A life well-lived

February 27th 2009

I got word the other day that Eddie Keenan is dead. Eddie was 88. A few years ago when I was paying for petrol in a lonely garage in the west of Ireland who was in the place but Eddie and his old friend Cathal Holland. They had been up all night singing and swapping yarns and were now about buying bacon and eggs and bread and butter for breakfast for themselves and whatever household had had the privilege of their company. We three were delighted to see one and other.

‘A bullaí, Gerry’ Eddie exclaimed ‘Fear maith thú! Cad é an craic leatsa ar an mhaidin gheal seo?’

Good man yourself Gerry. What’s the craic with you on this bright morning?

‘Bhí muidinne ag damhsa an oíche ar fad’ explained Cathal as I eyed their slightly dishevelled appearance.

Cathal and Eddie are both small, white haired men. Both were in the eighties.

Still I wasn’t surprised to learn that they had been dancing all night. In fact with little or no encouragement from me they slipped into a set dance and footed the floor, lilting away seán nós style to the delight of everyone in the garage shop. That’s the way Eddie was. Cathal wasn’t much better.

Eddie was a singer, dancer, Irish language enthusiast and seanchaí – a story teller. I met him first when I was in my teens. I remember him singing ‘The Rocks of Bawn’ upstairs in a session in The Oul House here in west Belfast around 1968 or so. He was a fine singer with a huge repertoire of songs in Irish and English.

He was also a lovely man, good natured, funny and caring. He was a former political prisoner here in Belfast Prison. He was interned in November 1940 and seven months later along with four others they scaled the wall using a wooden hook and a rope of sheets.

One year later he attended a protest meeting in Dublin which had been called to protest against the execution of George Plant from Tipperary. Brendan Behan addressed the meeting. As he left the meeting Eddie was stopped and arrested. Brendan Behan was arrested the following night and the two were brought to Mountjoy prison together. Eddie was incarcerated in the Curragh where he learned Irish and spent some time with Máirtín Ó Cadhain.

Among other things Máirtín taught Eddie the Internationale in Irish.

Some time in the middle of all this Eddie married Mary – herself a former republican prisoner - and they raised five daughters and three sons. Eddie was among the first wave of men arrested under the internment swoops in August 1971. He spent almost a year in the cages of Long Kesh.

In July 1976 one of his daughters Rosaleen and her husband Mervyn were killed in their home by a unionist death squad.

Eddie and Mary bore all this with great grace and dignity. Eddie threw himself into the Irish language revival which surged in the north after the 1980s hunger strikes. He was also a stalwart at ceilís throughout the country, often taking dancers through their steps as the music and Eddie swirled around them.

Eddie became famous for singing a lovely wee come-all-ye called ‘I Was There’. Written by his friend Theresa Donnelly, this humourous but defiant song was performed by Eddie and Theresa’s husband Jackie, to acclaim everywhere progressives gathered.

Mary died last October. Eddie never fully recovered from that.
So now he is dead. Or as we say in Irish Eddie is on slí na fírinne – the way of truth.

He will be missed. By his family. Of course. Including grandchildren and great grand children.

And by everyone who knew him.

In an interview with An Phoblacht in December 1999 Eddie spoke of his optimism for the future. He said: “The greatest challenge we face will be dismantling sectarianism in the six counties. Unity of a land is nothing without unity of a people. That’s the real challenge. We’ve all come a long way and it isn’t over yet.”

Pictured are Geordie Shannon, myself, Eddie Keenan and Liam Hannaway.

Belfast Media Group picture shows Eddie blowing out the candles on his 84th birthday in February 2005.

We need a Rising!

Feb 23rd 09



We need a Rising! That thought came into my head as I listened to RTE radio’s report of last Saturday’s mass trade union rally in Dublin.

The rally was in protest at the government’s handling of the economy. The Gardaí estimate that 120,000 citizens thronged the city centre. Most of them were public sector workers. By all accounts they were very angry. And why not? The government has imposed a public service pension levy. Not unreasonably many of the marchers feel this is unfair.

