Ballymena Riots 2025

So, Ballymena is at it again. And this time, far too close to where my family live.

Once more, we’re in ‘whatever you say, say nothing’ territory. A passing comment to a neighbour about the hate and madness of it all, and you might catch a look that tells you they’re not quite on the same page - some sympathy for the protestors, plenty of hostility toward the ‘foreigners’.

It’s racism, plain and simple. It’s hate and it’s stupidity squared.

I once believed, naively perhaps, that my Irish grandchildren would grow up in a time of peace and civility. Instead, just around the corner from where they live, masked thugs have spent the past two nights rampaging through the streets, attacking police, wrecking property and burning families out of their homes.

They claim it’s a response to a horrific assault on a young woman. But how does terrorising innocent families deliver justice?

My heart goes out to her. She deserves justice, compassion, and the full support of the community - not this chaos done in her name.

They are racists, plain and simple, with their hatred and ignorance on full display.

Twenty Years Later

 Today is the twentieth anniversary our father's death. This photograph, featuring Daddy and his granddaughter Katy is a particular favourite of mine. It was taken by my sister Tricia, one of a series of black and white pictures she took of him as he went about the farm. The pictures are from the mid-eighties. He would have been in his sixties then, probably around the same age that Bert is now. 

I only noticed today that he is wearing a tie so it must have been taken on a  Sunday. His cardigan is half-decent looking too but those are definitely 'working' trousers. He wouldn't have risked his Chapel Sunday trousers out fothering cattle. 

Daddy and Bert at our old place.

Portrait of  Seamus by his granddaughter Naoise. 

Portrait of Seamus by his granddaughter Zoe.