Boston’s mayor, Carna’s son and the American dream

In the crowded marquee in the small Connemara village of Carna, there was a flutter of surprise when the strainséir, the well-known politician from elsewhere, spoke in Irish. And no, it wasn't Marty Walsh.

Everybody knows Walsh, the mayor of Boston, can speak Irish, but there was no surprise about that around here given that both his parents emigrated from here. The surprise came when the other politician on the stage, Minister of State for the Gaeltacht Joe McHugh, spoke in the native tongue. There was much embarrassment all round for this most personable politician when he was elevated to the junior ministerial ranks in the summer and had to admit that his standard of Irish was somewhere between poor and non-existent, despite being brought up in a breac-Ghaeltacht.

Sure, not to worry, said Taoiseach Enda Kenny, who is as fluent in Irish as he is indifferent to it. McHugh’s Irish is a bit rusty, said the Taoiseach, he has it in him and it will all come out in time.

Because of, or in spite of, the Taoiseach’s prophecy, McHugh deserves a réalt órga for the way that he has Lazarused the dead corpse that was his Irish into something approaching passability. Intensive lessons during the summer have resulted in McHugh being able to hold his own in conversational Irish. While it’s what they call “Gaeilge bhacach” – lame Irish – he limped along gamely during his first official event as Minister in Connemara.

Of course, McHugh wasn’t the main draw yesterday. That billing went to Walsh, who was on a homecoming tour of Connemara after his election last year.

As the Atlantic squalls drummed on the the marquee, pitched on the site of an emigrants commemorative centre for which he laid the foundation stone, Walsh was greeted with Kennedyesque fervour by his kith and kin. The pride was patent; the entirety of south Connemara festooned with banners and buntings and American flags.

Marty Walsh’s late father John (John Mháirtín Tom as he was known) left Callowfeenish in Carna in the 1950s and emigrated to Boston, where he met his wife Mary Joe Pheadair Ní Mháille from Rosmuc, who was with him yesterday. Marty was a regular visitor to the area as a child and still understands and speaks Irish.

His story is the classic retelling of the American dream, the son of humble emigrants who has risen to the top of political life in one of American’s great cities. Low-key, utterly composed, he wore his status lightly. The Claddagh ring was prominent on his finger. When he spoke in English, it was with an unmistakable Boston twang. When he pronounced Irish words, it was with an unmistakable Connemara blas.

Having spent more than 16 years in the state legislature, Walsh was not the front-runner but with the support of a wide coalition of interests and communities – including a legion of Connemara people – he upset the odds.

On arriving back in Shannon last Friday, he told reporters he wasn’t another American politician looking for his roots, he well knew his roots. Here they lay very deep, in this small isolated community deep in the “fíor-Ghaeltacht” right on the edge of the Atlantic. He recalled a visit to a school earlier yesterday when the teacher told the class: “ ‘You can never forget where you came from’. That’s why I am here today. My home is Dorchester, Massachusetts, but I am also from Rosmuc in Carna.”

He wasn't the only distinguished visitor with an extraordinary connection to the place. Former taoiseach Liam Cosgrave, now 94 years old, also made the trip down from Dublin for this unique occasion.

As a young schoolboy in 1930, he and his brother Micheál were sent down to Carna by their parents (his own father WT Cosgrave was then taoiseach) to learn Irish. There is a poignant class picture of Scoil na mBuachaillí Cárna featuring the 10-year-old Cosgrave holding a ball in his hand, with his barefooted classmates.

Cosgrave gave the shortest and wittiest speech of the day. He remembered that people were so friendly and appreciative of everything. His metric was the “crios leathar” – the belt – or “biffer”, as he called it. “My brother and myself enjoyed being in school here. We got fewer slaps here. In fact we got none.”

Of Walsh, Cosgrave said: “He deserves the height of praise for the success he has made of himself. He is typical of people from this area that when they went abroad they has left their mark and he has left his mark.”

For a small community like this, which has seen more hardship than harvest, it was all magnificent. “Ní fheicfidh muid a leithéid de lá arís go deo,” was the accurate summation of compere Máire Úi Ghríofa.