Orangemen Forever

orangeman in liverpool

I grew up in a one mile square town. There were three Catholic churches, two Catholic grammar schools and my life swirled around organizations like the CYO and the Knights of Columbus. You were either Polish or Irish in my town, and the towns that abutted mine were filled with more Irish, Polish and Italian. All three nationalities are predominately Catholic. We were sequestered and insulated from the rest of the world. All the kids in my neighborhood attended classes and masses together. We moved like cattle through our lives praying and playing by rote. The first time I met someone who was a Protestant I looked at him like he had three heads. I thought the entire world was comprised of Catholics….

The next Protestant I remember meeting had emigrated to our little Catholic community from Northern Ireland. The first thing he asks us is whether we were Catholic or Protestant. The question was chilling. We all knew what was going on in Northern Ireland and the violence of the IRA; it was on the news a lot, but those struggles were far away and unreal, the world was unreal. My little backwater town of Harrison, NJ was safe and sequestered from the world. But, like the layers of an onion are peeled away, as I aged the reality of the world was slowly revealed. And, as the world presented itself as a wonderfully diverse orb, it too revealed the inherent violence of so many people disagreeing with one another.


Liverpool July 12, 2011


While attending Seton Hall University…yes a Catholic institution…some smart alecks painted an Orange line across the parade route for a St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Vailsburg section of Newark with the words ‘Orange Men Forever.’ The parade would not begin until the line and the offending words were painted over. Even with all the news of ‘The Troubles’; the name given to this era of violence in Northern Ireland; this was new to me. I did not realize the depth of emotion such acts could evoke. It was a prank, but this hedged on cataclysm. I mean didn’t we have a good life here in the United States? Weren’t all the Irish bars that lined the Jersey Shore places of hilarity and fun? Weren’t those signs that read ‘give Ireland back to the Irish’, cute? Again, my naivety of history was shocking.

Flash forward thirty something years. Here is Team VFH in Liverpool, England, on July 12 no less. This was the climax of the marching season in Northern Ireland and some parts of England. The season starts with Easter and continues to this date. Protestants, called Orangemen, march through the streets behind bands commemorating battles in which the Catholics were defeated. The first of these battles dates to the 1600’s. Though considered by many today as a good reason to drink and carouse in the streets, the marches once led to riots and violence. I shuddered at the massive police presence on the streets and expected the worst when we ventured out into the Liverpool evening to celebrate Adam’s birthday at an Indian restaurant across town. We cautiously eyed already weaving patrons clad in Orange as we passed them along the way.



Sisters of the Boyne, Liverpool

 At the restaurant, past the Lime Street station, we settled in at a long table with Adam’s parents. Bright sunlight poured into the wall of windows blinding us. We ordered our food and related Team VFH’s antics in Edinburgh and Belgium, not noticing the throngs gathering outside on the street. The parade was starting up and the muffled blare of horns and drumbeats began to invade our conversation. Heads turned. The gathered Americans in our group murmured worriedly, but Adam and his family were unconcerned and joked at our fear. Earlier in the day I had purchased an Everton jersey and wore it under my jacket. July 12 and it’s still chilly in Liverpool. Adam’s father and brother are big fans of the team and my stunt elicited approving applause and then a word of caution. Nodding his head at the throngs outside Adam’s father informed me that Everton was a Catholic team! My naivety dissolved completely and the words ‘I are retard’ went through my feeble brain. Faced with certain death from religious association I put on my jacket and went outside to get a closer look. I had come a long way from my protected little life in Harrison, NJ. I was not going to stop at the door.
 


July 12, 2011

 There certainly was an edgy feel to the event, from the crowds lining the streets to the various bands and marchers. One band weaved side to side in a serpentine motion as they played, as if to knock back the spectators. Men with batons held out like sabers forced people off the parade route, lest they got skewered. Orangemen in dark suits and wide orange sashes across their chests marched solemnly. Other lodges marching behind their elaborate banners that depicted historical figures or unionist symbols wore matching outfits or costumes. Some were colorful, some were humorous. Some danced and twirled as they cavorted along the route. Others marched with precision. Men, women and children were in the parade. A police van with cameras pointed at the crowds rolled slowly along the route documenting the progress. I tried to look particularly non-partisan and as American as I could as a few people eyed me curiously when I first sidled up to the route to ogle the parade and shoot some pictures. This was like experiencing history. Something read about in newspapers was being fleshed out before me. It was exciting and after my initial fear I was grinning along with the crowd at the colorfully dressed marchers. I suppose it might have been more dangerous or at least edgier had we been in Belfast and not Liverpool, for after the bands and marchers passed the crowd quickly dispersed and Liverpool was quiet again. This was certainly not a typical travel adventure and perhaps not for the faint of heart, it was definitely a fitting end to Team VFH’s trip to Europe.

Finally! I’ve caught up with our travels in Europe that ended in mid-July. Hope it was worth the wait for you all. I know, I know, there were no entries for the rest of the summer. Oops….
Love
Greg