Vol. 7,No.

7 Contents February 1984

The Last Hurrah
The US State Department is moving in on Noraid. Maire Crowe reports from what may
have been their last Annual Testimonial dinner.
FitzGerald in Government
"He still wobbles - the fumble factor will never be entirely under control - and he can't
help glancing warily over his shoulder at the school bully on the opposition benches ready
to send him sprawling." Olivia O'Leary profiles Garret FitzGerald - the man and the
politician.
The Confession of Christy Lynch 18
by Gene Kerrigan
Christy Lynch found a body. Hecalled the police and went to the Garda station to make
a statement. Twenty-two hours later he confessed to murder. The circumstances of his,
confession raise serious doubts about the new powers being given to the police.
48
What God Hath Put Together 34
"Ten thousand people have been involved inapplications to the Catholic marriage tribunals
since 1977. The success rate isn't high." Michael Farrell reports on what happens inside
the marriage tribunals.
The Golden Voice of Tommy O'Brien 40
Colm Toibin visited Tommy O'Brien at his home in Clonmel and talked to him about his
life, his work and his music.
Barrie Cooke: The Moment of Seeing
Aidan Dunne writes about the life and art of Barrie Cooke.
Down On One Knee
After the French debacle, J ohn Reason examines the performance of the Irish squad.
Legal Football 59
Eamon Dunphy has been attending the Shelbourne F.C. trial in the high court.
DEPARTMENTS
Diary ...................... 4
Subscriptions 31
Computers .. , . , , .46
Motoring , 52
As Time Goes By , 54
Wigmore , 61
C01:er photographs by Derek
Speirs - Hi .J ' Stickland;
illustration by Arja Kajermo
Publisher
Vincent Browne
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Editor
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Reporter
GeneKerrigan
Political Correspondent
Olivia O' Leary
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MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 3
6
8
56
ALL ROADS LEAD TO THE
Forum and all roads lead
therefrom. It is the filter that
will refine everything that
nationalist politicians have
been doing and sayingfor the
past fifteen years. And at the
SDLP Conference in Belfast
last weekend, speakers ex-
pressed their gratitude to
Fianna Fail, Fine Gael and
Labour for joining them in
the Forum, for spending time
and energy in the search for
peace and reconciliation
among nationalists and may-
be, eventually, among all men
and women inthis country.
Other members of the
party, however, were worried
about J ohn Hume. It is
known that he doesn't want
the Forum's report to recom-
mend just one option, that he
and Garret FitzGerald are
both in favour of a report
which outlines the three
options of a unitary state, a
federal Ireland and joint
sovereignty.
It was felt that something
would have to be done to
stop Hume and that it would
have to be done in public at
the conference.
All eyes were on Seamus
Mallon, the greatest nationa-
list of them all. He might do
it, but just incasehewouldn't
one leading member asked
both Austin Currie and Denis
Haughey if they would fire
the shot across J ohn Hume's
bows. The code word was to
be "Dolly Mixture". Some-
one who missed the speech
which Seamus Mallon made
later asked if he had used the
expression "Dolly Mixture".
Yes, Mallon did. He was
against handing the British
government a'''bag of Dolly
Mixtures". His speech was
seen at the conference as a
clear attack on Hume's plans
J ames Shannon, who may become the first Irish citizen to
be handed over to the R UC following a Supreme Court
decision last December which narrowed the definition of a
"political offence". On that occasion, the Chief Justice
said that Dominic McGlinchey had exceeded "what reason-
ably civilised people would regard as political activity".
Shannon failed in the High Court last week to have the
extradition order against him quashed and will now appeal
his case to the Supreme Court. The British authorities are
known to have shown an extraordinary amount of interest
in the case. Prior to the hearing, it is understood that the
British Embassy rang the Chief State Solicitor's office every
day and a representative attended each day of the High
Court action. Shannon is wanted in the North to face
charges relating to the murder of the former speaker at
Stormont, Sir Norman Stronge and his son James at their
home at Tynan Abbey, Co Armagh on 21January 1981.
. I
for the Forum. tively impossible and too ex-
Fianna Fail, as well as a pensive. It would make Sinn
few Fine Gael and Labour Fein the only political party
members of the Forum, are in Ireland which opposed the
also against "a bag of Dolly British presence. It would
Mixtures". They want the strengthen Sinn Fein North
Forum to issue a strong and South. Fianna Fail are
statement in support of a also afraid that the British
unitary state. would make propaganda out
They are absolutely op- of Ireland's acceptance of the
posed to both a federal British presence.
Ireland and joint sovereignty. The Forum is thus split
A federal Ireland, they argue, between FitzGerald andHume
could not allowpower-sharing on one hand and Haughey
in the North because it could and Mallon on the other. On
not allow it in the South. one hand they disagree, on
It would, in fact, involvethe the other they desperately
return of Stormont and all it want to reach consensus.
implies. It would not help But that is only where
the nationalists in the North their problems start. Those
and it would cost the South involved talk about the im-
too much money. portance and urgency of the
Fianna Fail are particular- Forum as those involved in
ly opposed tojoint sovereign- the Treaty of Versailles must
ty because they believe that have talked: as though their
such a policy would accept decisions were going to draw
British presence in Northern borders andordain howpeople
Ireland, would be administra- will live. Optimism, a word
The Politics
Of The Dolly
Mi xt ur e
much used about this con-
ference, isnot the word.
Nobody knows what will
happen a year from now.
Nobody knows what will
happen if the Unionists reject
the report, as they will, and
the British ignore it, as they
may well do. One SDLP
member, when asked about
this, remarked that ayear isa
long time in politics. But he
looked away in the distance
as though hoping it might
beevenlonger.
The
Cardinal And
The RUC
CARDINAL 0 FIAICH IS
reported to have been quite
surprised at the strong reac-
tion to his statements about
Sinn Fein on This Week.
Readers will. remember that
after theinterviewthe Cabinet,
having failed to ban Sinn Fein
or intern its members, deci-'
ded to urge the Cardinal to
declare membership of Sinn
Fein some sort of mortal
sin.
The interview on This
Week had been the second
attempt to broadcast the
Cardinal's views on these and
other matters. The first was
dropped in the wake of the
Tidey rescue and the Harrods
bombing. For the. second
interview the Cardinal put a
lot of thought not into what
he would say about Sinn
Fein, but into statements he
wanted to make about the
RUC. He decided, it isunder-
stood, to praise the RUC for
arresting members of the
UDR and charging them with
murder. He believed, it is
reported, that any contro-
versy caused by his interview
with This Week would be
"caused by his statements
about the RUC.
The interview was recor-
ded on the Saturday and the
tape brought back to an RTE
studio for editing. The tech-
nique used in editing such
tapes is called "dubbing"
and it involves transferring
the material from one reel to
another. There were two reels
used in the interview and
when the second one was
being edited the two reels
were put the wrong way
around and some of the
interview was rubbed out.
This included one section
where the Cardinal talked
about the RUC.
The error was not dis-
covered until late on Sunday
morning and it was too late
to do anything about it. The
interview was broadcast with-
out the section on the RUC
which the Cardinal had felt
would be controversial. How-
ever, RTE news bulletins on
Sunday carried a report on
this section of the interview
which had not been broad-
.cast for "technical reasons".
Although the Cardinal pub-
licly stated his satisfaction
with the way the interview
was handled, he is known to
have been privately upset by
the exclusion of the part
which he felt was most im-
portant and by the subse-
quent controversy.
T e n G r e e n
Bottles
READERS OF THESUNDA Y
World last Sunday must have
wondered when they saw the
story about the nine worst
heads in Dublin.
Nine?
Why nine? Why not, for
example, ten, or even twelve,
or, say, twenty.
Nine. A funny number of
heads. And then there were
nine. The sort of number that
previously was ten and now
has one missing.
After several days investi-
gation we have unearthed the
truth. Ladies and gentlemen
read all about it.
Nine heads. Why nine?
Nine because Cedric Me-
Clolland, the noble editor of
the Sunday World, didn't like
one of the ten the poor
reporters had been ordered to
select from his phone calls
to barbers all over Dublin.
He didn't like one of them
at all. The tenth was the
editor of another Sunday
newspaper. No, it was not the
new fellow at the Indo
("Munster must have the dog
results"), not the Deepest
Thinker of His Generation at
the Sunday Press. But the
other one. Cedric wasn't
having his name in the Sunday
World. Some people thought
nine was a bit odd, but
Cedric stuck to his guns, so
to speak.
"Trn not giving that f ...
any publicity," he muttered.
THE EXPULSION OF THREE SOVIET DIPLOMATS LAST
Septem ber resulted from espionage activities involving NATO
nuclear SUbmarines, according to a US State Department
report. The Irish government has consistently refused to
give the reasons for the expulsions and a government source
was this week unable to say why the State Department
should apparently have inside information on the incident.
The State Department reo
port is quoted in a press
handout from the US Inter-
national Communication
Agency, which is based at the
US embassy and which regu-
larly keeps Irish journalists
informed on US policy and
government statements.
Magill asked the press
office of the State Depart-
ment in Washington DC how
such information had been
come by. They were unable
to say and referred us to
Irene Piechowitz of the Pub-
lic Affairs Office, European
Section. Ms Piechowitz told
us that three Soviet diplo-
mats had been expelled from
Ireland in September but
didn't know any more than
that. She referred us to a
Mr Rohn at the State Depart-
ment's Intelligence and Re-
search Division. Mr Rohn was
on home leave. His deputy,
Scott Thompson could not
elaborate on the report. "No
one in the Department of
State had anything to do with
that," he said.
Mr Thompson suggested
we ring the CIA. We asked
him for the number. He
said, "We don't have very
frequent dealings with them,
sir, and nobody here knows
their number. Anyway, all
they're likely to say is no
comment."
We rang Bryan Carlson, a
State Department press offi-
cer, who had a copy of the
report on Soviet expulsions.
Mr Carlson's report seemed
to have a lot more detail
than the embassy handout.
It said that in addition to
.he espionage involving the
submarines the three Soviets
had "contacted agents" and
also "collected intelligence
information for transmission
to Moscow". Mr Carlson's
copy of the report also
claimed that the diplomats
had "bugged other embas-
sies in Dublin ". It said that
the Second Secretary, Mr
Lipassov, was "the KGB resi-
dent" in Dublin.
Mr Carlson didn't know
very much about how the
State Department obtained
this information. He said he
would try to get someone to
ring us back, "but I don't
hold out much hope that
they'll want to go further
than that." They didn't.
We rang the CIA. A
spokesperson; Dale Peterson,
said he would "have to refer
you back to the State Depart-
ment. We would 'send infor-
mation to them, but they ...
would have the ultimate res-
ponsibility for that." Asked if
that meant that the CIA had
provided the information for
the report, Mr Peterson refer- .....
red us back to the State ~
Department. ~
We rang the home number e:-
of Mr Rohn, the Intelligence .~
and Research officer who was ~
on home leave. A recorded '"
announcement said that his ~
line was being "checked for Cl
trouble ".
An Irish government
spokesperson repeated the
refusal to elaborate on why
the Russians had been thrown
out, other than to say that
they had "transgressed" be-
yond their diplomatic roles.
The position seems to be
that the Russians know what
they did, the Americans know
what happened, our own
government knows - but the
information is being kept
from the public. It is a rnys- .
tery as to how the US State
Department obtained infor-
mation that the Russians
were expelled for spying on
NATO nuclear submarine sec-
rets. Did our government tell
them? Or did they tell our
government? Was this before
the expulsions, or afterwards?
There were, by State De-
partment count, 27 Russian
diplomats expelled from
various countries in 1981. In
1982 the figure was 49. Last
year it rose to 135. Either
Russian diplomats are swear-
ing off vodka and suddenly
going on an espionage ram-
page or, as East-West relations
deteriorated under Andropov/
Reagan, someone who has
been watching the Russkies
for a long time suddenly
decided to spill the beans on
them all over the place.
Gene Kerrigan
n
ARD BY THE SUBWAY STATION
in downtown Queens, suburban New
York, lies the Astorian Manor. A confection
of neon and plaster, it offered, on thisbelow
freezing night in late J anuary, shelter from
the kind of cold that drives people insane.
Within the haze of its baby-blue womb lay
comfort and Aid. IrishNorthern Aid.
The Twelfth Annual Testimonial dinner
of the Irish Northern Aid committee,
America's most vigorous and most contro-
versial Irish republican support group, was
underway - perhaps for the last time.
It must havebeen relief at havingescaped
the elements that produced that momentary
disorientation. Why - this felt likehome, an
ArdFheis danceor aparish social, maybe.
Of course, some things were different.
The help were Hispanic, the cooks were
probably Chinese. But the party wasdefini-
rely Irish - the cocktail "hour" was long,
so were some of the speeches. Everyone
seemed ableto juggle the levity and deadly
seriousnessof it all.
Including the man who saidhewasfrom
Boston to the woman who wondered if he
was staying the night. Hewasn't sure. Hey,
she could show tum a good time, shesaid,
squeezinghisknee. Hecogitated the offer.
B
EFORE GETTING DOWN TO THE
roast beef (nice and rare), string beans
zad mashed potato one had time to stock
=? on tee-shirts ("IRA freedom fighters"
... as the messageadvertised on them), sweat
sairts (ditto), caps (ditto), aswell asaselec-
:ion of badges. Noflags.
Pinned to the lapels of many agood suit
~ well-dressed bosom was the aforemen-
~ned message, emblems that read "IRA -
::ish Northern Aid", even an inspirational
"Out of the ashes arosethe Proves". Martin
:;z:-I;in, publicity engineer for Noraid and
~or of 11s threatened newspaper, The
:~.sil People, sported the straight-talking
-England get out of Ireland". Michael
::~.L.I]ery,the old boy whose selection as
Crand Marshal of last year's St Patrick's
':::::! .y Parade in New York caused ructions,
-:-~..;~do with hispioneer pin.
The important people of the night were
::'=-.J :termarked by the white carnations
SO::i::ie generous soul had coloured with a
=:::gdash of emeraldgreen.
By ten o'clock the 1,800 people who
.::.:0..:: paid f3 35 each for the evening were
:-.=22d.
Greers went up asthe Cork County Pipe
:=.0=:: led in the night's "honorees" (those
w'.:.s: were to receive Noraid awards), com-
=-..=c members and representatives of other
:'..-.:'-rz2tions. The biggest cheer camewhen
2 =ec.oed Michael Flannery marched into
r- = - - - _ . . asthebandplayedRoddy McCorley.
J oeRoche, chief of the Ancient Order of
Hibernians, one who has on occasion, like
Flannery, disturbed the sleep of Garret
FitzGerald, smiled (probably at the thought
of having disturbed thesleepof Garret Fitz-
Gerald).
C.
F
ACElHEFLAG ....
"Soldiers are we
whose lives are pledged to Ireland.
Some have come
from a land beyond the wave .... "
Father Maurice Burke, whose parish is
on Staten Island, lent hisWaterford City lilt
to Grace. Hehad learned it off by heart:
"Heavenly father, we ask your blessing
for the food prepared for us. We pray that
our sharing this meal together will strengthen
our commitment to the right of the people
of Ireland to self-determination and inspire
us to even greater efforts on behalf of the
dependants of Irish prisoners of war .... "
Fr Burke who has "supported the IRA
and continues to do so" writes a column as
Oisin in The Irish People. If he thought
money collected by Noraid was going for
IRA guns he "would condemn that - be-
cause it would have been collected under
falsepretences - but I would not object to
money goingto the IRA if it was collected
on that basis."
.It has been a hazard of Noraid's exis-
tence that it has had to face charges of
collecting funds for the IRA. Its leader
routinely denies those charges, but it isnow
facing what seems to bethe strongest effort
yet to put it out of business, as the State
Department closesinonit.
Noraid's stated aim is that it is "an
American based, humanitarian organization
which together with An Cumann Cabhrach
and Green Crossgivessupport to thefamilies
of Irish political prisoners and to prisoners'
welfare."
.AL L OF THE IMPORTANT PEOPLE
werecollected onthedais- honorees,
Noraid committee members and representa-
tives of other organizations who deemed it
polite to signal support for Noraid as it
faced into the US State Department's on-
slaught. Three representatives of New York
Labour were there. New York State Assem-
bly man J ohn Dearie, who started the cam-
paign to have aUSenvoy sent to the North,
wasthere. AswasPeter King, NassauCounty
comptroller, Noraid's favourite for Grand
Marshal - he's commended as being hard-
line.
Onespeaker commended J oe Roche "for
having the quiet courage to take the AOH
out of the closet". Roche smiled.
J ames Delaney, the big Texan, head of
the new Irish Unity conference, who has
made a lot of the running for "the Irish
cause" in the past year didn't smile. Maybe
he was thinking of the fact that, asheafter-
wards explained, "I still have contact with
them (the Irish government), but I don't
know if I'll be very welcome at the Con-
sulate after tonight. Hetalked about 'efforts
to discouragemefromattending'."
Hooleys - or testimonial dinners - are
for the crack, but they're also for serious
speeches - one even invoked Plato and
Locke.
They're also for sendingsignals- maybe
to the State Department, more probably to
the lads at home - both to the ones you
likeand the ones youdon't like. Themessage
is: Noraid fights for its life; AOH and Irish
Unity Conference hold up the lifesupport
system. So muchfor Garret's teamtrying to
tell the Yanks what to do ....
With all the talk of freedomfighters, the
rashof IRA badges, the thunderous applause
when Old MikeFlannery, the most wanted
manin theroom(autographs and snapshots)
declared that "freedom can come only one
way; that isby the perseveranceof the Irish
Republican Army," one wasapt to become
a trifle confused - not about Noraid - but,
well, about the AOH and the hard-selling
Irish Unity Conference. As for smiling J oe
Roche, he said "Noraid is a rather demon-
strative organization. We in the AOH,
we're opposed to all violence - RUC, IRA,
UDA, but most importantly we're opposed
to what theBritisharmy isup to.
"I think it would be fair to say that
INA, AOH and the Unity Conference are
now coming together more formally. Of
course, you know that a lot of Noraid
members arealsomembers of the AOH."
The IRA, big J imDelaney "neither con-
demns nor condones". Thoughnot amember
of Noraid, he"isastrong supporter".
I
T COULD BE THIS WAS THE LAST
hurrah for Noraid. Let merephrase that;
it couldbethis wasthelasthurrah for Noraid
as we know it. Michael Flannery was pessi-
mistic about its chances of surviving the
State Department attack - the seriousness
of which cannot be doubted since the
Harrods bombing led British PrimeMinister,
Margaret Thatcher, to a new condemnation
of Noraid as the primary source in the
United States of funds for the IRA.
Martin Glavindismissesthe notion of an
imminent demise as "ludicrous". But even
if it does go the road that Thatcher would
elect for it "there would", he said, "be
others to take upthe cause."
