Greetings from the delightful holiday island of Guernsey. Those of us with the island's interests at heart are pleased that after being overshadowed for so long by our larger neighbour, Jersey, the attractions of Guernsey are finally becoming apparent to Irish visitors.
No doubt, in time, our other two little neighbouring islands, Alderney and Sark, will also have their day in the sun, but for the moment we are making the most of our own emergence from the shadows.
Not, of course, that shadows cannot be attractive in themselves. Many of our long-time residents and regular visitors are known to favour the shady side of the street, and indeed tend to be glimpsed only in twilight. The island attracts a very private type of person, though we are aware of a certain irony in the situation whereby so many very private people live next door to each other.
That indeed is why, despite our pleasure at the island finally being recognised, we are a little concerned at some of the recent media coverage. And we are most disappointed at the vulgar media suggestion that the only attractive thing about Guernsey is its taxation regime, or lack thereof.
Like the other Channel Islands, Guernsey boasts (though boasting is not a Guernsey trait) of beautiful scenery, flowering vegetation and a mild maritime climate. We have some fine beaches, almost entirely deserted. We have a main street, almost similarly deserted. We have very few visitors. We have a lot of banks.
Some confusion arises regarding the banks. With a population of about 73 people, most of whom never venture out, and an average summer tourist influx of seven adults and three children, why, it is sometimes asked, do we need 674 banks?
The answer is simple. We residents need to be able to feel that at any time, day or night, we can have access to ready cash. It's just the way we are.
In his "Eye on the 20th Century" article the other day, Declan Kiberd referred to St Enda's, Patrick Pearse's permanently cash-strapped all-Irish school in Rathfarnham. He wrote that, according to one of its students, "Cuchulainn was an important, if invisible, member of staff".
I have been contacted by one of the few surviving students of St Enda's, a gentleman by the name of Clive Solais, who agrees that Cuchulainn was indeed an important member of staff - but very far from invisible.
"Is minic a chonaic me e, agus e ag fanaiocht ins na hallai scoile", said Clive, before I prevailed on him to speak in English for the benefit of the less well educated. "Sure I saw him meself many's the time," Clive told me. "Wandering up and down the corridors he would be between classes, wearing a dirty goatskin tunic, muttering to himself and dragging a mangy old Irish wolfhound behind him on a piece of string."
I asked Clive what staff position Cuchulainn held.
Well I think he started as Weapons Master because of his experience in the field in the old days. Certainly he had his own collection of fierce-looking weapons, including some class of a spear he called a "gae bolg" that used to frighten the life out of the smaller children, especially when he demonstrated it on the cats in the schoolyard. And in later years?
Well, there were a lot of com- plaints from parents and Pearse had to cancel the weapons classes, so poor Cuchulainn was reduced to filling in for the Home Economics teacher, a terrible comedown for a man of his background, as you can imagine. Cuchulainn taught domestic science?
Devil the teaching he did. He spent the time reminiscing about his feats of battle during the Tain wars, how he slew the sons of Nechtan Scene, got the better of Medbh and Ailill, seduced Aoife on the Isle of Skye, had it off with Cu Roi's wife Blathnait and finally claimed the hand of Emer. Not the best preparation for his Leaving Cert students, then?
Oh, they loved listening to him, even if they never learned to boil an egg. But it was his tales about the battle with Ferdiad that finally got him fired. That was when he spent seven days and seven nights fighting with his best friend before slaying him with the gae bolg?
Yes, but Cuchulainn should have kept quiet about being helped by what he said were his fairy friends. Misunderstandings arose, and poor Pearse had enough on his mind, what with the usual school problems, domestic difficulties, financial crises and hectic preparations for the Rising. Cuchulainn went out on a two- thirds pension and we never saw him again.