Latest news with #JamesConnolly
The 42
3 days ago
- General
- The 42
Sunshine on Leith: The Irish origins of Hibernian FC, as they celebrate 150 years
THE BHOYS IN their green and white hoops are on a season-long commemoration of their Irish roots, having been founded by a cleric with the intention of helping the destitute Irish in their Scottish city. We are talking, of course, not of Glasgow Celtic, but of Hibernian FC. On 6 August, the Edinburgh club hosted a free exhibition at the St Mary's Street Hall that documented their formation exactly 150 years to the day. It was one of a series of events to recognise the landmark. A few weeks before, they staged a friendly with Rot-Weiss Essen of the German third tier; the opposition they met back in 1955 when they became the first British club to play in the inaugural European Cup. A casual look at what was on display in the historical display, however, shows how at one point Hibernian FC were the greatest charitable experiment for the Irish diaspora in the world; one that Celtic would faithfully imitate right down to the small details. **** Take it right back to the start and at the time of their formation, Edinburgh had an Irish problem. Over 100,000 had left Ireland in the years during and immediately after the Great Famine to go to Scotland. While the majority settled in Glasgow, like many other cities, Edinburgh struggled to accommodate the refugees. Two of whom were John Connolly, a labourer originally from Monaghan, and his wife Mary McGinn of Ballymena, Co Antrim. They lived in Cowgate, nowadays a thriving area of modern city life, but back then a slum known as the unflattering 'Little Ireland.' Their third born son, James Connolly, would later become an enormous figure in Ireland's political history, but it was with the then seven-year-old James Connolly in mind that Limerick-born Canon Edward Hannan of St Patrick's Church and Michael Whelahan of Kilglass, Co Roscommon, who had just turned 21 and would become the club's first captain, were thinking of. James Connolly. Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo Together, they imagined a football club that would raise money for the starving Irish and help them integrate successfully into Scottish society. At this early stage, the Irish influence was absolute, starting with the name itself: Hibernia being the Roman name for Ireland. The Catholic Young Men's Society was embedded from the outset and it was insisted upon that playing members were teetotallers and practising Catholics. The club motto adopted was 'Erin Go Bragh.' Naturally, there was opposition from certain elements of the establishment and Hibernian struggled to get opposition for games. Not only was there an anti-Irish feeling, but a class issue also as football was not yet a mass, working-class pursuit. It was Heart of Midlothian of all teams that helped them out and played a series of games until the stand-off melted away and they were accepted by those that ran Scottish soccer, the Edinburgh and Scottish Football Associations. A year into their existence, they began wearing green and white hoops, something they did for a decade. They called themselves the 'Bhoys.' In 1902 when they won the Scottish Cup, they did so with Dubliner Dan McMichael as the club secretary. While teams were effectively run by committee in those days, McMichael was the de facto manager. The Irish connection has not always been particularly strong, but some notable recent players include Nick Colgan, Daryl Horgan, Anthony Stokes and the late Liam Miller. Anthony Stokes. Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo Northern Ireland manager Michael O'Neill had three seasons there in the '90s under Alex Miller, while Ivan Sproule of Tyrone had two spells at Easter Road and hit a hat-trick in a 3-0 win over then champions Rangers. Advertisement No less than George Best fetched up in the 1979-80 season on a 'pay for play' basis. While the gates were quadrupled, he could not save Hibs from relegation. George Best in the colours of Hibernian. Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo One quirky connection was that of Pat Stanton who was acknowledged as one of Hibernian's greatest servants, a winner of the Scottish Football Writer's player of the year in 1970 and one who fended off interest from Celtic until the very final years of his career because of his connection to Hibs. He was the great-great nephew of founding member Michael Whelehan. In July of this summer, the club named one of the Easter Road stands, 'The Pat Stanton Stand.' Pat Stanton at the dedication of a stand in his name. Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo Like any good Irish sporting story, there's also room for a good old gypsy curse saga. For Hibs, it centred around a Scottish Cup drought that lasted from the Edwardian era and the refurbishment of the south stand in the 1950s, that did not reinstall the Hibs' harp emblem. The finger of suspicion for such a decision landed on chairman Harry Swan. He was selected by the board as the first non-Irish Catholic to take the role. Any quick check though would debunk that theory. Swan had presided over a post-war period that had one of Hibs' most successful periods, including three league titles in five years. He himself ordered a hand-crafted mosaic harp for the club's boardroom. Still, there are grudges that never wither. The New Year's Day match between Celtic and Rangers in 1952 provoked serious violence on the pitch. The Scottish FA considered a request for the Irish tricolour to be removed from Celtic Park. Celtic refused. Sanctions were threatened. Other clubs had their say with a vote and Hibs – represented by Swan – voted against Celtic. **** Everything changes, everything evolves. Hibernian is like any other club; home to thousands of different philosophies. For a great deal of Hibs fans, the club was about the old dock town of Leith and the local culture. For some it was a badge of anti-establishment. Others felt they were just as Irish and indeed Republican as Celtic. It's a theory that has some references in popular culture outside of the terraces. For example, in Irvine Welsh's novel Trainspotting, following the misadventures of a group of heroin addicts and Hibernian fans in Edinburgh, there is a chapter detailing Francis Begbie's New Year's Eve party where the assembled are belting out a selection of Irish Rebel songs, including 'Off to Dublin in the Green.' Edinburgh author and Hibs fan, Irvine Welsh. Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo And yet, one of the central characters in Mark Renton comes from a family of Hearts supporters with a brother in the British Army serving in Belfast. The passage of time brings a new generation. When Hibs reached the Scottish Cup final of 2016 and beat Rangers 3-2, their first Cup since 1902, it included a few elements. The contribution of Anthony Stokes was immense. He scored the first goal, a neat stab to the far post after finding himself in space down the left wing. Rangers then grabbed two goals before Stokes' equalising header in the 80th minute. But he was a complete menace throughout, hitting the woodwork and having another shot parried, before David Grey's header in added time sealed the 3-2 win. The big Hollywood moment came as the Cup was presented to Hibs for the first time in 114 years and Hampden Park swayed to the crowd belting out that most gorgeous Hibs anthem, 'Sunshine on Leith' by The Proclaimers. There were some Irish tricolours among the Hibs end. This was a century on from the Easter Rising and James Connolly's execution. Just on Connolly; as a child, he acted as a ball-boy on match days for Hibernian. He had a love-hate relationship with his home town. The love centred mainly around Hibernian but it is striking how monuments and statues commemorating Connolly have been erected in Belfast, Dublin, Chicago and Troy, but not in Edinburgh. There is a small plaque near his birthplace. Nonetheless, there is a Hibs supporter's club named after him. It is difficult to think of another example of just how Irish emigration succeeded than Glasgow Celtic. But it's debateable if it all would have happened without the example of Hibernian FC. Four years after their establishment, Dundee was a city with a strong Irish identity, a census conducted in 1851 revealing that 19% of the city was Irish. They found their voice with the formation of Dundee Harp in 1879. Following a suspension by the Scottish Football Association in 1894, Dundee Harp stopped playing, were replaced by Dundee Hibernian, before reverting back to the Harp name prior to going defunct. It lives on in one way. The area around Lochee was known as 'Little Tipperary.' Having been formed in 1904, Lochee Harp are still on the go at junior level. Then, there was Dundee Hibernian who formed in 1909. Their first game was in August of that year against Hibernian of Edinburgh and they joined the league the following year. In 1923, they almost went bust and it was decided to change the name of the club to Dundee United, and the colours from green and white, to white and black. They would later change to orange and black in 1969. In 1887, Brother Walfrid of Sligo was inspired by the success of Hibernian and wished to achieve the same for the Irish poor in Glasgow. At the time, Hibernian made donations to the fledging enterprise. Unbeknownst to the other Celtic board members as football was evolving from amateur to professional, two Celtic board members, Glasgow businessmen John Glass and Pat Welsh, were thinking in terms of running Celtic as a profitable venture. In time, the best players of Hibernian were tempted west by the Celtic largesse. Under the management of Willie Maley, born and bred in Newry, Co Down, Celtic developed ideas of producing players from the wider east end of Glasgow and surrounding regions that gave them a strong identity. Eventually, with the help of Jock Stein, Celtic would capture the European Cup in 1967 with a team of players all from within 30 miles of Celtic Park; a feat never done before, since, or ever with the remotest chance of happening again. The affections of the Irish were with Celtic and that's how it largely remains. But it may never have happened without the vision of Hibernian FC.
