Escaped traffic lights recaptured

A herd of traffic lights which had made a sensational escape from a depot of South Dublin County Council overnight were recaptured and corralled in Firhouse this morning.

Under cover of darkness, the eight-feet high lights had sneaked out a hole in a fence and scattered across parkland into nearby estates.

Local resident, Eilish Okimbawano, told our reporter: "I came out to pick up the milk and there was one standing in my garden, eating the top off my Clematis campaniflora.

"I got it in Woodies in the 50% off sale," she added.

This is not the first time there has been a problem in South Dublin with roadside structures. In 2005, one-hundred directional signs disappeared along the M50. It is thought they migrated to Southern Italy for the winter.

The escaped traffic lights were rounded up by Roads Department staff on overtime this morning and corralled in a temporary compound off the Firhouse Road. A spokesman said:

"We think we got them all back, but it's hard to tell. They're pretty frightened at the moment and will probably just mill about for a few hours before settling down. Once they get used to the new surroundings they should all start pointing the same way."

Reports this afternoon from the Dodder Valley Park area of sightings of two more traffic lights hiding in shrubbery near Firhouse Weir are being investigated.

In the meantime, member of the public are asked to be vigilant and to report any suspicious traffic lights to their local Garda station.

None can compare with the cliffs of.... Tallaght?

Tallaght Town Centre and two large gulls appear to have made a home recently on top of one of the pitched rooftops. I can see one of them from my office window, on the north face of the clock tower of County Hall, one sitting in the niche of a louvred ventilator. When its mate appears, the two greet each other with many "Shree! Shree! Shree!" calls that remind one of being at the seaside.

Someone speculates that perhaps the sitter is one of this year's young, still being fed by a dutiful parent.

I don't know enough about them to judge, but it looks to me like they're considering nesting on the rooftop. It is sheltered from the prevailing wind. It overlooks a courtyard that isn't accessible to the public. There are several fast-food restaurants in the area from which an enterprising gull might, conceivably, glean enough discarded food to raise a chick.

The nesting theory gained a little ground yesterday when the sitting gull maintained its position even during the worst of a number of thunderstorms that swept the area.

We are quite a way from the sea, though, and I wonder if nesting is a viable option. I shall bring my binoculars tomorrow. If nothing else, it should worry my colleagues in the opposite side of the building as I peer out the window and focus in one something unseen over their heads.

[Pic by User:Dschwen at Wikipedia Commons. Republished under terms of GNU Free Documentation Licence]

Going sideways

As the 75 bus pulled out before I could set my booted foot upon it and as I had spent an afternoon at work stuffing envelopes, I was not inclined to turn up my nose at the prospect of a single-decker 49 bus which appeared ten minutes later.

I usually avoid these ill-conceived monsters like the proverbial terminal cough and bursting bits. They are constructed so that the last two-thirds of the bus contains the majority of seated passengers. One sixth ahead of that is for luggage, and between the luggage racks and the driver's compartment is an aisle which rapidly fills up with standing passengers such that one fat, tired, and incredibly annoyed person who happens to look exactly like me, can't get to the front in time to alight at his chosen stop.

This evening I would have accepted a lift in the back of a dung-carrying donkey car.

"I'll find one of those seats for wheelchair helpers or something and sit in it. Bugger ability!"

So it was that I found myself a single seat jammed in behind the driver's compartment and a luggage rack. I was sitting sideways on in a passably comfortable position like a cork shoved into a bottle. The world went by like a microfiche reader.

Whizz! Greens, brick reds, flashing indicator lights, No-Through-Road signage, pink and bottle-blonde blobs of people waiting at the side of the road for other buses.

Clunk! There's the front door of the Tallaght SuperValu, framed perfectly in the window. Western Union money transfers done here, I see. Free car parking for 2 hours around the corner. The unseen traffic signal changes and we lurch away again.

Wheee! The building site on the southern side of Tallaght Hospital jumbling by in horizontal, tubular lines, poles and scaffolds, dark cavernous unfinished rooms, piles of dug-up earth, large wheeled lifting machines.

At the roundabout -- where we Clunked! briefly to a halt again to let traffic by -- the centrifugal force almost pulled me out of the niche I was sitting in. I gripped a handhold and counted in my head how many times the bus would be turning right. Once more, on this journey, at least for me. At the next turn I was ready and didn't get sucked out too far into the aisle.

