It was old, but it was beautiful

Saturday was the 12th of July… to non Norn Iron people its just the day after the 11th, but to ‘us’ it’s The Twelfth. Not only one day but it’s The Twelfth Fortnight. This year a strange thing happened, and im not sure how I feel about it. Since I’ve lived in England (5 years or so) its been weird that on the 12th of July people just get about their business, no bank holiday, no marches on the streets, no bunting, no general sectarian tension and shivery feeling that a riot could break out at any moment. But THIS year, I forgot all about it… until the evening when I read something about it on my phone, as I was checking the cricket score. (my grandfather was a district grandmaster!)

Maybe I’m like the frog slowly boiling in the English pot.

The best part of the Twelfth was always the Eleventh night though, I can remember my first ‘Eleventh’… the bonfires didn’t really get going till around 11.30, so I had to go to bed at 8 (my bed time) then dad came and woke me up and we all drove around the fires (me still in my jammies)… really exciting.

When I was old enough my mates and I would do the tour ourselves, trying to look like we fitted in, but frankly looking quite middle class I think. One time Grumpy Man was driving us past the Anadale fire in his 1969 VW Beetle when the damn thing went and conked out right in front of the inferno – to hoots of derision we all had to jump out in our chinos to push it.

I’m not sure if it was the same year, but we were standing around the fire at Sandy Row listening to the DJ pump out the most shocking tat, mainly Orange rebel songs put to Scooter beats… when from nowhere popped 5-6 masked men all in black, armed with pistols. We all ‘shit them’, its fair to say. They formed an ‘honor guard’ in front of the fire, one of them shouted the orders and they fired a couple of volleys over the fire (more than likely aimed a the effigy)… then one of the ‘commanders’ ordered them to leave… ‘get da guns of the street boys, ders kids about’ … one of them brushed past me as he matched away. I acted all nonchalant whilst feeling 1,690 miles out of my depth.

They don’t go in for that kinda thing in the SW England ya know… it’s all cheese rolling and balloon festivals!