Golden Birds of Hope

 

When we arrived in Enniskillen, the sun came out and shone throughout our visit. What a pretty place it was, surrounded by lakes and woods and hills, Celtic monasteries and Neolithic megalith tombs nearby, enticing to us holiday makers. 

It did not tally with what we'd heard of Enniskillen in the past - the 1987 Remembrance Day Massacre where a bomb killed eleven and injured sixty-three. However, as we began to explore the area by foot, car and boat, visiting local castles, we found that the long-enduring troubled past had been sprayed with the blood of previous devastating massacres on both sides. 

In the main street of the town itself, the Catholic Church squared up to the Protestant one, each vying to be more massive and taller.

Yet on the front of each, there was the same symbol - a golden silhouette of a swallow, pinned to the wall. And soon, I began to notice these golden birds in other places - war memorials, shops.  

I investigated.

Oscar Wilde, as a boy, had boarded at Enniskillen Grammar School. From his dormitory, he'd looked out on a statue of the first British governor there - Cole.  Like Nelson's Column, it dominated the town. Young Oscar began to imagine what it would be like if the statue would sacrifice his grandeur for the sake of the poor townspeople below. The resulting story was The Happy Prince.

Thus, the gold birds dotted about Enniskillen are a reference to the swallow in the story who acted as messenger for the statue of the prince and delivered his gold and jewels to the people below.

But perching as they do both on Protestant and Catholic walls, it's hard not to see the golden swallows also as emissaries of peace. Nowadays, perhaps instead of gold and jewels, they are bringing hope for the future.

The wrong Rough Fort

We were to drive from Carnlough to Derry/Londonderry. Was there anything we should see on the way?

Indeed there was. On the Limavady to Ballykelly road lay The Rough Fort - one of many donut-shaped earthworks built around a thousand years ago, and still dotting the landscape. Known as raths, they were defensive - farmers and cattle could retreat there when a raid was threatened.

The Limavady rath had been restored by the National Trust and we were eager to see it. The only drawback was that when I entered 'Rough Fort, Limavady' into Google maps, it gave us the route to a housing estate in Moira, many miles away. This happened repeatedly until Nigel grabbed the phone from me and took over.

'That's better,' he said. 

An hour later, we arrived.

Amidst new houses (which had not been visible in the NT publicity shot) nestled a large circular earthwork. We read the plaque, circled rhe earthwork, took a few snaps and got back in the car.

Then we set Google maps to Derry. But it told us that instead of being close to our destination, we were now eighty miles from it.

Despite our best efforts we had still been directed to the housing estate in Moira.

At least there had been a rath there.

But the most remarkable thing of all was that I managed not to say,

'I told you so!'

Until now, that is.

Away Again?

Not long after returning from walking the Pembrokeshire coast and we are off again, this time to Northern Ireland. Nigel had booked travel and hotels.

'Um why are we going away again so soon?'

In fact, Northern Ireland is a trip I've been lobbying for for years. Although in our youth this land was all over our TV screens, torn by violence and civil war, this is a moment of comparative peace, an opportunity to enjoy the beautiful landscape, wildlife and history. 

It turned out Nigel had made the arrangements while I was in grief over the death of my mother as a gift to me.

But why now?

The trip will coincide with our 40th wedding anniversary - a chance to celebrate.

So although I feel a bit sheepish about going way on holiday again, I think I'll just say 'Thank you very much, Nigel.'