A small Roman Catholic girl called Mary, from one of the ghetto areas of Belfast, was playing with a friend near the seaside on a sunny day in spring, far away from the troubled streets near her home.

“I know what's wrong with Northern Ireland,” said Mary in that matter-of-fact tone all children use when they believe they have discovered one of the great secrets of life. “My mother told me what was the matter in Ulster. It's all the Protestants' fault.” There was a long silence. Her friend Betty finally spoke up. “ Well.. .I'm a Protestant.” There was another silence. Mary hesitated, and then said slowly. “You are not a ‘Protestant’ at Corrymeela. You're a nice person, and I like you.”