THE END IS NIGH

With Arthur Morgan in Ardee

29 Bealtaine 2009

THE END IS NIGH.

The election trail now has an end in sight, thanks be to God. This time next week it will be all over in the north, except for the counting. And all over in the south except for the voting. This blog, now suffering from a heavy man flu, has travelled to all arts and parts of the country and will do so again in the next seven days.

This week saw me mostly in Dublin where the anger against the government is palpable. It cuts across all sections of citizenry. The big danger is that some voters are so browned off they may not bother voting. That’s what Fianna Fail are banking on, pardon the pun. The core Fianna Fáil vote, unless it collapses completely, is still bigger than the votes of most of the other parties. So nothing can be taken for granted. Every vote counts. Not least because Sinn Féin is contesting EU seats across the island as well as local government elections in the south and two Dáil bi-elections in Dublin.

The big interest in the capital is around who will win the Euro seats. Most commentators think Labour and Fine Gael are a shoe in. If this is so then the battle will be for the last seat. And that will be between Sinn Féin and Fianna Fail. It’s still too close to call. For Mary Lou to win is a huge ask but if the goodwill can be turned into votes and the anger transformed into action then it is still do-able.

In the other Euro constituencies republicans will poll very well. Tóireasa Ferris has caught the imagination. I spent some time with her in Cork and it is clear that the young Kerry activist has a way with her with the voters. Tóireasa clearly loves canvassing. And it shows. The cráic is always ninety. So lets see how that pans out on the day.



With Tóireasa Ferris and Henry Cremin in Cork

So too with Padraic MacLochlainn. Faced with a strong challenge from Padraic, Fianna Fáil panicked and introduced party stalwart and fellow Donegal man, Pat the Cope, into the race at the last minute, to the great displeasure of his running mate. On the assumption that Pat the Cope will get elected, it will be interesting to see how all that works out in the battle for the last seat.

So too with Leinster. Here another young republican woman and Kilkenny mother Kathleen Funchion is twinned with Louth’s Tomás Sharkey. They will do extremely well.



On the campaign Trail in Kilkenny with Kathleen Funchion

Which brings me back to the North. This blog came up from Dublin last night and spent the morning at Saint Georges Market in the centre of Beál Feirste with Bairbre de Brún. I bought some soda and potato farls and a home made apple cake. And some olives. And two colouring books. I nearly bought a Meat Loaf LP. Did some canvassing as well. Two outta three aint bad. Met two Mary Lou voters. Up the Dubs. Except on June 7 when Antrim play against them.

We are off to County Down now for the day. Tyrone is the last stop tonight. And then back to the capital again tomorrow. How is Bairbre doing? Go h’iontach. But like every where else, every vote counts.

And if ever there is a reason to vote it is the awful events in Coleraine where a Catholic family have been bereaved by sectarian hatred and others have been severely traumatised.

There can be no space for sectarianism if this awful viciousness is to be eradicated. Our thoughts are with the McDaid family and with the Flemings. Their suffering puts these elections in context. It also provides stark reasons for making politics work.



The Sinn Fein Cork Team

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN.

24 Bealtaine 2009.


SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN.

This blog has had the sad experience of working with victims of abuse. It is very difficult to describe the suffering of people, now in their adult years, who have been subjected to the evils of sexual, physical or emotional abuse while children.

Most of this occurs in the home. The perpetrators of abuse, particularly sexual abuse of children, in the home are usually fathers, grandfathers or uncles or other older family members. One can only imagine the effect this abuse has on a child. Or on other family members, if they get to know about the abuse. Even if they have not been direct victims themselves. In many cases the truth of childhood abuse only emerges when the victims are grown up, sometimes triggered by flashback or some other remembrance. The effect of all this can be devastating and the victims need support, care, understanding and love. Most of all they need to be believed. Especially when, as is often the case, the abuser denies any wrong doing.

