I’m sure you’ve seen this in the news today:
A five-day-old girl is among more than 100 Romanian people who have spent the night in a church hall after fleeing their homes in south Belfast.
You may or may not be aware that, by various tedious calculations, I’m 7/8ths Irish! (I actually came very close to applying for an Irish passport at one point). My Dad was born in Belfast, both my parents grew up there and the majority of my extended family is from there. It’s a very important place to me and I grew up watching it be torn apart during the “end” of the Troubles on the news, always asking and being scared about how close to my family members the violence was taking place. I remember being in Belfast and being scared; I remember hiding under the duvet in my bedroom in my Granny’s house, convinced that every shout I heard from the street was going to end with a brick through my window – a little daft but kids will believe almost anything they see on TV. Anyway, I thought things were moving on, I thought it was all getting better and there was hope for peace there – long lasting peace and unity for the first time in a couple of hundred years.
I really just cannot understand how some people’s brains work.
I was very glad to see though that the local church is in there, where they should be, providing those under attack with refuge and relative security. Well done to Morgan Malcolm and his congregation.