Profile - The Irish Mammy: A launderer, matchmaker, spiritual adviser, and master chef who rarely sits at the dinner table: meet the multitasking marvel that is the Irish mother, writes Shane Hegarty
Traditionally, you'll spot her in her natural habitat. She's the one who never sits down at the family dinners, but instead shuttles from table to stove, returning with armfuls of roasties and keeping the gravy topped up, while everyone implores her to sit down and enjoy her own dinner. "In a moment," she'll say, before adding, "there's loads more turnips if anyone wants it," while trying to ignore the fact that her mother-in-law is making sly remarks about the lumpiness of the gravy.
The Irish mammy is the one herding the kids from Mass while father goes for a quick pint. Or two.
She's to be found chatting to other Irish mammies in the supermarket queue, turning an apparently straightforward shopping trip into an intelligence gathering mission aimed at deciding whose daughter might be good enough for her son. Although, no one can ever truly be good enough.
And if you want to find them en masse, then it has long been recommended that you follow them on a pilgrimage. Because Irish mammies have kept their faith even after it has become deeply unfashionable. And at least once in their lives, they must travel in worship of their idol. His name is Daniel.
Muslims go to Mecca. Mammies go to Kincasslagh.
They are not always fully appreciated. When one radio poll asked the people for their top 10 Irish icons, the Irish mammy came eighth, between red lemonade and Irish dancing. But they are not asking to be appreciated. They're too busy asking questions. Such as: will you have a few more spuds? Would you not have another cup of tea? Who wants more trifle? And she is too busy dishing out the extra helpings, without waiting for an answer.
To the traditional Irish mammy, the mission was simple: get them raised. Get them married. And when the son finally did find a wife, he discovered that all along, of course, he was searching only for a surrogate mammy. At which point the daughter-in-law took industrial-strength bolt cutters to the apron.
According to the Central Statistics Office about 450,000 adults over the age of 20 were still living with their parents in 2002. In Britain, a good deal of those would have not only been married by their mid-20s, but might even have at least one divorce behind them. But in Ireland, a good chunk of the adult population is still throwing their underwear in a wash basket on the understanding that it will magically reappear in their wardrobe, smelling lemon-fresh.
It is the relationship between a mammy and her boys that has often been seen as running particularly deep. Pat Ingoldsby once suggested that someone should invent "the world's very first inflatable mammy . . . for Irish men who have left home and are living in flats or bedsitters. . . Full-sized, yet when the mammy is deflated she can be carried around in the pocket. Ready for any emergency. She can be whipped out at any time and pumped up".
And there's the old joke about why Jesus was Irish, which includes the observation that "he lived with his parents until he was 29. He thought his mother was a virgin, and she, God bless her, thought he was the saviour of the world!"
It's almost 10 years since a survey declared that 38 per cent of Waterford men preferred the company of their mother to other women, since which time further surveys have shown Irish men - especially the younger ones - to be far more domestically capable than the stereotype might suggest. And they're certainly not the most mammified men in Europe. That honour goes to the Greeks, Portuguese and Italians.
A staggering 85 per cent of Italian men between the ages of 18 and 33 live at home with the parents. The proportion of Italians aged between 30 and 34 still living at home has doubled to well over a quarter in recent years. Italian mothers even say they are actually happier when they're adult children live at home. And however much the Irish mammy may sometimes be characterised as adhering just a little too rigidly to the all-encompassing motto of "mammy knows best", the daughter-in-laws of Italy complain about having to enter a psychological battlefield the moment they wed.
Married Irish men, though, have been found to be a particularly unhappy demographic in this country. It has been suggested that it's because Irish men were brought up by one version of the Irish mammy, but ended up marrying another. That the traditional Irish mammy was lost in a hostile takeover by feminism. That men who married with the expectation of arriving home to find their dinner on the table and waking to freshly ironed shirts got a shock when handed the iron and child as their wife ran out to the office.
IT USED TO be said that the mammy was a chief executive, childminder, accountant, taxi driver, chef, nurse, cleaner, entertainer, and teacher all rolled into one. The difference now is that the Irish mammy often is a chief executive or accountant or teacher or taxi driver.
Statistics show that 103,000 mothers of children under the age of six are employed outside the home compared with 63,000 devoted full-time to home duties. What's more, 90 per cent of mothers working outside the home would not give up work if given the choice. It has led to the suggestion that the Irish mammy is an endangered species. That the Irish daddy is pulling his weight a lot more than he used to. That the Irish nanny will be the big influence on a generation.
It's hard to imagine the extinction of the Irish mammy, not least because this country has continued to display a deep societal yearning for matriarchy. When Mary Robinson became president in 1990 it suddenly seemed perfectly logical that our symbolic head should be female. There was the candle in the window of the Áras, the constant stream of tea parties, the hugs. She was Diana without the neuroses. She was Mary Poppinson. No male presidents could ever have appeared so naturally hospitable and empathetic. Nothing would have seemed more ridiculous than the sight of Paddy Hillery hugging a care worker.
WHEN ROBINSON ABDICATED, the subsequent election featured a lone man, who never stood a hope in hell when pitted against a four-strong mammy strike force. Mary McAleese won out, and it means that we've had a mammy as our figurehead for 15 years now. Although there's the sense that, as a people, we may be getting a little irritated by it. That her increasing tendency to chastise us is bringing out the adolescent in us. That we don't like her nagging us about how we should spend our money, or how we should get out of the house and do something with our lives, or how she keeps asking us where we're going - spiritually, at least.
We're starting to react against it. To say, "stop interfering". Stop telling us how to lead our lives. Why can't you be more like Chile's president? She lets her people do whatever they want.
But even if the top job eventually stops going to a mammy, it's hard to imagine us cutting the apron strings just yet. The Irish mammy hasn't gone away, she's just had a well-earned makeover. She's been the driving force of the country for centuries, and as long as high house prices leave young Irish men and women stranded at home, she'll continue to have her influence.
And on Mother's days for years to come, it will be time to recognise that, while the Americans have moms and the British have mummies, only the Irish have mammies.
The Mammy File
Who is she?
If you're a young Irish man, she's the person who makes shirts magically crease-free and your dinner appear on your plate.
Why is she in the news?
Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Don't say you weren't warned.
Most appealing characteristic?
The ability to run a family home like it's a major hotel.
Least appealing characteristic?
No Irish children could ever find a flaw in their mammy.
Most likely to say?
"The dinner's on the table, the clothes are in the dryer, the child's been put to sleep, and I'm going to prepare a major auditing report before I cook tomorrow's lunches."
Least likely to say?
"Kids, mammy's going to the bookies. There's a Pot Noodle in the microwave."