Malcolm admits to not having been
in Stroke City for a year.

That avoids the inevitable declaration of bias, genealogy, religion and politics: "Derry" or "Londonderry"? In the choice of the name one is absolutely exposed.

Malcolm has never taken it wholly seriously. He remembers, a third of a century ago, being member of a local government panel interviewing for a very senior appointment. One of the candidates had been employed in the Northern Irish civil service. Malcolm rose to the occasion. Over lunch and in the panel he pressed questions on the interviewee, except that, with each alternate sentence Malcolm switched from "Derry" to "Londonderry". The candidate, a highly-intelligent man, merely grinned and followed the usage without a fault: had it been a set at tennis, it would have gone to the tie-break.

Derry native, Gerry Anderson (right) begat the alternative term, and it is available herefrom in his own dulcet tones.

Inevitably, any debate or discussion on the great Northern Irish divide, sooner or later, is sucked into the maelstrom of this single placename, from which there is no escape.

Once upon a pagan time there was an oak-grove ("doire" in Irish then and now). Patrick and the other Christian missionaries had the sense to adopt and adapt rather than try to erase and eliminate. So, Colm Cille, out of Tír Chonaill, great-great grandson of Niall of the Nine Hostages, founded a church on the site of this pagan fane. And so the site became Doire Cholm Chille, Columba's oak-grove.

Not much happened for a further millenium.

Then, in January 1600, Charles Blount, Baron Mountjoy, was appointed Lord Deputy. Malcolm may indiscreetly reveal in some future blog the "colourful" private life of Mountjoy (left). For the moment, though, it is salient only that Gloriana sent him to clean up the mess left by the Earl of Essex, and to deal with the O'Neill rebellion.

An essential part of Mountjoy's strategy was to place a garrison on Lough Foyle, and thereby force a wedge between the O'Donnells and the O'Neills.

On 16 May 1600, Sir Henry Docwra (who must, therefore, appear in the genealogy of Malcolm's alter ego) landed at Culmore, then advanced up the Foyle:

On the 22nd of May wee put the Army in order to marche, & leaving Captain Lancelott Atford at Culmore with 600 men, to make up the workes, we went to the Derry 4 myles of upon the River side, a place in manner of an Iland Comprehending within it 40 acres of Ground, wherein were the Ruines of an old Abbay, of a Bishopp's houses, of two churches, & at one end of it an old Castle, the river called loughfoyle encompassing it all on one side, & a bogg most commonlie wett, & not easily passable except in two or three places dividing it from the maine land.

Obviously from this description, "the Derry" had hardly been a thriving community since Columba moved on to Iona.

In April 1609 Sir Thomas Phillips approached the City of London to plant the county of Coleraine, previously the territory of the O'Cahans. The City Companies drove a hard bargain with King James, and eventually secured the whole of Coleraine, plus a tranche of Tyrconnell, including the site of Derry: some half a million acres. That, in itself, was the insuperable problem: the liveried Companies could not drum up enough reliable Protestant tenants to occupy so vast a territory. However, it was now the City and County of Londonderry. It was also, self-evidently, geographically and psychologically a frontier outpost.

Apart from a nice line in le rat cuit à l'étouffée, life in Derry in the late 1680s was a trifle rough and tough. Derry was the largest town across Ulster, though perhaps little more than 2,000 in population (which makes the numbers quoted for siege-deaths somewhat suspect).

As sieges go, though, the 105 days seem to have been played quite genteelly. Hamilton, the attacker, allowed perhaps 10,000 bouches inutiles (another dubious number) to leave the city, which seems to deny the whole point of a siege. This changed when Rosen took over, held a round-up of Protestants and drove them under the walls, to be fed or starve as the defenders wished: this was more according to the rules, of course. The defenders responded by setting up a noose on the Double Bastion as a threat to any prisoners taken. Rosen then found he had a full-scale mutiny among his staff, and even James approved of his recall for "so cruel a contrivance".

Samuel Molyneux kept a diary when he travelled through the north of Ireland in 1708. He found Derry:

a good, large, compact, well-built town ... Since the siege ... it does not seem to be a place of much business, riches or trade.