ATCHING GARRET
FITZGERALD IN THE DAIL LATELY ONE GETS THE
impression of a boy who has learned to ride abicycle all by
himself. He still wobbles - the fumble factor will never be
entirely under control - and he can't help glancing warily
over his shoulder at the school bully on the opposition
benches ready to send him sprawling. But he's piloted his
government's first independent budget through and the
ew Ireland Forum, has the merit at least of keeping
Fianna Fail quiet and showing FitzGerald to be busy about
the nation's unfinished business.
ow, when Haughey catcalls in parliament, FitzGerald
has learned to blow him a raspberry and keep peddling. At
the opening of the Dail's New Year session, the opposition
leader huffed and puffed about the meeting of the J ustice
~ter and the Northern Secretary on security. Would not
Il:.S reduce Northern Ireland to a mere security problem in
:he world's eyes? Was it not a dangerous precedent and
would the Taoiseach keep that in mind? "No I wouldn't"
said FitzGerald impudently, peddling on by. "I don't
accept what the deputy says, so I won't keep it in mind."
Charlie subsided. Nuts to Charlie.
FitzGerald will never learn totally, however, to cloak his
anxieties in the glossy mantle of power. Everything registers
on that slightly dowager ish face. Under C.J . Haughey, the
morning ministerial troop-in to the Dail was done with
military precision and gravitas. Garret trots in with his
ragged troupe strolling behind him, grinning an embar-
rassed grin at the part he has to play in this piece of parlia-
mentary pomposity.
At the Forum, he beams at what he would regard as
useful contributors, like the two young unionist brothers
who braved Northern indignation to come and tell the
Forum that "British withdrawal" to them meant that they
and other unionists were being asked to leave No-rthern
Ireland. But when contributors drone on, particularly
droning members of his own delegation, he immediately
shows his irritation , diving into the back of the IPA year-
book to find an attractive statistic he can add and subtract
to his heart's content.
The fact is that FitzGerald doesn't feel the need to hide
his ordinariness. The red braces are constantly on display.
It doesn't cost him a thought, on his way into an RTE
studio to ring back down to his driver at reception and ask
him to go and get rashers and sausages in Donnybrook for
Sunday breakfast. At home, he does the hoovering, helps
to get meals, gets down on the floor in shirt sleeves to play
with his three grandaughters to whom he brings home
presents from summit meetings abroad.
He's cheerfully forgetful. He's been known to put his
suits into the drycleaners and then forget which drycleaners
he went to. So as not to disturb his wife one morning he
got dressed in the dark and put on two odd shoes. The
newspaper photographers had afield day. FitzGerald didn't
see what the fuss was all about. He doesn't much notice
what he eats but he loves lots of butter. He likes aglass of
wine but doesn't look too hard at the label.
Some of his backbenchers complain that he's not a
man's man. "When Garret comes into the Dail bar, it's
hard to know who is more uneasy, the bar habitues, or
Garret." He was told he should turn up more often in the
Oar. be a little more friendly with the boys. So diligently,
he decided he would make an effort and visited the bar to
ouv a round of drinks. He chose to go on Ash Wednesday.
Everybody was drinking orange juice.
FitzGerald bought a round of tomato and orange
juice and listened earnestly as ayoung TD told him astory.
Deputy J ohn Kelly had been speaking in the Dail the week
before and had finished his speech with a quote from the
historian Macauley concluding "As Macauley once said." In
the Dail official record it appeared "As deputy Macauley
once said." Garret laughed and went on to speak at length
about Macauley's life and times. Ashe left, one bewildered
TD turned to another and asked "Hey, who is this deputy
Macauley anyway?"
He's not one of the good old boys and he doesn't pre-
tend to be. He admits happily that when he was a young-
ster one of his favourite books was a girl's school story
called "Bashful Fifteen". He's never felt any compunction
to pay slavish tribute to the nation's sacred cows.
During the 1982 February election campaign, the Fitz-
Gerald bus pulled up in avillagein Co Cork. A large Teddy
swathed in red and white was pushed through the bus door
at Garret. It was a lovely Teddy, he exclaimed, and what
did the red and white stand for? Was it a symbol of Polish
Solidarity, he asked. The Cork faces looked up at him in-
credulously out of the wet night. Sean Power, the Corkman
who was press officer for the campaign, put his head in his
hands and groaned. "They're the Cork colours, boy" he
wept "they're the Cork colours." "Really?" said FitzGerald
happily. It didn't bother Garret that he didn't know the
Cork colours. He doesn't measure his Irishness in terms of
shamrocks or Guinness or even the bould Thady Quill.
As well as the accusation that he's not a man's man -
a commodity this countryneeds like Donegal needs rain -
there are even more serious charges laid against FitzGerald.
He is utterly faithful to his wife and pays.her constant and
loving attention. He enjoys the conversation and company
of women, and he encourages them inpolitics. Heloves his
family, his home, his children and his grandchildren and
he's not at all interested in sport. Men's men wince at these
unwholesome tendencies.
He's friendly with the press corps - friendlier than he is
with some members of the parliamentary party, his back-
benchers would complain. He first-names the press and is
unduly worried if they don't first-name him in return. He
never uses his position to give an importunate journalist a
brush-off or a put down. Corner him with asticky question
and he'll spew irrelevant statistics at you or blind you with
science. An intellectual bully he may be, but he never hides
behind the grandeur of his office.
This attitude may spring from having been ajournalist
of sorts himself. In the sixties he did financial journalism
and was a correspondent for the Financial Times. When
some major economic story broke in Ireland in the mid-
seventies, the Financial Times' night-desk couldn't contact
their regular man and going down the list of Irish staff
came across a G. FitzGerald. They rang him in the small
hours and demanded he file a story. Garret demurred. He
had a new job now, he explained, he was Minister for
Foreign Affairs. That was all very well, retorted the caller,
the Financial Times still needed a story. Garret did the
story.
Garret FitzGerald has a clean sense of fun. Indeed, his
sense of humour wouldn't be out of place in anun's recrea-
tion room. He was enormously tickled on one occasion
when a telephoned report to the Irish Times announced
that "the Taoiseach was embarrassed" when it should have
read "the Taoiseach was in Paris".
"Who, me embarrassed?" he burbled. "Look at me, I'm
not embarrassed! "
When Michael O'leary told a somewhat blue story to
J oan FitzGerald, FitzGerald ticked him off later. Not that
the redoubtable Mrs FitzGerald needs much protection in
any discussion. Despite the chronic ill-health which makes
it difficult for her to travel or move about easily, she is
forthright and intellectually independent of her husband,
while so shamelessly loyal to him that shehas no compunc-
tion about ticking off TDs or journalists who have been in
her eyes less than fair.
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 9
During one election campaign, Garret FitzGerald gave
me an interview on anoisy flight to Cork. Informal asever,
Mrs FitzGerald sitting beside him, put in an occasional
comment. She complained that I was concentrating too
much on economic matters. "Olivia O'Leary ," she announ-
ced to the airplane at large, "is doing a very boring inter-
view with Garret. It's all about economics." When I wrote
her into the report of the interview next day, she tackled
me down the length of the luncheon table. "You made
me sound" she announced "like apistol-packing Momma."
"But, Mrs Fitz," murmured one of the assembled hacks
admiringly "you are a pistol-packing Momma." The press
corps who travelled with her liked her enormously, liked
her directness, liked the motherly eye she kept on certain
young men who showed the ravages of the night before,
and admired the courage with which she faced into acam-
paign schedule which would have daunted someone in the
best of physical health.
She and her husband tried on these long tours to keep
some semblance of family atmosphere. Accompanied by
their son Mark, they had meals together and tried to put
aside a quiet hour or two, for instance, to read to one ano-
ther. On one tour, they were reading Vera Brittain's "Testa-
ment of Youth". They are both interested in theology and
have attended conferences of the Irish Theological Associa-
tion. Dr Enda McDonagh of the ITA is a close family
friend.
That secure family background matters very much to
FitzGerald. He keeps in touch with his wife throughout his
working day and rings her frequently during the day when
he's abroad. They live in the basement flat of their house
on Palmerston Road - son Mark and his wife Derval,
daughter of Chief -J ustice O'Higgins, live upstairs. The
FitzGeralds have no full-time housekeeper, but some daily
help and help with.cooking if they are entertaining.
Entertaining is simple - lasagne or roast beef and lots
of rioja downstairs in the flat. It usually involves family and
a mix of political and academic friends, many of them
from FitzGerald's old UCD days. Martin McCullough of
McCullough Pigott's - recently appointed Chairman of the
Arts Council by FitzGerald - whose father Dinny was
President of the Supreme Council of the Irish Volunteers
in 1916, is aclose friend - his niece Katherine Meenan acts
as personal assistant to Garret. Other old friends are Profes-
sors J ames and Paddy Meenan of UCD, the former Senator
Alexis FitzGerald of solicitors McCann, FitzGerald, Roche
and Dudley, who first persuaded FitzGerald to run for the
Dail in 1969; Senator J im Dooge, former Foreign Minister
and Professor of Chemical Engineering in UCD; Helen
Burke who lectures in UCD's social science department and
her husband Kevin.
Professor Desmond Williams, professor of history at
Den and refreshingly unstuffy company, is a friend as is
Gabby Hogan and his wife J acintha. Hogan is the SAAB
agent in Ireland - in opposition and government FitzGerald
uses a green SAAB. Hogan, an enterprising import/export
agent is a former student of FitzGerald's, a hospitable and
generous host, very much a personal rather than apolitical
friend. His house in Sandymount is said to be one of the
few places outside his own home where FitzGerald really
relaxes. FitzGerald and Michael O'Leary worked out the
1981 coalition agreement there.
Grainne O'Flynn and her husband Paddy are friends who
also date back to Garret's UCD days - Mrs O'Flynn has just
been appointed to Gemma Hussey's new curriculum board.
On the crest of the UCD Gentle Revolution of 1969, Fitz-
Gerald, who sympathised with the students, spoke at the
student sit-ins and tried to curb the more politically radical
elements of the mutiny, helped plan a liberal onslaught on
the governing body.
Then an economics lecturer, he joined with Paddy
O'Flynn, then prominent in the Irish Federation of Univer-
sity Teachers, Gus Martin, Paddy Masterson, Brian Alton
and Sr Benevenuta to run a liberal panel for election to
the governing body. They all got elected except O'Flynn.
Despite differing political views on Northern Ireland,
J ohn Mulcahy, the former editor of Hibernia, and his wife
Nuala are friends, as is Labour's former Minister J ustin
Keating, a close cabinet buddy of FitzGeralds in the 1973-
1977 coalition, and lovely Fine Gael convert Michael
O'Leary - all have spent holidays with the FitzGeralds in
_ l:
<' -
I
i
Provence or in Schull.
The usual New Year's Eve Party in FitzGerald's house
would involve amix of these people, friends of FitzGerald's
children, former students like Brendan Dowling, Davy's
stockbroker, UCD historian Ronan Fanning, European
Commission Office Director in Washington, Denis Carboy,
Sean Donlon and Michael Lillis of FitzGerald's beloved
Foreign Affairs.
As often as not the three grandchildren, Doireann,
Iseult and the baby, daughters of J ohn FitzGerald, who
works in the Department of Finance, and Labour Councillor
Eithne FitzGerald, are the centre of a social gathering at
the FitzGerald's and this New Year's Eve they sang carols
at the foot of aChristmas tree lit with real candles.
BEN FITZC ERALD
FINISHES A LONG DAY IN CABINET HE LIKES TO GO
home and talk to his wife, to read to her - at the moment
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 11
she's in the middle of a Michael Innes trilogy. He himself
enjoys novels and detective stories. Trollope and Graham
Greene are favourite authors but his tastes areheterogenous.
He doesn't like rereading books, except for cherished chil-
dren's books or books about children. "Alice in Wonder-
land", and American children's books like "Helen's Babies"
and "Other People's Children", books by Rumer Godden
and L.P. Hartley. Staying overnight once in former Liberal
Leader J o Grimond's house, he was delighted to find a
book-case of children's books belonging to the Grimonds
and the Bonham-Carters, and the Asquiths and to find he
had read eighty per cent of them.
He loves children, and everything about them, and when
as a student he organised aparty outside in Iveagh Gardens
it was specially for children.
He reads a lot of history and biographies, books on
theology, moral theology, dogmatic theology and Chris-
tology, and on cosmology. He is enthusiastic about abook
he read recently on the first three minutes of the universe
and the arguments as to whether the universe is going to
expand and die or contract and implode.
He enjoys music as an untutored listener. He enjoys
Mozart, Beethoven and a favourite piece of easy listening is
Bizet's "Carmen".
He's never been sport-oriented. As a schoolboy he
played football only twice until he discovered that the ball
didn't stop where he was, he had to chase it, so he gave it
up.
He prefers a glass of wine, or cider or agin and tonic to
beer and he's never taken naturally to pubs. Hehas pointed
out that since he decided to get married at the ageof nine-
teen, he didn't really have abachelor period and missed out
on going to pubs, so he never got used to it. In any case,
it may be true that pubs in the past were all male domains
and FitzGerald has never seen the attraction lof all-male
company. \
Despite his international reputation, and there is no
doubt that in EEC circles FitzGerald ishighly respected, he
has never had any doubt that his political home is Ireland.
His home, his friends, his interests are that of a Dublin 4
or 6 academic Irish gentleman. He points securely to his
Southern politician father and his Ulster Scots nationalist
mother as impeccable political forebears. He doesn't feel
the need to search for rural origins, or hurley playing
uncles, or to wear a badge declaring "Dublin 4 is Ireland,
too".
His Catholicism is an essential part of his Irishness and
his view of aNew Ireland, "anon-sectarian pluralist Ireland"
(he rarely uses the term 'secular') presupposes the develop-
ment of Irish Catholicism along liberal post Vatican II lines.
It is this dual approach which makes FitzGerald suspect
from the hierarchy's point of view. Reds and Prods can be
dealt with. Miraculous meddlers within the Church are a
much more dangerous proposition.
FiTZGerald has the dual impertinence to be an amateur
theologian and to tangle with the bishops publicly on poli-
tical issues. Hehas tackled Bishop J eremiah Newman on the
bishop's contention that laws reflecting Catholic mores
should not be changed for a five per cent Protestant mino-
rity, but could be changed for a twenty-five .per cent Pro-
testant minority in a united Ireland. FitzGerald called it
"specious and casuistical. I think it should be rejected by
every honest Christian politician."
He has confronted Bishop Cathal Daly on Catholic
Church ambiguity towards violence and, more indirectly,
the Cardinal on ambiguity towards Sinn Fein. He has, in a
Furrow article reminded the bishops that they are ashuman
as politicians ... "in aChurch structure based on authority
there may be more opportunities for the abuse of power
than in apolitical system based on democracy."
As an urban liberal Catholic, he identified in "Towards
aNew Ireland" the two great orthodoxies which have domi-
nated Irish life and whose monopoly he is determined to
challenge: "The pre-Vatican II orthodoxy in the Catholic
Church, exclusivist and triumphalist - and the neo-Gaelic
cultural orthodoxy, which sought to impose on a very
mixed Irish society the traditional cultural values of the
rural Irish-speaking tradition." He has come slap up against
both thse orthodoxies, large as Irish life, in the New Ireland
. Forum - the first in the shape of the uncompromising
Catholic bishops presentation to the Forum, and the other
in the guise of Fianna Fail whose leader has continued to
argue for no deviation from the demand for aunitary Irish
state.
The tensions which now exist between government and
the hierarchy might have been less had the Forum secre-
tariat been more thorough. A number of groups, including
the Protestant Churches received a notice from the Forum
in J uly advising them that there was anewspaper advertise-
ment requesting submissions.
With extraordinary oversight, the Forum failed to send
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 13
such a notice to the Roman Catholic Church who were
unlikely, without prodding, to want to brave the political
sensitivities of a Forum presentation. It was October before
the Church was directly approached for a submission, a
matter about which Cardinal 0 Fiaich has been heard to
complain, since by then he was in Rome for ameeting and
had to farm out the writing of the report to asub-commis-
sion. The final document never went before a bishops
meeting and the Cardinal isknown to have misgivings about
the crudity of some of its declarations i.e. "A Catholic
country, or its government, where there is a very substan-
tial Catholic ethos and consensus, should not feel it neces-
sary to apologise that its legal system, constitution or
statute, reflects Catholic values." A Northern Catholic
bishop could hardly fail to wince at the echoes there of "A
Protestant state for a Protestant people". The fact that the
document was presented in that form says something about
the strength of the Dermot Ryan wing within the Southern
hierarchy.
Mr Haughey, whose unitary state idea is probably most
damaged by the Church's statement, waved his delegation
to silence in the chorus of condemnation that the report
produced from Forum members, in aprivate session, but he
made it clear later that he was angry and disappointed.
Garret FitzGerald was also angry and disappointed but
rebuked a government backbencher who came out publicly
and had ago.
Was it a case, as J ohn Wilson of the Fianna Fail delega-
tion droned ponderously, of "Roma locuta est; causa finita
est?"
Hardly. If FitzGerald believes what he says, which is
that the orthodoxies, the conservative forces in this country
determined to avoid change, are destroying the possibility
of eventual unification, then he can't let the bishops state-
ment go unchallenged in the final report of the Forum. The
J ohn Hume wing of the SDLP would be with him, and the
Labour party.
But what of Charles J . Haughey, the guarder of the two
great orthodoxies? Mr Haughey, being a practical Fianna
Faller, never wanted the churches in on the Forum act in
the first place, but now that the Catholic Church has been
forced to declare its hand, can Mr Haughey be seen to dis-
agree with it? No change, as Bishop Newman says, until we
have a united Ireland? May not the twin orthodoxies of
triumphalist Catholicism and not-an-inch republicanism
bring the Forum to amessy end.
The Forum at this point has adifficulty. It isunderstood
that FitzGerald wishes to publish a report which presents
the three options studied - unitary state, federation or
onfederation and joint authority - with the arguments for
and against but not plumping for any particular one. J ohn
Hume might agree to this but Seamus Mallon has condemn-
ed it as a dolly mixture. Mallon represents astrong faction
in the SDLP who want the Forum to plump for a united
Ireland option.
The difficulty is for Fianna Fail - whether indeed Mr
Haughey can find it possible to stand behind areport which
oes anything less than demand a unitary state, or federa-
:ion within aunited Ireland.
FitzGerald knew' he would anger unionists and lose the
pport he had built up with Robert McCartney-type Nor-
em Protestants, by setting up what was inevitably going
:0 e a nationalist Catholic debate. He did it out of his
;;ca regard for J ohn Hume, he did it to sh5\lwthe SDLP
-e:e still a real political force determined to pursue poli-
tical change in Northern Ireland.
He did it hoping that it might help nationalists to face
up to the real cost of unity in terms of tolerance, patience,
and fundamental social change.
But he did it, too, to show he was capable of being as
busy about Northern Ireland as Charles J . Haughey, and
that in the end, may be all it achieves. FitzGerald has
developed a tendency to speak at length about his prin-
ciples but to do what the immediate political situation
demands. Hesometimes mistakes the saying for the doing.
His commitment to the Forum (neither he nor Mr
Haughey have missed a session) hasn't been resented by his
cabinet colleagues. Indeed they would rather see a lot less
of him - across the cabinet table that is.- than they have
been doing. One minister put it in heartfelt fashion. "Do
you know, when I get into a plane to go to a meeting
abroad, and everybody's sympathising with me for having
to leave home, I close my eyes and say 'Thank God. I'll
miss the cabinet meetings'."
