The Blue of the Night

The Blue of the Night is a wonderful evening program on Lyric FM. I'm not sure when I started listening to it first, but I think it was when my girlfriend, now my wife, moved to Japan in the late 90s for a year with work. I began listening to radio again, something I hadn't done for years. Back then I listened to two things - Tonight with Vincent Browne on Radio 1 and The Blue of the Night on Lyric. The first of these disappeared a few months ago (funny enough I was an audience member on one of the last shows before I knew it was coming to an end). Today I learned that the presenter of The Blue of the Night, one Paul Herriot, has also moved on. I had suspected it for a while - there has been a long series of stand ins for Paul over the past few months. He would only present the show about half of the time. I was kind of waiting for the bad news. And it is bad news. I will use first name terms here for a voice I feel I know so well - Paul's voice is smooth and calming with a hint of the North about it. On The Blue his every word was intoned especially for the pillowed ear. There was always just enough emphasis, or even playfulness, to make you want to hold back from sleeping for another track. And here was the main beauty : Paul played a delightful selection of triple plays that took us from the renaissance to modern jazz. From innovative trad to English folk. It was Paul who introduced me to Jacques Loussier who plays Bach with jazzy improvisation. To Liam O'Flynn the finest living piper. To Kate Rusby the sublime Celtic-English folk singer. To the magnificent harp strings of the great Andrew Lawrence King. And dozens more. This was always sweetened by occasional plays of my other favourites such as jazz scatter Kurt Elling and standards from Davis to Simone. Wonderful wonderful music. A serene and delightful way to retreat from the world at end of day. But alas, Paul has moved to a daytime classical slot. The voice of Carol Corcoran takes over at the Blue. Corcoran is another Lyric gem and I'm sure the Blue will continue to surprise and delight.

Thank you Paul and all the best.

Oh and that's Kate Rusby there in the pic, not Paul :-)

Cold November

Because Autumn was calm and mild
Cold November took me by surprise

I wriggled my fingers on the handgrips
to deter the nibbling frost

That is surely when it fell
My gold ring among the golden leaves

Has Rural Ireland a Future?

On a recent visit to a rural area in East County Galway I had a conversation with a local about how things were going in their part of the world. Not too bad, was the initial response, quickly qualified by the remark that "we didn't see much of the tiger down here". Can this be true?

Below is the text of a short piece I wrote about a year ago, in which I claim there are certain black spots in rural Ireland which have some of the characteristics of deprived city areas.

It is difficult to believe, but a particular kind of poverty flourishes in pockets of rural Ireland. It's the kind of poverty that cannot be detected by purely material indicators such as disposable income, access to housing, or the availability of food. Communities which suffer from it are identified by unusually high levels of the social problems that are common in the deprived areas of our cities : teenage pregnancy, poor educational achievement, functional illiteracy, alcoholism, marital breakdown.

These are communities where, through lack of education, many people find it difficult to fill out a census or a tax form; they are not good at finding out about and applying for their entitlements such as college grants or tax rebates; they find it hard to communicate their problems to councillors or TDs. People in these areas are frustrated that they are disconnected from the rest of Irish society. And a worrying contempt for authorities and institutions has taken root: the guards, the tax man, and the government are not merely criticised but despised.

One handicap that affects people in this unhappy state is the inability to recognise the root cause of the problem: lack of education. Often, they fail to encourage their own children to stay in education as long as they can. I know several parents who actually persuaded their kids to leave school early! The result of such blindness is more early drop-outs and another dysfunctional generation. It's a kind of "capability trap": people don't have the capability to identify a way out, and their children will inherit the same problem.

I know for sure that the problem I describe afflicts parts of the Border and West region (I hate the term BMW for poorest region in the country). And I know that nothing is being done about it. In cities, where deprivation is more concentrated and more extreme, government projects have to some extent started to make an impact. But the deprivation in rural areas lies below the radar and is not detected, let alone tackled. Local government is mainly concerned with the big towns - where single projects can make an impact at the polling booth. The parish and the small village are forgotten.

This matters because these communities are paralysed and dependent. They cannot muster the ability to act together, to agitate for a better school, to organise events for the children, to tidy the village, or to light it for Christmas. Instead they curse the authorities and ask why the magic "they" cannot do something about x or y. A culture of reliance has taken hold in these communities. In a connected world they feel cut off; in an era of mass communication, they are voiceless.

