Homeplace has quite a history

ON THE road from Derry to Belfast you’ll see a sign for ‘Seamus Heaney’s Homeplace.’ It’s in Bellaghy, County Derry, which is about five miles north of Magherafelt. Toomebridge is around five miles further on. On my most recent trip to Donegal I made the time to go, as we’re usually rushing for a boat or a flight. We’d just been to our friends’ wedding, where the groom’s brother-in-law, Paul, got up and recited the poem, Scaffolding by Seamus Heaney. It’s a beautifully crafted Irish love poem, a considerate reflection on the strength and resilience of a lasting relationship. It was written for his wife, Marie, around the time of their marriage in 1965 so it was perfect for the occasion, and Paul’s delivery made it all the more poignant and meaningful. I also felt it was another wee nudge at me to make sure I went. Paul and I chatted afterwards about Heaney’s influence on us and I told him how happy I was to finally be going to visit the homeplace.

There are two huge black and white images straight ahead as you enter, both of Heaney’s face; one as a young boy in 1951, the other as an older man in 2002. Yet his features have not changed. It’s easy to see the boy within the man, the curiosity of the child inside the wisdom of the poet laureate. I wonder did his mammy and daddy see it in him?

The walls are adorned with quotes and his old familiar duffle coat is encased in glass. I sense it must be weighted down with years of knowledge, decades of sonnets resting in his pockets, alliteration in the lining. I note one or two buttons have scarpered and the signs of years of daily wear are evident; and yet it’s that same old duffle coat.

A quote from A Herbal in Human Chain is on the opposite wall. It’s about the interconnectedness between nature and humanity, life and death. Heaney uses plants to symbolise the cyclical nature of life, suggesting that death is not an end but a part of a larger, continuous process. I like that thought and the natural correlation between the two. I could see him as a wee boy in this homeplace for so much of his existence nestled in every word he ever wrote: “Between the haystack and sunset sky, between oak tree and slated roof I had my existence. I was there. Me in place and the place in me.”

You can read and listen to his poetry simultaneously. His family photographs decorate the space and you have the chance to sit and listen to others recite his poetry or simply speak about him, how they knew the man or what impact he had on their lives. Mary Robinson, Bono and Prince Charles among them. As we move upstairs there are carefully curated items from his childhood, symbols he saw a worth in writing about; items of inspiration like a priest’s black biretta to his school satchel and original handwritten texts showing his creative process.

A mile or so down the road is St Mary’s Church, Bellaghy where Seamus Heaney rests. We visit his grave and pay our respects. There we meet a woman visiting her parents’ grave, and it turns out her father and Heaney were friends. She is astonished at the Scottish visitors knowing so much about Heaney and so interested in his work and life. She told us she has a framed letter that he sent to her sister whilst he was a Professor in Residence at Harvard University in Boston. He was there on three separate occasions between 1981 and 2006.

I believe her when she goes on to tell us that the IRA hunger-striker Francis Hughes—who’s also buried in this cemetery—was just a teenager when he painted the kitchen in their new house. She remembers him well. She has a connection to both men. Two men who came from Bellaghy, yet whose paths could not have taken more different directions. One died on hunger strike in the H-Blocks aged 25, whilst the other was attending a dinner at Oxford University in May 1981.

Heaney addressed the death of Francis Hughes in a lecture, ‘Frontiers of Writing’ in 1993. He spoke about the ethical and aesthetic tensions he experienced while attending that dinner at Oxford while Hughes’s funeral was taking place back in the homeplace. He described the event as a ‘confusing wake’ due to the differing perspectives of the political and domestic spheres and his lecture 12 years on highlighted the complexities of navigating political violence and personal grief. He talked about his own sense of alienation at that time as he stayed in a Tory minister’s room while Hughes’ funeral, a ‘domestic rite of mourning’ was taking place. He framed this experience as a dilemma. However, he was determined not be used or provoked and always wanted to be free to express his truth as he saw it. His poem The Toome Road, is his reaction to seeing a British Army patrol in his local area: “How long were they approaching down my roads, as if they owned them?”

He also describes this in his book with Dennis O’Driscoll, Stepping Stones: “There was an affront to dúchas in being questioned about my name and address by these uninformed cubs in uniform at the end of my own loaning.” This line was a reminder to those who lived in southern Ireland, away from the conflict, that they had no real idea of the effect of the burden of military occupation and denial of identity has on even the most moderate, peace-loving people.

I only discovered when studying that there was more than a geographical connection between these two men, Heaney and Hughes. When Heaney wrote the play, Burial at Thebes, it made direct reference to Francis Hughes and the handling of his body by the authorities because he drew a parallel to the conflict in Sophocles’ Antigone—which was the original play. I had no notion when I studied this play that when Francis Hughes and all the other hunger-strikers died, that the actions and declarations of the British Government—whilst not having direct legal authority over the bodies in the way of burial rights—played a significant role in shaping the public’s perception and the political repercussion of the hunger-strikes.

The handling of Hughes’ funeral was appalling. I had to watch the video of it at university. The army refused to allow the cortege to go through West Belfast where thousands of people lined the streets in public displays of mourning. An RUC officer was seen spitting on Hughes’ coffin and the mourners were harassed and forced to get out of their cars and walk miles on foot to Hughes’s home in Bellaghy then on to St Mary’s Church. The government restricted access to all of the hunger-strikers’ bodies and their subsequent funerals, which prejudiced the degree to which they became symbols of the Republican cause.

So Seamus Heaney did have his say in his own literary way and he did go on to attend the wake and funeral of Francis Hughes’ cousin, Thomas McIlwee when he passed away three months later in August 1981. For he too was a neighbour from Bellaghy, and is buried alongside Francis and Seamus in their ‘homeplace.’

L J Sexton, mum of four, returned to university to pursue her passion for the written word. She achieved her Honours Degree in English Literature and Creative Writing and hasn't stopped writing since. Lyn is born of Irish parents and lived in Donegal for eight years. She is also the press officer for Irish Minstrels CCÉ music group based in St Roch’s Secondary School