Madam, - Silence has disappeared from our society. It has vanished as completely as the memories of certain Cabinet members when it comes to conversations with wealthy developers.
Madam, - Silence has disappeared from our society. It has vanished as completely as the memories of certain Cabinet members when it comes to conversations with wealthy developers.
No place now is immune from the buzz, roar, shout or bang of modern life. As I sit in my study, all I hear are hammers smiting, saws cutting, and drills screaming on the vast construction site Dublin has become; a threat of pounding noise.
As I sat in church last week, searching desperately for a few moments of tranquillity, a car zooming by at damnable speed disturbed the peace, while children shouted and skateboarded on the church steps outside. While walking the other day near Bushy Park, I was astonished to find myself hearing the music from the Walkman of a passer-by on the other side of the road. I kid you not.
Everywhere, it seems, on trains, buses, in restaurants and once-peaceful little bookshops, the shrill ring of mobile telephones pierce every still moment.
Even that traditional sanctuary of silence - the library - has fallen victim to the murderers of calm. I have had to flee from my local library, which has become a veritable crèche and general congregation centre. The supposed enforcers of silence, the librarians themselves are the principal noisemakers. The days of the serene librarian who policed the corridors, on the lookout for transgressors, are about as over as Liam Lawlor's political career.
While we can savour now the sweet bouquet of our Sunday Chardonnay without the fetid stench of smoke pouring into our nostrils, our air is filled with damaging noise. We have done something for our lungs. What about our ears? - Yours, etc.,
SEAN ALEXANDER SMITH,
Aiken's Village,
Sandyford,
Dublin 18.