All this is troubling because it happens at a time when rural Ireland needs innovation, energy, and solidarity to fight for its very survival. In many parts this is happening, but certain black-spots have fallen into what are akin to rural slums. And it is sad too that so many people are not enjoying a much fuller life in one of the richest countries in the world.

I stand by my remarks but please note that I emphasised "black-spots" and "certain areas". Like the city, development in the country is very uneven and the ability of a particular community to latch on to the coat tails of the tiger depends on many things from local employment prospects (which vary greatly between say South Donegal and the outskirts of Galway) to community leadership.

I am convinced, however, that for the most part residents of rural Ireland have enjoyed the fruits of the celtic tiger just as plentifully as their city cousins. Remarkably the comment from the Galway resident flies in the face of the visible transformation in the community where she resides. Perhaps it's an Irish trait to play down one's fortunes. Or perhaps there is a sense of collective amnesia about the state of rural Ireland 15 or 20 years ago. Either way, apart from the blackspots I mention, rural Ireland has changed utterly since the beginning of the boom.

The most solid evidence is jutting out of the landscape itself - a proliferation of new houses. Regardless of your view on one-off housing, the fact is that until the recent decline in output, about 17,000 of them were being built per year. In rural areas and on the outskirts of villages every second or third house you see is not just new but huge as well. Typically there are five or six en suite bedrooms, numerous living rooms, and the de-rigeur conservatory. Stone finishing on the front has also become fashionable.

These new homes are a sign that prosperity has made it to the greener parts. They are a sign too that people are placing faith in their rural origins. The dramatic difference in price between city and country means that these magnificent homes often cost less than a basic terraced dwelling in Dublin. Yet the people I know who built new homes in a rural area near where they grew up were not merely trading proximity to urban life for square metres. They were moving home because they genuinely want to live there. Rural life remains attractive to many for the slower pace, the sense of belonging, the space, the family ties, and the strong sense of community.

Dig deeper and more evidence emerges. Some rural bars have succumbed to the tougher driving rules and changing drinking habits, but many are resilient and are being sustained by car sharing, local minibuses, and the growth in the surrounding population. A generation ago, these bars would have been empty apart from over Christmas, when emigrants returned from London or the States. Now they are vibrant on a Saturday night in November.

GAA clubs are thriving. New facilities abound in parishes across the country. Churches have been refurbished. Villages are competing in tidy towns competition or 'pride of place' initiatives. Rural schools shrank in the 80s, then consolidated, merged, and stabilised. Many are now growing. For contrary to a popular perception, the population of Rural Ireland is growing not shrinking.

Like many industrialising countries, in Ireland the percentage of rural dwellers declined rapidly, but it seems to have stopped at about 40%. There was little change in that percentage between the census of 2002 and that of 2006. Since overall the population grew substantially, this means that the rural numbers grew as well. (we currently have almost 1.7m rural dwellers)

Despite the concerns about the sustainability in terms of energy, transport, and other services, the single dwellings continued to dot the landscape in large numbers. It's a reality we are going to have to live with.

The big question is employment. Many rural areas have been sustained by small farms, which are still in decline and are likely to disappear in greater numbers when the current round of Eu subsidies is renegotiated in 2013. Another high employer is construction and its derivatives - from builders to decorators, from ironworks to stonemasons. This too is on the cusp of a downturn. Furthermore, as manufacturing declines, work in the mid sized towns may be harder to find, particularly for those who are not well qualified.

Already many in rural areas are commuting long distances - up to an hour behind the wheel on the way to work in a city or town. Even middles size towns now have significant rush hour traffic.

Rural areas need to do more to diversify their income base. Tourism, heritage, and high end food production are among the alternatives now being explored, but these remain underdeveloped in many areas. One example is South West Donegal. Recently big employers such as multinational Hospira or the famous clothing company, Magee, have shut down or offshored most of their operations. In a region blessed with a stunning landscape and coastline, the tourism industry remains curiously understated. Services there are pitiful. Public transport is skeletal and broadband is available only in patches. So much more could be done.

All things taken into account, I think rural Ireland is thriving and crucially a new generation believes it has a future. They now need to persuade our city-centric government to give them the tools to build that future.

