We woke to news from home, of falls and injury, most likely
not life threatening, but nonetheless greatly perturbing. We had been agonising
over our long term plans over the last few weeks, arrived at a decision in one
quarter, but with great voids in others; this morning’s news made matters more decisive.
Every cloud has a silver lining, as I have said before.
So we set off soon after 9 am, on foot through the secure
gate system, across a wet field in dire need of mowing and up the steps to look
for the bus top. Standing on the wrong side, we gazed about hopelessly until we
spotted a bus along the way, stopped on the other side of the road; alas our
hurried approach was not enough to encourage him to stop. So we waited in the
freezing cold wind, under shelter from the showers for the next one. Our fares
worked out to be quite reasonable; £4 each for an all-day pass on the bus system,
a statement that makes me realise I have adapted my comparisons to 1:1 rather
than the real 1:2.
The trip into town took just over half an hour, a winding way
through suburbia, then across the River Lagan to Donegall Square at the very
centre of Belfast city. The City Hall stands impressively in the middle of this
and beckoned us in, albeit by a rear door because preparations were being made
for the annual Cultural Celebration across the front grounds and entranceway.
This is a vast Neo-Classical structure of bright white Portland
stone, unadulterated by bovine dung, completed in 1906 having outrun its
estimated cost, however this seems to be the norm when public funds are
involved. In fairness much of the cost was met by the revenue of Belfast Gasworks.
The impressive main dome, with lantern, rises imposingly to almost
53 metres. The interior of the Hall is also quite impressive, with beautiful
plasterwork, stained glass windows, Italian marble work and wood carving.
Aside from functioning as the civic centre for the city, the
ground floor houses an extensive and excellent exhibition explaining the
genesis of Belfast, the conflicts, the industry, profiles of Belfast folk who
have excelled in their various fields (this covering scientists, musicians,
poets, engineers, artists, musicians, sports people and so many more),
language, sports, culture; everything that makes up the social and cultural
makeup of Belfast. It really is wonderful and goes on and on, requiring far
more attention than one might initially expect.
Much of the history had been spelled out for us elsewhere, at Titanic
Belfast and the Ulster Museum, but there was still plenty to impress and
surprise. We read that in 1910 Belfast could boast the world’s largest linen
mills, rope works, tobacco factory, aerated water factory, tea machinery
factory, tea dryers and distributors , single shipyard and dry dock. All of
these wonders had been revealed in the Titanic museum, but the superlative was left
out. Surely City Hall would not exaggerate?
And that the population of Belfast increased by over 33,000
between 1871 and 1881, by over 47,000 between 1881 and 1891, and over 93,000
between 1891 and 1901, increases that are rarely attached in the western world
these days.
There are hourly tours of the Hall, free to the visitor and
something we did consider briefly, however after we had spent so much time
working our way around the static exhibition, we thought we had better explore
the city beyond this civic centre. This did mean that we did not get to see the
celebrated council chamber, and had to be satisfied with the lovely reception
hall beneath the dome.
Across the street we found the Linen Hall Library, Belfast’s
oldest library established in 1788, with a celebrated collection of books particularly
in its political collection. We made our way up the winding staircases to an
exhibition in the stairwell, of political posters titled Troubles Images – The Northern Ireland Troubles and Peace Process 1968 –
2016 which I enjoyed.
Just along the street is the Visit
Belfast Welcome Centre, a new-age name for the tourist information centre.
We perused the tours section, already having narrowed down our options before
coming into the city, and eyed up other tourists who might like to share a tour
with us, a single tourist or a couple who looked ethnically and age
appropriate, but everyone who might have fitted the bill seemed to be
considering more expensive options. We withdrew with a tear off map to explore
other attractions within easy walking distance and reconsider our options.
The first of these verged on the ghoulish, the discovery of the
burnt out Primark building or more correctly, the historic Bank Buildings in Castle
Street. Fire devastated the Grade B1 listed Dumfries sandstone building built
in 1785 originally for use as a bank, on 28 August just gone and the aftermath
has dominated Irish news ever since. Wide safety cordons have been erected,
with businesses beyond those sharing space with Primark closed down, from lack
of access rather than damage. Others within the vicinity are crying foul
because of the lack of foot traffic, the pedestrians having been drawn away
from the precinct.
Further damage was rent by Storm Ali this last week, when a steel
beam fell and loose debris was blown off the building. And decisions seem to be as far off as the
reinstatement of the parliament at Stormont.
Protestant St Ann’s Cathedral, also known as the Belfast Cathedral,
is located on up beyond this black skeleton and is also an impressive structure
although it does have a rather strange projecting metal spire. The cathedral
was built around the old 1776 parish church, the foundation stone laid in 1899.
The new structure was consecrated in 1904 and the old church demolished.
On entry we learned there was a fee for visiting the House of God,
so decided we would be satisfied of the views from the reception area, which
meant we were unable to find out what the eyesore on the roof was. Later research
revealed that this forty metre stainless steel spire was installed on top of
the cathedral in 2007 as part of jazzing up the Cathedral Quarter. Apparently
it is lit up at night, highlighting its incongruity.
Back we came into the city, via Victoria Square, a smart modern multi-level
shopping centre full of equally smart modern shops. Back down at street level
we found our way to the nearest Burger King, where we joined the queue that
trailed all the way out onto the pavement. This store is one of those
benefitting from the Primark fire; their competition, McDonalds, is one of
those businesses closed down for the duration. 
After cups of coffee, we returned to the Welcome Centre and bought tickets for a Black Cab Murals Tour, this
the original such tour started back in 1970. My older son, his wife and her
parents did this about ten years ago and he had been encouraging us to do it as
well. Unlike that little family party we have immersed ourselves in the local history,
so will have had a different take on the tour, although Kit’s grandfather-in-law
did grow up in Antrim.
Our driver was about ten years younger than me and so had grown up
through the Troubles, hence was able to speak from first-hand experience of the
life and times of those twenty five years. We crossed the “peace line” and the “peace
wall”, this latter a series of iron, brick and / or steel, ranging in length
from a few hundred yards to over three miles, and are up to 25 feet high. There
are still one hundred and eight “peace walls” or security barriers on three
sides of Belfast, reminiscent of the Berlin Wall. When I suggested to Paul that
these could be torn down as that wall was, he drew my attention to the fact
that there are gates linking these walls which are closed at 6 pm each evening
and not opened until 6 the next morning. None of this bodes well for social and
political harmony any time soon.
The tours are supposed to take one and a half hours, but Chris
reckons we were almost an hour longer than that. However long we spent with
Paul, and even though the time spent in Shankill Road to check out the
Protestant “ghetto” was limited, we lingered long and studiously below the
murals in Nationalistic Falls Road and listened to the history and stories of
those depicted in larger than life portraits.
Paul delivered us back to Donegall Square where we found the gates
to City Hall now open and the first of the entertainers shaking their booty, a
group of Africans dressed in burka-like lace shrouds waving long baton-like accessories,
and moving to the beat as only Africans can. A hog roast stall was cooking up a
storm with the appropriate smoke and smells spreading out over the gardens. But
the rain had also arrived and the temperatures had dropped yet again; it was
time to catch the No 4c bus home. Back home the effort of cooking a normal dinner, meat, potatoes and three veges, seemed all too hard. We settled for a can of soup, egg sandwiches and peaches and yoghurt; divided into three courses, in case you were wondering.
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