It's not all angst and anger on the doorsteps, as political canvasser FIONNUALA WARDfound out when she went looking for votes
‘SORRY TO DISTURB you, I’m canvassing on behalf of . . .” Not quite true, of course. Because if I was that sorry, I wouldn’t be doing it at all. And, anyway, the person standing before me, front door in hand – a person, who’s quite probably left the kitchen table or negotiated their way off a comfortable sofa to get here – doesn’t actually mind that much.
That was quite a revelation when I started out canvassing. All those years ago, I was just going to drop leaflets. No baring of the soul for me. No strained conversations with people I didn’t know. No political discussions. No chit-chat. No nothing! A sprint up the drive. A leaflet through the letter box. And that would be that.
But my contribution to the local green bin collection moved very quickly from a furtive shove through the door to a fully upright hand-to-hand encounter. Seamlessly as it turned out. Because, as it happened, people were something that I hadn’t quite expected. They were polite.
In fact, for the most part they were interested and by the time I was the recipient of my first grunt or one of those eloquent, “You’re all the same . . .” rants, I really didn’t care. It was already clear that the electorate, whether or not they agreed with my own political persuasions, were in no need of a lecture on the privilege inherent in being lobbied for their vote.
Mind you, they lied. And seven years later, I’ve no doubt that they’re lying yet. People always say they will “keep you in mind” – a phrase so loaded with a myriad of possibilities as to be absolutely meaningless. Still, it’s coded language for “let’s wrap this up”, so it’s time for that top-of-the-range “thank you” and a concerted offensive next door.
It’s an offensive which includes the usual standing well back and early mention of the candidate’s name and party. And absolutely no acknowledgement of those phantom individuals from opposing parties who’ve also muscled their way onto neighbourhood posts and poles. They remain the unmentionables, unless, of course, you meet them mid-canvass when it’s all smiles and waves and “it’s so hard to get people in” pleasantries.
The thing is, though, it really is hard to get people in. Harder still when that porch door won’t open and you’re not sure of the etiquette involved in releasing the latch and gaining access to the front door bell. And then there’s the difficulty of having got someone in, leaving them there. Loneliness and isolation translates into long, rambling chats on the doorsteps and canvassing can be a searing window into what’s happening down your street.
Your own humdrum middle-class existence can seem anything but bland having spoken to someone of roughly the same age, living in roughly the same situation, just minutes down the road in the local flats, who’s being intimidated by gangs of youths on the stairwell.
Constituencies and local electoral areas will always throw up extremes of housing. In certain sections of my own, while waxing lyrical about all three ballots on the go, (local, by-election and European), I find myself resisting the urge to ask the owners of very particular red-bricked, bay-windowed, Victorian wonders to move just a little to one side, all the better to take in the original wooden floor, the double doors into the sitting room, the cornicing high on the walls – even if the family pet manages to slip out just as I’m getting into my stride, amid much chasing and groping and a repeated “she really won’t touch you”. Although, of course, she does.
It’ll all be over on June 4th. For the candidates, who’ve been out knocking at doors since January, it can’t come soon enough. For us canvassers, for whom an unexpected row of unpressed bells and unrattled letter boxes can awaken a despondency deep within the soul, the prospect of guilt-free evenings in, out or anywhere in-between is becoming more and more alluring.
Sorry to disturb you? By the time this draws to an end, you have no idea how sorry I’ll be.
Fionnuala Ward is a teacher and voluntary canvasser