For once, the poor ould fellas are not being abandoned

IN the main square of Rathdrum, in the south of Co Wicklow, there is a sculpture of what can only be described as a poor ould fella sitting on a kind of a park bench, accompanied by his faithful dog, Jack.

I don’t know for sure that the dog’s name is Jack, but in my many writings about this abandoned tribe of ours, I have sometimes assumed that their dogs are called Jack. And so far I have had no complaints.

The people of Rathdrum are fond of their sculpture, and they tend to add accessories to it on certain occasions. If there is snow, for example, the poor ould fella will be given a scarf and a hat. And so, of course, will Jack.

Last week someone had given them surgical masks, which must have seemed amusing at the time, though it was also a reminder that, as usual, the poor ould fellas are first in the firing line here.

For a few moments, a few weeks ago, I thought that they might escape this time. On hearing that self-isolation was the way to avoid Covid-19, I figured that since many of the poor ould fellas are already selfisolating whether they like it or not, maybe… just maybe this one time they’d dodge this bullet.

Like I said, it was just a few moments — and then I thought it through, and I realised that no… this one had their name on it too.

Being old, of course, is one of the main problems — and being poor and being fellas are apparently no great help either. But even the isolation hasn’t been much use to them, because of course they are not totally isolated.

No, until this thing blew up, even a poor ould fella had to somehow get himself into town for his few provisions — or failing that, he might be visited by someone from the social services, trying to teach him how to use the internet to order online from Tesco.

This would not end well — but then for the poor ould fellas such encounters with the modern world have always been somewhat problematic.

They have felt a degree of compulsion on the part of the authorities, a sense that they will be brought in that mini-bus to the Social Centre to play dominoes with other poor ould fellas, come what may.

Yet in these abnormal times, I sense they are starting to accept that the concern for their welfare on this occasion is sincere. Indeed, some of them can’t quite believe the reluctance of the Irish authorities to go with that “herd immunity” thing, which in Britain was seen by certain parties as the way to go — with the annihilation of Britain’s poor ould fellas seen as a mere inconvenience that would be regarded as worthwhile in the long run.

Our diminishing tribe of poor ould fellas are somewhat bewildered that they have not been abandoned in this way, though it has taken a pandemic to help us realise that their lives may have some value after all.

In appreciation of this, the poor ould fellas are perhaps more open to accepting the well-meaning efforts of the authorities, even the ones who are encouraging them to engage more with “social media” — some poor ould fellas are making that extra effort, though they have spent their whole lives making an extra effort in one way or the other, for very little reward.

And there is this Community Call thing, aimed at getting groceries or medicines to the elderly and the vulnerable, which

— I think it is safe to say — would include almost every poor ould fella in Ireland at this time.

Their needs are also being considered when it comes to the re-drafting of TV schedules, with suggestions that RTE should run replays of All-Ireland finals stretching back to the 1960s — a boon for the poor ould fellas, whose recollections of the original games may not be perfect, meaning that some of them could be watching events such as the 1968 Football Final “as live”.

There is also more for them on TV in general, with a lot of News all round.

They love the News.

Any News. And while Mary Kennedy may be gone, they always had great time for Miriam O’Callaghan, who was never slow to visit them on those occasions when their lands and their remote dwellings were flooded for the 14th time.

But it is their funerals which have awakened the consciousness of the wider community — in the mind’s eye we can see poignant images of the padre and maybe one other official observer at the graveside. Not even a sign of poor ould Jack.

Even those who have never had time for the poor ould fellas have known that they will usually get some kind of a send-off on their way out of this world. And the poor ould fella himself is often kept going by the thought that at least when he’s gone, he’ll get the bit of a send-off.

Now that that is no longer feasible, we’ll be trying to keep them in the land of the living, for a while yet.

‘There is this Community Call thing, getting groceries or medicines to them’