The Meadows Camping Site, Gortin, County Tyrone, Ulster

            

It was mid-morning before we headed off out the farm gate this morning and off on the drive recommended by our hostess. The general plan was to head through the Sperrin Mountains toward Draperstown then back toward Omagh, or more specifically  to Gortin, then north to the lovely village of Plumbridge, up the Glenelly valley along the southern edge of mountain range, passing through Cranagh, then turning at Mt Hamilton across to the other side of the valley, all of this with stunning views up and down the terrain, now heading west again on the other side of the valley before heading south through Barnes Gap, the road finding its way through a cleft through the more southern range of hills. We emerged into yet another valley, and followed a couple of rivers upstream before turning south yet again on through Greencastle, Creggan and Carrickmore. At Carrickmore we noted hundreds of cars parked outside one of the churches; here the Christians make sure they turn up at church on Sundays to keep the vicars or priests in work. From here we headed on a more major road back west to Omagh, County Tyrone’s largest town with a population of about 22,000.

Omagh is not known so much for its tourist appeal but for one of the most recent atrocities of the troubled times, all the worse for having taken place just four months after the Good Friday Belfast Agreement in 1998, this having been endorsed by both parts of Ireland and was to be a major political turning point.

The Omagh bomb was the largest single atrocity in the thirty years or more of violence in which 3,700 people were killed, this on 15 August, killing thirty one people and injuring hundreds. The twentieth anniversary of this dreadful event has just recently been celebrated, if “celebrated” can be considered an appropriate word. 

In more recent years two memorials have been erected; one a 13 foot glass pillar standing where the bomb exploded and the other a small memorial garden which includes a pond and thirty one flag-pole-like totems to represent each of those who lost their lives.

We arrived in the town soon after 11 am, and found it deadly quiet, deciding that Sunday trading must be forbidden here. Walking up Market Street, High Street and then down to the river, we found little of interest apart from the impressive structure of the court house and St Columba’s Parish Church, the first seemingly encased in wire mesh and the second with a chiming clock out of sinc with our own watches. 

Down by the bus station where the public toilets were all locked up tight, we learned from a taxi driver that nothing opened until 1 pm on Sundays, presumably giving everyone time to get home from church before coming to work or shop. Back at the car we pulled out our guide book for some sort of advice regarding the whereabouts of the bomb memorials, then set off afresh to find them for ourselves. 

By the time we returned to the car the shop keepers were starting to pull up the roller doors from over the shop frontages; this is still a town with simmering memories, ready for any new flare-up.  

Our afternoon’s entertainment was again following the advice of Helena who had drawn our attention to the two-for-one deal in the information cupboard at the camp. The Ulster American Folk Park is only about six miles north of Omagh and as such, on the route we would have to take home anyway.

The park was set up about forty five years ago if I heard one of the guides correctly, as part of make work schemes when the country was going through an employment slump. Someone came up with idea of the folk museum using the homestead of a very successful Irish emigrant family to America, the Mellons, as the core of the exhibition. Young Mellon who travelled with his parents to the US in 1818 at the age of five went on to become a judge, then a banker setting up the Mellon Bank in 1869 in Pennsylvania, which now trades as The Bank of New York Mellon. Marriage into the Carnegie family helped the family fortune and so they became one of the many success stories of those two million people who left Ulster in the 1700 and 1800s. I was surprised to learn there had been so many Irish who headed for the land of milk and honey so early in the piece, having incorrectly understood that most left during the Famine years.

A donation from the American Mellons contributed to the establishment of the museum but it is evident that a lot more was required in the way of money, labour and commitment to get it to where it is today. We did notice today a few roofs desperately requiring maintenance, so it would seem that the coachloads of tourists and the independent visitors such as ourselves are not providing enough income; perhaps they should not be offering discounts such as we enjoyed today?

I had been reticent about the museum, thinking it would have more appeal to Americans with Irish heritage on a pilgrimage to the homeland, rather than people like us. Certainly such visitors would be duly rewarded, but there is so much more to the place. The exhibition rooms within the visitor centre are well curated and very informative. 

Outside in the expansive parkland, one wanders from one dwelling, or building, to another, the first group resurrected from Ireland’s past, then on through the dock and onto a mock-up ship, disembarking onto the dock in New York, and then out into the mountains and prairies of America calling into the houses those same Irish built themselves as they followed their paths into the future.

Many of the houses had live guides, stoking turf fires and baking simple soda-risen bread, offering an element of authenticity to the whole scene. It was all quite wonderful and even with a certain level of haste, we still filled more than three hours there before heading home just as the rain set in, complete with the residual peat smoke in my nose and throat.

 It’s been a funny old day, started by news that close relatives of our daughter-in-law were killed in a head on road accident in the States, while travelling in a hired motorhome last Friday. We managed to deal with another family matter while in Omagh, only because our daughter was sitting up through the night unwell. And tonight after dinner we had the pleasure of Helena and Anna-Mae’s company once more, learning more and more about this fascinating country and the social complexity of the population. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.