Ard Fheis Video Blog

However I was disappointed with later ‘colour’ pieces from the same stable, where Miriam Lord put the boot in, choosing to focus on what are effectively ghosts from the past, rather than engaging with the actual live delegates, motions, workshops etc.

I penned the below letter to the Times in response to one of her pieces:

A Chara,

I was very pleased to be a participant in the very successful Fianna Fáil Ard Fheis last weekend. A very constructive weekend of policy discussion, organisational reform and internal renewal including elections where I was privileged to join many other new faces on the national executive. I noted your coverage included juxtaposition of the ‘working abroad’ expo which was held concurrently at the RDS and some snide commentary of same (Miriam Lord, March 5^th). On that theme it should be noted that many of our delegates also visited that expo whilst at the Ard Fheis, being in a similar boat to any other expo attendees. It should also be noted that our gathering this year included new cumainn formed from members already abroad, representatives from the exiled Diaspora, indeed some election candidates and very valued voices were amongst their number.

The vast, vast majority of the 4,000 delegates at Ard Fheis and the 40,000 Fianna Fáil members nationwide experience the difficulties of recession as starkly as anyone else.

We remain determined to find constructive solutions to these problems. Others may differ on the political way forward. But the Fianna Fáil party is not and never was an elite cabal but is a party of ordinary members living ordinary lives and with the same ordinary problems as everyone else. Rather than media images obsessing on a handful of familiar faces in the crowd they should perhaps listen to the other 3,997 delegates there in attendance and actually now in the driving seat. The get together at the weekend was in one large part about the membership taking back ownership of the party and that project is well underway.

Is mise,

James Lawless

As I have said so many times on this blog and elsewhere, the party is not one or two voices (or faces) but an army of members whose views should be canvassed by anyone wanting to understand the party in 2012. Anyway we will keep moving on, and as I said in that video clip, and have often said on this blog, the members are now retaking the party and we shall certainly not be surrendering it lightly ever again. One Member, One Vote was a fantastic result at the weekend, changing an 80 year old rule on a delegate system, and allowing every member of the party from now on have equal say. The delegate system certainly wasn’t the cause of the recent problems but its replacement is symbolic of the appetite for and capacity for change the party is showing today.

4,000 delegates at the Ard Fheis, 1,500 members at the Leader’s Dinner last October, 550K raised by ordinary members in the national draw, our new members’ magazine into its 3rd edition,  2nd place in Dublin West by-election months after we’d been written off and now a brand new Ard Chomairle ready to take the reins on the renewal.

Change has come and will continue to come to Fianna Fáil.

James has been active politically since university when he was involved in students union campaigns. James is a former Chair of Wexford Ógra Fianna Fáil and is currently Chair of the Sallins Cumann and vice-Chair of Naas Comhairle Ceantair. James served at national level before as a Leinster rep on the National Youth Committee. In 2011 James re-established the Cearbhall Ó’Dálaigh cumann at Kings Inns and is currently Chair. In 2009 James ran for local elections to Kildare county council as a  Fianna Fáil candidate – despite a record low for the party, James polled credibly for a first time candidate achieving half a quota on the first count and was the last to be eliminated. James would be economically centrist whilst being more conservative on social issues. Public transport, area planning, political and legal reforms are policy interests allied to a strong Republican ideology. James is a strong believer in traditional party heritage and is a local organiser of the annual Wolfe Tone commemoration at Bodenstown (as pictured). He was also part of the team behind the new Fianna Fáil magazine, CUISLE, launched recently.

Growing up in north Wexford, as a young adult James worked at a variety of jobs in the tourist and service industries. Since college his professional career has been largely within IT. Currently he works as a systems analyst within the insurance and financial service industries.

James studied at Trinity College from where he has a primary degree in Mathematics and a masters degree in High Performance Computing. James is currently studying law by night at Kings Inns where he recently took first place in exams overall as well as a number of individual prizes.

In his spare time James enjoys jogging, a round of golf or exploring the great outdoors with his children and their dogs. James is also a keen follower of Gaelic games and is involved locally with Sallins GAA.

