The year of the punk

Private eye Sam Wall stumbles through the political chaos of 1982

Velma poked her head in to the office and said, "There's a guy called FitzGerald wants to see you. Says he's a tee-shirt".

"Taoiseach, Taoiseach", said a poolite but insistent voice from the waitting room. "This won't take a minute, M'r. Spade".

Lots of people make that mistake, but we won't go into that now.

"Wall is the name", I said, "Sam Wall. Come on in, lain 't busy" .

I put away my Sunday Tribune.

Seems they had problems getting out the paper that week. Office occupied by the Moonies.

FitzGerald came in, blanched a bit when he saw the .38 in the rig under my arm. "Can't be too careful in this business", I told him, "all sorts of dirty linen and all sorts of people who don't want it washed. A shamus has to be careful".

FitzGerald straightened his back and said, "I'll come right to the point, Mr. Wall, I'm in trouble. I came into politics many years ago to do my best to see that everyone got their fair share and ... "

"Skip the commercial", I said, "come to the poin t" You got trouble, trouble is my business. Two hundred dollars a day and expenses".

"Now, let me see, two hundred, at 8.75 pence to the pound sterling, which is at ... well, anyway, never mind about that, Mr. Wall, the point is, when I first came into politics women's rights were my greatest conncern and .. .'

Two hours later I twigged his probblem. Leaks, people opening their cakeeholes when they should be keeping shtumm. The year of 1982 hadn't started well for my client. Budget immpending and every dog and cat -in the neighbourhood seemed to know what was on the agenda. He wanted me to plug the holes, seal the leaks.

"I'd ask the Special Branch to look into it", he told me, "but they're all out watching the IRSP - they tell me that an unusual number of leaves went missing from the trees last autumn in Sallins and they think they may have a lead."

First thing to 'do was keep abreast of the political news - which is not something I have much time for usually - whichhever government is in power a private eye has got to walk down those same mean streets.

Guy named Tully, who seems to be Minister for Defence, was telling a reporter about how he was considdering invading Egypt. Seems he was over there last year and some Egypptian extremists weren't too happy about Ireland's foreign policy. He told how he was watching some military parade and the extremists used the parade as a cover for an assassination attempt.

"They came running at me suddennly, firing guns and throwing grenades.

Luckily I had the presence of mind to duck ... "

"Yes", said the reporter, "I supppose you have a lot of experience of that in the Labour Party when it comes to tricky issues ... "

"And it was only my agility which saved me. A bullet just nicked my cheek. Unfortunately, a stray bullet hit Mr. Sadat and ... "

I switched off. I thought the Kennnedy's of Castleross finished years ago.

Time to work. First stop, the Dail.

As I entered the Public Gallery FitzGerald was telling the House that he first entered politics because of his desire to see a United ireland. "It's not well-known", he said, "but my father and mother ... " The one other TD in the House snored gently.

Great place, this. I wandered out of the Public Gallery and down a corridor. I needed to find some TDs. One of the major leaks from the impending buddget was FitzGerald's proposal to enndow each independent and smalllparty rn of a left-wing persuasion with two political broadcasts a week, twice the usual free postage, and a lift home in his Mere, for so long as they should vote according to the dictates of their conscience. The endowment was to cease if the government should be defeated in a ball vote.

When news of this got out FitzGerald made a TV broadcast in which he assured the citizens that the reason .., he had come into politics was to ennsure proper support tor political mino- . rities. "And these three eminent polio ticians, Dr. Browne, Mr. Kemmy and Mr. whatshisname from the crowd that used to be with Sinn Fein but then saw the light and now they're not Sinn Fein anymore except a little bit now arid then but don't we all know that politics is the art of the possible and where was I ... ? Anyyway, you all know me, and I wouldn't do anything I shouldn't, would I? After all, I first came into politics with the aim of establishing high stan- ' dards of ... ".'

Where would I find some TDs? A Sign pointed to Dail Bar.

