Trevor Ringland’s father used to say it was the first ten seconds. Ringland’s father was an RUC man who lived and worked in west Belfast. The ten seconds he spoke about began when he turned the key in his car’s ignition and when that time elapsed, he had some confidence – albeit fleeting – that this morning wasn’t the morning he’d be blown up. It is part of a thought experiment his son sometimes engages in as he imagines the Northern Ireland of his childhood and insists that nothing justified the violent place it was. “Imagine that every day, every…

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