ONLY A GAME

ONLY A GAME?

‘What brilliant seats!’

Your man was estatic. I have never seen him so delighted with himself. The green sward of Croke Park stretched out before us. We were in the Hogan Stand. Plumb centre. Just above the level of the pitch.

‘Any closer and we wud have to tog out’.

‘Indeed’ I said.

All around was there was noise. Happy noise. Excitement. Expectation. Colour. Whoops. Hollers. Hill 16 was a stormy sea of blue. The stadium was filling up rapidly. Hector was out cajoling and winding up the crowd.

‘An bhfuil aon daoine anseo ó Thir Conall?’ he yelled.

Tens of thousands yelled back at him.

‘Are the Leinster champions here?’ he countered.

The Dubs answered him in one huge gurrier roar.

‘This is the biggest sporting event in Europe this weekend’, Hector told us.

Then the entire stadium roared and yelled and screamed and applauded as the Donegal and Dublin teams tore on to the field to begin warming up. Your man and I yelled along with all the rest. For both teams. But mostly for Donegal. It was the All Ireland Senior Championship Football semi Final and we are from Ulster and even though we both fancied Dublin to win that didn’t matter. We are from Antrim but for today Donegal was our team.

The Artane Boys band and swarms of flag waving youngsters flooded on to the field as Hector exited. Your man grinned through it all. Then Amhrán Na Bhfiann and we were off. Or were we?

By half time the score was 4 to 2 for Donegal. The cheers and exhuberance before the throw in was replaced by groans, moans and loud booing from the 81264 spectators. The prospect of a free flowing game of flair and beauty had been replaced by a grinding defensive exhibition of slow aggressive basketball.

This had been well signposted of course but no matter. Donegal are famously renowned for their defensive play. There were no secrets about the way they would play. Or about their lack of forwards even though Colm McFadden had a very good game. But he was on his own for most of the match and the only Donegal player in Dublin’s half during the slow pondersome build ups which marked Donegals strategy. That and their blanket defence when Dublin tried to move forward.

None of this was a secret. But that didnt stop the collective frustration of both sets of fans. Particularly at the number of wides kicked by both teams. However this was always Dublins game to lose. Donegal would be hard pressed to sustain their intensity. And they needed to be further ahead or capable of better score taking to win out by such a defensive approach.

‘Dublin are going to win’ your man told me even though they hadn’t yet kicked one score from play and there was only ten minutes to go.

‘I agree’ I told him.

‘You don’t win games defensively unless you can get very far ahead and stay there’he said.

And so it turned out.

And even though they were lots of people giving out about the style of play, about ‘puke football’and ‘soccer tactics’it was still a brilliant day out.
‘The only way to spend a Sunday’ your man affirmed as we made our slow way out off Croker past the jubilant Dubs and the devastated Donegal fans.

For all the negative commentary about the style of Sundays game nothing can take away from the spectacle, the energy, pride, drama, the joy and the sheer magic of this wonderful pheonomon that is the Gaeldom.

Gaelic games – played to the highest standard by amateurs and sustained mostly on a voluntary basis – are a credit to everyone involved. There may have been a bit of a grind about the way the football was played on Sunday but I am glad was there to see it. So was your man.

Now for the Dublin Kerry Final! What a contest that will be.

But before all that the hurling!

Will Tipp prevail? Or will the Cats get their revenge?

Isn't it great to be a Gael?

OLD CROCS.

OLD CROCS.