His relationship with Dick Spring is cordial but not cosy.
Spring treats him with the same scepticism he applies to
most people. He sits back and watches Garret's verbal and
physical jerks with all the serenity of a Kerryman who
knows that the less you say, the brighter people think you
are. Spring, it is said, sits silently through hours of talk and
explanation from Garret at cabinet, and then announces
baldly: "That's not acceptable to us."
Consultations between the two men are informal. Fitz-
Gerald rarely sits down, but pops his head around Spring's
office door and announces a decision or demands an
opinion. Spring, not the friendliest little soul, stays sensibly
in his seat.
...
.~ HE MEETINGS
WOULD SOMETIMES START AT ELEVEN AND GO ON
with the odd break until nine at night or occasionally into
the small hours of the morning. "You asked yourself,"
said another cabinet member, "did the man ever drink, eat
or sleep."
With the budget in sight and FitzGerald loose on the
figures, they were lucky to get home at all. He gets drunk
on figures, drools over them, hungers after them, his arith-
metical lust is insatiable. No decent figure is safe in his
company. He even assaults tots done by the Department
of Finance itself. During one cabinet meeting he undressed
a Department of Finance tot and discovered an adding mis-
take of 3.8 million. Hewas ecstatic.
His obsession with figures, critics say, shows his agility
as a statistician rather than an economist. Indeed he has
little formal training in economics. His first school was at
St Brigid's in Bray. He then went to the Irish-speaking
boarding school at Ring, Co Waterford - his spoken Irish
is still ropey but he has completed for the Royal Irish
Academy a study on the extent to which Irish was spoken
between the mid-eighteenth and the mid-nineteenth cen-
tury. From there he went to the J esuit College, Belvedere
where one of his classmates was Archbishop Dermot Ryan.
Gll.L FEBRUARY 1984
At UCD his bachelor's degree was not in Economics.
He took first class honours and first place in both History'
and French. He studied law at the King's Inns and was
called to the bar in 1947. By 1950, he had made his way
up the ladder in Aer Lingus to take direct responsibility
for economic planning, the determining of rates and fares,
scheduling and purchase of aircraft.
He worked so energetically, they say, that when he left,
Aer Lingus replaced him with four executives and a com-
puter.
His interest in economics was developed in Aer Lingus,
and when he left to work as afreelance journalist he wrote
about university financing for the Irish Times and then
broadened his focus to the economy generally. He worked
as an Irish correspondent for the Financial Times and the
Economist Intelligence Unit engaged him as its representa-
tive in Ireland. He then started to work as an economic
consultant for Irish firms and set up Economic Intelligence
Unit (Ireland) Ltd, of which he was managing director until
1972.
It was as late as 1969, however, that FitzGerald took his
first degree in economics - aPhD from UCD for astudy of
Irish state-sponsored bodies.
The allegation that FitzGerald's view of economics is
arithmetical rather than practical would seem to be borne
out by recent budgets. As those who sat through the end-
less budget meetings will attest, FitzGerald has an irresist-
ible urge to tinker. He can be easily distracted by details.
His ability to fix on a broad objective and to keep to a
policy line is weakened by the need to juggle with the
smallest figures. "He has an extraordinary mind," says a
colleague who has worked with him in cabinet, "but it has
-no filter, no perspective, no defence mechanism against all
the interesting but irrelevant details which come to distract
him."
The result is that no clear economic policy line has as
yet emerged from his government.
It was FitzGerald who focussed the public mind on that
growing mountain of state indebtedness, on the level of the
current budget deficit, on the profligacy of state spending.
He acted as a sort of national bank manager, warning
that the account was woefully overdrawn, asindeed it was.
On this front he has had a limited success. The high rates
of growth in public expenditure and the size of the public
service, which characterised the late seventies and early
eighties, is now under control. The problem -isn't solved but
it's under control despite the difficulties posed by a grow-
ingyoung population and its demands on state services.
But borrowing continues at a very high level. The
exchequer borrowing requirement increased this year con-
siderably from 1,756 million to 1,874 million.
And with all his talk about the need to bring down the
borrowing level and assure foreign bankers of our credit-
worthiness, he has managed in this year's budget to under-
mine the securest source of government finance - the
government's own bonds - by taking away the incentive
to invest in them - by making dividends from the bonds
fully liable to tax. As a result investors tried to sell 1,000
million worth of government bonds on the day after the
budget, representing about one-sixth of the 6,500 million
that the government has borrowed from domestic inves-
tors. The danger is that this could result in additional
foreign borrowing (though FitzGerald has denied this), as
well as being inflationary, thus damaging the government's
main achievement, keeping inflation down.
Having started, however, on the path of contraction, he
has preferred to deflate by his personal taxation rather than
by sensible and possible cuts this year inpublic expenditure.
Why not cut back wasteful expenditure like the IDA's
22 million for advance factories when they've already
got 2~ million square feet of empty factory space? Why
not cut the 2 million for the refurbishing of IDA offices,
the 9 million for the ESB to build itself a new headquar-
ters? Is 140 million for local housing necessary' when
councillors in counties like Waterford will tell you that
their housing lists are depleted. The high personal taxation
needed to finance these projects is itself inflationary in
that it leads to higher wages.
But here, one is up against FitzGerald's reluctance as a
social democrat to follow the logic of his own economic
analysis - heavier public spending cuts. Neither would his
Labour colleagues in cabinet thank -him for it, except
perhaps for Barry Desmond who has developed a zealot's
rage at inefficient public spending.
His budget has left almost every sector unhappy because
it is directionless. The commitment to employment crea-
tion he speaks of so often must, in the logical development
of his deflationary policy, wait for a real upsurge in the
economy. But there could have been painless enough ges-
tures to job creation, removing the sort of disincentives
J ohn Bruton has spoken about, the heavy burden of PRSI
on employers. PRSI actually goes up by half a percent in
this budget.
As for the budget's being "neutral", one has to ask, as
they did during the emergency, "who is it neutral against?"
For PAYE taxpayers, the real impudence of this budget is
the impression given that some small relief has been granted
to the PAYE section. Despite all the careful leaking of the
term "neutral" from government sources before the budget,
and all the fancy figures done by Alan Dukes on the relief
for carefully chosen individual taxpayers, the figures show
that the government's income tax take increased by 205
million last year and by 288 million this year. Is this the
government's attempt, as Mr Dukes promised last year, to
move from the taxation to the expenditure side of the
equation?
Watching the run on government bonds, and listening to
his Finance Minister debate on the radio post-budget
programmes the dilemma posed for those who have tall
nine-year-old children who take twelve-year-old clothes,
one wonders at FitzGerald's unerring ability to wander into
the Land of the Little People. It seems extraordinary that
a man who has fought and schemed so successfully to bring
his party into government should seem to lose touch with
reality once in government, should so miscalculate the dras-
tic effects of relatively minor adjustments.
He had two sub-committees to advisehim on the budget
- one on its economic and the other on its political effects.
Maybe Garret wasn't listening.
He tells a story about his childhood in Bray, where he
loved to watch the trains go by. In the summertime, the
train used to stop at the local hotel to let guests off. They
must have been very important people, he thought, if the
train stopped specially for them. He wondered if the train
would ever stop for him.
In time, indeed, it did, and he's where every small boy
would like to be, in the driving seat. All he has to do now
is decide where he's going:
The debate on the
Criminal Justice Bill
raises questions about
the wider powers being
given to the police. The
powers and methods
which are now being.
legitimised by the Bill
barged their way into
Christy Lynch's life and
tore a family apart.
1.A Job For Mr Martin
Christy Lynch had a key, but he
knocked on the door. No answer. He
opened the dooi and went in and up
the stairs: There was music coming
from the bedroom, a radio playing.
He had work to do but he didn't want
:he woman in the flat to come out and
suddenly happen upon someone - give
her the fright of her life. He knocked
on the door. No reply. He opened the
door, put his head in. Vera Cooney
~<5 dozing in bed. She sat up with a
start.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten
you. I'm doing ajob for Mr Martin -
papering and decorating."
Christy Lynch was a soldier, a
gunner with the 2nd Field Artillery
Regiment stationed in McKeebarracks.
He left national school just before
turning 14 and had a year at Tech.
Then he went to; work in the dispatch
department of the Independent. Then
a series of jobs - Taylor Keith, Hely
Thorn, the Corporation, a few more.
He got married in 1972 and joined the
army the following year. In 1974 his
daughter Debbie was born. In 1976
he was 26 and living in a flat in Port-
mahon House, Rialto.
The flat was owned or managed by
Stuart Martin of Brent Ltd, electrical
manufacturers. Christy did nixers for
Martin, odd jobs, decorating and the
like, at the flats at Portmahon House.
Early in September 1976 Stuart Martin
asked Christy to do somewallpapering,
painting and plastering at another
house owned by Brent Ltd, 77 Strand
Road, Sandymount. He would pay
Christy 80.
Around this time Christy Lynch
was going through abad patch. Hewas
gambling alot, on the horses and dogs.
Losing part of his wages and then
going out with the rest of the money,
sure he could win it all back - and
losing that too. It was beginning to
cause trouble at home and Christy
was catching on to himself.
On September 2 or 3Stuart Martin
drove Christy out to Strand Road. On
the way out he stopped and got an
extra key cut. Christy would need-
the key as most days the house would
be empty. The house was two-storey,
Victorian style, in two flats. The
bottom flat was empty. The top flat
was occupied by Vera Cooney.
2. A Red Renault
The job began on Sunday September 5
1976. That was the morning that Vera
Cooney was lying on in bed when
Christy arrived. Christy worked away
until about 5.30. He was about to
pack up and go home when Vera
Cooney came out of her room wearing
a long housecoat. She asked Christy
if he'd like a cup of tea. They drank
tea and talked, had a great conversa-
tion. Christy thought she was a very
nice person, a bit lonely maybe, full
of talk.
Vera Cooney was 51. She worked
for the Dublin Gas Company and had
done so for 28 years. Neighbours
would say later that she didn't mix
much, didn't often speak to people,
but when she did she was friendly.
Some thought she was a bit nervous
of living alone. They said she put a
"Guard Dog" sign on the gate, al-
though shehad no dog.
Stuart Martin of Brent Ltd, who
owned the house, was Vera Cooney's
brother-in-law. Vera looked after the
house and in return had the upstairs
flat rent-free. She had lived there for
ten years.
After that first day's work Christy
Lynch went off to the Glen of Immal
with his unit. He didn't go back to 77
Strand Road until Wednesday Septem-
ber 15. The house was empty and he
worked there all day without seeing
anyone.
Saturday September 18. Christy
Lynch was a bit late getting to work
at McKee barracks. Hehad been at the
dogs in Harold's Cross the night before
and had lost. He and his wife Marie
had argued about what he was doing
with his wages. He worked until
about 12.30pm, changed into civilian
clothes and walked up into town.
Christy likes w..@ng, never gets a bus,
walks everywhere. It helps you think.
He visited a coin fair in the Gresham
Hotel, just for ten minutes or so. He
had an old coin and he had made
enquiries about it previously and had
a letter from the museum saying it
was valuable. Someone at the coin fair
told him to ' go around to "the man
with the funny name in Cathedral
Street". Christy went around to the
coin and medal shop run by Emil
Szaver and found that the coin was
worthless.
He walked on out to 77 Strand
Road. This was about 1.30pm. There
was no one in the house. Christy
turned on the radio in Vera Cooney's ..
room. There was something boring on
the radio, something about cows,
something about a fire. He turned it
off. He was in a bad mood, annoyed
at himself because his gambling was
causing rows at home. His mind was
wandering. He wasn't in the mood
for working. There was an electrical
cable hanging down, running across
Vera Cooney's door. It was dangerous,
he thought, and he took it down. That
was as much work as he wanted to do
that day. He pulled a few bits of wall-
paper off the wall, picked up some
screws that had fallen, cleaned up and
left. It was about 2.30pm.
As he walked away from the house
he saw two young men pushing a red
Renault.
He walked back to Rialto and went
into McCauley's pub for a pint. He
walked some more, down by the canal.
He sat down, sorting things out in
his head about the gambling, the
messing. He liked his job, liked the
army life, had a fine marriage and a
lovely two-year-old daughter - gamb-
ling wasn't fun any more, it was a
problem. He knew the argument with
Marie had been his fault. He went
home. His wife was up visiting her
mother. Heput on the kettle and went
across to the Mascot, bought a pack
of cigarettes and two birthday cards.
His father's birthday was next day -
one card from himself and Marie, one
from little Debbie. After a cup of tea
he went up to see his father, who was
in bad health. That evening he also
met Eugene Delamere, aged 18, a
friend who had helped him on a
couple of previous nixers. He'd be
doing the stairs at 77 Strand Road
next day, would Eugene give him a
hand with the ladder? They agreed to
meet at 11amnext day.
Christy got home that night before
9pm. His wife was there. He had wan-
ted to get home in time for a pro-
gramme he liked. Starsky and Hutch.
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 19
3. Murder
There was a message on the patrol car radio. Report of a
body found. Strand Road, Sandymount, number 77. Garda
Martin Hynes was driving, Garda J ohn Dineen took the call.
It was shortly after noon on Sunday September 19.
The house was on a corner on the seafront. The ESB
station out there just across the water. There was an ambu-
lance there when the two gardai arrived. The two ambulance
men from the fire brigade were inside the house, with
Christy Lynch and Eugene Delamere.
Garda Dineen spoke to Lynch. Lynch told him that he
and Delamere had come here to do some wallpapering and
found the body. "It was an awful thing to come across," he
said. Garda Hynes asked Lynch to come upstairs and look
at the body. Lynch was reluctant at first but went up any-
way. He appeared shocked and was very pale. He asked if
he could get some fresh air.
Christy Lynch had left home that morning at about 11
o'clock to meet Eugene De1amere and go to Strand Road.
They got there at around noon. Christy opened the door
and Eugene went in first, astep or two ahead, in and up the
stairs. Eugene stopped. There was something at the top of
the stairs, legs and hands. Lynch, looking past Delamere,
could see the body, something covering the head. They
went on up, Lynch first. There was aquilt or bedspread of
some kind covering the head. Lynch bent down and pulled
it away. There was a knife sticking out of Vera Cooney's
chest. Both men turned and ran down the stairs.
Delamere got to the door first and opened it. Lynch
called him back. They should call someone, call the police.
There was a phone in the hall and Lynch rang 999. He
couldn't get through. He handed the phone to Delamere.
"You hold the phone, ring 999 again, dial again. I'm going
up to see is there anything I can do." Lynch went back up
the stairs. Vera Cooney was dead, no question.
Down in the hallway Eugene Delamere dialled 999,
then dropped the phone in panic. He thought there might
be a madman in the house. Lynch came down and called
for the police and ambulance.
When the ambulance came up Gilford Road and around
into Strand Road Eugene Delamere was standing at the
corner, waving, this way, over here. Christy Lynch was
standing at the gate. The gardai arrived then and after a
while there was quite a few of them. Lynch and Delamere
were asked to come down to lrishtown garda station and
make statements on finding the body. They got alift down
from a Sergeant Sweeney. When they got to the station
Sergeant Sweeney got them water, two or three cups each.
4. Heavy Days
The week before Vera Cooney was murdered was an event-
ful one. There was continuing controversy about an inter-
view Conor Cruise O'Brien had given to the Washington
Post in which he revealed that he had been keeping a file
of letters published in the Irish Press and, no, he couldn't
do much about the people writing the letters, but maybe
the editor, Tim Pat Coogan, might find himself in a good
position to do the inside story on Mountjoy. RTE scrapped
7 Days that week and there was much speculation as to
why this had been done. The day before Vera Cooney was
murdered, Friday 17, Fianna Fail announced its plans to
cut taxes. There was an economic emergency, they said,
and as soon as they got back into power they would put the
country back on its feet.
There was even bigger news that day. President 0 Dalaigh
called a meeting of the Council of State. He wasn't happy
with the Emergency Powers Bill which the government was
bringing in. He wanted to refer it to the Supreme Court to
test its constitutionality. This was the action which would
lead to the Minister for Defence, Paddy Donegan, publicly
insulting the President in front of units of the army, the
Taoiseach, Liam Cosgrave standing by his Minister and the
President resigning.
The Emergency Powers Bill was one of those pieces of
legislation that was going to smash the IRA, attack the
rising crime rate and enable the citizens to sleep easier in
their beds. Such Bills were brought in every now and then
after some atrocity caused public disquiet. Demands would
be made for something to be done and the politicians
would draw up yet another Bill to take the handcuffs off
the police and let them get at the criminals. The murder of
the British Ambassador had givenrise to this latest Bill.
This was a truly spectacular production. It involved
declaring that aState of Emergency existed in the Republic.
This meant that the State of Emergency declared in 1939
and existing for nearly forty years would have to be de-
clared over and a new Emergency declared. It also more
than hinted at government curbs on the press. This was not
academic: Hibernia, the Irish Times and the Irish Press all
found themselves in court during that period charged with
printing matter that cast doubts on the behaviour of the
police and the Special Criminal Court.
The most contentious clause in the new Bill was the
proposal to allow the gardai arrest and detain people for
seven days. They need only have a "reasonable suspicion"
that those people had been up to no good. It was believed
- not widely, but by a considerable number of lawyers,
journalists and others who in the course of their work came
into contact with republicans - that the seven-day deten-
tion was designed to allow a lengthy period for the bruises
to fade after suspects had been interrogated in the first 48
hours. The belief was based on experience.
An informal but identifiable group of gardai had been
formed unofficially. These were known to their colleagues
as The Heavy Gang. In February 1977 the Irish Times
would describe them thus: "The nucleus of the 'Heavy
Gang' comprises plainclothes detectives drawn from the
investigative section of the Garda Technical Bureau. They
are assisted at times by members of the Special Branch and
other units of the force, directed by some officers of C4,
the official title of the Technical Bureau. They operate
from a base at the Technical Bureau headquarters in St
J ohn's Road, Kingsbridge, Dublin, and act asaflying squad
travelling to all parts of the country; Local uniformed
gardai rarely participate in their interrogations." This group
systematically extracted "confessions" from suspects. They
used violence and various forms of pressure including depri-
vation of sleep, threats, isolation from outside contact, the
Mutt and J eff routine (nice cop, nasty cop, alternating) and
anything else that came in handy. They were untrained,
unsubtle, brutal and inefficient.
Lots of people had known about this for some time.Tn
----=- ;9-:::6 ,ne Sunday Independent: had even carried an
interview with an anonymous member of the Heavy Gang.
"There is nothing sinister in what we do", he said. "We
know they are guilty. Wealso know that evidence must be
produced for the Court and often that evidence is not
there. Our job is to find out the truth. There is only one
way these fellows understand. There isno use treating them
with kid gloves. Wenever use instruments. Weare doing a
job for law-abiding citizens."
There was no secret about the Heavy Gang, it was just
that mostly the allegations about them seemed to come
from individuals who would themselves have little com-
punction about punching your ticket if they-thought that
was what the occasion called for. Government Ministers
made it clear that anyone casting aspersions on the police
was a Provo or a Provo fellow-traveller. Most people dis-
creetly and prudently found something elseto be concern-
ed about and the few voices raised to suggest that this
might not be the most democratic way to run a country
were dismissed or quickly stilled.