Other local involvements include Sallins Community Games, Sallins Community Council, Naas & Sallins Rail Users Group, Naas Toastmasters, Bodenstown Golf Club, Sallins Fianna Fáil and Sallins Pier Residents Association.

My experience over the past few years has been that there are plenty of individual members out there in social media and other fora with strong opinions and articulate viewpoints even at times when the ‘senior party’ was more reticent. Thankfully nowadays the party is all singing off the same hymn sheet at every level but either way our new project is designed to give those members a voice and an outlet for discussion, debate, to compare notes and to renew the party.

The results went to press last month and are now in circulation amongst the party membership. Our new magazine is called CUISLE (“Pulse”, translated) and contains 32 pages of opinion, commentary, analysis some positive, some stark, all candid and all unfiltered and straight from the membership. I am delighted with the results and great to finally now see it in print. I have a few pieces in it myself and was honoured to serve on the editorial board. This is hopefully just one of many projects over the months and years ahead that will allow the membership renew the party and exercise democracy and direction as to where and what sort of party we all want to end up with.  We might have a smaller party but perhaps a small passionate membership is better than a horde of good time golfers. Anything in life is what you make it and now we have that chance. If any readers would like a copy of the new mag, get in touch.

The weather is certainly shaping up nicely and augurs well for the long weekend. I intend to get busy blogging again now I’ll have a little more free time in the evenings and have something of a backlog of drafts written but never competed during my long winter solstice of sorts which I might have to dust down.

Musing quickly over recent events, the Queen’s visit certainly went off well and won over many including me, the ceremony at Islandbridge was particularly historic, especially coming on the heels of the garden of remembrance. Whatever our political or historical beliefs we absolutely must respect those on all sides who made sacrifices and it is quite shameful really to think how many of those ex-veterans had to hide their military record or become pariahs in post-independence period. I read recently an account of life through the transition from a former nationalist but also of ascendancy stock, Barrister Maurice Healy who practiced on the Munster circuit but basically had to flee to the UK when the atmosphere became too hostile for him here.

A memorable passage in the book talks about an exiled ageing magistrate withering in the equatorial sun passing justice amongst the burghers of malay kay or some far flung colonial outpost all the time pining for his days skipping from Cork to Tralee with empty pockets but a head fit to burst from the excitement of the day ahead .. or something along those lines. Interesting stuff indeed. Our history is truly a complex one.

Obama’s pint in Offaly went down well and even if Enda nicked a few lines from one of his speeches well so what, I’ve done it myself (see if you can spot a line here : ) )

The government have had a mixed bag, good publicity though little real action, it seems they are coming to terms with the enormity of the problem in a somewhat tempestuous fashion as we have seen with various Ministers doing “solo runs” or “speaking out of turn”, one wonders whether Enda Kenny’s ‘Chairman not Chief’ approach to managing his team of the talents will prove effective as the coalition comes under strain.

Anyway all will be revealed I expect in due course.. Expect much more commentary from this direction in any case over the next few months. I hope you stay tuned!

On more general matters I’ve been watching events unfold on the national and European scene. Interesting if worrying that Portugal has now succumbed to an IMF bailout also. One has to wonder if parliament had held their nerve and passed their austerity budget would it have come to this. They chose to bring the house down and take their chances and will probably end up with similar if not harsher measures now anyway. Perhaps the politicians there thought if they could be seen to go down fighting they could escape an electoral bloodbath. They may just be punished now for shirking responsibility, I doubt they will escape political repercussion whatever happens.

