IRISH GRAFFITI
some murals in the NORTH 1986 ALAN RUTHERFORD
IRISH GRAFFITI
some murals in the NORTH 1986
HAND OVER FIST PRESS
2 0 1 4
IRISH GRAFFITI
some murals in the NORTH 1986
i
ALAN RUTHERFORD
HAND OVER FIST PRESS
This book published by Hand Over Fist Press, 2014 email: alan.rutherford@blueyonder.co.uk website: www.handoverďŹ stpress.com
Graffiti, murals by unknown artists (1986) All photographs, text and additional artwork by Alan Rutherford
CONTENTS Graffiti Visit to the North of Ireland Belfast Derry
v
&
GRAFFITI, STREET ART Seldom considered respectable or ‘art’, graffiti cannot be ignored. Immediate, rebelious, public, confrontational, honest, malicious, political, vulgar, informative, territorial and in your face broadcasting of opinions, ideas ... and usually anonymous. This has been a constant expression for the talented and talentless since human stirrings, welcome or unwelcome depending on your viewpoint. Graffiti comes from the same loadstone as ‘high art’, but because of its egalitarian and anti-establishment nature it subverts ‘high art’ and ‘the artist’ modes of recognised celebrity and value by undermining and one-finguring ‘high art’s elitist and posturing nepotism. The photographs in this book were taken on a very short trip to the North of Ireland and represent a snapshot of that time, 4–8 November 1986. They were to convey my interest in the political murals on display there ... and came by way of my fascination for the street art of the Constructivists in early revolutionary Russia. Strong, bold images of emotion hammer home their message ... and, like the Contructivist’s efforts, can also be read as eductional and revolutionary. All street art/graffiti can be seen as territory marking, especially in Northern Ireland where they are also confrontational, aspirational and defining. They are all demonstrably democratic in that they can be defaced, ammended or removed by their viewing public ...
vii
Taking advantage of street art/graffiti’s accsessibility to all and the fact that it is not controlled by the government, the political murals of Northern Ireland continue a longstanding tradition of political graffiti. For, even though they appear, and may seem to be accepted, on home territories, the very fact that they do appear at all oversteps the boundaries of public codes of behaviour ... they still challenge what is acceptable. Even though there seems to be a concensus that peace has arrived in the troubled communities of Northern Ireland, its veneer is as thin as the fact these territorial markers, these political statements, these magnificently diverse graffiti are still adorning unionist/protestant and nationalist/catholic neighbourhoods.
viii
IRISH GRAFFITI
some murals in the NORTH 1986 photographs & artwork
2
VISIT TO THE NORTH OF IRELAND 4–8 November 1986 As we set off on that Tuesday evening doubts as to the necessity for this trip crept into my thoughts. The fare for a period return to Belfast from Birmingham was £44 and the state of our finances were far from healthy. I was a mature student at Oxford Polytechnic doing a BA in publishing and the trip was to fuel a book I intended to publish for my degree based on the comment, ‘there is no solution to the northern Ireland problem. Northern Ireland is the problem’ made by Eamonn McCann, Socialist Worker stalwart and respected commentator on Ireland. Paul, an unemployed comrade from the SWP, who was already providing me with the bulk of the text, was accompanying me to seek inspiration. So with this doubt always lurking somewhere I decided to obtain as much from this brief encounter with Ireland as I could. I had borrowed another camera from the Polytechnic, the plan was to use the Poly’s Minolta with colour film, 200ASA, to shoot the murals which I had been led to believe were everywhere in Northern Ireland. With my old Pentax and 135mm lens I was going to get some atmosphere shots in black/white, 400ASA, – this was the plan. The coach journey and ferry from Stranraer to Larne were done under cover of darkness. Time was spent talking to Paul, listening to tapes on the Walkman, or dozing.
3
At Larne we were all given a good looking over by armed harbour police as we disembarked. A local Ulsterbus took us into Belfast past enclaves of loyalism, flags fluttered from gateposts and our first mural was spotted from this bus. It consisted of a St George flag crossed with the St Andrew flag – signifying the link with England and Scotland. Belfast, on first impressions, was like any northern city, run down and grey, it could have been Manchester, Liverpool or Glasgow, however the tension that hung in the air was immediately noticeable as one of our first views as we stepped down from the bus was the Ulster Unionist Party Office building with workmen replacing broken windows above a large sign saying ‘KEEP ULSTER BRITISH’ and the ever present Union Jack fluttering on top of it all. Our first priority on that Wednesday morning was to find the Tourist Information Office. Paul had a booklet which explained we could get accommodation through them. We wandered the streets for about an hour just looking – astounded by armoured cars topped with rifle-waving soldiers touring the apparently normal streets. The police manned roadblocks and streets were fenced off with gates for pedestrians and booms for traffic. The police swaggered around, revolvers at the hip, flak jackets, and their caps pulled down so that their eyes were in shadow – a far cry from the bobbies on mainland Britain. A large banner hung across the City Hall proclaiming ‘BELFAST SAYS NO’ referring to the Anglo-Irish Agreement. Made me wonder what the Loyalists are loyal to? We found the Information Office and were fixed up with single bed & breakfasts for us at £10 each. We planned to spend the afternoon walking up the Falls Road, across to the Shankill Road and back into the centre. The intention was to find murals and capture on film some of Belfast’s sectarian divide. I took both cameras in a shoulder bag and naively we set off.