The demonstration was led by 500 uniformed fire fighters who marched behind a pipe band. Most of the protestors vented their spleen at the government’s protection of the heads of banks who are clearly engaging in dodgy book keeping.

There’s also widespread resentment at the exorbitant salaries and obscene bonuses being drawn down. Government Ministers are paid around 230,000 euros annually. This is as much as the President of the Republic of France and more than the British Prime Minister.

The head of the Health Service Executive which runs the state’s health service, Brendan Drumm, has a salary of 320,000 euros, plus an annual bonus of 80,000 euros.

Which means the Irish people pay him more than the people of the USA pay President Barack Obama. Bank CEO’s take home three million euros a year; some heads of state companies are paid well over half a million euros a year.

With reports of one financial scandal after another dominating the daily news, unemployment spiraling upwards and no public confidence in government and the economy in free fall, the Fianna Fáil/Green Party government still has no plan, no strategy to lift the economy out of recession.

The measures the government has introduced, including the pension levy, are grossly unfair and seek to protect those who created the crisis while punishing the victims.

Putting billions of tax payer’s money into banks while cutting the number of special needs teachers in schools or laying off hundreds of bus drivers shows that this government has got its priorities very seriously wrong.

The Fianna Fáil/Green Party government underlying ethos favours those who make millions and billions at the expense of working people.

So the anger expressed on Saturday’s rally reflects a deeper and wider anger throughout society, particularly middle and lower income families.

I was listening to the RTE coverage of the rally the day after Sinn Féin’s Ard Fheis. The commentator introduced a vox pox of protestors by saying.

‘These are the views of some people up in Dublin for the Rising’.

‘What a good idea,’ I said to the radio.

The last Rising in Dublin occurred in 1916 when a small number – much less than the crowds who were out in the capital at the protest rally – declared a Republic and seized control of various city centre buildings. Most famously the GPO in the city centre.

Much commentary on that period dwells on the suppression of the Rising and the executions of the leaders by the British government. Space prevents me from dealing with that in any great detail here – except to say that the men and women of 1916 were visionaries who took on a British Empire at a time when that Empire covered much of the globe.

They knew that things could be different and better. They believed. They were motivated not just by separatist or democratic and nationalist opinions, though these are all worthy and patriotic motivations. They also wanted equality and justice.

The Proclamation is a wonderful document not just for its brevity but for its egalitarian fairness and decency.

Not one word of that Proclamation is to be found in the ethos or core values of the Irish establishment today. No where is its vision reflected in their ethics or policies.


And that’s part of the reason why people are angry. Like others across Europe, in Britain, in the USA and elsewhere they are worried about losing their homes. A thousand workers a day lost their jobs in January. That’s the equivalent of over two million workers in January in the US economy.

People know that we all have to tighten our belts. They know the recession is a global one but they are deeply hurt by the way an Irish government sides with the wealthy and punishes working families. They feel, and they are right that the government squandered the wealth of the Celtic Tiger in favour of private greed instead of public need.

There is still no government plan to save existing jobs or generate new ones. But then there was no government plan during the boom years to build universal health care, social and affordable housing or school buildings.

In his song, ‘The Rising’ Bruce Springsteen deals with a different and more dreadful event but his uplifting chorus ran through my head as I reflected on what the radio commentator said.

The majority of Irish people are very angry and they want change. Real change, real democracy, real fairness and equality.

So, we need a Rising. Not an armed one. Not one that leads to the execution of leaders or anyone else for that matter. A popular uprising of people power to shape a New Ireland. To make the Proclamation of the Republic a reality.

Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight

A few words sorted

February 18th 2008



It is Sinn Féin Ard Fheis time this weekend and I am closeted away speech writing with my good friend Richard, my ipod and my trusty laptop. The Ard Fheis assembles on Friday afternoon through to Saturday night so yours truly is under pressure to get my few words sorted out. The Ard Fheis is being broadcast live for the first time by BBC and UTV as well as RTE. If you are interested check it out.

PAT FINUCANE

I should let you know of some events I attended in recent days. One was the conference in Trinity College to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the murder of human rights lawyer, Pat Finucane.

