The new pecking order

Mary Kenny

Who's Who in Ireland: The Influential 1000 Compiled and edited by Maureen Cairn- (Vesey Publications, Dublin £IR 17.50, £14)

AA 11 Constitutions in emergent nations -Ii..promise the people equality and fraternity and the dissolution of the social order of the old regime which was so intolerably snobbish. The Irish Constitu- tion too: from the beginning, the 1916 Proclamation of the Republic affirmed that 'all the children of the nation shall be cherished equally'. The new governing order would be 'oblivious of the differ- ences carefully fostered by an alien power'. All very high-minded, though by today's measure the language is patronisingly pat- riarchal: the children of the nation? Citizens are not children, though, as it turned out, the phrase was apt, since the structure of Irish society was authoritarian for the first 50 years.

Where the stratifications of the ancien regime perish, a new peeking order soon emerges. The Irish Free State turned out to be a confessional state whose laws were framed by the ethic of the Catholic church (and with 96 per cent of the people R.C., some would reply — why not?). But it was also a dynastic state where the power of one's family mattered greatly: an aristocra- tic principle held by the masses in a society whose roots were still in the clans. The map of 17th-century Ireland is not a map of a nation, but a chart of clans and their territories: O'Brien country, O'Donnell country, O'Kelly country, and so on. Fami- ly power has proved particularly durable and Irish names are still a passably good guide to the geographical origin of the individual bearing the name. Most O'Briens are still from Co Clare, most O'Reillys from Cavan, most McCarthys and O'Donovans from the Cork area, etc.

I have noticed that, when two English middle-class people are introduced, their

Opening formule de politesse is 'What do

you do?' Information about jobs is ex- changed and some common markers may be established in this way. When two Irish People are introduced, identity is estab- lished by the question: 'Where do you come from?' So the name and the town- land are established, and immediately there are common links. 'Yes, Paddy Reilly from Ballyjamesduff. You had an uncle who masried a cousin of my aunt's — Kathleen Mavourneen.' Give me a man's family name and his place of origin and I could tell you who his aunt slept with in 1922: that, at any rate, is the boast of some folk sociologists. And here comes this new book which might be seen as a profile of the new order of an emergent successful Irish elite, the 'first one thousand'. Cherishing all the children of the nation equally, how are you. It has been the subject of enormous malice and great spite already in Dublin, and it sold out instantly as soon as it appeared in the bookshops — at £1R17.50. As old Lord Beaverbrook always said, names make news, and in a society where everyone is connected to everyone else, names and personalities will arouse great curiosity.

But first of all, who is Maureen Cairn- duff? What are her connections? A wispy blonde of perhaps 40 years or so, Mrs Cairnduff is married to a Dublin Protes- tant, Ian (an accountant, and a man of means), and she gives a salon on the first Friday of each month in her large Victorian house in South Dublin. It was at one of these First Fridays that the author Freddie Forsyth was said to have poured a bottle of champagne over the head of the then Taoiseach, Charles Haughey, in a heated political exchange, then walked out of the house and out of the country. But perhaps it is not so, for Mr Forsyth has written an endorsement of the book as a binder (Normally I charge a quarter of a million pounds for this number of words,' he told Mrs C), and Mr Haughey makes a glitter- ing appearance within. Maureen Cairnduff was born Boucher-Hayes. Ah yes, those Boucher-Hayeses. Yes, now I know exact- ly who she is — they were a clan of clever doctors from Dublin and had many child- ren. (Mr and Mrs Cairnduff have three.) The Irish Who's Who does not set out to be a straightforward reference book on the British model; instead, it is a rather gushing list of arbitrarily chosen successful indi- viduals, surrounded by somewhat posed studio photographs. A foreigner, say a Swedish sociologist, 'reading it from cover to cover, would get an impression of an enormously refined society, populated by cultivated persons who appreciate fine wines, collect antiquities, enjoy travel, walking, reading and music, are popular guests and lavish hosts and are married to the elegant Doreen who practises cuisine minceur beautifully. There are no common Irish people here, and not even many tremendously vigorous ones. Of course, there are those who ride to hounds and dabble in a little hare-coursing, but you would search in vain for the heroic figures of the country ballads whose prowess lies in 'rambling or roving or football or court- ing or drinking black porter as fast as you fill'. No, here all is gentility, indeed, genteel-ity. Any left-wing harridan in the

world of Maureen Cairnduff is a Deeply Committed and Idealistic Feminist; any right-wing thug is a Finely Tuned Patriot with an Ardently Felt Sense of Honour.

And that most essential of Irish charac- teristics, eccentricity, seems altogether occluded. Save for Mr Harold Clarke, businessman, who unexpectedly heard on the radio from Shirley Conran's own lips that he was engaged to be married to the Superwoman, nothing has befallen any of them which seems the least odd: All is very bland and complimentary, and there is scarcely a critical word for anyone, save, significantly, Conor Cruise O'Brien, who is described as being regarded as 'biased' in his writing. Others might say he is Deeply Committed, Highly Articulate and with a Puckish Sense of Humour — but no, not here. But then Conor is Charlie Haughey's bitterest political enemy, and Mr Haughey has always enthusiastically befriended Mrs Cairnduff. Some clan loyalties (or political loyalties, the modern equivalent) are stronger than any politesse.

One social detail the Swedish sociologist might find significant is that the Irish elite are fairly prolific: three children are com- mon, five quite normal, seven not unusual. (As opposed to 1.7 child per couple in West Germany.) Paradoxically, the birth controllers should not be displeased in this context, since it is eugenically favourable for successful people to propagate their kind.

And on a linked subject, divorce or separation is a rare thing among the first thousand in Ireland (this is also dynastical- ly propitious — as well, of course, as still being illegal — since family power is best consolidated when it is not diffused by multiple alliances) except, disappointing- ly, among the old Clan Chieftains, who seem to be relatively widely divorced.

Whether this is because so many of them went to Eton and to Balliol and thus picked up the habits of the English, or whether it is, frankly, LMF*, it is scarcely for me to judge. I am sorry to say that the chieftains, The O'Kelly, The O'Brien of Thomond, The O'Conor Don and The MacGillycuddy of the Reeks sound dull fellows — although this could be Mrs Cairnduffs insistance on staying non-controversial at all costs. The O'Conor is a retired British Army Officer and spends most of his time breeding hounds. The O'Neill, on the other hand, is a Portuguese grandee and as the most valid claimant to the Irish throne would be called, in the event of the restoration of the High King, Jorge I. The O'Donel of Tirconnell is a parish priest in Zimbabwe and the last of his line, Here is an interesting question: should an Irish Chieftain become a priest? Is his first duty to God or to having male heirs? After The O'Donel's death, the title will pass to the Spanish branch in the person of the Duke of Tetuan, who would seem to have quite enough titles already. Pity.

Perversely, there is little mention of religion in the Irish Who's Who. In fashion- able Dublin circles, it is considered `secta-

ran' to mention religion. One cannot say this is a fair book, since there are glaring omissions, and absurd inclusions. But it will be widely spoken of in the golf-clubs of Tullamore and Clonmel and Ballina, and in the wilds of Connemara it will not pass unnoticed. Yet in times to come it will provide a revealing insight into the com- position of one bourgeois republic and its values: who were the top 'children of the nation' and just how they were cherished.

(LMF*: Mr Alan Watkins' term — 'Lack of Moral Fibre').