Wheee! Unfinished walkways and galvanised rails, stainless steel posts and loungers sipping drinks at the tables outside the Metro bar.

Then warp-speed ahead! The limestone wall of the Priory shot by in perfect parallel lines, its crooked lines of mortar merging together in long, unbroken, mermerising horizontals. I looked away. I was feeling queasy at the sense of speed and the lack of anything to fix my gaze steadily upon.

On the floor where it had rolled was a shiny penny. I looked at it in the dust and chewing gum until my light headedness went away.

People got on and looked at me in surprise. I was facing the doors as soon as they opened. Even the bus driver sits facing away. A man spoke in Arabic on a mobile telephone and argued with the driver about his fare while trying to carry on his mircowave-linked conversation.

"Two stops! Two stops!" he said loudly. "One euro!"

"Bottom of Old Bawn Road!" the driver said loudly back to him, punching the button which spat out the ticket.

The Arab man took the ticket without acknowledgement. Then he had a loud conversation down the rear of the bus on his telephone. After two stops he got off and carried on at the side of the road, sometimes making gestures the person on the other end couldn't see.

Cold air blew in at me. I was glad my shoulder bag was resting on my lap and giving me some protection from the weather.

A woman jumped on suddenly through the open doors and said to the driver:

"Can I ask you a question?"

She was sober, but obviously didn't spare herself on food or drink.

"How do I get to Sundale?"

She added: "I'm driving."

"Oh, you're driving? Well, go back to the Tallaght Bypass. Turn left and go up to the pub there at Jobstown..."

"The one near the petrol station?"

"Yes. Turn right there and go down to the roundabout. It's around there..."

"Thanks!" she said and rushed off, jangling cheap jewellry. I couldn't see her car. I was facing the wrong way. The bus creaked along a little way before the doors closed again.

At Firhouse, a young man stopped the bus, got on and dropped a coin in the slot.

"One Euro, please."

"Bottom of Firhouse Road!" the driver exclaimed, and punched the ticket machine button. The man looked at him warily from under his fringe, took the ticket and went to sit down.

At the back of the bus, a black girl who had paid the child fare was wondering if the driver would remember shouting "Templeogue Post Office!" The tension was unbearable.

I looked at the arrangement of the bell pushes. The last one was to my left and I would have to step down from my bucket seat and reach the wrong way with my left hand to press it. I couldn't tell its colour, which somehow annoyed me. Was it a blue bell button, or a red one, or some other colour? I pressed it and a muted "Ding! sounded in the driver's compartment.

The world spun back into a recognisable going-forwards scene and the driver deposited me safely at the bus shelter on Ballycullen Avenue. I was the only one he hadn't announced a destination for out loud. Strange, I thought, and walked the 100 yards or so home, facing forwards all the way.

Hail fellow...

"Is that an MP4 player?"

"Yeah."

"What's the memory?"

"Dunno. 2,000 CDs, or something."

"How much was it?"

"I don't know. It's my sister's. €180 or something."

"You paid €180 for 2,000 CDs worth? That's good."

"I don't know. My sister got it. It might have cost more."

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"You might have seen me around Jobstown."

A pause.

"Cloverhill?"

"D-wing?"

"Yeah!"

"Have you got a smoke?"

"Yeah. Here. Something better."

"You have some."

"No. I don't want any. You have it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

The conversation turned to who knew who and who had prayer meetings every Wednesday because they were Born Again Christians. And getting out of jail.

"I spent three days in a bed and breakfast. And two days on someone's sofa. And two days in a hotel. And I went to them and said 'I need a place because I've spent three days in a B&B and two days sleeping rough and two days in a hotel.'"

"Yeah."

"What's your phone number?"

I just wanted the traffic to move so the bus could take me home.

I only have an ordinary music player. I've only been in a B&B on holiday. I've slept rough twice, because I chose to. To me, Cloverhill is on the way to Liffey Valley Shopping Centre on the back roads. Lucky.

Culture shock

The bus pulled in at the terminus at The Square and in keeping with tradition the passengers disembarked and the engine was switched off and somebody started to complain as the driver tried to go on his break.

"You're late!" the middle aged Dublin woman said to the African in the Dublin Bus uniform who was trying to wave her off the step so he could shut the door.

She stepped back down onto the pavement.

"I've been waiting here for hours and then you just go on a break!"

The driver calmly closed the door. He said:

"How many hours?"