‘I really love good black and white pudding.’
‘Clonakilty is your only man’
‘Clonakilty is Michael Collins homeplace’.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yup. And Clonakilty black and white pudding is the best in the world.’
‘What do you think of Collins?’
‘He shudda had more sense. He shud never let the Brits divide and conquer’.
‘Dev had a lot to do with that’.
‘There is a place in Fermanagh sells black bacon. O Dohertys. Its in Eniskillen. It is traditionally cured. None of the stuff that comes out like when you fry other bacon.’
‘Aye I ate that black bacon. It comes from pigs who roam wild on the islands on Lough Erne’.
‘It’s hard to get’.
‘But it’s worth it. Clonakilty black and white pudding, O Doherty’s black bacon and duck eggs fried with home made potato farls and soda bread.’
‘I’m starving’.
‘I’m a vegetarian.’
‘But you eat eggs. And fish’.
‘So what? At least I don’t eat dead animals’
‘Fish is animal.’
‘Michael Collins shudda came home and called Llyod George’s bluff.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t as simple as that.’
‘How can you call yourself a vegetarian if you eat fish? Aren’t vegetarians not supposed to abstain from meat of all kinds?’
‘It depends on what kind of vegetarian you are’.
‘Well that’s obvious’.
‘There is another black pudding they make in Kerry. It comes in little squares. Its very good as well’.
‘Nothing is as good as Clonakilty. Its the barley in it.
‘Who do you think killed Collins?’
‘The ‘Ra’.
‘I know that. But do you believe the conspiracy stories’.
‘Nope. I think it was straightforward. A local unit heard he was in their area and they ambushed him. It was as simple as that’.
‘Terrible times’.
‘Indeed’.
‘A waste’.
‘It wasn’t a simple as that’.
‘Were you always a vegetarian?’
‘Nope I just decided to give up meat one day. I felt sorry for the animals.’
‘Except the fishes’.
‘Why are you so agitated by that? I don’t tell you what to eat.’
‘I know you don’t but did you ever eat Clonakilty black pudding before you converted partially to vegetarianism?’
‘Can’t say I did. At least I can’t remember. And I never converted partially to anything’
‘Ah you wud remember if you ate this black pudding. You won’t ever know what you missed. Now you’ll die wondering.’
‘I’m more worried about my crocs’.
‘Aye. Did you never find them?’
‘Nope’.
‘That’s bad luck.’
‘I cud kick myself. I was on the Beggarman’s Strand and I always like to walk in my bare feet. So I put my crocs to one side the way I always do. It was kinda windy. And as I walked off I had this wee doubt about whether it was safe leaving them there. They are so light. And the wind was so strong. It niggled a wee bit at me’.
‘Do you reckon Collins had any wee niggles about .......?’
‘When I got back they were gone. Thirty euros down the drain!’
‘Was there anyone about?’
‘Nobody that wud steal a pair of crocs’.
‘What size were they?’
‘What does that matter?’
‘Wud you two give over. This grub is ready. Eggs for the continuity vegetarian and a full fry for the rest of us’.
‘Thanks.’
‘Failte romhaibh. Enjoy.’

The H-Block Hospital Visit

Mickey Devine was the last of the hunger strikers to die. His 30th anniversary was on Saturday. He left us after sixty-six days on hunger strike.

I remember meeting Mickey three weeks before he died when I visited the H-Block prison hospital on Wednesday July 29th along with Owen Carron, Bobby’s election agent and now Fermanagh South Tyrone candidate, and Seamus Ruddy of the IRSP.

A week later – August 8th - An Phoblacht carried an article by me in which I reflected on that visit. In the intervening days Kevin Lynch and Kieran Doherty died, and on the day the article was published Tom McElwee died.

In memory of those inside and outside the prison who died during that tragic summer I am posting that article.

H-Block Visit

Brendan McFarlane, Tom McElwee, Laurence McKeown, Matt Devlin, Pat McGeown, Paddy Quinn and Mickey Devine were assembled in the canteen of the prison hospital when Owen Carron, Séamus Ruddy and I arrived.

Paddy Quinn was in a wheelchair and sat with the others around two tables which had been pushed together in the centre of the room.

Brendan, Pat McGeown and Matt had been taken from their cells to the prison hospital while the others, dressed in prison-issue pyjamas and dressing gowns had been brought from their cells in the prison hospital itself. Kevin Lynch and Kieran Doherty could not attend the meeting, but Brendan McFarlane made arrangements for us to see them later.

It had taken us an hour to pass through the various security checks from the main gate of Long Kesh to the prison hospital, as the screws, sullenly resentful of our presence, quizzed our escort and driver.

I had mixed feelings going into the prison, though it held not secrets or surprises, for I had been a reluctant resident there on a number of occasions in 1972.

Also, I knew both Kieran Doherty and Pat McGeown, two of the hunger-strikers, and Brendan McFarlane, O/C of the Blocks, and had written to or read notes from, most of the other hunger-strikers. No, apart from a slight feeling of déjà vue, the prison itself, and its permanent prisoners, the screws and armed British soldiers, didn’t disturb me, tho’, in its grey hostility, Long Kesh is a forbidding and intimidating place.

It was a feeling of apprehension about the physical state of the hunger-strikers, and a fear that our arrival would falsely raise their hopes which disturbed me, as Owen, Séamus and I were introduced to the boys.

They all looked rough, prison-pale skin stretched across young skull-like faces, legs and arms indescribably thin, eyes with that penetrating look which I have often noticed among fellow prisoners in the past, and which Bobby Sands has described as ‘that awful stare of the pierced or glazed eyes, the tell-tale sign of the rigours of torture’. Someone else wrote that our eyes are the windows of our souls. The eyes of the blanket men, the hunger-strikers, are the unshuttered, unveiled, curtainless windows through which one can see reflections of the intense cruelties they have endured.

As they smiled across the table at us, all my fears and apprehensions vanished when Big Tom (McElwee) offered me a just of spring water.

“Ar mhaith leat deoc uisce?”

“Ba mhaith”, arsa mise.

“Lean ar aghaidh, tá á lan uisce san ait seo,” duit sé, grinning at me.

There were a number of small while jugs of spring water, and two or three blue plastic mugs of ordinary tap water, on the table. The lads sat, as pensively as wine tasters, as I took a delicate swig from one of the white jugs.

“Cad é a sileann tú faol sin?”

