I WAS in west Belfast for two separate events last week; one sad, one happy.
Last Wednesday, I attended a family funeral in St Peter’s Cathedral. When west Belfast is mentioned, too often it’s in relation to bad news; what we don’t hear about are the acts of kindness and courtesy that, in my experience, better reflect the people of that area.
Taking Wednesday as an example, I’d parked my car and walked to the funeral home while my wife went on to the chapel. On her way she heard a girl shout "Excuse me", but not knowing anyone from the area, had presumed it was directed at someone else, and walked on.
As she entered the chapel, she felt a touch on her shoulder and turned round to realise the girl had been talking to her. The girl explained we’d parked our car in a bad area and should move it on to the main road where it would be safe.
Now, you can take this incident in two ways. If you choose to be negative, then this is validation of why west Belfast has a bad reputation. I, however, choose to view it as an example of kindness and concern from a stranger, seldom replicated in more affluent areas.
My second visit to west Belfast was to headline the 30th anniversary Feile An Phobail comedy night in the Devenish complex, last Saturday night. This was my third appearance in succession at Feile, and every year it just gets better. A more appreciative audience I’ve yet to find, and along with Paddy McDonnell – also on the bill – a wonderful night was had by all.
The very existence of Feile demonstrates how a community came together to transcend their difficulties. It’s not coincidental that it’s held during August, as August 9 marks Internment commemorations, which in the past meant both bonfires and street disturbances. Where once west Belfast was blighted by riots and ruined roads, today you have Europe’s largest community festival.
I’m sure many of you can see where I’m heading with this. If west Belfast turned a negative into a positive, why can’t east Belfast do the same in relation to its problematic bonfires?
I’m not advocating doing away with 11th night bonfires completely, I’m suggesting a development from who can build the highest pyre towards added cultural activities attractive to all in the community.
Like many of my Protestant friends, I find it galling that when ‘Protestant culture’ is mentioned by the media they invariably mean either bonfires, marches or flute bands. Having had the privilege this year of playing both the Shankill and the Falls, I know that ‘Protestant culture’ means more than burning tyres.
I’ve visited west Belfast for over 40 years and can bear personal witness to a transformation that should be both recognised and applauded. All anyone need to do is drive up the Falls Road any day of the week to see multitudes of foreign visitors taking in the sights. I remember a time when the only visitors to the Falls Road were British soldiers, and they definitely didn’t dawdle to take in the view.
With that in mind, let me finish with a story I was told some time ago. In the same way that US soldiers are returning to Vietnam to visit where they once fought, so it seems British soldiers are now returning to Belfast.
I didn’t find this too surprising; what did astound me was to learn who was acting as their tour guides… ex-IRA members.
I suppose it makes sense – who would know more than a former combatant? – but I did wonder how such an interaction would play out.
I imagined the tour guide being stern yet efficient. "Right lads, we’re at the corner of the Falls and Springfield. Nobody wander off, peace has arrived, but let’s not push our luck."
A soldier might reminisce, "Yeah, I almost got shot here once."
The tour guide, interest perked: "When was that then?" The soldier: "March 11 1976."
With this the tour guide would stand back in amazement – "Was that you?!" – and, using his thumb and finger in the universal sign of a gun, point at the squaddie, saying: "Sure wasn’t it only me what tried ‘til shoot ye!"
After this would follow much laughter, back slapping and the dark humour so common among military types, culminating with the tour guide begging the squaddie, "Here, lucky b****x, go pick us a horse in the 1.30 at Aintree."