There was a definite look of surprise on the woman's face. Not only was she, a native Irishwoman, being addressed by a black person, but also by a black person in a position of authority. It was evidently a shock to her system.

"How many hours have you been waiting?" he asked. "One hour? Two hours...?"

She looked at him in bewilderment.

"Half an hour!" he said. The bus arrives every thirty minutes or so.

She retreated to the relative safety of the bus shelter. No-one else joined in the argument on her side.

"That's right," she rallied. "You go on your break now and get your cup of coffee or whatever it is you're getting."

The driver spoke quietly to her and I couldn't make out what he said. But her reply must have included something along the lines of

"And what are you going to do about it?" because he then said, loud enough for all to hear:

"I can refuse to take you on this bus. All of these people can travel. You cannot."

He turned and walked off in into the Square.

Ten minutes later we boarded the bus. The complaining passenger politely proffered her fare and was given a ticket. A few stops on, a friend joined her. They spoke cheerfully abut the weather and about hospital appointments and stuff like that. Then after a quarter hour their voices lowered and they whispered together. I wonder what the subject was.

Nice one, driver. I think.

Tallaght St Patrick's Day Parade 2007

From Roderick Smyth:

"The parade is happening as promised.

"It will start at 3.30 on Tymon North Road, travel down Tallaght Road. The review stand will be opposite the Priory. And groups will disburse around the IT Tallaght.

"The Post Parade Award Ceremony will be held in and sponsored by The Plaza Hotel."

My kind of people, Vets

Since Herself and Meself got together there have been all kinds of animal followers about the place. In the past few years these have been whittled down to a collection of cats in various states of repair.

Naturally, this meant that we had to have dealings with vets. The one we chose for handiness sake, in Tallaght Village, was run by a mad genius by the name of Peter. Peter the Vet.

Like something out of "All Creatures Great and Small" the Priory Veterinary Hospital was filled with roaming creatures and random children eating ice cream.

You'd enter with a basket containing a cat and be met by a three-legged hound with a long wagging tail and a big, wet nose. Peter the Vet would be somewhere in the back stitching up an ear on something while trying to keep the rest of the pack away. He'd invariably greet you by asking:

"Do you want another cat?"

The basket would be left in a safe place while you were given the mandatory tour of the cages in the next room.

"Peter, I already have six cats."

"So? I'll give you one with its shots and all thrown in for free."

The idea of accounts seemed to be foreign to Peter the Vet and it was never certain exactly how much money would change hands at the end of a visit. Usually, it was negotiable.

Peter the Vet would be called out at all hours of the day and night and was usually yawning because of it. On a housecall, he'd come in and flop down onto the floor to watch the behavour that was causing concern. But no critter likes the V.E.T., and no matter how friendly he was, tails would disappear between legs and bellies would flatten to the floor as soon as they say him.

Peter put back together several wonky animals for us and never at the full price. Anti-biotics for cuts and bites would appear in little brown envelopes and his hand would wave dismissively at the mention of payment. After some years I was sorry to hear he had eventually sold up the business as too great a strain on his health and time.

The place is still there under new management and we, of course, are still customers. The waiting room is now presided over by a ginger cat that someone left for treatment then never picked up. It wanders freely and fearlessly, disdainfully thumping terrified dogs on the snout, adding injury to the terror of a trip to the V.E.T. Some days it hops up to sit on your lap, other days ignores you completely. Such are cats.

So if the budgie is off the perch or the pussycat has a runny eye, you could do worse than a visit to Tallaght Village. Just mind where you're walking. You never know what you might be stepping on.

We're rude and we pay for it

I work near The Square, the shopping centre in Tallaght, which has a parking problem. This means that people who work in the vicinity of The Square, or who want to get a bus into town, or who travel on the LUAS tram, tend to use the free car park as a park and ride facility, occupying parking space that might otherwise be used by, say, ten shoppers over the course of the day.

The management of The Square is understandably miffed by this, as it has a real effect on the retailers who are its tenants. So a few years ago they put up signs which threatened clamping for vehicles which over-stayed their welcome. When this didn't work, they hired a number of parking attendants from a company specialising in the area of car parking problems. Their strategy has been refined in recent times to guarding the entrance gates to the car-parks and questioning each visitor who enters to find out their intentions.

