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Ireland to Be Sure. To be Sure.
Ireland, what is it? A tragedy set in a landscape designed for poets. Or, possibly, an island He, Himself designed to fill the pages of National Geographic with landscapes of such breathtaking beauty, they bring tears to your eyes, with stretches of grey urban depression, you can almost feel them sucking out your soul and with that politics riddled with religion and driven by hatred. Ireland has it all.
I was the one who wanted to go to Ireland. The South. I didn't go to trace the family roots. (Though, ironically, I met Crackers Keenan's cousin Mary outside Dublin. She plays the harp. I did laugh. I would have thought a cousin of Crackers would play the sledge hammer.)
I wanted to go to Ireland because I grew up surrounded by Irishness. Irish nuns, holy water, guardian angels, Irish dancing , Danny Boy the budgie, marching in St Patrick day parades - St Patrick is revered for ridding Ireland of snakes. In my child's mind I reckoned he must have sent them to Australia. - Rosary beads, havin' the gift of the gab and the power of reverse logic, which is Irish to be sure, to be sure. Or unsure. Whatever.
In the land of the B&B where every second house seems to be called The Mystical Rose, Mountain Dew or Whispering Pines run by a Miss MacSweeney, I found enough Irishness to fill the heart of any young colleen. Or a middle-aged one like myself. "What's the speed limit in Ireland?' we asked our first hostess. 'I wouldn't be knowin' that' she replied. ' All you do is follow the car in front of you.' 'How far's the pub?' we asked' 'About tree miles. That's Irish miles mind. Just keep driven 'till you're there.'
At the pub we came across a group drowning their sorrows. 'What's up?' we asked. 'We lost the Hurling' they explained. 'Who to?' " Oh, to ourselves' they said and laughed. Being interested in a bit of Guinness ourselves we thought we better find out the blood alcohol limit for driving in Ireland. No one knew. I asked a Garda(Police Officer) in Limerick. He didn't know either. The next Garda replied ' And what would you be doin' now. Askin' me an examination question?' He radioed head office and after , what I suspect was some page shuffling, the answer came back 80 milligram per 1000 millilitres. (0.08, in our terms.) 'Now you know' he laughed. And I suspect I was the only person in Ireland that did.
Guinness, and almost anything else that can fill a pint glass, plays a large part in Irish social life. Not sex. As Sean O'Faolin wrote ' An Irish queer is a fellow who prefers women to drink'. Even though Guinness tastes like a thin, aerated bitumen, the Irish love it.
But they need the drink you see, to get over the food. Jesus Mary and Holy St Joseph, Irish food must be the worst-God-given-food on this earth. And I grew up with it. I sure as Hell wasn't about to travel eighteen thousand kilometres for a good feed of corned beef and cabbage. But one thing I found out in Ireland. Irish Stew is not necessarily green. It was - to put it in Irish - ' Me mam's cooking' - she killed it with peas.
But it's the religion that fascinates me most in Ireland. To walk into a catholic church in Limerick was like stepping back into my childhood. Sacred Heart Parish Church. St. Kilda. Circa 1958. There was the crucifix, the holy water, the plaster cast statues of the Sacred Heart and Immaculate Mary. And the saints. The Irish have a saint for everything even down to St. Fiacre.
Patron saint of Haemorrhoids and Venereal Disease!
Yet religion has been the source of great joy and many sorrows in Ireland? Religion is not meant to interfere with the state. It does. In the Ladies room in the first pub I visited in Ireland, no condoms. They sold Mini-Mints, Smint Fresh Breath and Pretty Polly tights. I suppose tights could be a contraceptive, if tight enough. I shoved my spouse into the Gents. Bingo! Condoms. Apparently, Condoms were withdrawn in 1936 - I am trying to be delicate here- and re-instated in 1992 following an election. Next debate. Divorce. Recently passed by Referendum. Just. Why? To stay in the EU. ( European Union.) and keep those subsidies rolling in.
Oh! Ireland. What a contradiction you are! All those centuries of fighting the English - and each other - for independence. You get it in 1938. And in 1996 you are ruled by Brussels! The bogs must sigh at night and the stones weep.
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