It was atime when Dublin Corporation hired aman with
a little three-wheel van to go around the city pasting brown
paper over the political posters. It was called Keeping
Dublin Tidy.
The thing that nobody seemed to notice was that
emergency laws didn't work. There were more gardai,
with wider powers, but crime kept rising. From the begin-
ning of the 1970s there was atruly dramatic fall in the rates
of detection. As the emergency laws multiplied, the tradi-
tional scientific methods of police work took second place.
Short cuts became routine. By the late 1970s the Barra
o Briain Commission would be told that 80% of convic-
tions for serious crimes were being secured by confessions.
In short, the politicians' response to crime had produced a
police force that wasn't very good at police work but was
adab hand at getting people to "confess".
It was in this atmosphere that the investigation into the
murder of Vera Cooney took place.
There was a lot going on that week, few paid much
attention to the discovery of the body. The Irish Press and
Irish Times carried short mentions of the murder on Monday
September 20. The Independent made the most of it. Front
page, above the fold, large type: "Gruesome Bedroom
Murder". The opening paragraph read: "The brutal murder
of a forty-year-old blonde spinster in her Sandymount,
Dublin, home yesterday morning is baffling gardai." Wrong
and wrong. She was 51, the murder was the day before
yesterday and gardai weren't baffled at all. The case was a
cinch.
5. Helping The Police With Their Inquiries
Vera Cooney died hard. She vias strangled first and there
were scratches on her neck where she apparently tried to
pull at the thing that was choking her. The strangling didn't
kill her. She was still alive and she was stabbed three times
in the chest. The third thrust was so powerful that the state
pathologist had to straddle the body on his knees and use a
pliers to extract the knife. Medical evidence could only
establish that she had died some time between 9am and
9pm on Saturday, the day before her body was found.
No fingerprints were found in the house, apart from
Vera Cooney's. There was a considerable sum of money
left untouched in the downstairs flat. Nothing had been
stolen or interfered with. A bathroom window was open,
but it was a difficult way to get in. Three people had keys
to the house: Vera Cooney, Stuart Martin and Christy
Lynch.
After spending some time at the garda station Christy
Lynch and Eugene Delamere were asked to come back at
4pm and make their statements. Lynch knew his wife
would be visiting her mother, and anyway it was his father's
birthday, so he went to his parents' home. He told them
what had happened.
Then, back to lrishtown garda station at 4pm. Christy
Lynch had never been involved in a policy inquiry before.
He had no police record and couldn't remember ever being
in a police station. He was asked to give his fingerprints
and did so. Heknew they did that for elimination purposes.
The police gavehim tea. There were sandwiches, but he was
too upset to eat. The statement was read back to him and
he signed it. Over four years later the Chief J ustice of the
Supreme Court, Tom O'Higgins, would say that at that
stage "one would have expected in such circumstances that
(Lynch) would have been thanked for his cooperation and
encouraged to go horne to his wife and family." Garda
evidence would later be that at that stage and for a long
time afterwards there wasn't the slightest suspicion that
Christy Lynch had been involved in the death of Vera
Cooney.
"Is that okay now?" asked Christy Lynch. "Can I go?"
"There might be afew more things wewill have to goover",
said agarda.
In theory, Christy Lynch could have walked right out
the door and there wasn't a thing the police could do to
stop him. You'd want to know your law to feel confident
about doing that - and you'd be less than a good citizen
if you didn't do everything possible to help the police in
their inquiries. Christy Lynch didn't know that much about
the law - and, besides, he was a good citizen, a soldier of
the state, a member of the security forces that Ministers
get dewy-eyed about when they talk of holding the fabric
of society together.
Christy Lynch stayed. You want help, game ball, any-
thing I can do.
Eugene Delamere's statement was taken and he too
stayed on or was kept in the station for several more hours.
He began falling asleep. He was awakened by the sound of
Christy Lynch shouting from somewhere in the station,
"I didn't do it."
6. Phone Calls
Marie Lynch left her flat in Portmahon House, Rialto, and
went to aphone box. It was about lOpm that Sunday night.
She had returned from her mother's house at about 6pm.
An hour later, Brendan Lynch, Christy's brother, called
round and told her about Christy finding abody and being
down at the station in Irishtown. Hehad visited his parents
earlier that day and they had told him. At about- 5.30pm
his mother had asked him to ring the station and find out
when Christy was coming home. He did so and was told it
would be sometime later. He gave Mariethe number of the
station.
Marie zangthe number from the phone box. Yes, Christy
Lynch was there. Could I speak to him? Hold on aminute
_2 MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984
- there was apause - yes, you can, hold on ....
At the station, Christy Lynch was told his wife wanted
to speak to him. Hewas taken to aphone and picked it up.
Hello? The phone went dead.
Back in the phone box. "I'm sorry, Mrs Lynch, you may
not speak to your husband, he's being questioned." Is he
coming home? Could you let meknow for definite? Couldn't
say. Will you send someone out and tell me if Christy isn't
coming home?
Marie Lynch stayed up until 3am. No sign of Christy.
In court, the gardai would deny that any such calls
were made. They had the station log book to confirm this.
No such calls. Not even the one that Brendan Lynch made
from Sundrive Road garda station. Hehad gone there some
time that night, said he couldn't get through, would the
garda there ring for him? Sure, no bother. The garda rang.
The garda swore in court that he rang. There was no record
of the call.
7. Interrogation
It was cold. This new room hadn't had the heating on. The
gardai had just got the keys to it and one of them was
bringing Christy Lynch in. Christy had been in this room
and that, this garda coming, that one going, sit down there
a minute, come on out here. Anywhere he went there was a
garda with him. He went to the toilet, there was a garda.
Now, in the cold room, he had just come in, he was pulling
his coat around him, the garda who had brought him in
turned around and said, "Why did you do it?"
Christy looked at him. "What?"
"Forget it", said the garda.
Various gardai would swear in court that Christy Lynch
stayed in the station voluntarily, that he underwent all that
followed of his own free will. At no stage, they would
swear, did Christy Lynch ask to go home.
The events of that night and the next morning as des-
cribed here are from Christy Lynch's point of view, as
taken from various transcripts, summaries, press reports and
interviews with people present at the trials that followed.
All allegations have been denied on oath by the gardai con-
cerned. Christy Lynch had made his initial statement and
they were asking him questions about it, just chatting.
It is midnight. Perhaps. Christy Lynch doesn't have a
watch. He has lost track of time. Before this is over he will
see dark outside the window and see light outside the win-
dow and make a guess. It is, he thinks, about midnight. It
is eight hours since he came to the station, twelve hours
since he found the body.
"Why did you do it, Christy?"
At first it was can I go now, are you finished - just a
:ew more minutes, Christy. Now he is, according to his
restirnony, insisting that he wants to go home.
'Why did you do it, Christy?"
At 130am Detective Inspector J ohn Courtney and
Detective Sergeant Michael Canavan arrived.
According to Christy Lynch's evidence, the two detec-
rives sat him down, one on each side of him and told him
:::'e:- wanted a statement admitting to the murder. Court-
L:=:- and Canavan denied this in court.
'~-e are The special boys", said Courtney, according to
G~~'_ "were experienced at getting confessions. We've
~::=-::::o~=:;s 0; mmC-CIS 2.D.l! know a murderer just by
looking at him." Courtney denied this.
Christy said in court that he was called a murdering
bastard, that Canavan said his fingerprints had been found
on the knife. "Did you touch the knife when you found the
body?" Christy saw this as a ploy, an offer of away to get
himself off the hook, to say he touched the knife when he
found the body so it would look like he had reason to fear
his fingerprints were on the knife and he was trying to ex-
plain them away. He knew he hadn't touched the knife.
Sergeant Canavan denied that all this happened.
It is now 3am. Courtney and Canavan leave and are
replaced by Detective Inspector Finlay. He is friendly, a
father figure is Christy's description, and he looks abit like
Christy's father. It is eleven hours since Christy came to
the station, fifteen hours sincehe found the body.
According to Christy's evidence the conversation went
like this.
"If you tell me, Christy, I'll help you. If you confess to
me about this I'll personally try and get you down for two
or three years. If not - we will prove you guilty anyway
and get you ten or fifteen years."
"Inspector Finlay, I didn't do it. I never harmed any-
body in my life."
"If I walk out that door now I will be finished with you.
There's nothing I can do for you to help you."
Christy asked were his fingerprints on the knife, like
Canavan had said.
"Well, I couldn't say at this stage."
Christy had mentioned earlier that his father was ill.
Finlay now said, "A long drawn-out trial would kill your
father, and if you admit to being guilty the trial will be over
in a couple of days. There will be no notice in the paper
and it won't affect your father at all."
Later.
"Is there any chance of getting out of here?"
"No, you won't be able to leave for awhile yet."
Inspector Finlay denied in court that any of this hap-
pened.
It is now 4am. It is twelve hours since Christy came to
the station, sixteen hours since he found the body. Finlay
leaves. Courtney and Canavan come back.
8. Strip
It is lOam on Monday September 20. It is sixteen hours
since Christy Lynch came to Irishtown garda station. It is
twenty hours since he found Vera Cooney's body. He has
not slept. He has not been out of sight of agarda in all this
time. He has not been in contact with any relatives, friends
or solicitors. According to him he is being held against his
will and has been constantly subjected to demands that he
confess to the murder. According to the gardai he is there
voluntarily, can leave at any time, but doesn't choose to
do so. He is merely being asked to expand on his original
statement. Inspector Courtney will say that they talked
about his family, army life, things in general.
Between 4am and 6am he was questioned by Courtney
and Canavan. Then there was atwenty-minute break. Then
the1lcame back again and stayed until 8.30am.
Christy's evidence covering part of this period is as
follows. "When I replied to Inspector Courtney's accusa-
tion that I was a murdering bastard he gaveme adigin the
side, because I said a man is innocent until proven guilty.
And after Inspector Finlay left they had stripped me off
down to my vest and underpants and they made me stand
to attention just out from the wall - and I couldn't lean
back against it and they stood on each side and I was like
that for about two hours. And when I swayed they pun-
ched me to the left and I would go across and they would
punch me back to the right and they pushed me back and
forth between the pair of them all night." They also, he
said, asked him questions about his sex life and made re-
marks about his body.
In court, Lynch's lawyer, Diarmud O'Donovan, would
say to Courtney, "I suggest to you there was a concerted
conspiracy between you and Sergeant Canavan to get a
confession out of the accused."
Courtney replied, "That isnot correct."
"Were ribald remarks made about the accused man's
sexual powers?"
"Nothing like that was said at all."
"Did you hit him during the interview?"
"I certainly did not."
Sergeant Canavan also denied that this happened.
Christy Lynch, 1976
Why didn't Christy Lynch ask for a solicitor? It's the
kind of thing everybody is supposed to know you can do.
The onus is on the untrained to learn their rights from
some source or other and be sufficiently confident of those
rights to insist on them - rather than on the onus being on
the state to ensure sufficient safeguards are there. In the
first trial, J udge Butler seemed to think that everyone
should know their rights. "Do you watch television?"
"I do, my lord."
"Do you look at it, do you look at Z ears Task Force?"
"No."
"Or even Kojak?"
"I look at Starsky and Hutch."
But that's all over now. It is lOam. Inspector Courtney
and Sergeant Canavan have gone. When they were leaving,
according to Christy, one of them said, "We will be back
tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next night, until we
get a confession out of you." This was also denied in court
by the gardai.
But it is lOam, a long night over. It's anew day. People
will be looking for him. Christy Lynch is taken from Irish-
town garda station and driven to Donnybrook garda station.
The questioning continues.
9. The Independent
Another two hours. One garda, another garda. Admit it for
your own good. You just picked up the knife and stabbed
her, isn't that right? No, says agarda, he strangled her first.
Strangled? Christy had seen the knife. He didn't know
about the strangling.
It is now twelve noon, Monday September 20. It is
twenty hours since Christy Lynch came to make a state-
ment. It is twenty-four hours since he found the body.
Another two hours coming up.
It was around then, noon, that Marie Lynch arrived at
Donnybrook garda station with two-year-old Debbie. She
asked if she could see Christy. Not now, he's being ques-
tioned. Would you like something to eat? No, thanks. They
brought some cakes for Debbie.
Your wife isoutside, Christy.
Marie ....
You won't see anyone until you admit to murdering
77 Strand Road
MissCooney.
I can say yes, I can say I did it. It will all come out, if it
goes to court, they'll know I didn't do it, I'll tell them
about all this and they'll know I just said it.
Anyway, Christy, your wife doesn't want to see you
until you confess.
Jesus, what are they after telling Marie, what is she
thinking?
Admit to it, Christy.
Back tonight. And tomorrow night. And the next night.
Why did you do it, Christy?
Think.
Come on, Christy.
Two or three years. Ten or fifteen years.
Christy ....
No.
At some point during this two hours of questioning,
noon to 2pm, Christy Lynch was left alone for ten minutes.
Tilere was acopy of the Irish Independent in the room. The
front page carried prominently a story on the murder. The
story was hopelessly inaccurate. It got Vera Cooney's age
wrong and got the day of the murder wrong. It said the
body was found in the bedroom - the body was found on
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 29
the landing. It said that no knife was found -the knife was
all too .prominent at the scene. It said it was athree-storey
house. -It said that two workmen had been unable to gain
entry and called the police who opened the door with a
master key. It said Vera Cooney was dressed as if ready to
go to Mass - she died on Saturday. and the evidence was
that she was getting ready for bed. None of this mattered.
What mattered was a sentence which read: "There were
stab wounds in the woman's chest and acord was fastened
around her neck."
It is 2pm, shortly after Christy Lynch has read the story
in the Independent. "I killed Vera Cooney", he says, "I did
it with a bit of a cable. I stabbed her with aknife from the
kitchen table."
Vera Cooney wasn't strangled with a cord or a cable.
She was strangled with ascarf.
It is shortly after 2pm. Christy agrees to make a state-
ment. Inspector Finlay suggests he get some sleep. Twenty-
two hours after he went to Irishtown garda station, twenty-
six hours after he found the body, Christy Lynch sleeps.
10. Trials and Errors
Central Criminal Court, May 27 1977, eight months after
the murder of Vera Cooney. The trial had lasted five days.
The jury was out for four hours. They came back at lOpm
and found Christopher Anthony Lynch guilty of the mur-
der of Veronica Frances Cooney. J udge Butler sentenced
himto penal servitude for life.
In the body of the court Marie Lynch screamed. She had
to be helped from the court by Brendan Lynch.
Christy Lynch was taken to Mountjoy prison. In Decem-
ber the Court of Criminal Appeal set aside his conviction
and ordered a new trial. Christy was released a couple of
days before Christmas. .
The new trial took place in April 1978 and lasted thir-
teen days, ever athree-week period. J ust as in the first trial,
there were lengthy legal arguments about the admissibility
of Lynch's confession. These statements were the only
evidence against him. J udge D'Arcy admitted them, Lynch
was again found guilty and again sentenced to penal servi-
tude for life.
The statements were many and varied. Once Christy
agreed to talk he talked and talked. Some parts of the con-
fession, he said in court, came from what he had been told
by gardai, other parts from what he had seen at the house,
other parts from the Independent.
"How many times did you stab her?"
"Once."
"No, you stabbed her three times."
"Well, if that's what happened, it must have happened."
He talked of strangling Vera Cooney with a cord or a
cable or something ....
"No, this iswhat was used", holding up ascarf.
"Well .... "
This is Christy's version. The gardai denierfit in court
and said he made a straight confession.
Mountjoy was cold. What you do is take the two metal
bowls and fill them with hot water. Put one on top of the
bed - that warms the bed a bit. Put the other under the
table, the heat from that takes the chill off your feet. Pull
a blanket around you and eat your food. In Mountjoy you
don't blow on your food to cool it, you blow on it to heat
it up.
After a while, he was sent to Arbour Hill. That was
much easier. It wasn't cold, for a start. Marie had hecome
pregnant again while Christy was between trials. She never
brought Debbie up to Mountjoy, but then the kid began
fretting for her father so Marie started bringing her up when
Christy went in again.
The army had been good in all this. Officers appeared as
character witnesses, Marie got 12 a week from the army
on top of her Prisoner's Wife's Allowance. There was a
collection at Christmas.
Christy kept thinking this had to end, there had to be
some kind of justice. It seemed that his rights to appeal had
been exhausted, but the case was sent to the Supreme
Court. There was some question about whether that court
had jurisdiction for a direct appeal from the Central Crimi-
nal Court. The court seemed reluctant to take the case,
possibly fearing a flood of such cases. Christy was receiving
free legal aid, but that would not apply in such an appeal.
His barrister, Diarmud O'Donovan, had resolved to take the
case as far as possible, regardless of fees, but in the event
the costs were indemnified and the Supreme Court agreed
to take the case. Meanwhile, Christy got on with life injail.
Marie, Debbie and the new child, Paul, born in 1978, got
on with living outside.
Christy held up well, maybe it was the army discipline.
More than once, when doing hard time was getting to a
prisoner, a prison officer would suggest he go down and
have a chat with Christy. A senior prison officer at Arbour
Hill told Christy's parents that alot of prisoners say they're
innocent, but Christy was the first one he had really be-
lieved was innocent.
Christy's father was dying of cancer. Once a month
Christy was allowed out under escort to visit his father.
His father told him he'd liveto seehis son cleared.
That year, 1978, turned into 1979, and that turned into
1980. Christy's new son, Paul, was one and then two years
old and Christy hadn't seen him. Debbie was fiveand then
six. Christy was missing important years.
December 16 1980. Christy was working in the print
shop. He had first done a year and a half at carpentry in.
Arbour Hill, then changed to the printing. When he was in
his teens he worked for Smurfits in Clonskeagh. About
4.l5pm, ten 'minutes or so before knocking off, a prison
officer named McCann, a sound man, called Christy, told
him to come back to his cell.
"Get your things together." Smile.
"Why?" .
"You're cleared, you're acquitted. The. Supreme Court
gaveits decision today."
Christy Lynch's father died six months later.
11. Technicalities
Chief J ustice O'Higgins (sitting with J ustices Walsh and
Kenny) said in his ruling: "The fact that for almost 22
hours the appellant was subjected to sustained questioning,
that he never had the opportunity of communicating with
his family or' friends, and that he never was permitted to
rest or sleep until he made an admission of guilt, all amount
to such circumstances of harassment and oppression as to
make it unjust and unfair to admit in evidence anything he
said." And, since there was no evidence against him apart
30 MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984
from his own statements, Christy was declared not guilty
and released.
Chief J ustice O'Higgins raised a crucial point about the
function of the courts in protecting the rights of citizens.
Quoting Chief J ustice Earl Warren of the US Supreme
Court, he said, "A ruling admitting evidence in a criminal
trial, we recognise, has the necessary effect of legitimizing
the conduct which produced the evidence." To permit the
use of evidence improperly obtained would make the courts
party to that invasion of rights.
