The Loyal Orange Order Parades

On Saturday I witnessed my first Orange parade. While downtown I passed what at first i took to be one of the seemingly frequent 'flag protests' (expected even more so on the heels of this past week's On the Runs controversy). However, I noticed that uniformed PSNI officers were lining up the main thoroughfare of Royal Ave, indicative of something more. My inquiry of one of them turned out that a parade was expected in a bit, so I decided to hang about to experience it.

The Orange order, or Loyal Orange Order is one of three Protestant fraternal organizations (Black Preceptory and Apprentice Boys being the other two) which have become known in Northern Ireland for the many parades that are staged around the year. Over 300 of them will be conducted between April and August, what is known as "Marching Season" culminating with July 12th, the holiday commemoration of William of Orange's 1690 Victory at the Battle of the Boyne. For many protestants these parades are a visible show of their cultural pride and historical origins. The parades have been going on for hundreds of years, but since the troubles have become lightning rods of controversy. While many lodges have altered their routes, some of the more belligerent lodges have continued to insist on marching the traditional routes which (because of a combination of urbanization and population displacement in the 1970s) now go through heavily catholic neighborhoods or business districts.

The particular parade of today was from the Sandy Row lodge, in solidarity of their brother lodge in Woodvale who have been prevented (in frequent parades and protests) since the last July 12th of marching back 'home.' The original parade's Committee had ruled that while they would be allowed to march down the road, they would not be allowed to return by the same route. This led to a very heated marching season, erupting in violence. Today the lodge is still trying to finish the route, believing it is their right both civilly and culturally. Every few weeks another parade is held, which attempts to complete the march, but in turn, is stopped by police. The cost of shutting down the streets and police presence has been enormous, and several stories in the Telegraph have focused on the inability to maintain such costs in a time where resources are already hard to come by.

For a time, I waited, with nothing in sight. Then came the beat of the drums from far off, subtle, but portending a coming storm. As it gained in crescendo, police started moving into position. When the parade finally came into view down North Donegal Street, phalanxes of about five or six different lodges with several band contingents could be seen. Each lodge was dressed in their traditional orange sash (sans bowler), following behind their respective banner indicative of their home lodge. As the parade turned onto Royal Avenue, the din became deafening, the acoustics amplified by the narrow streets and high buildings. The atmosphere created was intimidating, and dare I even say, slightly terrifying? One little girl beside me backed away in terror, clinging to her father in tears. Here were row upon row of stern faced individuals, marching to military songs of old amidst the deafening beat of drums, defiance in their faces.

The Sash (My Father Wore)

So sure l'm an Ulster Orangeman, from Erin's isle I came,
To see my British brethren all of honour and of fame,
And to tell them of my forefathers who fought in days of yore,
That I might have the right to wear, the sash my father wore!

Chorus:
It is old but it is beautiful, and its colours they are fine
It was worn at Derry, Aughrim, Enniskillen and the Boyne.
My father wore it as a youth in bygone days of yore,
And on the Twelfth I love to wear the sash my father wore.

Chorus

For those brave men who crossed the Boyne have not fought or died in vain
Our Unity, Religion, Laws, and Freedom to maintain,
If the call should come we'll follow the drum, and cross that river once more
That tomorrow's Ulsterman may wear the sash my father wore!

Chorus

And when some day, across the sea to Antrim's shore you come,
We'll welcome you in royal style, to the sound of flute and drum
And Ulster's hills shall echo still, from Rathlin to Dromore
As we sing again the loyal strain of the sash my father wore!