I took a longer slug, “Hold on,” said big Tom, “It costs the British government a lot of money for that stuff.”

The screw at the large peep hole at the end of the canteen, peered in a the outburst of laughter which follow Tom’s slagging. His appearance was greeted with bantering, in both Irish and English among the boys. Otherwise the screws were ignored and spoken to, politely, only when necessary.

We were left along again and then went on to discuss the hunger-strike, the campaign outside, the British government’s position and the hunger-strikers’ personal attitude to events.

We outlined the clergymen’s proposal to them. The lads were fully aware of all developments, but we persisted in detailing in a factual and harsh manner, everything which had happened over the past few weeks. They sat quietly, smoking or sipping water, listening intensely to what we had to say.

Occasionally Paddy Quinn, who sat beside me, used the spittoon which he held on his lap. Paddy heavily bearded, was by far the worst looking of the hunger-strikers.

As I talked, or listened to Owen Carron or Séamus Ruddy talking, I couldn’t stop my eyes straying below the tables where the scrawny legs of the hunger-strikers were stretched. We smoked in relays, in the absence of matches keeping our cigarettes alight by ensuring that somebody was always smoking, thus avoiding having to ask the screw for a light.

When we had finished our lengthy piece, a discussion involving everyone commenced. All the lads were crystal clear in their attitudes.

There was no basis for a settlement. They British government were stil persisting in their refusal to move meaningfully on work, association, or segregation. The prisoners’ July 4th statement outlined their position.

Yes, they knew they could come off the hunger-strike at any time. Yes, they knew the Movement would have no difficulties in explaining the end of the hunger-strike.

If there was an alternative to the strike they wouldn’t be on it. Five years of protest was too much. A reasonable and commonsense approach by the British would end, permanently, all the prison protests.

No, they weren’t motivated by a personal loyalist to Bobby, Raymond, Francie, Patsy, Martin or Joe. They knew the score, they didn’t want to die, but they needed a settlement of the issues which caused the hunger-strike before they would end the hunger-strike.

No, they weren’t driven by a personal loyalty to each other. Regardless of what the others did, each was personally committed to the five demands and to the hunger-strike. They weren’t under any duress.

Apologetically, at first, because I knew all those things myself, I told the lads that I felt duty bound to satisfy the clergymen and all those who were pressurising their families.

I painted the darkest and blackest picture possible: between ten and twenty prisoners dead, nationalist Ireland demoralised, and no advance from the British government.

“You could all be dead. Everyone left in this room when we leave will be dead.”

“Sin é” said somebody. “They won’t break us. If we don’t get the five demands then the rest of the boys and the women will.”

“We’re right.” declared another. “The British government is wrong and if they think they can break us they’re wrong twice. Lean ar agaigh.”

By this time I was starting to feel absurd, but I persisted in probing them harshly, questioning them all, outlining the Republican attitude to the hunger-strike, explaining that we could go out and announce it had ended, or that any one of them had finished it; but the lads, individually and collectively, remained unmoved.

By this time I had emptied two jugs of Tom McElwee’s spring water, much to the amusement of Lorny McKeown and Matt Devlin.

“We’re not letting you in again,” said Tom, as he went to get a refill.

“What about Danny Morrison?” somebody asked. “We heard he was sick.”

“Working his ticket.” I replied.

“And your brother? How’s he?”

“And G.B.?...”

“Cad é faoi wee Tommy agus Fiery Joe. Tell Spike to do is whack. Do you ever hear from him. Fear go h’iontach”.

“How’s my mother holding up?”

“Is Pauline okay?”

“Can you get me in the ‘Irish Times’. Ed Maloney’s cat, but there’s plenty of reading in it. Any chance of a copy of ‘Magill’? How’s the Phoblacht’s sales doing?”

“Cad faoi mo clann?”

“What about the SDLP? Get them off the councils… And Fermanagh/South Tyrone? How come Owen always wears a suit?”

Our gathering was starting to dissolve into a bantering session. Tom McElwee was trying on my glasses. Somebody was seriously and genuinely concerned that Brendan McFarlane had missed his tea. We were inundated with queries about the struggle outside, about their families, about fellow prisoners, about the women in Armagh, the lads in the Crum.

Paddy Quinn informed us that his sight had gone since the meeting started. I spoke to him privately.

“Na bac,” arsa se. “Lean ar aghaidh.”

Brendan arranged for us to go and see Kieran Doherty. I told the lads that I wouldn’t tell Doc of their position.

“He knows it anyway,” someone said. “We saw him last night after Fr. Crilly’s visit.” “I know.” I said.

Doc was propped up on one elbow, his eyes, unseeing, scanned the cell as he heard us entering.

“Is mise,” said Brendan McFarlane.

“Ahh Bik, Caide mór ata…?” arsa Doc.

“Níl ro dona, agus tú féin?”

“Tá me go h’iontach, tá daoine eile anseo? Cé…?”

