Irish Letter: The West’s Awake!

I haven’t spent much time in Ireland, north or south, in recent years. Covid is part of it, but the truth is that after fourteen years in New York, followed by six in rural France, I had lost touch with the everyday realities of Irish life. 

This annoyed me. Back in 1971, I had been taken on as the first northern Protestant ever to work for the Cork Examiner, reporting from the Deep South on the proceedings of the city and county councils and other worthy bodies. My favourite “marking” was the district court, in which the following exchange, or something like it, was a regular feature: 

The District Justice: “Would your client have had drink taken during the lead-up to the altercation?” 

Solicitor: “He would, Justice, but no more than would be usual on a Saturday night.” 

I learned a lot about the Republic during my time in Cork, just as I did some five years later when I worked in Dublin for the Irish Times. By 1977, the country was coming to the end of its “green, gaelic and free” phase, in which the Catholic Church presided over a largely repressed and for the most part peasant society.

Having joined the Common Market in the slipstream of the UK, Ireland was now on track to become one of Europe’s fastest-growing and most vibrant economies, with a culture to match. The Troubles in the North were rarely out of the headlines, but, on its own terms, led by a succession of larger-than-life taoisigh, the nation underwent a transformation every bit as radical as mainland Britain in the nineteenth century. 

I missed most of what happened over the subsequent 40 years when I lived in Europe, the UK and America. I knew about the Celtic Tiger, of course, and what happened during the banking crisis and the dramatic recovery that followed. What I didn’t know was the extent to which Ireland had become a different place – a combination of Denmark, say, and Portugal – infused with confidence and a sense of itself as a grown-up country. 

Last month, my wife and I visited my family in leafy North Down – the Surrey of Ulster – but took the opportunity as well to visit Westport, in County Mayo, and north Donegal, last stop on the Wild Atlantic Way. The border, I have to report, is effectively non-existent. The only obvious shift as you depart the Queen’s realm is from miles to kilometres. The towns on both sides of the divide are bright and colourful. The high streets are festooned with bars, restaurants, coffee shops and businesses of every kind, while the big-box stores in the suburbs appear to be doing a roaring trade. 

Have you ever heard of Manorhamilton, in Country Leitrim? Probably not. It is the gateway to some of the most beautiful hill country in Ireland, including the fabulous Glencar Waterfall, immortalised by W B Yeats. 

But it is the town itself that is a revelation. An early casualty of emigration and government neglect, today it exudes life and vitality. I have no doubt that it has its problems, but the fact is that its people no longer look to England and America for their salvation. 

Further south, Westport, rebuilt in the 1780s to a plan drawn up by the Oxford-educated first Earl of Altamont, ought to be a dead end. Neither an important port nor a centre of industry, with a population of just 6,200, it has made itself into one of Ireland’s biggest tourist attractions while at the same time developing as a market town, with shops and businesses as varied as any you would find in a city ten times its size. 

The Atlantic is a brisk walk away; Croagh Patrick – Ireland’s pointiest and holiest mountain – dominates the horizon; and for those seeking brighter lights and “important” things to do, there are regular trains to Dublin. 

Ireland’s West has long suffered from being on the wrong side of the country. With its urban population of 1.2 million, Dublin is rich in history and in money and resources (with a cost of living rivalling that of Geneva). It hosts the European headquarters of many of America’s largest corporations and employs more than 30,000 people in its fast-growing banking and financial services sector. 

But four hours away by train, or less using the rapidly evolving motorway system, Westport no longer feels isolated. It has its own life, and benefits as well from the growing connectivity of towns and cities in the West, from Cork via Limerick, Galway and Sligo, all the way to Derry/Londonderry in Northern Ireland. The West is awake. 

As an indicator of the town’s progress, there are several houses currently on the market priced at more than a million pounds, with ordinary semis changing hands for between £350,000 and £500,000. Tell that to the people of Plymouth or Scarborough. 

My final port of call during my visit home was northwest Donegal, traditionally one of the poorest parts of the country. Again, I have no reason to suppose that there aren’t reasons to grumble. The health service is underfunded and young people are struggling to keep up with rising house prices caused by the influx of second-home buyers from Dublin. 

But Carrigart and Downings, on the edge of the county’s Irish-speaking area, look to be booming. The shelves in the supermarkets are bulging and there is no shortage of petrol in the filling stations. Most of the cars I saw parked in the grounds of the Rosapenna Hotel – all of them twice the size of my 2013 Renault Megane – were less than three years old. Many were spanking new. In the bars, the beer and whisky flowed like water. 

Even the cynics – and there are many of those – cannot have failed to notice the latest official forecast for Irish economic growth: GDP for the year to rise by 15.6 per cent and the domestic economy by 5.25 per cent.

 If you ask me, the 12.5 per cent corporation tax has to go. Ireland can’t any longer hide behind the myth that it is a fringe economy in need of special dispensation. It isn’t. 

In spite of all vexations, the country is moving ahead at one of the fastest rates in the EU, and the West, long wreathed in Celtic mist, is refusing to be left behind.