Kevin Myers: The take-over of some of the most eminent parts of London by an Irish consortium has aroused curiously little comment.
Yet the acquisition of the Savoy Hotel, the Savoy Theatre, Claridge's, the Connaught, the Berkeley and Simpson's-on-the-Strand tells a remarkable tale. For these are among the greatest institutions of London, and almost define the milieu of the ruling class of that metropolis; and they are now owned by a group of Irish Catholics.
Catholics? But does their religion count? Well, yes, actually, in Ireland it does - or rather, did. It was for a long time one of the caricatures of Irish life that enterprise, efficiency and energy were what distinguished Protestants in both parts of the island. The old cliché ran that if there were a united island, Northern Prods would be running the show in no time at all. And for much of the history of independent Ireland, there remained the lingering myth that the Protestant work ethic would ensure the minority would succeed in business, even though it largely didn't participate in politics.
Certainly, there seemed to be some justification for the belief that Protestants possessed a certain acumen the rest of the population lacked. "Protestant" companies such as Guinness, Jameson, Findlaters, Jacob's Biscuits, Bewley's and the Bank of Ireland seemed to provide confirmation of this. But why did the majority community seem so commercially inept, both before and after the Union? Well, perhaps because up until relatively recently, Ireland was to all extents and purposes a theocracy, and many of the most talented and energetic Catholics went into business all right - but into the business of saving souls and building churches.
This was a vicious circle, for whatever else can be said about a church, it cannot be said to be a generator of wealth. Capital sunk into a building where people pray will not create material wealth the way that capital sunk into building a factory will. And for all the complimentary things one could say about Irish priests and nuns building schools and hospitals in Africa and India, it can't be claimed that they were materially enriching the communities which raised them.
If you're under 30, it's almost impossible to understand how economic dysfunctionalism and religious authoritarianism were nearly the defining features of Irish life. This country once resembled an Islamic state whose laws were designed to protect the soul. Governments saw their duty as preparing as many people as possible for the next world, and the most ruthless and risible censorship in Europe governed Irish life. Films such as The Exorcist and Monty Python's The Life of Brian were banned by the Irish state censor because they contradicted the teachings of the Catholic Church.
You cannot build prosperity in a culture of intellectual repression, for wealth follows the ferment of ideas, wrong ones as well as right. Yet Ireland was not immune to global cultural forces, and from the 1960s onwards, celibacy became to be seen as unendurable, and vocations to the Catholic Church slowed and then ceased. Only political cowardice and inertia, and the unspeakable cynicism of Charles Haughey, allowed the Church to retain its extraordinary powers as long as it did. And some time around 1989, the pressure-cooker finally went pop.
Within the twinkling of a generation Dermot Desmond, John Magnier, Martin Naughton, J.P. McManus, the McCann family, Michael O'Leary and others became major players in world markets. Despite fervent opposition from reactionary, statist elements within Fianna Fáil, Ryanair was turned into the most successful airline in Europe. Dimplex blossomed into the principal international manufacturer of heaters. The McCann family did something similar in the international fruit market after they took over Fyffes. The world's mightiest football club, Manchester United, where, until Matt Busby's time, Irish Catholics were as welcome as the plague, is now effectively owned by a brace of them.
And last week, much of the heart of London was captured by an Irish consortium led by Derek Quinlan. This is the metropolis of Gilbert and Sullivan, in which the Savoy Operas were performed 118 years ago, when the city was at its imperial pinnacle, and the first Home Rule Bill was being defeated in the House of Commons.
What grounds were adduced then for the rejection of Irish self-government? That the Irish were superstitious papists, who would run their country into the ground. And indeed, when self-government came, that is nearly what happened. Yet look at the utter transformation, once the power of the Church was ended.
For it is not as if the Savoy's new owners bought into an economically depressed city. London's boom, like ours, has continued almost unbroken for over 15 years, and Derek Quinlan's consortium had to raise €1 billion, meanwhile seeing off powerful competition from Arab oil money.
There is another lesson. In both Ireland and Britain, unlike the rest of Europe, we have cut taxes, encouraged private enterprise and reduced the state's involvement in the economy. The result? Unbroken growth, and queues of immigrants at both our front doors. Thirty years ago, the Irish economy was dominated by the semi-States, the Dáil voted again to criminalise the sale of condoms, and Rome ruled. In Britain, the economy was also dominated by state-owned companies, the miners brought down the Tory government, and the long dark night of governance by the unions was under way. Neither island even had a single Michelin-starred restaurant, and bombs were exploding in Belfast, Dublin, Birmingham and London.
All changed, changed utterly. The past is another country all right, and one we've left far behind.
Let's keep it that way.