“Tá Gerry Adams, Owen Carron agus Séamus Ruddy anseo. Caithfidh sibh a bheith ag caint leath.”

“Gerry A, Fáilte.” He greeted us all, his eyes following our voices. We crowded around the bed, the cell much too small for our visitors. I sat on the side of the bed. Doc, who I hadn’t seen in years, looked massive in his gauntness, as his eyes, fierce in their quiet defiance, scanned my face.

I spoke to him quietly and slowly, somewhat awed by the man’s dignity and resolve and by the enormity of our mission.

He responded to my probing with patience.

“You know the score yourself,” he said. “I’ve a week in me yet. How is Kevin (Lynch) holding out?”

“You’ll both be dead. I can go out now, Doc, and announce that it’s over.”

He paused momentarily, and reflected then: “We haven’t got our five demands and that’s the only way I’m coming off. Too much suffered for too long, too many good men dead. Thatcher can’t break us. Lean ar aghaidh. I’m not a criminal.”

I continued with my probing.

“For too long our people have been broken. The Free Staters, the Church, the SDLP. We won’t be broken. We’ll get our five demands. If I’m dead... well the others will have them. I don’t want to die but that’s up to the Brits. They think they can break us. Well they can’t.” He grinned self-consciously.

“How are you all keeping? I’m glad you came in. I can only see blurred shapes. I’m glad to be with friends. Cá bhfuil, Bik? Bik, stay staunch. How’s the boys doing?”

We talked quietly for a few minutes. Owen got another ribbing about Fermanagh and South Tyrone. We got up to go. I told Doc to get the screw to give us a shout if he wanted anything.

We shook hands, an old internee’s handshake, firm and strong.

“Thanks for coming in, I’m glad we had that wee yarn. Tell everyone, all the lads I was asking for them and…” He continued to grip my hand.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get our five demands. We’ll break Thatcher. Lean ar aghaidh.”

Outside Doc’s cell, the screw led us into speak to Kieran’s father and brother, who had just arrived to relieve Kieran’s mother.

We spoke for about five minutes. I felt an immense solidarity with the Doherty family, broken-hearted, like all the families, as they watched Kieran die. Yet because they understood their son, prepared to accept his wishes and completely committed to the five demands for which he fasted.

Talking to Alfie, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, in the quiet cells in the H-Blocks of Long Kesh, I felt a raw hatred for the injustice which created this crisis. Alfie, concerned for us, had a quiet word with Bik McFarlane and left to sit with Kieran.

We went in to speak to Kevin Lynch’s family. The prison chaplains were with Kevin, and the screws had advised Brendan that Kevin should not be disturbed. We spent a few minutes with Kevin’s father and older brother. Kevin was totally determined to continue his fast, unless the five demands were conceded.

Kevin’s father, broken-hearted at his imminent death, told us of his anguish in the face of British intransigence. “To rear a son and see him die like this…”

We left, unable to speak with Kevin. I paused at the open cell door: the priest knelt at Kevin’s bedside, Kevin lay stretched on the prison bed. The screw closed the door on us.

Back to the canteen, Paddy Quinn by now restricted to his cell, was absent. The lads asked us about Kevin and Doc’s condition. Someone had heard on the radio that the press were outside. One of the lads suggested that the hunger-strikers write an agreed statement signed by them all.

“Send it out yourselves tomorrow. They’ll think we solicited it from you.” I advised.

“They’re still at that,” said some of the lads in disgust. “They must think we can’t write.”

I scribbled out an account of our visit and read it to the boys. They suggested that we put in two paragraphs calling upon the Catholic hierarchy, SDLP and Dublin government to publicly support and pressurise the British government into moving towards the July 4th statement.

“And tell them to get off our families backs.”

“Thank our supporters and all the prisoners’ families.”

They dictated two paragraphs to me on these issues, then, satisfied at the final draft, we spent the last few minutes talking. Matt Devlin and Owen Carron; Séamus, Paddy, and Mickey Devine; myself and Brendan McFarlane. Then a few words with Pat McGeown, Tom and Lorny.

“Before we leave, have any of you any questions? You might never see us again.” I looked around at the thin, half-starved defiant young men.

“Have we got any heavy gear yet?” one of them asked. “Get us our five demands.” Somebody else said.

“Beidh on bua againn. Brisfidh muid Maggie Thatcher.”

We all shook hands. “Mind yourselves, and tell our families we’re sound.”

“Beannacht dia duit,” arsa Bik, “agus be cúramach.”

We left by the same gates and watchtowers, Brit soldiers, RUC men and screws. Move the British government on work, association, and segregation. That’s what the boys said.

We went out the last gate to where the press were gathered. The huge double gates of Long Kesh slammed shut behind us. I never saw Kevin Lynch or Kieran Doherty alive again.

THE HOLES IN THE WALLS GANG.

