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the sign said, ‘Welcome to Donegal’. It
was getting warmer, I could see the Foyle again in the distance.
What I found odd was the opulence of the houses, the size of
the fields, the sense of good, rich land. I had taken this road
on the Republic’s side of the Foyle because I thought it would
be quieter. I also thought the land would be poor. I was expecting
dry stone walls and wet pasture land with small cottages.
As I moved beyond the village of Carrigans, where three men
talked in a pub about the price of drink (one having gone through
£32 on New Year’s Day), down to St Johnston, I began to
notice the outhouses behind the farmhouses, how beautiful the
stonework was, how well painted the woodwork was. I passed by
farm after farm, noticing the well-trimmed hedges, the big houses,
the huge fields used for silage or tillage, the large herds of cows
in other fields; above all the outhouses.
I had a drink in the next village, St Johnston, and, since every
small group in the pub made sure that no one else could hear
what they were talking about, I finished up quickly and took a
walk around the town. On the right-hand side stood the Orange
Hall, painted in bright colours. The Orange Hall explained the
well-kept farmhouses and big farms. This, though in the South,
was Protestant territory.
‘Is the hall used much?’ I asked a passer-by.
‘It’s used a bit for bowling,’ he said.
The sound of a band could be heard in the distance and as I
moved down the street I caught sight of an accordion and pipe
band, with several cars in front, and I could hear a version of
When the Saints Go Marching In being played. The band was led
by a boy carrying the Irish flag; people had come out from the
pubs and the houses and stood watching as the parade passed by.
It was a school band and mixed tunes such as Amazing Grace with
well-known Republican anthems like Roddy McCorley:
O Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best
The fearless brave who fighting fell upon your hapless breast.
I decided to visit Toland’s pub and have a pint, it was getting near
six o’clock and I was tired of walking. If Lifford was ten miles
away, then I could be there by ten o’clock. I would be tired, dog.
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