Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

A view of the world from an Irish hole

Category: County Councils

Cumann cumann do the locomotion with me

It seems the Soldiers of Destiny are attempting to re-form in Cavan, and come out of the burrows of shame into which they have quite rightly retreated.

 My sister recently received an invitation to a cumann meeting in Cavan town. The invitation listed all of the great things Fianna Fail had done for Cavan town, though surely such pork-barrel politics is seen for the scam it is. When any political party takes credit for anything I’m reminded of a comment made by Al Gore in the 1992 Presidential debate in the US, when he said George Bush Sr’s attempts to take credit for the fall of the Berlin wall was a bit like the cock taking credit for the sunrise.

 The invitation went on to mention minister Brendan Smith, but failed to refer to his reluctance to meet with a local farmers’ delegation, or his insistence on using a private limousine to take him from a hotel to a nearby conference centre, even though his colleague, Minister Mary Coughlan, was staying in the same five-star hotel. Brendan may be personally honest, but yet he sits at cabinet with a group of lying gangsters whose policies include stealing money from the blind and then refusing to own up to their cowardly actions.

 And then it finished by mentioning Fianna Fail councillors, but once again it was quite about the gargantuan sums in travel expenses racked up by some of them. But we must be even-handed here. The pursuance of the “grab” culture is just as evident amongst members of Fine Gael.

 As for the invitation I am assured by my sister that she has no intention of accepting it.

We wus robbed

Like any Irish person I was dismayed by the events in the Stade de France. Pride in the land of my birth made me want to see the Boys in Green qualify for the world cup. It is dreadful to see hard work and talent and commitment rewarded with failure.

 I know that if the Irish team had qualified for South Africa, every scumbag government minister would fly out at public expense to cheer on the lads on our behalf, though they’d never asked us beforehand. What’s more, unlike most Irish fans, they would stay in the plushest accommodation. Neither would I be surprised if delegations of county councillors did not escape to the sun, maybe because of some tenuous links between one of the players and their county. They would justify their junkets as “supporting a local lad” or some other trite shite, and those who would look askance at their larceny would be denounced as party-pooping begrudgers.

 I believe that the goal scored by Thierry Henry, in spite of handling the ball, should be looked at in an Irish context. Here was the committed, talented team who had played their hearts out for ages, and who were much better than their opponents one of whom scored a decisive goal even though this violated the rules. These ought to have been observed and enforced by the referee – that’s what he’s there for, but instead he didn’t notice the fault because he was looking the other way, or had his head up his arse, or because he was related to the wrong-doer, or maybe because he was at mass… Whatever the reason, the result stands in defiance of the rules and the spirit of fair play and justice which inspired them. In this regard I see the events of last night as a metaphor for so much of what goes on in contemporary Ireland.

Hey Bobby, what's the French for 'cute hoor'?

Shoot the Seanad?

Yes please, bring it on baby, at least some of them.

 Fine Gael leader Enda Kenny’s proposal to scrap the Seanad if in government is nothing short of a piece of hypocritical populist

They've killed Kenny - the bastards

They've killed Kenny - the bastards

posturing., not so much a red herring as a blue herritng.

 Enda Kenny surely realises the importance of the Seanad in the Irish political system, where it acts as a rest and recuperation home for TDs of all the three political parties who have lost their seats in the lower house. It also operates as a testing ground where aspirant members of the lower house can gain exposure, not to mention an endless supply of postage-paid Oireachtas envelopes, which will hopefully translate into success at the next election. And then there is “The Taoiseach’s eleven”, an evergreen source of patronage. Many, many years’ ago, when I was involved with The Organisation, I had to write a letter to then taoiseach Charles Haughey extolling the virtues of a would-be Seanad appointee, the most important of which was that he was the father of eight children. There was no hint in the letter that the man’s off-springs were facing incarceration in the poorhouse unless their parent were elevated to the upper house. Indeed I know one of the man’s children; he has used his hands and feet to has attain great and well-deserved success.

