Cattle dealers give no stick to the man without a party

AT FIRST, more handshakes were being taken than offered. When Michael Lowry arrived at Mid Tipperary Mart yesterday afternoon, an hour's delay and a group of waiting reporters and election workers had already created a buzz of curiosity.

The men from the milking parlours and meadows were quickly wearing "Lowry No. 1" stickers after he arrived in his 1997 Dublin registered BMW. Their strong brown forearms contrasted with his expensive woollen suit and gold watch as they leaned beside him on a rusty five barred gate for the photographers.

"I am here to sell cattle and to buy votes," Mr Lowry announced, with slightly stilted joviality. "Is it all right if I do that?"

The election workers gathered the faithful around him.

The first unprompted warmth came from a young man behind a vegetable stall. "Michael," he shouted, offering his hand, "you are doing great work for Tipperary."

Earlier, Mr Lowry's spin doctor, Michael Collins, said his candidate was receiving "very positive" feedback on the doorsteps. While he is officially cut off from the might of the party, the Lowry campaign has around 100 active workers, Mr Collins said.

"Members of his family and members of his wife's family are canvassing as well ... Where he's not, his workers will be," Mr Collins promised.

An elderly man with a stick became the next photo opportunity. Mr Lowry stood beside the man, waving his cattle prod and smiling. "I can tell you I have no shortage of people to give a slap to," he said.

But Mr Lowry got no stick in the ripe heat of the cattle mart. By now his black leather shoes were splattered with muck but he was still an elegant figure among the jumpers and caps.

First stop was the canteen, where chips and peas were forgotten when Mr Lowry joshed with the men sitting around.

The secretary of the mart, Mr Nicholas Morrissey, wore his colours on his jumper as he pronounced himself a trueblue Lowry man. "Of course, I'll be giving him my number one vote," he said, as it was the most absurd question he had ever heard.

With an enthusiasm that made up for a lack of teeth, another man told Mr Lowry he could depend on his vote. "I never voted for his party," the man said, "but I'll vote for him."

Then he asked The Irish Times earnestly, "Are you his wife then?"

By now the warmth of feeding cattle had put a bit of colour in the candidate's cheeks. He told reporters to watch the cattle handlers, the wink and turn of the stick that told those in the know which animals were the best buy. It was, he agreed, a good training ground for the buy and sell of politics.

The round of rings completed and most of the human flesh pressed, he emerged from the cow house smelling of roses. In the fresh air he was asked about the less than friendly comments of his "friend forever" - John Bruton.

"I am not answering any questions," he said firmly, "I am running as an Independent candidate and my campaign is up and running and going exceptionally well." But then he went on to answer those questions.

On the small lush roads surrounding Thurles his campaign posters dominated the skyline. They feature a serious Mr Lowry in shirt sleeves as if in the middle of a busy afternoon involving constituents' problems.

Yesterday afternoon there was no doubting the reserved affection for the fallen king in his own backyard.

Three funerals and a Chamber of Commerce meeting later last night completed the first day in the first week in his campaign. One of the handful of men at the mart who said Mr Lowry would not get his vote argued with a smile that it was not that Mr Lowry had done anything wrong, but that he appeared to have committed the sin of getting caught.