The ghosts of Ard Fheiseanna past

The Fianna Fail Ard Fheis.

I was a member of Fianna Fail for many years and attended quite a few Ard Fheiseanna in my time. I remember, by way of digression, when I gave my first lecture in UCD. The lecture hall was crowded. In my warm-up I said, “I haven’t spoken in front of so many people since I was in the Ard Fheis!” A really gifted student from Drogheda then asked, “Was that the Sinn Fein Ard Fheis?” and I had to reply, “Oh no, I’m talking about the Ardeche, one of my favourite areas in France!”

But I’m surprised the FF’s media advisers haven’t got rid of the old moniker. I remember during my brief flirtation with the PDs when there were discussions about organisation. Adrian Hardiman used to get particularly pissed off when members referred to “cumainn” instead of “branches.” And, of course, there wouldn’t be an Ard Fheis, but a party conference.

But the Ard Fheis has changed, changed utterly, nonetheless.

What’s it being held in November for? February was always Ard Fheis month; it was a time when there wasn’t an awful lot of work to do on the farm, the League hadn’t really started up again, and the Championship was but a distant hope of warm summer days.

And what’s this yuppie “one-day event” crap? It went on traditionally for three days, not one. You needed a day to get up to Dublin, a day for the main business, and then another day to recover. But I suppose the people attending now are so busy and stressed out that they can only find a window lasting a few hours. Any longer and they’d be crucified with baby-sitting fees. And you don’t really need that much time to recover from a glass of Ballygowan, though it always seems to do something to my stomach. Rehab, that’s another story… It was a great couple of days out for the family. Dublin in those days was a strange place full of socialists, communists, queers and prostitutes—a den of iniquity awash with drugs and venereal disease. True, there were a couple of Dublin FFers alright, but they were mostly second-generation culchies.

And what’s it doing in City West? It was always held in the RDS. This was in striking distance of Jury’s Hotel. I well remember sitting in the foyer and people-watching. There was the late Tommy Mac and the woman… (oops, sorry, er, I’m not referring to the parent of a sitting Fianna Fail TD here…) and then there were those who were so intoxicated by the spirit of party unity—and a lot else—that all they could do was crash out on a chair or two. One of these was Mary Smith, a former member of Cavan County Council. She took a very stern view on moral issues like abortion, divorce, Bisto Gravy granule abuse, etc., but God love her, she loved the wee drop. She also loved Charlie. That’s incorrect: she adored him. Indeed her enthusiasm was once caught on camera during the live coverage of the Dear Leader’s—intentional parallel with North Korea here—address. A fellow member of The Movement and Cavan County Council commented to me some days’ later, “Did ya see Mary Lucy on the Television during Charlie’s speech, and her with the chats hopping up and down?” Charlie Dimmock, where are you?

But these are all ghosts of Ard Fheiseanna past. All dead now, or should be.