Each morning, I am dropped off by Herself in the car-park of The Square and (except when she decides to go into the centre and buy something) she will generally drive off again immediately and go to work. As our consciences are clear in respect of nuisance parking, we have adopted an attitude of righteous indignation each morning when stopped:

"Good morning. Where are you going?" one man in bright orange asks Herself through her rolled-down window.

"In there."

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

On another morning, we are asked:

"Excuse me. Are you going to The Square?"

"Yes. Yes we are."

"Go ahead then."

Driving on, she says to me:

"Bloody stupid question..."

We wonder what how much hardened parkers are discouraged by this soft-touch approach. Do they blurt out,

"Well, actually I was planning to park as near to the LUAS as possible, pay €5 to ride up and down on it all day, then return at five minutes to nine tonight and drive off from my free parking space. But now you've mentioned it, I'll just reverse out the gate, shall I?"

A couple of weeks ago, I was persuaded it was vitally necessary to visit a shop in The Square in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. As this flew in the face of 1) my unwillingness, as a man, to get off my armchair on any given Sunday for any given job, and, 2) the [man] logic of knowing that The Square, of all places, was NOT a good place to visit on any given Sunday what with crowds of shoppers, hoards of kids, (some even without wheels in their footwear), and blind-driving shopping trolleys, I was not in the best of humour to begin with. We joined the lines of cars entering the inner network of feeder roads in the centre. Up ahead was a man in an orange suit. Our weekday indignation arose unbidden.

"Use the indoor car park," he said.

"Yeah. Sure. No problem," we said as we turned LEFT, not RIGHT, and metaphorically socked car-park tyranny one in the eyeball.

We climbed up to the second level, oblivious to the lines of cars descending, their drivers looking about in frustration. There were parking places, we knew it! All it took was a little patience.

"There's one!"

Herself stood on the brake pedal. We craned our necks along the lines of cars pulled in neatly among the painted lines on the tarmac. There were other lines, pulled half up on the footpaths, crammed onto islands on corners, even one resting under a bush in the shrubbery.

Bright reversing lights switched on and a woman in a mock utility vehicle backed in purposefully into the space.

"Blast! Those wans think they own the roads in them yokes."

"Yeah. Who do they think they are? Don't they know WE want to park there?"

A man came across the car park, nervously pushing a trolley full of shopping. He had the air of a lone zebra sniffing out a waterhole which he knew was surrounded by lions. Three cars whizzed in from three different angles, their drivers smiling encouragingly at him. He went to a space, opened a car door and began piling in groceries. Two of the three cars moved off as the fittest predator pulled in smoothly into the vacated space.

"How much petrol do we have?"

"Why?"

"We could be here a while."

We orbited the main car park for another ten minutes without success, then, inevitably, joined the stream of cars going back downhill to Level 1. The little orange-coloured man didn't wave at us or anything as we went by him and we climbed up the concrete ramps into the indoor car park. Lots of little screeches, whiplash, eye-straining later, we had found a spot.

"Should have listened to him in the first place," I said.

"Don't start."

"What?"

"Just. Don't. Start."

Ah, Joy to the World!

Now, have you ever tried to find a free shopping trolley on a Sunday....?

Speed dating meets table service

So we took the bedding out of the wardrobe where it had been piled against the outer, wettest wall of the house and lo and behold it was damp and unusable. The fact had to be faced that it would have to go to the recycling centre and off we went, deposited sheets, pillow cases, duvets, duvet covers into the great yellow bins from which they will be made into socks for elves in Switzerland. Then we started thinking about lunch.

"I'll buy, if you like," I said.
"Okay. We could go to The Place in the Village. It's nice."

The Place in the Village is in the back of the Pub in the Village and as we had arrived ten minutes early for service, we bought tea and coffee and sat down at our Number 18 table and chatted. A large group of women in their 60s were gabbing away loudly in one large corner. Artificial Christmas trees blinked little multi-coloured lights at us. Kitchen staff busied themselves behind the self-service counter.

When the carvery opened for business, we queued and ordered peppered steak and chicken curry and sat down to eat.

A hand appeared from no-where and swiped the empty tray from my hand before my ass reached the chair.

"Er. Thanks," I said to the back of the girl, now quite a distance away.

Herself proclaimed the steak to be rare, which is not a complete crime in her lexicon of food faults, but is fairly close to the top. Oh, and the carrots were cold. I decided the chicken was tasteless and the curry barely registering. But feck it! It's better than cooking, eh? Sure, aren't we on holiday? Grand.

