Bottle Green Bastards
St. Malachy's Primary School rests on the edge of the townland of Carnagat. Built in the eighties on the crest of a drumlin, at elevation, it sits above a valley carved by the recession of a glacier eons ago. Below, lies the town of Newry, slightly obscured from view by the stretched brow of this broad hill. The school was surrounded by fields that acted as a sort of impromptu, agriculturally demilitarised, buffer zone between us and the raging conflict outside. Of course, even from the school there were visible signs of conflict and colonial occupation. We only had to look up at the mountain to see the Brits based on it, or tilt our heads to the sky to see the continuous Chinook and chopper movement, but young minds become conditioned to such things when thrust into an environment from the day and hour they land with a thump and a scream in the delivery suit at Daisy Hill Hospital. Adjacent the school was a narrow, idyllic, country loanan, lined on either side by a row of hedges
