Paul Cullen watched the decommissioning of cameras at a south Armagh fort
They topple statues to mark change in other parts of the world, but in south Armagh the cameras were the first to go.
Slender, sinister devices of great sophistication, the British army's all-seeing eyes, were removed from three of their outposts in "Bandit Country" yesterday.
Arc-welders in military fatigues set to dismantle the cameras in the full gaze of television cameras; yet another round of choreography as the show known as the peace process started a new run.
Yet there was no denying a symbolism that saw the first fruits of this week's IRA statement go to its stronghold in south Armagh.
The ugly excrescences of block and corrugated tin still dominate the landscape in Forkhill, Newtownbutler and Camlough, but today the surveillance forts stand mute, robbed of their powers. No more night vision, no more David Attenborough-type long lenses. It can only be a matter of time before the walls come tumbling down.
It was grim and damp in south Armagh, the kind of day British soldiers used to dread. The kind favoured by snipers and other paramilitaries, with hilltops shrouded in fog and summer's growth providing maximum cover.
It was on a day like this in 1979 that the IRA claimed its first victim in a mortar attack, as 45 lbs of explosives landed on
Pte Peter Woolmore while he was having a pee inside the base at Newtownhamilton. Even as late as 1997, the IRA was still attacking the base.
They were shooting again at Newtownhamilton yesterday, but this time it was only cameras. As helicopters came and went, soldiers, machine-guns in their hands, reflexively sheltered behind walls and gates for added security. But this wasn't Basra, not even Belfast in the 1970s, and the weapon in the hands of the elderly passerby was no more than a walking cane.
Those seeking succour in Tom's Bar, sandwiched between the base and a helipad, welcomed the army's imminent departure. "About time too," said Patrick, a pensioner nursing a dram of whiskey. "It'll be a nice wee town without the soldiers."
"They've destroyed business here," said bar owner Tom McVerry, as another helicopter droned overhead. "This is a ghost town. We've been forgotten about." While other locals complained about constant patrolling by army units, Mr McVerry looked enviously at the other side of the Border.
"Castleblayney has tidied up terrific. Everywhere else has hanging baskets and flowerpots but you can't even get a cup of tea here." Down the road in Forkhill, the base looked unkempt and unoccupied.
No one responded to the bell's ring and local residents remarked on the absence of the usual helicopter activity. Eventually, however, a lone soldier appeared at a window on the sanger (observation tower). The police were gone, he said, and the cameras had been taken away in the morning. Oh, and he, too, would be gone soon.