Irish Times
05-08-2025
- Science
- Irish Times
Goliath's Curse: Powerful if uneven portrait of societal collapse sings the praises of Irish citizens' assembly
Goliath's Curse: The History and Future of Societal Collapse Author : Luke Kemp ISBN-13 : 978-0241741238 Publisher : Viking Guideline Price : £25 'A pin in the hands of a child,' James Connolly once told his fellow Irish republicans, 'might pierce the heart of a giant.' This was Connolly's version of David and Goliath, the biblical story about a hulking Philistine warrior killed by an Israelite shepherd boy's slingshot. Even the most arrogant and intimidating colossus, in other words, may be more vulnerable than they look. According to Luke Kemp's learned, provocative and deeply unsettling book about how societies come crashing down, today's equivalent of Goliath is staring us in the mirror. Our current civilisation is more complex, sophisticated and interconnected than any the world has ever seen. That is precisely why a single, well-aimed blow at one of its vital organs could have devastating consequences. 'Once you pull on the thread of collapse, the entire tapestry of history begins to unravel,' Kemp warns in his typically melodramatic introduction. 'The darker angels of our nature are flying us towards evolutionary suicide.' READ MORE These may be bold claims, but Kemp is certainly well qualified to make them. The young Australian is a research affiliate at Cambridge University 's Centre for the Study of Existential Risk (CSER), created in 2012 to work out how humanity can avoid various dystopian futures. Climate change , nuclear weapons , AI -driven robots and a bioengineered pandemic are all obvious threats on CSER's radar screen. Above all, however, Kemp and his colleagues want to identify the root weaknesses that result in societies being destroyed by their challenges rather than overcoming them. Goliath's Curse is a project with its academic roots fully on show. Copious maps, diagrams and statistical data underpin Kemp's analysis of 324 case studies, stretching roughly 4,000 years from the Bronze Age empires to the disintegration of Somalia. He includes potted histories of once-mighty regimes that eventually bit the dust, most notably ancient Rome, Mesoamerica's Aztecs and multiple Chinese dynasties. Many famous thinkers have put forward theories on this subject, but CSER's research can apparently prove most of them wrong. To take just one example, Kemp vigorously disputes Thomas Hobbes's dictum that life in a community without strong rulers will always be 'nasty, brutish and short'. By contrast, the most recent archaeological evidence suggests that even our hunter-gatherer ancestors co-operated well and were not innately violent. Instead, Kemp points his finger at a different culprit. Inequality, he declares, is the 'constant variable' or Achilles' heel that sooner or later causes all Goliaths to buckle. If people stop believing they are 'all in it together', the upshot will be a game of thrones that nobody actually wins. Whether it's Mayan cities or west African kingdoms, Kemp argues, the pattern is much the same. Goliaths flourish for a while before becoming victims of their own success, with prosperity leading to status competition, fighting over resources and 'state capture by private elites'. When drought, disease or an invasion comes along, their disillusioned citizens are unable to pull together and see it off. By now, it is obvious why Kemp thinks our Goliath's alarm systems should be flashing red. The 21st century's defining characteristics so far are social fragmentation, economic insecurity, attacks on democracy and declining faith in public institutions. No wonder that our response to looming catastrophes such as global warming can often make a rabbit caught in the headlights look decisive. [ From the archive: Ireland 'one of world's best five places' to survive global societal collapse Opens in new window ] As if Kemp's readers weren't nervous enough already, he compares civilisation to a badly designed ladder whose rungs break away once they have been climbed. Today's global Goliath has now reached such dizzying heights that any slip could be fatal. 'If we were hit by a plague like the Black Death,' he speculates, 'we would be likely to fall apart in a way that medieval Europe did not.' Unfortunately, Kemp's overblown conclusion suggests he is better at diagnosing Goliath's problems than prescribing solutions. Stretching his analogy to breaking point, he urges us to become Davids instead and slay the giant while there is time to replace him with a superior model. 