Chapter 25: Titanic Troubles

How do you think the unthinkable?
With an itheberg.

After nearly three months in green, sheep-laden, friendly, gorgeous Ireland, we switched tactics completely and headed to green, sheep-laden, friendly, gorgeous Northern Ireland. Belfast was a necessary stop en ferry route to Scotland, and we specifically wanted to see the Titanic Museum and do a “Black Cab” Troubles Tour to learn more about the afflicted history of this divided city.

In the early 1900’s, Belfast’s shipyards dominated global shipbuilding. The RMS Titanic was built for the White Star Line by the Harland & Wolff shipyard in Belfast, as one of three Olympic-class ocean liners intended to regain White Star’s transatlantic advantage over rival Cunard. Belfastians are suuuuuuper-proud of this history, however ill-fated.

Harland & Wolff since left the shipbuilding industry to focus on other construction projects, but their two enormous gantry cranes, nicknamed “Samson” and “Goliath”, have become famous as symbolizing Belfast’s industrial skyline.

The Titanic Museum, located on the site where the world’s most famous ship was built, draws nearly a million visitors a year.

It is one of those experiences with so much information, so much content, so many details and stories, that by the end of it your brain is numb and you just never want to hear the phrases “passenger roll” or “distress call” again. But, like, in a good way.

We learned that the Titanic was almost three football fields long and held 1,317 people when it departed for New York on its maiden voyage in 1912, which astounded me – I had no idea Leonardo DiCaprio was even alive back then.

The ship was infamously sunk on its way through the North Atlantic when big brother peeked over little brother’s board and called out “A2, A3, A4, A5” in quick succession, after which little brother wailed, “You sunk my ocean liner!” and ran off to play with big sister, who set him to work combing My Little Pony’s tangled pink mane.

(True story: the first time I played Battleship with Rachel, she stacked her ships on top of each other, leaving me bewildered and casting about fruitlessly as she methodically took out my fleet. She was finally caught red-handed when I guessed “C5” and she lightly responded, “you hit my battleship and submarine.” I made my protestations but she professed ignorance and claimed it was her first time playing. Damn, she sneaky.)

In my last post, I wrote about the Troubles and their effect on the border town of Derry.

Throughout our travels in Ireland and Northern Ireland to this point, the Troubles were mostly a historical, if recent, phenomenon. In Belfast it seemed a little different, a little more raw. The shooting and fire-bombings have (largely) ceased, and the downtown streets were friendly enough, but even as tourists we could easily spot sectarian areas where rivals should not trod.

Tony, our Black Cab tour guide, promised to give us an unbiased view of Belfast’s place in the Troubles, and claimed his was the only tour company not exclusively run by Catholics or Protestants. (Remember, the tension is less now about religion than ethnonationalism, but the two sides are still commonly referred to by their Christian denomination.)

He drove to the Loyalist (Protestant) side first to show us a mural of Stephen McKeag, aka “Top Gun”, Commander of the paramilitary Ulster Defence Association’s (UDA), and responsible for many killings of Catholics and republicans. He is an absolute hero in the unionist/loyalist communities in Belfast, and Tony pointed out a large mural on a brick apartment building honoring his legacy.

In his short verbal bio of Top Gun, Tony used the term “soldier” with a hint of derision. I asked him exactly what this meant and who he killed. Was it during riots? Skirmishes? Were they assassinations of top republican leaders? Tony’s mouth went thin and he pulled out a heretofore unseen folder of newspaper clippings detailing Stephen allegedly,

• gunning down a 26-year-old mother of two in the pharmacy where she worked (the UDA later incorrectly claimed she was the sister of a republican press official),
• killing a 17-year-old trainee as he worked at a shopping complex in West Belfast,
• entering a rival republican pub and picking a civilian to kill at random, and,
• in the above attack, (non-fatally) shooting an eight-year-old boy in the eye because he wore the shirt of a Glascow soccer team.

(It was very common for us to see “no football colors” signs in pubs and restaurants throughout Ireland and Scotland; I’m assuming for this very reason.)

So, Top Gun seemed like a swell guy. Tony parked the car and invited us to walk over and look at the mural, but not before giving us a warning. “We can talk about whatever we want inside this cab. But watch what you say outside.”

“That building it’s painted on? His sister still lives there.”

Stephen McKeag was never convicted of any murders, and died of a suspected drug overdose at 30 years old.

Tony then drove us to the Peace Walls, a series of tall barriers separating the republican side of the city from the unionist side. The houses butting up to the walls show scars on their roofs from rocks and the occasional petrol bomb. This one displays a mural condemning the burning of Catholic Bombay Street in 1969.

There are roads passing through these walls, protected with barbed-wire-lined gates which unbelievably, to this day, are still locked every night to prevent clashes between the two sides. If you want to get to the other side of the wall after six o’clock p.m., or on weekends, you’d better be prepared to drive a half-hour around their entire perimeter. Moreover, there’s a “panic button” that can be hit to close the gates any time there’s trouble.

Tony said this continued separation of the two sides was not uncommon or frowned upon, and was bilaterally seen as the best solution to prevent flare-ups of violence. He said that he had a list of pubs he would go to, and his coworkers had their list, and if they ever wanted to grab a pint together they would go somewhere neutral, in the touristy center of the city. Any mixing was too ripe for confrontation.

We never felt unsafe in Belfast, but our black cab tour definitely drove us through some areas where you’d be careful about what you wore or said. There are rare flare-ups, often centered around annual parades marching past rival districts, but it is exponentially safer than it was 30 years ago.

There’s a Northern Irish comedian who recently went to Belfast and was astonished to see an 80’s bar next to his hotel.

An EIGHTIES bar! In Belfast! Of all the cities in the world where you don’t want to celebrate the 80’s…What goes on in there? Petrol bombs getting chucked across the dance floor? Who gives a f—, “Karma Chameleon” is on!

– Kevin Bridges

And now, get your Shrek accents ready – we’re headed to Scotland.