It was a very good event with an awesome line up of very impressive speakers including, Michael Mansfield, Peter Madden, Clara Reilly, Inez McCormack, Judge Peter Corey, Dato Param Cumaraswamy and many, many others.

Everyone concerned about human rights owes a great debt to the Finucane family. Pat’s clann are a credit to him. Catherine , John and Michael his children and Geraldine their mother and his wife, as well as the wider family circle have campaigned now for two decades against an obstinate British system which refuses to acknowledge publicly what it concedes privately.

That is that Pat Finucane was murdered by its agencies and as part of the policy of collusion between the British state and its surrogates in the unionist paramilitaries.

Geraldine has borne her loss with tremendous fortitude and campaigned with determination and tenacity. She has remarkable grace and great dignity. She is an example to us all.

BOB DOYLE.

I slipped out during the lunch break at Trinity to attend an event in honour of Bob Doyle. Bob who died, aged 92, at the end of January was the last remaining member of the International Brigade and a veteran of the fight against fascism in the Spanish Civil war. I met Bob a good few times in recent years. He was a life long Irish republican, an unrepentant Communist, seller of An Phoblacht and all round decent human. He wrote a very good book, Brigadista – An Irishman’s Fight Against Fascism, published by Currach Press.

Bob lived in London and his family brought his ashes back to Dublin to Liberty Hall last Saturday. Hundreds of people turned out. It was great. The traffic was jammed in O Connell Street by throngs of flag waving companeros and amigos. Bob would have been delighted. At the time of the Spanish Civil War the Irish volunteers who fought against Franco were demonised in Ireland, especially by the hierarchy of the Catholic Church and other right wing elements. But Bob and his comrades prevailed. There was music and speechifying and craic and singing in Liberty Hall in his honour. And not a bishop about the place.

Salud Bob.




TRÓCAIRE.

Monday night saw me in Saint Peter’s Cathedral in Belfast. There were lots of bishops. Decent men I’m sure. The occasion was a concert for Trócaire to launch the Lenten campaign for displaced people around the world.

Trócaire do great work and Saint Peter's (pictured) is a beautiful church and a very fitting setting for a musical evening.

It starred The London Oratory School Scola and Saint Peter’s Cathedral Scola along with Neil Martin master piper and composer. But the big stars were The Priests. My guess is they brought out most of the audience. Boy Bands have that effect. I say that as a fan. I bought their debut CD for Christmas and it is brilliant.

Of course the concert had a serious purpose. This year Trócaire aims to highlight the plight of people who have been forced to flee their homes and focuses on the millions of families who live in the poorest and most marginalised parts of Africa, Asia, the Middle East and Latin America.

Former Police Ombudsman, Nuala O Loan gave a very good keynote address focussing particularly on Somalia which she visited recently. As she quite rightly reflected Somalia is the world’s neglected crisis area. It is rarely in the news and yet people there continue to suffer greatly. They deserve our help.

NO DICKET - NO DOAT

February 14th 09

NO DICKET - NO DOAT.

This has been another really busy week. Monday and Tuesday at Stormont and in the constituency. Wednesday in Kilkenny. Thursday in Kerry. Friday in Limerick. And Saturday in Dublin. It would take too long to tell you all the twists and turns of the road as we voyaged from event to event. Suffice to say that everyone we met was angry at the daily revelations of chicanery and corruption in our financial institutions. The government, deservedly, is getting it in the neck for the way it is handling this particular can of worms. But that’s a blog for another day.

When I was in Kilkenny the good burghers of that fine city in that fine county presented me with a Kilkenny jersey. Gaels will know immediately that Kilkenny are the All Ireland Hurling champions of the world. THREE IN A ROW as my hosts reminded me. I was there in Croke Park last September when they did the treble and I must say I feel extremely privileged to have witnessed that master class in hurling. So I am delighted to have the geansaí.

