Business as usual on the Falls Rd

West Belfast today turned a blind eye to the Queen Mother’s funeral.

As shops in the rest of the city closed their doors, it was business as usual on the Falls Road.

Tricolours fluttered in the spring breeze from every other lamp post in the most republican regions of Northern Ireland.

While the Stormont Assembly’s First Minister David Trimble and Deputy First Minister Mark Durkan were at Westminster Abbey to pay their respects, Sinn Fein president Gerry Adams was seen going into a street corner chemist.

Life went on unaffected on the Falls Road.

But there was no vitriol on show, just an indifference summed up by John Garland standing outside the Kennedy shopping centre.

‘‘People say it means a lot to them but it doesn’t,’’ he insisted.

‘‘I can’t understand these people coming from Canada when they probably wouldn’t go to see some of their own family buried.’’

As far as the 59-year-old was concerned, it simply meant he could not have his regular bet.

‘‘I can’t get to the bookies because all the racing’s off,’’ he said.

Inside the centre people went about their daily routine, buying groceries and hunting bargains.

John Johnston, 69, a retired fruit shop owner, said: ‘‘Personally I don’t care, but they don’t entertain royalty round here.

‘‘She was just there and that’s it.’’

Another man wanted to know how the monarchy deserved any public sympathy.

As he waited for his wife, Joe O’Neill asked: ‘‘What’s the Royal family ever done for us?’’

The 40-year-old Ballymurphy man added: ‘‘It means nothing to me. The only time the Royals are in the news here is when they send over a member to prop up the unionist state.’’

In loyalist east Belfast many shops had stayed shut all day, while a two-minute silence was observed across most areas of Northern Ireland.

While the Queen Mother was being laid to rest amid full pomp and splendour, some families were visiting families buried in Milltown, the sprawling west Belfast cemetery with monuments to many IRA volunteers.

One man visiting his mother and father’s grave gave a frank assessment.

‘‘Let’s face it, this is a republican area and people just don’t care,’’ he said.

‘‘The woman might have done good, but we hurt here like everyone else.’’

His wife admitted to ‘‘a wee tinge’’ when the Queen Mother died but added: ‘‘Nobody here is going to close up their shops. If they did they’d probably get picked upon.’’

Others along the road had more pressing concerns.

Having just got back from two months’ teaching practice, two students were ensconced in Oisin’s bar next door to St Mary’s College where they are training.

The cost of the ceremonial funeral was causing Paul Toner, 21, problems.

‘‘We are trainee teachers and there’s not enough schools or classrooms,’’ he said.

‘‘But how much is that ceremony going to cost? You must be talking millions.’’

His flatmate, 20-year-old Lawrence O’Kane, displayed just a trace of guilt as he revealed what went through his head after hearing the Queen Mother had died.

‘‘I thought: ‘Won’t there be awful TV for the next week’.’’

But his moral dilemma was fleeting. Raising his glass to his lips, he had, like the rest of west Belfast, other things to be getting on with.