There are some basic facts that in my previous writings’ I might have omitted, taken as common knowledge or basically forgotten to point out. They mainly concern the workings of the solidarity camp itself. When I first came here there were quite a few people milling about and passing through. It was coming to the end of the summer, and every weekend there were people from all over the country passing through, helping out and contributing to the camp either as a member or as a subject of conversation. However at my arrival there was a definite inner circle. Also, the camp itself had become fractured. Originally, the camp consisted of a network of, ‘benders’ (large domed tents made of hazlewood and tarps) and a central communal building set amongst the sand dunes of broadhaven bay, along with an office/house in Glencastle. However, just around the time of my appearance, the camp had an injunction placed against it, forcing most of the members to move to a house atop a hill overlooking the estuary. The house, is a four bedroom bungalow without electricity central heating or hot water. It was abundant with bedding and beds and has the most spectacular view, although the walk from the pub will give you an asthma attack.
The house on the hill.
The view from the house.
When I first appeared on the scene, the house’s residents were, monotone English/Swedish ‘Glasto’ Dave, tall talkative Ray, pixie gypsy john and Kate, a slim, blonde, ’savoury vegan’ girl who lived in a converted police van out front. After the first week we were joined by Aron, one of the old school lot, who’d help build the beach camp and took the form of a small dwarf like man, sporting long blonde hair and a blazing ginger beard. On camp lived, the original dark horse, Owen, Maternal hippy Julie and anarchist skinhead Bob (although that’s not his real name.). Carl was the main resident and guardian of the office, a large, middle-aged hackney lad with a dear love of arsenal football club and bad language, conversations between us sound like an x-rated only fools and horses. After the first week, john and ray had left. Leaving Kate, Dave occasionally Aron and myself as the house crew, Eoin, Julie and Bob as the camp occupiers.
On my return, things are very different. Julie and Kate are in England, dealing wit family tribulations, Bob is on a haitus. He was one of the founders of the solidarity camp and after nearly two years of being part of a protest movement, threatened with arrest and living in a permanent tent, he understandably needed a rest. The winters here are renowned for being harsh and dark. As we’re on the coast of the atlantic, you can imagine the kind of unabated weather that we’re open too. Thrashing wind and rain, that nearly picks you off your feet.
With the winter closing in, and the camp needing to be shut down, the main job was to get a solar panel up on the house for electricity. Cooking in candlelight, although romantic, is a fucking pain in the arse, as is cleaning the kitchen. That’s why, the house’s interior generally looked like a French peasent used to live in it, before leaving for greener pastures.
Aron is pretty much in charge when it comes to anything mechanical or built. He pretty much overlooked and was the main force in the construction of the camp, owns the camera I film on, and this laptop that I’m writing this on. He is an engineer by trade, and has pretty much adopted the role of alpha male. He’s a mardy bastard though. Probably much in the same way others have called me mardy, affection comes in a tirade of abusive nicknames, all problems are someone elses fault, nobody apart from Aron know’s what they are doing and he’s the authority on everything. Now this isn’t entirely untrue, but it can be slightly irritating at times. Oh, and he doesn’t talk in the mornings. It took me two weeks to figure out it wasn’t anything personal and he ignores everyone then. He calls us his dogs, I call him amngst other things, santa’s angry nephew, glumli, and mardy the eighth dwarf. He’s like a norse god of diy, and a very important lynchpin to the group. To be honest if he wasn’t about nothing would get done.
So, the first few days of my return saw little or no action. We painted, welded, cleaned and drilled. I learnt a little about solar panels, exchanged a lot of abuse held the ladder a lot. What was new, was the fact that RPS, an engineering firm, that is basically a flunky of Shell had been drilling core samples along the proposed pipeline route. This is a pipeline that will run 300 bar pressure unrefined gas a few hundred meters away from peoples houses up to a refinery. It’s so dodgy, nobody will claim responsibility for the safety on it. It’s a strange situation.
The drilling that was going on at this point was a few hundred yards from the camp, on the beach. This is the same area, we have to move off because it’s a, ’special area of conservation’ protected under Eu law. Well, we had to do something.
I’ll tell you what later.
Oooh, tension.
Tags: , bertie ahern, broadhaven bay, corruption, county mayo, eire, garda, Ireland, marathon, pullathomas, rossport, rossport solidarity camp, shell, shell to sea, statoil
