‘We had bars on our front door in the worst years... I used them again last week’
Allison Morris talks to families under siege from peace line rioters,
WHILE viewing news images of riots, petrol bombs, burning vehicles and water cannon, it is easy to forget that Belfast’s violent flashpoints are also home to families living at both sides of the interface.
After a tense weekend, by yesterday afternoon and with the security gates open and traffic flowing freely, scorch marks on the road were the only physical reminder of last week’s violence at the Lanark Way interface in west Belfast.
The huge peace wall dividing the Springfield Road from the Shankill is the longest and highest in Northern Ireland.
Many would have hoped that 23 years after the Good Friday Agreement, such segregation would no longer be necessary, but for those living on both sides of the divide, last week’s disorder brought relief that the walls and gates are still in place.
Sarah Taggart has lived facing the Lanark Way security gate since her home was built around 15 years ago.
The mother-of-three originally comes from the nearby Kashmir Road, while two of her children now have families of their own. Her 36-year-old son, who has learning difficulties, still shares the beautifully decorated home with Sarah and her husband.
“He’ll never leave me,” she says of her son.
On the worst night of violence last Wednesday, with social media rumours warning of plans to attack houses on the nationalist side of the interface, Sarah went to stay with her daughter.
“My daughter was pleading with her daddy and brother to come to hers, but he wanted to stay and look after the house.
“It was bad — you had the police standing right across the front of my windows, the water cannon was right outside and it went on until 2am.
“On the Thursday night cars came from everywhere to try and help keep the young ones away and so it quietened down.
“Even still, I was afraid of something happening, I was glad to see the gates shut to be honest. We were brought up with the Troubles, but it was still hard to take it all in.
“If trouble starts up again I’d
have to move somewhere else, there’s no way I could live here. No way whatsoever, I can’t do that again,” she added.
Further down the Springfield Road, couple Roisin and Terry Cunningham are tending to the flower boxes in their front garden.
Terry, a former BT engineer, officially retired the day before. Having lived at the interface for 39 years, they have seen the worst of the Troubles and the best of the peace.
Speaking of the recent violence, Terry said: “It was mainly kids throwing stones. A lot of community people arrived to help, they were putting themselves out there, fair play to them. They’ve been here every night since, even though there’s nothing going on.”
“They deserve a medal,” added Roisin.
The age of some of those involved in the recent disorder has been widely commented on. Children’s Commissioner Koulla Yiasouma said children were being coerced into participating in riots by adults, and that could amount to “child abuse”.
Roisin says adults were seen dropping teenagers off in cars to join the riot, adding: “There was a young lad who came past with the blood running out of his head and he refused to go to the hospital.
“The worst years were before the (security) gates, the shootings would have been regular at that stage. I looked out my window one night and two men with balaclavas ran across and shot a guy up the road dead.
“We had big drop bars behind the front door back then. I used them last week for the first time in years.”
Across the interface in the loyalist Shankill, children in school uniform play in the streets and life seems to have returned to normal.
At Cupar Way are a row of perfectly presented family homes, with gardens full of toys and a view of the seven metre high peace wall.
The residents are friendly and chatty, but none want to be named or quoted. All were delighted that things seemed to have calmed down.
“It’s quiet now, let’s hope it stays like that,” one resident tells me.
“No one wants trouble, but I don’t want to be in the newspaper saying that,” one says.
Across the road and residents, again friendly and willing to chat, are nervous about appearing in print talking about last week’s violence. One tells me a close relative was shot by republicans at the peace-line during the Troubles. Many have young families.
One father tells me he is waiting on the Executive opening caravan parks so he can take his children out of harm’s way for the summer. All are in agreement that they cannot see a time when the walls and security gates can be safely removed.
On up the road at Workman Avenue security gate and the residents are mainly pensioners — many have lived in the street for 50 years or more.
One woman aged in her late 80s tells me she has spent her entire adult life living at the interface.
Now alone after her husband passed away, she says lockdown has been tough. She misses the company of her church friends.
“Before the gates were there many years ago there was this big ugly wooden barrier. A policeman knocked the door one day and said ‘I’m getting you a nice new gate’.
“The gate was closed all last week and they’ve been closing the gate early ever since.
“It means it is quiet enough and that’s good, but it is also very lonely. I worry about what’s going to happen, it’s a very anxious time.”