Cheers to a unique festival that really gives power to the people

HOW do you behave like Speaker Conolly when you smell like Mary O’Rourke? I can tell you, it’s not easy.

Pretending to have the authority of a historical figure, when you’re bathed in the elegant scent of our once-leader of the Seanad isn’t easy. But it was the dilemma with which I had to cope last Sunday.

Perhaps, not least in the interests of Mary’s unsullied reputation, I should explain. Speaker Conolly (he spelled his name with one n) was at one stage, in the early 18th century, the richest man in Ireland. He was reckoned to own more than 150,000 acres, and was a figure of very considerable influence. The name by which he was known derived from the fact that he was speaker of the Irish House of Commons until his death in 1729.

Unlike the Ceann Chomhairle of today, the speaker then was a powerful figure in his own right, because there was no government to dominate the sessions of the parliament. Mind you, there weren’t too many voters either, because the vast majority of the population, being Catholic, wasn’t allowed to vote.

Perhaps the thing that Conolly is best remembered for nowadays though is the great house he built in Celbridge. Castletown House is a genuine national treasure, being maintained and restored, little by little, by a dedicated team. It’s had a chequered history, and came close to dereliction not all that long ago.

It was there last weekend that the first Big House Parliament took place, as part of a festival that drew families from all over to wander the grounds and walk along the river. They could meet a young fisherman, sitting in a boat at the water’s edge and regaling youngsters with yarns and riddles; they could see tumblers, sit and listen to music, catch magicians at work, or have picnics of sausages, wine and ice cream.

And they could wander in and out of the Big House Parliament, in the magnificent Long Gallery upstairs. The parliament was conceived as a place of idea and debate by Naoise Nunn, and all through three afternoons motions were put forward by “ordinary citizens” for debate by the public, under the steady eye and firm chairmanship of a robed and dignified speaker.

On Saturday the speaker was Mary O’Rourke, taking no nonsense but with great good humour. On Monday the parliament was presided over by Brendan Halligan, still witty and debonair after all these years. In between, on a lovely Sunday afternoon, it was the turn of yours truly to encourage debate and to try to summarise the steady flow of ideas being put forward.

Thus, it was that I got to don the robe (I almost said slip into, but my days of slipping into items of clothing are long past) that had been worn the previous day by Mary O’Rourke, and to experience the alluring and evocative scent of whatever perfume she had been wearing. And very nice it was too — it got me into a warm and welcoming state of mind for the speakers to come.

Marty Mulligan (from Mullingar) set the tone. I haven’t met Marty before, but I gather from looking him up on the web that those of you who are regular Electric Picnic goers will be familiar with his version of the “spoken word”. It’s angry, and passionate, and funny. In fact it was so poetic that I asked him afterwards what he was quoting. He emailed me his poem later, called “This is Ireland”. I’d love to let you see it all, but I only have space for a verse of two. You’ll get the flavour: “This is inspireland, This is desireland, This is for hireland,

This is legal quagmireland, This is aspireland, this is conspireland,

This is buyerland, For some this is direland.

This is how we went, From the land of saints and scholars,

To the land of concrete, shopping malls, Gang lands and a fistful of dollars.”

He was followed in rapid succession by Carol Hunt, who spoke passionately and wittily about the separation of church and state (a theme taken up by everyone who spoke about values during the afternoon), and by Jennifer Moroney-Ward, a community activist and educator from Limerick, who made a powerful case for no more cuts to the voluntary and community sector. Then came Julie Feeney. Most of you, I guess, are familiar by now with her music, with its witty lyrics and haunting melodies. I admit I was expecting someone a bit cool and sophisticated. Instead she was shy, and wanted to speak only because she felt so strongly about how there is so much creativity in Ireland, and so little of it is given a chance.

Marie Phelan, who described herself as an ordinary citizen of Ireland (although all these citizens seem extraordinary to me) called for a citizen’s dividend from oil and gas discoveries, and Margaret E Ward made an unanswerable case against the glass ceiling that affects so many women in public life, in the media, and in business.

Then Stephen Curtis, citizen and mortgage holders representative, and Brian Lucey, citizen and Economics professor (and very funny man) combined for an assault on banking culture, practice and structure, and the weakness of the political system in dealing with all these.

FINALLY, Colm O’Gorman made a moving and eloquent speech which called for us to enshrine the true principles of a republic into our laws as a way of honouring 2016. Trevor White on the other hand called for the cancellation of 2016 in its entirety, because, as he succinctly put it, that would give us the kick up the arse we needed because of our failure to live up to the ideals and values of 1916.

We (the parliament) decided these motions were more complementary than contradictory, and passed them both. In fact, we laughed with, argued with, challenged and appreciated all the speakers I’ve mentioned, and supported all their motions.

With one exception. A young woman called Eleanor Tiernan proposed an outrageous motion calling on us to make Arthur’s Day a public holiday, so that those who wanted to spend the day drinking wouldn’t be bothered by having to go to work. She even offered to accept an amendment calling for a “hair of the dog” public holiday immediately afterwards, and listed all the reasons we have to drink. I can’t repeat a lot of them here — suffice it to say that Thierry Henry and Roy Keane both got a mention.

Secretly, a majority wanted to vote for her, but political correctness won the day. Eleanor is a comedian, of course. Her motion might have been risqué but her speech was hilarious, and I’m now a committed fan. People like Eleanor and Marty and Carol and all the others, who want to make Ireland a better place with their humour and anger and passion, actually succeed in making Ireland a better place, a little bit at a time. We need a lot more events like these – they brighten all of us up, and they generate a sense of hope. And of course, the sweet scent of Mary O’Rourke.