The hillock of the ringfort
Tulach Lis
The name is Irish — Tulach Lis, the small hill of the lios or ringfort. Early-medieval Ulster left ringforts in their thousands across this country; the one that named the parish stood on the rise above the Bann where the church now sits. The site of an early Christian foundation is on the same ground. The successive parish churches — medieval, post-Reformation, late-Georgian — have all kept to the hill, which is why the graveyard around the present building reads older than the walls do.
Linen before the big mills
The bleach-green country
Before Hugh Dunbar's great spinning mill went up at Gilford in 1841, the linen industry of the Upper Bann was a hand trade carried out across the surrounding parishes — flax pulled in summer, spun and woven through the winter in cottages, and finished by bleaching the cloth out on the river meadows in long strips of white. Tullylish parish was bleach-green country: small bleachworks along the Bann, beetling mills hammering the cloth flat, the weavers' webs spread on the grass for weeks at a time to whiten in the sun. The big mill at Gilford industrialised the spinning side of all that and took the work indoors. The names on the field boundaries still remember the bleach greens that were there.
Gilford, Lawrencetown and the village in between
Two neighbours, one parish
Both Gilford and Lawrencetown sit inside the civil parish of Tullylish — Gilford a planned linen-mill village laid out from 1835 around Dunbar's spinning works, Lawrencetown an older crossroads on the Bann linked into the Newry Canal trade in the eighteenth century. Tullylish village itself stayed small while its neighbours grew. The parish church is the one institution all three places have always shared, and the parish records run continuously across them. If you are tracing family in this country, the registers in Holy Trinity are where you start.