Almost€10mspentfightingdisadvantage
COMMUNITY organisations and childcare providers in County Wicklow received just under €10 million in funding administered by Pobal in 2015.
Pobal manages various funding programmes on behalf of the Government, particularly for people experiencing disadvantage and social exclusion.
Pobal can also access grants from the EU and other bodies.
Pobal’s annual report, launched recently by the Minister for Communities and the National Drugs Strategy, Catherine Byrne, outlines how total funding of €9,745,886 was allocated to organisations in Wicklow that address disadvantage, tackle social exclusion, provide employment services and offer subsidised childcare.
The report shows that over €527,823 was spent in Wicklow on the Community Childcare Subvention programme which reduces the cost of childcare for disadvantaged families.
More than €1,738,069 in wages were provided via the Community Service Programme which supports community enterprises and over €355,759 was allocated to workers on the Rural Social Scheme.
Early Years Capital grants to the value of €114,888 were awarded for pre-school providers to expand their services.
Some €209,500 in funding for the Area Based Childhood (ABC) programme was administered to improve outcomes for children, young people and their families in disadvantaged areas
An additional €3,869,790 in payments were made to individuals participating in Tús placements.
Pobal CEO Denis Keamy said that every day across Co Wicklow programmes managed by Pobal are working with local groups to actively support those groups, facilitate community development and help people to progress.
‘Great credit is owed to the staff, volunteers and board members of all the local and national groups across Wicklow. Every week, day in day out, their work is having a meaningful impact on people’s lives and futures,’ said Mr Keamy.
In 2015, Pobal distributed over €345 million to beneficiaries throughout Ireland. The not-for-profit intermediary organisation manages various funding programmes. ONE of the many not very interesting things about me is that I am a bad traveller. I puke on boats, I hyperventilate in airplanes and I moan in cars.
So Why in God’s name did I decide to organise a road trip to Westport which would necessitate a 5 and a half hour car journey? I plead temporary insanity.
But that is exactly what I organised for the midterm. A wonderful road trip to Westport with Himself, the kids, friends and the Oul fella, all travelling in convoy across country to the Wesht of Ireland.
In theory it sounded idyllic. A few days in a nice hotel, drinking pints of Guinness, eating fresh seafood, wandering through the picturesque streets of Westport and having the chats.
However I hadn’t factored in how many loo breaks we’d have to stop for...or lunch breaks/tea breaks/carsick breaks or that Roscommon is the biggest county in the whole bloody world and takes FOREVER to drive through!
It didn’t help that the Oul Fella was chief navigator and despite knowing the road like the back of his hand, sent us 20 miles out of our way! We hadn’t gotten as far as Carlow when the Eldest rolled down his window. ‘I don’t feel well.’ Within fifteen minutes the Youngest followed suit and I must confess shortly after I began to turn a bit green around the gills.
We stopped for a cup of tea, hang sandwiches and a dose of travel sickness tablets. Off we went again only to stop half an hour later for a loo break, mea culpa!
Twenty minutes later I was gasping with the thirst. Petrol Station dash. ‘What time is dinner booked for?’ Himself inquired. I told him 8.30 pm. He looked at his watch–1.45 pm. ‘Ah we should make it by then!’
We got there just in time to see night fall on beautiful Westport. There was only one thing for it–the bar for a debrief. After a couple of tinctures to help us recover we asked the barman how far the restaurant was from the hotel. ‘Ah only about 200 yards up the road,’ he replied.
So off we went, me tottering in six inch heels up a pitch dark bohreen with not a light in sight. Whether it was the tinctures or the dark, I managed to fall off the kerb and twist my ankle and hobbled the rest of the way. The 200 yards turned out to be 2 feckin miles by which time I was fit to be hospitalised.
A lovely lady greeted us. ‘Give me a large gin and tonic. I’m after falling coming up,’ I told her dramatically.
‘Oh God love you,’ she said. ‘Did you fall coming up The Reek?’ ‘Is that what the road is called?’ She looked confused. ‘No...I’m talking about Croagh Patrick.’ I was tempted to not let the facts get in the way of a good story but there were too many witnesses!
Still, it was a very steep kerb!