Atop the walls of Londonderry, more than anywhere else in Ireland, I had the feeling of walking on hallowed ground. In this small but renowned city, usually called Derry, one feels the spirit of the heroic defenders who withstood the terrible siege of 1689. The walls circling the old city, one mile in circumference, are well preserved and look very much as they must have appeared at the time of the siege, which lasted 105 days. Many of the old cannon remain on the parapet, among them the famous "Roaring Meg." The walls stand from 20 to 251 feet high and are 14 to 37 feet thick—amply wide on top for passage of horses and carriages. Completed in 1618, the rampart was first tested by siege in the Irish Rebellion of 1641 and again in 1648 —before the Protestants’ victorious stand in 1689.

The present-day "Apprentices Club" celebrates the victory each year on the Saturday nearest August 2. As part of the festivities, the traitorous Governor Lundy is burned in effigy each year. Lundy tried to deliver the city to the attackers and, when foiled, slipped away in the night in disguise, reputedly climbing down a pear tree.

I learned too late, after departing the city, that to walk the full circle atop the walls entitles one to membership in the Apprentices Club. I had circled the walls twice, reading the plaques, gazing at the great monument to Rev. George Walker who took over command after Lundy’s desertion, looking over the parapet at the iron hook where prisoners were hanged in reprisal in view of the besiegers, examining the cannon, pausing even at "Cowards Bastion." I doubtless passed the spot from which James Huston shot an enemy officer across the river Foyle. The stroll atop the ancient walls brought a feeling of kinship for the Houstons who suffered there.