IT was a tale of three cities, Newry, Dublin and Cork and on Tuesday my journey was from the first to the last of the three.
I was RTE-bound for dinner. The entire round trip with bus connections in Dublin cost only the energy expended in presenting my “Senior Citizens Travel Card”.
I recommend it.
Newry’s new railway station is architecturally clever, functional, pleasing and with a staff who exemplify the Oxford Dictionary definition of “friendly”.
The journey requires transfer from Connolly Station in Dublin across the city to Heuston, thence to Cork. Kent Station to the centre of Cork is just a short bus ride along the riverside.
Cork wonderment and wit came immediately to the surface when I looked around for the machine to accept my travel card.
“Arra,” said the driver, “sure we’re not that sophisticated here yet. Go ahead, you are welcome.”
When you follow my advice and go to Cork on your Travel Card, and you really must, an essential visit is to the English Market, the city’s very own emporium of Cork and world cuisine.
Clonakilty black pudding, all manner of fishes and cheeses, spiced beef (a unique Cork specialty), olives and poultry, cakes and fruit, vegetables straight out of the land, the dried and cured pork of Italy.
That would be a relevant trip for Newry councillors trying to create a future for our own market.
Returning next day I would board the Enterprise and with two hundred others I queued in the magnificent departure lounge specially created for Dublin Belfast service.
Enter “Mr Discordant”, the man who would check our tickets and guide us through.
In the moment of his appearance the whole symphony of harmony and ease of travel disappeared.
“Ok…no pushing. You people,” and pointing to the hundred and more passengers on the left side of the queue, “you go back that way. This is the head of the queue here.”
The Chinese lady with two children looked and listened uncomprehendingly.
“Would you not let the lady and children board now?” I ask.
“After you Sir, please proceed.”
My question is ignored. I try again.
“The lady is burdened and it would help her and the children if you allowed her to pass. They can go ahead of me.”
“After you Sir, please proceed”.
Ignored again I drift off in my mind into another queue; with another people ignored and mustered by a guard, this time of the Reich, cold, uncaring, uncommunicative, separated from ordinary humanity intoning the message above the gate, “Work Shall Set You Free”.
That cruel spirit, in microcosm, was alive and well in the mind and actions of the little man on the railway that day in Dublin.