The complexion of the children told it all. Glowing, smartly dressed in bright colours with brand-new sneakers, they had at their disposal acres of land to explore in safety. They were enjoying their new adventure, a far cry from ethnic cleansing and the grim refugee camps of Macedonia.
At a news conference in Mill street, Co Cork, yesterday, their parents told another story. Before the assembled journalists met the refugees, who are settling in well, the Refugee Agency, an arm of the Department of Foreign Affairs, asked us to be sensitive to the trauma they had already endured.
If there were questions with which they were not comfortable, we should not press the issue. We should be mindful that some of their loved ones were still trapped in Kosovo, and any anti-Serb sentiment could be threatening to their relatives. It was agreed that if they made comments of a political nature, their names would not be used.
And they did. One Kosovan economist said the lives of Albanians in the region had deteriorated since the start of the NATO bombardment, which had led to the acceleration of the Serbian programme of ethnic cleansing. He said such a price had to be paid if they were ever to return to a liberated homeland. "It's true that things got worse when the NATO campaign started, but we support what NATO is doing," he said, through an interpreter.
As he spoke about the horrors of what the Serbs had done in his home town of 6,000 people, tears streamed down the cheeks of his wife, who was sitting next to him in their new temporary home, the convent adjoining Drishane Castle. They were emphatic about one point. If and when Kosovo became safe once more, they would be on the first available aircraft home. They were happy in Ireland and appreciated what was being done for them, but they were longing to return to Kosovo.
Those Kosovans who agreed to speak to the media yesterday were reliving awful memories. One man, his wife cradling their three-year-old son, emphasised the point again. The Serbs came to his village, rounded up 10 men and shot them. They burned and plundered all before them as they moved on to the next village. On their way, they encountered an elderly farmer in the field, tending his cattle. They shot him.
The decision was made to move on. People packed what little they had left and about 4,000 of them set out on tractors and whatever other mode of transport they could muster. Some 6,000 in the next village did the same. As they passed through a Serb enclave on their way to the Macedonian border, their tractors and jeeps were confiscated, as were their identity cards and passports. Young and old walked the last 10 km to the refugee camp. They said food was plentiful there but the women and children in particular found the cold almost intolerable.
In dribs and drabs, the 39 Koso vans staying at Millstreet, including eight families, are venturing into the north Cork town to meet their new neighbours. If they could find work here they would welcome the opportunity because, as one of them said, "we have nothing left and we must build our lives from the beginning again".