Thousands assembled in Down yesterday for a religion-lite afternoon
IT WAS the type of Twelfth the Orange powers-that-be would wish for. Little Georgian Hillsborough, picture perfect amid the sunlit drumlins of north Down, was en fête while Mickey and Minnie Mouse set the family-friendly tone. In stark contrast to scenes elsewhere, there were orange balloons, and bunting, kids’ buggies and ice creams, babes in arms and grandparents.
Heavily made-up teenage girls in massive sunglasses, as big as goggles, tried to impress the boys in the bands. The tattoo count was the merest fraction of what you would find in nearby brash, boozy Belfast.
Designer tops by Abercrombie and Fitch significantly outnumbered the Rangers, Ulster rugby and Northern Ireland soccer shirts. The iconography of Ulster’s loyal subjects appears to be changing.
There were fewer police than you would see at a small GAA club game. Those officers that were on duty directed the traffic and firmly ordered the lads drinking at the pub doors to take their pints indoors.
“No street drinkin’ now boys,” said a rather gruff officer, finger stabbing towards the interior of the Plough Inn as if it were the worst misdemeanour imaginable. They obeyed, sheepishly.
The parade arrived sweating its way up the steep hill to Hillsborough Fort. Leading it was the Orangeism’s super-hero figure Diamond Dan, accompanied by a traditional Ulster Scots band Nae Goat’s Toe and a handful of kids with a banner bearing the aspiration “Tourist Twelfth Flagship”.
It was all very photogenic and visitor friendly.
Then came the first of the Orange lodges, complete with Jeffrey Donaldson and Edwin Poots, the MP and the Stormont Minister, resplendent in their Orange finery.
The next band was more traditional – heavy on the percussion and with piercing flutes. Then came the Hillsborough Protest Boys, complete with collection buckets which seemed to go largely unheeded and unfilled as the men in collarettes passed by onlookers 10-deep along the street.
Ballymacarrett Defenders from east Belfast followed. They seemed a little out of place amid the calm and laid back sobriety of Co Down and away from the tensions of their home city.
The lodges and banners arrived in waves with the odd car carrying the elderly and the collapsed the final stretch into the field. As the ranks of the bowler-hatted seems to be ageing, the drummers are getting younger, fitter and fresher. No faces turned towards Hillsborough Castle, the scene of much British government treachery in recent decades. It wasn’t that kind of day.
In the picturesque lakeside setting of the field, picnics were laid out, burgers sizzled and tea was poured. Meanwhile, those with titles took to the platform with little ceremony to swear allegiance to the reformed faith, to the queen and the state.
Thanksgiving was offered for the sending of William to Ireland saving all from “tyranny, arbitrary power and superstition”.
The Rev Stephen Kilpatrick, charged with delivering the address, warned for 13 minutes of the dangers of “the removal of ancient landmarks”. The IRA was denounced and the Roman church criticised along with King Ahab and Jezebel among others.
None of which stopped the picnicking, the sunbathing and the tea drinking. As is common on the Twelfth, the thousands who had assembled opted for a religion-lite afternoon.