Grim Portadown. Great hatred, little room. In the early 1970s the late Reginald Maudling, then British Home Secretary, visited a particularly troubled Northern Ireland for the first time. It had not been a pleasant experience.
At its end, as he got on board a helicopter, he muttered to the crew: "What a bloody awful country. Give me a large scotch."
After 10 days in Portadown it is difficult not to sympathise with Mr Maudling. There are about 25,000 people in the town, 5,000 Catholic. It is the citadel of loyalism harbouring the enemy within. History was unkind to it.
There, the finer manifestations of civilisation struggle. Tolerance is weakness, compromise is betrayal, and dialogue is rare. It brings forth a certain type of person, such as we have seen too much of this century; a type which reduces the moral to silence.
That happened this week. For four days, as forces of darkness were unleashed across Northern Ireland, the four main church leaders looked on, mute. According to reliable information, Tony Blair, following his meeting with the same church leaders at Hillsborough last week, pronounced them "useless". By Thursday of this week he could have rested his case.
Portadown does that to people. It is where one can say with accuracy: "Look at these Christians - how they hate one another."
On Thursday evening, goaded by media queries, three of the church leaders issued statements, while the Catholic Primate, Dr Brady, chose to remain consistent.
Spokespeople indicated that the Church of Ireland primate, Dr Robin Eames, and Dr Brady, had been involved in "delicate negotiations involving crosscommunity groups" throughout the week.
Contacts on the ground in Portadown remain unaware of any such negotiations.
It would appear the actual position of our church leaders this week was not dissimilar to that of the Rev Duane Russell, chaplain to the Portadown District of the Loyal Orange Lodge. At about 1.30 a.m. on Thursday he had completed another of his frequent prayer services at "the stables", a small building attached to Drumcree graveyard. Again he had appealed for calm, dignity, and restraint.
Then he walked to the hill outside and, standing with an elderly Orangeman, watched idly and silent as the thugs in the fields below taunted police, shone spotlights in their faces, and let off fireworks and thunderflashes in their direction. Later they would use nail and blast bombs.
What use is religion if it allows such things be done in its name? Where has religion been in Portadown all week? "On a hillside standing by", might be a reply, whether in Drumcree or Armagh.
The Orange Order is a religious institution. Its membership is made up in great part of adherents to our three main Protestant denominations. At Drumcree, the Church of Ireland vestry is allowing the order use its premises during the standoff.
Does not all of that give the Protestant church leaders a greater moral authority in the context? Why then did they choose not to exercise that authority for the greater part of this week? And when they did speak why was it in such generalised language as to render what they said practically "useless"?
On the Catholic side, where has Dr Brady been? Why has he not publicly engaged the residents of the Garvaghy Road instead of allowing the intransigent minority to rule? Where have his words of "Love your neighbour as yourself", and "Do unto others as you would they should do unto you" been?
At a deeper level he might look at his church's role in helping to create the culture which has brought Drumcree about. He might look at education, for instance. On Tuesday at Drumcree I spoke to an Orangeman I had met there last year. He remembered me and plied me with tea. He is a quiet decent man, and very anxious to praise his Catholic neighbours. He told me the story of Craigavon School, without anger; just sadness.
In the late 1960s, part of plans for a new city of Craigavon, including Portadown and Lurgan, had been to build one school for all the children. But the Catholic Church insisted on building its own school. The school in Craigavon was left "half-empty", with just Protestant children.
Drumcree '98 has not been good for our churches. Nor was Drumcree '97, '96, or '95. Nor have the past 30 years in Northern Ireland.
If anything, the conflict there has exposed a woeful bankruptcy. It has allowed religion be presented as a source of conflict rather than of reconciliation. It has distorted its meaning, from re ligere in Latin, meaning to reunite.
For younger Irish people, beyond our tribal contexts, it has promoted powerfully the "a plague on all your houses" view, and hastened the rapid spread of a less divisive, more peaceful secularisation.
Meanwhile, in Portadown, they cling to older ways, hating one another in the name of God and hating those who would have it differently. On Tuesday night Seamus Mallon visited the Garvaghy Road. He had a meeting there with Breandan Mac Cionnaith. Afterwards, Mr Mac Cionnaith read a terse statement saying the meeting had taken place. A crowd had gathered and read Mr Mac Cionnaith's demeanour.
A few brief minutes later Seamus Mallon appeared. The crowd surged at him screaming "no sell-out", "Catholic unionist", "Go home to Markethill" - a predominantly Protestant village where Mr Mallon comes from - "Go back to Trimble". Some were so incensed that violence seemed inevitable. A heavy media presence became a physical buffer between Mr Mallon and the mob. Then he got into his car.
Afterwards the mob went to the local community centre for a meeting and were addressed by Mr Mac Cionnaith. About 200 attended. There are approximately 1,500 people living on the Garvaghy Road. This, then, was the residents' group acting democratically.
Before the Orange parade set off from Portadown for Drumcree last Sunday there was a service at the town's war memorial for those who died at the Somme. Afterwards, four middle-aged women stood around weeping copiously. One woman said they were crying "for our men, [going to whatever at Drumcree] and the state of the country."
They blamed Breandan Mac Cionnaith for all their woes. "He's a pig," said one of the women, "he wants to run our town." Last Thursday morning, after an Orange Order press conference in Portadown, DUP Assembly member Jim Wells speculated on how many residents on the Garvaghy Road would be "up out of their beds" on a normal Sunday at the time the parade passed down there on the first Sunday in July. "They get up to be offended", he said.
But to be at the receiving end of such hatred as the people of Portadown usually reserve for each other is enlightening. As the Orange parade set off from Carleton Street last Sunday and later as it passed the loyalist Edgarstown area en route to Drumcree, the media found themselves the object of venom normally reserved by the onlookers for Catholics.
Women (and they were mainly women) on the crowded footpaths jeered at journalists. "Tramps," screamed one. "Go and write your writing on the Garvaghy Road", shouted another.
As the parade passed St Mark's Church going towards the town centre, one hysterical young woman knocked the notebook from my hand and screamed something at me. While I picked it up from the street a French journalist said to me "she called you a rude word for a Catholic." He did not elaborate.
Bloody awful country. However, I'll stay with the Bushmills.