Memoir/From Dún Síon to Croke Park By Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh:Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh emerges from his memoir as much more than the voice of Gaelic games. Gaelic icon? Yes. Lover of everything Gaelic? Certainly, writes Joe O'Toole.
But these facts are neither defining, delimiting or restrictive of the free spirit that is Mícheál. Here is a man steeped, lifelong, in the GAA but still able trenchantly to proclaim that yes, Croke Park should be opened to other games and codes. Surprised? Don't be. Decades ago he both defied and opposed the GAA foreign games ban.
But then his family were reared to be independent. He and I were born and reared in Dingle parish separated by 17 years. I was a townie, he lived two miles east.
His family was well liked. Role models, in ways. "Lovely boys those Moriartys Dún Síon," my mother would say "and very smart, they have the brains". Pause before adding "you know you're related to them through the Quinns from Cam". When Mícheál's brother Paddy was boss of ESB, Dingle locals would tell you "they didn't even have electricity at home when he left Dún Síon for Dublin".
And it is in chronicling those pre-electric days, living through the bleak pre-war and war years, that the book excels.
Different times, when you were reminded to change at Mallow for Queenstown, New York, Boston and Springfield because if you forgot to change you might finish up in remote Dublin. Mícheál's siblings were the first generation of his family not forced to emigrate.
Here is Mícheál, child, boy and young man, within his family, in his village. Making do on little enough. Hard times. Snaring, killing and selling rabbits. Scouring the shoreline for wrecks. Poaching salmon. Making candles for light. Slaughtering and salting pig for winter. Growing through the customs of the village. The round of the year. Spring, confirmation, summer, fishing, harvesting, Station Mass in the house, Christmas, fasting from midnight for Dingle Mass, the wran, dancing sets at the ball night. An ordinary life, but fascinating. The losses and loyalties of family are marked.
Burying an infant sibling on non-consecrated ground: The teenage Mícheál, whose mother dies when he is only 14, and the lasting image of seeing his father cry openly. The selflessness of his brother Náis leaving school to help his father at home so that the others could continue education and careers.
So Mícheál followed the well-trodden route from west Kerry to teaching in Dublin.
Sport was central to him, no surprise there. Wasn't he reared with the golf links a half mile to one side of his family farmhouse and the racecourse down the road on the other? Walking daily to Dingle school he took one shortcut through the Dingle racecourse and another through the Dingle GAA pitch and most days he met at least one enthusiast walking two handfuls of greyhounds. This at a time when every street in Dingle housed a decorated GAA hero, Paddy Bawn, Gega Connor, Timneen Deas, Bill Dillon and many more.
So this self-confessed sports addict evolved to being passionate about Gaelic games, but also a golf fanatic, a lover of horses and a greyhound owner, trainer and breeder.
More surprises: imagine this national teacher, besuited, sensible, Gaeilgeoir and Pioneer as an instinctive gambler until we meet him wagering his fortnight's pay on a greyhound at Harold's Cross stadium. He lost. Or the outrageous innocence of offering his bank manager a greyhound as collateral against a loan. Come on Mícheál? Then there's the cocksure Dingle boy, aspiring commentator, auditioning in Croke Park. Spotting that his three assessors were unsighted from the pitch and recognising only one player, he made it up; commentating on action which was not taking place at all - lilting along and hynoptising those innocents from Radio Éireann who offered him the job on the spot.
Sure that's when he gave the game away. All those times we listened in awe to Mícheál tell us little human interest snippets as well as the seed, breed and generation of barely known players, can we believe him anymore? Is that silver-tongued west Kerry man making it all up just to fill the space? I mean, who else would convince you that the captain of the Laois Hurling team in 1949 was Polish-born Paddy Rustchitzko? But he was. Fite Fuaite [ woven] through his broadcasting and sport is his undying love for and constant promotion of Gaeilge, the Irish language. Even though that's not Gaeilge he speaks but Gaolainn, the indigenous canúint or dialect of west Kerry, flowing from him in rhythymical syntax and cadences, the beautifully expressive vernacular of our home place which enriches his commentaries in both Irish and English.
Stories of games and GAA heroes pepper Mícheál's narrative. To me these anecdotes were less interesting and more predictable than his own story. I wanted to hear more about himself. No doubt GAA anoraks will disagree. For me, the hidden Mícheál and his growing, moulding and shaping is the fascination. But either way, if you like Mícheál you'll love the book.
Joe O'Toole is an Independent Senator. His memoir, Looking Under Stones, was published by the O'Brien Press last yearJoe O'Toole
From Dún Síon to Croke Park By Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh Penguin Ireland, €23.99