So far, it's the kind of decision that might have gardai
slamming their desks and muttering through gritted teeth
about pansy judges who don't know what it's like in the
real world. He did it, didn't he? He admitted it. Okay, so
the gardai bent the rules a little bit - so what? Go ahead
and call it oppression and harassment, but he spilled the
beans, there was no other way. Poor Vera Cooney, quiet,
inoffensive and horribly dead. No one cares about the vic-
tims. Constitutional rights, technicalities, how many angels
can dance on the head of a pin? And aself-confessed mur-
derer walks free. He did it, didn't he? Everything points to
that.
Everything except the evidence.
12. Evidence
Policework in serious crime in Ireland in the 1980s follows
two distinct and occasionally conflicting courses. The domi-
nant trend is towards the use of confession-extracting as a
primary investigatory tool. The other course is the old-
fashioned one where the police go out, just like Kojak,
. and talk to a lot of people and gather as much evidence
and information about crimes asis possible.
For instance.
Christy Lynch was wrong when he thought he saw two
young men pushing a red Renault outside 77 Strand Road
at about 2.30pm that Saturday when he left the house. He
mentioned it in his initial statement. He couldn't have
known that this would be significant, he couldn't know
that the ordinary coppers plodding their patient way would
find the two people with the red Renault.
They were not two men, they were aman and awoman.
And they confirmed that they had been pushing the car
there at that time. This seemed to corroborate Christy's
confession. He had indeed left the house at that time. He
could not have seen the car from the house, there being no
window on the Gilford Road side.
Except - his confession was that he left the house at
2.3 0 having murdered Vera Cooney . And the plodding
coppers had turned up three unconnected and disinterested
witnesses who sawVera Cooney aliveat 4pm.
So, it is established beyond a reasonable doubt that he
left the house at 2.30 and that Vera Cooney was alive at
4pm. Did he come back? Why? There is not the slightest
evidence of that - not even in the confession, ..
Then there was the cord/cable/scarf business.
Motive. The confession tells it that Christy isin the flat,
reading a book or poking around the bookshelves - the im-
plication being he's looking for money - when he turns
around and Vera Cooney is standing there. Hegrabs a scarf
and strangles her.
But, if she has just come in, how come she is wearing
slippers, carrying her pyjamas, obviously preparing for bed?
The confession just doesn't square with the available
facts. These discrepancies were pointed out by J ustices
O'Higgins and Walsh. The discrepancies were there during
th~ two' trials - but they were outweighed by the graphic
confession. Who could believe that an innocent man would
admit to murder?
13. Criminal Justice
Although the Supreme Court pointed out the holes in
Christy Lynch's confession, his release was due to the ir-
regularities through which the confession was obtained.
Those irregularities are about to be legalised under the
Criminal J ustice Bill. In future there will be no question
about whether a person stays in a garda station voluntarily
or otherwise. All the police need do is find that they have a
"reasonable suspicion" that that person is up to no good.
The person can be held for twelve straight hours. If night-
time intrudes, add on eight hours for sleeping.
That last bit is supposedly a safeguard. When Christy
Lynch broke and agreed to talk he was allowed four hours
sleep. He slept for two or two and a half hours. Given the
circumstances he found it hard to sleep. There was always
someone in the room. Gardai came and went, doors were
slammed.
For the eight hours a suspect can spend sleeping in a
station there is no iaw that says the gardai must keep their
voices down or close doors carefully. Christy Lynch found
that after the long period without sleep the couple of hours
of broken sleep he got made him worse off than before.
There is nothing in the Bill to ensure that the pheno-
menon of the phone calls that didn't happen is not a
routine feature.
Christy Lynch was a victim of the political policy of
facilitating confession-extracting as the main investigatory
tool. The Criminal J ustice Bill, in its expansion of the right
to detain, its abolition of the right to silence, its right to
"draw inferences", its alibi section, its vagueness about the
right to see a solicitor, is the latest endorsement of the
methods and means which tore the Lynch family apart.
Traditional and scientific policing methods are difficult to
legislate for, they are expensive and they don't have that
"doing something" aura which looks so good on an elec-
tion manifesto.
Christy Lynch is back in the army, enjoying the life.
When he came out of jail he got his back pay. Heand Marie
then had to repay the money she got from the state and
from the army. He hasn't sought compensation - he just
can't bear the thought of going near a court again. Marie
has written to the Minister for J ustice acouple of times and
got I'll-look-into-it replies. Nothing.
Christy has always got on well with the gardai. Heknows
a lot of them from doing border duty. He recognises the
differences between the ordinary copper and the special
boys. Although he won't go near a court again Marie has
gone down to the courts several times, fascinated by the
difference between the popular conception of law and
order and her own experience of it. A couple of times she
has heard lawyers arguing points and mentioning "the
Lynch case". The case is recognised in legal circles as an
important one. It is one reason why a lot of lawyers have
reservations about the Criminal J ustice Bill. Had the Sup-
reme Court not taken the case, which they might not have
done, Christy Lynch would still be in prison.
Some day, when the kids grow older, Christy and Marie
will sit them down and tell them what happened to the
family. They're too young now, but some day, and better
they hear it at home than elsewhere. Christy can hold his
head up and talk openly about his experience. Because of
his army job he prefers not to talk to the media, but Marie
can speak freely. Christy doesn't do horses or dogs any-
more, he does crosswords. And he smokes roll-up cigarettes.
A habit he picked up in prison.
Y
OU had intercourse with your
husband before you were mar-
ried; how many other people did you
have intercourse with before that?
When was the first time you had
intercourse? Areyou goingwith some-
one now? Do you have intercourse
with him? Where do you haveit? Do
you haveit inacar?"
Eileen Morgan (that is not her real
name) was describing how she was
questioned by the Dublin Regionalxc
Marriage Tribunal when she was
applying.to haveher marriageannulled.
There were five priests in the room,
though one of them left during the
interview. Questions were thrown at
her from all sides and she says they
did not give her a chance to answer
properly. She got annoyed and told
them it was none of their business.
Eventually shewalkedout.
Eileen got married at 18. She was
already pregnant. Her husband walked
out nine weeks later. He stole all the
money inher mother's house and drew
out the money she had been putting
by in alocal clubto buy baby clothes.
He came back to see her once in the
hospital just after she had had the
baby. He shouted round the ward:
"That bastard isn't mine" and left.
That was 11 years agoand shehasnot
seenhimsince.
She applied for an annulment the
following year. "I felt it wasa way of
finishing withhimfor good. I wasvery
bitter about him at the time. And I
thought it would keep himawayfrom
the child." When she went to get a
copy of her marriage certificate she
got a frosty reception at the church.
At the time of the wedding she had
given her husband envelopes with
money for the priest, the sacristan
and the altar boys. Apparently hehad
taken the money out and giventhem
the empty envelopes.
Her first interview at the marriage
tribunal was alright. Shegot a cup of
tea, the priest was sympathetic and
she just told him her story. Months
later she was called back for a second
interview. It was a different priest.
The atmosphere was formal and he
wrote everything down.
His tone was disapproving. Hesaid:
"Weget this all the time, these young
ones getting married at 16 or 17 and
thinking wecanget rid of the marriage
for them." He asked her very personal
questions about her sex life. "He
suggested I had a boyfriend in Dublin
when I was going with him (her
husband, who was from outside Dub-
lin) and maybe the baby wasn't his
at all. He was only short of callingme
aprosti tute. "
She was due to go to work after
the interview but could not go. "I felt
so degraded that I just couldn't faceit.
I thought: Is that how I appear to
other people?" They wanted her to
have a psychiatric test but she would
not agree and anyway she could not
afford the fee. The priest told her it
was part of the annulment procedure
and if she did not want to gothrough
with it shecould drop her application.
They interviewed her mother and
contacted witnesses like her doctor
and her former teachers. They prob-
ably had difficulty tracking down her
husband and she did not hear from
them for a couple of years. Then they
called her for another hearing. Shedid
not want to go but her mother, who
was very religious, persuaded her to
go.
This was the hearing with the five
priests, three judges and two others.
It was all tape-recorded. They asked
her about sex before marriage again
and about the wedding night whenthe
marriage had not been consummated.
Her husband had got drunk after the
reception and went up and fell asleep
on the bed. Whenshecameup and got
into bed he woke up and went and sat
in a chair for the rest of the night.
They asked when they first had inter-
course after the marriage and how
many times in the night.
Eileen was involved in a relation-
ship with a fellow at the time and he
had driven her to the hearing and
stayed outside in the car. They asked
her who he was and was she sleeping
with him.
Her father had died when she was
12 and she had run away fromhome.
He had been strict and had hit her
sometimes. They suggested she hated
him because he hit her and because
he seemed to prefer her younger
sister. "They said I hated men because
of that and that the reason the mar-
riage wasn't consummated the first
night was because I was frigid and I
put himout of the bed."
When she ran away shestayed with
a girlfriend and her brother and
another boy. "They suggested I was
sellingmyself to them."
The questioning about her father
upset her alot. They alsosaidsomeof
her answers contradicted what shehad
said earlier and accused her of lying.
That was when she walked out. She
wasfedup with the wholething. Some
time later she got a letter from the
tribunal and threw it in the fire with-
out opening it. They got in touch
with her mother and wanted her to
contact them againbut shewould not.
Eventually she got another letter -
which she did open - telling her she
had got the annulment.
The letter did not givethe grounds
for the annulment but sometime later
when she was sick in the Mater Hospi-
tal a priest cameto seeher. Hehanded
her a bill from the tribunal for 158
but when she refused to pay it hesaid
that would be alright. He told her the
annulment had been granted because
they had both been immature and
neither of them wascapable of accept-
ingthe responsibility of marriage.
She asked had she not taken the
responsibility of looking after the
child on her own and had she not
looked after her younger brothers
and sisters before that when her
mother was working. He said it had
been granted because thehusband had
been immature and had a split per-
sonality.
Eileen's annulment was granted
seven years after she first applied.
"If I knew then what I know now I
would never have started it and I
certainly wouldn't have answered all
their questions. I felt degraded and
humiliated by the whole' thing. I
wouldn't advise anybody else to go
through with it."
E
ileen Morgan had a harrowing
experience with the Catholic
marriage tribunal a couple of years
ago. Although the formal hearing
before fivepriests has sincebeen done
away with, the questioning of women
on the details of their personal life
continues. Other women interviewed
for this article didnot find the process
as harrowing as Eileen did but they all
remarked on the difference between
the relaxed and sympathetic initial
interview and the more formal subse-
quent hearings.
They said the priests were "strict"
or "very official". And the women
were embarrassed at being questioned
about sex by apriest. Onemiddle-aged
woman said: "He asked about sexual
behaviour in the marriage, was it
normal. But what is normal wheresex
isconcerned?"
Ten thousand people have been in-
volved in applications to the Catholic
marriage tribunals for marriage annul-
ments since 1977. The success rate
isn't high. About 500 decrees of
nullity have been issued affecting
1,000 people. Applications are still
being lodged by over 600 couples a
year. With more and more marriages
breaking down and no civil divorce
allowed in the Republic many people
seean annulment as the only way out
of ahopeless situation.
Fr Alex Stenson is aJ udge Instruc-
tor with the Dublin Regional Marriage
Tribunal which works out of an
annexe at the rear of the Archbishop's
House on the Drumcondra Road. He
is one of six priests who work there
full-time under Monsignor Gerard
Sheehy, the Presiding J udge and the
most senior figure in the tribunal
system. There are eleven full-time
clerical staff and a number of other
priests work part-time for the tribunal
aswell.
There are four regional marriage
tribunals in Ireland - in Dublin,
Cork, Galway and Armagh. They were
set up in 1976 to replace a system of
diocesan tribunals some of which
never really functioned and to cope
with the vast increase in annulment
applications. The idea was to pool
resources and standardise procedures.
There is a National Appeals Tribunal
for the whole of Ireland with different
personnel which automatically reviews
all cases decided by the regional tribu-
nals. It is also based at the Arch-
bishop's House.
Fr Stenson stresses that annulments
are not a form of "Catholic divorce".
People often come to the tribunals
thinking that because their marriage
has broken down they can get an
annulment but unless there is apossi-
bility that there was a defect in the
original marriage the tribunal can only
say "Sorry, wecan't help you."
The tribunals operate under canon
law, a code of rules and regulations
laid down by the Vatican and only
published in English for the first time
last November - until then it wasonly
available in Latin. They are courts
which administer the Church's law as
it stands. They are not counselling or
welfare agencies and even if enforcing
the law causes hardship they have to
enforce it. Their sole function is to
determine whether or not the original
marriagewasvalid.
Fr Stenson explains that there are
a number of traditional grounds for
annulment like the marriage of close
blood relatives, mistaken identity,
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 35
duress or non-consummation, but
these are not so common nowadays.
The most common grounds now are
defects of form, consent or capacity
for the relationship.
Defects of Form are fairly straight-
forward. They arise if the parties did
not go through the proper Catholic
marriage ceremony, for example, if
they were married in a registry office
the marriage would be considered null.
Defects of Consent arise if one of
the parties was not capable of giving
full consent to the marriage, eg if he
or she was mentally disturbed or under
the influence of drink or drugs at the
time of the ceremony. They could also
arise if one of the parties "positively
excludes some essential element of
Christian marriage", ie if he or she had
the deliberate intention of leaving
after say five years or of not being
faithful, or of not having children.
Fr Stenson agrees there has been a
big increase in the num ber of annul-
ments granted compared with 20 years
ago when they were very rare. The
increase has been mainly on the
grounds of Defects in Capacity for the
Relationship. Again there were tradi-
tional reasons for this like impotence
- showing the Church's stress on the
sexual element in marriage - but in
recent years the tribunals have taken
account of new developmen ts in psy-
chology and psychiatry. They now
stress factors like immaturity and per-
sonality disorders which, while stop-
ping well short of insanity, prevent
one or other party from forming a
lasting and loving relationship.
All these things have to be proved
however and this leads to the probing
and questioning about their personal
lives which some of the women appli-
cants resent so much. Fr Stenson
claims that this does not happen in all
that many cases and that the ques-
tioners try to be as sensitive as possible.
He says they do not have many com-
plaints of insensitivity. In his ex-
perience, he says, most complaints
come from people who did not get
annulments. Those who do get them
are usually happy enough.
S
omeone seeking an annulment -
most of the applicants are women
- contacts her or his regional tribunal,
usually through a local priest. The
tribunal sends out a basic question-
naire and then invites the applicant
for a preliminary interview. This is
relaxed and informal and'is conducted
by a priest who does not take part in
the judicial process.
Some months later the applicant
is interviewed by a judge instructor.
This is more formal and can take two
or three hours as the priest pro bes all
areas of the marriage that migh t have
a bearing on the nullity application.
The applicant has to take an oath like
in a civil court. Fr Stenson acknow-
ledges that this interview can be trau-
matic for the applicant who may have
been under a lot of stress. Some appli-
cants go to pieces during the interview.
After this the tribunal contacts the
other party to the marriage to get his
or her view of the situation and inter-
views or writes to possible witnesses
like relatives or the farnily doctor.
They may ask the applicant to take
a psychiatric test. Then a review body
considers the evidence so far and
decides whether or not to admit the
case. A lot of applications never get
beyond this stage because there is
obviously no case for nullity or be-
cause it is impossible to get evidence
to corroborate the applicant's story.
If the case is accepted there is a fairly
good chance that a nullity decree will
be granted eventually.
All this can take a long time be-
cause of the difficulty of contacting
the other party and getting his or her
cooperation. Often a deserted wife
has no idea where her husband is and
even if he is found he won't cooperate.
The whole process from start to finish
often takes three-and-a-half to four
years and a lot longer if there arc com-
plications.
Some applicants lose interest as the
proceedings drag on. l-r Stenson thinks
the delay can sometimes be a good
thing because some of the applicants
become reconciled while they arc
waiting.
When the case is accepted a priest is
appointed as an Advocate to further
the applicant's cause. Usually he docs
not sec the applicant but reviews the
papers and marshals the arguments in
favour of a nullity decree. The papers
are then passed to the Defender of the
Bond, a priest whose function is to
protect the marriage bon d. lie looks
for any flaws in the applicant's case.
The applicant and witnesses might
be interviewed again and then the
papers arc passed to a court of three
judges who make the decision. They
used to interview the applicant in for-
mal session with the Advocate and
Defender of the Bond present as in
Eileen Morgan's case that may still
happen but normally the court just
reviews the papers now.
If the court decides to annul the
marriage the book of evidence is auto-
matically sent to the National Appeals
Tribunal where it is reviewed by three
more judges. They usually uphold the
decision of the regional tribunal and
a nullity decree is then issued to both
parties, usually about six months after
the initial judgement. The decree does
not state the grounds on which the
marriage was annulled.
If the regional tribunal rejects the
application then the applicant can
appeal to the Appeals Tribunal and
from it to the Vatican courts.
Many people assume that a nullity
decree means that the parties are free
to remarry, but quite a lot of decrees
are accompanied by a vetitum, an
order barring one or both parties from
remarrying. It is logical enough. If
the court decides that the marriage
was null and void because one party
was incapable of forming a proper
real relationship then it should bar
that person from starting another
marriage.
The vetitum can be lifted by indi-
vidual bishops, however, if they feel
the reason for imposing it no longer
applies. Apparently, they do not
notify the marriage tribunals, so it is.
impossible to tell how many are
actually lifted.
The interviewers, judges and Advo-
cates in the tribunals are all priests.
Fr Stenson does not feel this is em-
barrassing for women applicants. "We
don't seem to have any particular
difficulty," he says. "Women don't
seem' to have a problem talking to
them." In his experience women are
not upset by the questioning. Hedoes
not think that it is abigproblem.
Women and lay people generally
could be involved in the tribunals.
They are in the US. But Fr Stenson
says there are no qualified women or
lay men in Ireland. He stresses that
the tribunals are courts administering
the canon law. He and all the other
priests have degrees in canon law. He
himself spent three years in Rome
doing a thesis on marriage and the
canon law.
The courts sit in secret. The appli-
cants are not present and do not hear
any evidence other than their own.
They have to take an oath not to
reveal what they were asked or what
answers they gave. They do not know
how their evidence is presented or on
what grounds the court makes its
decisions. There is no outside scrutiny
The interviewers and judges do not
know how much an applicant has paid
- finances are handled quite separate-
ly. Only about thirty per cent of the
tribunal's running costs are met from
contributions from applicants.
(
hurch annulments are beginning
to cause aserious legal problem in
the Republic. If there is no vetitum
attached, a nullity decree says that the
person involved is "in what concerns
the law of the Catholic Church, free
to contract marriage". About 400
people have been given such clearance
over the last five years. But Church
annulments have no legal standing as
far as the civil courts are concerned.
Unless they secure a divorce or annul-
ment in the civil courts, (which are
of the court's judgements as there is
with civilla w.
What guarantee is there that the
courts are consistent and fair? Fr
Stenson says the system has its own
built-in safeguards and would not be
improved by law scrutiny. He is
adamant that the courts are not in-
fluenced by outside considerations and'
especially not by money. The current
cost of an annulment is about 400,
or 450 if a psychiatric examination
is required. Applicants are always told
that if they cannot pay the full cost it
will not matter and less than half do
pay the full cost.
