In a quiet working-class estate, a few miles outside Portadown, Roger Young puts on his three-piece suit and combs his hair. His mother, Helen, bustles around in a dressing gown, his father straightens his striped tie.
By 9 a.m. yesterday morning both men have eaten their Weetabix and folded their Orange sashes into leather pouches. "It's just another church parade," says Roger.
Waiting for his father in the sitting room, the 29-year-old says he joined the order when he was 17. "So every year since then I have walked the Garvaghy Road. I don't have a problem with Catholics. I drive a fellow from my work home every day who lives on Garvaghy Road. I would call him a good friend. All we want is 10 minutes to walk down it," he says.
His father, Bertie, is a quietspoken man with smiling eyes. He, too, wants to talk about the Catholics he helps as a volunteer at the local hospital and about the time he kept goal for a GAA team in his home town. "But when I put on my sash, suddenly I'm bigoted. It maddens me," he says.
They wait a bit longer before putting on their sashes. The Orange collarettes have a thin purple stripe and silver fringe. It is a short drive to Carleton Street Orange Hall. They park the car, fix their collarettes and greet friends from their lodge.
The march to Drumcree church begins at around 10.30 a.m. Snaking its way around Portadown, passing the soon-to-be-lit bonfire at Edgarstown Estate, moving slowly towards the Catholic church of St John the Baptist, at the end of Garvaghy Road where the British army has erected barriers topped with razor wire.
"It disgusts me," says Roger as the parade passes peacefully by. "It must annoy the residents, too. That's a place of worship and it looks like Fort Knox."
At 11.30 father and son reach the church hall where they sit down to hear the service commemorating those who died at the Somme. Roger nods in agreement when the rector, John Pickering, reads a message from Archbishop Eames calling for members of the Orange Order not to bring shame on the Church of Ireland by their actions on this seventh controversial Drumcree Sunday. "Very sensible," he says. "That would be agreed by all Orangemen, so it would," adds his father.
When the service is over, the men walk halfway down the hill to listen to Harold Gracey, District Master, address the large crowd at the army barricade and watch the Orange letter of protest being handed over. Almost immediately afterwards Roger and his father shake hands and say goodbye. There is no reason to hang around. This was just another church parade.