In 1990, my dad was posted to Northern Ireland. He'd been out there before in the past, once when I was eighteen months old, but this was the first visit I was old enough to remember. We lived in a tiny army camp on the coast, surrounded by rolling sand dunes, soaring mountains, and wonderful people. My school was predominantly populated by army kids, so every time a battalion moved out of the camp, the school was left virtually empty. Our cat, Mickey, used to wander onto the firing ranges in the dunes, forcing soldiers to call off their training until he'd been rounded up and run out. We would see foxes down on the beach. We met a soldier who kept a pet python he'd rescued from a wrestler who abused it. This posting is the part of my childhood I remember most clearly and with the most affection.
Whenever people ask me where I liked living best as an army child, I tell them "Ireland." And I couldn't tell you why. Partly the amazing landscape, partly the deep folklore and sense of the mystic that touches so much of the culture. Partly the people. Definitely the people, I realised this week. I think for my parents, this stay in Northern Ireland was one of the few times in their army lives they had a strong circle of friends, and those friendships have endured to this day.
Last year, for their wedding anniversary, Mum and Dad re-visited two of those friends. It was a brief trip, but they both loved it and we all assumed they'd be going back again soon for a longer stay. Of course, life makes other plans for you and Dad passed away in October 2012 without ever returning to Northern Ireland. These friends of ours came to his funeral and made us promise then we would always see their home as ours, whenever we wanted it.
So this Monday, Mum and I flew over to Carrickfergus to reconnect, mourn, explore, laugh, and relax. We went into Belfast and drove down the streets my Dad patrolled as a young soldier. Shankill Road, also known as the Murder Triangle, Crumlin Road and its infamous jail. We saw one of the peace walls that literally cut one side of the street off from the other and keep Catholics and Protestants apart. I saw places Dad saw, in very different times under very different circumstances, and it brought home the reality that my Dad risked his life for his job, time and time again.
We went to the Giant's Causeway, a place we'd visited as a family twenty years ago. It was a glorious day, warm sunshine, salty air, azure skies...and Mum and I hugged on the seashore and talked about how much Dad would have loved to come back there. It was a bittersweet trip, but I think it was also a healing one. I felt a bit like I was on a pilgrimage, revisiting this country that we all loved so much, this place where my Dad made lifelong friendships and had experiences he still laughed about two decades later.
Knockagh war memorial, one of the highest points in Antrim. Mum and Dad came up here last February, Dad being the military history buff he was.
Up close at the war memorial. Construction began after WWI. Before it was finished, WWII had broken out.
View from Knockagh out across the sea and to the Mourne Mountains. These mountains were my childhood view when I looked out my bedroom window, but from the other side.
Sweepie the poodle. Best lap-warmer in Carrickfergus and possibly beyond.
On our way to the Giant's Causeway on Wednesday, we stopped here at Laragh Lodge. They were preparing for a wedding, but insisted on serving us tea and toast nonetheless!
There was a walk round to a waterfall behind Laragh Lodge, but it was closed due to the snow (some parts of this glen had fifteen feet of snow over Easter and people needed food dropped in by helicopter).
So I took pictures of sheep instead.
See those distant mountains across the water there? That's Scotland.
Pic-spam from the Giant's Causeway, my favourite part of our trip.
On the way home from the Giant's Causeway, we stopped at Carrick-a-rede. This is the view from the cliff there. That's Sheep Island, which appears to be devoid of sheep...
...but I found some elsewhere.
We had two full days out there and it really wasn't long enough. We're already planning the next visit. It breaks my heart that Dad won't ever come back here, but I do think as long as we keep the friendships he made and visit the places he saw, he'll be there in a way.
Sweepie agrees.
*What fills the eyes fills the heart
