11th July, 2002
Well, the Ausbacher Report has been published, it’s
finally come, and in a couple of weeks it will be forgotten. The
cost, the total cost of the searching, the whole lot is about
€3,250,000. Who will pay the cost? The odds are on the tax
payer. The American millionaires hotelier who said, “Only
the little people pay taxes” was 100% correct. Will it make
a difference to us? No!! A bit like the man breaking rocks in a
quarry, when the politician passed him during an election. The
rockbearer asked the politician, “How’s the election
going?” The reply from the politician was, “It doesn’t
matter to you, you’ll still be breaking rocks!” Perhaps
if those people had paid their taxes, your mother wouldn’t
be waiting five years for an operation on her hip, people wouldn’t
be lying in a trolley in a hospital corridor without privacy or
dignity. But hey, life’s a bitch, especially if you’re
one of the little people!!
On the news a few weeks ago it showed us Rupert Murdoch opening a
printing works somewhere in the Midlands. The ‘Sky-man’
ascended from the heavens and brought us his glad tidings, and
soon he was gone home. Before leaving we gave him a present
– a piece of Ireland. No, not a clump of Shamrock, we gave
him the FAI, and Rupert put €7.5 million into our collection
box, and then he was gone. One consolation is that 20 years ago
you could have bought Ireland for that money from C.J. However,
the FAI tell us that if we don’t have a dish we can watch it
in a friends house or the local pub. I have a few questions for
the FAI – are they stuck for a few bob? Did I read somewhere
that they made a profit of €7,000,000 from our World Cup
experience? Did anybody in government know that this sale was
taking place? Does the FAI get any state-funding? I suppose at
the end of the day it won’t make any difference
The other night I was watching a documentary about the vandals
who roamed through Europe during the fourth century. Many years
ago, going to school, I learnt all about the Goths, the
Visigoths, the Huns, the Vandals – wild Germanic tribes who
destroyed everything in their path. I decided to look up the word
‘Vandal’ in the dictionary, it read, “Vandal: A
ruthless plunderer; wilful destroyer of what is beautiful or
artistic.” Today, Tuesday morning, I got a telephone call
from a person in a Montessori school in Frankfield. I called up
and saw that the vandals had called the night before. The windows
in the door were smashed in (again, I’m told), the picket
fencing around the premises had been ripped up, the stakes
broken, the doors to a wooden shed was split (which took some
kicking force). This was not a robbery, there is nothing of value
to take, children’s chairs, books from which they learn.
This was mindless, sheer badness. Who were the culprits? I don’t
know, some people probably do, were they adults? Old age
pensioners? Young children? I don’t think so. Which leaves
us with what age category? When I was a teenager my friends and I
never terrorised people, or destroyed peoples property for kicks.
We knew right from wrong. As a society, what are we becoming? Did
you ever notice the words written on American police cars, “To
protect and serve”. Last week a man told me that a customer
called to his shop to collect something heavy. The customer
parked part of his van on the footpath, went across to collect
the goods, and when he was leaving the shop with his purchase, a
motorcycle Garda was putting a ticket on his windscreen. Was this
customer a mindless vandal inflicting havoc on the community, or
was he an ordinary decent man collecting his purchase? Does the
word, “Priority” spring to mind? The message which
seems to be sent out to teenagers who break the laws of our land
are: you can’t be touched because there is nowhere to put 15
and 16 year olds.
There are no Gardai around after the sun goes down, and they’ll
only come after the damage is done, when the victim sees the
shattered glass and the ripped up picket fence, and reports the
crime. Don’t blame the Gardai, blame the man who runs the
show, the Minister of Justice, who acts upon the advice of his
senior civil servants – close this station, close that
station, at seven o’clock use only one squad car, two are
costing too much. More spot-check points, bring in more money, no
Garda with radar guns, put a van on the road with an automatic
speed camera. No confrontation, no messing, send the summons in
the post. The Garda force was set up 80 years ago to protect
peoples lives, property and goods. Perhaps we should go back to
the basics, because they were not set us as revenue collectors,
not that they did such a good job for the past 30 years… but
that’s another story.
Congratulations to Kathy O’Donnell, our Douglas Weekly Miss
Cork contestant, who goes through to the Miss Ireland final.
Kathy was voted ‘Miss Cork Photogenic’. We had a great
night last Saturdau at the SilverSpring Moran Hotel. Thanks to
general manager Conor O’Toole, who secured a table for us
when we arrived. The girls were all a credit to their sponsors.
Well done to MC Claire Cullinane, who always does a great job.
Roll on the final.
Well done to Liam Power of Decorative Glass, Douglas West, on his
beautiful floral display outside his premises. Now, if the
council would only fix the terrible footpaths across the road,
put down a few trees, things might begin to look a bit brighter
and better in Douglas West.
Speaking of trees, by now most of you will have heard about the
situation regarding Inchvale Lane, and the tree felling which
took place, what can I say? I suppose it’s true when someone
once said, “A picture tells a thousand words”. Did you
know that the anniversary of the death of poet Joyce Kilmer is
coming up in a few weeks. He was killed in the first world war on
July 30th, 1918, aged 32. As I walked through the lane last week
and saw the effect of the JCB, I noticed a little stressed robin
looking for its nest that was no more, I thought of Joyce Kilmer’s
poem, ‘Trees’…
I think I shall never see,
A Poem as lovely as a tree,
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed,
Against the Earths sweet flowing breast,
A Tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray,
A tree that may in Summer wear,
A nest of Robins in her hair,
Upon whose bosom snows have lain,
Who intimately lives with rain,
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
(Joyce Kilmer, 1886-1918)
Have a good weekend,
Bye for now,
Michael O’Hanlon.