Music for Patriots

Relax, close your eyes, and listen ....

A young man in a farmyard is screaming, begging for mercy. The dark hearts surrounding him reply in expletives punctuated by thumps. Now, in perfect sync, the yelps keep time to the thud of metal on flesh. Then, the whip of nailed cudgels attenuate the wailing. Body music carries the movement - a sinew tears from kicking, a bone cracks under iron, and flesh sucks the puncturing nails. Towards the end of the performance, a diaphram-gasp, as life itself is chased from the body.

I gCuimhne ar Shéamas Mhicilín Ó Cualáin (1923-2006)– Múinteoir agus Cara

Chuir mé féin aithne ar Shéamas Ó Cualáin i bhfómhair 1992. Sa dara bliain in Ollscoil na Gaillimhe a bhí mé san am agus rún agam freastal ar ranganna Gaeilge. Ní raibh agam ach Gaeilge lag agus chuir sé imeagla orm bheith ag dul isteach i rang nach mbeadh ach an Ghaeilge á labhairt ann. Chuaigh mé chuig an chéad rang le mo chroí i mo bhéal. Séamas Ó Cualáin a bhí ina bhun.

Cé gur labhair mo mhúinteoir nua go breá soiléir, bhí deacrachtaí agam é a thuiscint in amanna, de bharr a laige is bhí mo chuid Gaeilge. Ach bhí stíl ar leith múinteoireachta ag Séamas a chuir ar mo chompórd mé gan mhoill. Faoi cheann roinnt seachtainí bhí mé tugtha don Ghaeilge agus níos fearr fós bhí cara nua ar m’aithne.

Ba chumasach agus b’éifeachtach an múinteoir é Séamas. Bhí plean leagtha amach aige do na ranganna i gcónaí is bileogaí úsáideacha réidh aige. Dhírigh sé a aird ar cibé lochtanna a bhí ar chumas an fhoghlaimeora. Ní ba thábhachtaí fós ab ea an caidreamh a bhí aige leis na mic léinn. Bhí meas ag daoine air cionn is gur thuig siad go raibh eolas a cheirde aige. Ach thar aon rud eile bhain daoine sult as na ranganna. Idir scéalta grinn agus chuile chineál diabhlaíochta, bhain sé gáire as a chuid daltaí i dtólamh.

An bhliain dar gcionn thosaigh mé ar an Dioplóma sa Ghaeilge. Bhí Séamas ag teagasc in Áras Mháirtín Uí Chadhain, An Cheathrú Rua, ar dhianchúrsa a bhain leis an dioplóma sin. Le himeacht na haimsire d’éirigh mé mór le Séamas.

Thugainn cuairteanna air ina theach cónaithe ar an Spidéal. “Glór na dTonn” a thug sé ar an teach atá suite ar an chladach ar bhruach an tsráidbhaile. Bhínn ag súil go mór leis na cuairteanna céanna. Nuair a bhí sé i mbarr na sláinte, chuireadh sé fáilte romham ag an doras agus é gléasta go slachtmhar. Thráchtamar ar chuile chineál ábhair – cúrsaí polaitíochta, stair na hÉireann, agus ar ndóigh, cúrsaí peile. B’iontach an bród a bhí aige as imreoirí na Gaillimhe – peil agus iomanaíocht, cé go gcreidim gurbh fhearr leis an pheil í gcónaí. D’fhreastail sé ar na ‘trí cinn as a chéile’ a bhain na Gaillimhigh sna seascaidí. Ach b’iomaí uair a thug sé cuairt ar Pháirc a Chrócaigh roimhe sin, agus dar fia, b’iomaí uair ina dhiaidh. Bhí spéis ar leith aige i liathróid láimhe, cluiche a d’imir sé féin ina óíge, agus de réir mar a thuigim ba bheag nár bhain sé craobh na hÉireann nuair a bhí sé i mbarr a réime.

Nuair a chuireadh sé tús le caint is le scéalaiocht ba dheacair stop a chur leis! Is iomaí bus soir ón Spidéal a chaill mé cionn is gur fhan mé ró-fhada ag éisteacht leis. Bhí tíomaint aige an uair sin agus thabharfadh sé isteach go Gaillimh mé sa ghluaisteán dá gcaillfinn an bus. Roinnt blianta ina dhiadh sin, chaill sé an cumas tíomana, ach shiúlfadh sé amach chuig an gheata i gcónaí le slán a fhágáil liom.

