The countdown to Christmas is in full swing, but Ray D’Arcy is in no mood for celebration. “Have you been following Cop28 in Dubai at all?” he asks intently, if somewhat incongruously, on Tuesday’s programme (The Ray D’Arcy Show, RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays). Adopting a disgruntled manner, he deems it predictable that the climate summit is bogged down in negotiations, as it’s hosted by a Gulf state – “It’s like asking the turkeys to vote for Christmas” – and bemoans such machinations in the face of an existential crisis. “Anyhow, we’ll keep an eye on that,” D’Arcy concludes, promising a level of vigilance not seen since the Skibbereen Eagle kept a wary watch on the czar.
His interest thus noted, D’Arcy moves on to other pressing matters, such as social media posts on the differing amounts of various chocolates in festive sweet tubs. Moreover, he doesn’t comment on Cop28′s fudged final agreement during Wednesday’s opening monologue, preferring to note how short the days are in December. At times like this, the dichotomy between D’Arcy the earnestly concerned citizen and Ray your breezily diverting chum makes for clunky listening, less carefully curated selection of subjects than messy mishmash of topics.
This is frustrating, because – as ever – the host is at his best when engaging with real-world issues, as when speaking to former Miss Ireland Pamela Uba about her recent hair transplant surgery. Such procedures have been a fixture on the airwaves of late, from Dáithí Ó Sé's much-trumpeted scalp replenishment to horror stories about botched operations in Turkey, but D’Arcy’s interview is more novel and absorbing.
D’Arcy sounds genuinely curious towards his guest, as opposed to dutifully attentive. He also stays focused on the human element of the story
Uba details how she developed an ambivalent attitude towards her hair as a black woman in Ireland. Hairdressers were unwilling to style her hair, and people were wary of her wearing it naturally: “Time was you couldn’t go into a job interview with an afro.” Accordingly, Uba used relaxants to straighten her hair, only to start losing it, eventually prompting her procedure. D’Arcy is informed throughout, referencing Irish writer Emma Dabiri’s book on the subject, Don’t Touch My Hair. “I wouldn’t go up to you and randomly touch your hair,” Uba remarks. “Well, I don’t have any to touch,” the smooth-pated host replies with rueful self-deprecation. Drawing together themes of society, fashion, race and personal experience, it’s a thought-provoking conversation.
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D’Arcy’s discussion about healthcare for the homeless with Ann-Marie Lawlee, clinical nurse manager at St James’s Hospital, is a bleaker affair. Lawlee reveals that life expectancy for homeless men is 43 years, and only 38 years for women: “It’s very stark, isn’t it?” But host and guest don’t wallow in despair. Instead, Lawlee outlines the achievements of the hospital’s “inclusion health” programme, while D’Arcy sounds genuinely curious towards his guest, as opposed to dutifully attentive. He also stays focused on the human element of the story. He recounts meeting a homeless man who had suffered childhood trauma, and reiterates how crucial a home is to lasting health outcomes: “What Peter McVerry often talks about is: housing first,” the host says.
These segments underline D’Arcy’s ability to tackle knotty topics in accessible fashion. Equally, the host is right to lighten the mood at times. He’s clearly enjoying himself when chatting to roving reporter Sinéad Ní Uallachain as she prepares to go ice-skating for the first time. (Meanwhile, the indefatigable Ní Uallachain has become a ubiquitous presence on Radio 1: she’s also found swapping traffic updates with Shay Byrne on Rising Time.) D’Arcy’s spikily affable yet naturally inquiring persona has always made him a versatile broadcaster, but such is the variety of material he covers in his afternoon slot that his talents can paradoxically seem underutilised. More chewy items could sharpen things up.
Edward Cecil Guinness, powered by a progressive social vision, established the housing charity that replaced the teeming slums around St Patrick’s Cathedral with the solid, self-contained buildings that still stand there
Elsewhere, the Documentary on Newstalk strand carries a stirring story for the times, about a tycoon who recognises that proper housing is vital for a strong, just society and, more pertinently, who does something about it. Unfortunately, the time in question was 130 years ago, but The Iveagh Trust: How Ireland’s Richest Man Housed Dublin’s Poor (Newstalk, Sunday, repeated on Saturday) still has a contemporary resonance. Sarah Stacey’s feature looks at the eponymous Dublin apartment complexes built from the 1890s on at the behest of brewing magnate Edward Cecil Guinness. “He had a vision of safe, clean and affordable housing for the city’s working population,” says Stacey, whose family grew up in the south inner city flats.
It wasn’t a purely altruistic project. Historian Cathy Scuffil comments that Guinness, then head of Europe’s biggest brewery, knew his wealth depended on a healthy labour force, an elusive goal when Dublin’s workers lived in overcrowded tenements. But powered by a progressive social vision, he established the housing charity that replaced the teeming slums around St Patrick’s Cathedral with the solid, self-contained buildings that still stand there. Nowadays, the living quarters seem spartan – Stacey’s father Pat recalls his family flat only got an indoor toilet in 1980 – but they provided families with the security, space and basic sanitation they previously lacked. Just as crucially, the apartments provided a sense of community. “You felt safe because you were part of this one big block,” Pat remembers.
Combining family memoir and social history, it’s an heartening account of how the Iveagh Trust – now chaired by Edward’s great-great-grandson Rory Guinness – helped transform the lives of ordinary people, while painting a vivid portrait of a bygone working-class Dublin. But it’s hard to avoid parallels with the housing crisis that hobbles contemporary Ireland, and Stacey’s documentary duly draws them. “Social justice isn’t just a throwaway line,” says former Iveagh community worker Kelley Bermingham, “If we don’t pay attention to it, we run the risk of a fractured society.”
Times have changed, but that’s as true today as it was a century ago. If only today’s moguls had Edward Cecil Guinness’s conscience.