It’s tempting to point to this and a follow-on predicted EU/IMF bailout for Spain and say Ireland wasn’t so bad, sure it’s happening across the EU. And that would be partly true. But just like the Portuguese, that doesn’t absolve the government here. Obviously the bank guarantee and other decisions will prove to have been critical along the way (although we still don’t know what the alternative would have been, even more so since the stark refusal of EU to sanction any kind of default within the community – including letting any bank fail – but I simply don’t know all the answers here, don’t think anyone does). But all that aside, what did for Fianna Fáil in the end was the attitude. Not the attitude of Fianna Fáil members up and down the country and I’ve spoken on that theme before, but I mean Fianna Fáil in government and the Ministers etc. It is simply unbelievable that in the middle of all this they saw (or at least appeared to see) nothing wrong with running for the hills with their satchels loaded. They may well have worked hard through their careers, and of course there were legal entitlements, but these were not normal times. There are senses of perspective sometimes needed and many let their party (and country) down badly. The perception projected out of government buildings right up to the end was one of business as usual with very little sense of adaptation or even awareness of a crisis. I am sure it was a hellish place to be towards the end, a bit of the Berlin bunker or Saigon rooftop about it, but it didn’t have to be that way. The Irish people are forgiving, they are understanding and with a bit of honest leadership and a real willingness to engage and a courage to lead it could have been Fianna Fáil’s finest hour. Brian Lenihan did manage to muster some of that spirit for a while but even he lost it at the end when it all just became too much talk. There are lessons to be learned from history as always. I think “Tell it straight, talk the talk but most of all walk the walk” about sums it up.

This post is not intended to delve into those matters in detail however, more to answer a question that is often raised, as to who is Fianna Fáil, and perhaps these days, how can they be supported?

The theme of this post is to give my view of Fianna Fáil, who and what it is, and what I wish it can become in future. The gap between the media and sometimes public stereotype of the party and mine and ordinary members experience is worth highlighting and may also help illustrate why and how members do support the party in good times and bad.

A concept I have been musing over recently is one of “collegiate loyalty” and it was expressed very well by a friend and party member recently when he said the reason he is in Fianna Fáil is the people. The people he meets and knows in Fianna Fáil and with whom he finds common ground on so many areas. I think this explanation is spot on and is akin to an explanation that I gave to a workmate recently, that you don’t just walk away from family. More to the point when a member of the public thinks of FF, more than likely Brian Cowen or Noel Demsey or some other senior Minister comes to mind ; for myself and many grass roots members it is our friends, fellow members and activist colleagues who define the party and with whom we have far far more interaction and debate with than the Taoiseach or some abstract figures we may encounter once a year at a party function.

Fianna Fáil at membership level is like any other organisation in the country consisting of a cross-section of the population, with perhaps an additional element of volunteerism and public service in that almost every cumann member I know is also involved in a plethora of community groups from GAA to Tidy Towns to Community Councils to Parish Committees to Meals on Wheels to St. Vincent de Paul to Residents Associations and everything else in between. A kind of political rotary club. The occupations include everything from teachers, lawyers, software engineers, butchers, builders, tradespeople, shopkeepers, academic researchers, project managers, mechanics, full time students, blue collar, white collar, green collar everything in between. A cross section of society. Just to take one example, one lifelong cumann member has spent every Friday evening for the past 20 years or more (voluntarily) using his tractor to trim the grass of the local GAA field prior to training and matches each weekend. The same man is to be found every Summer’s Saturday knee deep in bedding plants or topsoil as he labours around the village for the Tidy Towns each May till August in preparation for the judging. It should be remembered the vast majority of these members are not and have no desire to be public representatives but believe in “getting stuck in”, doing their bit for their communities.

At national level I have another circle of Fianna Fáil friends dating back to Ógra days on national party committees or friends made in Trinity students’ union whom have all stayed in touch. Any one of this wide circle of acquaintances and friends and neighbours are the people who come to mind when I think of Fianna Fáil, far ahead of any thoughts of the Taoiseach or the figures at the helm.

(On a side note many contemporaries in the latter circle in particular, also fought elections in recent times, being of my own generation coming of age to do so in the last couple of years and having first outings. To the detriment of the organisation (and I believe the electorate) most did not make it but most tellingly almost all campaigns, win lose or draw were funded from personal budgets or borrowings, there was usually some contribution from the local party but there were certainly no brown envelopes or hefty corporate donations winging their way to any candidates of my acquaintance. Again if there was a culture of corporate collaboration it did not pervade beyond the peak of the pyramid.)

