Kilbeggan trumps Sydney

With the latest twitter madness of King Donald battering my brain I headed for Kilbeggan to attend an ‘American tea party’ in a local hall.

The party, held a few weeks ago, was a fundraiser for roof repairs to the local church, which was built in 1976.

As an ex ex-pat recently returned to the heartland – the Irish midlands – I am on a quest to acquaint myself with the new Ireland. More than 25 years in Sydney, Australia, has given me my fill of sunburnt highways and dirt roads stretching endlessly into shimmering distances.

That is why I avoid dual carriageways and roundabouts in Ireland and choose to explore the narrow tree-canopied back roads. If Google Maps has enough juice to tell me I am on an unnamed road, at least the wildlife can’t kill me as I make my way to the nearest farmhouse to ask directions.

In any case between Westmeath and Offaly there is a convenient landmark – (Brian) Cowen’s Folly – the sighting of which reassures me I am in familiar territory.

I took the liberty of christening the rusting steel skeleton of what, about a decade ago, was meant to be a job-creating private hospital outside Tullamore. It is probably now too late for the council to coat it with whatever artists use to seal the rust patina.

It could have become forever a visual statement of how economic liberalism and political boosterism broke the heart of the Celtic Tiger.

I was born and raised in County Laois – the only county not touching a county touching the sea.

The head wanted out, but the heart never left the Slieve Blooms and the bog land with its yellow prickly heather and ancient secrets.

I chose to resettle in Killucan, County Westmeath, which does touch a county touching the sea, but it is near enough to home.

Mind you, wandering around byways can make you a tad late for things so in Kilbeggan I was glad to see I was not the only late arrival.

“Will there be American flags and people who support Donald Trump here?” I ask the woman who was rushing into the parish centre with an enormous tray of cup cakes.

“Good God no,” she said. “If that was the case no one would turn up – this party’s been running for years.”

Then she mused: “Maybe it’s time for a name change.” See Donald? You will change life in Kilbeggan.

I was at the tea party because my beautiful, sharp-witted sister is one of a cohort of women who work tirelessly in the community. She is on the Tidy Towns committee, works in a local charity shop, at the parish centre and with Fáilte Isteach, helping migrants with conversational English.

This is one thing that has not changed. In towns and villages across the country, there are still women with boundless energy and humour taking a practical approach to making things happen.

I remember years ago when Ireland was het up about divorce, an old lady who had raised many sons on a small farm told me she did not know what the fuss was about – bad marriages were best ended by giving ‘yer man’ a damp shirt to wear on a bitter day.

No debates, no church, state confrontations needed.

The old lady, long dead, was offering a humorous solution at a time when women’s voices were ignored.

Last week a retired nun, former principal of a secondary school in the midlands, boiled the current debate about Catholic-ethos schools down to “look we need the numbers”, Baptised or not.

The nun was offering a solution maybe some Irish bishops should hear.

That aside, back in the Kilbeggan centre there were more than 250 people and not a US flag in sight.

The average age of the guests was about 70, excluding the Fáilte Isteach table where young families from Poland had gathered.

All had paid €10 a head, which goes to the parish fund. The women had paid for the ingredients, made the sandwiches and baked the cakes, tarts and scones and were now serving tea and coffee at the long tables.

It did not slip the notice of the Polish guests that they were the youngest there. One wondered aloud why more young Irish people were not supporting their local church.

I can reassure her from what I’ve since my return there are enough ‘bouncing-castle’ Catholics to keep things going for a while.

In the area where I live, Holy Communion has taken on small wedding proportions and family budgets are stretched laying out for bouncing castles.

It could be that people in the midlands take whatever opportunity they can to liven things up, otherwise they’d be perpetually teed off.

What annoys them most are constant pronouncements from Dublin about how the country is doing great, when they are not seeing or experiencing it.

“We need to batten down the post offices and Garda stations or they’ll be swept away overnight,” said one man explaining his perception of Dublin disregard for small communities in the midlands.

Endless promises, meetings and revised proposals have not yet seen a much-needed new school built In Curraghmore, or a commuter train stop in Killucan, or practical solutions to potential rationing because water levels have dropped in Lough Owel.