4
Being ignorant of the dangers that could beset strangers entering these territorially defended areas I was emboldened to just snap away whenever we came upon something interesting – in true tourist fashion. Our obvious ‘wandering without purpose’ appearance and our eager searching out of these murals must have made us stand out like sore thumbs. Upon reflection I feel we were lucky to have only encountered suspicious looks. The Falls Road is, well, without the murals it could have been any working class northern town, but with the murals and the graffitti it’s a grey area with bright flashes of hope. The murals were brilliant splashes of colour capable of bringing out that rare flush of pride... that feeling you get when someone you know does something you strongly agree with – they are pure emotion. The effect of rounding a corner on a drudge street and finding the end of a house covered in slogans or huge images of Internationalism and Hope is something I’m having difficulty conveying. Our spirits were raised, for even though the murals in the Falls Road seemed to suffer from paintbombings, their positive message was undimmed. We kept moving over to where the map said the Shankill Road would be. To get there we walked past huge partitioning walls of metal and fencing intended to keep the two sections apart. Evidence of past troubles were all about us. Burned out houses backed onto a sort of no-mans land – but we innocently walked on. The Shankill Road was a disappointment as far as murals were concerned and our wide-eyed appearance caused even more hostile-ish and suspicious looks. Most of the images in the Shankill were of flags – depressing Nationalism. Strange that the ‘catholics’ are called Nationalists and yet their murals and rhetoric is full of Internationalist content, whereas the ‘protestants’, who display Nationalism like a second skin and who are not loyal to the elected British Government are called Loyalists. I wasn’t surprised to see National Front graffitti on the Shankill Road.
5
After a meal we turned in, it had been a long day. Thursday and we took the train to Derry, £10.35 return. The train’s route was through names on the news and it took just over two hours. We walked across the bridge over the Foyle which divides Derry. We sought out the Information Office and arranged our accommodation. On the way to the bed and breakfast we passed one of the RUC/Army forts, soldiers were outside stopping the traffic. Realisation that we were in a war zone meant to lift the camera on occasions like this seemed almost impossible to me. The afternoon was spent wandering around the walled city and on the outskirts of the Bogside past the memorial to those killed by the Paratroop Regiment in 1972, but we could see some youths on top of the ‘Bogside Inn’ throwing stones at passing traffic, so we did not go into the Bogside – which was a shame. That evening we took in a play at the Magee University – there was some sort of festival on whilst we were there. It certainly was disturbing to meet four soldiers in black face, about 18 years old and carrying deadly weapons after a pleasant cultural evening. We found the small resturant on the Strand Road where we had heard there was to be live music – the musicians were crowded into the front window; a flautist and guitarist. We expected lyrical Irish accompanyment to the clatter of knives and forks on china, but we were amazed by ‘Bridge over Troubled Waters’ – how apt I remarked. Deserted dark streets and to bed with Walkman playing Billy Bragg.
6
Friday we set out to visit an industrial estate and take in yet another RUC post. We were soon lost, our sketchy ‘tourist’ map didn’t have any of the street names we were coming across. A republican estate, distinguishable by the murals for the INLA. Camera out, the drizzle that had come on strengthened to light rain. We considered visiting the Sinn Fein Advice Centre but it looked closed. Soldiers, in the distance, coming up the road – very open area, deserted, no time to turn back so we just walked on towards them reassuring each other that we were not doing anything wrong. As the soldiers got closer, about 50 yards away, one looked at us through his sights – Paul and I froze, looked down and tried to walk on as if nothing was amiss – we didn’t even know where we were walking. A soldier looked gingerly through my bag of cameras. I asked if I could photograph them as they walked up the road. The leader shook his head; the same one whose gun was pointing at us just a few minutes ago – finger on the trigger... We were unable, due to some stupid pride or something, to ask where the hell we were. We walked on, I looked back once to see them as they passed from view. A housing estate and its cache of murals told us we were in INLA territory. The rain, or maybe something else that we as interlopers had not sussed, meant the roads were deserted. An Army helicopter hovered overhead, we had noticed it earlier but had thought it paranoid to think it was following us. Now it was much lower, just clear of the red-brick houses, its crew visible, and it remained at that height until we left the estate. We walked in one direction for about 100 yards alongside the main road we’d come onto as we left the estate, and then, based on nothing but a hunch, decided it was the other way we needed to go. It turned out to be the right thing to do and signposts soon directed us back to the Strand Road and Derry. Along the way Paul, ignoring my advice, befriended a black puppy which followed us and was only discouraged when he reluctantly chased it back up the road.