Other abusers include people in positions of trust like clerics, teachers, sports coaches or medical staff. In most cases the perpetrators are men, though this is not always the case. The report chronicles the cruelty suffered by children ‘in care’ at the hands of some nuns.

Many experts believe that sexual abuse of children is about control, and manipulation, though most agree that there is some sense of sexual gratification for the abusers. The victim suffers greviously in many unimagineable ways.

They also learn not to trust anyone. This is entirely understandable given that the abusers are usually iconic figures in a childs life. Or authority figures. Many victims of abuse find it very difficult to get other people to listen to them. Or to believe them. This deepens the feeling of isolation, low self esteem and distrust. In these more ‘enlightened’ times with so much consciousness of child abuse society thankfully is more alert to the dangers faced by our children.

However nothing prepared any of us for the awful revelations contained in this week’s Report of the Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse. Most people are numbed by the detail of appalling cruelty and abuse revealed in this report of the treatment of children in institutionalised care. The report is a shameful tale of abuse against children in institutions over decades. Both the Irish State and Catholic Church are responsible for a litany of crime, beatings, rape, and awful evil conducted by so called holy men and women against the most vulnerable young people in our society.

This blog believes that our concern must be for the survivors of abuse and the memory of those who did not survive. The recommendations of the report must be fully implemented. The Church most accept full responsibility for what occurred. It must pay full compensation to the victims.

This blog has long held the view that the institutionalised Catholic church is undemocratic in many ways. For example women are denied the right to become priests. Church lay members have no say in who their pastors are. Bishops and cardinals are elevated to positions of power and authority for life. Compulsory celibacy is a nonsense and the theology on which it, and other teachings, are based is entirely flawed.

Of course there are good priests and nuns and brothers. But that is not the point. An elitist and unaccountable secretive, male and clerically dominated organisation is by its nature dysfunctional. Especially when much of its credo is based on guilt, social control and suppression. A far cry from the liberating and liberated teachings of Christ.

The Irish establishment also has failed our children. How youngsters were sent by court and other systems, into institutions is, in itself the stuff of nightmares. That may be a thing of the past thanks to the work of brave survivors who lifted the lid on this whole shameful business but the fact is that children are still victims of neglect. They continue to suffer abuse or the danger of abuse.

Child protection services are inadequate. There are not enough social workers or other front line staff in place. In particular after hours social works services are still not in place in the south. The service providers are completely stretched. Even in cases where children could be in danger there are not the resources to make the interventions needed.

We have a lot to do to right this wrong. If we are to really cherish all the children of the nation equally then societal change is needed. A just society needs decency, fairness and equality alongside accountability and transparency. Our children need to be heard. And listened to. And protected.

CR gas - Chemical Warfare in Ireland

20 Bealtaine

CR gas - Chemical Warfare in Ireland

This blog comes to you from Cork City. Earlier today Big Marshall got a fine send off from all of his friends and comrades in the Upper Springfield/Ballymurphy area and the many others who attended the funeral from across Belfast and farther afield. I was very honoured to deliver the funeral oration.

Among those in the cortege was Jim McCann, a former Long Kesh prisoner who, as I mentioned before, has for years has been campaigning to get the truth behind the British Army’s use of CR gas – a highly toxic chemical agent - in the aftermath of the burning of Long Kesh in 1974.

Jim and the Ceartas group, he and other former prisoners established several years ago, believes that the British government cleared the use of CR Gas against prisoners. According to Ceartas over 50 former prisoners, have died as a result of cancer.

Jim believes that this high incidence of cancer is linked directly to the use of CR gas in Long Kesh in 1974 and has uncovered significant information to confirm this.

Marshall knew of all of this and was concerned at the role CR gas may have played in his own cancer.

35 years ago Long Kesh was the main prison holding republican POWs. Hundreds of internees, remand prisoners, and sentenced prisoners were held there. Over 1000 republicans in total. There were also several hundred loyalist prisoners.

