Fired-up big guns to emerge from fog of doubt

It’s the battle of Fianna Fáil’s vote-hoovering moustache and . . . Grandpa Smurf?

CONDITIONS WERE foggy on the drive to Limerick.

We came in search of two big beasts of Irish politics – Michael Noonan and Willie O’Dea. Looking for gorillas in the mist.

Limerick City is a new constituency, hewn from the old Limerick East. Five seats are now four. At least one sitting TD has to lose out.

It won’t be either of the above.

Willie O’Dea says Michael Noonan will top the poll. Noonan says O’Dea will romp home first.

You’d be surprised if they said otherwise. Both are veterans of many elections past – they don’t believe in counting chickens.

If it all goes to script, and everyone seems to think it will, the remaining contenders will get a nice view of their worn-down heels as they ease past the quota and back into the Dáil.

This is an unforgiving constituency. Competition is intense, particularly in the mind of Willie O’Dea. In the last election, he got 19,000 votes, nearly three quotas, but still only managed to bring in one running mate, Peter Power.

As he does the doors in a run-down area in the south of city, Willie constantly pleads the poor mouth. He lost a sizeable chunk of support as a result of the boundary change. “Sure I’m down the 5,000 votes,” he says to folk who remark he’s won’t be hitting the dizzy heights of 2007. They’re not referring to geography, but it suits Willie to assume they are.

Most of the people who pledge their vote to Willie are keen to stress it’s a personal thing and nothing to do with Fianna Fáil.

“I’m badly stuck for the number ones,” he hisses urgently to anyone vaguely sympathetic.

No, he isn’t. It’s more a question of bragging rights, and if he’ll still have them today week.

Noonan, by contrast, attracted 12,000 fewer votes but still brought Kieran O’Donnell in with him. Now, with the wind behind Fine Gael and an ebullient Limerickman one of the main reasons for it, there is talk in some quarters of a “Noonan factor”.

“We think we’ll hold the two [seats] and the canvass would support that,” he says during a stint around the new housing estates near the Parkway shopping centre.

The same air of confidence doesn’t come from Fianna Fáil. You don’t hear much mention of Peter Power from Willie. They may be colleagues, but caring and sharing doesn’t come to mind.

Outgoing junior minister Power, talks up his chances. “We have enough votes between myself and Willie to secure easily, easily, two seats, but we have to balance up the Fianna Fáil vote.”

That’s a big ask, given the nature of the vote-hoovering moustache with whom he shares a patch. Noonan has an agreement with O’Donnell. “I don’t cross the Groody river to look for votes, but Kieran can canvass the entire constituency. It doesn’t apply to having your dinner mind,” he grins, crossing the Rubicon to get a bit of lunch.

Jan O’Sullivan is the Labour party standard-bearer. One senses there will still be a seat for Labour despite the seat squeeze. She gets no grief on the doors around the Roxboro area. Her canvass team include former rugby international Gerry McLoughlin and former Clare hurler Colm Honan.

There are long discussions on the doorstep where the issues of unemployment, emigration and the “bloody banks” get a constant airing. People have watched the leaders’ debates. They are well informed and eager to engage.

Local issues, such as housing and anti-social behaviour, are addressed. Jan notes the details in a small copybook.

There is a realism about the gloom, and an acknowledgment that there were good times. Men and women who have lost their jobs accept there is a global recession. But what angers them is how the Government allowed the economy to spiral out of control and how the banking crisis has been handled.

Mary Carroll is a 19-year-old politics student in the University of Limerick. She’s helping out with Jan’s campaign and it’s been an eye-opener. “I like politics, but it’s just too much work. You have to be dedicated.”

She is enjoying canvassing. “It’s grand. I’m glad I’m not with Fianna Fáil though.”

The ABFF (Anyone but Fianna Fáil) theme is uppermost on all the canvasses. Willie and Peter try to play it down, but they’ve been getting it particularly hard in the middle-class areas.

Noonan was on cruise control yesterday. He had a long day of briefings and media interviews on Thursday, culminating in a Prime Time debate with Joan Burton and Brian Lenihan. They’re seeing an awful lot of each other these days?

“Ah, we are, we’re meeting too often. People will start talking about us if this continues.”

It’s a cold and wet morning. Noonan wears a heavy overcoat over a fleece top. He fishes a woolly hat from his pocket and puts it on. He doesn’t pull it down properly. It rises up from his head like the teat on a baby’s bottle and then flops to one side. It makes him look like Grandpa Smurf.

“Nice weather for canvassing, Michael.” “Ah, no it’s not.”

The straight-up man who, a day earlier, told the nation things were going to get “dreadful” is preparing to knock on doors and look for support. Is he not worried about the reaction he will get?

“Sure the people knew there were problems well ahead of the politicians. They’re ahead of the game. And we have Labour, going on about a euro on a bottle of wine when they know its blood, sweat and tears up front. They want you to level with them. They want you to explain, and we’re doing that.”

He gets a great reaction on the doors – they saw him on television the night before. One man, who says he doesn’t take much notice of politics, wonders if the economy will ever be right.

“Things are going very fast in Europe. Spain failed to complete the bond auction . . .,” Michael begins. The man jumps in. “That’s right, didn’t they only get around three and a half billion?”

Further on, a car approaches and slows down. The driver sticks his head out the window and roars: “Would ya ever tell the ECB to f*** off!” A conversation ensures. Noonan returns.

“I told you people are smart. He said the ECB is supposed to be our friend but the IMF is giving us cheaper money.”

Across town, Willie O’Dea is listening to far more local matters. He buzzes around in his belted crombie, nipping up to doors when somebody appears, taking notes in a docket book with a stubby bookies biro.

As always, he is marvellously indiscreet. An elderly man gives two canvassers an earful about Fianna Fáil and outgoing Deputy O’Dea. “I told ye not to go in there, lad!” he tells them.

“You just met the biggest looper on the road,” he tells us.

Into a community hall, where workers are doing a refit. Willie grabs a paint scraper and holds it up for the camera. “Do you remember when I did that with the gun lads?” he chortles.

A woman comes to her door and berates him. “I went up to the Spotted Dog three weeks ago to see you and you weren’t there and you were supposed to be.”

Willie is nonplussed. “Go ‘way!” says he. “And my friend came up from the Track and said you weren’t there too.”

Willie holds a lot of clinics in pubs. He explained his absence and said he was listening now.

Her son was having trouble in school. “He’s not bold, he just won’t sit.” He takes a note.

The FF logo on Willie’s poster is very small. “That has been remarked upon” he murmurs.

“Things are against the party at the moment, but I’m getting a lot of votes in spite of Fianna Fáil.”

Noonan, meanwhile, is enjoying his election. But he remembers the bad ones too. We recall when he told us he wouldn’t be seeking a ministry again if Fine Gael ever got back into power.

“Times change. I feel up to it, if it happens. I’d like to be in cabinet – it’s a privilege.” His children are returning home to join him in the final week of the campaign. He’ll enjoy that.

“Politics is a very interesting life – it keeps changing, you’re very tuned in. You need to maintain a sense of purpose, stay fresh and realise you are a public servant. My wife is in a nursing home now. I live alone. It’s my life now.”