Fuair mé cárta Nollag uaidh chuile bhliain. ‘Céad slán le Béal Átha Seanaigh mar ar rugadh is ar tógadh mé’ a bhíodh scríofa aige ar chlúdach na litreach. Leagan Gaeilge de dhán Allingham. Is i mbaile dúchais an fhile seo, Béal Átha Seanaigh, a chuaigh mé féin ar scoil. Bhíodh nathán ag Séamas do chuile ócáid.

Bhuail tinneas é cúpla bliain ó shin agus chuaigh sé in olcas i dtús shamhradh na bliana a chuaigh thart. Chuir mé scairt ar an chréatúr tamall beag sular bhásaigh sé agus bhí sé soiléir go raibh sé ag fulaingt. Ní raibh an greann le cluinstean ná an fuinneamh le mothú.

Chuir sé brón ar mo chroí nuair a chuala mé gur shleamhnaigh sé amach ar shlí na fírinne ar an 26ú lá de Lúnasa na bliana sin. D’fhulaing sé cuid mhór sna míonna deireannacha, ach choinnigh sé leis go cróga. Fear cráifeach ab ea é - rud, sílim, a chuidigh go mór leis nuair a theip ar a shláinte.

D’fhreastail mé ar a shochraid ar an Spidéal – bhí cónaí air faoi fhad urchair chloiche den Séipéal. Aifreann álainn a bhí ann. Bhí pobal mór i láthair, idir óg is aosta, idir lucht na Gaeilge is lucht peile, idir iar-mhic léinn is iar-chomharsana. Aithním Séamas go cruinn i bhfocail an tsagairt le linn a sheanmóra: fear uasal agus fear dílis, fear a roinn a chuid eolais agus a chuid ama, go fial flaithiúil. Chuirfinn féin cúpla focal leis sin: greann agus daonnacht.

Tar éis an aifrinn, siar linn go mall go dtí reilig an Indreabháin áit ar leagamar ár gcara i gcré Chonamara. Tá an suíomh go hálainn - cois farraige ar bharr cnoic. Má tá saol eile ag spiorad Shéamais, faoi mar a bhí ag na mairbh i scéalta Uí Chadhain, beidh sé lán sásta ag amharc amach ar chontae an Chláir is ar na hoileáin Árann is é ag éisteacht le Glór na dTonn.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis.

A Word to the Shy

I have always been shy. I remember at primary school the teacher used to occasionally ask a few children to come to the top of the class to read out their homework. I hated it. For a few seconds the teacher's gaze floated round the class like a searchlight. I would do everything childishly possible to go invisible for what seemed an eternity. Mostly I gasped in relief as another name was called, but occasionally my own name rang into the head like a siren. My heart accelerated as I walked, warm-collared to the top of the class, all eyes piercing my back. Then from the ankles up, as I turned to the class, I filled with heavy dread as a million faces appeared in front.

Secondary school was worse. I felt like an outcast because I was the only person from my primary school who went to the Christian Brothers school. Timidity is to making friends what amputation is to long distance running. I found it hard to break into established groups. As Autumn turned to Winter I used to grasp the radiator by the window and watch forlornly as the other boys enjoyed a game of soccer cum horseplay in the yard. One boy told me later that he had thought I was a haemophiliac and that this must have been why I stayed inside at breaktime. Eventually, however, I got used to this particular group of boys and I slowly turned silences into short conversations which grew into acquaintances. It was as if, over a period of about 6 months, I gradually faded in from a previously invisible state. Of course, this didn't mean I had become confident. It meant, however, that I felt alive, acknowledged, present, accepted. As the years went by my confidence grew, but only at school. Academically I was one of the brighter students in the class, and I think this helped blow off the cloud of inferiority which had enveloped me in the beginning.

While I mastered my self-doubt at school, however, I remained shy inside, and infuriatingly timid in any new environment. It would often feel like being more or less back in the first few days at school. This is exactly what happened at college. The same pattern applied. Shy and withdrawn at first, then slowly moving out of that horrid introverted shell.

