FUNDAMENTAL THINGS VERSUS A HELL-BOUND HANDCART – by Donal Kennedy


Darwin’s Theory of Relativity inspired, amongst other things, a song, only a portion of which is sung in Casablanca. Though the lyric is accessible on the internet, I can find no rendition of it.

But the fundamental things still apply.

Mr Poots’s belief that created things are only 6,000 years old is not to be found in the Old Testament. It arose from a reading of it by a very learned Dubliner named Ussher who became Protestant Archbishop of Dublin, and later of Armagh. A few years before the establishment of the Royal Society in London and the adoption of scientific method.

When I started school with the Christian Brothers in Dublin in the 1940s the Penny Catechism of the Catholic Archdiocese followed Ussher’s  line.

I doubt Archbishop McQuaid, who was a very learned and overzealous examiner of everything in print. checked his own catechism.

Whatever about Mr Poots, the six north-eastern Irish counties are not a country nor a province nor a state. They are a region of a state whose capital is London, where the Imperial Parliament asserts authority over every person, matter and thing there. From 1921 until 1972 it had a Mickey Mouse “Parliament” which was blown away, not by Republicans, nor Loyalists, but by Westminster, with less fuss than Mrs Thatcher later despatched the Greater London Council.

As I approach my 80th birthday, I resent being patronised by whipper-snappers like Varadkar to grow up and celebrate the Black and Tans. 

I have over the years  adopted more more nuanced opinions on many things but the fundamental things still apply.

 Human beings have both rights and responsibilities. Male and female, Jew or Gentile. In practice brute strength is exercised too often to extinguish the rights or the lives of the weaker or helpless.

Infant life and the lives of the ill and of  the elderly, or even of those with temporally having fits of the blues, are under attack right across the globe including in Leinster House.

Pardon me, Trendies, if I don’t jump, or ask for a leg-up, on your Hell-bound handcart.

Comments are closed.