38 MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984
448
very difficult and expensive to get)
the parties are still married in the eyes
of the State.
In Britain there is no problem. The
Church authorities there require appli-
cants for an annulment to get a civil
divorce before they apply to the
marriage tribunal. In the North staff
at the Armagh regional tribunal deny
that they request applicants to get a
civil divorce but there is little doubt
that people who wish to remarry after
an annulment are quietly advised to
get adivorce first.
In the Republic, however, since
there is no civil divorce, Catholics who
remarry after getting a Church annul-
ment are committing bigamy. The
Church authorities apparently keep no
record of remarriages after annulments
but Church sources confirm that there
areat least twenty per year.
Bigamy is prohibited under the
Offences Against the Person Act
(1861) and carries a penalty of up to
seven years imprisonment. People who
aid and abet the committing of
bigamy, such as the priest who offi-
ciates at the marriage ceremony, also
commit an offence.
The Director of Public Prosecutions'
office is unwilling to comment on the
situation but there have been no prose-
cutions for bigamy in the Republic
within recent memory. EVidently all '
concerned are turning a blind eye to
an embarrassing situation.
There are other awkward conse-
quences to the disparity between the
laws of Church and State as well.
Since remarriage after an annulment
is illegal according to the civil law,
the wife and children of a man whose
first marriage has been annulled have
no maintenance or succession rights.
Some day soon there may be an un-
pleasant and embarrassing tussle in the
courts between the dependants left
by an annulled marriage and those left
by a second Church-sanctioned mar-
riage over the estate of their mutual
husband and father.
Getting an annulment can be along
and harrowing experience. Once gran-
ted it may soothe the conscience but
in practical terms it may cause nearly
as many problems asit solves.
...
Annulments
1977-8 1978-9 1979-80 1980-1 1981-2 Totals
Applications 838 617 680 687 645 3,467
Decisions 114 125 103 116 110 568
Nullity 100 93 75 67 83 418
Decree. (12%appl.)
Vetitum on
Oneparty 62 54 44 48 70 278
Both parties 13 15 9 10 8 55
Freeto
1
80
Remarry 112 102 88 66 448
This table covers the period from 1st November 1977 to 31st Octobe~ 1982. Less detailed
figures for the rest of 1977 and for 1983 give a total of nearly 5,000 applications (10,000
eopte). The number of nullity decreesin any year is not strictly comparable with the number
,f applications in that year as the decreescover applications made in earlier yearsbut the aver-
III figures for the five years give a fair indication of the trend of decisions. There is abig back-
'ogof casesawaiting decision though many of the initial applications will have lapsedor been
......... '\-,
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IT]
HE TWO HANDS TENSE AS HE HOLDS THE
T
script; when each piece of music is corning to
an end he raises his left hand and quickly
lowers it to his chest, with alook of professional
pride and ease, as the red light comes on. The script isper-
fectly rehearsed. "Good evenin' listeners," he begins and
even the g in "evening" is missing in the script. He has
timed the introductions and the music so that his pro-
gramme runs to just over 29 minutes. Every single pause,
or inflection, or laugh has been prepared and rehearsed;
the guy knows exactly what he is doing.
He is delighted to discover that his timing is right once
more. He walks out into the control room. "If there's any
problem we can fade it," J ohnny Devlin, the producer
tells him and everybody looks up waiting for his reaction.
Tommy O'Brien takes things seriously and fading a record
is a matter of the utmost gravity. He rages against the
fading of records. His speaking voice outside the studio is
high-pitched; his speech comes fast and incessant, full of
drama and conviction. "Fade it. I'll kill you."
Today is another milestone in Tommy O'Brien's great
love affair with the microphone. Today he is going to
record three programmes instead of the usual two. And in
future he is going to record three. He has written J ohnny
Devlin a note to warn him of this; he has steeled his nerve
that it is going to be done, even if it means getting a taxi
to the station. There's no point in coming up every fort-
night when you can come up every three weeks.
On the days he records his great programme "Your
Choice And Mine" a car picks him up and takes him from
his native Clonmel to Thurles; from there he gets the train
- the dining car staff know when to expect him and have
his breakfast ready for him. All the porters and most of the
passengers know him and are aware of his sacred mission;
his journey to Dublin with his box of records resembles
nothing less than a royal progress. But this morning the
roads have been icy and the car has had to go too slowly.
He missed the train; he had to get a car in Thurles to take
him the whole way to RTE. Hecan't remember this having
happened before in his long career as a commuting broad-
caster. .
But his life has been a long struggle with the elements
and the great dramas: the death of Aida, the love between
Romeo and J uliet, the wiles of Don Giovanni, the flashing
eyes of Carmen. Even orchestral works have their own
dramas to act out. All his long life he has been listening to
these dramas. He recounts the missing of his train with an
almost operatic verveand orchestral fluency.
He wants a dee-jay. Is there a dee-jay. J ohnny Devlin
thinks there is and wanders off to make sure. Is he, Tommy
O'Brien, not a dee-jay? The denial comes hot and heavy,
followed by a degree of abuse. No, he isn't a dee-jay. He
doesn't actually handle the records.
The dee-jay arrives in the person of Frank Corr. Tommy
is pleased; now we can begin. Hehands the script around to
all concerned and opens up his box of records. "Be awful
careful of this record, it's very rare," he admonishes Frank
Corr. Suddenly, for the first time, he stops talking and
stands to attention, his hands by his sides. Slowly he
draws in his breath. Everybody waits for him to speak.
Here we have the born performer and his captive audience.
"J ohnny," he says, "I'm going to play one I've never
played before in my life." He looks around at everyone as
though he has just delivered an important message from on
high. There followed a conversation about music and who
wrote what and when between J ohnny Devlin and Tommy
O'Brien, the elders in the temple.
Everything goes smoothly and according to the script.
I
I
Photographs by Derek Speirs
40 MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984
--------
The battle to make three programmes instead of two seems
to be well on the way to being won. But then the great
Needle-Stuck-In-The-Record row begins. Tommy blames
RTE. "It worked perfectly at home," he roars. But no
matter what they do, the groove in the record resembles
nothing as much as the Black Pig's Dyke. "I'll never finish
three programmes with these whores," mumbles Tommy
O'Brien.
Sometimes while the record is playing he sings along.
Sometimes he talks: "Wait until you hear the second tune.
It's got Verdi written all over it," or "If only Pavorotti
could sing like this," or "There wasn't a tune in tReSwhole
opera." Then the singers, he knows everything about the
singers. Ben Davis who made the recording when he was 76,
Isobel Bailliewho died last year.
It's time for the next number, the voice becomes dis-
ciplined, almost calm, controlled: he tells his listeners that
the sound they are going to hear is the sound of pure en-
chantment. The dee-jay puts on the record. Tommy O'Brien
grins in recognition when the music starts. He thinks for
a moment. "Maybe it's a slight exaggeration. to say it's
'pure enchantment'," he says and stops for a moment,
"but it is." . ,
[! ]
OURING COMPANIES WERE COMMON AT
T
the time. He remembers when he was twelve or
thirteen and one came to Clonmel. They did
concert scenes from operas. He remembers
vividly that on the first night they did ascene from "Mari-
tane" by WilliamVincent Wallace. It was the prison scene
and there was atrio for tenor, contralto and baritone called
"Turn On Old Time". Even now, and it must be sixty years
later, he hums the tune and says that he was absolutely
overcome. He keeps humming the tune to himself to help
.himrecall what it was like to hear that sort of music for the
first time.
Not long afterwards through an advertisement in anews-
paper he paid fifty shillings for a hornless table grand, six
records and a box of needles. It was Clonmel just after the
war and when~e left school he went to work for the
Clonmel Chronicle as a junior reporter. One day when he
had started making his own living he saw an advertisement
in the Daily Telegraph for the International Opera Season
at Covent Garden. He saw some of the names and they in-
cluded a number of world famous figures whose records he
had in his growing collection. Wouldn't it be great, he
thought, to go and hear them in real life?
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 41
....
It was a long way from Tipperary. He was seventeen
years old and fivefoot four. It was his first time in London.
He arrived on a Monday morning and went straight to
Covent Garden. A cross between Stephen Dedelus and Dick
Whittington, he stood outside and stared at the Opera
House. "Well there it is," he thought. "Imagine I'll actually
be in there tonight." Such is the stuff of almost half of the
novels written in the nineteenth century.
Tommy O'Brien, our hero, went up to the tall attendant.
"Excuse me," he said, "have you heard any of the singers
tonight?" "Oh yes, sir," said the attendant, "I heard them
all at rehearsal." The attendant continued, Tommy O'Brien
remembers, and said: "There's one little fat Italian and
she's great." "And that", says Tommy O'Brien, "of course,
was Toti."
Toti was the coloratura soprano, Toti del Monte, "who
could be said to be as broad as she was long; she was only
five feet tall and she was very fat." On his first night in
London he heard her singing in Lucia. The next night he
saw Tosca and then Butterfly and then Aida. Aida is his
favourite opera: he has seen it more often than any other.
He witnessed the debut of many famous singers in that
opera. ~S
On that first visit he stayed for a fortnight and he was
lucky because one of the touring opera companies had
hired the Lyceum and Tommy O'Brien was able to go there
as well as Covent Garden to see opera. But that wasn't all:
on a Sunday afternoon, he won't say what year, he never
gives dates, J ohn McCormack gave a recital in the Albert
Hall. There were seven thousand people there and loads of
people turned away. McCormack sang 25 songs. For the
first two songs the voice was dry and uninteresting, Tommy
O'Brien felt. It was a phenomenon he was to notice with
other singers. "But after the third song it was entirely
different, it was glorious."
Back he went after his two weeks in London to his job
as a junior reporter on the Clonmel Chronicle. When that
newspaper folded he joined the Clonmel Nationalist and
soon became a senior reporter. Every summer until the war
he went back to London for two weeks. Hesawall the great
singers and musicians. Yet it seemed that those two weeks
basking in the extraordinary pleasure he gets from music
had to be paid for as though they were the golden fruits of
some Faustian bargain. The rest of the year back inClonmel
was sheer slavery. He had taken on the job, in addition to
that of reporter, as official court stenographer for County
Tipperary Circuit Court. Sometimes he would start at 10.30
in the morning and work until 9.30 at night. Hekept it up
for ten years, taking down two hundred words aminute in
impeccable shorthand, until he was ready to shout out loud
in the court. Hegaveit up.
He is still proud of his shorthand; he is still proud that
he taught it to himself on his grandfather's farm in his
beloved Comeraghs from a manual he bought for six old
pence in Clonmel. He became editor of the Clonmel
Nationalist. He enjoyed the job but hated when people
asked, as they always did, to have their name kept out of
the paper after court cases. He had to refuse and there are
people in Clonmel who still don't speak to him because of
it.
In those years between the two wars when he was going
to London every summer there was an abiding passion in
his life other than music. Billiards. He was crazy about
billiards. He was three times Irish amateur champion, and
four times runner-up. He was only in his twenties when he
came up to Dublin and beat a man everybody thought was
unbeatable. The man from the Irish Independent asked him
if he had any hobbies besides billiards. Classical music, the
reporter was told. The reporter from the Indo wouldn't
believe this. "The last time I won," Tommy O'Brien re-
members, "I played a great game. I was absolutely mar-
vellous. I just knew that I'd win."
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 43
When he came to Dublin to play billiards he always
stayed with a family called Kenny in Drumcondra. They
were Northern Catholics and mad on opera. They had a
gramophone and one day Tommy O'Brien told them:
"The next time I'm coming up, when I'm playing in the
second round, I'll bring up a .lot of 78s and we'll play
them."
He brought the records and the family would sit around
as Tommy O'Brien, up in Dublin for the billiards, put on
records and introduced each one with a short explanation.
If it was an opera, he would tell the story, or maybe he had
seen the singer in London, but for each piece of music he
had an anecdote. Friends of the family began to drop in to
hear him. Once Tommy O'Brien was about to playa piece
without an explanation but a man stopped him. No, please
talk about the record before you put it on.
So back home in Clonmel one day he had an idea. It
worked up in Dublin in the Kenny's house - why the hell
wouldn't it work on radio? He wrote to a man called
Fachtna 0 hAnrachain in RTE and told him about his
visits to Covent Garden and his record collection. "I think
I could do some radio programmes," he said. He was en-
gaged to do six quarter-hour programmes called "Covent
Garden Memories". A star was born.
As the years went by the programmes he did increased
and multiplied. A series of six, then aseries of eight. Kevin
Roche, the head of light entertainment, was agreat believer
in the snappy title. Tommy thought that if he could think
up a snappy title he might be able to sell an idea to Kevin
Roche. The title he had for years was "Tommy O'Brien
and His Records" but he knew Kevin Roche would never
buy that. He met him in the lavatory in Henry Street one
day when Tommy was up in RTE to make a recording.
"Kevin," he said, "I've thought of a great new title for a
series which has never been used before, even by the BBC."
The title was "Your Choice and Mine". Kevin Roche
bought it.
He thinks if he plays ballads and well-known songs, that
his audience will follow him wherever he goes. Hewants to
entice people who wouldn't normally listen to Mozart or
Beethoven to listen to his programme so he can make them
share his enthusiasm. Basically, he is aman with amission.
ITJ
HERE WAS NO ANSWER. Knock harder. Still
T
no answer. It was difficult to just open the door,
because there was no guarantee that this was
the right house. There was a kitchen with an
Aga cooker and there were two cats sitting on a chair.
Hello. Anyone here? Still no answer.
Beyond the second door there was ahall andeven in the
hall the music could be heard. It was stunningly clear as
though there were a huge orchestra planted in the living-
room of this old house built high on a hill over Clonmel.
The music was Beethoven's Pastorai Symphony and it was
playing really loud. It took a long time to alert Tommy
O'Brien to the fact that there were visitors.
Once aware of this, however, he was up on his feet,
dancing around the room and talking. He never stopped
talking except when music was playing. At one end of the
room there were cabinets full of records and just in front
of the cabinets there were two huge speakers which he
recently acquired and he expressed his deep delight with
these speakers. After he had put the meal on the table, he
Tommy O'Brien and his records
would demonstrate how the speakers work with 78s.
The two windows in the living-room look down on
Clonmel; the view is spectacular and at night you can look
out and see a mass of small lights. He moved here over ten
years ago and he has been living here on his own since the
death of his sister.
He has built up a huge collection of records over the
years, although he has bought very few over the past
decade. He still lives in some golden age' of singers and
records before the fall of man. He has not been back to
Covent Garden since the war, for example, he doesn't like
the singers. He hates the way they have perfected the
system of recording; he' likes recordings of live concerts.
He has made great friends while buying records: one in
particular was Rev David McCauseland, a Presbyterian
minister, a kindred spirit in Clonmel who introduced him
to Beethoven.
He has remembered the aria all evening since it was
mentioned. Yes, he had three recordings of it. What's he
saying, three, he has more than that, but three that he
would like to choose between. He stops and thinks for a
moment and then enumerates all the recordings of the aria
and what he thinks of them, he names all the foreign singers
in the rich tones of south Tipperary. Hemakes up his mind
and sails down to arecord cabinet. Within afew seconds he
has the record in his hand. The duet from "The Pearl
Fishers" sung by J ussi Bjoerling and Robert Merill. He
walks up to the turntable and puts it on. The music starts.
He knows all the French words and sings along for awhile
but he stops when one of the most magnificent arias of
nineteenth century romantic opera bursts into full flower.
But soft, no, hold on, don't go yet, wait aminute. There
is another matter. Sit down. The greatest Irish singer since
McCormack and Burke-Sheridan. Who? Names are men-
tioned and dismissed by him. Suddenly he shouts out the
name: Frank Ryan, the tenor from Tallow, Co Waterford.
"Frank Ryan to my way of thinking had a world beating
natural tenor voice. However, he made very few recordings
and he wasn't fully trained." Tommy O'Brien wants to play
one last record by another man who stayed at home: he
wants to play Frank Ryan singing "I'll Walk Beside You".
He remarks on Ryan's ability to hit particular notes. The
room fills with the voice on an old record, the room already
full of a lifetime's obsession with the human voice. It is
getting on towards midnight and he is old, but Tommy
O'Brien is still listening with enormous intensity for the
singer to hit the high note.
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 45
T
he application of computers as
means of performing banking
transactions made considerable pro-
gress last month when three of the
four main banks linked their auto-
matic teller machines (ATMs) to a
central network. The new system
affords users of Bank of Ireland's
PASS machines, Ulster Bank's Service-
tills, and Northern Bank's Autobank,
the convenience of using the ATMs
of all three banks, although they may
have an account with just one.
The ATM has been one of the
most successful banking initiatives in
Ireland in recent years. Introduced
initially by Bank of Ireland in 1979,
and followed soon after by the other
main banks, the ATM was to lift the
burden of cumbersome cash transac-
tions from the banking staff, with
obvious advantages for the customer
who is invariably pressed for time.
More importantly however, was that
the ATM would provide an after-
hours cash dispensing service.
From a commercial viewpoint the
concept of the ATM presented some
situational problems. In order to
provide the service successfully, the
system would have to be extremely
reliable, a description which in prac-
tice hasn't always been appropriate.
However, a decision was made by
Bank of Ireland to use off-line ATMs,
machines which weren't linked to a
central computer but acted as distinct
units in themselves. The alternative
here is an on-line system, with which
the ATMs are connected to a central
computer through the telephone line.
The NCR system installed by Bank
of Ireland, and subsequently by Ulster
Bank and Northern Bank, has the
added advantage of being able to go
on-line when suitable conditions pre-
vail. The basis of this condition is a
reliable and extensive telephone sys-
tem, not yet at their disposal. Never-
theless, the other main bank, Allied
Irish Banks, is intent on switching
their IBM system on-line sometime
this year.
The ATMs have been a great suc-
cess, particularly in the personal
saving sector. From an initial scatter-
ing of less than a dozen machines,
mostly in Dublin, there are now 211
ATMs in operation around the coun-
try. Included in this figure are the
eleven ATMs operated by the fifth
Irish bank to introduce ATMs, Trustee
SavingBank.
But while the ATM networks have
evolved in tandem, the market for
ATM users is marked by fierce com-
petition and rivalry, particularly be-
tween Bank of Ireland and AlB. The
recent merging of three networks has
not come about because of any philan-
thropic notions on the parts of bank
chief executives, but rather because
of two aspects of the prevailing bank-
ing climate.
Firstly, the Associated Banks' share
in personal savings growth is diminish-
ing due to the attractive interest rates
and tax status of the building societies.
In order for the banks to hold their
own, let alone achieve a better growth
rate, they are looking for ways in
which banks can offer more to the
personal saver. The new system allows
the relevant banking public to avail
of computerised banking facilities in
140 locations throughout the whole
island.
Secondly, with particular reference
to Bank .of Ireland, the ever-escalating
profits of AlB and its fast-increasing
firm hold of the number one spot has
meant that the three other main banks
have had to retaliate. The new system
is part of this fightback.
T
he Irish software industry is
gathering considerable momentum
with the impending opening of the
National Software Centre and the
creation of many new software com-
panies. One of these new companies
recently launched its range of products
on the UK market.