When I would start a new job, again I'd spend the first 6 months as a shadow. Moving about in obscurity, forever listening but saying little.

Those who are assertive and confident probably don't understand the burden that shyness places on those who toil under its cruel yoke. The shy person makes the best point of the meeting a dozen times - but only in her head. All the while the cocky waffler is clocking up credit for merely opening his mouth. Eventually someone who is modestly clever clinches the bonus points by saying what the shy person knew but couldn't bring herself to air. The shy person leaves the meeting feeling defeated and robbed of the acknowledgment she deserved. And all this is often accompanied by a tinge of self-loathing for letting another opportunity, the millionth, pass.

A shy person accepts the shortest straw, settles for the smallest room, gives gratitude where none is due, responds to arrogance with submissive silence, gets paid less than the crank, misses the sweetest opportunities, fails to pluck romance when it dangles ripe before him, and always, always regrets his inability to change.

Where does shyness come from? The experts reckon it is partly environment and partly hereditary. This sounds like the long winded way of saying, we don't know. But I personally back the genetic theory. My father is deeply diffident. His unassertiveness has become a legend in our family. Probably his biggest fear is the prospect of being refused something he asks for. His defence is to never ask. If his daily bread depended on him having to ask for it, as opposed to work for it, we would have starved! I hasten to add, that in all other respects he is a wonderful man and an excellent father. But did he inherit this complex from his father too? Undoubtedly. My grandfather was known locally as being 'very civil'. Which meant he was submissive and incapable of protest or public anger. And I think that inability to make one's anger public, especially when justified, is another form of shyness.

But stop, you brash assertives! You are asking why on earth can we not just "get over it"? Well, if it were that easy, there wouldn't be many shy people left. How many of us are there anyway? What percentage are we, 10, 20, 30? One study suggested above 40%. How different would the world be if we were suddenly to change. If we, the shy, were to hurl our demands firmly and confidently on the world, perhaps life would be a much more contested space. Or, perhaps our addition to the collective quest for better and for more would help push out the boundaries of human endeavour. Who knows.

One thing is certain, though. Society offers us little help. Perhaps we are too timid to ask! But maybe it's just that shyness is not recognised by society as the real problem it surely is. I am tempted to think that a huge chunk of the population live, to varying degrees, diminished lives because they cannot overcome their timidity. If that is the case, our failure to help the shy is both a tragedy and a terrible waste.

Over the years, however, I personally managed to drag myself in from the shadows. In part a reserve of confidence began to build up naturally within me. And in part I made a deliberate effort to kick off the shackles of timidity. For example, speaking in front of a crowd remained for a long time the most fearful thing I could imagine short of being trapped underwater. Eventually, however, I summoned the confidence to take public speaking classes. It turned out to be a crucial turning point in the evolution of my self belief.

I am now quietly confident in most situations, though at times, in a moment of weakness, little pockets of doubt creep in around my feet. Perhaps timidity, like an addiction, is so central to our being that it cannot be cured, merely managed and overcome. But that's ok. For even if the destination of unshakable self belief is unattainable for the shy, the journey towards it is worthwhile. If you are shy, it's a journey that just must be made and it will take you through fertile valleys and over rugged peaks to horizons you could only imagine but never visit.

The Myth of Choice

David Quinn has begun to worship a new deity: choice (Indo 19th Oct). At the centre of this creed is the belief that choice should be the core value in society. That is why it teaches that it is sinful to curtail the freedom of parents by not expanding the private school system.

Proponents of 'choice first' claim they believe that the market mechanism delivers the optimum results. Open it all up, they say, and the market will work its miracles. Have faith, they beg, and the market will apply the magic of its invisible hand to lead us to salvation. Social ills such as inequality, poverty, and misery are the price we must pay for the promise of freedom.

But like most religions, 'choice first' is a sham. In the promised land, happy parents choose their school like picking a new car. In reality, under an extended private system, parents have no choice at all. Your children will be schooled in the best school you can afford. If that means the free one, so be it. And if you are rich, you choose the best school. How can this be choice when there is no decision to be made?

When we try to reach them, the Arcadian fields, where contented children sing and frolic, recede into the mists. Choice is a myth and is no more than a clever way to dress the divisive tyranny of the market in the garb of freedom.