'Open democracy' is Kemp's silver bullet, with Ireland's citizens' assembly on abortion cited as an example of how more inclusive decision-making can produce better laws. He also calls on voters to elect leaders who will scrap nuclear weapons, tech monopolies and fossil fuel use in an epilogue with the pithy subheading: 'Don't Be a Dick.' It's impeccably worthy, but far too vague to inspire much confidence. All this, to be fair, is a simplification of Kemp's sprawling 450-page narrative which contains lengthy diversions on warfare, technology, colonisation and other related issues. Goliath's Curse clearly belongs to the 'great unifying theory' genre that has produced international best-sellers such as Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point and Yuval Noah Harari's Sapiens. It may lack their widespread appeal, however, since Kemp is no great prose stylist and his didactic tone has a wearying effect. Ironically enough, this feels like a Goliath of a book – exceptionally powerful, undeniably impressive but occasionally just a little too sure of itself.
Irish Times
02-08-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Des Geraghty: ‘The real problem in fascism is the people who are insecure'
Throughout his long career in public life , Des Geraghty has been many things: trade union leader, politician, author, musician and campaigner. With such a varied resumé, one wouldn't think there'd be room for another string to his bow. But it seems he also missed his calling as an actor, at least if his command of Shakespearean drama is anything to go by. Geraghty is sitting in the crowded cafe of the National Gallery , musing on the effects of social inequity and economic uncertainty, when he suddenly starts to recite a passage from Julius Caesar to make his point. 'That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face,' he exuberantly incants, his voice rising above the clatter of crockery, 'But when he once attains the uppermost round, he scorns the base degrees by which he did ascend.' Geraghty delivers this (slightly truncated) passage after making a more prosaically phrased observation about society: 'Once you get on this ladder and you go up a bit, and you get a house, you start looking at people who don't have one.' If his theatrical flourish doesn't necessarily herald a new acting sideline, it underlines Geraghty's multifaceted approach to activism down the years, encompassing education and culture as well as economics and politics. READ MORE The 81-year-old former Siptu president has now pulled together these disparate strands for a new documentary film on one of his heroes, 1916 leader James Connolly , entitled We Only Want the Earth. Written and directed by acclaimed film-maker Alan Gilsenan , with Geraghty as executive producer and driving spirit – he first mooted the project in 2003 – the film focuses on Connolly's life and ideas rather than his role in the Easter Rising. 'I was more interested in his life than in his death,' Geraghty says. 'He had a very fruitful life before 1916, probably more relevant to today's world.' Accordingly, the film, which has been screened at festivals around the country, vividly weaves Connolly's biography with contributions from environmental, trade union and trans rights activists – 'practitioners who have been influenced by Connolly's vision' – as well as poetry and song from the likes of Christy Moore and Stephen Rea. It's an approach that reflects Geraghty's belief that Connolly's legacy still matters. 'I could be described as irreligious, but I believe very much in the spirit. And I think there's a spirt of Connolly, and it's a spirit that the Irish people inherited, personally and collectively,' he says. 'That's particularly important to me in today's world. I'm depressed by the fact that the working class in many parts of Europe, and in Ireland, are being attracted to very right-wing ideas like sectarianism, ultranationalism, racism, hostility to migrants, quite the opposite of what the spirit of Connolly would represent.' There's no doubting the importance of Connolly to Geraghty's own political philosophy, though he's inspired more by the executed rebel's union activities than his fateful decision to take up arms. James Connolly: The 1916 leader 'argued the worker should be building structures for a new society in the workplace - that always stuck with me', says Des Geraghty 'If you were going to put a political description on me, it would be a constructive socialist,' he says. 