The tragedy of Fianna Fáil in recent years, and it pre-dates Brian Cowen, is that these voices have gone unheard. The cumann structures and the party organisation has been turned from a democratic member-centric organisation to a factory floor type workforce for an aloof central committee in the offices on the top floor.

There may be one side-effect of the party doldrums that might even make it all worth it in the end, and that is the casting off of ‘carpet-baggers’ and mé féiners who gravitated in the past towards what was the natural party of power and have often exerted a disproportionate dominance over the party whole, not least as their inevitable episodes of excess spilled over to flood the whole party in their wake each time.

When people talk of saving Fianna Fáil and rebuilding, it is the pyramid beneath that needs to be saved and to find voice. It is the re-assertion of the body politic, of the ordinary and often inspiring membership that need to take precedence and that must be the goal of any rebuilding. The exact shape, size and policies of the emergent organisation require attention and definition but the approach must be inclusive and democratic. The legion of the rearguard needs to step out from the rear and go front centre and that will certainly be a party worth saving.

It’s been a busy time in Irish Politics and I’ve certainly being paying attention there. Whilst I am an optimist by nature I have been pretty down about the state of the nation in general over the past while, but am trying to stay positive and see a light at the end of tunnel. Whilst we are borrowing from the IMF & EU, we had to borrow anyway, so in one sense its just a case of switching lenders. And at a better interest rate than the bond markets were going to give us any time soon – though I have a major problem with the EU interest rate – the IMF rate is apparently in the order of 3% so to average at 5.8 we can only guess where the EU have pitched theirs. Anyway that’s a topic for a discussion of its own another day.

On political matters, it’s only a matter of time now (Spring 2011?) till the government leave office, although who their successors will be is still very uncertain. There are an awful lot of people against the government, but who they select as a replacement is likely to be not a single preference but a multitude of different ones. Once the common enemy is gone, they may turn out to have some very different friends. Pundits and polls predict an FG / Labour coalition of some shape or form but anything can happen between now and polling day. I imagine left and hard left parties could do well, I also think a straight talking, unapologetically right wing party could do very well (proper capitalism – burn the banks and start again rather than a state rescue) although none has really emerged yet.

I think the Taoiseach seems to have finally got into gear, two years too late. A couple of good performances from him over the last couple days, perhaps now the exit is finally in sight he may feel the monkey is at last off his back. Those of us in FF who had seen him in action previously always knew what he was made of, he wouldn’t have got the top job otherwise, it’s just such a pity he had to hide his light under a bushel ever since. I’m not sure that he ever actually wanted the job, but landing in it, I believe he felt a duty to run with it as best he could. He may have seen it as unpatriotic to do otherwise. A putsch halfway through may have come as a blessing to him though. Private reports suggest he is looking forward to this particular reign, double annus horribilis at last coming to an end.

Some folk have recently inquired my own political intentions with an election in the offing. People will be aware I ran for local elections in 2009 and put as much effort and energy as I could muster into that campaign. I met folk from all around the constituency and developed a good understanding of the practical and theoretical issues of the area and of local representation in general. I do greatly appreciate the significant support I received and had I been elected I would have repaid it in spades, taking on the task with gusto, available to all and getting stuck into policy and reform initiatives at council level, as well as working my way through a to-do list of the issues raised with me during the campaign.

Not being elected I can’t do that. And nobody funds a would-be politician to sit around waiting for the next election to come along. So it’s been back to the family and back to the day job as life goes on and the wolf must be kept from the door. Had I been elected to council last year I would have been in a position to prioritise politics, I could have structured my lifestyle and working arrangements differently, and may well have been considering the next step now (i.e. running for national office) but that not happening I just don’t see it as practically possible to take further steps at this point. Elections cost a lot of time and a lot of money and I haven’t a lot of either at the moment. And the real world doesn’t go on hold whilst one goes off campaigning. (One of the reasons so many of the council are retirees – some earlier thoughts on this here – http://jameslawless.ie/2008/03/14/butcher-baker-candlestick-maker/). Anyway I’m not walking away, I am still involved in local matters and will remain so, (I have yet to turn anyone from the door), but there are only so many hours in each day and it is very hard to do the job of a full time representative when one is not one.

