It was a chilly morning and the beauty of the sun against Black Mountain was a sight worth while. I had taken along a book from my collection called Belfast Graves. A rather outdated book from the 1980's but still packed with relevant information and the stories behind many of the names I was looking at.
*****
What struck me the most was how young they all were. One young life that stands out is that of Sean O'Riordan who was shot dead by British soldiers in March 1972. He was only 13 years old. Nothing more than a child.
Walking along the Republican plot, I stopped at the names of those killed by the SAS in Gibraltar in the early 80's. I was reminded of the attack then carried out by Michael Stone. I stood in the very spot where people dived to take cover. I looked upon the area where he ran to escape. Mostly full of trees now and fenced off. My book showed images of IRA firing parties standing in the same spot also. Great honour was shown to those who had lost their lives.
At the end of the memorial plot stands the Irish Proclamation. This was of great interest to myself as I recently found out that my great great Grandfather had actually fought in the Easter Rising. A call for Irish men and women to have the right to be in control of Ireland's destiny.
As I left that section and walked towards the Republican Socialist plot, I could not help but challenge many of the beliefs that I had grown to know from a Unionist perspective. Most of what I had thought to be truths were in fact wrongs.
I use to believe this conflict was merely a form of the state against a terrorist faction. I was wrong in that assumption and from looking at the stories and ages behind most of the Republican dead and actions carried out by the British government, it was indeed a war.
I thought of North America, Africa, India, Hong Kong and countless others that had been taken by the British empire in it's height. Each country had been savaged: their people murdered and lands stolen. I had previously studied what the British colonialists had done in North America via several sources whilst living in America. These sources were not not Irish Republican sources and had no agenda of possible propaganda towards the Irish conflict.
That day I came across a memorial to the Irish famine. In which my one family suffered. Via many respectable history books, we have learned that during this famine, the British navy shipped out several tons of food per week to England. Both Catholics and Protestants died during the famine. Mass graves are dotted all across the North and South. England showed no mercy to either those who supported or were against them. The Irish regardless of religion or political belief were treated as sub human specimens. Many historic English writings attest to their view of the Irish.
The clouds and rain had now started to move in and I had decided it was time to leave Milltown and perhaps come back another day. Overall it was a very worthwhile venture and one I would suggest to those who have never been.
A generous take Maitiu given your unionist background. I hope you continue to write to us.
ReplyDeleteThat's a place I've never been to. In fact, there are lots of places in Belfast I haven't been to. I am not sure how to get to Milltown Cemetery, Andytown, Beechmount and a host of other places..
ReplyDeleteYet I've walked the lenght and breath of France..
I'll 2nd Anthony, apart from your unionist back ground. I'd call it a working class Irish protestant back ground (given your interests etc...)<--I stand to be corrected again.
Maitiu,
ReplyDeleteA lovely piece and one that reveals the real tragedy, so many lives lost.
Maitiu,
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the read it has been awhile since I took a walk around Milltown. I used to dander around there at least once a month paying respect to family and friends.
It was like a wee dander down memory lane it does stir some feelings when you happen across the stones that bear the young children robbed of life.
I used to go alone as it was a place to reflect and listen to my own private thoughts. I remember one time looking back at the gates thinking how peaceful it is here and then the reality set in that it wouldn’t be long before some poor family would be walking through those gates to bury another victim of our war.
I remember one time my older brother ventured along with me which I found strange at the time. As a child and teen he was both an alter-boy and a boy scout me and my mates would always give him a ribbing about that.
It was odd as he never usually would stray too far from home as he never was the same after the loyalists attempted to kill him.
When I took him to the republican plot I remember his sense of fear as he would keep looking round too far away from his comfort zone and in the heart of republican west Belfast.
Then I took him round showing him the graves of family and friends his mood lightened as we talked about remember this and that.
Heading out I came across the grave of a British soldier one I had probably walked past unnoticed many times before. For some reason my brother noticed the crown at the top of the old headstone and became unsettled.
He asked why a British soldier would be buried here I didn’t know whether I should laugh or punch him.
Much like at the republican plot he became visibly nervous as anything remotely military tended to scare him.
