The Faithful Tribe: An Intimate Portrait of the Loyal Institutions
The first, intimate portrait of the Orange Order.If there is any more controversial body of men (and, with the exception of Ruth Dudley Edwards, who has been admitted to an honorary position in her very own lodge, they are all men) in the British Isles, it is hard to think who they might be. To most outsiders, grown men parading in bowler hats, white gloves, coloured sashes or collarettes, rolled umbrellas and banners showing scenes from the Old Testament or from a war that ended three centuries ago, are anachronistic, silly and provocative; to their enemies they are triumphalist bigots; to most of their members, the lodges’ parades are a commemoration of the courage of their forefathers, a proud declaration of their belief in civil and religious freedom, a demonstration of their Britishness, a chance to catch up with old friends and a jolly day out.Ruth Dudley Edwards is an unlikely Joan of Arc for the Orangemen, but that she is; a trusted and liked sympathizer, a woman, a Catholic from southern Ireland; one who sees them as possibly rather bumptious and certainly their own worst enemy, endlessly outpaced by the nimble Republicans in terms of PR (which the Orangemen scorn to meddle with). She has written a fond but not uncritical, indeed rather exasperated, portrait of this tribe, with lashings of insider detail and revelation which no one else could hope to obtain.
Читать The Faithful Tribe: An Intimate Portrait of the Loyal Institutions онлайн беплатно
The Faithful Tribe
An Intimate Portrait of the Loyal Institutions
RUTH DUDLEY EDWARDS
To all my friends in the loyal institutions and especially to Henry (who dragged me into this in the first place), Lorraine, Erin and Thomas, my Northern Ireland family, who made researching this book such a joy.
Contents
1. Eight Parades, a Cancellation and Some Anthropological Notes from the War-zone
2. What Members of the Irish Loyal Institutions Do
3. Onlookers, Participants and Opponents: the Twelfth
8. ‘Conceived and brought forth by humble men’
9. A Century in the Life of a Lodge
12. The Rise of the Residents’ Groups
13. The Background to Drumcree
14. Drumcree One, 9–11 July 1995
16. The Drumcree Disaster, 7–11 July 1996
17. The Road to Drumcree Three: William Bingham’s Story
18. Drumcree Three: The Rest of the Story
19. Drumcree Four, 5 July 1998–?
1. Royal Black Preceptory No 800, Clogher, County Tyrone, circa 1930.
2. Tom Reid (as baby) at his first Twelfth, Fivemiletown, County Tyrone, 1934.
3. Banter at ‘The Field’, Ballymoney, County Antrim, August 1989. (JFA Studio)
4. The annual re-enactment of the Battle of the Boyne at Scarva, County Down. (Bobbie Hanvey)
5. Making Lambeg drums in Belfast. (JFA Studio)
6. Three generations of the Brownlees family, Ballymena, County Antrim. (Bobbie Hanvey)
7. ‘If Northern Ireland Was Really “British”…’ (Martyn Turner/Irish Times)
8. Henry, Erin and Thomas Reid outside the Orange Hall in Glenageeragh, County Tyrone, 1995.
9. Gerard Rice of the Lower Ormeau Concerned Community. (MSI)
10. Donncha MacNiallis of the Bogside Residents’ Group. (Belfast Telegraph)
11. Martin McGuinness and Breandán MacCionnaith walk the Garvaghy Road. (Dan Chung/Reuters)
12. Robert Saulters, Grand Master. (MSI)
13. Press Conference at Craigavon, County Armagh, 27 June 1997. (Belfast Telegraph)
14. Garvaghy Road, County Armagh, 6 July 1997. (John Giles/?? News)
15. Apprentice Boys Pageant, Londonderry, August 1997. (Mark Stakem)
16. RUC versus loyalists in Derry, aftermath of Apprentice Boys Parade, 1997. (Mark Stakem)
17. Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness at rally following Belfast anti-internment march, August 1997. (Mark Stakem)
18. Chinook picking up soldiers from field above Drumcree church, 10 July, 1998. (Max Nash/Associated Press)
19. Joel Patton and his supporters occupying the House of Orange in protest against the leadership, December 1997. (MSI)
20. Protest march in Sandy Row, 6 July 1998. (Belfast Telegraph)
21. Funeral of Jason, Mark and Richard Quinn, July 1998. (Pacemaker)
22. Harold Gracey in his caravan at Drumcree, January 1999. (Martin McCullough)
When I go to Northern Ireland, I’m looking back to my youth in the 1950s. I remember in Sheffield on Whit Monday when Protestant Sunday schools used to parade to a service and Boys’ Brigade, sea scouts, boy scouts, cubs, brownies, girl guides – scores of children walking past behind a banner carried by some adult. And we all used to go along and the preachers used to preach and everybody used to walk around talking to people you’d not seen for a year. I remember that from my boyhood and see a resonance of it in Northern Ireland. They are to some extent recreating the old virtues of family, sobriety, self-reliance, hard work and thrift.
It’s the Blue Remembered Hills: you can’t go back. We can all see that community and experience a sense of loss – because we know where we’ve come from. But it makes me feel angry that an entire community should be demonized for no greater crime than being out of fashion.
English Orangeman
AT AN ANGLO-IRISH CONFERENCE in 1996, I was standing in the bar with two Northern Irish Orangemen when a third came up and said: ‘I spent an hour last night explaining to X and Y [two intelligent and sophisticated members of the Dáil, the Irish parliament] why I’m an Orangeman. One of them has just bounced over to me and said: “We’ve been talking about you, and we’ve all decided that you can’t be an Orangeman. You’re too nice.” ‘ To which the second Orangeman replied: ‘I was in Dublin a while ago when someone in the group I was with who knew me quite well said: “Why don’t you tell those awful Orangemen to stop those parades?” When I explained that I was an Orangeman, they all said, “You’re not.” I said, “I am,” and they said, “You’re not.” “But I am.” “You’re not. You’re not. You’re not.” So I said, “OK. Have it your way. Obviously when I think I parade through Belfast in a collarette on the Twelfth of July I’m suffering from delusions.” ‘ And the third Orangeman, who had always believed the southern Irish mind was so closed it was a waste of time trying to explain anything, said, ‘There you are! What did I tell you?’
