An Irishman's Diary

THAT EXCHANGE of letters about the depiction of our national flag on the side of Ryanair aircraft reminded me of a story from the North last Halloween, also involving a display of the Tricolour, but in this case on sheep.

It happened on a farm in Tyrone where, according to the Belfast Telegraph, six ewes were spray-painted green, white, and orange (or just green and orange, to be exact: the white being there already). Unfortunately, they were Protestant sheep: Protestant-owned, anyway. So while it looked like a mere Halloween prank, the incident may also have had sectarian undertones. It certainly wasn't mature.

But this aside, what was clear from the pictures is that, whether they realised it or not, the spray-painters had observed correct protocol for the flag’s display: in that, just like Ryanair, they had put the green part nearest the front on both sides of the sheep.

To the casual observer, the colours on the animals’ starboard flank might have appeared, as our original letter writer put it, “arseways”. On the contrary: as with the airline, they were properly displayed to suggest forward motion by each sheep’s fuselage, causing the flag to billow towards the rear.

The colour order was thus in keeping with stipulation No 1 of the Government’s guidelines on correct flag-use, ie that the green section should always be nearest the flagpole – the “hoist” end, as it’s known – while the orange part should be farthest away, at the so-called “fly” end.

(By coincidence, the rear of a sheep is also sometimes known as the “fly” end, albeit for very different reasons.)

IT'S Arather arcane world, this etiquette of national flags. But at least the Tricolour is relatively straightforward.

Consider, by contrast, the British flag. Not only is it very difficult to spray-paint on sheep, if you were so inclined – it is also very easy, for the casual user at least, to display it upside-down.

In fact, the flag’s vestigial Irish part – the cross of St Patrick – is key to knowing which way is up. Not that St Patrick is strictly entitled to have a cross named in his honour: something normally reserved for Christian martyrs.

But that’s a side issue. The point is that, on the union flag, his saltire’s upper left arm should be below the wider white stripe: a mystery that still evades many Britons.

I remember well, for example, on the night of the Belfast Agreement, having to drive into Stormont through a cavalcade of angry Paisleyites who were draping union flags across the windscreens of all approaching cars. I couldn’t help but notice that several of the flags were hung incorrectly. And yet, what with my having a Southern- registered car and all, I didn’t stop to point this out.

OF COURSE, draping a national flag across anything in this manner is usually discouraged. And profaning it by contact with the ground, ever, is a particular sin. Not that this bothers the many football supporters who like to wear their national flags like Superman's cape, one end tied around the neck and the rest hanging down their backs, often arseways (and invariably arse-covering), while trailing on the floor.

The official unease about lowering national colours – a relic of past wars, no doubt – is evident in the tortured protocol by which flags may be flown “half-mast”.

In fact, this is often a misnomer in Ireland, where half-way down the mast is the very lowest that the Tricolour (and the bottom of the Tricolour at that) may ever be flown, and a bit higher up is often preferred.

It’s strange but true, and not widely known, that the reason for flying flags at half-mast on occasions of mourning is to make room at the top of the pole for the invisible “flag of death”.

Once sufficient space is left for this ghostly standard, the lowered flag may be considered “half-mast”, however high up.

Probably the biggest weakness of the Irish Tricolour, impeccable as its symbolism may be, is the white bit in the middle. Yes, it represents the hope for peace between Ireland’s two political traditions (and their sheep). But it is also often mistaken for a billboard, to advertise everything from Irish pubs to British bookmaking chains.

Perhaps the Young Irelanders had a point when, circa 1850, they considered making the middle section blue. The orange was for established-church Protestants, they reasoned, so the blue could be for Presbyterians. Then again, maybe the Methodists, Jews, and freethinkers would also have demanded inclusion, and we would have ended up with a patchwork quilt.

In any case, independent Ireland settled in the end for the version we have. And, as you all doubtless know, the shade of green used should always be the one identified in the international Pantone Colour Matching System as “no 347”. The correct orange, anyone? Sorry, time’s up: it’s “151”.

Presumably the painted flags on Ryanair aircraft are fully compliant in this regard, too. But as an occasional passenger with the airline, that is never my main priority. I would be much more concerned that the pilots observe point 19 of the Government guidelines, ie: “Care should be taken at all times to ensure that the National Flag does not touch the ground, trail in water, or become entangled in trees or other obstacles”.