The summer of 1974 was a period of great tension between the republican prisoners and the prison administration over prison conditions. A decision by the prison governor on the evening of October 16th to send British troops into the prison in breach of an agreement with the prisoners, saw republicans destroy the camp.

The following morning during intense hand to hand fighting with heavily armed British soldiers hundreds of prisoners were seriously injured. The British Army also used low flying helicopters to pump in gas in an effort to incapacitate the prisoners.

We quickly realised that this gas was different from the CS normally used. The effects were more severe.

CR Gas was developed in the late 1950 and early 60s by the British Ministry of Defence. Its full name is dibenzoxazepine. It is said to be up to ten times more powerful that CS gas and causes temporary blindness, uncontrollable coughing and gasping for breath, loss of body motor control, intense burning of the skin and immediate incapacitation. It is a suspected carcinogen, that is, it can cause cancer.

The British government has claimed that it never used CR ‘operationally’ but it is known that CR Gas was kept at Long Kesh at that time. The Guardian newspaper reported in March 1974 that ‘the chemical has already been issued to Long Kesh military guards and will be used in the event of serious rioting.’

A report in the Observer newspaper 4 years ago said that ‘The British government secretly authorised the use of a chemical riot control agent, to be used in prisons at the height of the troubles … CR gas was permitted from 1973 to be used on prison inmates in the event of an attempted mass breakout.’

And three years ago Daily Ireland interviewed former British soldiers who admitted that CR Gas was used in Long Kesh in October 1974.

Should we be surprised by any of this? No.

Marshall Mooney certainly had concerns that his illness could be linked to the CR gas. In the time ahead this blog intends to ask questions on this issue. Jim McCann has done great work.

If anyone out there wants to help you can contact Ceartas at: ceartais1@googlemail.com or joe@coiste.com

ceartais.blogspot.com/

www.bebo.com/ceartais

Big Marshall

18 Bealtaine 2009.

Big Marshall



This blog believes that every day brings its own challenges and possibilities and opportunities. That’s what makes life so interesting. The trick is to live every day as if it was your last day. And to live every day as a beginning. In other words to begin again. Every day.

I didn’t intend to write all that. It just flowed into the computer. I suppose its big Marshall’s fault. Marshall has just died. He is a friend of mine. We were internees in Long Kesh together. He died of cancer in the early hours of Sunday morning. The problem is that a lot of my friends are dying. Big Duice fell to cancer a month ago. Cormac before that. And Siobhán. And Cleaky. Seando is battling away like a good un. And Moke. And Jeff.

Most of these comrades have two things in common. They are all relatively young. Mid fifties to sixty-ish. Except for Siobhán, all of them are former Long Kesh prisoners. Siobhan was in Armagh Women’s Prison.

Marshall is about the same age as me. Maybe, a year older. He is one of the good guys. In Long Kesh a bunch of us tried to escape a couple of times. A lot of the time we had to abandon our plans. Sometimes in the most hilarious circumstances.

Marshall and me were the world's most unsuccessful escapees. We tried digging tunnels. Cutting the wire. Disguising ourselves. Of course we weren’t on our own. We were part of that very honourable penal tradition that gave the world Papillion and Larry Marley and other great escape merchants.

Marshall and I were caught together once. In the early hours of Christmas Day. Four of us cut our way out of Cage Six and were slowly slicing our merry way through a forest of razor wire towards freedom when the alarm went up. We got extra time for our trouble.

Todler, who is also dead, always said that it was Marshall who gave us away. Marshall had a little bald spot at the back of his head. He was very conscious of this. Todler said that the search lights on the prison wall reflected off Marshall’s bald spot and alerted the prison regime that something was afoot. Marshall denies this of course.

Me?

I think Todler was right.

The fact is that Marshall was spotted first. He, and we, were hugging the ground in single file, crawling away from Cage Six. When Marshall was spotted he jumped up from where he was, in an effort to distract attention from the rest of us.

‘Ho, ho, ho’ he bellowed at the surprised prison warders. ‘Ho, ho, ho. Happy Christmas’.

