Made a trip to the wall this morning with my friend and neighbour (in Montreal) Anna-Luisa who was in Ireland for a wedding after two months doing ethno-linguistic fieldwork in the Peruvian Amazon. There was a memorial ceremony in rememberance of the Clonard area men and women who have lost their lives in the course of the last forty years' struggle. The sun was out, the crowd was small but tight, names were read out, wreaths were laid, a silence was observed. Hung about a little afterward, listening to the milling crowd, recording, feeling the suspicion and curiosity about this tall blond fellow with the little black buds in his ears. Feeling it wither away. Walked over to the Shankill through the city center (the road gate in the peace wall that is usually open during the week closes on Sunday) and wandered through the mostly deserted streets. Spoke with a group of boys sitting tending their father's homing pigeons. Some seventy birds, tight in their coop, every day let out to fly, and somehow always returning. The kids played up my fascination and I ended the tour with a little cabal of them calling me 'aii, bird man (barhd-mahn)' which quickly devolved in to bird brain and the like. which i tried not to take personally. with limited success. Also met the first person on either side of the wall whom I've heard state unequivocally that there cannot be peace as long as the walls remain standing.
SOUNDING: Crowd lingering after the memorial
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