'And I got that from Connolly. He argued the worker should be building structures for a new society in the workplace. So that always stuck with me. Throughout my career, I've been seen as too left-wing for some, and not left-wing enough for others, but I like to think I was in the process of constructing coalitions of people to build a better society.' For the 35 years that he worked as a full-time union official – first with the Irish Transport and General Workers Union (ITGWU), then its successor Siptu – Geraghty was at the coalface of industrial relations, involved in struggles and negotiations with employers. (Ryanair boss Michael O'Leary wasn't a fan.) But he displayed an expansive attitude to his brief, whether being involved in left-wing politics or helping negotiate the social partnership agreements that underpinned the Celtic Tiger. [ Alan Gilsenan: 'I would have had a dreamy, artsy-fartsy notion that a united Ireland would be great' Opens in new window ] Since stepping down as Siptu leader in 2003, he has enjoyed a high-profile second act, mixing service on the boards of public bodies with campaigning. And while he studiously avoids comment on his successors, he thinks the trade union movement needs to aim higher than seeking better pay for members. 'I believe the union movement gets its strength when it's broadly embracing the wider principles: the economy, the status of people, families, access to housing, healthcare, all the areas where trade unions work,' he says. 'I was on my own at times on the left by arguing for social bargaining at national level, for the reason that we could bring in issues of concern for people on social welfare or the unemployed. 'I'll give you a simple example. The last negotiation I was involved in very centrally was the last social partnership agreement [the Sustaining Progress programme of 2003-2005], when we put the issue of housing on the agenda, and got a commitment in the agreement for 10,000 affordable houses.' Citing achievements from the Celtic Tiger era may seem counterintuitive given how things unravelled in the 2008 crash, but while he talks about a better future, Geraghty has a keen sense of history, both Ireland's and his own. Gregarious and erudite, he makes regular conversational diversions into passionate polemics, historical precedents, literary references and personal anecdotes. His family background, in particular, remains central to his worldview. A self-described 'proud Irishman and Dubliner', he was born in the Liberties in 1943 to parents with strong republican connections. As described in his 2021 memoir, We Dare to Dream of an Island of Equals , his father Tom was a member of republican youth organisation Na Fianna Éireann, while his mother Lily's brothers went on the run during the independence struggle: his uncle Jack had been in Connolly's Citizen Army. 'They were very Larkinite republicans,' Geraghty adds, referring to Jim Larkin, founder of the ITGWU and union leader during the turbulent 1913 lockout. Des Geraghty: 'My mother should have been the minister for finance; she fed us all when my father was unemployed.' Photograph: Nick Bradshaw Money was tight. 'My mother should have been the minister for finance; she fed us all when my father was unemployed.' But he remembers a culturally vibrant childhood. 'There was always singing in our house,' he says, recalling the music played by nearby neighbours who were in the Furey folk dynasty. It began his lifelong love of Irish music, both as musician – he plays the flute – and folklorist: in 1994, he wrote a biography of his old friend Luke Kelly , singer with The Dubliners. [ From the archive: Daring to dream of an island of equals Opens in new window ] Geraghty went straight into work after school, including a stint as an RTÉ cameraman, before becoming a full-time union official in 1969. He also married the late Irish Times journalist Mary Maher: they later separated, but remained friends until her death in 2021. (Former Siptu economist Rosheen Callender has been his partner for many years.) Parallel to this, he was involved in politics, first as a member of the Workers' Party – he stood unsuccessfully for the European Parliament in 1984 – and then its post-split iteration, Democratic Left. He represented the latter in the European Parliament in the early 1990s, when he came in as substitute for sitting MEP Proinsias De Rossa. He did not stand for re-election, however – it was agreed he would return to Siptu. Apart from an unsuccessful Seanad run for Labour in 2002, he largely eschewed party politics. Though he believes the labour movement needs both a political and industrial arm, he is clearly frustrated by the fractures in left-wing politics. 