It is surely strange that the race with a world-wide reputation for having the "gift of the gab" does not have an equivalent of London's Hyde Park Corner. After all, Ireland possesses only the Blarney Stone, and while one rarely sees a three-legged donkey, there are multitudes well able to talk the hind legs off them.
If the standard of Dail rhetoric seems to have declined in recent years - "dirt birds" must have migrated to other climes - the quality of debate has risen considerably. Also, Ireland's most popular TV programme over 37 years has been a talk show.
So, a good case can be made for a Speakers' Corner in Dublin, and a suitable place for it would be at the top of Kildare Street in St Stephen's Green. Of course this suggestion will be met with objections from those who fear destruction of the flowers, but also by others who might fear tramplings on reputations. If sited there, apart from access by the general public, the venue would give an opportunity for frustrated TDs and senators to further extrapolate upon issues which, they felt, had not been widely enough aired in nearly empty chambers.
Hyde Park Corner
For nearly three years, while working in London, I was a regular visitor to Hyde Park Corner on Sundays. One was always sure to meet Irish friends there, and on occasions the West End theatre could hardly match the entertainment value - and that at no cost for tickets. Some of the speakers who turned up had a fervent desire to promote specific issues, while others seemed to hold their crowds' attentions by dealing with current affairs, usually political.
Christianity in its various forms was a common subject and on occasions the rivalry between speakers was all too apparent, with one trying to shout louder than the other. Loudspeakers are not permitted in the park, so lung power counted. One such speaker used to arrive in a small, battered, old, black-painted van with a placard above the windscreen stating "The Lord Cometh". Another used to speak from his platform with a caged dove in his hand. This would gather a crowd to wonder what would happen to the bird. In fact, nothing.
Well aware of the deflation of dignity which skilled and persistent hecklers could bring about, I decided to try being a speaker there. First I attended a brief course in oratory, at which the final examination was supervised by one of the longest serving British MPs. He said to us before the exam began: "When I started in politics 50 years ago, I couldn't speak for five minutes about anything. Now I can speak for two hours about nothing."
Each of the students had to stand in front of the class, open a previously unseen piece of paper and speak for six minutes proficiently on the subject written on the paper. Mine was "Pavlov". I passed the exam by giving an over-extended introduction on the cruelty of using dogs for medical experiments, and then in the last minute saying in as many words as possible how Pavlov had discovered how a bow-wow's stomach reacted to the sight of a juicy bone.
Hugh Lane pictures
Fortified by this course, and carrying a folding one-man platform which I had made, I chose a sunny afternoon to enter the park's polemical fray with the case for the permanent return of all the Hugh Lane pictures to Ireland. A friend said I got about 200 people at best, but that dwindled when a speaker with a Canadian accent nearby launched into a vociferous tirade on the evils of money. "It's only a symbol of wealth", he declared, tearing up what looked to be genuine pound notes.
Perhaps one of the reasons why we have not yet got our own Speaker's Corner in Dublin like London's is that slander laws do not apply in Hyde Park. Speakers can say what they like, and, by long-held tradition, not have to face the law for character defamation. One very eloquent speaker with an Oxbridge accent used this for financial gain by entertaining large crowds.
Edgware Road
He used to point to and name one of the hotels at the bottom of the Edgware Road and colourfully describe imaginary incidents of an outrageous nature that he declared frequently took place there between usually well-known persons. Then, stepping down from the folding ladder which he used for a platform, he would rush outside the park gate and hold out his hat to the departing crowds to collect money. He did well, but he also unwittingly did a bad turn for a while to Trinity College, Dublin.
Some time later I met a lecturer from Scotland who had had just been appointed to a TCD post and had taken up accommodation in a small hotel in Dublin's Westland Row, which was used by the college for this purpose. She found the rooms very comfortable, but neither she nor the college authorities could explain why the front door frequently had night callers by Irishmen asking if they could "get a woman" there. I solved the problem by telling her the Hyde Park story, and shortly afterwards the name on the fanlight, which was the same as the one named by Orator George, was removed. Maybe confused migrating Irishmen from western parts had thought they were already in London.