Secret life of Cork

Living in the city centre, I thought I knew everything that was going on in Cork. On my doorstep, I have the English Market, Opera Lane, Patrick’s Street, historic Shandon, the Docklands, the genteel business district of the South Mall, all waiting to be discovered. And I have explored all of them numerous times.
But, like a lot of people, I don’t go outside my comfort zone too often – mostly, I go out to the same places, buy my groceries in the same shops and take the same shortcuts.
This is the first week in what’s known as ‘the silly season’. We’ve been lucky this year - it usually starts in July - but the economic conditions have meant there’s plenty of news even if most of it is bad. It’s the time of year when journalists quake at the thought of filling 96 pages – no council meetings, no Dáil, very little crime and no courts – and everyone else is on their holidays. Nobody answers the phone and nobody calls you back, and that dog that plays football in the neighbourhood is suddenly front page material.
With the Opera House closed, the majority of summer festivals over and done with, and schoolchildren starting to count down to the dreaded 1 September, it would be fair to assume that Cork has shut down for its summer holidays.
A colleague remarked to me during the week that even the streets seem to be dozing in these warm, heavy evenings. Pockets of buzz illuminate the hotspots, but by and large, Cork is quiet.
But it’s those pockets you have to watch out for. Where you see four or five, or ten people huddled outside a building, smoking and chatting, it’s worth finding out what’s going on.
This week, I’ve been having my own private Arts Week.
On Monday night, I went to see Cork playwright Conal Creedon’s two one-act plays, When I Was God & After Luke, at the Cork Arts Theatre.
Right across the river from the sleeping Goliath that is the Cork Opera House, the Cork Arts Theatre is like a brave, busy David, merrily toiling away with a packed schedule of lunchtime theatre (€10 – bargain) and short, tightly produced shows with Cork actors and production.
Creedon’s plays were marvellous – they capture Cork beautifully and with human themes that have appealed universally, as far away as Shanghai and New York. Whatever about the Lonely Planet, I bet there are a few Chinese theatre fans who are counting down the days until their trips to Cork.
On Tuesday, it was the turn of the Everyman, the grand old lady of Cork theatres, where the Cork premiere of Druid’s production of Penelope, written by Enda Walsh, was showing. The theatre was sold out, and the buzz – all ages, shapes and sizes of people – was impressive.
Despite some rather intimidating reviews in national papers, most of the crowd seemed to enjoy what is essentially an expose of human nature and its brutality and passion, wearing the clothes of a demented comedy. Well worth a watch, with an open mind.
Today, I hope to take in some art – but I’m not sure where to go. The Crawford Museum? The Cork Vision Centre? The Glucksman? Or maybe the exhibition of the adult education art classes at Coláiste Stiofáin Naofa, the invite to which popped into my inbox as I was writing this.
My point is this: The city may appear to be sleeping. But there are still plenty of people here who are dreaming, and the dreams are open to all of us. Step outside your comfort zone, and dare to dream.

The sinister side of rural Ireland

Rural Ireland is a sinister place. On the surface, small villages are fantastic. A sense of community, everyone knowing everyone else, and sometimes, if you're lucky, a real pride of place and a sense of shared history that binds people together.

But there is a sinister side to village life.

The very 'shared history' that binds people can tear them apart, and 'community' can quickly turn to pure parochialism when something goes wrong. Our own village has a 200 year old feud between neighbouring families - one of whose ancestors shopped the other to the local squire for republican activities in the 1700s, causing his execution. Every time there is drink taken the feud reappears.

There are three Irish writers who have illustrated this dichotomy beautifully; Martin McDonagh, in his brilliant Leenane trilogy; Pat McCabe, in the Butcher Boy and other work; and John B. Keane, the legendary playwright and raconteur whose epic work The Field showed off rural Ireland at its darkest; a village divided by greed, power, corruption and parochialism.

Keane's home town of Listowel, Co Kerry, this week became the epicentre of a scandal involving a sexual assault and a town divided between victim and accused. While everyone is innocent until proven guilty - especially in such a serious case, where a man's reputation will be destroyed if wrongly accused - the accused in this case, Danny Foley, has been convicted of a serious and violent sexual assault. But his conviction, with a unanimous jury and a hefty sentence (for this type of offence) did not convince his supporters.

50 of them, mostly middle aged and older men, queued up to shake his hand after he was convicted. They included his local parish priest.

