d only prove the liars in Stormount right -- that Catholics were out to do Protestants harm. He wasn’t the first trying to restore control but he was the loudest and most eloquent. Some still circled the hall, calling out insults, but others began to back off. I could see smoke rising from the car park and the Christmas tree was waving oddly, like someone was climbing it, but the animal danger was gone.
Maybe half the crowd had melted away before I saw Mairead, Terry Dolan with her. Then I remembered Ma hadn’t known I was off to Mrs. Clark’s -- in fact, the house had been quiet, with not a noise from the kitchen or in Ma’s garden. Not a sound from Rhuari, Maeve or Kieran. Had Ma even been home? If not, I’d left the place open, and she’d be vexed with me for that.
-------
On New Year’s Day, word came the march had begun.
We followed it on Radio Eire, and to my fears, there was more than taunting along the way. And much more than occasional attacks. And the RUC did nothing about it but keep making the marchers change course -- including sending them into a group of Proddies waiting to attack, once -- while the Paisleyites swore to stop us at all costs -- and tried to in Antrim. Some fellow claiming to speak for Sinn Fein said it was ill-advised, this march; that pushing Westminster for improvements in the lot of all working men in The North would help Protestants as well as Catholics and it was necessary to educate those fighting us to show them they were being used by the landed gentry and fools on the councils and on and on and on. And Stormount’s attitude was that nothing much too serious was happening.
I’d pop over to Colm’s to watch the telly, since it was on the BBC, as well. And during one broadcast I caught sight of Eamonn walking close beside this pretty girl, and it looked like his arm was about her shoulders. She seemed upset and Eamonn was angry, but the newscaster would say only they’d been refused access to Knockloughrim en route to Maghera, which added some miles to their trek. Ma’s blanket was around the girl and I was glad he’d brought it for it was horrible cold out. But I also hoped Mrs. McKittrick wasn’t watching, that night, for Eamonn seemed more than friendly with that girl.
The coverage was fair intense as each day it documented more of the Loyalist’s obstructions and taunts and sneaking attacks. Those around the Bogside who’d been unsure of the correctness of the march grew more and more to be on our side with every push by the scum along the way. But progress was being made despite the RUC’s and Proddy’s best efforts. They were greeted well, here and there, and no one could say they’d done anything to provoke any sort of reprisal. Of course, they’d still have to cross the Foyle, but I’d slipped over to the Craigavon Bridge a few times to see if anyone was preparing for a fight, there, and saw nothing in the way of stones being laid up for tossing, so I began to feel I’d been overwrought.
Then on the third, I fixed a lamp for Mrs. Clark, in The Fountain. I’d done work for her, before, and she’d always treated me fair and given me cookies and tea along with a half-crown for my work, but this time she gave me no invite. Instead, she yanked open her door, took the lamp, shoved a full crown in my palm and barely gave me a “Thank you” before she’d closed the door. It took me aback. I glanced around to see if someone was watching and saw a couple of curtains move, slightly. Then I realized The Fountain was fair quiet. That’s when I knew something was up.
I slipped the crown in my pocket and walked away, trying to seem normal but shaking within. The moment I rounded the corner I raced over to the Craigavon -- but still there was nothing to see on our side. No RUC checkpoints. No stones or garbage piled up. No one waiting to have a go at some foolish University kids who still had dreams of peace in their hearts. Nothing.
I ran back to The Fountain and this time stopped at Billy’s home. I knocked and knocked, and I could see shadows moving inside, but his Ma never answered the door. I cried out, “Billy, Billy, you home, mate? Billy?!” But there came no response. I scrambled around to Bishop’s and onto the Derry Walls to run back and look into his garden -- and both his and his uncle’s bikes were gone.
It’s funny, but I wasn’t cold till that moment, and suddenly I shivering like I was ice. Billy wouldn’t join with his uncle on a tear against my brother? He couldn’t.
Throughout, I had heard noises coming from Guildhall Square, angry, dangerous shouts made the more nerve-wracking by the distance of them. I remembered hearing of Paisley maybe coming to town to speak at the Guildhall so ran down to check out the Square, and even before I got there I knew it was no small crowd of angry folk. Sure enough, the Square was filled with people, men and women both, milling about, angry and calling curses at the tops of their voices. I recognized many of them and realized there was nothing but Catholics about. And a line of nervous constables were placed between the hall’s doors and the swirling mob. Lights were on in the Guildhall but some from the Derry Housing Council were still occupying an office, as I understood. But this -- it stunned me. Had the Orangemen come en masse to wreak havoc on Eamonn’s march? Had I been so lost in fixing Mrs. Clark’s lamp I’d missed a call to arms?
I searched for Father Jack but could see him nowhere. I did see a neighbor lady and called down, “Mrs. McCory, up here -- it’s Brendan!”
She looked around and waved, actually smiling. “This is some show, wouldn’t ya say?”
“Smashing!” I took a wild leap and motioned to the Guildhall. “So how many Proddy bastards’re in there you think?”
“I’m hearin’ near five-hundred. And there’s more than a few would gladly burn the damned hall around them.”
“Have you seen Father Jack?”
Then we heard a man calling for the crowd to disperse, and she turned back to the crush. He told people that the whole purpose of the march was to show non-violence and if they did attack the Orangemen in the hall, they’d only prove the liars in Stormount right -- that Catholics were out to do Protestants harm. He wasn’t the first trying to restore control but he was the loudest and most eloquent. Some still circled the hall, calling out insults, but others began to back off. I could see smoke rising from the car park and the Christmas tree was waving oddly, like someone was climbing it, but the animal danger was gone.
Maybe half the crowd had melted away before I saw Mairead, Terry Dolan with her. Then I remembered Ma hadn’t known I was off to Mrs. Clark’s -- in fact, the house had been quiet, with not a noise from the kitchen or in Ma’s garden. Not a sound from Rhuari, Maeve or Kieran. Had Ma even been home? If not, I’d left the place open, and she’d be vexed with me for that.
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