Portaferry to Banbridge

When they said at Barholm about getting to Belfast from Portaferry, I kind of took it in but lost the advice in the printer's minutiae.

First things first - get the boat across Strangford Lough. It's about a five minute scrape across the water. No-one checked my ticket, there was more interest in the real than the human traffic. It was strange to see school children on the boat. Crossing the water still holds an excitement for them.

The traipse to the city doesn't stop there. I have to get to Downpatrick (is there an Up-Patrick - or is that a bit too Frankie Howerd?) to travel northwards. My only option is to release the tongue in my head again and do the good old traditional thing of asking.

The bus that came along was stickered with a school sign at the front near the lights. One question later and I've got a lift to my first port of call. No seats left though. All are taken up by now with uniforms of blue. This is the second time I praised the invention of the framed rucksack. Tucked to the side of the driver, the metal of the tubing pushing across my derriere made me realise what a hot cross bun felt like.

It was a long, snaking road. The bus was full but obviously not full enough for the educational establishments. More piled on…then more and more. Each time we stopped, I sardined myself into any gap I could find at the front. The bus eventually stopped and I tumbled out. Just beyond a roundabout outside the town, I stood with some older students and within ten minute, caught the Belfast cattlewagon.

Please switch off your television sets - there is a dark sleepy spot on my memory which refuses to let me through incase of complete mental breakdown.

Ok - you can switch back on now.

In Banbridge town
in the county down…

I remembered having details of how to find the library at Banbridge. There were two sides of the river I could have entered, so I just alighted at the first stop and followed my nose (no jokes please). I missed a lovely photo-shoot and quite a symbolic visual statement; a double carriage-d lorry, brimming with hay had stopped flush to pavement by the roundabout. For some reason it wasn't moving and seemed stuck. The struggle of nature in the age of development? Poem in there if anybody wants to write it.

Strange traffic set up in Banbridge. A fast-track road through flanked by two pedestrianised lanes reaching alongside. These steep lanes climb then drop down and reach across to each other by way of a road and foot bridge. The town looks healthy and everyday to begin with. Within short walks down side-streets there are dilapidated buildings and sparse areas ripe for a bit of spit and polish.

By the health centre - the library. I like this - read a book while you wait six months for your appointment or visit the doctor's then look up your illness on the many internet ready consoles. The choice is yours.

I was early so I could check in, find the room upstairs and set up ready. I was ready for an audience of nil after the experience of Portaferry. Meanwhile, time at the library was time for blogging.

One of the many welcoming librarians was to take me for lunch - on the house. By this time, because of the travelling, I was used to taking my own sandwiches or grabbing a pastie or bag of chips. The plate of fresh salad (oh vegetables - I remember them) was luxury.

There was time to quiz people too. Banbridge had suffered during the troubles but there was a plus side to it (and I'm only repeating what I've been told!) there were some buildings the town was glad to be rid of. From what I've picked up, the place would still benefit from more financial input.

I've not managed to ask a great deal about the integrated education movement. While on my journey, I've collected the occasional newspaper, so as well as the births, deaths and marriages (mostly deaths) in the local rags, I've been able to glean snippets about N.I.'s growth. About six or seven cross-community schools have recently opened and I'm still not sure what the general reaction to them have been (see also comments in Derry). One woman I talked to wasn't sure how they taught religious education - how was it possible she asked? and if it wasn't for the Catholics insisting on separation, we wouldn't need this form of schooling.

I could have eaten all day. The librarian (or the keeper of the lunch purse strings) was charming and helpful and glad to chat about the project and about Banbridge itself.

The workshop was to run from 2pm. The first woman (possibly in her sixties) had a real love of life as well as the remnants of a Birmingham accent. That was one at least. Four more came in. All thought it was more of a reading. One of them was badgered by his wife to attend and wasn't really interested…at first. All stayed and all enjoyed, even the 9 year old son of one of the participants who just sat quietly, listened in, scribbled or rolled on the floor - or was that me? (only kidding!).

Similar to the Armagh session, creating acrostic poems from the words 'us, ourselves' and 'we', I asked this group to use the word 'community'. The second part was the slow line -by-line building of personal poems which were made up of responses to questions posed by myself. Some of the poems are already blogged and I'm waiting for the others. I hope they send them on. The poems pulled no punches. Northern Ireland could talk the hind leg off a donkey about its troubles as well as its visions.

where silence stood
now voices walk

more to come