I told him to mind his mouth and read the stone the name was that of one of my grandfathers who had also fought in the Great War. I wondered if he could have been a relation though never did find out.
It was a lonely sight as I could tell it had been a long time since any of his family had been near the grave.
The stone battered by the elements had faded from white with watermarks trickling down.
It was a lonely place the thing I remember most is he was only seventeen barely of the boat alive and ready to die which I imagine his time at the front could have been a matter of days or weeks.
There is something tragic that spans time when youth is robbed it doesn’t matter what side it is a somber thought. Anyway, long story short I said a few peaceful words to the young man and made a habit of dropping by his lonely resting place.
My brother had had enough of graves so on that day I didn’t make my trip to the city cemetery and needless to say my brother only goes to a cemetery when a family or friend is being laid to rest.
Just reading your bit there brought back old memories.that 13yr old sean oriordan you mention.i was in the same class as him in primary school st galls waterville st.he lived in oranmore st in the clonard area.his mother flo was inprisioned in armagh jail.graveyards are good for snooping about sometimes.i was waiting in mallusk the other day for my van to be psvd and had a snoop around the graveyard there stumbeled upon the grave of jemmy hope .same as sean died for ireland.rip.
ReplyDeleteBilly,
ReplyDeleteJust recently Flo O Riordan has been engaged in a quite sad exchange with BN graves in relation to the wording on Sean's grave.
It was changed from 'killed in action' to murdered by crown forces'.
Flo wanted it changed back as she always believed that her son died as the result of an active service action.
Sean and several other Fianna were petrol bombing a house that the British army were using to spy on the local population.
Sean was shot dead. When Flo approached the National Graves about the change , she was asked.
'Did she not think that people who read his death inscription would wonder why a young person of that age was engaged in such an activity?'
Horrified by their arrogance and the fact they were acting outside their jurisdiction she contacted senior members of Sinn Fein such as Spike Murray but the inscription has never been changed.
It really is such a heartbreaking experience up at Milltown. Same as the times I have been to the Republican history museum in Clonard. The sheer amount of kids who were murdered by BA and RUC by baton rounds or real bullets, well those are war crimes under the geneva convention. It is horrendous. I remeber talking with a few friends at the Felons during a Celtic match one afternoon and the things that many in West Belfast suffered was beyond words. I grew up less than 10 miles away from the Falls but it may as well of been another world.
ReplyDeletemaitiu
ReplyDeletefair play to you for this piece. there are no nationalities or ideologies or sectarian differences in death: the dead are dead.
your piece reminded me of a visit I made to eilean donan castle in the highlands. there is a war memorial to the back and of the castle looking over the placid waters of lochs and tree covered hills.
every single name on that memorial is mc crea, they are the local clan and it blew me away that so many young men of the same name were on a single memorial and died in the squalor and horror of trench warfare, far away from the serene atmosphere of eilean donan.
From Carrie Twomey
ReplyDeleteThe heat came down on us
unexpectedly, a joy
The whole of the town was out
in the freedom
of the air
We took a walk through the dead
And remarked upon the
impact their bodies rest had
on our lives today
I stood in front of
Bobby Sands
Mairead Farrell
Marie Drumm
Miriam Daly
Those who had only been names
and were now still only names
in front of me, at my feet
Yet
more powerful
— unexpected like the summer rays
that reached down and
liberated us
from the continuous rain
They existed.
They existed.
And we can be, be
and be better
for they existed
-M. Angelou
And now I know
It is not so far past, not
myth or story, legend yes but
as real and tangible
as the hard gravel under
my step
You told me of the dead who are spoken of
as though just seen
yesterday, 5 minutes ago, last
week
soon to meet again
And I wondered how, and why
The spirit is always living with us:
Memory is a powerful thing
Hard and fast and as cruel
and beautiful
as your stark name etched in black.
Carrie wrote the above poem shortly after arriving in Belfast and just after a visit to Milltown.
ReplyDeleteWonderful poems. Regards to your wife for penning a wonderful piece.
ReplyDeleteIt may sound strange. I was not even born when Bobby Sands died but through reading his writings, speaking to people who knew him and various other mediums, I feel as if I do know Bobby to an extent.
Certainly a warmth to him and his words were very mature and educated for such a young man.