What I saw in Ballinasloe: Horses and dogs were treated abysmally and their owners were unapologetic about it, writes Eileen Battersby
Ballinasloe was very busy last Sunday. A large garda presence was noticeable, and the number of gardaí increased the closer you got to the fair ground. Several gardaí were patrolling with German shepherds. Was it because of traffic problems? "No," I was told, "it's because of an element that come here. Watch your bag."
Fireworks were being set off. The smell of alcohol competed with that of burgers. Puppies were being sold out of cardboard boxes on the pavement.
"You can't sell dogs like that," a young girl said to a man who had five tiny puppies tied together with a piece of blue baling twine. "F*** off," he told her. She hurried away.
Two young boys had more puppies, greyhound pups. One of them was very still. "It's f****** dead." One of the boys hurled the corpse across the street.
A low barrier seemed to be the entrance to the ground. I climbed over it. A noisy crowd of men blocked the entrance. They were shouting and screaming as three men raced bareback on ponies, yanking hard at their mouths. The surface was hard. Two of the ponies were obviously lame.
I looked around for a garda, but couldn't find one. "What on earth are these characters trying to do?" I asked a man with a long, blue, plastic cattle prod. "They're showing off the horses." No they weren't, they were just messing about, terrorising the horses. The man paused for a moment, looked me up and down, and spat at me.
We walked on, past several large trucks. Groups of eight to 10 ponies were tethered. There were listless coloured ponies and cobs in poor general condition and with splayed, cracked feet. We walked on through to the main inner field; it was full of horses and no water. Ballinasloe is not an organised auction. It is a free-for-all clinging to the remnants of a dying tradition. The horses are not vetted for sale.
I knew there was no sales ring but was surprised at the number of horses with cut legs. There was no space to trot up a horse for a potential buyer.
Each of the vendors had their story, how the horse had hunted and jumped and done this or that. Prices were mentioned. Many people knew each other and the chats quickly moved beyond buying horses.
The men and boys joyriding sweaty ponies seemed to be extending their territory beyond the corridor by the long steps. About five youths had spectacular falls. None of them could ride. One of them punched the pony he had fallen off as two of his pals held the pony's head. "I'll teach you, you bastard," the fallen "rider" shrieked.
Back at the corridor, the game had switched to sulky or road cars. An underweight pony, allegedly a yearling, although I suspect it was closer to seven or eight months, was hitched to a cart.
A man of about 40 swaggered over. He screamed and bullied the young animal, watched by delighted men and youths from both the Travelling and settled community. Another young horse, terrified and out of control, reared in the traces and was viciously beaten.
An old man in a suit systematically hit every horse he came in contact with across the face. "I'm testing them, coaxing them," he said. "You're abusing them," I said, and grabbed his stick. He punched me weakly in the chest.
The onlookers jeered me in sexually-charged language, and hit me with the same cattle prod-like sticks they had been using on the horses.
The crowd closed in around me, chanting insults and using foul language. At one time I could feel about three cattle prods on my back and another couple being forced between my legs. The jeers became manic.
I climbed over the barrier. Directly outside a Garda van was parked, with an officer in the driver's seat. I told him the story. He said he knew the horses were being abused.
A man had followed me up the steps. I snapped at him, thinking he was going to continue jeering me. "She's right," he said, "I saw what's going on."
The garda said he would speak again with the ISPCA. "Where are they?" I said, "I'll go too." But the ISPCA could not be found.