The other Gerry is on the run again - this time for a seat

"WE need a poster of Gerry on the campaign car," says a Sinn Fein canvasser in Ardoyne

"WE need a poster of Gerry on the campaign car," says a Sinn Fein canvasser in Ardoyne. "Not that Gerry," she says, pointing to one of the statesmanlike Mr Gerry Adams. "I mean our Gerry.

Not many people command greater affection in nationalist ghettos than the Sinn Fein president. But "Our Gerry", Gerry Kelly, stern and unsmiling, is a legend among the republican grassroots.

Gerry Kelly (42), rose through IRA ranks the hard way. He was one of a group of young members hastily despatched to bomb the Old Bailey and New Scotland Yard in 1973. One man was killed and 250 injured.

The 10 were arrested at Heathrow Airport. Kelly, aged 19, was sentenced to life imprisonment. He spent 205 days on hunger strike, kept alive by force feeding, until he was transferred to the Maze prison.

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He was one of the main organisers of the 1983 escape from the Maze, and spent three years on the run - living under floor boards for the first fortnight. He was recaptured in Amsterdam.

The media have portrayed him as the man who ended the IRA ceasefire. He denies the allegation, but everyone knows that he has a very direct line of communication to the IRA.

This is Kelly's first foray into the electoral arena. He leads a band of Sinn Fein canvassers up and down long, hilly streets with a martial air.

The Sinn Fein car blasts out songs of the IRA. You wouldn't know there was a peace process here.

A small, Catholic enclave in north Belfast with high levels of poverty and unemployment, Ardoyne is one of the most deprived areas of the city. Old people sit in the small, terraced houses, their tables cluttered with medicine bottles and tablets.

Bare chested men with greyhounds lie out in front gardens.

Most of the women are in dressing gowns and slippers.

Gerry Kelly hasn't the easy rapport with people that more seasoned Sinn Fein politicians possess. He has no line in small talk.

He is introduced to a voter.

"May, this is Gerry Kelly."

"Hello May."

They shake hands. "Have you any questions about the peace process?"

Does he find it difficult meeting people on a canvass? "I've been meeting people all my life."

Does he like being in the public light? "Who likes being in the public light?"

He was not much different as one of the Sinn Fein negotiators who met the British representatives at Stormont Castle. "He just sat there, never saying a word," says one official.

Kelly was included on the team to reassure the IRA grassroots that there was no sell out. He has disappointed many dissidents by refusing to move against the Sinn Fein leadership.

"I think the Kelly reputation could be softer than the reality," says one sceptic. Still, for the mass of less cynical supporters, Kelly is the epitome of the hard man.

He is not vulgarly macho but he still looks the part - tall, lean and muscular, cold eyes staring out from wire framed glasses, never displaying emotion.

He calls into the house of Kate Larkin, whose son Stephen was released from jail last week. She invites the press inside.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," says Kelly. But Kate insists. "It's only the Brits and the RUC I keep on the street."

Kelly sets a cracking pace on the canvass and a red faced, out of breath press struggle to keep up. "Somebody should puncture his shoe," a photographer suggests.

"Do you work out in the gym?" the Guardian reporter inquires.

"I'd like to but I've no time," Kelly replies. "I do a bit of running though."

In a green mac, grey trousers, a red and white striped shirt and a blue and yellow tie, it's obvious he hasn't an eye for colour co ordination. But he's judged on other qualities anyway.