Break for the Border

Seventeen years ago Florence Galloway's father was killed accidentally in his local pub in Belfast by a ricochet bullet from …

Patrick Brennan

Seventeen years ago Florence Galloway's father was killed accidentally in his local pub in Belfast by a ricochet bullet from a British soldier's gun during a street clash between Protestants and Catholics. Florence's 31-year-old husband decided to "get even rather than get out", as she puts it. He joined the UDA and became involved in robberies on behalf of the paramilitaries.

Florence disapproved of his activities and separated from him before he was arrested. But, seeing his devastation at receiving a four-year prison sentence, she decided to give the marriage another go.

While he was in jail, she had three young girls to take care of. To give Florence and her daughters a much-needed break, the prison probation services put her in touch with a Cork-based reconciliation and support group called Between. She is still involved, now as a volunteer, to this day.

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Set up in 1970, the group's initial aim was to provide relief for hundreds of families in Northern Ireland's nationalist areas who were suffering "unsupportable pressure and oppression at the hands of the internment debacle", says Between's founder, Chriostoir de Baroid.

However, operating without any political or religious agenda, Between soon started to work with both sides of the community to combat sectarianism through educational and humanitarian projects. Chief among these continues to be its scheme to take the wives and children of Northern prisoners for a week's holiday in Cork.

With little or no publicity, few organisations have earned such respect across the North's religious and political divides. At its re-dedication ceremony in Belfast in 1995, Between received commendations from the Loyalist Prisoners' Aid, the Republican movement (via Gerry Adams), the UDA and the UVF. Families of the UDA and UVF officially became involved with Between in 1990, when former UVF prisoner Billy Hutchinson, now a PUP representative, and his wife Eileen visited Cork and gave their okay.

"I was immediately struck by the atmosphere down here," recalls Eileen Hutchinson, now a member of Between's cross-community, Belfast committee. "There's a great feeling. The volunteers just can't do enough for you." Eileen's son always travels to the South with her.

A fellow committee member is Peggy Burns, a rape crisis counsellor in Belfast who first heard of Between through Chriostoir de Baroid's son, Ciaran in 1971. A single mother whose daughter is grown up now, she has been coming South ever since. She is a group leader and selects and accompanies nationalist mothers and their children to Cork.

"I was a youth worker in Ballymurphy with Protestants and Catholics," Peggy recalls. "There had been a couple of schemes to bring children away to the United States. It turned out that the awfully nice, middle-class children were being taken and the children from the Falls Road, the Shankill and Ballymurphy were being ignored." Between changed all that.

Just as the children might never have set foot outside Belfast or Derry, mothers on both sides would rarely have crossed the Border before. "It's amazing the different attitudes, yet all you have to do is put the children on to the bus, take all the badges and scarves off them and within hours they're just like any kids I've ever seen," comments Peggy. "When we started bringing down families you could feel the tension lift once you'd passed Drogheda, and return on the way back again when you hit Dundalk. Invariably, children and adults from every kind of group are in tears on the last day when they have to go back home."

Between's first premises was a youth hall in the centre of Cork city. Then, 15 years ago, the Society of African Missions donated a large, derelict house on 3.5 acres in Togher, a suburb on the city's southern outskirts. Between renovated the building, adding a canteen and a bungalow which has three guest rooms and accommodates 12 volunteers. The main block sleeps 36 people; it also has an office and rooms for TV and games.

On the land surrounding the three main buildings, Between volunteers have erected a children's playground. There's also a mini-football pitch, and a child-friendly fountain, adorned with home-made, toy alligators and owls to greet visitors as they enter.

During June, July and August, loyalist and nationalist group leaders - in conjunction with local and international volunteers - organise a variety of activities to entertain adults and children alike. These include visits to Fota Wildlife Park, the beach, the cinema, and outings to a farm where youngsters, who often have never been outside the concrete environs of their city, can experience what it's like to hold a piglet in their arms or plague their mothers with the farmer's pet mice. "The overall objective of Between is to promote human relationships with and between Southern and Northern Irish communities under stress. The most important thing we've done over our 28 years is build trust where many considered it virtually impossible," says Chriostoir de Baroid. Operating on an annual budget of about £100,000, sources of Between's funds include the Departments of Education and Foreign Affairs, the European Peace and Reconciliation Fund and private donations North and South.

Martina, a nationalist whose husband is serving 20 years for conspiracy to plant explosives, admits she was in a state of withdrawal for the first few days when she came down. She was desperate to catch the news in case she missed anything. She says it's so relaxed in Cork and that up in the North you don't realise how tense you are.

Eileen Hutchinson explains: "People open up when they're down here and stay up talking late at night. The women's problems are often deeper than you realise.

"On both sides, some turn to drugs, even prostitution. They're in a state of dread at the prospect of their husbands getting out and beginning again.

"To be honest, during Drumcree I was so dismayed there was such naked bigotry everywhere," she adds. "I just wished I was down in Cork where everybody is so easy-going. It'd be nice to have it running all year round."