Dillon Technology Limited was
established early last year by a Kerry-
man, J ames Dillon, with the assistance
of the IDA Enterprise Programme. The
company has received further funding
from Investors in Industry (Ireland)
Limited, a subsidiary of the interna-
tional 3i Group, which has taken a
minority equity investment.
The company is producing business
application packages initially aimed at
the l o-bit micro computer market.
The first three systems - sales, pur-
chase, and nominal ledgers - are
ae-eady on the market, with order
eritry and stock control packages to
follow in acouple of months time.
The systems are designed for the
Xenix operating system, the equivalent
of the industry standard Unix system.
Package language is Micro focus level
11 Cobol, allowing application with
a variety of single and multi-user
systems.
Ten people are presently employed
by Dillon Technology, with adoubling
in staff levels anticipated within 18
months.
T
he latest in the unceasing proces-
sion of home computers arrived
in Ireland just before Christmas. The
Acorn Electron is the successor to
the Acorn Atom, which was one of
the most popular of the first breed of
computers which constitute a home
computer. Advance orders suggest that
the Electron will easily outsell the
Atom.
The delay in the machine reaching
Ireland was caused by one of the most
bizarre, yet effective, coups in the
home computer business so far. British
newsagency chain W.H. Smiths ordered
the first five months production capa-
city of the Electron, which at 10,000
a month makes a hefty 50,000 com-
puters. This had the effect of giving
W.H. Smiths a virtual monopoly for
the launch and early market life of
the Electron.
While they didn't physically possess
the computers, Lendac Data Systems,
the Irish distributor of the Electron,
took orders from individuals in the
belief that the units would arrive
from Britain in time. Lucky for Mr
Lendac, they just made it.
The Electron itself has 64k of
memory (32k ROM, 32k RAM),
with built-in BASIC interpreter. Soft-
ware for the Electron is available in
great quantities through Acorn's soft-
ware house, Acornsoft. There may,
however, be problems with distribu-
tion until retail outlets throughout
the country are supplied which may be
some time yet.
One of the programming languages
used by Acornsoft, Comal 80, was the
subject of a meeting held in Copen-
hagen recently at which the language
was standardised by a group of inter-
national experts. Ireland was represen-
ted at the meeting by personnel from
the TCD Software Engineering Labora-
tory.
The main characteristic of Comal
80 as a programming language is that
it combines two other languages,
Pascal and Basic. The standardisation
meeting, the third such gathering, was
held to ensure that the language
developed in a coherent manner, pre-
venting the proliferation of incom-
patible dialects.
The obvious advantage of con-
tinued standardisation for users is that
Comal 80 packages can be used across
many computing systems. Many ex-
perts believe that in 1984 Comal 80
will emerge as the preferred language
for portable software. _
I
nseveral senses, Barrie Cooke
occupies the middle ground in
Irish art. He lives in Kilkenny, at
J erpoint near Thomastown, with Sonja
Landweer, and he is one of the few
artists in the country to have earned
the near universal approbation of his
peers. The quality, range and consis-
tency of his work have engendered
wide and genuine respect.
Firmly rooted in nature, that work
is fluent, rich and expressive. Certain
motifs recur obsessively, like the spiral
pattern of organic growth, for example,
or the ball and socket of joints,
emblematic forms that embody basic
natural principles. The paintings are by Aidan Dunne
saturated with a sense of their own
subject matter: water, light, < earth,
vegetation, growth, change, decay and
renewal. Cooke is agifted and resource-
ful draughtsman. With some previous
experience of work in three dimen-
sions, in 1969 he began to produce his
bone boxes, distinctive sculptures of
painted ceramic in perspex boxes that
have come to represent a major thread
of his work.
He also makes portraits. Invariably,
the sitters are friends, including
Seamus Heaney, Siobhan McKenna,
Nora Ring, Brian Boydell and Sonja.
A portrait of Ted Hughes remains un-
finished in his studio: whenever the
poet Visits, he is more inclined to go
fishing than sit. Of all Cooke's work,
the portraits most clearly suggest the
influence of his teacher, Kokoschka.
Writing in The Dubliner in 1964,
J ohn Montague described Cooke 'as an
"intense, dark-beared young man". He
is now in his early fifties, but other-
wise the description still stan ds.
Stocky, relaxed and assured, his one
concession to nerves is to smoke roll-
your-own cigarettes.
He reads a lot, poetry and anthro-
pology, is receptive to new ideas and
discusses art with tireless enthusiasm.
He regards work that he likes - de
Kooning and Beckmann, among others
- with frank, unaffected wonder. At
J erpoint, he and Sonja grow most of
their own food. Though he sometimes
resents the work, he would rather
spend the one day a week that it takes
in the garden than teaching. He does
do a minimal amount of teaching, but
he finds it difficult and disruptive.
Other demands on his time include an
involvement in the Butler Gallery in
Kilkenny Castle and a position on the
board of the Douglas Hyde Gallery.
Cooke was born in Cheshire in
England; his mother was American,
and the family moved to the States
while he was still a child. His father
hated it and they eventually ended up
in Bermuda, the nearest British colony.
At seventeen, Cooke went to Harvard
and took a 'BA, studying biology,
Chinese poetry and art history, three
disparate subjects that influenced him
significantly.
Coming from a middle class back-
ground, he knew that art existed, but
there were few pictures around when
he was growing up and it never occur-
red to him that there were such things
as painters until he went to Harvard.
Once he realised, he knew that that
was what he wanted to be.
His practical art education in
America consisted of a spell at Skow-
hegan, a prestigious art school staffed
by practising artists who worked their
students hard. Cooke took automati-
cally to the discipline of work. When
he went on to Bermuda, he held down
three jobs simultaneously for a year to
save enough money for a trip. He had
decided to go back to England.
T
he story of how he arrived and
decided to stay in Ireland is typical
of his approach to life and work in its
calm acceptance of chance and its
grudging but definite beliefin fate.
England, austere, dismal and grey,
was a huge disappointment. Cooke
went on to Wales. Through a friend at
Harvard, he had two Irish contacts,
Night Lake Yellow /979 (Detail)
and he took a boat from Holyhead.
Walking down the gangplank at Dun
Laoghaire, he sensed an openness, a
freedom that he liked. In DUblin, he
did two things.
Firstly, he headed for the best
fishing tackle shop he could find,
Garnetts and Keegan's in Parliament
Street. He put a map of Ireland on
the counter. He was looking, he said,
for a limestone, high pH river with a
lot of vegetation that would provide
the best dry fly fishing in the coun try.
The man he happened to ask was J ack
Harris, one of the men best qualified
to answer such a question. After about
ten minutes thought, he drew an X
through a spot in Clare.
Next Cooke rang one of his con-
tacts, architect Niall Montgomery, said
he was looking for a cheap motorbike,
and asked for advice. Montgomery
took him to see Reg Armstrong, who
had just started selling and servicing
motorbikes out of a shed. Cooke
bought one, for 15, and headed west,
to Kilkee and the summer home of his
other contact.
The house was choc a bloc with
children and in-laws. No problem, said
the shameless Cooke, I have a blanket,
I'll sleep on the kitchen floor.
Next day he was driven around to
have a look at the county and ended
up, in the evening, perched on a bridge
near Corofin. He looked down on a
river that fitted his criteria exactly,
consulted his map, and found that he
was standing on the spot J ack Harris
had marked.
He moved to the village as a paying
guest, and later rented a two-room
cottage. It was three fields away from
the road, there was no path, no water,
no electricity. He settled there for
abou t a year and a half. When, a
couple of years ago, he went there
with Sonja, through the windows they
could make out an unfinished painting,
bits of paper and the piece of lino he'd
used as a palette.
There is a startling, linear clarity
to it all that is almost perplexing, but
Cooke puts it down to one factor: he
has always known precisely what he
wanted.
He spent the summer of 1955 at
Kokoschka's School of Vision in
Salzburg. Characteristically, he went
with enough money for a stay of two
weeks, but was, fortuitously awarded
a scholarship. The regimen was strict.
From nine o'clock until it was dark
the students drew with charcoal as
three or four models moved non-stop
around the studio. There were segre-
gated dormitories and a basic cafe-
teria that served fare like calves lung.
A chosen few, Cooke included, were
rewarded with a few mornings' oil
painting at the end of the summer.
S
ince the late fifties, Cooke has
maintained a consistent and vigo-
rous presence on the Irish art scene.
One of the founder members of the
Independent Artists, he had ten paint-
ings in the first show. Patrick Collins
liked them and brought them to the
attention of gallery owner David
Hendriks, beginning an association
that lasted until Hendriks' death late
last year. Cooke appreciated his faith-
fulness. Buyers, for example, did not
take to the bone boxes immediately.
Out of the first box show, perhaps two
and one watercolour were sold. When
two years later, it wastime for another
show, Hendriks inquired what it was
going to be. I'm afraid it's boxes,
replied Cooke with some trepidation,
but Hendriks was unflustered and
offered no criticism.
Cooke's life is asequence of abrupt
changes. It has the air of a quest:
forsaking the undoubted commercial
promise of America for the rigour and
loneliness of aspartan cottage in Clare;
the summer in Salzburg; Amsterdam in
the early sixties; Kilkenny andThomas-
town in the mid-sixties; and then the
Borneo trip. Every move derived from
some overwhelming personal need.
"What made me take this trip to
Africa?" asks Saul Bellow's fictional
Henderson, a character who corres-
ponds to some degree with Cooke.
There are reasons. Cookeisno tourist.
He is impressed at the seeming inevi-
tability of what he has done, how
things have unfailingly connected and
made some kind of higher sense. He
has never been motivated by ambition.
The treadmill of commercial success
- big cities, parties, openings -
doesn't interest him.
His work is very much the fruit of
perception in extremis. "Howclosely,"
asks J ohn Montague, "can the artist
expose himself to flux and still trans-
pose his findings into that other form
of life called art?" Cooke eschews the
facile image, the felicitous technique.
The worst insult Kokoschka could
dole out to a student was to remark
of a piece of work that "You could
framethat andput it inanexhibition."
Cooke appreciated the remark
when he came up against the impasse
of facility himself. Morethan once he
has felt the prisoner of technique, felt
that he was making work fine as far
asit went, but too smooth, too accom-
plished and too sure of its own terms.
The feeling presaged and induced
change. This happened to him in the
early sixties and in the middle seven-
ties. The first time, he made the sur-
face of his pictures spare and dry,
dismissing any voluptuous qualities.
The next time, he went the opposite
way.
He remembered a few months he
had spent in J amaica in his teens. He
was reading Lawrence for the first
time. He had his first love affair. It
was the first time he had encoun-
tered semi-tropical vegetation. As a
child he had been a keen amateur
naturalist. Now he realised with alarm
that he knew less about the local
butterflies than he had when he was
nine. What he wanted, he decided,
was primary forest. He settled on
Malaysiaand Borneo aspossibilities.
To finance the trip he sent letters
to collectors, people who had bought
his work in the past. Hecould promise
nothing but first choice of whatever he
might produce. Havingposted the first
batch, he was strolling along South
Anne Street when a stranger hailed
him. "Are you Barrie Cooke?" he
asked. It was Pat Murphy, Chairman
of Rose '84, who worked at the time
for Guinness. Through one of those
extraordinary coincidences that Cooke
seems to attract, Murphy had been,
for a time, stationed in Malaya. While
there he had brought over a show of
Irish art, including work byleBrocquy.
Hehad contacts.
Le Malaysian state of Sarawak, on
the northwest Borneo coast, is an ex-
ceptional place. Inhabited by the Iben,
the most numerous and aggressiveof
the Dayak tribes, it was granted to
Sir J ames Brooke by the Sultan of
Brunei in 1841. Brooke ruled as an
unusually benevolent feudal lord. He
was frequently criticised for not ex-
ploiting the resources he had at his
disposal and he discouraged attempts
at converting the Iben.
Cooke had reckoned on a stay of
two months, but he found that he
could live there cheaply and stayed
four. He went as a naturalist, which
made it easier to obtain avisa, and he
collected butterflies. He travelled by
foot and canoe and stayed in the local
communal longhouses. There werefew
Europeans about, apart fromthe inevi-
table Irish priest or two.
The forest in Cooke's work, in his
world, is the thing itself, a humid,
steaming, fertile, burgeoning, dark
cathedral of growth and decay. And it
is a metaphor. Everything happens
there, all the time. Things grow,
develop, change, join. The division
between life and death is blurred. As
Bellow has Henderson's mentor re-
mark: "Some parts may be so long-
buried as to be classed dead. Is there
any resurrectibility in them? This is
where the change comes in." Cooke
points up the process of change, and
resurrects what we have dismissed as
lost, dead, inert.
The marvellous, organic density of
his work corresponds to a density of
thought, feelings and ideas that goes
into it. Though many of the pictures,
particularly, have a loose effortless
look about them, he is a slowworker.
Individual paintings take months, even
years. He can worry away at apicture
for weeks on end, then resolve it
within afewhours.
He works inseriesthat connect and
overlap. "Great Tench Lake" antici-
pated the drenched green space of the
Borneo forest paintings. The mythical
character Sweeney who surfaced in
his last show had formed the subject
of a long series of studies, many of
them made at the sametime asthe elk
drawings and paintings. The Sheela-
ria-Gigsof the early sixties anticipate
the spectacular relief modelling of the
eviscerated sheep painted later in the
decade, and they in their turn led on
to the bone boxes.
To Cooke, art is about vision, the
moment of seeing. The instant of
revelation when fundamental patterns
and connections become apparent.
Kokoschka's overriding concern was
that people should be receptive,
should beopen to seeing.
When Cooke enlisted his butcher's
aid in recovering portions of sheep
carcasses, it followed on from paint-
ings he had made about couples -
joining, conjunctions. And when, one
day, helpfully sectioning the scapula
of a sheep, the butcher, cleaver in
hand, inquired where exactly he
should cut, Cooke, peering at the livid
complication of flesh and bone, was
struck by this continuity: bone,
gristle, flesh. And experienced the
revelation that bone is muscle con-
gealed. Not one thing or the other,
but both. His art is made of such
moments.
MAGILL FEBRUARY 1984 51
I
t'ssomeyears sinceI got onto theReaders
Digest's hit list. About 1978, maybe.
They sent me a letter saying I had been
specially chosen, by computer, because of
my fine intellect, social sophistication,
personal charm and all round gee whizz
goodness, to participate in afun experiment
they were organising. Love that kind of
flattery, except that at least three-quarters
of the people I know received similar letters,
and a good two-thirds of them are well-
known hairbags and dogbreaths (Mick
Belker is ajuicy little guy, isn't he?).
Getting the letter made you one of the
favoured few. To be absorbed further into
the elite you just had to sign this here, tick
that there. And you could get "free gifts"
and maybe win a super prize. I forget what
the prizes were but Quicksilver they weren't
(I think the third prize was Nicaragua).
J ust in passing, they let you know that
signing the form to put your name in for
the prize draw committed you to paying
for a subscription to Readers Digest, the
literary wing of the CIA.
This is a notorious hard sell technique
thought up by some pimp in a three-piece
suit. What most people don't know is that
when you receive this kind of crap unsolici-
ted through the post you can do what you
like with it, without obligation. (A good
idea is to buy a small fish, take it out the
back yard and peg it to the clothesline,
leave it a couple of days. Stick it in an
envelope, no stamp, include your name and
address, send it off to them. This gets you
off their mailing list. Pronto.)
I signed and ticked where appropriate,
sent it off. I didn't win Nicaragua, but they
sent some free gifts (a tacky first aid book-
let and a tackier "joke" book. No kidding)
and acopy of Readers Digest. And abill.
Very handy for lighting the fire. Aswere
the Readers Digests and bills that arrived
for the next couple of months. Eventually
they sent a petulant letter cancelling my
subscription. They warned that if I didn't
cough up the cash I "owed" they would put
my name on a list of defaulting creditors
and circulate it.
Aye, and even to this day there sits in
the safes of all the major merchant bankers,
stock brokers and financiers of the world a
list warning them not to risk their millions
with welshers like Kerrigan. But for this
I might have had a fine career in property
speculation or bond washing.
Another victim of this scam was my
mate Scuffles Metcalf. Scuffles is something
of a man about town, his every achievement
and social engagement chronicled in the
public prints (Scuffles at Football Match,
Scuffles in Pub, Scuffles ~n Picket Line,
Scuffles at Cabinet Meeting - you've seen
the headlines, this guy gets around).
Scuffles has the virtue of directness, he
not being burdened with too much weigh
above the eyebrows. Having received the
Readers Digest threat, he immediately flew
to the States, got the address of one of the
top RD executives, who lived in a mansion
in upstate New York, scored a handful of
heroin, broke into the guy's house, stole
enough scratch from the safe to pay for his
trip and the heroin, left the stuff in the safe.
skedaddled and phoned in an unknown
persons tip-off to the cops.
The executive was found guilty of
possession with intent. Before sentencing,
an associate of his called around to the
judge's house with the keys of a brand new
four-door sedan, air conditioning, the lot.
The judge indignantly threw him out. He
already had three cars. The associate was
back next morning with a shoebox full of
money and the executive got a suspended
sentence. At least, Scuffles says, he caused
the guy a lot of grief and a shoeboxful of
money.
F
riday night, Lazy Pete Maguire and I
were elbows down on the bar of The
Oasis, discussing the sad plight of so many
of our eminent citizens. First it was the
Gallaghers came tumbling. Then J oe Moore.
Poor Pat Quinn is still mooching around the
edges of things. Sean Doherty blew it,
Martin O'Donoghue got the bum's rush.
Eamonn Andrews went down with his ship.
Frank Flynn got the chop.
And now even poor Bunny Carr has had
to call a press conference to dispose of
certain rumours and innuendoes. Bunny
Carr. J eeze, it's like someone making allega-
tions about Bambi.
Scuffles came in and threw an Evening
Herald on the bar. "Danger List For Reagan
Visit", was the headline. "A detailed list of
subversives and political troublemakers is
being compiled by the Garda Special Branch"
and this will be handed over to Reagan's
secret service.
This, we agreed, was serious. As founder
members of the Spontaneous Aggravation
Party we were sure to be on the list. That
kind of thing could get your US visa can-
celled. It can bring acne-ridden, dandruff-
infested Branchmen knocking on your door
just when things are hotting up on Glenroe
and you miss Biddy kissing Miley. And all
because it's election year in the States and
Sheriff Reagan wants some snaps of him-
self strolling around the oul sod to impress
the shamrock vote. Bloody nuisance.
The Boss put a pint on the bar. Scuffles
drained half of it in agulp. Hesigheddeeply.
"Where", he asked, "does this guy Reagan
live?"
"f inong the Irish pack,
Slattery is almost the last man I
-~ ,.-:. ..
would hav~",thougJ lt ot~s being most
deserv~J ?-g';of selection 'to' fulfill the
functioil of the unfortunate Admiral
Byng who was shot at Portsmouth
Harbour in. 1757 pour, as the French
put it sojdelicately, encourager les
>";' ,, .' , . '>';~'--; ',. :"\'s'i":;:: ,."
