Irish, therefore I am
In October 2009 I moved from Dublin to London.
The flight, from one dreary and wet English speaking island in the Northwest of Europe to another, takes about an hour. Yet at times it feels like so much more.
Ireland then, and now, is overwhelmingly White Catholic. Things are changing, but much like sex, drugs and rock n’roll, multiculturalism is new – having arrived about four decades after the rest of the world.
Thankfully, the Britain I moved to had diverted far away from the ‘no Blacks, no dogs, no Irish’ days. I can’t speak for the Black guys, but the Irish were welcomed with open arms. And everyone loved dogs.
This was also in the confounding immediate post-crash days when Ryanair were apparently going to charge people to go for a piddle, while also ruminating over the idea of ‘standing seats’ at the back of the cabin. In fairness to them, for the reported €3 a go, they could tape me to the wing.
To be unsure
At times the English have seemed like a strange species to me. It’s sort of an uncanny valley effect. They look and act so normal, but occasionally the absence of rational human behaviour leaves me feeling uneasy.
Take for example their love of the royal family. Even the ones who claim not to care will get swept up in the obnoxious pageantry of the weddings, babies, and funerals – like it’s part of their core programming.
Some of their grown men claim to enjoy Doctor Who. I just assume they are paedophiles and ask no further questions.
More importantly, their pubs are all wrong. Gone are the intimate nooks and crannies of a good Irish boozer. The only place you’ll find a snug is on Peaky Blinders. These places are more like open plan offices. For me, the public house should always tilt more house than public.
I won’t even start on Morris dancing.
Éire on the side of recklessness
It’s faster to fly East than West. This is because of the jet stream and the need to fly against the wind. Arriving back in Ireland, I feel going against the wind couldn’t be more appropriate.
I always love arriving back at Dublin Airport. Firstly, dealing with the incredible can’t-be-arsed lads working at passport control. Your ID could have a picture of Che Guevara or the Easter Bunny on it. Not to worry. Little nod of the head - “Go on”.
Then stepping outside the terminal building and hearing an automated warning message playing on repeat. The message clearly and concisely conveys two pieces of information:
This is a no smoking area
Passenger drop off only - no pickup allowed
A quick glance around at a crowd of people stubbing out fags and getting into cars serves as your immediate confirmation: you are not in Kansas anymore.
‘Ah grand’ does come for free
In my time away two turns of phrase have appeared that I was previously unaware of.
The first, ‘happy out’ – used to describe someone’s overall general mood. E.g.:
“How’s Mary?”
“She’s happy out” (Translation: Mary is happy in and of herself)
A second, more farcical phrase, has appeared on the scene in recent years, ‘sure look’ – used as a catch all term used to write off all emerging and/or pressing problems. E.g.:
“How’s John?”
“He got the interview he was after, but he didn’t get the job. Sure look, there will be more opportunities”. (Translation: John is fine, don’t worry about John)
It can seemingly be used in any situation, regardless of the scale of the problem. E.g.:
“How’s Patrick?”
“His wife left him for another man, the bank has taken the house, and two of his kids were captured by Al-Qaeda. Sure look, these things happen.” (Translation: Patrick is fine, don’t worry about Patrick)
This seems a massive extension of the ‘it’s grand’ parameters that we Irish set for ourselves. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my brain, I can’t help but love it.
Same same, but different
I think at its core this gets at what I believe separates us from the English, and indeed the rest of the world.
Irish people are not generally the smartest people in the room. Neither are we the bravest, quickest, fiercest or the most dedicated. Most handsome? Not for me to say. What I can say is we are the single greatest nation when it comes to ignoring problems and pretending to accept authority.
If a nation could be described as a single emoji ours would be the guy with his hands in the air, shrugging.
Sometimes this attitude massively bites us in the arse. Like in May 2021, when the Health Service Executive (HSE) of Ireland suffered a major cyber-attack. This was apparently an open door for the hackers, given thousands of computers at the HSE were running on Windows 7.
Even more incredibly, the Russian hackers were asking for millions in Bitcoin. As if anyone in charge would have a notion what Bitcoin is.
The name’s Bond, vagabond
On my travels I’ve noticed the idea of what Irishness is can shift from place to place. To some we are a nation of poets and playwrights. To others, we are a super religious potato obsessed backwater.
It’s true that the Irish diet is essentially gout in food form, but this might have more to do with the portion size. Going back this always surprises me - like seeing a Super King mattress, only to realise there is an Emperor size you weren’t aware of. In terms of religion – mostly I see people aligning that way so they can get married in a nice building. As a friend once remarked: “I believe in it, but I don’t believe in the rules”.
The other enduring stereotype is that we are lucky. In fact, ‘the luck of the Irish’ was a sarcastic phrase adopted during the 19th century to refer to successful Irish miners, intended to mock their accomplishments as mere luck.
And if you look at everything we’ve had to put up with - hundreds of years of oppression, a devastating famine, Louis Walsh - it’s clear we have not been lucky.
Don’t look back in Ire
London is good, mainly. The tubes can be busy and the hipsters are multiplying. But you’ll never be bored.
I can still get mildly frustrated. Occasionally when I tell people I’m from Dublin they ask if that’s in Northern or Southern Ireland. Also, the English are mad for putting herbs in their sausages (not a euphemism). And nobody knows what I mean when I say I’m ‘on me tod’ or that someone is ‘acting the maggot’.
However, now it works both ways. Back home, a small minority of people don’t like the idea that some people leave and don’t come back. To them we have lost a core tenant of what it is to be Irish. But I don’t agree: I’ve been an atheist for over two decades, I don’t speak Irish and nor do I have any interest in Gaelic football.
What this assessment misses is that many people who stay are the same way. Being into manga or flavoured gins, for instance, doesn’t make you less Irish.
As a nation of travellers the very idea of Irishness has never really needed to equate to place anyway. Just ask Tony Cascarino, former professional footballer and at one time a record appearance holder for the Republic. In 2000 he revealed he was never eligible to play for Ireland and didn’t even have an Irish passport. That’s the kind of roguish behaviour that makes you one of us.
Sure, it can be frustrating to hold the only accent deemed fair game for mockery (try doing it with a Jamaican lad and see how far you get). I’ve even been in meetings where people have said ‘beyond the pale’ (meaning beyond what is deemed acceptable – a phrase grounded in Irish history - used to denote beyond the area of English control, where the savages lived).
But ultimately, it’s just not in us to get worked up about such trivialities.
United we stand
Perhaps my unease is down to a lifetime on anti-English sentiment that has burrowed so deep within me it can never come out.
I realise how ridiculous this is. My partner is English. My son is English (populating the enemy - the ultimate crime). Some of my best friends are English! But when they play football, I hate all of them. I truly hope it never comes home.
I know how silly this seems. There is more that unites us than divides us. Some of us (not me, never) even watch the crown. The situation between the two nations is fraught and politically sensitive, particularly due to Northern Ireland. That divide existed when I was born and may well exist long after I’m gone.
A satisfying resolution may never be found. I’m also aware of the single greatest reason against a united Ireland – shedloads of admin to sort out. Nobody wants that.
If it were to ever happen, the UK and Ireland would no longer share a border. Maybe a bit of time apart would do us some good. We could still be there for one another. After all, isn’t that when good neighbours become good friends?
If you gave me a vote on it tomorrow my rational brain would say ‘This might not be worth the risk. Think about Brexit’. But at the same time I just know, standing in the ballot box with that pen in my hand, I couldn’t resist. ‘Sure look, we’ll give it a go’.