The explosion of Sallins's population has not been matched by an increase inamenities, writes Kathy Sheridan

The "over-rezoning" is kicking in, as Labour party activist, Paddy MacNamara, puts it. And it has nothing to do with the sudden explosion of Dublin jerseys in the summer and Celtic shirts in the winter.

The population of the one-horse village of Sallins has quadrupled since 1996. A looming school crisis forced the School Board committee to slog from house to house, and count.

There are 120 applicants for 60 places in junior infants this September. The expectation was that the numbers would drop dramatically after that, but what the survey revealed was that, with 500 children aged under four, and another 500 aged from four to 13, no less than 130 new applicants will be clamouring for places for each of the next four years. And that assumes no further development will take place.

"It has been building up over the years," says Father Colum Swan, who now performs up to four baptisms a week, compared with 30 a year in the past. In 1998, before the bulk of the influx, an extension was sanctioned to bring nine classrooms up to 16 - they got five prefabs instead. That's how it stands.

"All of a sudden, Sallins is inundated, almost drowning in new people. But it hasn't been able to keep up. We need schools, footpaths, lighting, roads, shops, ramps, a community centre, a playground. There is no green space. Yet another 50 houses are due to come on stream in a few weeks," says Carmel Foley, who has been here for four years.

"A community of nearly 4,000 is still getting by with the infrastructure that served 700 for 20 years," says architect Richard Barnwall, a local resident with professional involvement in large-scale developments. "But the county council has no intention of doing anything with the footpaths or roads until development has stopped." Does that mean, asks Carmel Kelly, that they won't do anything until the relief road comes in?

Ah, the relief road. The proposal - on the cards for 30 years - is to divert the relentless stream of lorries and cars thundering through the centre, using the narrow, winding roads and villages between Naas and Kilcock as a rat-run to the N4.

Although there is no money for it, the planners have made the entire commercial development of this village centre contingent on the building of the relief road. Meanwhile, a 100-acre land block, bang in the centre, sits ripe with the promise of shops, a hotel maybe, a park, more houses . . .

While more houses makes little sense, the village heart has to be reclaimed from the traffic and developed, everyone agrees, and soon. But nothing happens without the road, says the council.

Meanwhile, the same council planners gave the thumbs-up to Castlesize, a 150-house estate, in which Marion and Paul Jackson paid a hard-earned £92,000 for a four-bed in 1998. Then living in Hartstown, Clonsilla, Paul - a bricklayer - was working on the building of Castlesize. The move was his idea: "He always said it's the closest he'll ever get to building his own home," says Marion.

But, incredibly, a few yards beyond their front door, lies the large green reservation that is the proposed relief road.

The implications are devastating. So poorly planned is the estate that not only will the Jacksons and other families lining the route bear the full brunt of the Naas-Kilcock rat-run - with its noise, pollution and danger - but the road will effectively sever them and 31 other families from the village. No detailed plans have been forthcoming from the council to reassure them or say otherwise.

Marion Jackson, Grainne McGovern and Una Doyle concede ruefully they knew of the road plan when they were buying the houses. But Grainne and her husband, just back from Australia and emerging shell-shocked from the astronomical bidding wars around Dublin, were desperate for an affordable house. Una, a cheerful Dub who is still missing the city terribly, says they left Crumlin when they were landed with neighbours who they felt were "totally off the wall", and the Sallins houses were a good price.

Apart from that, these women (and everyone else) recall an implied consensus among politicians and estate agents, that the road would never happen.

Having said that, they emphasise, they want a safe and attractive village centre as much as any other villager.

In the peace of a lovely spring afternoon, to the soundtrack of a babble of children, it seems hard to credit there could soon be a major road through the Castlesize estate. Many of the women here have given up full-time jobs to go part-time or be full-time at home, not the easiest option in a place with limited public transport.

Sallins is trying. It has a well-organised GAA club and the newcomers include some good footballers. There are ballet classes, girl guides, aerobics, a badminton club and a new golf society. Anything else involves putting the children in the car. A privately-run, hourly bus service to Naas sees the last bus returning at 6.30 p.m., and no service on Sundays or bank holidays, which means that teenagers wanting to travel locally are totally dependent on their parents.

For Grainne McGovern, with her four young children and a husband who needs the car (to get to work at the airport), it means learning to drive, and getting a second car. "I'm quite happy here," she says, "but feel trapped because of the traffic and the transport."

Although the award-winning railway station (the trigger for all the development) means Heuston is only a short train-ride away, there is no service on Sundays or bank holidays. And while Sallins is just a skip from Dublin, some commuting tales bear surprising comparison with towns much further out.

It can take an hour and three-quarters for Gary Comerford to get to Fitzwilliam Square: "It's the feeder service to the trains that makes it longer than it takes to drive."

For shopping, the women are still drawn to Dublin, rather than Naas, only a couple of miles away. Una, who needs her city "fix" once a week, claims she would be content in Sallins with a few more shops - "But the way things are going, I'll be 65 by then".

Yet her 19-year-old daughter, a Leaving Cert student, loves Sallins: "She doesn't go near Dublin at all. But if she's going to the cinema, say, with her boyfriend, she'd always go to the Square, rather than Naas."

Marion - who "literally had nightmares about the move" - is well settled now, with three contented young children. "I couldn't see myself moving anywhere else," she says.

The parish priest, Father Swan, is happy that there is no lack of a welcome for the newcomers - "Other than when Kildare is playing Dublin maybe," he laughs.

"And there is no increase in social disharmony, though I suppose there are very few teenagers for now. But in 10 years' time?"