On right is a photo of the famine memorial at Delphi County Mayo. Hundreds perished here after being forced to trek  overnight for alms then refused.

Today is National Famine Commemoration Day.

In honour I publish for the first time a short story I wrote set amongst the landscape, if not the exact time period, of An Gorta Mór.

The hungry grass

Crossing the shallow holdings high above sea
Where few birds nest, the luckless foot may pass
From the bright safety of experience
Into the terror of the hungry grass.

Here in a year when poison from the air
First withered in despair the growth of spring
Some skull-faced wretch whom nettle could not save
Crept on four bones to his last scattering,

Crept, and the shrivelled heart which drove his thought
Towards platters brought in hospitality
Burst as the wizened eyes measured the miles
Like dizzy walls forbidding him the city.

Little the earth reclaimed from that poor body
And yet remembering him the place has grown
Bewitched and the thin grass he nourishes
Racks with his famine, sucks marrow from the bone

(Poem, Donagh MacDonagh, 1906-1968)

Seamus peered out the glass pane at the rain beating down outside. On a clear day the distant blue of the ocean could sometimes be seen its vastness offering the twin possibilities of escape and loss in its depths. Sometimes they seemed the same thing.

Closer in lay the lough but today with the grey clouds low over the mountain and with their relentless cannon onto the silent hillsides it was hard to see much at all. The short lane down to the larger boreen which linked his property to the outside world alternated between a stream and a path as conditions varied. Of course vehicles could use it theoretically but last time the oil lorry had refused to deliver claiming the route was not ‘road worthy’. Lazy is all, he thought. One time he used run an old motor up and down himself, on trips to the village or a very rare sortie up to town in search of women and diversion in younger years. Little diversions now.

The landscape was bleak but beautiful, at least to the tourists. The cottage nestled away shielded by trees in part but almost wedded to the mountain side in the main.
A bedroom, a fireplace, a kitchen area and a back yard were all he really wanted though the cottage had more than he needed. The infant of Prague regarded him solemnly from above the hearth whilst the holy water font in the porch had not been filled in some time. He seldom went to church now, though one time he never missed it. Too much hypocrisy and not anything to do with those scandals either, although those youngsters had had it rough by all accounts. Rougher than him with a father away and a mother run ragged, almost lost in the crowd of his own family and scrabbling for his supper amidst the remains of the day. Well who is to tell now.

If he went outside he could see the lough but it held no draw for him these days, or at least no magic. He tried the boats once and there was good money in high season but you were born to it or you weren’t and his legs were firmly of this earth. Hated the water if the truth be told. No shortage of it cascading down the steps and making a waterfall of the front yard at present anyhows.

Letting the floral foil of the blinds drop back into place he moved away from the window and what lay beyond. He didn’t really need the blinds up here, away from everything but it gave something to look at in the dead of winter. There was the box in the corner of course but that thing wasn’t much. He gave that up a long time ago too.
Reaching up he lifted an anorak off the hook and shrugged into it enveloping his frame. As good a time as any to make a break he thought and what would he do for the day otherwise. Pulling his hood up over his head he opened the door and stepped forth into the tempest outside.

He made his way first to the outhouse. Slipping back the bolt he stepped over a pile of drying sheafs, harvested earlier during the too brief summer. Beside them lay a pile of roots, some now decaying leaves and in a small barrel beside, the remnants of the potato crop. Heathers, stalks and clusters of tied nettles covered the floor. The distillation took time but a complex apparatus betrayed innate simplicity, like herding or trout tickling or any the ancient crafts. He leaned over the bench and regarded the piping and sediments. Lifting a bottle off the shelf, the label bearing only passing resemblance to the contents within, he tucked it carefully inside his garments. Turning back out the door he began to pick his way through the puddles and to descend down the path his figure casting a moving black spot against the otherwise greying hillside.