As I walked down the corridor a small man with thinning hair came out of an office and grabbed me by the elbow. "They didn't understand", he gibbered, '<they didn't believe me. I took the North to a higher plane ... I ... then the plane crashlanded. They voted me out, the ungrateful curs. They didn't believe me ... I wonder why ... ?"

He rushed off muttering something about shuffling his Front Bench, next week, or the week after.

The hell with it, I decided. - this was no place for a sane person.

A week went by, not much happened. A week isn't such a long time in politics. The budget came and went. Browne, Kemmy and Sherlock voted for it, no problems. FitzGerald kept me on the payroll, the leaks were continuing. In line with everything else after the buddget, my fees went up to three hundred, a day.

Sherlock went on the radio and said the budget was a savage attack on the working class. Kemmy went on Today Tonight and said the people will reemember this foul deed. Browne wrote a letter to the Irish Times in which he said that this budget saddened him more than anything he had seen in politics since the debacle of the Motther and Child scheme. FitzGerald annnounced that he'd have another buddget a month later. He said that this was necessary because of the awful, simply awful, state of the nation's finances and if there was one reason he had entered politics it was to straighten out the nation's finances.

Browne, Kemmy and Sherlock annnounced that they would decide accorrding to the dictates of their conscience as to whether to vote for the new buddget or not.

Leaving the office one afternoon I decided to walk home. I would have had to wait ages for the bus - and anyway, a quid is a quid and the walk would do me good. I turned the corner at Kildare St., and saw a crowd gathhered outside the Dail. A six -foot tall guy with hands like pianos was waving a sign that said "Up The Small Farrmers".

I ducked inside the gate, flashed my buzzer at the guard and decided to take refuge from the throng. At the door of the Dail a white haired man was shouting, "Tell the Taoiseach I'm here, tell him T.J. Maher wants to see him. Tell him the wrath of the farming , community has crystallised. Tell him I have formed my new, long-promised political party. Tell him ... "

A small man with thinning hair ran out of the front door, grabbed Maher by the elbow and began gibbering. "I spoke to them in the towns, villages and crossroads. I told them ... it's my destiny to lead this nation ever onward. Not since Patrick Pearse and the lads took some slightly unorthoodox measures to press their point in 1916,not since Wolfe'Tone ... "

Maher wrenched his elbow free and began backing away. "In the name -of jazus, this is no place for a sane man ... "

"I'll make you Minister for Agriiculture, I'll ... arrange for the Furey's to sing at your birthday party ... "

As I followed Maher out the gate there was it scuffle and suddenly the crowd began running. Gardai were running up and down shouting "No quarter!" and waving their batons. Something snapped above my left ear. A black pool opened at my feet and I dived in.

The months were passing, 1982 was half over, and Istill wasn't any closer to finding the leak in FitzGerald's cabinet. The year's ninth budget was passed, with the suppport of Browne, Kemmy and Sherlock .. Jim Kemmy had, by special governnment decree, replaced Brian Farrell on Today Tonight. Joe Sherlock was hossting the Late Late Show. Douglas Gageby resigned as editor of the Irish Times and was replaced by Noel Browne. The Moonies were editing the Sunday Tribune. The lead story for four weeks running was the disscovery of the uncorrupted body of Tom McGurk in the basement of a flat in Rathmines. McGurk was deeclared a saint and Charlie Haughey promised to build an airport on the road outside the flat if he was reeturned to power.

I found that more and more of my time was being taken up with Velma. We had to abandon our faavourite little French restaurant, Chez Gaby, after it became the hanggout for the Minister for Poverty, Mary Flaherty, and her swain, Alexis FitzGerald (no relation). Each evening the Minister for Poverty's Mercedes would roll up to the entrance and she would emerge bearing the boy mayor in her arms. The little lad, exhausted from his day's exertions and the weight of the chain dangling from his neck would just curl up in his seat and gurgle while the Minister for Poverty dug into the oysters. Not a pretty sight.

Velma and I took to staying in in the evenings. Me, I was quite content to rely on the Pope's promise that there would be sex in heaven, but Velma wasn't taking any chances.