'There's a lot of splitting hairs of politics,' he says, pointing to the rivalry between the Labour Party and the Social Democrats. 'My own view is I don't want to get involved in that,' he adds. 'I was never a sectarian in my political outlook. I always worked with everyone in the union – there were great shop stewards who were Fianna Fáil-ers. I suppose my philosophy would have been that you've got to embrace all.' His all-encompassing attitude that 'trade union voices should be heard anywhere decisions are made' was put to the test when, in the depths of the crash in 2009, he was approached by the late Brian Lenihan, then finance minister, to join the board of the Central Bank. 'I said, 'you must be joking, I've no time for bankers and I've less time for them now',' Geraghty recalls. But after relenting under Lenihan's persistence, he was appointed as chair of the risk committee. He still remembers Central Bank official delivering a stark assessment of the debt accumulated by Irish banks. 'She had a white face,' he recounts. 'I said, 'give it to me straight, what is the situation?' Now, I'd been reading all the journals and papers saying €64 billion [in debt], and she said, 'it's closer to €120 billion'. That was a frightening situation – I couldn't sleep that night, I wondered was I mad taking this on.' What I see is that they're dehumanising all of us. It's not just Gaza; they're making this standard acceptable. It's the depths of depravity — Des Geraghty As it turned out, Geraghty remained on the board until 2019: 'I was confident enough in the period I was there that good decisions were made.' But while he says he learned a lot about banking, he still views economics on a human scale. 'Economic thinking tends to be dominated by classical economists, bankers, financiers, and they're all about the bottom line, but I've always argued that's a very narrow concept of economy,' he says. 'Every penny you give in social welfare is channelled into the economy – it's spent in the local shop, on clothes and books for school. Economy is about how people live, the bottle of milk that you buy in the morning.' This chimes with his wider outlook. 'I like the slogan the Greens came up with: think globally, and act locally. We have to understand the world we live it, and act locally, with the sense of the community we're in.' But for all his idealism Geraghty is aware that not everyone shares his vision of a shared society. 'I found in housing [he was previously chairman of the Affordable Homes Partnership] that I was taken aback by objections to housing projects in local authorities,' he says. 'It usually was an objection to traffic, but at the end of the day people in secure houses are never that wild about new people coming in. So the real threat comes from people who are insecure, and the real problem in fascism is the people who are insecure. And that's egged on by people who have vested interests in that – Brexit was a classic example.' Similarly, Geraghty is alive to the growth of anti-immigrant sentiment in Ireland. He understands some concerns about the impact of immigration in rural areas. 'I can see an ordinary, logical argument that the State needs to do better, without filling out the local hotels,' he says. 'But the basic thing is we have a responsibility to provide as best we can.' Des Geraghty: 'I think that music, poetry and song was the anchor that kept the spirit of the Irish alive over centuries.' Photograph: Nick Bradshaw He firmly believes Ireland has 'enormously benefited' from migration: his 2007 book 40 Shades of Green celebrated the contribution of immigrants, in line with his view of national identity as 'a jigsaw of many pieces'. 'We're a mosaic of these identities, and we shouldn't be afraid of them,' he says. 'We need to thrive on difference.' These days, his activism is international in focus. He is vocal about Israel's destruction of Gaza, while calling out European inaction on the issue. 'What I see is that they're dehumanising all of us,' he says. 'It's not just Gaza; they're making this standard acceptable – Putin has done the same thing, bombing cities. It's the depths of depravity.' [ A father in Gaza: Our children are dying as the world watches. We don't want your pity – we want action Opens in new window ] Still, Geraghty sees reasons for hope. He lauds Ireland's 'communitarian instinct', evident in the charity sector and grass-roots action on patient rights and homelessness. Likewise, he remains inspired by Ireland's cultural life. 