Though it was barely noon he had been up half the day already, waking at dawn and rising in accordance with the habit of a lifetime. The old mattress was alright but he rolled into it most nights without any great comfort at least not physical. The days were long and the nights were short and it didn’t change with the seasons. One of the sheep had become entangled in fencing earlier and it had taken him some time to cut it loose. It was almost an adventure sometimes accounting for the animals although it too waned with time. He swore he’d lost some and never noticed, others claimed as much but that was bound to be just more digs about the boundaries, or maybe the drink. The latest lamb had been unfurled from the wire and galloped in gaiety up the mountain. Youthful exuberance and an impatience for life saw it disappear up the slope. He had watched its path as it weaved through the yellow and purple thicket and up by the stream, minding its way past the odd scattered stone wall.

They’d had a good stripe of this hillside once. Further up the slopes a heap of timber and stone marked the original homeplace his people had held at one time. All of that before the evictions when generations of his past were forced to watch wretched as the flames tore asunder the life they had made. Some escaped abroad or elsewhere but many lost the will after that and never tried to live again. The winters after took care of the rest when the hunger came upon the hills. Stories still lingered of children fell dying, their lips grass green, collapsing to ground where their bones scoured the soil. A pittance had survived in ever diminishing freeholds right down to the plot now occupied by his cottage their last claim on the mount. And even that now contested.

Reaching the main road he pivoted right and began to walk along the lip of the lough shore. He rarely drove now, he was never fully confident and it was hardly worth the bother after they put him off it three years before. As the rain continued to seep down
an odd vehicle appeared through the blanket, pairs of lights signalling its progression in advance. Most the lake side houses were foreign owned now with gates, walled gardens and foreboding entrances. Abandoned mainly outside the Summer months the big house was an undiminished presence here. A shower sloshed over him as another silver machine swept past oblivious to his presence. Damp but determined he continued unabated on this trail he knew so well. There’d be few enough in Louis’s now, the time and the nature of the day, but there’d be enough. It’d be worth the trip.

Back up the hillside the rain began to ease but a wind picked up bringing icy portents from higher up and sending the animals to seek out shelter from the gorse or hawthorns where they could find them. Occasional stoned walls stencilled across the canvass but offered little by way of comfort, even where they stood erect still. Towards the top, beyond the sheep trails and nearer the summit, a remnant of life lingered, a defiant stone sill and some charred timbers marking a dwelling place one time before. A giant hawthorn tree had once kept watch over the site and some levelling out of land just beside betrayed attempts at one time at settlement. Small holdings had once been carved out into the frozen soil but were long since abandoned. Long but wispish grasses guarded the approaches and now moved with the winds giving an appearance of waving to anyone regarding from below.

Seamus pushed against the door of the public house, giving a brief glance back at his surrounds. The mountain made a stark solemn wall always in the background but the narrow streetscape afforded an outlet beneath. The steeple defined the village, being the most immediate landmark, but the pub was the real place of worship. A surly post office and a grocery store come filling station completed the compass points. Postcards were available but fuel and fags were the main draw this time of year.

“Before the cock crowed three times it called for Seamus” .. Louis opened.

“Aye we’ll hear the bells soon alright” Seamus replied, dismissing the remark.

“Never ask for whom the bell tolls, Seamus, in case it calls for you!” .. Louis attempted a smile and pulled the tap down to full port, watching the stout flow into the glass beneath. A standing joke over the years, angelus bells were as much a call to nourishment here as they were to the spiritual kind supposedly on offer across the road. For many it was the only source of nourishment worth travelling out for.

“Well Seamus … what have ye for me today?” .. inquired Louis.

“It’s a fresh one for ya” answered Seamus “One the last for the year”.

From within the folds of his clothing Seamus produced the bottle and placed it on the inner shelf behind the counter. Louis nodded and raised it up, the better to study the liquid inside. The contents shimmered a grey, dirty kind of gold almost translucent with a silting residue running down the inside of the bottle as he turned it.