7
As we joined the Strand Road, just outside an RUC post a lorry lost its load of drums of vegetable oil. Once again Paul’s judgement of our location and predicament seemed suspect as he dashed across the road to help the driver move the drums onto the pavement. Admirable in mainland Britain but, in hindsight, rather foolish in wartorn Ireland – it could so easily have been an ambush for the RUC who eventually came out, bristling with guns, to help to clear the road – maybe I’m paranoid? I took some photographs, moved one or two drums and generally must have looked suspicious. An Army patrol atop an armoured vehicle laughed as they passed – the misfortune of some ‘thick paddies’ seemed to amuse them greatly – the driver looked quite hurt by this, so was I. We walked on through Derry to ‘The Fountain’ area, on the other side of the walled city to the Bogside. The Fountain’s murals were untouched, clean-cut affairs, unattractively belching patriotism. We crossed the Foyle and walked around a bit as we had time before our train left. Another RUC post with police stopping traffic at a barrier. I decided to use the camera and was about to photograph the post when stopped by a frighteningly authoritarian shout – I felt my stomach drop. We were hustled inside and questioned by stern faces and harsh Northern Irish accents, ‘Identification?’ ‘Why are you taking photographs?’ ‘What are you doing in Ireland?’ My Student Union card seemed to impress them, but Paul didn’t have any identification on him and I felt – this is it! But maybe it was our accents which helped us, for as soon as we spoke their attitude changed. They confided in us that, in general, the taking of photographs was OK, but their concern was whether their faces could be identified – quite a reasonable concern I suppose when you consider they could then become targets for gunmen when off-duty. As we left they told me it was fine to take a photograph of the post, to see the street again was enough for me, I clicked off a shot of the outside of the post and we briskly walked away.
8
The train to Belfast was uneventful. We visited the Arts Council Bookshop in Belfast, where I bought a copy of Conrad Atkinson’s Picturing the System and some magazines. Bus, ferry, coach, train and we were back home.
Alan and Paul, Boots Corner, Cheltenham, early 80’s
9
Belfast 5 November 1986
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
z
The Falls Road is, well, without the murals it could have been any working class northern town, but with the murals and the graffitti it’s a grey area with bright flashes of hope. The murals were brilliant splashes of colour capable of bringing out that rare flush of pride... that feeling you get when someone you know does something you strongly agree with – they are pure emotion. The effect of rounding a corner on a drudge street and finding the end of a house covered in slogans or huge images of Internationalism and Hope is something I’m having difficulty conveying. Our spirits were raised, for even though the murals in the Falls Road seemed to suffer from paint-bombings, their positive message was undimmed.
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
z
47
Derry 6–7 November 1986
48
49
50
51
52
53
p 54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
Pages 73–77: As we joined the Strand Road, just outside an RUC post a lorry lost its load of drums of vegetable oil. Once again Paul’s judgement of our location and predicament seemed suspect as he dashed across the road to help the driver move the drums onto the pavement. Admirable in mainland Britain but, in hindsight, rather foolish in wartorn Ireland – it could so easily have been an ambush for the RUC who eventually came out, bristling with guns, to help to clear the road – maybe I’m paranoid? I took some photographs, moved one or two drums and generally must have looked suspicious. An Army patrol atop an armoured vehicle laughed as they passed – the misfortune of some ‘thick paddies’ seemed to amuse them greatly – the driver looked quite hurt by this, so was I.
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
The afternoon was spent wandering around the walled city and on the outskirts of the Bogside past the memorial to those killed by the Paratroop Regiment in 1972, but we could see some youths on top of the ‘Bogside Inn’ throwing stones at passing traffic, so we did not go into the Bogside – which was a shame.
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
HAND OVER FIST PRESS
BOOKS • DESIGN at www.handoverfistpress.com
1 9 8 6 SHEEP IN THE ROAD Vol. 2 Alan Rutherford 2015
SHEEP IN THE ROAD Vol. 1 Alan Rutherford 2014
IRISH GRAFFITI some murals in the North, 1986 Alan Rutherford 2014
NICETO DE LARRINAGA a voyage, 1966 Alan Rutherford 2014
To read/view a book, please go to BOOK page on website and click on their cover and follow the links ...
KAPUTALA The Diary of Arthur Beagle & The East Africa Campaign, 1916-1918 Alan Rutherford Updated 2nd edn: 2014
â–ź MAGAZINE
SHEEP IN THE ROAD issue 3 October: 2015
The first issue Sheep in the Road magazine has writing, photography, cartoons and odd assemblages of ideas, rants and reviews ... eminating from a socialist and thoughtful core.
Available to view/read at: www.handoverfistpress.com
HAND OVER FIST PRESS
2 0 1 4
98