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Inside The Orange Order !
don't get lost
andyluke
My Sordid Past : The Orange Order



Hi interwebs,

Heres confession from my sordid past. Fourteen,

committed to a writing career through series of

brainwashing reality tunnels to collect 'experience' @

total immersion. A relief I never made a solid wage as

a writer for those years, unbelievably shallow and

horridly indoctrinated. Drifted to Free Presbyterian

sector...not quite the definition of "free". Think Jack

Chick, anti-catholicism as mission statement (all well

and good but offered alternatives sucked too) F***

Presbyterianism is Ian Paisley's region. A kid I went

to school with, his F*** Presbyterianism preacher

father were chummy with him. So, where most kids engage

in art projects, or steal car badges, I joined the

Junior Orange Order. Not that much different really

from Boy Scouts or Girl Guides. They played

run-the-hall games and soccer and capture the flag. I

went on a march with them and one little zitball put a

stinkbomb in my sash holder. We got to the finish

point, a grass land and i smacked him in the face bad a

few times. He had it coming. Two or three balding

bespectabled blustering chubby elderlies, Ulster knows

the sort, broke us up. Well, they didnt care about

starting the fight. Snatched our sashes right off us,

it was an affront you see. A dishonour and a disgrace.

This was years before I heard of the photos of Paisley

standing at the border chatting with fellows in black

balaclavas. Anyone got a link to that one ?

After eighteen months, I was asked if I wanted to join

the Orange Order. I thought about it a bit, and

I thought why the fuck not ? The chance to get inside

the enigmatic masonic lodge of local fame. Asked to

wait for half an hour atop a darkened wooden staircase,

my only glimpse inside through a hatch allowing only a

third of a face... well the performance and the

chicanery was as rumour promised. I was being assessed

indoors, my references checked. The wee wooden hatch

would slap back, its round handle to the left every so

often to tell me, "They won't be long now"

I gained admittance with an eyemask, or was it hands

accross my studies, sixteen years ago, a fact that

slipped down the side of sofa of memory. Led by the

guardian of the hatch, i remember someone with a staff,

taking an oath to secrecy. On the bible as you suspect,

a book of good and bad moral codes, over the top DIY

ambitions, badly written genealogies and a rather

disappointing recipes section. I have no qualms about

the breaking of this oath. Thing is, I'm more attracted

to beautiful women and men, than deep double chinned

controllers covered in dust cobwebs as Eddie Campbell

depicted in "From Hell". A bunch of brandy-stinking old

boys in a outer-unmarked upper floor with bolts made to

look up like basement, any trace of gay sexuality I

have doesnt find that attractive in the minimalist.

The remainder of the meeting I was allowed access to

was much like any rotary club. Forty minutes on their

agenda was discussion of an incident..a fracas with a

promotions company. This all occurred in 1990 AD, three

hundred years from a battle featuring a dutch royal

William III, he married to a Roman Catholic and later

died falling off a horse. Were this is relevant, (where

? where ?) is that these fat controllers believe it to

be so. To mark the 300yrs since the Battle of The

Boyne, these many actually orangemen arranged

promotions companies to provide them with three hundred

orange balloons to be released from city hall. However,

this was a point of some discussion, some controversy.

Had the balloon company conned them ? Where there

really three hundred balloons ? What do three hundred

balloons look like ? Are the Orange Order as used to dealing with balloons as the balloon company ? After forty minutes deluged discussion, decided they were satisfied, let the matter go.

I left after the first meeting and never returned, casting the new discovery aside with a lack of disinterest befitting. As if a few nights in the company of a psychopath : a little danger but mostly from overwhelming boredom. A year later my family relocated. The last I heard of my local branch was the year after that when one of their representatives showed up on the doorstep. The purpose of his visit was to collect dues owing, two pounds a month. He managed to grasp the concept that I didnt have any money, the reduction to seventy-eight pounds in light of meetings missed not forthcoming, and my return neither likely, he left again. I was to see what I could do about getting the cash together and he would relate this to the Order, and talk to them about the possibility of a further reduction.

And thats it really. I've since become a human who can think, stand up straight, act clearly and work for the betterment of others in entertainment, counselling and educating. Members of The Orange Order have since gone on to create more of their trademark violence alongside ocassional charity club funding and social and political string pulling. Interwebs has since reclaimed the letters LOL for its own purposes.

Stay safe this July, all of you.

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On The Plus Side, Though...

Lambeg drums are cool, and bowler hats are entertaining...

Re: On The Plus Side, Though...

Most Orangemen in Ulster don't wear bowlers. Only amongst those called The Black Men. Not sure how theyre connected to all this yet. The Lambeg drums hurt my ears :(

(Deleted comment)
Yeah, this happens time to time when I'm writing long lj entries with Notepad. I just went with non-editing and i think it makes a long entry easier to read. By the time it goes single line spacing, its got enough momentum.

Glad you enjoyed it. I wanted to blog this for a while and when it came to do so, I found it very difficult to write. Then I just slipped into Hunter S Thompson-Spider Jerusalem mode and it became much easier.

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