THE square in Freshford, Co Kilkenny, is one of the most strikingly beautiful in the State. Two triangles of grass with a road cutting diagonally through are surrounded by a magnificent stand of pink blossomed chestnut trees, the whole edged with neat Georgian houses. In England it would be a village green with cricket at weekends, but this is hurling territory and very Irish.
As Mary White, the Green Party's candidate in Carlow/Kilkenny, strides through on her canvass. a voice announces from a hole in the ground: "There's Mary Black!" Three road workers sit in the hole, on their 11 a.m. break, eating chocolate ice cream cones, the witty one giving his game away by the wide grin on his face.
Mary White has walked 2,500 miles on her canvass so far; the equivalent, almost, of a brisk march from Dublin to Beirut. Retracing her steps to canvass the hardhats in the hole was nothing to her. The conversation was pleasant enough, but one of the men persisted with the questions: "We want to know who you are. Tell us who you are."
In rural Ireland that is one of the most loaded questions that can be asked. It cannot be answered merely by giving name, rank and serial number. This query searches out your breed, seed and generation and, in the context of a constituency which embraces two counties, it demands to know from which of these counties you come.
In this case, as a Carlow woman canvassing in Kilkenny, Mary White admonished those who raised the question with the statement: "To a Green TD geographical boundaries mean nothing."
Everywhere she goes she is recognised and everywhere she goes she seems to raise an issue which strikes a chord with voters. Most who answer the door on this sweltering morning are women and are told that Carlow/Kilkenny has never elected a woman TD. The men, she says, have held local power in "their hot little hands" for three quarters of a century.
Security is a key factor for women. "I rang 29 Garda stations after 7 o'clock and only three of them answered," she told one woman. To another it was "There's the baby crying, I'll leave you to it. A male candidate wouldn't say that to you, would he?"
On a leafy boreen out of town she takes a deep breath: "Ah, the smell of slurry. It's beautiful," she announces to a correspondent whose nose is pinched between thumb and forefinger.
Between houses she talks about her experiences on the campaign, about the man who asked her to feel his artificial leg, about the fishermen who are up in arms about the vanishing salmon in a constituency through which some of the major river systems in the country flow, about what she described as extreme resentment at Mary Harney's statement on single mothers.
"In Tullow four single mothers and their children have been put in one house. I think they'll all vote Green. I only met one woman on the entire campaign who supported the PD view on single mothers. I met lots who were vehemently opposed."
Most women in the Freshford area indicate they will give Mary White some sort of preference on June 6th. "We'll give you something," they tell her. It's a common occurrence, she says.
In other parts of the constituency she has been told: "We'll give you a scratch." One man, however, volunteers that he will give her the Number One. He has seen the Nore turn white with pollution a few times recently and this has had a striking effect on him. His wife and daughter, he says, are of the same mind.
Mary White seems certain there are thousands of others like him. She is convinced she will take a seat.