 Now let’s be honest; Enda has no more intention of getting rid of the Seanad than he has of joining the Hare Krishnas. This is all about deflection. It seems to have caught hold as a topic of media discussion, which helps take the limelight away from the fact that the Fine Gael party support the viciously incompetent, scorched earth economic policies of the present government – and why wouldn’t they? They are good, honest-to-God Blueshirt policies.

 What’s more this Seanad red herring may take attention away from the alacrity with which Fine Gael councillors are grabbing jobs for their families at local government level – larceny as great as any Fianna Fail or Green party minister at national level.

 But let us give credit where credit is due. The intellectual and professional pre-eminence of  relatives of Fine Gael councillors is awe inspiring. They possess some unique piece of internal genetic engineering which may be revealed one day when the mapping of the genome is finally completed. The scope of their abilities is truly kaleidoscopic, spreading from ward assistants in hospitals, to social workers through to Research Officers in crummy local museums. Just what is it that puts them head and shoulders above the relatives of councillors from other parties, or those people not related to councillors at all?

Let’s have an election!

Would an election solve this country’s problems? I doubt it because the really big problems are inherent and structural. The legislature is no more than window-dressing on a public service which, at national, regional and especially local level is fundamentally rotten. This putrefaction infects the whole system. When parliamentarians imbued with the highest ideals and committed to lofty standards are elected to anything, whether it’s a county council or the Oireachtas, they are confronted with this stone wall of corruption which has grown up over generations, referred to usually as “the system”. If they want anything, they have to play by the system’s rules, and rule number 1 is that the system is unquestioned. After all the system’s personnel are permanent, where their so-called political masters come and go like the weather. Acceptance of the system has its rewards, such as favours that can be used by politicians to buttress their electoral support, as well as jobs for politicians’ family members. They have been performing a clever confidence trick whereby they infect politicians with their grubbiness, while presenting themselves as motivated by the highest standards of probity. It doesn’t matter an earwig’s fart whether the politicians are Fianna Fail or Fine Gael.

 However, an election would be a welcome wake-up call for a government which seems to have forgotten that it owes its ultimate mandate to the people, aka known by one serving cabinet minister as “the hoors”. Elections are won not in the cosy executive lounges of Ireland’s Five-star hotels where they rub shoulders with THE people, but on the doorsteps of working-class housing estates or at farmhouses where the aspirant TDs have to evade malicious-looking dogs. November is really a great time for an election: it’s cold and wet and the days are short – too short for effective door-to-door canvassing. It’s not like those balmy election campaigns of May or June.

 An election at this juncture might be useful, as I cannot imagine the Fianna Failers campaign having a snowball’s chance in hell unless they formally and unequivocally reject the McCarthy report, which so many of them have taken to heart as a type of holy writ. If they don’t they might as well rename themselves the Kamikaze Party. Imagine going to someone’s door and saying: “If we are elected we will fuck you up the arse. Yes it’s tough and causes us as much pain as it does you, but it’s good for you, but you’re probably too stupid to realise that aren’t you. And what’s more, that’s what you’ll get from the other side, so don’t blame us for being honest. Now, get those pants down punk!”

Eat your Greens

When the Green Party entered government, the late Seamus Brennan is alleged to have told them. “Yez are playin’ senior hurling

Gormless John

Gormless John

now lads.” Since their entry into cabinet the Greens have shown themselves not worthy of inclusion on  an Under-21 B selection.  They have often shown the aptitude of a group of convent girls in a whorehouse.

It’s all very well making pronouncements from the sideline about issues such as Roddy Mollooy’s hush money , and the need to bring Seanie Fitzpatrick to justice, but the Greens are supposedly at the centre of power – why can they not stop this?.

 But maybe Gormless John Gormley should look closer to home before he throws ethical brickbats. The Department of the Environment is possibly the most corrupt government department. Part of this is due to its involvement with local government. and Gormley has done nothing to clean out this Augean stable.

My book launch

Yesterday, October 2nd was the anniversary of the very successful launch of my volume Cavan: Land of Water, Earth and Sky, illustrated so wonderfully by my good friend Jim McPartlan. I was so thankful to have been asked to provide the texst, and I felt that I had been given an opportunity to repay a debt of gratitude to the people of Cavan. As I have said so often words and my intellect are all I have, as I lack physical strength and  ties to the so called great but not-so-good. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who turned up, and by the outflow of  genuine goodwill towards us. It made up for much of the hurt I had received in Co. Cavan and it reminded me of just  loved I was by the ordinary, decent people of Cavan.

