In a time of great flux, it's almost impossible to protect so much that had recently been deeply cherished. Traditional ways are under such cogent attack, from all directions, that it's hard to identify, never mind hold on to, all the values which are threatened. Some values are better off dead: we should trample in glee on the graves of tribal superiority and sexual prudishness. But there are some traditions which we should try to safeguard, even as they are very evidently perishing before us.
Last year Challenging Times provided a glimpse of the huge cultural shift that is under way: not one of six very bright students could identify the tune Galway Bay. In the cacophony of popular culture, how much else that up until recently was so important and obvious is now being lost? How many primary school children are taught the parlour songs of Ireland, which, because they are not deemed authentically traditional, have no protectors?
Musical identity
These songs had an enormous influence in binding the Irish at home and abroad. They gave a distinct sense of pride and of musical identity; and the greatest of all the laureates of this music was, of course, Tom Moore. What school children today are taught Moore's melodies? Is there a single school where pupils learn any of those wonderful songs which gave pride to Irishness when there was so much to despair about? Their melodies are ravishing, their lyrics still enchanting, though dated, to be sure: but there lies much of their charm.
Did children ever fail to find reassurance or pleasure in bawling out together, "Oh-ho no it was something more ekskweees-eeet steeel, oh-ho no it was something more ekskweees-eeet steeel", though not really having a clue what they were singing about? For children understood, in some vague and largely incoherent way, that there were musical things worth cherishing; and though words such as "exquisite" or "o'er" or "'twas" might not occur in too many Boyzone songs, there is something nonetheless valuable and charming about songs containing such odd expressions. Children today are taught universally to respect others - black or lesbian, disabled or deaf. In the politically correct din of non-judgmental common regard, we tend to forget that we owe as much respect to the past as we do to our contemporaries.
A cultural treasury, once let slip, is next to impossible to rediscover. To lose the melodies and the words of Moore's great ballads irrecoverably would be a great tragedy. Deirdre O'Callaghan has been gallantly fighting the good fight to restore Moore and his melodies to the mainstream of Irish popular culture: her lunchtime song recital and lecture at the National Concert Hall tomorrow (1 p.m.) is an opportunity for people to enjoy the literary and musical jewels which not merely ravished Ireland, but were emulated all over Europe.
Rugby internationals
But it is not just in music we are changing; we are in sport too. As rugby internationals have shown, we no longer even guard the traditional respect for others. They do in Limerick, fortunately. There were many wonderful features of the Munster victory over Saracens the other day, but the most uplifting was the consecration-silence the Thomond Park faithful accorded the visitors' penalties and conversions. Not merely could you hear a pin drop; the din of its slipstream echoed right across the Shannon estuary. I can think of no sporting tradition more precious that this. It is the essence of rugby.
Yet, through IRFU dilatoriness in imposing discipline on the terraces, and through the failure to inculcate standards in schools, we are increasingly hearing visiting kickers at home rugby internationals being jeered and heckled. The IRFU response to this has been to issue a bland loudspeaker reminder - usually after the heckling has started - that it is the tradition of Lansdowne Road for kicks to be taken in complete silence. Can the IRFU be so ignorant of human nature that it thinks these brats do not know that? And has it noticed that these mid-match reminders achieve absolutely nothing?
There are two solutions to this problem. One is that schoolboy tickets are sold on a specific understanding that respect for visitors is absolute and unequivocal, and that schoolboy tickets will simply be no longer be available in the event of further barracking. The other - my preferred option - is to surround the schoolboys' enclosure with 15,000 Munster supporters; and then, by God, the little urchins would learn the meaning of silence the hard way.
Lansdowne Road
This IRFU has shown it can change things. Creature comforts have improved beyond all recognition in Lansdowne Road in the past couple of years. It is dangerous idiocy for people to have their pre-match drinks in crowded pubs, and then rush into the ground at the last minute, causing potentially lethal congestion. There are enough bars nowadays in Lansdowne Road, and a pleasant enough atmosphere, for people to arrive early, to have a few drinks and some food and then maybe listen to some Moore's melodies in the pre-match entertainment from the Garda band - yet still have plenty of time to get well clear of the stadium before kick-off and defeat at the beaks of a Finches' Fifteen from the Galapagos Islands.
Actually, I have the oddest feeling: it's going to be a Triple Crown year. Mad, I know.