He then started to walk away from where we were lying, undetected. Of course he didn’t get very far. Sirens screamed. Search lights arced and punctured the Christmas darkness. Flairs lit up the Long Kesh sky line.

British soldiers and prison officers sped up and down watchtowers and walkways, shouting and swearing as Marshall continued with his Daddy Christmas routine.

‘Good King Wenceslas last looked out on the feast of Stephen ….’ he crooned.

The screws were not amused. Especially when, eventually, the rest of us joined Marshall. They didn’t take kindly to our Christmas carolling. You couldn’t blame them. Anyway the long and the short of it was we spent the festive season in the punishment block. Ach is é sin scéal eile. That’s another story.

Marshall was also there when Long Kesh was burned down. Big boys made us do it. To be fair it wasn’t just me and Marshall. All the political prisoners played their part, internees and sentenced prisoners, alike.



During that episode the British army pumped CR gas into the prison camp. Many of us were familiar with CS gas but CR gas is even worse. I felt as if I was drowning when it was fired at me and Todler. It was like my lungs were filling up with water.

Jim McCann, one of the prisoners at that time, has been campaigning on that issue. According to his research 12 per cent to 15 per cent of the prisoners affected in the camp have since contracted various forms of cancer, including leukaemia and other lung diseases.

Big Marshall was in the thick of all that. Maybe there is no connection between his death from cancer and the deaths of our other friends and I certainly don’t want to be upsetting any of their families. Especially Marshall’s clann, at this sad time. But I do know that Marshall was concerned about the CR gas and his illness. He said so recently.

This blog will return to the CR gas issue later this week. For now it is time to grieve for Marshall and to celebrate his life. He was a man who cared deeply about Ireland. About his community. About his family. To them all goes our sympathy and condolences. To his wife Ann,their children Conor and Laura. To the Kearney family, a sound republican clann who suffered greviously during the conflict and to Linda, Ann, Marshall and Ciara and their mother, Maureen and to the wider family circle.

Tá Marshall ar slí na fírinne anois. Go ndéanaidh Dia trócaire air.

FLOATING VOTERS.

Sometimes the Deputy First Minster will not take no for an answer. I suppose that is one of the reasons we picked him for that job. Working with the DUP means if you did take no for an answer then very little work would be done. So ignoring nos and getting on with the work becomes a habit. I saw this at close quarters when we were doing a bit of canvassing in the European election with outgoing MEP Bairbre de Brun. We were in North Belfast along with Gerry Kelly and Caral Ni Cuilin.

'Lets go to the Waterworks' Gerry suggested.

So we did. It was a bright sunny day. People were strolling in the park. Then the Deputy First Minister saw the water. He made a beeline towards it. I tried to stop him.

'No' I hissed so the hovering media would not hear me. The Deputy First Minister ignored me. I knew how Gregory Campbell, a particularly negative DUP minister must feel.

'No' I repeated.

'Cad miceart? Whats wrong?' Bairbre asked me.

I rushed on to try to intercept the Deputy First Minister.

'Its him' I said ' every time he sees water he tries to walk on it. Catch him.'

We were too slow. By now the Deputy First Minister was mid-stream. The media pack closed in on us. I had an instant recall of another election. On our nearest off shore island, Britain. Neil Kinnock was the leader of the British Labour Party and they were expected to romp home to electoral victory. Then he took a walk by the waterside. He and his wife Glynes. Neil Kinnock fell in. Made quite a splash. The Tories won the election. Labour lost.

Were we about to suffer a similar bad omen? Apparently oblivious to all this, the Deputy First Minister was enjoying himself. I knew I had to get him ashore. I looked for assistance to Gerry Kelly. He and Caral were engrossed in earnest conversation with some North Belfast burghers. They ignored me. I had another Gregory Campbell moment.

