BRENDAN WALSH, Dublin city sheriff discusses redistributing Gay Mitchell's transfers and raiding Michael Lynn's wine cellar, talks to EOIN BUTLER
First of all, how does one address the city sheriff?
What do you mean?
Well I mean, are you an Eminence or an Excellency or anything?
No. You can call me Brendan, or Mr Walsh, depending on how well you know me.
What is the history of the position?
The role dates back to the 12th century. A reeve was traditionally the local boss in charge of each shire. His job was to gather taxes, train militia, execute prisoners, all of that stuff. Gradually, the name “reeve of the shire” transmogrified into the word sheriff. The etymology is fascinating when you think about it, because reeve is a bit like rí, the Irish word for king.
Or the Arab title sharif?
Caesar becomes Kaiser becomes tsar. All of these words are related. Under the British, there was a sheriff in each county. A king always needs lieutenants, so the idea was to have someone local to put in charge. Post-independence, the duties of the office of sheriff in Ireland were transferred to the county registrar in every county except Dublin and Cork. As well as the heavy duty enforcement work of the courts, I’m also responsible for running elections.
The work of an election officer is usually noticed only when things go wrong – the hanging chads in Florida spring to mind. Have you ever come close to making headlines?
I was appointed to this job in 1995, so the first time I was the returning officer in Dublin South East was in the 1997 general election, when the recount between Michael McDowell and John Gormley dragged on for a week. That story was picked up by CNN, so it was a pressure situation. Each party has tallymen who get quite annoyed if a contested vote is not awarded in their candidate’s favour. But it’s my call to make and I make it.
A presidential election, presumably, requires a level of coordination between constituencies around the country that would not be required in a general election?
Well, that’s right. In a general election, I make an announcement for each constituency as it goes along. But in the presidential election, we feed all our results into Dublin Castle. We might see Gay Mitchell topping the poll in Dublin, but coming in last nationally. So I can’t knock anyone out until I know that it’s a national knockout.
If we could talk about what you’ve referred to as the more “heavy duty” side of your job. Has there been much of an upturn in evictions in recent years?
Not as much as you’d think. There was a forbearance attitude amongst banks. What was the sense of seizing property back and nailing it up? It’s only an invitation to vandals. But it would be a mistake to interpret that as meaning there hadn’t been a sharp downturn in the economy. In an awful lot of cases, a person might walk into the bank and say, right, I’m off to Australia and hand over the keys. The bank would then be able to sell the property without needing to call in a sheriff.
What’s the most unusual thing you’ve ever been asked to repossess?
Well first off, I don’t repossess things. I seize them. I’m given a court order to seize a person’s property and I make a judgment call as to what they own of any value. I’ve been into people’s houses and taken all sorts of stuff: boats, paintings. In the case of the solicitor Michael Lynn, we seized a lot of wine, which we then sent for auction in Rathmines. That raised good money. The big misconception is that I go for cars and TV sets. But there’s rarely any resale value in those things anymore.
Do people hide things from you when they know you’re coming? Have you ever pulled up a tarpaulin and found a Ferrari underneath?
No. I don’t think people are that clever. If they were, they would have had the money to pay their bills in the first place. On the other hand, if some had successfully concealed something from me, I wouldn’t know about it, would I?
Do you ever feel bad for the people whose homes you go into?
No. When I was first appointed to the job, I did worry about maybe having to evict an old lady from an apartment or something like that. But it’s never happened. There was one case, on Capel Street, where an old dear had accumulated 10 years’ worth of newspapers. Rats had made a nest in there and the neighbours were complaining. But I didn’t feel bad in that instance, because what we were doing was in the interests of her own safety.
Finally, you don’t wear a 10-gallon hat on ceremonial occasions, do you?
No, the question I’m often asked is whether I’d rather be sheriff of Nottingham. I say no thank you, I much prefer being the sheriff of Dublin. It’s a bigger town with nicer people.