The hand reappeared and removed the plastic Number 18 from the centre of the table.

"We appear to be no longer sitting at a table," I said to Herself.

We talked a little about plans for the afternoon, then Herself made a visit to the Ladys' Room.

"Excuse me," the waitress cooed in my ear in Eastern European English. "Are you finished?" Her eyebrows wiggled slightly as she nodded towards my plate.

"Er, yes. Thank you."

"And this woman...?" She pointed at Herself's half-eaten steak and cold veg.

"Yes."

The plates blinked out of existence. She scuttled off towards the kitchen.

A new hand appeared and a plastic Number 17 appeared in the middle of the table. Was this demotion, I wondered. Or had we moved up a place in the charts?

Someone walked by and Herself's coffee cup vanished. On the next pass, a hand alighted on top of my ceramic teapot.

"Are you finished?" a Dublin voice said. Before I could answer, it continued: "Oh I'll just leave them." When I looked up there was no-one there.

Bloody hell! You can take the aul' "efficient service" a bit too far, you know?

We got into the car and drove away, checking through the rolled-down windows that the windshield wipers and hubcaps were still on... We weren't finished with them.

Peed my pants. Again.

To add to my recent catalogue of minor mishaps, I was walking into The Square shopping centre in Tallaght this evening when I stood on a loose paving slab. It didn't tip me over, but it had a void underneath filled with rainwater and whatever way it sank into the space beneath on my footfall, it made the perfect substitute for someone throwing a bucketful of water at me. The right leg of my (naturally, they would be) pale coloured trousers got the full brunt. So I now had one dry, light-coloured trouserleg, and one obviously dark and wet trouserleg. Grinning and bearing it, I fixed my glance steelily ahead and marched into the Square. The people coming towards me didn't betray any emotion, so perhaps looking like someone who'd peed his pants is now de rigeur, I simply missed the announcement. So I then looked down and there's a huge flapping bootlace draggling along from beneath the hem of my dry leg. As I bent over to tie it, I would not have been in the least bit surprised if my evening concluded with a huge big kick in the arse from a total stranger.

The wet leg dried in the half hour waiting in the wind for the bus.

Picture courtesy http://www.clown-ministry.com

Penguins

Yes we finally turned into a whole flock standing last night at the bus stop in The Square with the wind howling down from Tallaght onto us. We just kind of shuffled forlornly sticking a beak out from time to time into the gale to see if *anything* was happening at the place where the double-deckers pull in to park. A woman waddled up to me and squaked:

"Are you waiting on the 311 to Rathcoole?"

"No," I croaked back. "A 49 or a 75 will do me."

"I think I see people over there who might live in Rathcoole. One was due at 17.05 and it's now 17.20," she said, shuffling off and flapping her arms slightly. I heard her say:

"Are you waiting for the 311?"

Another woman's voice said:

"I'm not sure if I am or not."

It was that kind of night. Fifty of us on an ice-flow showing no signs of melting. Everybody wearing thinsulating hats and scarves and trousers stuck to us with wind and rain coming over the mountain. A lady with a bottle of blonde hair on her head cradled a crafty cigarette behind the end of the bus-shelter, but it sent off little sparks in the night every time she pulled on it.

At last a 75 pulled in and we waddled up the steps asking for tickets through gritted teeth.

At Belgard Square West -- ten minutes later (it lies 100 yards away from the bus-stop but traffic was heavy) -- a man and woman got on, her pulling a small, two-wheeled grocery trolley behind her. They stumbled up the stairs together as the bus lurched forward and sat down somewhere behind me. I couldn't see them as my neck was frozen and wouldn't turn.

"Hello!" he shouted suddenly down a mobile phone. "I was given your number about trying to find accomodation for the night."

A few titters erupted from the youngsters near the front of the bus.

"My partner and I had gone to bed. We were going to watch Crime Scene Investigators upstairs because the reception is no good downstairs. Anyway, she was asleep and after a while I smelled smoke. I opened the bedroom door and the whole house was on fire. I got out in the clothes I was wearing. She was in pyjamas. I'm badly burned.

"We had the fire inspector out. They think it might have been electrical, but the heat had destroyed everything so they're not sure. They think it might have started in the kitchen.

"We were in the Council all morning and they've stamped our forms and everything. No, it doesn't matter..."

