The Orangemen's mood seemed deflated rather than defiant, writes Dan Keenan
An air of inevitability hung over Carleton Street as Orangemen and women - and the occasional child - gathered outside the lodge in the mid-morning warmth. Their attempt to march to church for a service of commemoration for the Somme and return by a route of their own choosing was bound to end in failure.
It had been decreed by a body set up by their own British government. Although no one said it, there was nothing for it but to make their certain defeat as honourable as possible.
Mr David Burrows, deputy district master, implored them to act with dignity in the face of the decision of the Parades Commission, "an unelected quango". They were a people united in a defence of their faith and culture, he said. However, it appeared a unity more aspired to than actual.
Mr Cecil Allen, the district chaplain, spoke of "the great privilege of standing together", even though it appeared that many Orangemen from this and other lodges were standing somewhere other than Portadown. The defiant spirit of Drumcree so evoked by hardliners of previous years, appeared to be evaporating into the blue skies of an Ulster Sunday.
The numbers marching were down on last year, the numbers out to encourage them from the pavements were diminished too.
They were called to march three abreast but filed off in twos making the parade seem longer. This reporter counted up to 700 sashes, and what applause there was from the roadsides resembled a clap for a village cricket match somewhere in the home counties.
They paraded first through safe loyalist territory. Graffiti along the barricaded nationalist Obins Street denounced the "pan-nationalist front of Dublin, Sinn Féin, the IRA and the SDLP". Other slogans greeted the UEFA cup victory over Celtic of FC Porto. Less sophisticated artists resorted to the simple profanity "F**k Armagh".
The band played Nearer my God to thee and Abide with me as they stepped past legions of security forces and their armoured cars.
Rolls of razor wire lay unused signifying the uncertain calm and the measures they would take to preserve it.
Nationalists had deserted the place. The priest at St John's celebrated a brisk midday Mass which was hymnless and sermon-free. The depleted faithful were out the door in 25 minutes and away.
Outside Mr Breandan Mac Cionnaith conducted a series of media interviews and off-the-record briefings. So did Ms Bríd Rodgers, the SDLP deputy leader, and Sinn Féin's Ms Dara O'Hagan. Their reading of events bore amazing similarity given their political differences.
All agreed the day would have to come when Orangemen sat down with nationalist residents to talk. This could lead to either a march down Garvaghy Road or to there never being one again.
The parade marched on to Drumcree to commemorate British losses in a first World War battle - a commemoration sullied by more recent pitch battles against police and the same British army.
Swords drawn, the district's leading Orange figures marched to police lines and demanded an audience with the police commander. They got Mr Jonathan McIvor, while his boss, Mr Stephen White, stayed behind the barricade.
The Orangemen demanded the removal of the "hideous barricade" and reinstatement of the right of British subjects to march the queen's highway.
However, it was another instance of not-an-inch from the security forces, leaving the marchers with nothing to do but about-face and march back up the hill.
There was clearly no appetite for confrontation and the march melted away leaving the police top brass the freedom to praise the triumph of commonsense - and their own policing tactics.
And so Drumcree Nine petered out. Orangemen folded their collarettes and headed their various ways.
Police officers loosened their riot gear in the afternoon warmth and reached for their sandwiches and flasks of tea. The confrontation, televised live on many networks, had become a picnic.