Jonathan Bardon continues from there:

Cut off from much of its natural hinterland by the Foyle, Derry did not alter its shape over a century after the siege, except for the growth of a modest Catholic suburb outside Bishop's Gate. Visitors, nevertheless, found the city attractive. The English travel writer, Charles Bowden, noted that 'the houses in general are remarkably well built, and the public buildings are very handsome structures ... The church is one of the handsomest I beheld since I left the metropolis.'

And that was about it for a further century and a half. The city was at least reasonably prosperous on the back of shipping (especially emigrants off to become the "Scotch-Irish" of Appalachia) and cloth-making (the involvement of the London cloth-makers in the original plantation survived down to the famous shirt-factory). Derry and Carrickfergus were the only two towns in Ulster not to be pocket boroughs, and hold (by the standards of the time) "free" elections. We can see the legacy of commercial success in the fine houses that line Shipquay Street (right). Moreover:

Bishop Street, leading to the high south end of the walled city was less concerned with trade. Its development was less compact, with haphazard openings behind the street frontages to the Bishop’s house and garden, the free school and St Augustine’s Chapel of Ease on the west, and to the Cathedral and Church yard on the east. By 1788 the cathedral side of the street from the Diamond to Bishop’s Gate had been filled in completely. There are many images and descriptions of Derry during the 18th century. Most stress the picturesqueness of the place, not least, the philosopher George Berkeley - Dean of Derry from 1724 – 1732 who wrote:

'The city of Derry is the most compact, regular, well built town that I have seen in the King’s Dominions, the town house, (no mean structure) stands in the midst of a square piazza from which there are four principal streets leading to as many gates. It is a walled town, and has walks all round on the walls planted with trees as in Padua.'

In 1768 Frederick Augustus Hervey assumed the Bishopric of Derry. He brought a new conception of the role of architecture to the city. He restored the cathedral, redesigned the Bishop’s Palace and erected many new churches throughout the diocese but perhaps his most influential gift to the city was the first bridge across the River Foyle, built in 1789.

That is the old city, even if "Padua" seems a fancy too far, one which is now lost after 90 years as the last outpost of the "United Kingdom" before Rockall (and notably so during WW2). The view from the ancient Walls is no longer a pretty one (left and top): a spew of modern housing reaching up the hillside to the Donegal horizon.

There are too many signs of neglect within the Walls: world-class old housing slipping into disuetude and cheap conversion, inappropriate in-filling, a general lack of care and investment, and hovering above it all that brutalism-on-steroids BT building.

For Malcolm, much of the pain came across in the song Phil Coulter wrote for Luke Kelly of the Dubliners. The Town I Loved So Well is a beautiful construction. The first three verses are plangently elegaic:

In my memory I will always see
The town that I have loved so well,
Where our school played ball by the gasyard wall;
And we laughed through the smoke and the smell
Going home in the rain, running up the dark lane,
Past the Gaol and down behind the fountain.
Those were happy days in so many many ways,
In the town I loved so well.

In the early morn the shirt factory horn
Called women from Creggan, the Moor and the Bog,
While the men on the dole played a mother's role,
Fed the children, and then trained the dog.
And when times got tough, there was just about enough;
But they saw it through without complaining:
For deep inside was a burning pride,
In the town I loved so well.

There was music there in the Derry air,
Like a language that we all could understand.
I remember the day that I earned my first pay
When I played in a small pick-up band.
There I spent my youth; and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me,
For I'd learned about life; and I found a wife
In the town I loved so well

So far, so good. But this is no ballad to be let anywhere near your average Oirish pub singer. After the instrumental break, the iron enters the soul of the last two verses:

But when I returned, how my eyes have burned
To see how a town could be brought to its knees --
By the armoured cars, and the bombed-out bars,
And the gas that hangs on to every breeze.
Now the army's installed by that old gasyard wall,
And the damned barbed wire gets higher and higher.
With their tanks and their guns, -- oh my God! what have they done?
To the town I loved so well.

Now the music's gone; but they carry on
For their spirit's been bruised, never broken.
They will not forget; but their hearts are set
On tomorrow and peace once again.
For what's done is done; and what's won is won;
And what's lost is lost and gone forever.
I can only pray for a bright brand-new day,
In the town I loved so well.

Des Geraghty's "memoir" of Luke Kelly says much of it:

Like all masterpieces, that song and its singer had universal appeal. Little else did as the '70s unrolled and circumstances became increasingly complex. Daily life in Northern Ireland began to ring with the calamitous echo of Clarence Mangan's apocalyptic translation of Róisín Dubh - 'O! The Erne shall run red with redundance of blood' ...