I was also in Casement park in 1992 when Antrim beat Kilkenny. Wee Gerry McKeown was there that day also, in another part of the stadium. Gerry is an old friend of mine. A few months earlier he came to public attention when Gerry Anderson’s radio programme got a call from a listener asking about the cloakroom attendant who used to work a few decades or so before, at a Belfast dance hall, The Astor.

‘He was a funny wee man with a lisp. We called him No Dicket–No Doat. That’s what he told everyone rushing at the end of the night to get their coats from the cloakroom. ‘No dicket, no doat’ he would shout. He caused pandemonium for anyone who was waiting to leave a girl home’.

That call triggered a week or so of similar reminiscences from male and female callers. Apparently No Dicket-No Doat’s refusal to hand over items of apparel caused marriages or near marriages, as well as miraculous escapes from marriages and near marriages. The listening public were regaled with tales of romantic liaisons, and of No Dicket – No Doat’s role in these affairs.

Women rang in to tell how his refusal to hand over a coat led to them being left home by a different beau, and of how they are still married with fifteen children and thirty seven grandchildren.

‘And its all down to No Dicket-No Doat’.

No Dicket-No Doat, by the way, was a confirmed bachelor and would no doubt have denied any extramarital involvement in the conception of any of these offspring.
.
‘I dread what would have happened if I had married the girl I was supposed to leave home’ was the daily refrain of the numerous Romeos who phoned the Gerry Anderson Show.

Ditto for the Juliets.

‘When I think now of how I might have landed up if the other fellah had left me home I just thank God for No Dicket-No Doat.’

So the cry went up. ‘Where is No Dicket-No Doat? Is he living or dead?’

Eventually wee Gerry was outed as the by now legendary figure, the cloakroom attendant, maker of marriages, matchmaker par excellance, the famous No Dicket-No Doat and like an Andy Warhol character; he had his brief spell of fame.

Which brings me back to the Kilkenny jersey and Antrim’s victory against that illustrious county team. As the observant reader will have noted earlier I was there that day. Towards the end of the game, Antrim was in the lead when I got word that wee Gerry was very sick and that he had been taken to a changing room.

I went there immediately and found him stretched out on a physio table while Dr Pearse Donnelly tried to revive him. It was futile. Wee Gerry had suffered a huge heart attack and despite the good doctor's valiant efforts he died below the stand of Casement Park in the company of a few good friends. Minutes later the ref blew the final whistle and Antrim celebrated a famous victory. The Cats were defeated. But so was wee Gerry.

The next day was the beginning of another really busy week, I was on my way to Derry. It was a really beautiful morning. As was my wont I was listening to the Gerry Anderson Show. As our car sped across the Glenshane Pass he told his listeners that he had just received word of the death of No Dicket-No Doat. He then dedicated Sharon Shannon’s The Blackbird to his memory. I thought that was nice. Wee Gerry would have been delighted. For a man with a lisp he had a wonderful singing voice.

At his funeral later that week some wags connected the two events, Antrim’s victory and wee Gerry’s death.

‘It was the shock of us winning. His heart couldn’t stand the shock.’

I didn’t tell my friends in Kilkenny any of this or of how the presentation of their county jersey brought back these memories.

Instead I told them that Antrim is the sleeping giant of Gaelic games and that our hurlers will see them off again… some day.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

The International Wall

February 9th 2009

The International Wall

Danny Devenny is one of Ireland’s leading artists. A long time ago he and I were in Cage 11 of Long Kesh. Among other things he provided illustrations for some of my prison musings.

Since then he has pioneered mural painting in Belfast and other parts of the world.

He has taught and mentored other artists. A modest and unassuming sort, Danny's work has been the subject of film documentaries, books, magazines. His art has been photographed by people from all parts of the globe.

Some of the work is commissioned and depicts campaign issues or historical events. A lot of it is commentary on issues which Danny is taken by.

He’s an internationalist and the International Wall on Divis Street in Belfast is one of his projects.

When Danny D was first painting the Palestinian mural on the International Wall a group of young Palestinian people, who were visiting Belfast stopped to look at his work.

Danny thought it would be good to have some Arabic on his painting and he asked them for the Arabic for Tiocfaidh ár lá – which they gave him. He faithfully painted that on the mural and wrote it into a jotter.

