Meet Daniel O’Connell

Meet Daniel O’Connell [Pictured right] and apparently, according to my long-dead maiden aunt, he’s an ancestor of mine although the spurious connection is tenuous to say the least.

Gertie, my long-dead maiden aunt, was always proud to claim Irish heritage and even though she never left Australian shores, considered herself more Irish than Australian (with a name like Moloney, I suppose there was some justification.)

She would tell me tall tales of her (and my) ancestry including the connection to Daniel O’Connell – one of Ireland’s famous sons and national heroes.

Daniel (we’re on a first name basis), according to Gertie, was the great, great, great grandfather of a nephew of a second cousin of a grandmother of a half sister of another cousin, once removed my marriage and twice removed by Guinness………..that’s about how tenuous the connection is.

Daniel O’Connell’s bronze statue stands proud at the beginning of the street that bears his name – O’Connell Street, Dublin’s pumping aorta along which flows the lifeblood of the nation’s capital.

O’Connell Street is a broad, bustling boulevard that hums by day and buzzes by night.  Lined with sassy shops and a generous but not unirish collection of bars and pubs, it’s the urban showpiece of this vibrant city.

Traffic thumps down O’Connell St with relentless aggression – cars, busses, bikes, taxis and vans with wide pavements groaning under the weight of a moving sea of pedestrians that waves along the length of the street in perpetual motion and  on a Friday evening, as the working week comes to an end, they’re heading to the bars and pubs.

It’s a spring evening and by Australian standards the temperature is relatively cool – it’s about 13 degrees, but that’s warm enough for the locals to sit outside and enjoy a glass of something; their presence adds a certain street theatre to the scene.

The street is busy. Everybody is busy. They all seem to be in a rush to get somewhere fast. The shops and restaurants are full and the traffic mounts and as the light begins to fade and day slowly slides into night, the street becomes illuminated and swims in a bath of fluorescence. The steady beat of the street goes on and is not deterred by the onset of evening.

The sounds of O’Connell Street are loud and welcoming. People talking to each other and laughing as they rush past, people on mobile phones and others being quietly entertained by their iPods. There’s one man singing along to himself as he walks – and he’s not even wired for sound.  Buskers and beggars jostle for position on their stage as they play their role in the production. 

[Pictured left – a busy O’Connell St]

It’s a conversation street.  Some people talking about the shops, the week’s activities, the prospect of a long weekend or a post-mortem of the week past.

Whatever they’re talking about, they all revel in that great Irish art of conversation.

I stand in the middle and over my shoulder, eaves drop on what’s being said. As the couple pass, laughing and talking, I miss their discussion but I can tell, it’s passionate. They’re not talking to me or about me but I feel included. I feel welcome in O’Connell Street, even though I’m on my own. I feel a part of a thousand conversations.

I hear another voice, a distant but commanding voice that sounds somehow familiar.

“I know you, don’t I?” the voice says as I swing my head 90 degrees.

For a split second I can’t see any one of the thousands of people on O’Connell St………….They’ve all disappeared.

All I can see is the imposing bronze statue of Daniel O’Connell beaming down at me from his granite pedestal. He’s staring at me, just me.

“I don’t know” I reply quietly, almost to myself. “But I sure know you, I’m Gertie’s nephew”.

A Report by Kevin Moloney, international travel writer and Travel Mole correspondant – on location in Ireland – brought to you by Emirates, Aer Lingus, Driveaway Holidays and Tourism Ireland.