The days when The Dubliners could bring huge audiences of Catholics, Protestants and dissenters together in Belfast's King's Hall to join in choruses of both Orange and Green songs were suddenly gone - just as, decisively, were the times when the Miami Showband brought the young on to the same dance floor, far from the bigotry and tribalism of the older generations.

These days there is something of Coulter's brand-new day in Derry. Despite the curious cross-sectarian factional alliance, inevitably hostile because that is what both sides do so well, the Eglinton Airport is becoming a significant local success. The rail link to Belfast has been saved; may be up-graded (the main requirement is a passing loop at Ballykelly, say £10M or the price of a couple of good barristers), and might -- just might -- be restored south of Derry. Once again, there is a bustle for some of the week with new shopping centres. Foyleside brooks to become a new place for waterside apartment living. The army barracks are being redeveloped for private housing.

The fissures remain, however. The Protestant population of the west-bank City side is now down to just 500 (from some 18,000 in 1969). Not surprisingly, the ultras reach for hyperboles like "ethnic cleansing" (as is equally alleged, by the other side, for Carrickfergus, Larne and East Antrim).

OK, says Mr Everyman to Malcolm, we've walked the Walls, drunk deep in Becketts and Tracys, seen the murals ... what's left?

Malcolm has one suggestion: get inside the Tudoresque red-sandstone Guildhall. You are in for a surprise. Provided you can inveigle yourself past the Jobsworth on duty, you'll get to see the Edwardian glazing: indeed, it's so vivid it'll come to see you.

Every picture tells a story: this must be the finest assembly of (restored) early-twentieth century municipal glasswork around. It's certainly not chi-chi Tiffany; it's not even pretty; but -- by God and King George! -- it is impressive. Those worthy burghers certainly got their money's worth of pre-technicolor immortality.

And Malcolm ventures one more observation: because by "Derry" standards it's so politically-incorrect, they don't publicize it. So you'll probably be the only one there to see it. Sphere: Related Content

Londonderry Air

It began with a quick check of the news:

The City of Derry Airport is being shut by the flight regulator until further notice because of safety concerns.

The Civil Aviation Authority decided to provisionally suspend its licence following an inspection this week.

Problems found include lack of an effective bird control plan, unsuitable temporary repairs to the area where planes park and poor runway drainage.

So Malcolm considered Eglinton, which has suffered the political equivalent of the Drigg/ Windscale/ Calder Hall/ Sellafield syndrome: successive name-changes for ulterior motives.

Strategy Foyled

Eglinton was one of three airfields (Eglinton, Ballykelly and Maydown) built during the early part of WW2, when this area was on the front line:

On two occasions in it's [sic] history the city of Londonderry has played a pivotal part in the history of Europe. The first was the ‘great siege’ of 1689 when, over 105 days, the constitutional future of the British Isles and of Europe was decided in and around the city. The second occasion was even more important. In June 1940 the city became a naval base and was destined to become the Allies’ most important escort base in the Battle of the Atlantic. Not only did Europe’s future depend on this base but so also did the political shape of the post-war world.

Had the Allies lost the Battle of the Atlantic, the Nazi domination of Europe could not have been broken and Hitler’s dictatorship would have continued. Winning the Battle of the Atlantic allowed the western Allies to invade Europe and led to the final defeat of Nazism. The naval base at Derry – shared by the Royal Navy, the Royal Canadian Navy and the United States Navy – was vital to the protection of convoys in the Atlantic and, at one time, 140 Allied escort ships were based on the Foyle.

The Foyle was the advance base of Western Approaches command, and so 'Derry (stuffed with service personnel) was a prime target. Much of the blame for the neglect of air defence (one of many derelictions) in the Province should rest on the Unionist government in Stormont, and in particular the moribund Craig and the incompetent Andrews:

Due in large part to earlier ministerial neglect and prevarication, local defences were hopelessly inadequate, and the public were physically and psychologically unprepared for the blitz. In September 1940, both Belfast and Londonderry had been provided with a light balloon barrage, which was marginally reinforced six months later. By the spring of 1941, the strength of the anti-aircraft barrage in Northern Ireland had risen to 24 heavy guns and 14 light guns. Twenty-two of these were located in Belfast (6 light and 16 heavy). Four were sited at Londonderry; more were to be transferred from Cardiff, but the Luftwaffe arrived before the guns did.