Jimmy hit the stone chisel with the lump hammer. The house vibrated with the dull thumping thud of his exertions. Your man was nursing his morning after the night before hangover. He had his own personal dull thumping thud to contend with. He didn’t need any competition. Not at half eight in the morning. He was putting on a brave face but I knew he wasn’t pleased. Who would be?
I wasn’t too pleased myself. And I couldn’t find an egg cup. We had no electricity. Jimmy was punching a hole in the wall to let the spark run a new length of wire from the fuse box to replace the bit that was causing the trouble. Jimmy was a handy workman. But even a handy workman had to resort to brute strength and ignorance when it came to making holes in walls. When there was no electricity to run a drill.
Boiling eggs was easy. Even without electricity. But I like an egg cup. It’s more civilised. In fact it’s the only civilised way to eat a boiled egg.
‘Did you get those eggs of Eilis? Jimmy asked.
‘I did’ I told him.
‘The chicken that laid that egg was corn fed’ he said.
‘Do you see when you have bacon and eggs for breakfast?’
‘Aye’ I said.
Your man was listening to us intently. I could see he was relieved that Jimmy had stopped hammering when he was talking.
‘Well’ Jimmy continued’ what is the difference between the chicken who gives you the egg and the pig who gives you the bacon?’
‘I give up’ your man said after a short pause.
‘Well’ Jimmy replied with a smile, ‘The chicken who gives you the egg is making a commitment to you but the pig who gives you the bacon has given you his all’.
He chuckled away to himself. Your man muttered something obscene to himself as Jimmy returned to his hammering. I pressed my egg down on a plate with a wee thump so that it stood upright. Then I sliced the head off it.
Jimmy stopped hammering again.
‘You know we are all very spoiled these days. Hot and cold running water. Indoor toilets. And baths. Clean dry warm houses.’
‘Electricity’ your man muttered.
‘And egg cups’ I said.
‘It’s far from egg cups you were reared’ Your man replied.
‘Or Rioja wine’ I countered.
‘I’ll never drink again’ he said.
Jimmy swung his lump hammer again. Your man grimaced at the noise.
I sampled my corn fed chicken’s egg. It was delicious. A wee taste of butter on top and a sprinkle black pepper. I really appreciated that chicken’s commitment.
By the time I was finished Jimmy had the last hole punched in the wall. Your man fed the electric cable through to him.
‘People nowadays don’t appreciate what we have’. Jimmy continued. ‘Its not that long ago that most houses were damp and dark. The toilet out in the back and a cold water tap in the street. And candles or paraffin lamps. Its only when you have to do without something that you miss it’.
The two of them worked away together in silence. Eventually Jimmy gestured to me.
‘Try that light now’ he nodded.
I flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.
Jimmy shrugged.
‘The two of youse put your hands up’ he said.
‘Why?’ your man grumpted.
‘Just do what I ask’ Jimmy pleaded.
The two of us raised our hands. Jimmy adjusted the electrical fitting with his screw driver. The light came on. Jimmy chortled.
‘Many hands make light work’ he told us.

The Rising of the Moon

A few weeks ago a good friend and sound man with whom I spent time in Long Kesh in the early 70s visited me in Leinster House. It was his 70th birthday and he and my brother Paddy and wee Harry came along to look around the place. He brought with him some poems he has written over the years.

One in particular, ‘The Long Road’ was about the 1981 hunger strike and I immediately set it aside knowing that I would use it as part of remarks I was to make at the national hunger strike commemoration in Camlough. And I did. The march was yesterday and I used the poem to open my speech.

The Long Road
The Hard Road
The Brutal Road
The Torture Road
The Naked Road
The Blanket Road
The Hunger Road
The Martyr Road
The road through the long Bog ...
Ten men walked them all.

The crowd at yesterday’s march and commemoration was among the biggest I have seen in many a long time. It took almost one hour to pass any given point. The weather was generally good and with the hills of South Armagh all around us it was a beautiful setting to mark 30 years since that traumatic summer of ’81.

As well as marking the deaths of Bobby, Francie, Raymond, Patsy, Joe, Martin, Kevin, Kieran, Tom and Mickey, the commemoration also remembered Michael Gaughan and Frank Stagg.



The McCreesh and McDonnell families



With Kieran Doherty's two sisters Roisin and Mairead

There were people from all across the island. And the organizing committee from South Armagh did a great job of planning the event, including a private gathering before hand at which presentations were made to the families of the hunger strikers.

A glass presentation was made by the South Armagh organisers and Jack O’Patsy’s Pottery in Youghal in County Cork also made a special plate presentation which was given to the families.

The event was notable for many reasons but not least for the numbers of young people who attended and participated.

Emma McArdle chaired the commemoration and young people from across South Armagh read brief biographies of the 12 hunger strikers. White doves were released, Paddy Martin played the uillean pipes, Ailín McIlwee sang ‘Raymond’s song’ and Paddy Quinn lowered the national flag during the minutes silence.



I gave the main speech and I include most of it below:

“The hunger strike was 30 years ago. It was a watershed moment in Irish history. In the summer of 81 over 50 people were killed and many hundreds more were injured.
30,000 plastic bullets were fired mostly in republican Belfast and Derry.

