This post was originally posted on February 5th, 2011.
Growing up in Northern Ireland during the troubles always sounds awful to people. Don’t get me wrong, what happened and is happening to my country is awful, but it didn’t seem awful back then. Well it did, but it also was just ‘normal’ as it was all I knew.
I was protected from a lot of it by my parents and also by where I lived, so my memories are tame compared to what so many have gone through and witnessed. I saw the daily news, I saw the bombs, the destruction, the carnage, but when you see it day in day out, year after year after year, it became ‘normal’; to be security checked before you could walk down a street, to queue outside a shop, get your bag searched, get the intrusive body search before entering a shop, all ‘normal’. I remember visiting Edinburgh as a child and standing waiting to enter a shop, people pushing by me and me opening my bag for the security man to check it’s contents for incendiary devices. The ‘doorman’ looked at me quizzically as he opened the door and my elder sister explained “we’re not in Northern Ireland now” as she pushed me into the shop.
It hadn’t dawned on me why I was always checked at home, hadn’t dawned on me what they were looking for. It hadn’t dawned on me that other places didn’t act like us, didn’t need the security like us. I remember my TV programs being interrupted by ‘key holder requests’ and wondering where my dad was going to when he went out. His place of work was in an area in town constantly affected by bomb warnings and threats. As I got older, my knowledge grew. I hated what was happening and was fiercely protective of my country when run down by others. There was a lot of confusion regarding religion and sides. A lot of hate that I didn’t understand. Hunger strikes, Bobby Sands, the H block, the Twelfth of July, all words that became part of my vocabulary in my childhood and early teens; most of which, I still didn’t understand. Murals appearing around Belfast depicting masked gunmen. Both sides fighting ‘their war’ ; innocent people dying. Those who know and understand politics better than I, can give you clear and concise details as to the who, where and why. This is not a ‘what went on’ story, but a ‘how it felt’ tale……
In my nursing career, I had the privilege of nursing the headmaster who was seriously injured in the Enniskillen bombing. I nursed him for 5 years, as did his faithful wife. I put myself in her shoes, her soulmate a shell of his former self, sad times. Victims. One of many many victims. so when you’ve grown up where the troubles have always been & then you have some sort of peace in ’98, as a young mother, I sighed a sigh of relief. My children wouldn’t have to see that in their country. My children would be brought up in a less bigoted environment.
So imagine my dismay, when in 2011 I see fresh news-headlines of bombscares, roads closed, homes evacuated. I’ve watched Belfast grow into a gorgeous city well worth a visit, a city of great architecture, modern along side historic, a place I’m proud of. I don’t want it to come crashing down. The troubles started in 1968. (the riots in ’69) Peace came (apparently) in 1998. The result, a military stalemate. There was a paramilitary ceasefire and the Belfast Good Friday agreement was signed.
I love my country and I love my children, I hope they never have to live through the ‘normality’ I lived through….