“Aye that’ll keep you for a while Seamus” Louis smiled and moved to lock it into the private quarters beyond. Barter had never quite disappeared in these parts, and when a man had no paper to offer well there may be other wares that he can trade. The Poitín had started almost a hobby, something to break up the year, but often now it had become the daily bread. Louis would accept it in trade for porter and a place to pass the time and sometimes others could be persuaded to part with real money in return.

Seamus drew on his pint and enjoyed the flow like mothers milk wash down his gullet and into his insides. He sat onto the stool and glanced around. Beside him couple other wooden stools bordered a narrow counter behind which lay three taps, a range of optics. Along the wall, beside various other ads for boat hire and taxi cab numbers and an oyster festival calendar, he noticed one new notice; a cleaner for hire was now on offer. Sure that was a laugh he thought, something only for the tourists. Although someone had to keep an eye on the places in winter he supposed. He’d caught an odd glimpse those places sometimes, passing on the road. Only in winter mind, when the trees were barer, though by then, the houses were equally bare, generally speaking.

He’d witnessed the other side once. Curiosity caught him and whilst gazing past the manicured gardens and statues of stone, he’d been startled to spot life in the house itself. Giant clumps of Rhododendron, themselves invaders, had shed the summer, affording views to the house beyond and revealing a woman moving within. A sallow skin and confident manner betrayed a non native and whilst her years may have even neared his, the yards may have been worlds apart.

He was reminded of that time as laughter drew his gaze to a couple in the corner, students probably, fresh from a visit back home. Not a common sight here but sometimes they would come and kill time maybe before a bus back to civilisation. He watched as they spoke together and caught some rays from the hearth comfortable in each others presence and unafraid of the world. Catching his glance she pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her and nestled closer to the flames. Embarrassed he turned back towards his pint. Shortly after, a coach cast shadows through the window of the snug and the couple left to join it, leaving empty glasses upon the counter.

Sometimes in his cups the wind would whisper to him faded memories of playing by the streams and running along the slopes. Along with his brothers they would chase the dragon flies and catch the frogs and small creatures that populated their world.
His mother then in flush of youth and his father still with them, stern and strong and proud, making what he could, working on the land. Land that lay farrow now untilled and unmarked and gone from them all. Death and taxes had taken their tolls. Such dreams were his only remembrance now and for his clan he remained the sole representative on earth.

The fire crackled and spat occasional embers out upon the hearth whilst the winds coughed and calmed in turn but continued always to lick upon the window panes. The optics sank slowly as the malt entered Seamus body and served a salve for the stout running beneath. A street sign flapped out front of garage and litter worried, dashed against the kerbside.

A couple of workmen came and went and the news had been and gone while Seamus remained alone upon the stool. The fishermen would come later and the remaining locals with only drink and each other for company. Some the regulars had been through and one had approached, asking re his special harvest. He didn’t like it being this way but once they paid a fair price he was not in a position to refuse. While they weren’t to know, the crop had failed two years now, withered whitened stalks mocking him as he pulled them useless from the ground. The reserves had just about lasted and some remained for Louis and such customers on whom he was reliant. But his own supplies had dwindled and he had been forced to travel further and become more creative. Reluctantly but with increasing dependence he had been taking to the higher grounds to supply more varied produce into his distillations.

Even the sheep rarely reached such parts, away above the sea where birds seldom nestled and shepherds feared to tread. It was mortal lonesome up in those hills. If a rogue sheep or expectant ewe did venture here the shepherd would be hasty about his work and return the animal to the slopes below with a shiver, pulling their woollens tighter and never without a husk of bread inside pocket, kept for such occurrences.

At once he became tired.

“That’ll do Louis” he said eventually.

Giving a gruff farewell he wandered out onto the street outside. Not yet nightfall but into the remains of the day he began the shuffle back towards base. Putting one leg before the other he regarded the crags above as he trod out his journey home.