The success of the launch and my book however have excited the jealousy and resentment of those  people who owe their position not to any talent (they have none) but to other factors, such as party political allegiance or family ties. I received an almost pathetically silly post from one Barry Leddy in which he asked how much my book launch had cost Cavan County Council, whose generosity to other “historians, is well known. The fact is the event cost the council nothing: I would have been highly unhappy had it been sullied by a cent from their rotten pockets. Wine, drinks etc., were provided by the publishers. The library buildings were open anyway, so I very much doubt there was a significant increase in the  council’s fuel bill, and no member of staff had to be  paid travel expenses to attend on the night.  My decision to agree to the launch in the library was influenced by the tremendous friendship that has existed over the years and the library’s wonderful staff. I’d like to remind Barry that the library is a public building, and not owned by the council. I personally find the idea that I might  be dependant on the council for anything to be highly insulting. It smacks of the comment once made to me by a certain TV cameraman: “You’ll need Cavan County Council before they’ll ever need you.” UGH!!!! Or, to quote Joseph Conrad “The Horror, the horror!” (That’s Conrade the writer, not the actor Barry).

As to the attendance there were NO county council officials there, because they weren’t invited. As for members of the county council there was only Councillor Charlie Boylan, who launched the book, and who was there in his capacity of chairman of the council, and as a long-standing family friend. All the others were invited, but none turned  up. Admittedly senator Joe O’Reilly telephoned me from Strassbourg to wish me well, while Councillor Anthony Vesey was in Azerbaycan  (look it up in your atlas Barry). A final word on the attendance. I was truly flabbergasted that over one hundred and twenty people were there. Alas my dear mother and sister Anita weren’t there, though I’m sure they were looking down on me.

Barry Leddy’s'  tirade was prompted by me asking how much Dr Scott’s conference in the County museum, the one to which “is” were I invited and paid to attend from as far away as the US, even though one of the experts lived only ten miles away from the museum. This at a time when Cavan County Council has no money, when it is letting go of non-essential staff  ie   those n0t related to councillors, and when remaining staff mebers receive a weekly message from the county council manager with their pay-checks urging them to take early retirement.  I am angry that an attempt has been made to besnirch the wonderful event that was the launch of my boook with Dr Scott’s petty ego-trip. I must remind Barry Leddy that no one had to pay to atternd the book launch.  Barry Leddy cannot apparently defend the rudeness of Mr Keys in not replying to my letter about being snubbed by the museum.  I think most observers would see that an attempt to confuse my book launch with Scott’s shameful charade is, to put it midlely, disingenous. Had it been paid for by the council it could have served the finest vintage Pol Roger, Beluga caviar, as well as canapes of foie gras with Perigord truffles, and still its cost would not have  approached the Ballyjamesduff conference.

But I know that the fact that I am able to write a book at all, and not accept my divinely-ordained fate as a cripple and slink back into a corner, and maybe wheeled out for a photo-opportunity where the county manager is posturing as friendly to the disabled, is a course of constant anger and vexation. Furthermore my choice as the book’s author, and not someone from the circle of the “usual suspects” aggravates like hell.

 Finally, let me tell Barry Leddy that his silly post has been deleted by me

I am proud that I was involved in a book which people in Cavan and further afield genuinely en joy, not like some of the trash that appears about low-call history,  such as Sexual Preversion in Seventeenth-Cewntury Cavan or Who Killed Owen Roe?

My book is still available from good bookshops or from the publishers at  Cottage Publications.. It makes the perfect Christmas present and I’m more than happy to apply my John Hancock to it for anyone who wants.

Cavan local history gets new web presence

New CSB website

I’d like to tell all my readers about the new CSB – Cock-Suckers of Breifne – website. Naturally, it’s given over to narcissistic self-publicity on behalf of the soi-disants experts on local history, including that bad-assed cowardly scumbag The Honourable Dr B. Squirt, who appears in at least one photograph surrounded by druids. This was taken in association with a special novena held at the Ballyjamesduff pigsty in which they were praying for a miraculous increase in visitor numbers, so as to fend off the growing phalanx of calls for the pigsty’s closure as a costly white elephant.