The Churchill Government in Westminster were not so lax. Since only Operation Barbarossa forestalled an inevitable Blitz of 'Derry, by 1942, there was an over-provision of airfields.

A regional airport

Londonderry County Borough acquired the site in 1978, though for the next twenty years only Loganair operated there. European Regional Development money upgraded the facilities in the early '90s. The newly politically-correct "City of Derry Airport" opened in 1994, but it took until 1999 for Falcon Holidays to begin charter flights and Ryanair to begin a scheduled service. This was not entirely neglect: climate and location suggest that, for all-year operations, aircraft need to have a certain size about them.

Griping

By objective standards, the airport has been something of a success: it is well on the way to half a million passengers a year. This is Northern Ireland, so there has to be controversy. A quick flick to Slugger O'Toole tells us that “Truck loads of money have been thrown at this airport”; and refers to “the squillions squandered”.

Now compare that with the reality:

[1]

“The European Commission has authorised, under EC state aid guidelines, a plan to fund a number of essential infrastructure improvements at the City of Derry Airport. The plan involves joint financing of the infrastructure by the UK and Irish governments together with Derry City Council, the airport’s owner.

“The proposed financing was considered compatible with the European common market as it satisfies the criteria laid down in state aid guidelines; it constitutes essential infrastructure designed to achieve a clearly defined objective of general interest without leading to undue distortion of the market.

“The measure in question concerns the intention of the United Kingdom and Irish governments to provide over £10.4 million (EUR 15.2 million) of financial assistance to Derry City Council to meet 75% of the cost of two capital development projects at the airport. Each government will pay 37.5%, approximately £5.2 million (EUR 7.6 million) of the expenditure, while Derry City Council will contribute the remaining 25%, approximately £3.48 million (EUR 5 million).”

[2]

Mr. Dermot Ahern, T.D., Minister for Foreign Affairs, said: “City of Derry Airport serves the entire North West region. Recognising its strategic importance, the Government has decided to increase its funding to allow the completion of development works at the Airport.”

“The Government will contribute a total of €10.87 million to works at the Airport. The Government’s contribution is matched by the British Government under the co-funding arrangements agreed by the two Governments in March 2005.”

The airport's critics (and they are many) have a couple of common characteristics: they tend to be from the east of the Province (and the mental distance from Belfast to 'Derry can be immense) and they tend to have the usual "Stroke City" sectarian objections. Four main issues seem to arise, and are often confused:

[1] The financing of desirable and necessary upgrades to the airport (a process which, in fact, is open and transparent, necessarily so because of the tripartite involvement of two Governments and the EC).

[2] The smaller (and, sadly, less open and transparent) issue of the subsidy to Ryanair:

The agreement struck in 1999 guaranteed Ryanair £250,000 (€380,000) a year from a consortium of four state-funded authorities on both sides of the Irish border to promote its Derry to London route. A range of other taxpayer-subsidised benefits included free landing, navigation, air control, security, baggage and passenger charges, were also given.

[3] The deficit on operating the airport:

Its operating costs are around £3.5m a year, but revenue is about £2m. The losses are met by the council.

To put this into proportion, it need to be compared with:

• the Derry city budget as a whole (a bit less than £31M);

and expenditure on other local transport, for example

• the announcement from Conor Murphy of £12M extra for roads in Derry City this year.

[4] On the lunatic fringe, the SEA [i.e. Eamonn McCann's eccentric local Trottery] protesting the Donnybrewer Road houses, and attempting to elevate it into an extension of the Land War.

A soft landing

The CAA's inspection (and closure order) seem to be confined to three points:

concerns about the drainage of the runway, the facility for parking planes and its bird control plan.

None of these seems insuperable (and it seems that the CAA took over a week between its inspection and issuing the order, which hardly implies urgency). Drainage can hardly be a recent problem, for it was recognised in the 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica:

The excessive rainfall and the cold and uncertain climate are unfavourable for agriculture.

The aircraft parking seems to amount to dissatisfaction with recent temporary repairs to the hard standings, and "bird control" invites Malcolm to invoke the Duke of Wellington:

"Try sparrow-hawks, Ma'am."

Sphere: Related Content