:~~l !!~~.;~i't~t:tji:~<';%~,!;, ." ',.. ..<
.;;:.Byng>,ha~h(been'seJ ?-t off to the
~lediterr~n'e'a'h':inthe Seven Year War
\viih;a~sadly'inadequaie,force and he
addegto'tlie woes of an even more
.ina(i~9~atei'r.British Government by
'failingr'to ... relieve. .the: besieged naval
base at MiilOfca. So when he ot back
thing is likely to conk out which was
what happened to France.
I
will go further. After watching
the performance of the Irishpack
against France I was prepared to con-
cede that Grandad's Army could con-
ceivably succeed to the title of Great-
Grandad's army if they went on
playing likethat.
That may be a big if of course. To
survive one really hard game is one
thing. To survivefour is another thing
entirely. It occurred to me that this
particular platoon of old soldiers
might not exactly die but they would
never do worsethan fade away.
On the other hand J im Telfer who
was the Lions coach in New Zealand
last year might conceivably be right.
When he was asked of his future plans
J ames asked in return "is there a life
after death?" and went on to prove
that there is by coaching Scotland to
victory in Catdiff a couple of weeks
ago. Then the Irish pack went and did
much the samething in Paris.
Everybody, except Slattery, that is.
(McLoughlin does not really count in
the argument.) But if I had been asked
to nominate the one areaof the forth-
coming ball game between Ireland and
Wales on Saturday where the Irish
might have their opponents at a dis-
advantage it would have been inspeed
to the breakdown and in the develop-
ment of play fromthe breakdown.
As this is what Irishrugby has been
all about ever since Roman times it
does seem to me to be crucial, parti-
cularly inviewof the eminently watch-
able agonies of the Welsh selection
committee asthey writhe about on the
floor imitating Richard III onBosworth
field.
It is thoroughly unkind I know but
all sorts of people haveenjoyed no end
the contortions of the Welshselection
committee after suffering all those
years of unrelieved selectorial smug-
ness when anybody's unborn grand-
children could have picked the Welsh
team. But then the Welsh selectors
seemed to think that the success of
that team was due entirely to their
ineffable prescience. Now they give
every impression that they could
not evenpick their noses.
Nowhere in their roulette wheel
have the Welsh selectors put up a
black more unerringly, when they
badly need to drop their little silver
balls into the red, than in their selec-
tions at loose forward. One of the
greatest mysteries in the world of
rugby has been how on earth a soul
as hard-headed and as pragmatic as
Terry Cobner could be party to a
decision to choose a bean pole like
Richard Moriarty to playas a blind
side flanker for the first time in his
life in an International match and not
only that but in the very position
which wasCobner's own speciality!
Moriarty can do none of the things
that Cobner could do as naturally
as breathing and it is not an exaggera-
tion to say that Moriarty's selection
and that alone cost Wales the game
against Scotland. It was a desperately
poor contest decided by the tiniest
of margins and the gulf by which
David Leslie outplayed Moriarty even
in the line-out, surely decided the
issue.
The response of theWelshselectors
wasnot to cut their lossesand to make
the intelligent adjustment but to leap
to the defence of their prematch deci-
sion on Welsh television. This of
course, shunted them smartly into a
horribly public cul-de-sac from which
they could not escapeand so they had
to pick Moriarty again and pick him
in the same position. Oscar Wildehad
something to say about that sort of
thing. Carelessindeed.
This ought to pull the rug smartly
from underneath the good things that
are in this Welsh team and make no
mistake there are some. I will cheer-
fully contradict the howl of local
discontent in Wales and say I think
J ohn Bevan the Welsh coach is padd-
ling the right sort of canoes in the
right direction in his back division.
His backs are not world beaters but
they are a good few percentage points
better than anything that Ireland has.
L
et me say too; that I think Wales
havenowgot their front rowright.
Ian Stephens proved he is the top
loosehead in Britain on theLionstour.
"Spike" Watkins is a tidy hooker, a
determined captain and he can throw
in. (Guess who can't?) Ian Eidman is
asolidtight head..
Wales have chosen the right locks
too so their tight forwards will give
Ireland plenty to be getting on with
but as I say the whole shebang could
be torpedoed by Moriarty and "rugby
specials" very pointed illumination of
his foul play against Scotland will not
help either hiscauseor that of Wales.
I would take J ohn 0'Driscoll to
clean him out provided O'Driscoll
remembers to duck and I would have
taken Ireland to dominate the loose
ball if Slattery had been playing.
Sooner or later of course every top
player has to go but there is no sub-
stitute for experience particularly
against Wales and particularly at this
stageof the season.
What makes the whole thing the
more difficult to comprehend is that
the entire Irish back division has been
retained intact. Earlier on I likened
the French back division to an Aston
Martin without enough petrol in the
tank. The Irish back division is more
like a Model T Ford and not inashow
room either. Inamuseum.
The only Irish back with any pace
at all against France wasKeith Crossan.
He followed up one kick so fast that
he made the French crowd catch its
breath but he was never given the
chance to do anything else.
Sadly, one of the most incontro-
vertible truths about International
rugby is that some of the nicest.
players off the field are some of the
lamest ducks on it, and I haveto say<".
that the Irish back division is full of
absolutely great guys. But having said:
that I do not know how David Irwin
could surviveIreland's gamein Paris.
Remember that the Irish forwards
did win a bit of ball but Ireland never
once even remotely threatened to
score a try or even to get into a
position wherethey might sothreaten.
Even Ollie Campbell's confidence
about his decision making seemed to
have been shot to pieces.
That confidence must have been in
tatters after the Lions tour and hehas
not played enough football since to
get it back. He has not had the help
from a coach sufficiently qualified
either technically or psychologically to
help him either. All round New
Zealand and ever since Campbell
has been aprisoner inhis own castle.
Two years ago against Wales in
Dublin Campbell had one of the
greatest days of his rugby life. He
badly needs a day like that again and
he might like the old flame with afew
judicious forays up the blind side,
past the Moriarty light house and past
a Welsh Number 8 who has just been
deprived of the Captaincy in the most
humiliating circumstances and who
therefore is attracting as much sym-
pathy and commiseration as another
sadly put upon creature whose initials
he shares - ET. Theanalogy would be
evencloser if Walesplayed ingreen.
Psychologically, the match between
Ireland and Wales is a fascinating
equation if only because it is entirely
negative. The conviction of almost the
whole Welsh nation that their anti
heroes are going to get stuffed is only
rivalled by a similar belief nurtured
with equal ferbour on the other side
of the Irish sea that Irish rugby is on
its knees.
Both cannot be right but fortuna-
tely for both countries no one ismuch
good at rugby football in Europe at
the moment and so in comparative
terms the situation is not as bad as it
looks. Irish rugby is probably on one
knee only and like Wales it can look
forward to dear old England to help
it back to its feet. _
I
n the good old days litigation was
unknown in Irish soccer. Then the
game itself amounted to something.
Now when grounds are empty the
courts are full of disputatious football
men. This League of Ireland season
opened in the High Court where
ownership of Limerick CityIUnited
was at issue. That dispute was even-
tually settled in favour of Fried
Chicken magnate Pat Grace, but not
before the League programme was
seriously disrupted.
Coincidentally or not, two of the
supporting players from that sagahave
turned up in starring roles in the latest
caseto come before the bench.
J ohn E. Nolan, brother of broad-
caster Liam, and Tony Byrne, self-
made millionaire, are the principal
named defendants in a complicated
action that has been taking place in
the High Court for the past two weeks.
The Plaintiff, one Oliver Byrne, is
alleging that a deal negotiated in Sep-
tember 1982 in respect of the sale of
Shelbourne Football Club Limited had
the object of defrauding the creditors
of the company.
He is suing the club, J ohn E. Nolan,
Tony Byrne, Frederick Strahan, J oe
Wilson and Reds Limited for recovery
of 21,789 lent to the club previous
to this sale. The defendants deny that
Oliver Byrne is a creditor and claim
that their ploy of selling the assets of
Shelbourne to Reds Limited for 500
was a legitimate expedient to enable
the club to continue in the Famous
Chicken League. Oliver Byrne's asser-
tions are presented by Mr Sean Ryan
SC. The defendants arerepresented by
Mr Gerard Lardner. Mr J ustice O'Han-
Ion is hearing the case ... and smiling
benignly ashe does so.
ally Byrne owns Beaney and
Barney's 24 hour grocery shop in
Ringsend. He's Dublin streetwise, 49,
thickset and deals in cash.
ally's late father was Chairman of
Shels. Shelbourne is Ireland's oldest
professional club. It was founded in
1895 and has a glorious tradition. In
the folk memory of Real Dubliners
Shels belong with coddle, Alfie Byrne
(no relation) tuppenny packets of
smokes and the Old Theatre Royal. All
are symbols of the Rare Old Times.
Shels was never as successful as their
great rivals Shamrock Rovers but the
Reds were somehow more authentic.
ally has always supported Shels.
By 1982 when Tony Byrne arrived on
the scene the old club was in decline
and almost broke.
Tony Byrne owns the Liberties
Bazaar, the Tivoli Theatre and an
importing business called Euroware.
Tony deals in invoices and cheques.
He is 43. He used to play for Sham-
rock Rovers as apart-time pro, afringe
player in the great 'Rovers side of the
fifties.
Most of his energy went into busi-
ness. He took his first job in a pawn
brokers. Tony offered to work there
for nothing. Coming from the poverty
of Ormond Square, where he grew up
alongside his close friend J ohn Giles,
Tony didn't 'know much about how
the world worked. But observing the
people around the inner-city had
taught him one lesson; the local pawn-
broker was ahead of the game. So he
signed on to learn the tricks of the
trade.
Today Tony Byrne is reckoned to
be a millionaire. He has bought and
sold everything from Polish shoes to
escalators.
Eighteen months ago he bought
Shels.
H
e bought it from Tom Rowan
and Gerry Doyle. Tomand Gerry
are a legendary duo on the Dublin
soccer scene. Tom large, expansive,
florid, and Gerry small, pale, impish
had between them a majority share-
holding in Shels.
They weren't so much in business
as in love, in love with Shels and The
Rare Old Times. For fifteen years they
kept the old ship afloat. They relied
on goodwill and whenever they looked
like sinking they would find awealthy
businessman to "invest" in the cause.
They spent a lot of their own
money too.
Gerry owns Home Services, a
hoover clinic on Harold's Cross l3:oad.
He is a passionate little man, apassion
not subdued by the frigid air of the
High Court.
"Ah, your Honour, hold on a
minute," Gerry interjected (or rather
howled) from the back of the court-
room onthe second day of thehearing.
What was bugging him was aline of
questioning being pursued by the
elegant Mr Lardner for the defendants.
EamonDunphy
At The Shelbour ne Fe Tr i al
This suggested to Olly Byrne in the
...-itness box that money put into the
:;;0 Shelboume by him (Olly) and by
people like Tom and Gerry was not
money lent but money given.
They were not therefore creditors.
Gerry's outburst colourfully disputed
this analysis. Anxious eyes turned
from Gerry to J ustice O'Hanlon. The
judicial response was agentle, humane
rebuke.
As the days passed and the legal
bills mounted J ustice 0'Hanlon's good
humour and impressive grasp of foot-
ball values kept the case moving for-
ward. Fortunes swayed between what
was legally proper and what was
naturally just. When did a loan, which
was legally repayable, become a con-
tribution, which was not? And what
about Olly's relationship with the
club?
His family had sold the majority
shareholding they once held. But they
had not stopped loving the club. So
much so that one afternoon in 1976
Olly had left his stand seat in Tolka
Park and smacked a referee who'd
displeased him. The FAI suspended
him for that for fiveyears. Except for
that he would have been a director in
1981, whenhe'd put the money in.
He'd never asked for receipts. "The
only thing that mattered m'lord was
keeping Shelsalive."
It was the basis of the defendants
casethat Shelboume F .C.Umiteu was
not legally alive when Tony Byrne
stepped in.
H
e'd bought Tom and Gerry's
shares on the understanding that
he would retain the name of Shelsand
reach agreement with the creditors.
"We were concerned about our
creditors," Tom Rowan had asserted
in the witness box.
"But you owed 60,000 and had
no means," Mr Lardner replied.
Disputing this Tom pointed out
that if you applied commercial criteria
"ninety per cent of the club's here
and in England would be out of busi-
ness."
What about FAITH and HOPE,
Shels might have won the cup or sold
aplayer?
Did His Lordship smile sympathe-
tically as Tom urged Mr Lardner to
include such intangibles in his balance
sheet.
Senior Counsel looked exasperated.
Faith and hope are commodities
J ohn E. Nolan does not generally deal
in. While the plaintiff and friends
pulled their documentary evidence
from plastic shopping bags, J ohn E.
reached for hisleather briefcase.
He was the first defendant to the
witness box.
Known as The Companies Man
J ohn E. is the boss of Company
Printers Ltd, a company registration
business.
He provided, for his "good friend"
Tony Byrne, Reds Limited. When
Tony acquired Shelbourne he trans-
ferred all its assets to Reds for 500
and 2,700 towards payments of the
old club's debts. And twenty-five per
cent of net gate receipts towards
same. If there werenet gate receipts.
Did this transfer constitute afraud
on the creditors?
Were the people who were owed
60,000 by the Old Shelbourne, a
company that dealt in Faith and Hope
any more likely to get paid by the
New Shelbourne (Reds Limited) a
company that dealt inlegal niceties?
A conflict between old values and
new that the judge seemed to under-
stand. WhenMr Lardner entered aplea
of no-suit halfway through the case
saying that Olly was not a creditor in
"the ordinary sense" J ustice 0'Hanlon
refused his submission. There was a
prima faciacaseto answer.
Meanwhile in places of desperate.
need such as Tallaght and Cork there
is no League of Ireland football. The
case continues. The League staggers
on.
THE SHAFTING of Ken Ryan has re-
vealed hitherto unplumbed depths of
gutlessness in Fianna Fail and hypo-
crisy in other places. What did Ryan
do wrong? He asked FF members to
keep an eye out for wrongdoing and
deviousness by opposition parties, to
check out any stories they heard and
send the results to HQ.
What in the name of Haldeman is
wrong with that? He didn't suggest
that they invent stories, merely that
they report. Fair play to him. It is
surely one of the functions of a poli-
tical party to act asa watchdog against
wrongdoing by other politicos. Ryan
quite properly indicated that party
units should fulfil that role. And his
desire to have such stories checked out
is a healthy alternative to the usual
rumour-m ongering.
* * *
FlANNA FAIL should have stood by
Ken Ryan. So rattled is the party by
fear of scandal that it abandoned
commonsense and loyalty and stuck a
knife in Ryan's back. Michael O'Ken-
nedy's opportunism was reprehensible
and should not be forgotten.
* * *
FlANN A FAIL deserved everything
they got for their carry-on. However,
there is a tendency to cry scandal at
every opportunity. It's not that the
press is too hard on Charlie but that
it's a bit too easy on everyone else.
For instance, what is one to make of
Garret FitzGerald's attempts to smear
Sean Doherty? As the pressure moun-
ted on Doherty, FitzGerald personally
approached two prominent people in
the media in attempts to convince
them to publish anti-Doherty stories.
Can Fine Gael then dare to throw
stones at Ken Ryan?
* * *
FINE GAELERS in Roscommon were
all too ready to fill journalists' ears
with slanders against Sean Doherty
and Geraldine Brannigan and stories
about the crashed state car in Kerry.
J ournalists checked out the stories,
found them to be baseless and didn't
print them. That didn't stop FineGael.
A system of checking rumours, so that
a party could make allegations if
necessary and stand over them and
take responsibility, as proposed by
Ryan, is an honourable way of doing
things.
62 MAGILL FEBfUARY 1984
* * *
IT WAS the Irish Times that got all
moralistic about Ken Ryan. One
assumes then, that if a Fianna Failer
gets a nice juicy story on a govern-
ment Minister and passes it on the
Times will turn up its nose and refuse
to print it? Like hell it will.
No, on second thoughts, given its
recent record, it will, it will.
* * *
GREAT game this, bond washing.
Nothing new about it, of course. It's
just that the reverend gentlemen who
cover the financial scene never told us
about it before.
Fair play to the bond washers.
They organised a conspiracy to de-
stabilise the economy, a conspiracy
involving hundreds of millions of
pounds. That's the name of the game
- grab the money and run. Feck it
while you can.
But surely this should be against
the ethos of the reverend gentlemen?
If it was CIE workers, petrol lorry
drivers, nurses, teachers or shop
assistants looking after their "sec-
tional interests" there would have
been a storm of condemnation. The
newshounds would have been sent out
to find the Provo or Militant or Charlie
Haughey who was behind it.
Not asausage.
Instead, it was explained how it was
all Alan Dukes's fault.
* * *
THE Irish Press headline read: "Keating
wins Euro seat". For a second we
thought the election had been held
when we weren't looking. What they
meant was that the latest twist in the
scandal of the Labour Euro seats had
occurred. We elected four Labour
people, but eleven of them shared out
the goodies in the most undemocratic
rip-off since Caligula (Taoiseach of
Roman times) appointed his horse a
Senator. The only answer to this is:
those anti-democrats who stand in the
Euro elections this year, who have
seats on a buckshee basis and who
were not elected to them, should be
boycotted. These are: Brendan Halli-
gan, Flor O'Mahony, Sean Tracey and
J ustin Keating.
Now, if J ustin Keating gets as many
votes as he got viewers for his Sunday
TV show ....
* * * .
THE RUMOURS around town about
the Workers' Party are only ferocious,
and this is most unfair. No sooner had
the WP finished swearing that their
military wing has stopped robbing
banks than people were accusing them
of forging banknotes and running all
kinds of building site fiddles. The WP
statement on the matter wasn't much
help, being a species of bluster rather
than aringing denial.
Either the rumours are true, in
which case the democrats in the WP
can use the occasion to bounce out the
conspiratorial wing, or they're not. In
which case the whole thing is easily
resolved by calling a press conference
or public meeting attended by all the
leading members of the WP, thereby
scotching the claims that a "top man"
has been on the run since the forged
banknotes were discovered.
* * *
RTE is so desperate for listeners for
Radio 2 that they have resorted to
jamming Radio Nova (they say testing,
we say jamming). They are playing a
constant whine on Nova's VHF fre-
quency - this is believed to be George
Waters's speech on the need for a
licence fee increase.
Radio 2 has enough talent - Larry
Gogan, Mark Cagney, Ronan Collins,
J ulian Vignoles, Dave Fanning etc etc
etc - to just get on with the job and
win listeners through quality. But
pettiness rules.
Those of us upset at being deprived
of the legendary Mike Moran on Nova
VHF are quite happy to twiddle the
dial to the right and listen to the
people's friend, Paul Vincent, on
Sunshine.
* * *
GOOD old Dessie 0 'Malley, always
good for a laugh. The state, he says,
should set up a paramilitary force.
Good man, Dessie, the D Specials,
is it?
J ust what we need, another bunch
of paramilitaries. Perhaps they could
plant carbombs outside Provo head-
quarters? Or they could burst into the
house of some prominent Provo and
shoot him in front of the wife and the
kids?
Dessie gets 16,413 a year to think
up things like that. Plus 7,5'40 of a
pension for having had similar brain-
waves in the past.
Gene Kerrigan