Undaunted Bairbre and I inched our way into the rapids. Then just as I was about to reach out to him the Deputy First Minister lost his footing. I knew in an instant what I had to do. I had to save him. And us. We could not risk a Neil Kinnock moment. Bravely I flung myself towards the Deputy First Minister. Bairbre looked skywards and breathed a prayer. A woman on the bank opposite screamed. She covered her childs eyes. For a split second the Deputy First Minister seemed to hang in mid air.

Then I seized him by the hand.

'You're safe' I told him.

'What balance' he said 'You are lucky I have such balance. You could have drowned.'

I said nothing. How could I? The best heroes are like that. Modest. Quiet. Unassuming. With dry feet. Just like the Deputy First Minister.

SLÁN.

11 Bealtaine 2009



Me and Osgur went to the vet last Saturday. Neither of us was too upbeat about that. As regular readers of this space will know Osgur is a very old canine. So a visit to the vets is a much more traumatic experience for her than for any other mutt, particularly a young one.

The vets was crowded. A very large wannabe German shepherd, by name of Lucy, sidled up to us in the waiting room. We knew her name was Lucy because that’s what the very nice man she was with called out.

‘Here Lucy’ he commanded ‘Sit’.

And Lucy sat. She really was very docile. The man she was with explained
to me that he was told she was full bred when he bought her as a pup, but that’s not the way she turned out. I told him she was in good order. And she was. He said she was only in to get a booster. I told him Osgur was sick.

‘Aye’ he agreed ‘She luks poorly’.

And she did. I explained to the two wee girls who were with the man who was with Lucy that Osgur was very old and between us we counted up her age in human years and as regular readers will know that amounts to 105 years of age. The two wee girls were very impressed.

Then there was a bit of a commotion and a woman dashed into the waiting room with a small dog in her arms. They were ushered quickly into the surgery. Her dog was knocked down by a black taxi which didn’t stop, we learned later. I advised her owner to report it to the Black Taxi office.

Meantime another younger man arrived in with a black Labrador. The Labrador had a white beard not unlike my own. I felt a sense of kinship with him. His name was Paddy. When Lucy came back from getting her booster she attacked Paddy. For a second or two all was chaos until one of the wee girls pulled Lucy away.

Poor old Osgur sat through all this. Then we were called into see the vet. She looked on very compassionately as I lifted Osgur up on to the table.

‘Its amazing she has lived so long.’ she said. ‘She is very low’.

Osgur looked up at me with her big sad eyes. I stroked the back of her head and between her ears.

‘I’m afraid this is the end of the road for her’. I said slowly.

Osgur looked at me unblinkingly.

‘Its always a hard decision’ the vet said. ‘But once her quality of life goes, it’s the best decision for her. Do you want to stay?’

‘Yes’. I said.

It was all over in a minute or so. Osgur must have known. Her eyes never left me. I never stopped petting her. When she got the injection she sighed and lay back. Then another bigger sigh and that was that. Poor old Osgur was gone. I gave her a final pat on the head, unbuckled her collar and left.



Osgur

ITS GOOD TO LISTEN.

9 Bealtaine 2009

ITS GOOD TO LISTEN.


This blog was out late last night. Not late by the standards set by our James and some of his carousing friends. But fairly late by my own mundane get-to-bed early, up early–in-the-morning habits. Anyway on this very wet Belfast Saturday morning let me wish you all well. I am pleased with myself this soft day because last night saw the last of the Town Hall Meetings. And a very good meeting it was also. The Town Hall Meetings are annual events conducted by Sinn Féin throughout the North.

We are also doing other public meetings in the South but they are more tied into the elections than the ones in the North.

There is a lot of anger in the South at this time. A wee bit of all-politicans-are-tarred-with-the-one-brush but mostly a really aggressive and very widespread annoyance at Fianna Fail.

The mood in the Town Hall Meetings is different. Generally speaking most of the discussions have been low key, thoughtful and wide ranging. Issues discussed include the on-going political and peace process, the environment, education reform, policing, agriculture, the Irish language, the recession, Irish unity, Sinn Féin’s record in government, and a multitude of local issues from roads to planning.