7 people died as a result, three of them children, and countless hundreds injured.

The hunger strike came at the end of a decade in which the British government had employed every conceivable weapon in its substantial military and political arsenal.



Internment; torture; shoot-to-kill actions; rubber and plastic and lead bullets; CS and CR gas; curfews and mass arrests; black propaganda; special courts and special laws and an orange judiciary; sectarian attacks and collusion, and the withdrawal of political status for the prisoners in the H Blocks and Armagh women’s prison, were all part of a concerted British strategy.

So too were its efforts to build political alliances with the SDLP and the Irish government. The British aim was simple – to protect British interests, and to defeat Irish republicanism and the struggle for Irish unity and independence.

Despite its propaganda and lies the British government knew that republicans enjoyed a substantial level of support. So, severing the connection between the republican struggle and the people was key and criminalisation was a central part of this strategy. Breaking the prisoners was crucial.

Chreid na Sasanaigh gurbh fhéidir príosúnaí poblachtacha a bhuaileadh agus a sceimhliú chun éide coirpigh a chaitheamh, chun obair príosún a dhéanamh agus a gcuid poblachtachas a thréigeadh.

They were supported in this by the northern and southern political establishment.
But, as was so often the case throughout the centuries the British and their local allies misjudged the tenacity and resolve of Irish republicans, and in particular of the prisoners.



The account of that period has often been told.

Of Kieran Nugent refusing to wearing the prison uniform and saying they would have to nail it to his back.

Of the hundreds of prisoners in the H Blocks – naked, beaten, starved, denied proper medical care or toilet facilities, forced frequently to run the gauntlet of riot clad screws or subjected to the brutality of the mirror search.

Of the women in Armagh – isolated and beaten and strip searched who were also denied adequate medical and toilet facilities.

Of the families who organised and campaigned through the Relatives Action Committees and then through the National Smash H-Block Campaign.

And of the tens of thousands who marched and protested in support of the prisoners.
The hunger strike changed the political landscape in Ireland.

The political gains that have been made since then owe much to the men and women political prisoners and to the sacrifice, resolve and perseverance of the hunger strikers and their families.

Bhí feachtas na bpriosúnaí dírithe ar 5 éileamh chun leasuithe príosúin ach i ndairíre bhí an streachailt ibhfad níos doimhne ná sin.

The prison struggle, like the struggle on the outside, became a battle of will about the right of the Irish people to self-determination and independence and freedom.

The prisoners knew that. So did the Brits.

It was about uniting Ireland. That struggle continues today. And core republican objectives are at the heart of everything we do today. The Sinn Féin political strategy is about achieving these objectives.

And let there be no doubt about it. We have a viable project and we have made, are making, and we will continue to make significant progress.

30 years ago the north was embroiled in war. British troops were dug in on these hilltops; people were dying in their scores; nationalist areas were under military occupation and unionists were entrenched behind their laager mentality.

The Sinn Féin strategy brought the British and the unionists and the Irish government to the negotiating table.

Thirty years ago there was an Orange State. The Orange State is gone.

The Government of Ireland Act is gone. The right of citizens to opt for a United Ireland is equal to that of those who wish to retain the union.

Sinn Féin is from that democratic tradition which believes that the British government never had any right to be in Ireland; does not have any right to be in Ireland and never will have any right to be in Ireland.



There is now an entirely peaceful way to bring an end to British rule. Our duty is to develop democratic ways and means to achieve and to unite behind the leadership and the campaigns which will bring this about.

Yes it will be challenging! Yes it will be frustrating! The enemies of change are strong. But that never stopped us in the past.

Remember, once upon a time Margaret Thatcher – remember Margaret Thatcher? Remember she claimed that the north was as British as Finchley! It never was.

Britain’s claim to the north is now reduced to a simple majority vote.

Of course we have a huge job of work to do to persuade unionists of the merits of the republican and democratic position. But we are also in a very good place to do this. Sinn Féin is the largest nationalist party in the Assembly and on local Councils and we hold one of the three European seats.

There are five Sinn Féin Ministers, including our leader Martin McGuinness, who as Deputy First Minister shares the Office of First and Deputy First Minister with Peter Robinson as an equal in all matters.

The DUP and UUP, who opposed power sharing, are sharing power in government.
There are all-Ireland political functioning institutions. And in all of these political institutions Sinn Féin is defending the rights and entitlements of all citizens and promoting our republican agenda for unity and equality.

I mbliana tá méadú tagtha ar ionadaíocht pholaitiúil Shinn Féin sna comhairlí áitiúla agus sa Tionól sa Tuaisceart.

In the Oireachtas today, we have a Sinn Féin team of 14 TDs and 3 seanadoirí. And in constituencies across the south, especially those where we came close to winning Dáil seats, Sinn Féin is growing organisationally and electorally.

