Leprechaun economics – Frank McNally on a famous fictional precedent for the National Party’s gold

Strange as it was in its own right, the story about Justin Barrett and the National Party bullion also seemed oddly familiar. A feeling of déjà vu deepened as I read Michael McDowell’s column (Opinion, Tuesday) wrestling with such mysteries as how such a “micro-party” had assembled so large a fortune.

Even his recollection of Barrett’s apparent threat to revoke the citizenship of Dublin City Councillor Hazel Chu had an unusual resonance, separate from the actual event.

Then I realised that what the whole extraordinary affair reminded me of was James Stephens’s classic 1912 fantasy novel, The Crock of Gold, which details the events that follow when a stash of bullion owned by the Leprechauns of Gort na Clocha Mora goes missing. In fact, as readers may recall, the first thing that goes missing in Stephens’s story is a washboard owned by the wife of one Meehawl MacMurchu.

This leads to MacMurchu seeking help from two local “Philosophers”, wise men who know everything and who, quickly establishing that the MacMurchus’ cat has recently killed a bird from Gort na Clocha Mora, point him to the leprechauns of that quarter, or more specifically their vault (in this case a hole under a tree).

On the case – Tim Fanning on Armagh detective James McParland and his battles with the Molly Maguires

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General selection – Frank McNally on national stereotypes, Greek (and table quiz) heroes, and a stamp of greatness

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Blood brothers – Frank McNally on the deaths of two young men, one Irish, in the Korean War

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Hard Border – Frank McNally on a visit to the Korean Demilitarised Zone

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He is sure to find to the washboard there, stolen in revenge, they think. Instead, he finds the gold, thereby earning the wise men the enmity of the Little People, who then plot the philosophers’ downfall via allegations to the police.

There is no cat in the National Party saga, so far, and no washboard either – only some airing of dirty laundry. Whether there are any wise men involved in the row is as yet unclear.

Even so, apart from the protagonists’ preference for gold over fiat currencies and the fact that both stories involve micro-parties, there are some uncanny similarities between Barrett’s and Stephens’s narrative styles.

In his statement, for example, the NP leader lamented the apparent loss of gold reserves “dearly gathered by the sacrifice of party members and supporters”.

Stephens by comparison, channelling the thoughts of the Little People, regrets the theft of bullion “which had taken their community many thousands of years to amass”.

Then there is that fact that both parties decide to involve the law, but with great reluctance.

Hence Barrett: “. . . the only safe and secure means of proceeding was to contact the Gardaí. It was, I can assure everyone, an absolute last resort to secure the vaults.”

And Stephens: “It is in circumstances such as these that dangerous alliances are made, and, for the first time in their history, the elemental beings involved bourgeois assistance.”

Happily, the Garda Síochána made quick work of finding the NP’s gold again and will no doubt unravel the other mysteries of the plot soon.

Things are a lot more complicated in Stephens’s novel, where the crown police must deal with such traditional folk problems as leprechauns disappearing as soon as officers take their eyes off them. But then, in the novel, the matter of the disappeared gold is ultimately secondary to much greater philosophical questions. So it’s doubtful if Stephen’s book offers any insights into the likely outcome of the National Party row.

Perhaps, like The Crock of Gold’s micro-parties, the NP too will now disappear completely as soon as people look the other way. Or maybe this incident will only increase the determination of some to keep their eyes fixed on them and their crock.

In the short term, it looks like they’re headed for a split, at least, or perhaps a no-vault divorce.

James Stephens was himself something of a micro-party, by the way. “Four feet ten in his socks”, he was popularly nicknamed “Tiny Tim”. This didn’t stop him being a fine athlete, however, while his literary genius cast a long shadow.

The Crock of Gold was a big influence on Flann O’Brien. And partly because of a coincidence in their age and birthdays, James Joyce wanted Stephens to finish Finnegans Wake in the event of his own early demise.

Political criticisms aside, Barrett too has occasionally suffered from sizeist commentary, something all right-thinking people (and most left-thinkers too) will justly condemn.

So I hasten to stress that it is only the diminutive stature of his party that suggests any analogy with leprechauns. Okay, I might be also be tempted to say that Barrett’s manifesto is largely cobblers. But not for a moment would I imagine him up late at night, hard at work in his leather apron, hammering tiny nails into a Hazel Chu.