England won the World Cup in Spain after a cross from Brooking bounced off the chest of a Brazilian' defender onto the foot of Kevin Keegan who shot with devastating power and hit the crossbar. Paul Mariner, who was coming in from the left at full steam, tripped and fell and the ball bounced off the back of his head and into the Brazilian net. The English team crowded round Mariner - and he enjoyed more sex in the next thirty seconds than most of us have in a year.

Peadar O'Driscoll of the FAI declaared that though we weren't bringing back any cups or sombreros he felt that Ireland had won a moral victory.

In September FitzGerald gave me a call, invited me along to an official government do - the inaugural flight to Knock Airport. "It'll be packed with hangers-on, you might pick up something".

Frank Cluskey was there. He never misses a free flight to anywhere. He told me that he's quite happy as a Euro MP, flying hither, thither and yon. "I especially like Yon, great place. Be the hokey, I'm having a great time - and there was I thinking after I lost me seat that I'd be looking for me old job back at Hafners!"

As the plane took off from Dublin a small man with thinning hair came belting up the runway gibbering about how it wasn't fair, it was his airport and that was where he was going to land his higher plane and if it wasn't for an idiosyncrasy of PR ...

FitzGerald threw him down a bottle of Charlie perfume from the duty-free.

Albert Reynolds couldn't make the flight. He set off from Longford in a Bombardier bus and it broke down outside Mullingar.

As the plane passed over Roscommmon FitzGerald was telling me how he had entered politics with the intention of improving air services in Ireland, when suddenly, a big man jumped up from a seat at the front shouting "I'll not tolerate heathen airports close to the border where the IRA can fly to safety!"

Little men dressed in what looked like the proceeds of a notful raid on a fifth rate army surplus store, began jumping up allover the place.

"My God!", moaned FitzGerald, "it's a hi-jack, the third force!"

"Aye!", roared Paisley, "and ye'll not leave this plane alive if I don't get my demands!"

The plane was diverted to Alderrgrove and the new Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Paul Mariner, was on hand to negotiate with Paissley. Mariner immediately conceded to Paisley's demand that he be named godfather to Seamus, the baby boy born to Di and Charles - and that he

take over from Gloria Hunniford on Good Evening Ulster.

The following month, after the year's sixteenth budget had been passed ("An unforgiveable attack on the working class", roared Joe Sherlock as he walked through the Yes lobby), RTE announnced a number of cutbacks. The station had run into financial difficulties and needed money for their hew 27-part drama series T71e Year Of The Strummpet, an epic tale of Jim Larkin's part in the 1798 rising. The Late Late was dropped, Today Tonight was merged with News For The Deaf and cut back to one night a week.

Kemmy and Sherlock immediately walked into the Dail and supported a Fianna Fail vote of no confidence. The government fell and a general election was called.

Garret FitzGerald immediately set off on a lightning tour around Ireland by submarine. Haughey borrowed the Irish Times hot air balloon and did a similar tour. FitzGerald immediately hit back with a tour by Concorde. (Michael O'Leary was dispatched arround the provinces by hang glider). Haughey responded by buying a space shuttle for his campaign.

While all this was going on, three young people called Joey Atrocious, Fran Spittle and Jimmy Peculiar (forrmerly Albert Gordon, Imelda O'Duffy and Frederick Cane) canvassed the Punk vote at the dole and topped the poll in three Dublin constituencies. With a deadlocked Dail the three punks held the balance of power. They announced that they would support the Coalition if all Fine Gael and Laabour TDs dyed their hair purple, Joey Atrocious got to host Bosco, Fran Spittle got to edit Status magazine and Jimmy Peculiar replaced Larry Gogan on Radio 2.

FitzGerald announced that he had entered politics for the sole reason of' improving the lot of The Youth and immediately agreed.

Three days later my door was kicked in by seven Special Branch men and I was taken to the Special Juryless Court where I was charged with trying to usurp the functions of government by breaking a garda baton with my head that day outside the Dail. I'm doing seven years hard at the moment, which is why I never did get to plug that leak in FitzzGerald's cabinet.

Those are the breaks. •