The recent killings of the PSNI officer and the two British soldiers and the republican response to it also featured at some meetings, though interestingly not at them all. None of the cheerleaders for these killings, or others who threaten Sinn Féin turned up at any of the meetings.

Last night we were in Craigavon. There was a little bit of excitement at the beginning of the meeting when a small group of slightly inebriated loyalists tried to enter the Craigavon Civic Centre but their effort was half hearted and they left when a Lurgan republican stalwart appealed to them to go and sober up. It is a mark of the times we are in that all this passed off without undue rancour. And without most of the people at the sizeable meeting being aware of it.

Most of the older ones among them were conscious that this was the first Sinn Féin meeting in this particular Civic Centre. Brendan Curran, our man from the Munchies was certainly pleased with the turn out and the venue. The first time Brendan turned up, eons ago, as a newly elected republican councillor he was ejected. Unlike our slightly unsober loyalist brethren Brendan refused to leave and despite being the target and victim of gun and bomb attacks he kept coming back. Last night he brought a few hundred other good citizens with him. Fair play to them all. It is good to talk. But it is also very good to listen. And that’s one of the main reasons for the Town Hall gatherings. This blog and others get to hear what the punters have to say.

___________________________________

There are lots of other things happening at this time but they will have to wait for another time and another blog. One of the important issues is the Visteon dispute. Workers in occupation of the factory presented medals to supporters who joined them on the protest. While there are issues to be resolved this blog feels that the workers, their families and the community did a great service for workers rights when they forced Ford and Vesteon to the negotiating table. That is no mean achievement. Well done to everyone involved. And thanks for my medal.



____________________________________

Last Monday saw the death of veteran republican Madge McConville. Madge was a wonderful woman. She was born around the time of partition and spent her political life actively working to bring it to an end and to achieve a united Ireland.
She was arrested and imprisoned first in the 1942 when an IRA operation in the Clonard area led to the killing of a member of the RUC and the arrest of IRA Volunteers Tom Williams, Joe Cahill and others. Tom Williams was hanged by the British some months later in September.



Myself, Madge and Joe Cahill


Madge was a wonderful woman who kept faith with her republican beliefs over an immensely long time. She was a mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother who along with her late husband Tommy, reared her family during the huge upheavals of our time. To Madge’s family circle and to her many friends let me extend my sincerest condolences. Go ndéanfaidh Dia trócaire uirthi.

BOBBY SANDS.

5 Bealtaine 2009.

BOBBY SANDS.

Bobby Sands is one of my friends. I am using the present tense very deliberately when I write Bobby is one of my friends. Sometimes, without really thinking about it, when we talk about friends who have gone before us, we use the past tense. But friends don’t cease to be friends just because they are dead. That’s why I say Bobby Sands is one of my friends.

I have a lot of friends. I feel a real sense of privilege about being able to say that. Friendship is one of the great blessings of life. The strength of this blessing should not be judged by the number of friends it involved. Some of us go through life with only one or two friends. I suppose it depends on how you define friendship. When it comes down to it maybe none of us have any more than one or two friends who we would trust completely or who we would do anything for. Or who feel the same way about us.

But being involved in struggle for a protracted period, being in hard places, in difficult circumstances is a great equaliser. Being part of efforts to change this and being successful even in small ways brings its own special sense of achievement and confidence and empowerment. And friendship.

Involvement in struggle is a great way for people to bond. Friendships forged in these conditions endure.

Forever.

That’s why I say I have lots of friends. Lots of us have come through difficult times. We have been in hard places. We may not be in as much contact as we should be. We may have moved on in our own lives. All of us are older. Personal circumstances have certainly changed for most of us. The politics and tactics and mode of struggle have been transformed. The world is changing. So is Ireland. But core values should never change. That includes the value of friendship.