 It is so reassuring for people like The Honourable Dr Squirt that, even at a time of swingeing public spending cuts, he inhabits a nice little sinecure enabling to get paid from the public trough even in the midst of economic recession. And it’s all thanks to daddy.

 Some in the pigsty have hit upon a new way of getting the punters in  – a pilgrimage. The pigsty has recently been recognised by the Sacred Congregation of Wights and others doing the work of God as a site intimately associated with the life of Blessed Oliver J. Hannigan, patron of blue plumbers, haemorrhoid sufferers and general pains in the arse

 Already miracles have been reported. One pilgrim from a Ballyconnell heritage group said: “For years I’ve been plagued with the piles, but since visiting Ballyjamesduff Pigsty I haven’t needed the Anusol once.“

 Another prized exhibit is the original confessional in which the late Fr Brendan Smyth confessed his craven sexual obsession for young children to a former bishop.  The hallowed prelate was a great idol of Dr Squirt’s, who considered him the greatest living expert on the O’Reillys, even though he was dead.

(Never having visited the site I don’t know whether I’m mentioned on it. I earnestly hope not.I’m more than happy to be thereby snubbed by that crowd of narrow-minded, bigoted, obscurantist budgie brains. Indeed I take it as a great compliment, as I thereby join other fine students of Cavan’s locl history who are now sadly deceased.

 Dr Squirt doesn’t like me; as I am not and never have had aspirations of becoming, either a poodle or a prostitute his likes are of no concern to me. But given that he has never met me I wonder what’s the reason for his problem? Many people have said it’s down to his jealousy towards me. Anyone who is jealous of a partially sighted individual who spends much of his tine in a wheel chair deserves our prayers – not a job – but then he could be in no better place. Aithnionn ciarog ciarog eile.

 People reading the above must be aware that it springs from my own opinions and does not aim to be in anyway factual. What’s more, there is no malice, which is more than I can say about the attitude of the pigsty’s “research officer” (!) towards me. I believe it constitutes fair comment, though there will be those who say it’s unfair comment. I reply that I consider that the only form of comment to which these people are entitled is no comment at all.

 I hear he’s writing, not just one book but two. I wonder what the titles are? Maybe the semi-autobiographical All Hands on Dick, while the second might be a history of clerical child abuse in the diocese of Kilmore. Most ordinary writers have to struggle with the financial demands of daily life while they complete their work, as well as with hectoring editors, but the Honourable Dr Squirt has his nice County Council sinecure to cushion him. But after all he is such a great writer, greater than any other who has ever worked in the benighted hole of Cavan.

I know how much this will annoy Brendan and his friends, peoplke like the equally jealous yet ill-informed Barry Leddy.

Further reasons to vote no

I am obviously such an ungrateful brat, considering how much the country has benefited from EU money. But let’s have a look at how this EU money has been spent, and who has benefited.

 For a start, as with everything, some have benefited more than others. In terms of sectors, Ireland’s farmers have definitely gained handsomely, in spite of the farming sector declining as a proportion of the population. This has been because the farmers have been, from the dawn of Ireland’s EU membership, exceptionally well organised as a pressure group. But in spite of this EU largesse, I would be so bold as to say that rural society in Ireland is on its knees. Post offices, shops and other essential features of infrastructure have been removed. Many areas of our countryside are threatened by insensitive and ghastly housing developments or the construction of bypasses. Many farms are still uneconomical, heavily dependant on a range of handouts. This was recognised by the decision of Agriculture Minister Brendan Smith to allocate a mass of funds for farmers on the eve of the referendum, thereby attempting to buy their votes. And like the recipients of generosity farmers are such bitter critics of welfare benefits.

 Our fishermen never benefited to the same extent, so that fishing has become almost a marginal activity. There are no votes in fishing, so politicians have ignored it.

 So EU largesse in Ireland is a fine example of injustice, not always going to the sectors that need it or deserve it, but to the school-boy bullies who are best able to grab it.

