The general mood was festive, good-humoured and celebratory, but things turned flat when the parade passed by, writes UNA BRADLEY
WILLIAM OF Orange must be on good terms with the gods as, after days of torrential rain, the sun beamed down on yesterday’s Twelfth parade in Belfast.
The good weather created a particularly upbeat mood from the off. By 10am, hundreds were already lining the pavements along the Lisburn Road, an arterial route heading towards the suburbs.
From grannies with walking-aids to toddlers, families were out in force, with children dressed for the occasion and accessorised with mini-batons, mini-Lambeg drums and union flags.
Move over Ginger Spice’s Union Jack dress – here were jumpsuits, leggings, faces, wigs, handbags, doodly-boppers and ra-ra skirts entirely made from red, white and blue stripes. A tiny baby in a pram was bedecked with bunting.
Many coffee shops along the upper stretch of the road – a shopping Mecca with designer boutiques and elegant eateries – opened this year, creating a much more cosmopolitan Twelfth.
While elderly onlookers still tended to bring their flasks along with their deck-chairs, the next generation was sipping takeaway lattes.
On any day, the Lisburn Road is a tale of two cities – not so much the orange/green split, but the socio-economic one. As you walk from the salubrious Malone area towards the city – and the loyalist areas of Sandy Row and the Village – the demographic shifts.
Yesterday, these class differences were writ large. It’s illegal to drink out of doors in the North, but youths – including some who were clearly under age – were guzzling from cider bottles and alcopops along the middle and lower Lisburn Road, in full view of the PSNI.
The vibe was not as friendly, either, as you walked towards town. This reporter got a few frosty stares from a bunch of young women when The Irish Times was mentioned.
In general, though, the mood was festive, good-humoured and celebratory. A 60-something couple from Hillsborough, Co Down, who did not wish to be named, said the day was about “enjoyment, fun and humour”. The man said he was “proud to be British” while his wife said Catholics should “come along to the event and enjoy it. They’d be very welcome.”
Bethel Sweeney (30), originally from Ethiopia and pushing her two young boys Caleb (3) and 10-month-old Joshua, had been attending the Twelfth since she settled in the North five years ago.
“It’s a good, fun, family day out. I love the atmosphere, I’ve never seen any hassle.”
Cargoes coffee shop opened its doors for the first time this year. “I wasn’t expecting it to be anything like this busy,” said its proprietor. “Next year, we’re definitely going to do a Twelfth breakfast.”
Ironically, the only downbeat note was when the parade passed by. Considering everyone had been waiting hours for this moment, the crowds seemed to suddenly turn awkward, as if no one knew where to look. Perhaps it was the formal, militaristic nature of the bands – marching in synchronised semaphore, staring straight ahead – or perhaps it was some subliminal acknowledgment of the religious roots of Orangeism, but at the exact moment when you would expect the excitement to reach a pinnacle, the mood was flat.
Where was the applause, the cheering, the whoops of encouragement? It was more like standing respectfully while a funeral goes by.
A few other scenes said much about the diverse nature of unionism. A young woman with a Union Jack bra visible under a see-through top was larging it up with her beer can as a band brushed past. She contrasted sharply with the buttoned-up, dapper, dark-suited men.
There is more than one shade of orange.