Bobby died on this day, May 5, at 1.17 in the morning. He was on the sixty six day of hunger strike. If Bobby had not died he would be fifty five years old. Who knows what he would be doing today. My guess is that he would be active in struggle. Bobby was like that.

We first met in Cage 11 in Long Kesh. Bobby was articulate, committed, curious about struggle and modes and forms of activism. He attended lectures and participated in debates, read voraciously and was always eager for a one to one discussion on any number of issues. Bobby also learned his Irish in the Kesh. By the time we met he was an accomplished Irish speaker. He loved sport, was a decent soccer player, a robust Gaelic footballer and a good singer. He practiced guitar regularly in the ‘study’ hut in our cage and did a very passable version of Kris Kristofferson’s Me and Bobby Magee at Cage hoolies. On one particularly memorable evening he and other comrades did a hilarious performance of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.

Bobby was married with a young son, Gerard. He was in Cage 11 serving a sentence for possession of handguns which were found in the house he was arrested in. Bobby was released in 1976. He returned to his family in Twinbrook and, among other things, he began to tackle the social issues bearing down on people there. Six months later he was arrested again. This time not far from the scene of a bomb attack and a gun fight. Bobby was in a car with three other young men. There was a revolver in the car.

After almost a year in custody on remand all four were sentenced to 14 years imprisonment for possession of one revolver. The judge admitted there was no evidence to connect any of them to the bombing. They were all transported to the H Blocks of Long Kesh and to the prison protest. That was in 1977.

He was to die four years later still on protest. While on hungerstrike Bobby was elected as the MP for Fermanagh and South Tyrone. I could write a hundred blogs about him and the other hungerstrikers or the women in Armagh and the blanket men in the Blocks. But I won’t.

I think about them most days in some small way or other. I mention Bobby today because this is the 28th anniversary of his death. So on a day like today memories come rushing back.

My sense of Bobby? Bobby was a wonderful human being. He gave his all for the Irish cause. And for his friends.

What greater love than to lay down your life for your friends?

Aren’t we privileged, those of us, who knew people like this?
Bobby Sands MP (26)
died on 5 May 1981 after 66 days
Francis Hughes (25)
died on 12 May 1981 after 59 days
Raymond McCreesh (24)
died on 21 May 1981 after 61 days
Patsy O'Hara (23)
died on 21 May 1981 after 61 days
Joe McDonnell (30)
died on 8 July 1981 after 61 days
Martin Hurson (29)
died on 13 July 1981 after 46 days
Kevin Lynch (25)
died on 1 August 1981 after 71 days
Kieran Doherty TD (25)
died on 2 August 1981 after 73 days
Thomas McElwee (23)
died on 8 August 1981 after 62 days
Michael Devine (27)
died on 20 August 1981 after 60 days

==========================================
If you are interested in learning more about Bobby or his friends go to www.bobbysandstrust.com or read Bobbys own writings available from Mercier Books Cork or from www.sinnfeinbookshop.com.

HOME JAMES AND DONT SPARE THE HORSES.

HOME JAMES AND DON’T SPARE THE HORSES.

So off to the west this week. A charge down from Beal Feirste and Bairbre De Brun’s nomination as Sinn Féin’s European Union candidate for the six counties, to Galway. From there to Maigh Eó and on to Sligo. And then back to the east coast again, to Dublin and the launch of Mary Lou’s campaign to retain the Dublin EU seat despite the constituency being cut from a four to a three seater.

The local government elections are on across the south as well as two bi-elections in the capital. Being an all Ireland party is hard work but at least those of us who are part of all this get to see places that ordinary decent citizens can’t reach. And there is always a bit of craic along the way.

Take Ballinasloe for example.

I happen to remark to James, our noble driver, debater extraordinaire and occasional wit that Ballinasloe hosted the oldest horse fair on the continent. He disputed this. James is like that. Argumentive. As befits my station, I try to stay above all this.