 The distribution of structural funds has often been deliberately channelled through social and political elites, who have used control to buttress their positions at the expense of the greater public,

 In Co. Cavan, some EU money has gone to pig producers, who ploughed it into increased production. This resulted was an increase in porcine effluent, much of which was poured into waterways including the River Erne. The EU then gave money to Fermanagh County Council and others north of the border to clean up the resulting pollution, a lovely example of north-south co-operation in action.

 The spending of structural funds, disbursed under various labels like Phare and Leader is an excellent example of how EU funds have stayed in the hands of the existing elites. Whenever a new “tranche” of funding is announced for disadvantaged areas, such as those along the border with Northern Ireland, proposals are sought and public meetings organised to work these out,. The meetings usually come up with some very good and sound ideas. A second meeting, to “firm up” the proposals is then arranged. This is attended by “the boys”, members of the local political and economic elite who have their fingers in every pie; the ones who never have any trouble getting planning permission or any type of grant. (Viewers of Killnascully will remember Willy Power.) They muscle their way onto the committee and push out anyone who is not a client or relative. Their dominance is explained because they are the ones who ”know how to get the money.” This is sadly too correct, ordinary members of the public might very well make very well structured and valid proposals for funding but they won’t get a cent, whereas “the boys!” know who owes them favours.

 One of the ideas to be put forward for Leader funding in the Cavan Monaghan area was the production of an illustrated guide-book of heritage tours. One of the members of the committee, sadly deceased, thought that I was the best person to undertake its writing and to supervise its production, because of my experience as a historian and writer. This post would be accompanied by a handsome salary. When my name was proposed at a meeting I had to sit through one of the most unpleasant episodes in my life, as nearly everyone there, including those who didn’t know me from Adam, proceeded to state just how unsuitable I was. The lead was taken by a loud-mouth from Belfast who managed a refuge for battered artists. Amongst his claims was that he doubted I could produce a website – admittedly not something that would have been considered a necessary component in the skills’ set for the job, but he was really discomfited when I told him of my experience with HTML. But everyone else took the lead from him.. One man left the room rather than participate in the circus  Many of those who remained were Leader clients, people who had received or who expected to receive Leader funding. They were expected to behave towards me in a certain way – if they knew what side their bread was buttered on. I looked beseechingly at those there, as if to say “Is there none here who will speak on my behalf?” Then finally the coup-de-grace was delivered by one of those charged with the disbursement of the funds. He announced that the job must go to a “driver – someone able to get around”. He knew full well that, though I could, in those days get round very well, I could never drive. At this I stood up, saying “I never knew you were looking for a chauffeur” and left the meeting.  I do not wish to name the figure who said this. Suffice it to say that he had a not very star=studded career as a Gaelic Football player. When my late mother later challenged him about what he had said, he retreated to the tower of cowardice of all mushroom-men, threatening to bring a legal action against her. As for the book, well they gave the job to a “driver” with no experience of the area who was able to get around so well that he went up every boreen in the two counties and expected the Leader funds to pay his expenses, which they did. However,, this virtually emptied the funds set aside for the book which was nowhere near finished – in fact, it hadn’t been begun. So guess who was then approached to finish it once the Duchy was dry?  Yep, muggings here. I wrote out the trails with accurate mileage and kilometre indications, and they were then followed on the ground before publication. Nobody could believe just how accurate they were; but that just went to show that you didn’t have to be a driver to write the trails. But where did all the money go? Leaving aside the production costs, there wasn’t much left for me, and while “the driver” got his wages and expenses, he was fully entitled to them, We can only say that it went up the cook’s arse.

 To be continued

What a waste?

Hardly a day goes by without the exposure of breath-taking amounts of waste in the Public Service. Recently we learned how FAS spent 600,000 euro on a television advertisement that was never screened, as well as paying huge sums for services that were never delivered.  But I think that this goes beyond simple waste. Waste is something children do, or those with lower levels of educational achievement. In other words waste is what poor, stupid people who don’t know any better. Although I may question the vaunted intellectual pretensions of senior civil servants and managers in the parastatal sector, they are far from stupid: they know what they’re doing.