Aside, to her: "She says we might be separated, but it doesn't matter, does it?"

She said: "No."

He went on: "We got on a 75 bus just to get out of the cold. I'm on a mobile, so I'm not too sure of the cost. Oh! It's a Freephone number. Well, I'm not too sure how long the battery will last."

To her: "Give me a pen."

She said: "Do I look like I have a pen?"

He goes on: "Yes, I know it. 17-18 **** Street. Yes, we can go there. We should be there before 8.00pm. No, there's no drink involved or anything. I'm a bit unshaven, like, because I was burned..."

A few more arrangements were made, and he repeated the address until he knew it by heart. At the end of the call he said to his partner:

"Right. We need to get off this bus."

They hobbled downstairs, having a small argument about who was going to get the trolley out of the luggage compartment. Then they went off into the night, looking to catch a bus for town.

I suppose there are worse things than waiting 40 minutes for a bus to bring you home to your comfortable life.

Okay Yah Land here we come, loike.

She said: "Nioo. I've noit run away from hiome. I just don't loike being there. It's loike... everything there is loched."
He asked: "What do you mean, loike?"
She said: "They switched off my Internet conn-eh-shone. And took my mobile phoine. Loike why did they take my phoine?"

I thought: "Because they were sick of the sound of you."

Spanish Students in Tallaght

One of our Dublin South-West Forum members, Ana, organises one of the Spanish Students programmes in the Tallaght area. Click on the picture to view a larger version of the article, which appeared in The Echo of March 23, 2006.

Cranes endangered species in Tallaght

Cranes are being replaced by elegant buildings in Tallaght as more and more of the construction work around The Square reaches that sudden stage of near-completion. Stuck in a traffic jam that wound its way around Belgard Square this evening, I admired the new shop fronts and the even newer, uncompleted units that gape out from under the apartments, their unfinished ground-floors filled with white dust and oddments of builder's rubble. The hoardings are now gone and the most minimal of fences keep the public out. Gangs of second fixers march about, shouldering cable reels and pneumatic drills. Heavy construction machinery is being supplanted by fork-lifters, shopfitters, glaziers peering out through new spans of modern glass. It's great. Come on the future! I love it!

Tallaght's St Patrick's Day Parade 2006

The over-riding sensation of the 2006 Saint Patrick’s Day Parade in Tallaght was, unfortunately, the cold weather. Even today, more than 24 hours after I got home from the Village, I am only just beginning to warm up again. However, it did nothing to discourage cheerful participation in the parade and while the number of spectators might have been lessened, some thousands of local people turned out to line the route.

Organised this time by a committee headed by Roderick Smyth, the parade had been absent from the town’s streets for the past two years and a special appeal was made for businesses and local groups to join the 2006 event.

Beginning at the National Basketball arena around 3.30pm, the parade featured members of the Dublin City Fire Brigade, the Civil Defence, and several local community, sporting groups and businesses. The event was presided over by Grand Marshal, Des Garry, also known as the Tallaght Person of the Year 2006, as well as South Dublin County Deputy Mayor, Karen Warren. Other local dignitaries invited to view the event included T.D. Charlie O’Connor, Senator Brian Hayes, and representatives of the Garda Siochána.

In blustering sleet showers, and accompanied by blaring sirens of the Dublin Fire Brigade, the vanguard of the parade entered Tallaght Village around 3.45pm to the cheers of around 3,000 onlookers who lined the streets from the Greenhills Road junction to the gates of the Institute of Technology.

First of the sporting groups to process through the Village were members of the Belgard Athletic club, dressed in football gear and oversized festive leprechaun hats and carrying a banner in their blue and white colours. They were followed closely by representatives of the Glenview Day Care Centre, accompanied by the centre’s minibus, the original of which was burned out by thieves in the summer of 2005, but which was replaced by a charitable donation by local business, Control Aer, in December of that year. Several clients of the Centre, which caters for elderly citizens of the area, were aboard waving cheerily at the gathered spectators.

Paddy Dracula Finlay put in an appearance, causing much mirth on the reviewing stand as he gave Karen Warren’s neck a professional inspection. He was scared away by the sirens of the Dublin Fire Brigade, whose convoy of vehicles carrying fire crew and waving children included several types of tenders, rescue and emergency response vehicles. Members of the Civil Defence were followed by the impressive Goldwing Club, bedecked in green white and orange, and riding the powerful motorcycles after which the club is named.

