On the canvass with Eamon Gilmore:The Labour leader got a warm reception from the public in the sundrenched city centre, writes MIRIAM LORD
HOW TO get to heaven from here? If you were starting from the junction of O’Connell Street and North Earl Street on Saturday, there were two answers to that question.
The first was simple enough, delivered in ear-bursting decibels from an excitable man with a microphone standing on a little box beside the James Joyce statue.
How to get to heaven from here? “Vote for Jesus!” He had leaflets with all the relevant directions for those wishing to be saved.
The second answer would appear straightforward too, except nothing is ever straightforward in Irish politics.
Heaven? From here? There’s a red-faced smiley man wearing an open-necked shirt and dark suit trousers. He doesn’t have a microphone, but an acolyte walks on ahead with a boom box which blares out the gospel according to Aretha Franklin.
“Howya doin’. Eamon Gilmore. I hope you vote Labour next week.” Simple as that.
Although this is negotiable, if needs must.
Of course, vote for Jesus, if that’s what you have to do. But any chance of your number two for Ivana Bacik, who is also running in Dublin Central?
Heaven, for Gilmore and his Labour colleagues, is more European, Dáil and local government seats for his party by this time next week.
The Labour leader was broadly in agreement with the excited microphone beside James Joyce on the first step to heaven.
“Acknowledge your sin and need of a saviour.” Or as Eamon would have it: reject the way of Biffo and embrace the path of the Rabbitte, the Stagg and the Michael D.
Both points of view were also agreed that man’s/voters’ problem was down to a singular, unwelcome, frame of mind.
“I did it my way.”
Microphone man spelled this out in his leaflet, with a helpful drawing of a lost soul trying to row a boat alone.
The Labour party doesn’t need diagrams. Instead, Eamon Gilmore and his colleagues just refer to the Taoiseach’s single-oar style of leadership and say it’s getting us deeper into trouble.
There was no time for discussion between the man from the Drimnagh fellowship and the faithful from the Labour brotherhood. Eamon was in a hurry, and moving off down Talbot Street, deeper into Dublin Central.
Candidate Ivana had left by then, she did Grafton Street and nearly made it to the Ha’penny Bridge, but disappeared to do her own canvass after that.
Still hanging in from the start of Gilmore’s sunny Saturday canvass through Dublin city centre, was Ruairí Quinn – a great stalwart when it comes to things like this.
Pat Rabbitte fell away at O’Connell Street. But he did his bit before that, swaggering along with Ruairí and Proinnsias de Rossa, with a big red rose stuck in the pocket of his shirt.
The Labour team carried bunches of red balloons. The helpers surrounded Eamon Gilmore for a photoshoot and he disappeared in a sea of balloons.
Under the bank holiday sun, the smell of burning rubber was rather offputting.
Pat Rabbitte watched with amusement. He’s being doing a double act around the south Dublin suburbs with Michael D Higgins over the last few weeks.
Imagine opening your front door to find that pair standing there?
The former leader said they presented themselves in a very nice house in Dublin South which had a vintage car in the driveway and two more under covers beside it.
When the gentleman of the house opened the door, Michael D cooed: “Here’s two more old models for you!” Such fun. Labour feel they are on a roll. You could see it in the easy progress of Gilmore, de Rossa, Rabbitte and Quinn down Grafton Street.
They got a good reception. People were in a good mood. The sun was shining. They have Monday off and most of them were tourists anyway.
A busker got very excited when he saw the Labour leader. “Gilmore for Taoiseach!” he cried. The team bustled over.
But this was Grafton Street. The chap with the guitar greeted Ivana Bacik like a long-lost friend, hugged deputy Gilmore and passed on the regards of a mutual friend to Ruairí Quinn.
The happy team, balloons, bubble blowers (did we forget to mention that) and boom box belted down towards Temple Bar.
Flesh was pressed. Most people who recognised the candidate for Europe seemed to think his name was “Pontius.” There were no harsh words. Although on the Ha’penny Bridge, a young man, somewhat the worse for wear, buttonholed his local deputy Rabbitte and wailed: “Dere’s people in Tallaght dyin’ of de Muchies.” A party handler confided that there wasn’t much canvassing going on.
“People don’t like to be disturbed when they’re in town. So we just make our presence known, and if anyone wants to come over they can. It’s very laid-back.
“To be honest, it’s for the cameras.”
On Henry Street, Pontius tore a T-shirt off the back of one of the campaign workers. He met Margaret O’Meara from Clondalkin, who said she canvassed for him back in the 1970s outside the Holy Spirit School in Ballymun. “You promised me a T-shirt for my son and I never got one.” Pontius said something about not having T-shirts back then. “Oh yes you did” insisted Margaret.
Pontius disappeared, only to return a few minutes later with a T-shirt he took from one of the campaign team. (She could have been naked, nobody on Henry Street would have noticed, given that everyone, man and woman, was half-naked anyway. We like the sun.) “I never break a promise,” he smiled, handing it over.
Margaret graciously accepted it. “My son is 35 now.”
Zoe from Dublin 15 had a more upmarket take on the MEP’s name.
She told us she would be voting Labour. “They seem to be more out there – I like Petrus de Rossa. He just seems like a decent bloke.” We left Eamon, Ruairí, Pontius and Petrus soon after that. Leaflets to read, Messiahs to consider.
And heaven – steak on the barbeque and a cold glasseen or two – to consider.