Sharpening my scian for the seanadóirí
Thank you to experts like Eamonn Kelly, the Keeper of Irish Antiquities, for their knowledge and expertise.
This is not a political article, by any means. This is a personal, malicious article because, armed with the information from the Keeper of the Cashel Man’s contorted remains, I am going to sally forth tomorrow, with my sharp scian of a vote, with the aim of executing every Senator in sight — just as totally as our angry ancestors ritually executed the Cashel Man those many centuries ago. And that is the pure truth.
Just in case you are not fully briefed on the story, the fundamental facts are that the Cashel Man was elected King of Laois in his youth and prime.
Just like the election of a TD or Senator today.
The coronation rock was within sight of where his remains were found by modern bog-men two years ago.
He received many gifts at his coronation, equivalent to the salaries and pensions of his political successors.
However, one element of his coronation was that he was ritually married to Mother Earth on the day, and promised to protect all his clan from calamities such as a drop in the worth of their cattle, any reduction in their general standard of living, and also to protect them against the Bronze Age equivalent of a flu epidemic or plague of any kind. That is more of the truth, according to the Keeper.
Cashel Man clearly failed in his duties. And what happened next?
His angry clansmen grabbed him by the throat, brought him out to the nearest bog, armed themselves with spears and axes, and slaughtered him on the spot.
Before that, however, they tortured him significantly. They mutilated his nipples in a fashion which has been noted in other ancient bog body finds in the Midlands. This was the supreme punishment, because they knew that Mother Earth would divorce him instantly, because she would have nothing to do with a mutilated body.
So he was condemned to an extremely miserable afterlife on all fronts. After 4,000 years, the poor divil is still roasting away in an antique Purgatory for all eternity.
You’d feel a bit sorry for him, but dammit, he did not do his job when he had the chance.
The way I see it, our current crop of Senators are walking in the shoes of the ancient small kings of the clans of Ireland. Because of the strictures of democracy, we have lost our ancestors’ capacity to punish them for failing in their duties.
We have nothing to do with their actual election or selection. We have no control over their splendid salaries and perks and pensions.
Down the years, their alleged task has been to protect us from the failings or excesses of the governments of the day. In an ideal system, they would have been constantly at odds with governments in blocking pieces of legislation which they felt were unfair to us clansmen.
It seems to me it does not work that way, and has never done so. They routinely orate floridly and obtusely and eloquently, on the way to rubber-stamping every bill that enters their House. And that House has been for a long time a comfortable nursing home for many old politicians we rejected at the last general election — or a nursery for allegedly rising stars. Amongst those are university nominations and the nominees of the Taoiseach, many of them bearing names unknown to most of us.
We have some control of our governments via the ballot box, but none over our senators.
Like the Cashel Man, they failed to protect us to the best of their ability from a sad second Bronze Age, where there is far less silver in our pockets than worthless bronze cents. Meanwhile, they cost us an annual fortune of €20m in wages and pensions, which could be much better spent in vital areas like health, education, and especially, childcare.
Also, as far as I am concerned, a few of the present lot project themselves as being condescendingly elitist in their attitudes towards us common clansmen.
It is long past time all of them were brought out to the nearest bog and dispatched into the great bog of history.
My sharp scian of a vote has been ready for action all week. It will give me savage joy to wield it tomorrow.
And that is the very purest of truths.