Master of ceremonies, Roderick Smyth, battled bravely against the elements to deliver a running commentary on the various entrants but was hampered by an inadequate sound system, the gusting wind and the sheer number of onlookers straining to hear.

The first display of the day came from the young participants of Old Bawn Gymnastics. Dressed smartly in light blue and dark blue tracksuits, they set up apparatus and mats and gave an admirable demonstration of leaping and somersaulting on Main Street. The cars of Tallaght Ford and the old Saint Patrick himself preceded St Aengus Youth Club, from Balrothery, who took an environmental theme of the “Three Ts”, namely: “Bin there, Dun that, Clean Tallaght”.

Irish dance was represented by Scoil Rince Ní Aogain and by the Mona Bolton School of Irish Dancing, respectively. The girls and boys danced in worsening conditions and despite the biting cold displayed their skills with great determination and courage, especially the young girls who were dressed in intricately-decorated Irish dancing costumes which offered no apparent protection against the chill.

Local Radio Station, Tallaght 99FM, was broadcast over the shaky amplifier system for a time and the parade also featured vehicles from the Q102 and the 98FM commercial Dublin radio stations. The 98FM “Thunderbus” mobile studio passed through and was a very impressive sight.

The Saint Aengus Environment Group headed a convoy of road-sweeping vehicles from McCarthy Sweeper Hire Ltd bedecked with bunting and inflatable leprechauns.

The only marching band of the day, the Tallaght Youth Band, the Marching Vikings, gave a very confident, if brief performance at the reviewing stand. The band was founded in 1977 by Fr. Len Perrem, assisted by Paddy McNally and was originally known as the Priory Youth Band. It was accompanied at the 2006 parade by a section of its flag wavers and majorettes and had just returned from performing in the London St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

Hard on the heels of the band came a group bearing the banner of “Integration of African Children in Ireland” who, dressed in traditional African costume, sang in front of the spectators and reviewing stand. They were followed by a contingent from the Shamrock Rovers 2006 club. Behind these were members of St. Mark’s Taekwon-Do School. The older adult members gave a display of martial arts exercises and demonstrated the ability to break wooden boards with their bare hands and feet.

Butchers from the Meat Factory outlet passed by and handed out leaflets, followed by Securazone Security. The crowd was also impressed by the Absolute Limos vehicles, which, despite being only two in number, seemed to go on forever!

Members of the Dublin Auxiliary Fire Service unrolled hoses from their fire engine and startled members of the crowd who thought they were in for a wetting. In the event, the darkening skies were now beginning to thin the spectators as the last groups in the parade made their way up Main Street.

Just before the final participants from a new leisure and fitness center brought up the rear of the parade, the only true float of the day appeared under the banner of “Transformation Tallaght”. Its message read: “What was St Patrick’s Message?”

And on that fitting note, the Tallaght parade concluded for 2006.

In my opinion, a great success, the parade none-the-less suffered from the appalling weather conditions, but this did not appear to lessen the enthusiasm of local people for a parade of their own. Hopefully, problems with the sound system, though a minor inconvenience in such conditions, might be eradicated by next year. It might also be a good idea for some street entertainers to occupy the hundreds of bored children and young teens that congregated as delays, inevitable on such occasions, set in near the advertised start time. A few sweeties to keep everyone’s spirits up would also be welcome.

I noticed on the way to the Tallaght parade that groups of participants from the Dublin event were making their way home in costume from buses and coaches to the outer estates. Maybe next time it might be possible to persuade these groups to consider entering their local parade as well as the National.

The shorter parade route doubtless helped to make the event more enjoyable for all concerned and probably saved some of the participants from hypothermia. It also concentrated the number of spectators, especially in Tallaght Village, the natural home of the Tallaght parade.

A very big congratulations to the organizing committee and a heartfelt thank you to everyone who braved the day and participated in the parade, making it a true community event. Let’s hope the success will spur more people to take a renewed interest in 2007.

Did I mention it was cold?

Willie Walsh
Dublin South-West Forum
18th March 2006

Links:
Dublin Fire Brigade
Dublin South-West Forum
St Marks Tae-Kwon-Do
Tallaght 99 FM
Tallaght Youth Band, The Marching Vikings
Integration of African Children in Ireland (site under construction)
Photos from the Tallaght St Patrick’s Day Parade