IRELAND

Blaney's hard line

STAN GEBLER DAVIES Now there is no one in the Republic of Ireland better entitled to the description hard-liner than Neil Blaney. The govern- ment has gone out of its way to see Mr Blaney gets stuck with the label hard-liner, and succeeded very well. Would it not be a peculiar twist if Mr Blaney benefited from this description his enemies have applied to him, and which he has declined?

Mr Blaney was minister of agriculture, and as such the third most powerful man in the Republic, when he was dismissed last May by Mr Lynch, on suspicion of gun-run- ning. He was charged, but at the preliminary hearing the judge declined to let the charges stand.

Mr Blaney is not charitable enough to assume that his expulsion from the govern- ment was a mistake. He had felt for some time that his departure would have been welcome. One point of friction with other members of the cabinet had been over his at- titude to last year's crises in the north, when he advocated, discreetly, the crossing of the border at selected points by units of the Irish army.

'We should have helped at that time from here.' he informed me in a rare interview granted in Lifford, Donegal, across the River Foyle from Strabane, County Tyrone (highest unemployment rate in the United Kingdom). Mr Blaney is an impressive, tough-looking character, with large blue chin and large pipe permanently in hand or mouth.

Mr Blaney sees no reason why there should have been a violent reaction to the peace-keeping endeavours of the Irish army. 'After all, the British army is occu- pied to a high degree here and manpower in the British army is not all that great at the present time. I know that even the 11,000 to 12.000 they had in here at the peak was a substantial strain on them, and no matter

what you may hear of our army we have many more men than that, and we are not committed anywhere else in the world.' Mr Blaney speaks of the Irish reserves, which number some 50,000, and says there is enough in government arsenals to arm them.

'My belief about the British government is that they would love to get out,' says Mr Blaney, expressing the traditionally hopeful view of Irish patriots: the best solution to the Irish question from the English point of view would be for Ireland to go away—the best solution to the Irish question from the Irish point of view would be for the English to go away.

'A fundamental thing about our Protestant friends in the Six Counties is that they can- not ever sit down with us and begin to show an interest while they are supported openly by the might and wealth of Britain. Britain has been, is, and will continue to be, in my opinion, the nigger in the Irish woodpile. Until she decides that she is going to take away her armed forces some day—not to- morrow, but some day soon—you cannot fairly ask the Unionist population to sit down with us and converse.'

Mr Blaney, for all the hard-line label, is willing to embrace federalism, or anything else that will get Ireland out of the present rut. The English, once they cease com- plicating Irish affairs, he would like to em- brace as a brother race sharing these small islands.

'What should be done for the English is to depict to them just what sort of little monster they have created in Northern Ireland and are paying for the maintenance of, in money and in armed force and in prestige throughout the world. If they only realised this they would get out so fast we would not see them going. There is damn all here for them.'

It is Mr Blaney's considered opinion that it is no business of the government of the Republic of Ireland to prevent people from importing guns into foreign territory if they wish to do so without breaking the laws of the Republic of Ireland.

'Those are my sentiments,' he remarks, 'very, very much.'

Mr Blaney's position in Irish politics is coloured by his being a man of the north, Mr Lynch's by his being a man of the deep south. Mr Lynch's Cork constituents, unless they are devout Republicans, are not anxious to exert themselves on behalf of the north. Nor are most Dubliners. But Mr Blaney is a Donegal man.

Donegal is a large, not very rich county, cut off from the rest of the Republic, except for a narrow strip, by Northern Ireland. It totally surrounds the City of Derry.

'When I was a child everything went to and from Derry. Derry wilted after the divide and we have stagnated. It is all very well for people to say it is for the majority in the Six Counties to decide what happens to Partition, but it affects this county and other counties as grievously as it affects County Tyrone, just across the river.'

Mr Blaney does not want to bash Protestants on the head. A quarter of his constituents are Protestant and most of them, being conservative farmers, vote for him.

'This island, for God's sake, is much too small for two nations. I don't feel any different from a Protestant across that river. In fact I feel a greater kinship with a Protes- tant from Antrim than I do with a Catholic from Cork ... I don't necessarily mean Jack Lynch.'

'It's not just humbug,

as great-great-uncle reckoned,' rasped Fred; 'it's a racket nowadays, that's what it is.' A racket, darling?' I murmured. 'A racket!' he repeated fiercely. 'Look at it. Forty shopping days till Christmas. Gift displays in all the shops. Presents. Greetings cards. Even for pets. It's a commercialised racket, I tell you. An excuse for charging higher prices for ordinary products because they're gift- wrapped.' Yes,' I said, 'but ..."But nothing!' he retorted rudely—there's more of old Ebenezer than of his own grandfather about him at times—It's extortion, and you know it. Can't buy a cake of soap without it's dollied up in a fancy box at a fancy price with some superfluous toilet lotion. I tell you,' he went on grimly, 'I've had enough. From here on out I am refusing to pay through the nose just because I'd like to give a few gifts to friends and relations at Christ- mas."Well, darling, you know . . I began, only to be interrupted again with 'NO! Enough is enough. I will no longer be ex- ploited in this way in the name of Christmas. My mind's made up. I've had it. You can tell everybody I'm not playing Santa Claus for a load of gift-wrapped hucksters this year or ever again. And that's final, In you can tear up that list for a start.'

Well. It wasn't any use arguing. Fred wouldn't have listened anyway. I just shoved that SPECTATOR coupon under his nose. 'What's this then,' he muttered, 'Christmas gifts at half normal price and less? I don't believe it.' But he did, of cburse. My Fred isn't one to forget what things cost him. 'Let's see,' he said, 'a 40-week order worth £4, for £2: Two for £3 10s; three for £5, six for £9—why, that's £24-worth of subscrip- tions for £9! And a greetings card with each! This really is something. luv! Let's have a look at your list again.'

And why don't you fill in the coupon on this Page?