Impressions of North-East Ulster

Extract

There is something impertinent and objectionable in the action of one who sits down to write of Ireland on the strength of a week’s visit. The Irish people are becoming used to trippers from England and elsewhere who come in order to collect impressions and hand out ready-made solutions to problems that have baffled the Irish themselves for ages. These impressions of mine then are set down in a mood of diffidence, with full apologies to the hospitable people who treated me with so much patient kindness and with a confident assurance that they will know how to measure the worth of my words and to winnow the grain of wisdom from a mass of folly.

Making my way from the train to the boat in a somewhat dazed condition after an all-night journey, it came as a surprise to see people turning out their portmanteaux under the irreverent gaze of a Customs official. I did not realize the reason for this until a Customs officer asked me if I had any arms and ammunition. ‘Two arms, but no ammunition,’ was a truthful reply; but 5 a.m. is an unseasonable time for feeble jokes, and I was obliged to display the contents of my bag, and enjoyed the mild wonder of the official while he examined my Dominican habit and a conspicuously large pair of rosary beads. These were considered innocuous, and I was allowed to go on my way—not exactly rejoicing, for this little drama had reminded me that I was going to a disturbed area in Ireland.