This procession of shame took place in the courtroom where the victim was sitting, appalled and humiliated. Although her anonymity has been respected by the media, as is their legal obligation, Listowel is a small place, and the whole town knows her identity.

The town is reportedly split between her family and that of the convicted sex offender, whose parish priest said he "doesn't have an abusive bone in his body". Well, I'm sorry, Fr Sheehy, but he does. A court of law has found that he does. And by claiming otherwise, you are accusing the victim of wasting police time, perjury, and slander.

She is being shunned; refused service in pubs and shops as if she were the criminal.

While there are other issues here about treatment of women and our attitudes towards sexual crime, the clear implication of this case is that our history over the past few years - Magdalen laundries, clerical and other sexual abuse, domestic violence and terrorism all kept secret to look after 'our own' - have taught us absolutely nothing about what it means to be a society.

The shock and disgust apparent at the revelations of the Murphy and Cloyne investigations into religious institutions can be no more than posturing, if we have not taken the lessons of the reports to heart; there can be no more turning a blind eye, no more defence of the indefensible and no more defiance of the rule of law where it happens to apply to somebody we know. Bishop Donal Murray has (finally) acknowledged this last rule and resigned, but only after a fight.

The banking and political scandals that have been rocking this country - 'Seanie' Fitz, 'Fingers' Fingleton and their blatant disregard for the law, and a number of corrupt politicians who continue to get elected despite defrauding their constituents and everybody else - are a less emotive but just as fundamental symptom of our appalling lack of perspective when it comes to application of the law, and of basic moral standards.


This is a small country; everyone knows everyone. That's what makes Ireland a welcoming and warm country, but it's also what made it corrupt, immoral and backward when Keane wrote The Field.

Whatever our developments over the past few years, cases like this one in Listowel show that this Ireland has not disappeared.

UPDATE: The priest has resigned http://www.breakingnews.ie/ireland/kerry-priest-who-shook-hand-of-sex-offender-leaves-parish-438821.html

Christmas spirit

Despite the Budget doom and gloom, there seems to be a surfeit of Christmas spirit around at the moment. This is the first year I've ever seen mulled wine for sale in Ireland, and it's definitely a welcome development!
Cork Marketing Partnership's Christmas Celebration on Grand Parade is an inspired idea. Having received both pictures and press releases over the past few weeks, I was still a bit unclear as to what was actually happening there. I blame my own lack of attention for this and not a deficiency in the press releasing skills of Steve from the Partnership!
Wandering past on Friday at lunchtime I was all agog at the mulled wine, pig on a spit and even sausages in a bun (no CMOT Dibbler, Pratchett fans). I went back on Saturday for a look - twice - because the Peace Park wasn't open during the day. On Saturday evening I went back to see it in all its winter wonderland glory, and the boyfriend and I agreed that it most reminded us of the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, probably the most Christmassy place on earth. Little kids squealing with excitement at photo points with Rudolph, Santa and various Christmassy characters (although I'm not sure about the giant squirrel), elderly couples walking around holding hands, Christmas music playing and lights in every tree and bush in the park. Not to mention the best bit - the fake snow! I've always been a sucker for all things Christmassy and the Christmas Celebration on Grand Parade is up there with the best of them in providing a lovely, free activity for families and couples in search of some Christmas cheer. A hot port in Mutton Lane on the way, and home to make and write the Christmas cards. You might not live in a Disney movie but this sure is a good way of pretending to...

Modern messages

I'm not a Mass goer. I eschew all things Catholic and have been known to sneer inadvertently at the very mention of religion - until I realised what a personal insult that was to millions of people, not least my own other half, who is religious.

A trip to the Vatican a couple of years ago left me crying with rage at the exclusivity and arrogance of the Catholic Church - one of the world's biggest clubs still to treat women as second-class members. St Peter's Basilica is cleaned by nuns, and the gift shop in the Dome is (wo)manned by them. Have you ever seen a priest clean anything, apart from the chalice the communion wine comes in?
Having worked in Development I also object to the ostentatious wealth of the Church, particularly when it is preaching against condom use in AIDS-afflicted communities.
I digress, but the scene is set: I'm not into religion, for a whole host of reasons.

Yesterday, I found myself at Mass in Ennis Cathedral, with my Granny, who is 86. I went because she'd have been upset if I didn't go. And I would rather feel like a hypocrite than upset my Granny.

Ennis is located in the Diocese of Killaloe, of which the Bishop is Dr Willie Walsh, who was a close friend of my late Grandad. I have positive feelings towards Dr Walsh, some of which come from this personal link, but many of which are related to his position as the only maverick bishop in this country.