'Seán O'Casey said something very interesting, that culture is the way we live,' he observes. 'Culture isn't something out there, it has to be part of your own existence.' It's advice Geraghty has always taken to heart, whether previously serving as chairman of Poetry Ireland or appearing this month at the Masters of Tradition festival in west Cork. 'I think that music, poetry and song was the anchor that kept the spirit of the Irish alive over centuries,' he says. 'Music can bring people closer to their own homeplace – pride of place is very important if we're going to deal with the environment – and it doesn't have to be mutually exclusive to anyone else.' Such idealism speaks of Geraghty's principles, but also his personality. He cheerfully greets people who come up to him during our encounter, and even when discussing dark subjects, he looks on bright side. 'My optimism is rooted in my experience with human beings,' he says. 'I think human beings fundamentally have the potential to be either good or bad. We've the potential for humanity and greatness and creativity, or we can go down another road of dog-eat-dog and doing down other people, where you encourage all the worst features. I don't like competition as a philosophy. I think people are at their best when they're co-operating, when they're sharing, when they're not trying to beat other people.' Des Geraghty appears in conversation with Martin Hayes at the West Cork Music Masters of Tradition festival on August 24th
Irish Examiner
27-06-2025
- Health
- Irish Examiner
Working Life: If you like people, you will like geriatric medicine
'My interest in older people started during my medical training, when I was a SHO (senior house officer). I came across all of these older people with fascinating stories. 'One patient had fought in both world wars. Imagine that. Another was a messenger for James Connolly during the 1916 Rising. She told me they used young girls as messengers as they felt the British army wouldn't shoot them. This woman used to run through the back streets of Dublin, behind the GPO. 'If you like people, I mean really like people, you will like geriatric medicine. When I was younger, I was very taken by Jacques Cousteau and wanted to be a marine biologist. In hindsight, I'm not sure I'd have lasted long. 'Anyone who knows me will be aware of how much I spoke out on behalf of older people during covid. I was subsequently asked to be an Age Friendly ambassador. A starting point for me is the importance of an age-friendly society. You'd imagine it would be a given, but it's not. 'If you look at it from a tech point of view, there's a real danger for older people that what should be enabling is becoming isolating. It's a real bugbear of mine how any software company can get a licence for tech that hasn't been road-tested on older people. 'My dad, Dermot Collins, is a lifelong GAA fan. Yet when he's going to matches now, he's expected to use an electronic ticket wallet. It's complicated. That's an example of tech dis-enabling people. It starts a pattern of isolation. 'Hospitals need to up their game, too, when it comes to older people. They should be designed with the most vulnerable in mind, but they are not. Elderly patients are expected to book outpatient appointments using online systems. On wards, the most private conversations can be overheard. It's appalling. I know our hospitals are in a rush to go paperless, but we need to be sensible about what we want to achieve. 'Monaghan Hospital is doing a good job of trying to make its campus more age-friendly. Physical improvements include parking spaces closer to the entrance, a new access ramp, improved toilet facilities, and universal-design compliant seats. Age Friendly Ireland is an appointed Shared Service of local government. Each local authority has an Age Friendly ambassador
Irish Times
15-05-2025
- Politics
- Irish Times
Disunited Irishmen - Frank McNally on the year Shankill Road protestants paid tribute in Bodenstown and were attacked by the IRA
