Oh ‘twas. Interest rates of 14/15%. Runaway inflation, endless dole queues, factory closures on an often daily basis, politicians wringing their hand while operating Ansbacher accounts and myriads of other nefarious nod and wink schemes Paddy wasn’t informed about.
I was approaching an entrance to Semple Stadium the day of the hurling final when the Taoiseach’s car slowly wriggled it’s way through the throngs. About 50 yds from the ground the scene became ugly with the car (a fucking Saab no less) being bounced about and climbed upon by disaffected citizens and the potential for further thuggery……
Along came the man of the people Mr. Haughey (on foot) and with a simple wave of his arms he restored order and allowed Dr. Fitzgerald complete the dash to the field.
“I mightn’t like the fucker but today’s the day of the Centenary final and that’s the priority” What a guy….
Not true, from what I heard more or less at the time and ever since. I was in college with someone from Granard. That person made clear the evil was within the family, not in a church or a clerical circle. This reality was well known in Granard at the time and this reality was why Ricky McDonnell never became a pariah.
On another note: that article by Rosita Boland must surely be, thus far, the 21st century’s finest piece of Irish journalism.
Yes, I think the truth of this harrowing case was known at the time but could not be told. And will probably never be told, because the truth is so painful for everyone involved. You would also need DNA from the baby.
The grotto aspect, while understandably an obvious hook for 1980s Ireland, is not the core.
Wonderful story, Boxty… Sort of a justification for the existence of TFK.
I saw CJ Haughey in the flesh just the once. He was campaigning at the cross of Knocktopher in one of those numerous early 1980s General Elections. I remember being amazed at how minute he was, scarcely five foot tall.
This factor makes your story even better. And this factor always made me intrigued by CJH supposedly being a handy hurler in his youth.
Supposedly a handy hurler – and maybe a little better again. I am going by comments people who saw CJH at the time said to me – a fair few years ago, at this stage.
The Haugheys, heel of hunt, swung back to St Vincent’s. The father of one of my closest friends, both of them out and out St Vincent’s, was CJH’s Aide de Camp when he was Taoiseach. The same soldier, in his football days, won an All Ireland Senior with Dublin.
I had, during 1980s UCD days, a very good friend whose father was a Cavan man and in the IRA during the ‘we cannot stand idly by’ days. Liam was the first person to play me Marquee Moon. His father, over a glass of whiskey, used tell the 19yo me interesting stories about Jock Haughey. I later found out, through reliable sources, those stories were entirely true.
What was the story. A black day in a black and shameful history of Irish society, community, church, the lot. Horrible and horrific in equal measure. That poor girl.