LONELY HEARTS, OPEN MINDS

Politicians in Northern Ireland should take their lead from the province's frustrated romantics, says Max Davidson

BROWSING through the lonely-hearts sec- tion of the Belfast Telegraph as the politi- cians made their latest tortuous manoeuvrings, I felt more optimistic about the political situation than for many months. In the chorus of the dispossessed — people yearning to share the good things in life with someone who is honest and car- ing and has their own house and car — I could hear the still, small voice of peace. For ten exhilarating minutes, as I travelled through the city-centre in a taxi, it was the eternal acronyms of love — TLC, GSOH, NS, WLTM — that echoed in my ears, while those other acronyms that have rung through Northern Ireland's history — IRA, RUC, UVF, INLA — seemed like distant rumblings. The silent majority had spoken. They had made clear their priorities. Things were going to be all right.

Is Mr Adams lonely? Could Mr Trimble fit the bill as a professional man, 50-60, physically and financially fit? Does Dr Paisley hanker for a curvaceous female, recently widowed, who likes walking and going to the cinema? Is Mr McGuinness in the market for a broadminded woman seeking fun, friendship and frolics? Then let them read, as I did, this testament to the human spirit. As the lovelorn bleated their lunatically detailed demands — for slim, sporty women who cared about the environment, for men aged between 45 and 54 with a good sense of humour — it was like a spontaneous outburst of sanity.

Never was the gulf between the politi- cians and the people they serve so appar- ent. Never did the common sense of the people of Northern Ireland shine through so strongly. For it was what was not there that was so striking. Accustomed to the Capulets-and-Montagues rhetoric of the province, I had expected at least a subtext of sectarian distrust.

The sort of people who advertise in these columns the world over are notori- ously picky. Their romantic wish-lists stretch out to the crack of doom. If female, they want a man who is sensitive and ath- letically built and in his early thirties and a non-smoking vegetarian. If male, they want a woman who is vivacious and slender and a cat-lover and a sagittarian and a member

of the Ramblers' Association. Later, after much haggling, they may moderate their demands. She amends 'athletically built' to include a beer belly. He decommissions his cat. But their opening gambits are implaca- ble. They draft their manifestos as fastidi- ously as any politician.

Where, then, was what one would have expected in the lonely-hearts column of a Belfast newspaper? Pickiness on the most thorny issue of all? Advertisers are debarred by law from demanding that suit- ors for their hearts must be of a particular religious persuasion. But there is nothing to stop them referring, en passant, to their own religious persuasion; and I expected a sig- nificant number to avail themselves of the opportunity. Not a bit of it. Of 69 female advertisers, just seven included 'Protestant' in their description of themselves; not one put 'Catholic'. Of 153 male advertisers, there were 11 'Protestants' and two `Catholics'. On this evidence, freely ten- dered under the same conditions of secrecy as the ballot-box, more people in Northern Ireland care whether their partners smoke than care about their religion or politics.

I pointed out my findings to the taxi- driver, who was very amused, particularly by the fact that 'Protestant' or '13' was more common than the Catholic equivalent. `Ah, well,' he chortled, `that would be because there are a lot of lonely Protestants.' But the most significant thing was how few there were of either. Over 90 per cent of advertisers did not think it even worth mentioning from which section of the com- munity thcy came. Over 90 per cent! Just

'The e-mail is deadlier than the mail.' think about it. If you listened only to the politicians, bristling with their ancient tribal suspicions, you would never expect that fig- ure in a million years. Some advertisers, no doubt, were reluctant to seem like bigots. They were seeking partners of the same reli- gious persuasion, but were ashamed to commit the fact to print. But even that shame is indicative of changing attitudes, a groundswell in public opinion.

The Belfast Telegraph is a conservative newspaper and its lonely-hearts page reflects that. You will look in vain for a `Men Seeking Men' section, and it is only recently, after much soul-searching, that the term 'fun-loving' has been admitted at all.

Advertisers tend to be drawn from the gen- eration born before the Troubles, not the younger, more open-minded generation that has followed. But it is an evolving con- servatism, not one set in stone. `A few years ago,' according to a source on the paper, 'there were far more advertisements which were explicitly sectarian in their wording. There is a new climate of tolerance now.'

And not before time. I speak with some feeling on the subject, as I owe my very existence to a cross-community alliance.

My paternal grandfather was a Belfast- based Protestant, my paternal grandmother a Catholic from Dublin. They married around the time of Partition and, if there had been more like them since — people prepared to swim against the tide of preju- dice — Northern Ireland would be in bet- ter shape today. We hear too little of the ordinary people of the province, too much of their supposed spokesmen. But it is the ordinary people, surely, who will carry the day. And the ordinary people, judging by this cross-section of frustrated romantics, are more optimistic, less bigoted than ever before. Beggars in love they may be, but

their begging resonates with qualities from which the politicians could learn: a willing-

ness to take risks; a readiness to meet and talk; an unquenchable faith that the future can be better than the past.

`Just go for it,' coos romantic, outgoing, bubbly female, 5 ft 6 ins. 'Try me,' pouts Belfast boy, 32, slim, humorous, cheerful, romantic. `Let's meet,' pleads fabulous for- ties female. `Just lift that phone,' clamours male, 33, own house and car. `Ring me and give BT all your money,' beseeches woman, 35 and gorgeous. 'Don't miss out,' cries caring, sincere, honest bloke, 31. 'Life is short,' warns male seeking female, 26-36. `We are only here once,' wails freelance professional with plenty of interests, 'and it is not a rehearsal.'

No, it is not a rehearsal. If optimism pro- vided the advertisers with their main refrain, there was a more cautious note which, in context, was rather poignant. 'No time wasters, please.. I have been hurt in the past.' Perhaps the real time wasters in Northern Ireland, the political tub- thumpers on either side of the sectarian divide, should pay more heed to the people whose time they are wasting.