Two years after his failed libel action , Peadar O'Donnell enjoyed arguably the finest hour of his political life when inspiring a contingent of Belfast Protestants to attend the 1934 commemoration of Wolfe Tone at Bodenstown. A busload from the Shankill Road among them, they were there under the umbrella of O'Donnell's short-lived Republican Congress, formed when he and others of socialist leaning were expelled from the IRA. On the way to Kildare, according to the next day's Irish Press, 'three dozen Protestant workers' stopped off at Arbour Hill, Dublin, to lay a wreathe in honour of James Connolly. Presented by a 'Mr G McVicar', it read: 'To the memory of Connolly and his heroic comrades of Easter Week, 1916. On to the Workers' Republic.' READ MORE En route to the Workers' Republic, they then drove to Bodenstown, where the Belfast banners included one, in echo of the 1790s, proclaiming 'United Irishmen 1934'. Alas for unity, the first item on the agenda in Bodenstown was a split, or at least an expression of the split that had already forced O'Donnell and his associates out of the IRA. The Irish Press played down the subsequent drama in a three-part headline that dwelt mainly on the event's overall success. '17,000 in Pilgrimage to Grave of Tone', read the top line. 'Biggest Tribute Yet Paid,' read the second. Then came 'Many Protestants in Six-County Group', followed by a colon, and after the colon, ominously: 'A Scene.' The 'scene' arose from the insistence of the main IRA organisers that there should be no 'unauthorised banners'. That turned out to refer to the Belfast ones, including – in a bitter irony – the 'United Irishmen', as well as those of the Congress generally. First there were angry words. Then, reported the Press, 'fifty or sixty members of the Tipperary Battalion of the IRA were called upon to aid the stewards and blows were exchanged with members of the Congress Groups. 'In the course of the struggle, which lasted for several minutes, the identity scroll of the Congress and the two flags of the Belfast clubs were torn.' Recalling the event decades later, veteran communist Michael O'Riordan, who had been there, noted that job of attacking the Northerners 'was given to the Tipperary people because they were the most conservative. The Dublin IRA did not join in at all'. O'Donnell reached a similar conclusion on the day itself. As paraphrased by the Press, he said: 'The IRA leadership was afraid of the Congress, and they had used as their tools that day poor, deluded workers from the Midlands. They would not ask the Dublin workers to attack the Congress flags because [the Dubliners] were finding out their leadership.' O'Donnell went on to suggest that along with the Belfast flags, a 'mask had been torn from hypocrisy' at Bodenstown. He blamed himself and fellow Congress leader George Gilmore that it had not happened earlier: that for years, by their presence in the IRA, they had 'kept this treachery from exposing itself'. But he was optimistic now. The attack would bring 'thousands more to [the Congress] banner,' he predicted. Furthermore: 'The presence of their Belfast comrades that day was a momentous happening, and the laying of the foundation of unity in the future.' Such optimism proved to be unfounded. At its first conference, held at Rathmines in September 1934, the Congress itself split over tactics, with O'Donnell and Gilmore on one side and Roddy Connolly, son of James, on the other. Thereafter it went into steep decline, apart from a last stand fighting for the republican side in the Spanish Civil War, where both Gilmore and O'Donnell took part. Some Belfast Protestants fought in that too. But there were no more massed outings from the Shankill to Bodenstown. Gilmore's life was a remarkable journey in its own right. Born in Howth, Co Dublin, in 1898, he was descended from Portadown unionists. But despite a home education, he and his brothers all became republicans. George joined Fianna Éireann as a teenager, fought in the War of Independence, took the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War and, after escaping from prison, worked as secretary for a future Fianna Fáil Taoiseach Seán Lemass. He and Lemass helped organise a mass jailbreak from Mountjoy in 1925 and Gilmore remained close with some of the leadership of Fianna Fáil even while supporting O'Donnell's hard-left Saor Éire (1931) and then helping lead the Republican Congress. O'Donnell was known to complain that Éamon de Valera 'took the best republicans with him into Fianna Fáil and left us with the clinkers'. But after the Congress's dissolution, he and Gilmore combined in organising tenant leagues, which influenced Fianna Fáil's slum clearance and State housing programme of the 1930s. Gilmore later stood as a socialist republican in a South Dublin byelection in 1938 and lost by only 200 votes. Thereafter, he was less prominent in Irish politics. Both men survived to visit Bodenstown again on the 50th anniversary of the 1934 commemoration. O'Donnell was 91 by then and lived another two years. Gilmore was 86 and died 11 months later, 40 years ago this June.
