Some twenty five years or so ago, with a few hours to spare in London’s West End, I bumped into my son, who by chance was also free, and we went to Trafalgar Square, where the post-Apartheid flag had just been raised over South Africa House. I had often passed the building in three decades in London without ever taking much notice of it, nor even to picket it.
I didn’t even know what the old flag looked like..
As we stopped to look at the new standard, another bystander remarked that he preferred the old flag. I asked why, and was told that the old flag incorporated the Union Jack, and the speaker appreciated that, being an Ulsterman. I remarked that I was a Leinsterman, from Dublin. and the Ulsterman recalled that he’d enjoyed that city in his youth, as an undergraduate of Trinity College.
“By the way,” I asked, “isn’t Gerry Adams also an Ulsterman?”
“Bugger Gerry Adams! ” he said with fervour.
“Every man to his fancy” sez I, “but don’t you want to save Ulster from Sodomy?
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