In Leinster House our new Dáil team is proving itself to be effective and efficient. For many we are now the real opposition party, challenging the Fine Gael and Labour government as it imposes a disastrous austerity programme and introduces new stealth taxes on working families.



The fact is that Irish republicanism is stronger today than at any time since partition. Ach chun cuir lenar neart, chun tionchar pholaitiúil agus cumhacht níos láidre caithfidh muid ár streachailt a neartú.

There is no more important time than this for the republican principles of equality, fraternity, and freedom.

Tá polasaithe polaitiúla bunaithe ar na prionsabail seo de dhíth go práinneach chun leas ár bpobail.

Republicans need to build our party. More people need to join Sinn Féin. More young people need to join Sinn Féin. We especially need more women to join Sinn Fein. To take up leadership positions.

And we need to use our growing political strength wisely and successfully and well.

Achieving our republican goals will not be easy.

While Unionist leaders now see the benefits of working on an all Ireland basis, they remain opposed to a united Ireland.

So there is work to be done peacefully and democratically with them. Sinn Fein is up for that work.

The British government, despite its protestations to the contrary, and its systems, has yet to face up to its responsibilities to the people of this island. It can best do this by leaving us to manage our own affairs.

The Irish government, and in particular the Irish political establishment, is partitionist. That is evident in so many ways, for example, in the resistance thus far, to extending voting rights in Presidential elections to Irish citizens living in the north.

But there are many people in Ireland who want rid of outsiders ruling us whether from London or the IMF and EU. They want a free and united and independent Ireland.

I believe there are many people in Ireland who share our goals of a free and united and independent Ireland.

Trí neart pholaitiúil a thógáil agus comhpháirtíocht a chothú beidh muid ábalta ár spriocanna amach.

Sinn Féin is clear about our strategy, clear about our goals and clear about the road map to the future. We will not be distracted or put off course. We have a vision of a new future, a better future, and we have the spirit and the confidence to work with others to achieve this.

Raymond McCreesh agus a 9 comrádaí agus na poblachtaigh go leor eile a thug a mbeatha don streachailt thar na blianta, chuidigh siad linn theacht go dtí an áit a bhfuil muid inniu.

There is an enormous responsibility on us to seize the opportunity they created and to make Irish freedom a reality. There is a role for everyone in this new situation.



Let us stand together, united behind our republican goals.

Bainimis ár saoirse amach agus tógaimis Éire Aontaithe agus poblacht nua lenar linn.

There is resistance to this. There was also resistance to the blanketmen and the women in Armagh. They knew this. But they kept their eyes on the prize. They were also aware of all of the developments in the campaign and the manoeuvrings by the British and others.

They were not put off by any of this. They were steadfast in their determination. Struggle is hard. Activism can be challenging. There will always be cynics and begrudgers and naysayers.

But there will also always be heroes and heroines.

Ray McCreesh and his comrades set an example for every republican. They should be our role models. Let’s keep our eyes on the prize.

In the last entry of his diary Bobby wrote.

‘...at the end of the day everything returns to the primary consideration, that is, the mind. The mind is the most important. But then where does (the) proper mentality stem from?
Perhaps from ones desire for freedom.....
If they aren’t able to destroy the desire for freedom, they won’t break you.
They won’t break me because the desire for freedom, and the freedom of the Irish people is in my heart.
The day will dawn when all the people of Ireland will have the desire for freedom to show.
It’s then we’ll see the rising of the moon.’



The Doves are released

PÓC OFF

PÓC OFF!

The second annual Póc ar an Cnoic for the Edward Carson Memorial Trophy was an outstanding success again this year and I will post some photos over the next few days. As regular readers of this blog, historians and hurling aficionados will know Unionist leader Carson was a hurler. He played for Trinity College away back in the day. And so, as part of Féile an Phobal, this blog and other atheletes gathered in the Stormont estate in the shadow of his famous statue Saturday. It was a mighty day of craic and sport.
First off our young folks, camógs and hurlers battled in a series of very exciting games on the lawns in front of Parliament Buildings.
Then a best out of two for the póc fada. Mark Sidebottom was defending his title from last year. Big Rogey – Martin Rogan heavy weight boxer – was obviously in training. Barry McIlduff obviously wasn’t. Neither was Mickey Brady. Or Lucilita Breatnach, Cathy Power or Madge McEldoone.

Peter Bunting did well. And Dominic Bradley. This blog was robbed. I was ahead when Mark Sidebottom sidebottomed me. There was only a bounce of the ball in it. But sin é. There will be no sticking him now when he is commentating. Mr Two in a row.
And then as Barry McIlduff said, before he fled to Croke to watch his son and Tír Éoghan and Baile Atha Cliath play in the national stadium, it was down to the serious business.