Daylight whipped him into shape as he brustled up the slopes, the better to navigate by sight. A luxury but not a necessity though his feet were not so sure as one time.
The village vanished beyond as he threaded the trails and hauled himself up the last way. Reaching the house he moved inside and felt a shiver about his person. The hearth lay bare save for the embers of the chair he had fuelled it with last night. Parts of the bed frame and a last shelf of the dresser were stacked by the sill. A wooden crucifix adorned the wall above the grate although he was sure it too would feel the flames if needed. But not yet, he would warm himself in other ways before it came to that.

Working in the moonlight now he moved out back and picked a bottle from the shelf choosing carefully from his newest and as yet untested batch. Reaped from the highest ground, yet the grasses had formed a kind of malt blended with the potato poitin base.

Still inside the shed he twisted loose the cork, and raised the bottle to his lips taking a slow deliberate swirl. The heat warmed him instantly and he shuddered but with surer senses. With a second phial in his pocket he stepped out into the night. He looked at the house for a long slow minute before turning to regard the hill above. Though the wind howled around him he felt drawn and, unsure at first, but with gaining gait, he began to pick his way up the sheep trails towards the hilltop.

Drawing strength from his provisions, every so often he took rest upon a wall and glanced back around beneath him. The lough was stirring now as tides washed in from beyond and begun to push back the day. A tapestry of greens, browns and blues laid out before him like a fine carpet beneath his feet. Trees leaned towards the wind and punctuated the briar and gorse grass lands that swept up along the slopes. Some lights still twinkled away in the village but up here rabbit drops and woollen tufts were the only signs of life. In the lough some islands formed a breaker for the waves. He could see the sea in the far distance and the darkness was beginning its descent.

Hoisting up his haunches once more he picked his way across rock and more difficult terrain. Yet the dried grasses here provided a perfect source of materials to his hedge distillery. Whilst the spirit strengthened his resolve he felt the beginnings of his body starting to wilt. Almost smiling at the feeling he came at last in sight of the ruin where his family lay. Rain drops beating upon his back he stumbled once, then twice on the final ascent. He summoned the final effort to crawl across the site perimeter with the feeling in his bones reaching fever as he took another gasp of his grass liquer.

The ground beneath him crunched as bog turned to ice and low cloud began a long slow smother. He limped beyond the stone walls and onto the patches of lank white grasses that beckoned from beyond. His throat ached bone dry as he swallowed huge mouthfuls, then he tripped, smacking his head off the hawthorn and falling strewn upon the ground. His limbs turned to lead and a hunger swelled his belly. Crawling for the grasses, nails clawing into the earth, he brought the waves underneath his stomach as it began to churn and contort and his muscles to spasm. The grasses welcomed him, consoled him, and yet taunted him as they had always hosted those who had hungered before. As his head hit the ground his eyes rolled open, he could see green lips on blue bodies lying everywhere upon the ground and all around him his people keening calling until he became just one of many and finally at peace.

© 2009, James Lawless

I think the fundamental premise is very true, that FB communications have become degraded due to the sheer volume of often unimportant traffic. How to sort the wheat from the chaff?

Worth a read:

http://www.jonworth.eu/facebook-isn%e2%80%99t-working/

This year I feature in two categories, this blog is in under ‘Best blog by a politician’ which I quite like as before I was lumped in with ‘political blogs’ which was good company sure, but difficult on a competitive level where the categories differed subtly. Some were dedicated commentators and analysts (including some professional journalists) and others were trying to knock out a few words when time permitted to give a local heads up. So the new category makes sense and is better suited here.

During the past year I also joined the team at IrishElection.com which is a previous multi-award winner and I would like to think their new recruit’s alternate analysis and keen counterpoint to the anti-establishment bias gives them a more complete portfolio and may even nudge the award back into the IE camp again. This time with me joining them in the winners’ enclosure of course

Full list of nominations and categories here:

http://awards.ie/blogawards/2010/02/20/2010-irish-blog-awards-nominations/