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The joys of Co. Armagh
By MALCOLM ROGERS
 Malcolm Rogers travels to the Orchard County to wander the hills and stroll through the towns.
There used to be an old joke about two guys from south Armagh who made it into the Guinness Book of Records. One of them was an only child and the other had a licence for his car.
The implication is, of course, that the area is staunchly Catholic, and just as staunchly lawless. Half of that jibe is still true. Armagh city is still the centre of Catholic Ireland, indeed it's the centre of Christian Ireland, with two cathedrals each called St. Patrick’s.
However, the county has begun to revert to more peaceful, law abiding ways. Even in Crossmaglen, these days if you think you hear a car back-firing, well, it probably is a car back-firing.
The pay-off for the visitor — the peace dividend in Norn Iron official speak — is that the enchanting countryside is now open for visitors. From the ancient ecclesiastic city of Armagh to the apple orchards round Loughgall, and from Benburb Valley to Slieve Gullion’s heights, this is a grade A holiday destination. Or stickin’ out in unofficial Norn Iron speak.
The apple of the country’s eye
Across the middle of the county lies Armagh’s apple country. Few scenes in Ireland are more picturesque, more pastoral. The pink flowers of the blossom, the green patchwork of the fields, the birdsong loud in the glade... oops, sorry about that, turned all Yeatsian on you for a moment. But the thing is, the apple orchards stretching across the gentle drumlin country really are an amazing sight.
There’s a long history of apple cultivation here — the core of the story is that they’ve been growing here for the last 3,000 years. Today the main crop is the Bramley — probably Co. Armagh’s most famous export to the world, aside from the penalty kick. The variety was first propagated here, and is ideal for cooking, apple juice and cider. Apparently it’s well suited to these northerly, if ever so slightly wettish, climes.
Hundreds of varieties of apple used to grow here in Armagh, but now only a select few are grown under the watchful eye of agri-scientists. Micro-technology has created ‘semi-dwarfing’ where the latest virus-resistant trees are made to grow upwards rather than outwards to allow the in more light and encourage the tree to produce apples at a much younger age. For Apple Blossom Tours call 028 3755 1119, Mobile: 07740 511 442 or e-mail: info@armaghguidedtours.com
Oh, and before we go, you’ll probably be wondering about that penalty kick. Invented in 1890 (just when the Northern Ireland soccer team’s losing streak began!) the idea of the penalty was first put forward by goalkeeper William McCrum who played for local side Milford Everton. McCrum had become disillusioned with the 'win at any cost' ethos which was sweeping the game and on June 2, 1891 the proposal was accepted and the penalty kick was born. You can still visit the village of Milford to pay your respects.
From Gulliver to Gullion
Jonathan Swift, a Dublin man, has strong ties with County Armagh — even penning the definitive lines about Newry, a city which half in Armagh, half in Down.
“High church, low steeple Dirty streets, proud people.”
You can take a Gulliver’s Travels Tour (contact Armagh Guided Tours again) down to Gosford Forest Park where a 19th century neo Norman castle stands. An absolute monster of a barracks, Swift’s Chair sits within the mature gardens of the castle.
When he was in Newry, I'm not sure if Dean Swift made it up the road to the Ring of Gullion. But judging by the amount of legends emanating from here, I wouldn't be surprised.
 The Ring of Gullion is a text book example of a ‘ring dyke’ system — when Ireland's share of molten lava was cooling down a few million years ago a little bit plopped up — just like boiling custard — but didn’t plop down again. So south Armagh was left with a central mountain, surrounded by a ring of smaller mountains. From the top of Slieve Gullion you can see this formation in glorious three-dimensional, wide-screen clarity. To see it, you have to get to the top of Slieve Gullion, some 1800 feet up. The day I decided to scale its heights I was in the company of my sister Fiona, who is super fit. But this did nothing to detract from my enjoyment, as the going is easy — the path being well worn by sheep, deer, wild goats, other humans — and the turf gives a springiness that transforms your Wellington boots into the latest Nike power pumpers.
Once at the summit ridge Cú Chulainn’s lake hove into view, impossibly ultramarine blue in the sun, because we’d cunningly chosen a bright autumn day to do the ascent. A short walk past the lake, another gentle climb and we were at the peak — marked by a stone cairn built during the Victorian era, atop a court chamber built by Neolithic Armagh people. Both great cairn builders, the Victorians and the Neolithics, separated by some 4000 years.
As the clouds cleared, I recollected that the Belfast writer CS Lewis, of Tales of Narnia fame, frequented these lands some 200 years after Jonathan Swift. As we looked across the lough and down on Dundalk Bay, surrounded by gnarled old whin bushes and thorn trees, we heard the water lapping in the peat hag. I wondered aloud if we had found it. “The garden and magic tree which lie to the west of Narnia, at the end of the blue lake.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Fiona, ever the practical type.
The villages
Many of the towns and villages of Ulster can be transcendentally dull, but that’s not an accusation you can level at the villages of south Armagh. If you fancy a drive round the border regions you’ll find plenty to divert you. Jonesborough is situated on the east side of the Moyry Pass, the scene of many bloody contests between the invaders and the defenders of Gaelic Ulster.
Today the town has the melancholy air of many southerly border towns. There’s a memorial to two IRA men “murdered by British troops,” there’s an army checkpoint up the hill, and tricolours flutter over the GAA ground. Two miles south of the town is the Pillar Stone of Kilnasaggart, dating back to 700 AD, and one of the earliest Christian monuments in the area.
Forkhill is worth the journey just to see how a how quiet, remote, rural village can be totally transformed by the arrival of a huge army encampment. The British Army installation in the town completely dominates everything in sight. Soon these forts will be gone as part of the ‘demilitarisation process’.
Apart from the political interest of the town, there is also a strong traditional heritage here. Storytelling, traditional music, and sean nós singing are all featured at the Welcome Inn on the Main Street.
Crossmaglen’s reputation precedes it. Seventeen soldiers have died in its main square alone, and during the height of the Troubles it was seen as the centre of operations. Today it has a tranquil air, more in keeping with the surrounding countryside which is dotted with megalithic tombs and early Christian sites. The Republican sculpture still dominates the town centre, there are still soldiers about, but the pubs are friendly, with traditional music sessions every weekend. The area is surrounded by dolmens, standing stones, and the wonderfully named Black Pig’s Dyke — a series of prehistoric dykes. The story goes that it was formed by a wicked schoolmaster who was turned into a pig and banished; in a fury, the pig then rampaged angrily across the countryside, forming the dyke with his snout. It would be fair to say that not all archaeologists necessarily agree with this theory.
Armagh can be an ethereal place; it can also be an edgy place. It’s a land of legend, beautiful pastoral landscape, and in-your-face history — and these are all valid reasons for coming to the area. Visitors tramp round Culloden and Flanders - the bloodiest feuds soften into history everywhere in the world. It’s beginning to happen in south Armagh, too, and one day when the final British Army lookout posts have gone, Armagh will be as soporifically tranquil as the Downs of Surrey, or the vineyards of the Dordogne. In fact, it already is that; it’s just that nobody has told the rest of the tourists.
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