Much has changed since the years when boat-loads of heavy-hearted Irishmen left their families behind in search of work in England. Now Ireland is booming and I am one of the many English people to leave my country for a "better life" here, writes Stella White.
Who would not be tempted by Ireland's thriving economy - its glamorous jobs, dazzling shops and a buzzing, optimistic Dublin? Ireland has never "had it so good". The improvement in personal comfort is undeniable. Homesteads centrally heated by oil or gas, rather than smouldering turf fires, are surely cosier. Potatoes are no longer a staple, thanks to a kaleidoscope of exotic cuisine. Youths burn with lust instead of guilt. Workers no longer tramp or cycle home but drive warm, smart cars.
But it was none of these developments that made me settle here. The Ireland that silently entered my blood was the old Ireland, with all its beautiful wrinkles - the real Ireland that waits like a wise, patient grandmother for the Celtic Tiger mania to pass.
I found my "better life" in a small village on the west coast. Here, strangers offer me a lift and I take it, because we trust each other. The driver doesn't stab, rape or rob me, but says: "That's my corporal work of mercy for the day".
In my rugged patch of Ireland, everyone around the bar is equal, whatever their age, incoherence or ferocious facial hair. Every drinker is entitled to the kindness and respect of a listening ear, however long-winded and repetitive their tale. Shops are not faceless chain-stores with automated call centres but families proud of their names. Shops have seats so that elderly gossips can linger and be loved.
Where I live there are still doors left open (or with keys in them), and children roaming freely who say "How are yer?" There are farmers who cherish their cows and let calves grow up at their mother's side. Every villager sings - in church or in the pub - and each one can dance. When someone dies, everyone comes. When someone is born, everyone knows. When someone's marriage is in trouble, everyone is nosy and would save it if they could. When a neighbour lost €10,000 to con men, three villages repaid him. We worry about each other's health. We cheer each other up. We are one body, one soul.
The better life I sought does not lie in Ireland's new bleached housing estates, nor in the Golden Calf shopping mall, nor with those multinational companies which "bring work" to depressed areas as an experiment then ruthlessly snatch it away.
I was not drawn to Ireland by its new TV shows that slavishly ape and regurgitate the worst of Anglo-American pulp: mindless quiz shows, celebrity worship and bimbo presenters. I take refuge in TG4. There I learn about singing to the sea, priests with crooks to save one's virginity and crafts that were never cost-effective but soothed the soul.
Swifter than any previous invader, commercialism is ravaging Ireland - desecrating the countryside, strangling small businesses, replacing community ties with a mentality that screeches "Me First". It is now fashionable to be a "go-getter" or a "high flier", to "look after number one", to be "pro-active", "driven", "motivated" and all the other city euphemisms used to describe the conversion of a human being into a selfish, ruthless earning machine.
No one would begrudge Ireland its new affluence or wish its people back in an age of poverty, tyranny and misery. The question is: can Ireland enjoy rapid economic growth and still preserve its social values? I believe it can, because it is your Ireland and it can be anything you want it to be. But in the rush to power, in the ecstasy of your shining success, the delicate threads of trust could easily be torn.
Do you spend more time on greed than on gratitude? Is your workplace full of kindness and sympathy, or fear, jealousy and cut-throat competition? Would you betray your colleagues for money? Would you put petty rules before imaginative compassion? Would you ignore a needy neighbour while buying or earning? Does your work exploit vulnerable people or involve lying, cheating or overcharging? Would you tread on others' heads to get to "the top", whatever godless goal that may be? Maybe the old Ireland will be grieved for only when it is too late, like the grandmother whom you neglected but, deep down, loved so desperately.
Dublin is no more protected than Moscow, London, Las Vegas or any other cities that prove economic growth without conscience can spew forth the stuff of nightmares. Who sets limits? Wake up, Ireland, before the statue of Daniel O'Connell is replaced by a giant Mickey Mouse wearing plastic breasts; before your churches are converted into casinos, your farms into car-parks and the GPO becomes a McDonald's. Wake up, before you find yourself paying to rest on a stone wall, to enjoy your beaches, climb your hills, or breathe Irish air.
I never came to Ireland to ride the Celtic Tiger. I came here for the peace that comes from a simple life. I came to watch the crows soar down the mountains and out towards the glittering sea. But above all, I came here for the sweetness of the Irish people and the love that informs their every sound and gesture. May that never be sold for "progress".