Richard, a placid man of few words is however despite my best efforts, liable to rise to some of James’s more provocative assertions. Or denials. So on occasions I have had to intervene when exchanges between James and Richard become overheated as they sometimes do. But on this occasion it was I who fell foul of James caustic tongue.

‘ Your bums a plum. How cud the oldest horse fair in the universe be held here?’

We were on the edge of the town which was an achievement on its own, given James quaint navigating practices.

‘I didn’t say the universe. I said the continent.’

‘Same difference. You are exaggerating. As usual’

‘No, he is not. Well …. not this time anyway.’

‘I don’t exaggerate….. ‘ I protested. But Richard was in full flow.

‘The horse fair in Ballinasloe used to be a cattle fair and a sheep fair. The London Times refers to it in 1801…..’

‘Brit propaganda’ James cut across him. ‘This is a one horse town if ever I saw one.’

‘Don’t say that to any of the locals. You’ll be hung.’ Richard warned him.

‘Hanged’ I said as we clambered from the car to be greeted by Padraig MacLochainn, our EU candidate in the North West and local Councillor Dermot Connolly.

‘Failte romhaibh,’ said Dermot ‘welcome to Ballinasloe, the venue for Europe’s largest horse fair.’

‘Youse have him primed to wind me up.’James accused me, ‘Yis think I came up the Lagan in a bubble.’

Padraig eyed him suspiciously. I could see he was displeased. It takes a lot to displease Padraig. He is a Sinn Féin enthusiast and maybe the next MEP for the North West if he can infect everyone else with his enthusiasm, knowledge and good humour. He listened as James challenged Dermot. Richard winced.

‘I suppose you have a few ponies yourself.’

‘Indeed and I do. Too many’, Dermot responded pleasantly. ‘Wud you like to buy a nice Connemara Cob?’

‘Napoleons favourite charger was bought here’ Padraig informed us.

James laughed loudly.

Padraig eyed him up and down. Padraig knows his constituency.

‘Yes here at Ballinasloe. Its name was Marengo. He was bred in Kilmuckridge in Wexford. Napoleon rode him at Waterloo.’

‘Aye’ exclaimed James ‘ and ‘Roy Rodgers got Trigger here.’

‘No’ says Richard ‘ You’re thinking of the Lone Ranger’.

‘Hi oh Silver away’ chortled James.

That’s when Richard broke. Before any of us could stop him he was frog marching James back towards our car.

‘He says this is a one horse town’ He shouted by way of explanation at our startled canvassing group.

‘What? ’ chorused Dermot and Padraig.

‘String him up’ someone muttered.
I tried to calm the situation but I was swept to one side as James was wrestled from Richards grasp by the Ballinasloe Shinners and half carried, half dragged towards the town square. By the time I reached there he was perched on top of a large bronze horse.

‘Okay okay, I’m sorry’ he was telling them.

‘This bloody horse is wet’ he continued.

‘Serves you right’ Richard admonished him.

‘Now do you believe that the Ballinasloe horse fair is the biggest in….

‘In the whole wide world’ James agreed.

They let him down after that and we got back to politics and the large-ish crowd that gathered to watch James’ show trial. They thought James was a Fianna Fail minister. They were disappointed but Padraig glad handed them all with terrific cheerfulness anyway. They seemed impressed.

Later as we left Ballinasloe James was silent.

‘You know James,’ Richard told him. ‘Napoleons horse Marengo died of old age in 1832 and his skeleton was kept as a war exhibit by the Brits. One of his hooves is kept at Saint James Palace in London. After the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace when the Captain is having lunch Marengo’s hoof is set out with all the other regimental silver.’

‘The Brits are funny like that’ I said ‘They took Sonny Rileys horse up in the Murph one time….

‘I’m talking about Napoleon, not Sonny Riley’ Richard snarled at me.

‘Sonny was a sound man’ I said …

‘Straight from the horse’s mouth’ said Richard.

‘Know alls’ James’ muttered. ‘ Know alls who know ….. all.’

We headed for Mayo. Only five more weeks to polling day.