From idyllic evenings spent fishing from a punt to running a book on his own version of golf, 1970 was the perfect summer for Ceann Comhairle John O'Donoghue, he tells Catherine Foley
Do you have memories of a perfect summer?
The summer which approximated to perfect was 1970, for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it was the last summer that I recall not having to worry about impending exam results or impending examinations of some kind. 1970 probably constituted my last summer of freedom, which probably also means innocence, as that's another word for freedom.
How did it start?
That summer started pretty badly because two of my favourite politicians, Charles Haughey and Neil Blaney, were charged with the illegal importation of arms on May 28th, which was my 14th birthday. Things got worse three days later when my favourite racehorse, Arkle, was put down on May 31st. But everything improved after that.
How did it continue?
I recall spending listless days under the bridge lying out in a punt in Cahirciveen with two of my favourite older friends at that time, Denny and Jim Beamish, who used to draft-net for salmon. In those summer days, sometimes we'd travel out at four or five in the morning. I recall that they used to lie out on the boat, and me with them, and they'd wait and wait for the fish to jump. And they would never move until the fish jumped. And then when the fish jumped, those men rowed like men inspired to ensnare the salmon in their horse-shoe net. It was to prove a salutary reminder in later life, in particular in politics: you should always wait for the fish to jump.
In any event, things began to improve after that. On July 2nd, Blaney was cleared of all charges.
What else makes that summer stand out?
The World Cup was played that year, and my favourite soccer player of all time, Pele, captained Brazil to their third World Cup. They danced around the field, and waltzed with oppositions, ultimately playing some of the most majestic soccer ever played on a world stage. There was something magical about that, it was poetry in motion.
And meanwhile back in Ireland, there was another kind of poetry in motion, which of course was the prince of Gaelic football, Mick O'Connell, who was ensuring that Kerry went on to win the All-Ireland final of that year. It was the last All-Ireland senior football medal that he won and they beat Meath 2-19 to 18 points. That meant that political, sporting and leisure activities were fulfilled.
Who was at home at the time?
I was living at home with my late mother. Three of the family would have been in college and four would have been at home as I recall it. My father had been long deceased. He died in 1964 when I was eight. But my mother was in great form. She was at that time a member of Kerry County Council.
Besides fishing, how else did you spend your time?
I decided in the course of that summer that in order to augment my income and my interests I would start a golf tournament. It was of a different kind. I had to construct the course with a man called Joe Hardy in the laneways around Cahirciveen. We constructed it alright, a very difficult course with 18 holes and we played championship golf there all summer, with about 30 people, with a hurley and ball. After four days, whoever had the least number of shots won.
Since then, over the years, the 30 or 40 lads who played down there in various so-called championship matches remind me that it was among the most happy occasions of their lifetimes.
Also, of course, it was a handy way to make a profit because you could open a book on it like I used to, and see how things went.
Does any particular incident stand out? Evenings when the fishing was over and done with, we would retire to the house of Denny's sister, Mary. We always kept one of the fish for ourselves and then we would sit down, all of us dutifully, and wait for Mary to produce the salmon off the black stove. Then we'd have it with new potatoes.
Apropos the golf, I was telling Mary, Jim and Denny about the golf and how it was played. I remember pulling down a ciarán, a small piece of turf. I put it down on the floor and I said 'this is what you do', and I took the hurley and hit the ciarán as hard as I could. It sped up in the air and hit the spout of Denny's earthenware teapot, knocking it off, and thereafter Denny got a big cork and shoved it in where the spout was for the purposes of enclosing the tea.
I can still see him pulling out the cork and pouring out the tea.
John O'Donoghue is Ceann Comhairle of the Dáil