"Television will be the ruination of Ireland," said my fellow canvasser after we had called on dozens of houses in a south Dublin suburb and hardly had a door opened to us. Not being TV enthusiasts ourselves, we had omitted to check what programmes were on before we set out with armfuls of leaflets. Flickering screens behind the curtains tell the story, and you don't even get a chance to say "what a fine garden you've made" before leaving.
This was a particularly bad mistake for me, because I had had several years' experience of election canvassing and knew - or thought I knew - all the pitfalls. For instance, one has to beware of the house-owner who keeps you talking for a long time just to reduce the number of houses you can cover that evening - his own vote having already been guaranteed to a rival politician.
Irritating neighbour
Then there is the person who wants your party to do something about an irritating neighbour whose trombone-playing son is making the road's dogs whine like the wolves in Dr Zhivago. That's a difficult one and requires a special form of tact to avoid any assurances. There is also the friendly person who wants you to come in for a cup of tea to fortify you for the struggle. That too takes time, especially as you know from the door-opener's smile that you already have a vote there.
Election canvassing is not just a means of getting votes; it is also a way of testing collective opinion on local issues. These vary greatly from rights of way to building rules, the shortage of creches, inadequate transport, local crime and so on. This information is pooled later to form future party policies. Although earnest candidates hold clinics throughout the year, kernel issues are often exposed best on the doorstep canvass.
One can often tell from the type of houses on an estate, once a few sample calls have been made, what issues concern residents most. Interestingly, having called to some of these over 30 years, there is not such a significant change in requests. But it is clear is that there is a much more acute interest in politics in 1999 than there was before. "I'm glad you've called," is quite a common response on the doorstep, and this is followed by a well-thought out case for a change in Government or local council policy.
There has been a big change in family behaviour over this span of years. More wives are out working, leaving empty houses during the day, or are driving to schools to collect children. So, after bending down to insert leaflets into those ground-level letter boxes - a nasty moment if a dog is waiting to grab a finger - one wonders what remedies postmen use for backache.
International politics
Domestic scandals are prominent these days; questions about them are difficult to handle, regardless of what party one is helping. International politics can by tricky too, though there is nothing new in that. Back in the days when street meetings were used for party publicity, I once heard a councillor being asked, after that satisfying silence which followed his second request for any more questions: "Ah yes, but what are you doing about the Dalai Lama of Tibet?" Street meetings are a thing of the past in city suburbs, especially at church gates, as worshippers mostly go straight home to read the Sunday newspapers.
There are other changes which affect campaigning at election times. Many doorstep questions and discussions are based on TV debates, and the canvasser is expected to have seen the more important programmes involving political gladiators. The accent upon personality rather than policy still remains very strong.
Canvassing can be both very encouraging and entertaining and when canvassers meet after working in a district some amusing stories are told. After de Valera's long reign as Taoiseach, a woman elector in Dun Laoghaire told a party supporter that she was never going to vote for Fianna Fail again because she had seen in a newspaper that "the Taoiseach and Mrs Cosgrave were going away for a quiet holiday."
Number One
Once, after a fairly fruitless evening, I made a final call on an elderly resident in a council flat and asked for her Number One for Councillor Joe Bloggs, for whom we were trying to gain a Dail seat. "Sure I know Mr Bloggs very well. He calls every week to collect my insurance money. Didn't he get a flat nearby for me daughter and her husband? They look after me and I look after the three children. Last year he got the plumbing fixed here."
"So, Mrs Murphy, I can count on your Number One," I said, ticking off her name on the register. "Not a bit of it," she replied, "I wouldn't put a lovely man like that in the Dail with all them scoundrels."