I am saying that much of what goes under the rubric of waste is actually peculation, larceny and fraud on a grand scale by public officials. These people should be charged and imprisoned, not allowed to retire with expensive golden handshakes. But there is little hope of that. Were charges to be brought against them, the people who would sit in judgement i.e. senior judges would be cut from the same social cloth. They might very well be classmates from the same schools, maybe related by marriage even, and po0ssibly members of the same golf clubs.  (The law is full of fictions, including the notion that justice is blind. For that to happen the judges have to be blind too.)

There is no true ethos of public service in Ireland. Those working there are taught to see the public as the enemy. One of the worst insults you can pay a public servant is to call him or her just that – a public servant. They bristle with anger “Me? A servant? And of that dark, smelly enemy the public? Nay, nay and thrice nay – or rather the equivalent in Irish.

We may pride ourselves in having a public service that is not manifestly corrupt, as say somewhere like Italy or Kenya. Bribers don’t feature at the lower levels at least. But who is to say what goes on further up? And are we to define bribery and corruption solely in terms of the handover of cash?  Then there is the internal bribery, where certain departments and individuals are rewarded for “playing ball” or putting the telescope to their blind eye, by bonuses or greater access to resources.

So many of our public servants and representatives have cruelly perverted John F. Kennedy’s famous challenge “Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country?” into “How can I do my country – and get away with it?”

The end of the Cavan Echo

It was with immense sadness that I learned of the closure of the Cavan Echo. This will be looked back upon by future generations as a brave and courageous venture in Cavan journalism. The Cavan Echo showed a new way in local journalism, one which demonstrated that “local” need not mean parochial or sub=standard when compared with journalism at a national level.

 I am eternally grateful to Declan Young for asking me to get involved, and through my contributions I had the joy of working with great editors like P.J., Michael and Ian, as well as making the friendship of Mairtin and Deborah in Belfast.

 Innumerable are the friends I have made through my column. It was as if I discovered a whole new reservoir of colleagues, of whose previous existence I could only dream. Many enjoyed my Echoes of the Past, and their joy was matched by mine in writing them. I felt that I was able to rescue history from the clutches of shortsighted and self-interested “historians” and give it back to its rightful owners, the ordinary people of Cavan whose ancestors had lived through it and made it in the first place.

 I am planning to bring out a book containing a selection of my Echo pieces. However, I have no intention of writing any more Echoes. The concept and format must die with the paper I feel.

 The Cavan Echo’s demise was due to the downturn in the economy. It is ironic in this country which pays such lip service to the principals of the free market that private-sector institutions have been allowed to go onto the rocks un-mourned, while certain others associated especially with local government continue to receive a seemingly inexhaustible supply of public funds which are in such short supply that even the widow’s mite is now under threat. I am thinking here especially of that bloated, superannuated white elephant in Ballyjamesduff, which remains open even though it has never made any money, and continues to resolutely haemorrhages it, while council staff members are let go because of a lack of funds to pay them.

 After I departed from the Echo I mentioned my plight to a friend who has good contacts with a much longer established local newspaper here. He made enquiries on my behalf as to whether they might like to benefit from my availability by employing me. While senior members of staff promised to contact us they never did. They passed over the possibility of explaining to me that they too were in financial straits and were thus prevented from taking me on. But it seemed as if they could not lower themselves to do this. Were they afraid that a hand would emerge from the telephone?  But even if they were cash rich, how could they employ me? What would their masters in Cavan County Council say? The knights would be appalled. It seemed as if my copy, freely given to them (if for a fee) was not as tasty as stealing my words and applying a staff member’s (though now thankfully retired) by-line to them.  A short ‘phone call would have helped to establish contact and trust. Instead I had to make do with a visit from the sniggering, bad-minded racist who informed me that I might think I was bad, but longer-established i.e. better columnists had been let go by the local newspaper. Needless to say he bellyached about how little the paper was paying him for photographs –something he no doubt put down to foreigners.

 The upshot of the above is: You had your chance Anglo-Celt, but the Echoes of the Past are dead like the Monty Python parrot.

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