Several years later he was repairing the mural and repainting the Arabic letters.

Unfortunately he had lost the jotter and was trying to do it using an old photo of the mural.

A man stopped in a van alongside him and got out and told him that the inflection – a fada - was in the wrong place.

He started to tell Danny what was needed. He then asked Danny for the brush, knelt down at the mural and did the lettering himself.

All the time the van was holding up traffic on the Falls Road. And Danny D was wondering how there were so many Arab speakers in Belfast!

Then the onslaught on Gaza started. And the death toll mounted. Danny D was back at the International Wall when Kathleen O'Connell suggested that they should invite local children to write up the names of the young people who were killed in Gaza.

Danny D is often approached by young people when he’s painting murals. They love to be involved. They particularly love to paint up their names or nicknames or their own particular logo. Danny reckons it’s got to do with recognition or acknowledgement. I think it’s very natural. The young people will say to him, ‘Give us a mention Danny’.

So Danny D thought that Kathleen had a good idea. But he couldn’t figure out where he would get the names. That evening he was flicking the TV channels and tuned in to Al Jazeera. And lo and behold they were giving the names of the children who had died.

Back to the International Wall again.

Young Irish people came to the wall to put up the names of the young Palestinians – to give them a mention.

One wee lad asked Danny could he put a question mark after the name he was painting.

‘What do you want to do that for?’ Danny asked him.

‘I want to ask why’.

Another young girl put up a Palestinian name with a love heart instead of a full stop at the end.

It’s a small world.

If you’re a school teacher or a parent or a young person who wants to write a name on the international wall contact Danny D on his meanderings around Belfast gables or contact Kathleen O Connell at the Palestinian Support Group.

Old News

I was in Ballyfermot last Friday launching a ‘Parents Drug Awareness Pamphlet’ published by Aengus Ó Snodaigh. It’s a very good publication and anyone interested in a copy should contact aengus.osnodaigh@oireachtas.ie

At the end of our proceedings a man in the audience presented me with a copy of a broadsheet newspaper ‘SINN FÉIN’ dated the 6th September 1924.

It makes for interesting reading – as one would expect – across a range of issues. But not just for the politics. There’s an advertisement for polish which guarantees that one 6 penny tin will polish over one hundred pair of boots – 17 pairs per one penny.

There’s another advertising courses in University College Dublin.

There’s a brown bread specialist and one from Miss McKeon selling millinery. She tells us ‘I do my own managing and give my customers the benefit of the savings in these costs’.

An advert for primus stoves sits easily alongside one for a gramophone record of Kevin Barry and My Father’s Fenian Gun.

So there you are.

And finally.

B'fhearr Gaeilge Bhriste .....

The 2-17 March is Seachtain na Gaeilge which means Irish Week – as in the Irish language – although the 2-17 is clearly longer than a week. But it’s still a good initiative annually undertaken by Conradh na Gaeilge to encourage people to use whatever Irish we have at all times but particularly in the run in to St. Patrick’s Day.

Your organisation or club or your families could decide to organise events – even small events in that period. If so there’s a very useful handbook which can be down loaded from www.snag.ie to help you.

Mar sin, bainigí sult agus spraoi as na himeachtaí a nglacann sibh pairt iontu, cibé áit ar domhan ina bhfuil sibh.

Seolfar pacáiste chugaibh i mí Feabhra le póstaeir, balúin, srl.

You will get balloons, posters and so on. So leanaigí ar aghaigh.

Belfast Media Group picture shows (l-r) muralists Mark Ervine and Danny Devenney and Mickey Doherty with visiting artists Conrad Atkinson (centre) and Robert Ballagh (right) who helped paint a version of Picasso's Guernica on the international wall in August 2007.

The First Day Of Spring

February 1st 09

The First Day Of Spring.