This was the real long póc when a range of senior hurlers and camógs competed to see how many pócs it took them to cover the mile long avenue which is the main entrance into Stormont. After a mighty battle Niall McManus from Rossa won the men’s event and Claire O Kane from Doire won for the women.
Everyone had a great day out. Carson certainly would have approved. Our sponsors – O Neills, Martin Donnelly and Translink did a great job. So did all the stewards and mentors and every competitor. And the Poc Fada lads from the Cooleys. And the staff at Stormont. This blog sends special thanks to our good friend Paula Mac Manus who kept the whole thing going. She did a mighty bit of work.
Comgheardas also to Kevin Gamble. This was his first outing as Féile Director. And a very fine outing it was also. Well done to all the Feile team.

The calm before the storm

The Dáil closed two weeks ago for its six week summer break. Fine Gael and Labour will be glad of the opportunity to catch their breath after weeks of intense grilling by opposition TDs over a wide range of government policies.

Fine Gael and Labour won power promising not to raise income tax or cut social welfare and to defend public services, including health.

Last December’s budget by the Fianna Fáil led government was supported by Fine Gael and facilitated by Labour. It proposed major cuts to public spending and services, and a four year austerity programme.

Among the measures introduced was the universal social charge. This is basically a flat tax which requires that everyone with an income above €16,000 pays it at the same rate of 7%. It also brings people who earn as little as €77 a week into the tax net.

It breaches the fundamental principal of progressive taxation – that those who have more, should pay more. In opposition Labour opposed it. One of its TD’s Róisín Shortall, who is now a Minister, even went so far to describe it last December as … “little more than a ‘Working-Poor Tax’… It is a blatant and unjustifiable attack on the poor.”

It is now government policy.

In opposition Fine Gael pledged that it would not commit ‘another cent’ to the banks. The current Transport Minister Leo Varadkar promised that any bank “coming to us looking for more money is going to have to show how they are going to impose losses on their junior, on their senior bondholders, and on other creditors before they come looking for us for any more money. Not another cent”.

Of course, that led to another significant u-turn and a commitment of an additional €24 billion to the banks. Worse still has been the continuous stream of money being paid by the government to unguaranteed senior bondholders in Anglo-Irish Bank and Irish Nationwide – two banks that are now defunct.

There is no legal obligation on the government to pay these people and yet, according to the weekend’s Sunday Business Post: ‘The state has paid out over €1 billion to unsecured bondholders in Anglo so far this year, and a further €1 billion falls due later this year, just weeks before the budget.’

Additional taxes, including water charges and a property tax are to be introduced. As a first step a few weeks ago the government announced the introduction of a household charge. This is an annual flat rate tariff of €100 on all households for a two year period, beginning next January.

This will be replaced by a full property tax in 2014. The Minister has already said that this levy may increase.

The claim by some that this amounts to ‘only’ €2 a home a week misses the point. This will be an additional bill on top of increased food costs; the universal social charge; water charges; a reduction in household benefits; and increased mortgage payments.

And the hurt for the growing numbers of unemployed and those on low and middle incomes doesn’t stop there. There are substantial additional costs on their way from gas and electricity suppliers.

So, claims by the government parties that they won’t hurt citizens by raising income tax or lower welfare benefits are a deception. In every other way imaginable they are impoverishing the less well off while protecting the wealthy.

But it is in the area of health that the crisis is most clearly visible and the dishonesty in Fine Gael and Labour party policy most clear.

When he took up office the Taoiseach told the Dáil that ‘the old ways of politics damaged us’ and he promised that his government would ‘tell the people the truth.’

The row over Roscommon hospital has brought all of this into sharp focus.

The government decided to close Roscommon’s A&E.; The Taoiseach denied making any promises to keep it open. At least he did until the Sunday Business Post produced a tape recording of a speech Kenny gave in Roscommon during the election promising to keep services at Roscommon open.

One of the Fine Gael candidates Denis Naughten was even more explicit. He said: ‘This election is a referendum on the hospital. If people want the reconfiguration of services – which would lead to the downgrading of services – to continue they should vote Fianna Fail. If they want the exact opposite and to see services retained and enhanced then they need to vote for Fine Gael.’

Labour was no better. It was in the same mode. It wanted a seat in Roscommon and Labour leader Eamon Gilmore said: ‘The Labour Party policy will be to retain Roscommon Hospital and to retain all services.’

Only 4 months in office and the government parties have performed so many policy u-turns they must be dizzy – the public certainly is.

And in their handling of the Roscommon A&E; issue they look and behave like Fianna Fáil. Cén difir?

When Fianna Fáil used the 2009 HQIA report to justify the withdrawal of emergency services from Ennis Hospital James Reilly rightly accused the government of starving smaller hospitals of resources to make them unsafe and of then producing reports to prove this and to justify their closure.

Precisely and exactly what Fine Gael and Labour are now doing. The way to deal with a hospital that is unsafe is to make it safe and to say that you have no other option demonstrates a lack of vision and imagination.

And this situation can only get worse. The government is committed to cutting another €4 billion from December’s budget. The new Dáil term which begins in September promises to be stormy.