THE last week or so has been both wonderful and horrible. The wonderful was the Orange celebrations. The horrible was the death of Ann Widdecombe. Both are intertwined and this piece largely wrote itself.
Rossnowlagh, in my mother’s native Donegal, was a beautiful day at the beach with the relaxed family friendly atmosphere and the usual looking out for people and lodges you know as they pass in front of you. Tuesday was the parade in Maguiresbridge when I was lucky enough to catch nine performances of Killaloe, six when they went to The Field and three on the way back. The importance and meaning of The Twelfth is different for many people. To different degrees. Personal faith, tradition and culture and are all in the mix along with something I don’t think has sufficient focus, ie the Glorious Revolution. This was about a lot more than changing a Roman Catholic monarch for a Protestant one (or Protestant Two, given it was William and Mary). It was basically about putting manners on the Monarchy in the form of The Bill of Rights 1689. If the French can celebrate Bastille Day, the whole of the UK should be unashamedly celebrating such a seismic constitutional watershed.
Of course the Westminster establishment is too frit and ashamed of the Protestant roots of our constitution to do anything so vulgar as to celebrate it. I have to say that at one time my attitude was ‘that’s not very fair’ and was all for changing the rules and disestablishing the Anglican Church. It was actually Roman Catholic British patriots who pointed out the dangers (although the details of the argument are well over my head). Basically if you unpick some of the obvious ‘Protestant’ bits, you could unravel something fundamental and the unintended consequences could be dire and irreversible. As far as they were concerned, they had freedom of worship and weren’t in line for the Throne and we should leave well enough alone.
This was what I had already decided to write about. Then the news of Ann’s death made a natural pivot to dig deeper into the contribution of Roman Catholic unionists. Many polls have indicated that significant minorities of Northern Ireland Roman Catholics are pro-Union. Living in London for all my working life and being involved in Friends of The Union made me very aware of the importance and commitment of English Roman Catholic Unionists, not least, the redoubtable Lisl Biggs-Davison, whose name every Northern Irish unionist should not just know but toast annually. She is the daughter of John Biggs-Davison, a convert to Roman Catholicism and one of the founders of Friends of the Union and a man I wish I had had the honour of meeting. Another Roman Catholic unionist I missed out on meeting was Peter Utley, who my mother was a big fan of, but I did get to know his widow Bridget, who was delightful and steadfast too. The Utley way with words and commitment to The Union and their Faith have all seemed to have passed down to current generations.
This gets me on to Ann and an evening that forms the basis of how I will remember her.
Our paths didn’t really cross until the last ten years. I hadn’t necessarily agreed with all her positions. My reaction to prisoners giving birth wearing shackles was ‘Is that really necessary?’ I don’t know and I suspect that a lot of those outraged at the time didn’t know either. I still don’t know but no part of me believes that Ann defended it from a position of sadism or even indifference. [Editor’s note: The Mirror was forced to apologise for reporting that Ann Widdecombe had insisted on shackles, see here.] https://www.mirror.co.uk/for-the-record/ann-widdecombe–apology-correction-30566217 I also can’t get my head round her advocating that blokes who’ve been castrated be allowed to serve time in women’s prison, but we can all strike a bum note now and again.
Ann came to Northern Ireland to speak at an anti-Protocol rally in Dromore Orange Hall on April 28, 2024. Before the event there was a lot of daft commentary on X from the rabid anti-Orange brigade about would she even be allowed to speak in an Orange Hall. Some were getting excited at the idea that she would be booed. I responded to many of them with variations on ‘Why not? It’s not as if she’s going to conduct a Mass.’ I mentioned this to Ann as we were in receipt of hospitality of the lodge and added ‘You’re not, are you, because if you are, I have a few Tweets I’d better delete.’ People were delighted to have Ann there and the sandwiches tea/coffee and traybake were pressed on her. There was just one problem. What the hosts hadn’t realised was that the no meat on Friday rule had been reinstated in the Roman Catholic Church and of course it was Friday. So the chicken sandwiches were out but undaunted Ann just extracted the ham from some ham-and-cheese sandwiches and cracked on. We were imagining the headlines ‘The Orange Order tried to force-feed ham to Ann Widdecombe on a Friday’.
On the stage, Ann was introduced and announced: ‘In case you didn’t know it, I’m a Roman Catholic.’ Big cheer and laughter. Followed by ‘and I’m here tonight in an Orange Hall’, which completely brought the house down.
After star performances by all the speakers, Ann, Kate Hoey, Ben Habib and I went back to the hotel where Ann and Ben were staying and Ben ordered pizza.
Kate has never been a fan of my unsubtle ‘Raspberry Rebel’ hair colour and while we waited to be fed, she tried to recruit Ann on her side of this debate. Ann did indeed echo her judgement but also cautioned her ‘You do realise though that our opinion is not going to matter to her in the slightest.’
When the pizza arrived, Ann stuck to the vegetarian one while the rest of us tore into the meaty one. As midnight approached we gave Ann updates as to how long her restraint needed to last and at the stroke of midnight she lost no time in tucking into the ‘Protestant pizza’ as it had been renamed. It was a great night and she was on fire on the stage and good company before and after.
The update that her murder may be terrorist-related gives a horrible relevance to a brief moment during the evening. When we were referencing SF/IRA Kate pointed out to Ann that my mother had been murdered in the 1987 Enniskillen Poppy Day Massacre, and a flash of pain showed on her face.
A colourful character, with a genuine soft side, has left both the stage and her mark.
