The Last Straw: Ships in the harbour, ready to sail. Tearful Irish emigrants gathering what possessions they have and preparing to cross the Atlantic in the hope of a better life. Saying goodbye to the country they love but, desperate to flee poverty and oppression, gambling on an uncertain future in a foreign land.
Yes, this was the thrust of a story in the New York Times this week, which reported "unprecedented" numbers of Irish people leaving the US to return home. Tightened security has made life impossible for the illegals who arrived in the 1980s and 90s, it said. More generally, the struggle for survival in the US means that "Ireland's brand of prosperity promises a better life" now. The paper quoted an Irish waitress in New York: "Everybody's leaving, and nobody's coming over any more." Obviously, the returning emigrants are travelling by plane. But in case you think I was exaggerating, the ships really are in the harbour. The NYT said one company "had to keep its container loading dock open 24 hours a day to meet the demand of families shipping their household goods back to Ireland before school began".
And if they're not shedding tears for America, there is a note of regret among the emigrants, and worry over what awaits. As the report noted: "The Irish government now puts out brochures warning that returnees will find not the Ireland of memory, but a fast-paced multiracial society where their dollars are weak against the euro, and affordable housing is hard to find."
So the question is: what exactly can these emigrants expect here in the land of opportunity? And what advice can we give to someone who left in the 1980s, to lessen the shock when they arrive in the New World? Well, if you're such a person, probably the first thing you'll see here is Dublin Airport, which is a bit like Ellis Island in 1900, only not as organised. Assuming you make it out of the teeming baggage reclaim hall alive, your next challenge will be the streets of the capital.
After the gentle ways of New York, the sheer rudeness of Dublin may take getting used to. For example, a barman will bark: "y'all right?" And if you're new in town, you may mistake this for an inquiry after your health, rather than an invitation to order. But don't worry: you'll have at least 10 minutes to think about it before you get his attention again.
There's no gold in the streets here, by the way. They just dig them up all the time, for no reason. But the hard-drinking lifestyle is like something from a 19th century mining town. After America, you may be also shocked at the amount of it that happens outdoors, and the indifference of locals to weather conditions. In this country, we believe strongly in the right to bare arms, which is why you'll see beer drinkers in T-shirts in the middle of the street, even though it's minus 6 degrees.
Another thing you'll notice here is that, unlike America, everything is new. If you left in the 1980s, maybe you're looking forward to coffee and buns in Bewleys? Ha, ha! We closed that joint years ago. Remember Trinity College? We're putting the railroad through there soon. In fact, it's an exciting time for railroads here: chances are you'll end up working on them. The next big project will involve joining up the two great routes of the east and west - the Red line and the Green line - to provide an unbroken link all the way from Sandyford to Tallaght. Imagine that!
But maybe you'll leave the big city altogether and take your chances out on the frontier. In Limerick perhaps, where the locals are colourful and lawmen are scared; or Donegal, where it's the other way round; or the vast, unspoilt wilderness of Leitrim, where a man can still live free. Cheaply, anyway. Wherever you go, life in Ireland will be tough. You'll probably find yourself singing nostalgic songs about the old country, with lines such as: " . . . and I woke in Cabinteely, many miles from Capitol Hill." But you'll do well here, if you work hard and don't get sick.
By the way, we considered building a statue of welcome in Dublin Bay, with an inscription inviting the US to send us its poor and downtrodden. After legal advice, however, we opted for an abstract monument in O'Connell Street, which can be interpreted as a welcome, if you like, but couldn't form the basis of any claim against the State. If it had an inscription, it would be limited to: "Send me your non-smokers, yearning to breathe free."
Having said all that, it's good to see you again. Have a nice day now.
