The shrinking sanctuary

In the beginning, 20 years ago, we called it Tir na nOg because we were young, we were into the Gaeilge and we thought it a fun idea. Way back then it was new and spacious with soft chairs, and what seemed like acres of room.

We looked on it as a sanctuary, a retreat to which we withdrew twice daily from our clamorous charges and enjoyed the calm conviviality of our comrades. It was a kind of no-go area for the pupils - there wasn't a sign on the door saying "Danger, keep out" - yet they kept their distance and entered its hallowed portals at their peril.

Now, 20 years later - and all's changed, changed utterly. The room seems to have shrunk. There's a photocopier, a computer or two, a filing cabinet, a desk, a phone, a swivel chair, and, periodically even a secretary ensconced in our erstwhile shrine. Regarding rules of entry, well it's open season. Anything goes. Shoelaces are tied here and little tears wiped away. As soon as tea is poured the phone starts to ring, and before the P.O. has finished his first sandwich there's a boy at the door entreating "Are you coming out for the League, Sir?"

The age of technology has arrived, and we are being swept along in its tide. Our euphemistic sos times have become frenetic business meetings. The photocopier is buzzing, money is being counted, letters are being read and someone is always on the phone or sending an e-mail.

Within these walls we have taken coffee with all manner of people - dignitaries of church and State, RTE people and journalists. Writers, poets and artists have chatted with us, conjurors, actors and puppeteers have entertained us, down-at-heel salespeople, smelling of cigarettes and cheap scent, have had beverages with us.

Our staff room has heard tales of joy as well as sorrow, mammoth problems have been solved here and laughter has always been our companion. Just as the sign "Tir na nOg has long since disappeared from the door, so too has the exuberance of our youth diminished, and we have become like Oisin in ndiaidh na Feinne, although not yet ready to relinquish the reins. As Van the man says "You know you're only king for a day. Precious time slippin' away"