DAIL SKETCH:Ceann Comhairle may be from Kingstown but he had enough Gaeilge to deal with Deputy, writes MIRIAM LORD

WHEN TEACHER was away last Friday, his class of political tearaways took full advantage of their flustered substitute.

Business was suspended twice and the traumatised substitute – Leas-Cheann Comhairle Michael Kitt – had to lie down in a darkened room for the rest of the weekend.

Ceann Comhairle Seán Barrett is back and not best pleased with the reports.

But he has identified the ringleaders.

In his column here yesterday, a heart-worn Vincent Browne reported the carry-on in the Dáil when Opposition deputies tried to protest that a Minister had misled them the night before over why a controversial vote had to be guillotined.

Their objections were ruled out of order by Deputy Kitt, whereupon the customary rowdy scenes ensued. However, as the legislation in question concerned the sulphuric topic of septic tanks, deputies Éamon Ó Cuív and Mattie McGrath got over-excited while their counterparts across the floor taunted them.

In the case of Mattie, this involved some baffling references to five euro notes and unfounded jibes about travelling expenses. Government Chief Whip Paul Kehoe led the unruly chorus against Deputy McGrath, with backbencher Jerry Buttimer lending vocal support.

Mattie elegantly retaliated by dropping one of his legendary oratorical pearls: “Deputy Buttimer can stick his fiver where the monkey stuck the sixpence. Excuse my language.” (A cold flannel was ordered for the Leas- Cheann Comhairle at this point.) On Tuesday, Ó Cuív attempted to reprise Friday’s performance. During the Order of Business, he rose to his feet and began: “Last Thursday in the Dáil . . . ” That’s as far as he got. Seán Barrett was wise to his game.

“Resume your seat! I know what you’ll say and you’re totally out of order. You had your day out on Friday and you’re not going to do it again today. Resume your seat!” And Éamon, knocked for six by the Ceann Comhairle’s psychic powers, sat down.

But Fianna Fáil’s deputy leader, who is on record saying he will go to jail in the cause of septic tanks, is not a man easily deflected.

He tried again yesterday, stealthily this time, and in another language.

First, he earnestly engaged the Taoiseach in a discussion in Irish.

We wondered whether he was pulling a fast one on the Ceann Comhairle, who is a bastion of that fine borough of Kingstown and not noted as a gaelgoir.

But Barrett was wise to that caper, probably when he heard young Dev insinuating the word “uisce”.

“We are not having a discussion. I am calling Deputy Broughan.” Ó Cuív continued talking and refused to sit down.

“Suigh síos mar sé do thoil é,” requested Seán, to approving murmurs from all sides.

He kept asking. Éamon kept ignoring.

“I’ll speak in English in case you can’t understand my Irish. I am asking you to resume your seat immediately.” No change.

“Will you resume your seat or else you’ll be taking a walk. Will you listen to me? Deputy. Dep-uu-teee! When I stand, please do not continue [to do] what you do on a continuous basis: ignore the chair.”

“I didn’t hear you,” came the cheeky response.

“You must get your hearing tested. I shouted three times at you.” Labour’s Emmet Stagg rowed in. “Specsavers are doing that now,” he mused helpfully, to nobody in particular.

Young Dev insisted he hadn’t heard.

“Show respect for this House, you show no respect for it . . . ” roared the Ceann Comhairle.

“I do show respect for the House,” sniffed Éamon.

Barrett begged to differ: “You certainly showed no respect for it last Friday with your behaviour. Would you resume your seat! Your behaviour last Friday was a disgrace.” There was nothing for it. Micheál Martin had to step in and defend the honour of his deputy leader.

“On a point of order,” he ventured, as the Ceann Comhairle lined up another speaker.

“I have called Deputy Broughan. There’s no point of order. You’re play-acting again now about this issue.” Micheál bridled: “I do not play-act.” “What’s your point of order?” The Fianna Fáil leader said his piece: “You need to show a bit more respect to people on this side of the House.” “Well, I do show respect.” “You don’t actually . . . your remark there did not show respect . . . and when the House is misled . . . I’m simply asking . . . I merely need a report to correct the record of the house.”

But Seán was still smarting over what happened last Friday, when his substitute was in the chair. “I’m able to read and I read the full transcript of what happened . . . ” Micheál stood his ground. “An attempt was made in this House to raise a point, you didn’t even entertain the person, the person couldn’t even speak, you just dismissed the person. That’s not good . . . ”

Éamon Ó Cuív sat there, the put-upon person, looked suitably affronted.

Enda, sitting across the floor, smiled. Happy days, nothing to do with him or the state of the country.

As Tommy Broughan tried to speak, the rather ruffled Ceann Comhairle had a final word. “Well,” he said to Micheál Martin, “if you’re not satisfied with my performance, then there’s a method with which you can deal with it.” Tommy finally got to speak, and the main protagonists calmed down. “You’re doing grand, Ceann,” said Tommy. “You’re doing grand.”