The first Garda checkpoint comes when I drive off the M50 on to the N7 on Thursday, heading west to Clare. I am travelling to take up a care baton from my sister, who has been with vulnerable family members for almost a fortnight.
“Essential Travel Only,” read some motorway signs I pass.
“Protect Yourself. Protect Each Other. Stay At Home,” read others.
Most of the other traffic on the M50 with me are trucks; there are very few cars.
At the first checkpoint, I explain why I am travelling, and am waved through at once and wished well. The second checkpoint comes as I exit the motorway to Mountrath, Co Laois. This time I explain I am a journalist on assignment, and although I offer to show my official letter from my employer, the garda doesn’t want to see it. It is a low-key policing approach; one that is clearly dependent on respectful co-operation from the public to be truthful about the reason for their essential journey.
Unless the many groups gathered together chatting on the streets of Mountrath are all sharing the same household, it seems social distancing is not being routinely practised
At Mountrath the bunting from St Patrick’s Day still flies over the town’s streets, as do Tricolours. The town is buzzing with local traffic, and parking is difficult to find. Johnny Purcell, who owns Purcell’s Bar on the Main Square, is sitting out on a bench, talking to a friend. His bar is in a building more than 300 years old.
“A lot of small bars like mine won’t open up again when this is over,” he says. “They might own their premises, as I do, and not have to pay rent, but there are still rates and electricity bills to pay. We have a lot of customers who are older people living out in the country. When will they ever come back into town again?”
Seán Sharkey, owner of Conroy’s Pharmacy, says: “Who would have thought two months ago that we’d have a glass screen up between us and customers, and only one person allowed in the the shop at a time?”
Michael Keegan, who owns a butchers shop, praises the support of local people for their continued custom. “But all the big orders are gone that I’d had from hotels and restaurants. One weekly order alone was for €1,500. At the moment I am just trying to keep the doors open.”
Newly unemployed
Mother and daughter Margaret and Clodagh Nolan are waiting to use an ATM. They have both lost their jobs due to Covid-19.
“I worked at the toll plaza and was let go last week, because there is so little traffic,” Clodagh says. “There is only one lane in three open now, and that’s automatic.”
“I clean houses for older people, and my work stopped two weeks ago,” Margaret says.
Unless the many groups of people gathered together chatting on the streets of Mountrath are all sharing the same household, it seems social distancing is not being routinely practised.
Alcohol appears to be a common purchase. One man exits Centra carrying just a case of beer. Another has a case of cider. “We are all drinking much more now at home, and much more often,” says one woman in Centra with several bottles of wine in her basket who does not want to be named.
In Nenagh, Co Tipperary, the signs in the windows of closed businesses tell their own stories of the individual toll on people’s lives.
“Due to fatigue and staff shortages, I am unable to continue business for the next few days,” reads a sign in Denis’s Butchers.
“It is with a heavy heart that we have decided to temporarily close the bookshop,” reads a sign at Ryan’s Independent Bookshop.
“These are unknown times for us all, so the main thing is to pull together for now and follow all the advice,” reads a sign at A Sportsman’s Dream.
Philip Talbot’s menswear and protective clothing shop has been operating since 1947. He took over from his father in 1976, and runs the shop by himself. “Apart from Christmas, I have never closed longer than three days,” he says. “I have never, ever had a time like this. It’s unbelievable. I am the only staff, and I own the property, so costs are low, but there is no turnover.”
Postage paid
Talbot shows me an ad he placed this week in the local paper, the Nenagh Guardian. “Stuck at home?” it reads. “I will post (free of charge) any necessary items wanted, eg pyjamas, bedroom slippers, bed linen or Wellingtons, safety boots or rainwear or anything needed from my shop.”
“I wanted to do something for my customers,” he says. “And I have had three calls already.” The day before he posted a pair of trousers to a customer. “She wanted to pay the postage, or go halves on it, but I insisted.” He paid the €9 postage himself.
Jacqueline Redmond is out shopping, wearing a mask and gloves. “I am wiping everything,” she says. “I even wipe the letterbox after the post arrives.” She has lost her job as a cleaner at a local school.
"Business here is up 50 per cent since all this started. People are still panic buying"
At Nenagh Fruit and Veg, Mark Counihan says: “I haven’t had time to bless myself.” There is a sign for duck eggs for sale, and one on a shelf of home-made jam that asks customers to return the jars. The shop is offering a free home delivery on Fridays for orders over €20. “Business here is up 50 per cent since all this started,” Counihan says. “People are still panic buying.”
Back on the motorway heading west, there is virtually no traffic. I drive for almost 20 minutes and see fewer than half a dozen vehicles travelling in either direction.
The toll plaza in Limerick is down to one automated lane. There is another checkpoint a few kilometres beyond the plaza, on to the M18 leading to Clare and Galway. I explain I am travelling for family reasons. “Mind yourself, and safe journey,” the garda says, and waves me on.