Lá Féile Bríde faoi mhaise daoibh. Today is the first day of Spring here in Ireland. Saint Brigid’s Day. The days are lengthening. By a rooster’s step every day, the rural elders tell us. And crocuses and daffodils are peeking through and visible in sheltered spots. It is always a great joy to feel the change of seasons that we enjoy here in this small island. I like all the seasons but Spring always has the capacity to uplift our spirits. So too does the annual Féile An Earraigh in Belfast, an established part of Féile an Phobail. If you are about these parts from the fifth of February to the eighth and are interested in the best of ceol agus craic, debate, drama, mountain walks, literary matters, exhibitions or dancing then check out www.feilebelfast.com

This blog is a highly mobile affair this week. I am in the car putting it together, poking away at the laptop. Don’t worry I’m not driving. On my way to Derry for the annual Bloody Sunday rally. Bairbre de Brún, one of today’s speakers, reminds me that that massacre happened thirty seven years ago. That’s hard to believe. It doesn’t seem so long ago. It is also a matter of particular satisfaction, and I am sure a matter of great consolation to the families of the Bloody Sunday civil rights martyrs, that so many people turn out year after year despite the virtual media blackout. Apart from the times I was in prison I have made this journey most years.

The Eames-Bradley Report will no doubt be in many people's minds. As I write it is being discussed on RTE’s This Week radio programme. The focus understandably is on last Wednesday’s rowdy scenes at the launch of the report. In my view the television and other media images give the wrong impression of what happened. It wasn’t ‘rival victims groups’ fighting with each other. There were a few hundred people there, most of them victims or bereaved families of victims. I have no doubt they represented all sides and no doubt also that many of them were feeling raw and vulnerable as they assembled in the large room in the Europa Hotel. But they did so quietly and with dignity.

Traditional Unionist Voice, the breakaway group led by former DUP member Jim Allister MEP, had a small picket on the hotel. Later they went into the event itself and positioned themselves in front of the platform. There they stood for some time. When they were eventually asked to move by the organisers they refused, even though they they were told they were welcome to stay in the hall. That is when some of their number started to verbally abuse the Commission. This went on for some time. It was during this period that some of the audience, not unreasonably called on them to move. They in turn were screamed at. And so it went on until Robin Eames, Denis Bradley and the other commissioners arrived on the platform to be interrupted and heckled as well as the rest of us.

There has been a certain focus on the attention I received from some of the protestors. I can understand why anyone who has suffered at the hands of republicans would feel sore at me. Families bereaved by the IRA are entitled to make their feelings clear. However the fact is that those who did the most blatant grandstanding were acting out of political opportunism as opposed to personal loss. Fact is that this was not welcomed by the vast majority of the audience listening to them. A number of people talking to me afterwards, while telling me they were not supporters of Sinn Féin, made it clear that they wanted no part of the Traditional Unionist Voice carry on. They included one former RUC officer.

There was a huge turn out at the Bloody Sunday rally. The news from that front is that the very patient and dignified families of the dead of Bloody Sunday are now taking legal action in an attempt to get sight of the Report of the Saville Commission at the same time as the British Government. As it sits at present the Brits will get the report in advance of anyone else and as the families said at the rally that’s not fair.

Of course Saville himself could settle that issue by making sure the families get his report. He should also publish it soon.

And Finally.

On a lighter note. Back in the Assembly. A few months ago at Stormont showers were installed in some of the toilets. They are called restrooms on the hill. The following notice is affixed to the one close to my office. TAKE NOTE. THIS SHOWER IS TO BE USED ONLY FOR SHOWERING PURPOSES.

And Finally… Finally.

Talking of restrooms. I was resting in one recently. So was Jim Wells, DUP MLA

‘Good morning Jim,’ I said.

He ignored me, having more important matters in hand I supposed. So undeterred and rather naively in my friendly way I prattled on.

‘Sunday was the first day of Spring’ I suggested, having heard that Jim is a big environmentalist.

‘Monster’ he hissed ‘Monster ……..’

And then he left.

Ach well …… I don’t know if he was talking to me or not. Or maybe our Jim is a fan of the Addams Familee? Who knows? Who can tell? Is this heaven? Or is this hell?

Monster?

Dee.Doo.Dee.Doo.Deedoodeedeedee.