Kenny gets ball rolling in county where even the GAA team are blueshirts

ON THE CANVASS: The Fine Gael leader drew on bad Croke Park memories to illustrate his anti-complacency mantra

CIVIL WAR politics dies hard in Ireland. Or maybe it was just a coincidence that Fine Gael launched its general election campaign in a county where even the Gaelic football team wears blue shirts.

No not Dublin: although Enda Kenny did begin the day at election headquarters, where a team of youthful assistants all wore themed tops in the party’s favourite colour, along with the campaign slogan “Let’s Get Ireland Working”.

But 90 minutes later, like homing pigeons, his entourage was pulling into Cavan – where the shirts are even bluer – for the first official tour stop of the campaign.

Colour aside, Cavan town seemed like a good place to start. The party leader was greeted by an adoring crowd who addressed him with repeated shouts of “Hello Taoiseach!”. He also stopped the traffic, which is always a good sign.

Then again, the main street of Cavan is rather narrow, and strictly speaking, it was the media bus in Enda’s wake that was causing the tailback. Also, on closer inspection, the adoring crowd of 70 or 80 people proved, in the main, to be party activists. Indeed, the man who kept shouting “Hello Taoiseach!” turned out to be a Fine Gael councillor from Monaghan, Hughie McElvaney.

But that note of triumphalism gave the supposed taoiseach-in-waiting the chance to introduce what, next to the idea of getting Ireland working, would be the theme of the day: the danger of complacency.

As he often does, he reached for a GAA metaphor to underline the message, namely: “The game is never over ’til the final whistle blows.”

And in the same vein, he had a cautionary tale: the 1996 All-Ireland – all but won by Mayo until a ball bounced over the bar in the dying moments, earning Meath a replay and eventual victory – which also got several outings during the afternoon. As a Mayo man, Enda said, the dropping ball that wasn’t caught “is seared in my brain”.

On the walls of Farnham Arms hotel, where he delivered his speech, were pictures of one of the great Cavan teams that won All-Irelands in the 1940s and 50s. It hasn’t been quite that long since Fine Gael last triumphed in a general election, but the message was clear – that success could never be taken for granted and the All-Ireland of February 25th still had to be won.

McElvaney greeted the end of his leader’s speech by calling for “three cheers for Enda”.

At the next stop, in Navan, there was a dramatic change of subject when the entourage was met by a group of taxi drivers lamenting that they would be put out of business soon by regulations that require them to replace their ageing cars.

Their spokesman Leo O’Reilly complained that he had a “530 diesel BMW” which was perfectly roadworthy, but that he would be forced to buy a new one later this spring, or quit working. Buying a car was not an option, he said: “We’re earning €40 a day out there.”

Kenny can hardly have expected the question. But he gamely launched into the day’s other theme: his determination to do everything possible to “get Ireland working again”. And with that the taxi drivers went away, seemingly happy.

Later, as he met some of his election workers, it was back to the football metaphor, albeit slightly tailored for a Navan environment, where they have only happy memories of 1996.

Despite their repetition, the campaign themes were completely lost on some. Watching the FG entourage approach, one of a group of young men in Navan shopping centre asked: “Which one’s Enda Kenny?” Within seconds, the man in question was shaking their hands and encouraging them to smile for the cameras. But when he left, another of the group was heard to suggest that the departing VIP was from “Sinn Féin”.

A third member of the group – sporting a dapper, retro Teddy Boy-style outfit – had appeared slightly better informed, although he dissociated himself from the pictures and heckled from the margins instead.

“You should have worn your blue shirts,” he sniped, but Enda just smiled. “How’s your friend Franco?” the heckler tried again. Enda kept smiling and walked on.

Asked what party he would be voting for in his first general election, the dapper young man – not long out of Leaving Cert history, obviously – was dismissive. “I don’t vote in general elections – that’s only a fool’s game. I only vote in referendums. They’re the ones that matter.”

In Dundalk, the last stop of the day, football was firmly back on the agenda: if only because Fine Gael’s local candidate is Peter Fitzpatrick, Louth county manager.

The shirts are red in these parts – like those of Fine Gael’s probable government partners – but the anti-complacency mantra was the same. And as well as the 1996 All-Ireland, there was a more recent, and more local, trauma to remember.

Fergus O’Dowd introduced his running mate as the man who “flew the Louth flag high” in Croke Park last summer, and who “should have, and maybe did” manage his team to win the Leinster final. That was before a notorious last-minute goal by – who else? – Meath robbed the Wee County of rightful victory.

The good news, O’Dowd added, was that “this time, the people of Ireland are the referee”. Which was the cue for Enda to remind party workers that, referees or no referees, they still had work to do. “I remember that ball dropping and nobody catching it,” he said, as the 1996 flashbacks returned. “But this time, with your help, I’m going to catch that ball.”