"Maverick" may be too strong a word - he still made it to Bishop, so he couldn't be that liberal. But he is pretty out of the ordinary, and one of the few figures of religious authority to put his money where his mouth is - he is well known for offering his lawn to local Traveller families when the council refused to provide a halting site, something far closer to the message of Jesus than most of the Church's actions these days.

And his Diocese shows it in spades. It was the most interactive Mass I've ever been at (although I don't go these days, I was in a church choir as a kid and went every week for years).

There are banners around the Church that say things like "A good deed is worth a thousand prayers", and "Dream of tomorrow, live for today, and learn from yesterday". All very cheerful, positive, practical and pragmatic.

And the parish newsletter that I picked up had some very interesting reading: a meeting for anyone affected by the recession; charity fundraising initiatives, and calls for volunteers.

The congregation was invited to sing along with all the hymns - I could hear plenty of tuneless warbling, but it somehow made the whole experience a lot more interesting. Likewise, there was a call for a few more Eucharistic ministers, and up popped three or four people just out of nowhere. At one point those listening in at home on the parish radio were mentioned. And at the end, the priest had a chat about the weather, before telling a joke and wishing everyone safe home.

While many people in Ireland never really bought into religion 100%, almost all of us used the Church as a linchpin of the community. In fact, I don't think I heard the word 'community' until I was an adult - it was all about the 'parish'.

And, while a lot of the Church's message has been lost in scandal, indifference and irrelevance, my experience in Ennis yesterday showed me that the Church can be relevant, and it can still provide an outlet and a network for people who are struggling.

The Cathedral was almost full. A cynic would relate this to the recession, and maybe that's part of it. But the Diocese of Killaloe has managed to keep up with events and with people's lives, and to stay relevant.

I wouldn't say I'm converted - my issues around religion run deeper than that. But I'm impressed.

Some gold amid the gloom

Every day, as I sift through hundreds of emails, I marvel at the variety of events happening in Cork every week. The doom and gloom of the recession has convinced many of us that the country is dead; that there is no money; nothing happening; and that everyone is miserable. This gloom isn't exclusive to Ireland. Twenty-three workers at France Telecom have taken their own lives since the beginning of 2008; the trend is blamed on cost-cutting at the company.

In America, just 39 per cent of workers professed loyalty to their employers in December 2008, compared with 95 per cent in June 2007. And the number who trusted their employers fell from 79 per cent to 22 per cent over the same period.

It looks like the cynicism currently being directed at Irish politicians is not an Irish phenomenon, or even a political phenomenon. Right now, the entire Western world is experiencing a comparable mood swing. John O'Donoghue's resignation comes just months after the Speaker of the English Parliament was forced to resign. Italian PM Silvio Berlusconi is probably facing fraud charges. However, we seem to be forgetting something pretty important. To go back to my emails, there are hundreds of them a day. Many of them are from PR companies, pushing products and services. More are from politicians, trying to highlight issues (or get their names in the paper). But the vast majority are related to charities, community groups, choirs, sports clubs, retired groups, and the like.

The 'third sector', which is made up of community, development and voluntary groups, has long been and remains absolutely essential in Irish life. From the early days of the GAA as the nineteenth century faded, to the Special Olympics in the infancy of the twenty-first, we have always excelled at giving up our time and effort, and giving 100 per cent, to help someone, somewhere. This week alone there are so many voluntary events – maybe not earth-shattering, but important to somebody – on in Cork that it is hard to even record all of them and notify a depressed public that there is life, Jim, but maybe not as we know it.

This life is not centred around flash cars and penthouse apartments, but ordinary people and their extraordinary contributions to others. Here are a few examples: - This week is Positive Ageing week, run by Age Action, a charity that provides help, support and advice to older people. See our piece on p12.

- The Irish Red Cross – a voluntary organisation – is teaching people in Cork to become first aid instructors. They will save lives. See our piece on p18. - Cork Simon Community volunteers will collect money for the homeless at church gates this weekend. See our piece on p15.

- A fundraising event will take place in aid of Enable Ireland and the Cloghroe Aspergers Support Group this evening. See our piece on p15. This is just a tiny sample of events around Cork City and County this week. But they are enough to remind us of what makes Irish society. Cork can get through the recession; some will lose hope, many will lose jobs, but all of us have something to gain from giving. There is some gold amid the gloom, just not the kind we're used to.