There are a few similarities between Sinn Féin's Matt Carthy and Fianna Fáil's Thomas Byrne. Both are boyish-looking 36-year-olds and are married with four and three children respectively. But when Carthy mentioned his four during the Prime Time debate, Twitter was agog. Four children when he looked about Confirmation age?
The demeanour of broody concern in the official photograph makes sense now. To appear more mature, he was directed to look serious. The result – on every available pole between Dublin and Donegal – has attracted a new swath of admirers. “You know what the young ones are calling him? Mr Smouldering,” sighed a despairing garda.
On Monday, he is more Mr Chatty. Maybe because he occupies third place in The Irish Times/ Ipsos MRBI poll.
Born in England and reared in Carrickmacross with Cullaville "only 12-13 miles up the road", Carthy's teenage years were immersed in stories about Bobby Sands, "my idol", and Kieran Doherty, "a TD who died for what he believed in".
A “lazy” student, he stuck the marketing course in DIT for a year before getting work as a press officer and constituency organiser for the party. Once elected county councillor in Carrickmacross at 21, he climbed the ranks and is now a member of Sinn Féin’s ardchomhairle.
The creation of a united Ireland is what drives him, he says earnestly, as his campaign manager brings tea and chocolate digestives in Gerry Adams's bustling constituency office, across from Dundalk's courthouse. "But it's not about creating a 32-county version of this State. We want the republic that was envisaged by the people of 1916."
Bright side
This is Sinn Féin heartland. Several of the party's 13 elected representatives for the area turn up for the canvass. One reports that all the Sinn Féin posters have disappeared from Termonfeckin and Dromin – about 16 in total. "Sure look on the bright side – you won't have to take them down on Sunday," says Carthy cheerfully.
He stops outside Goldstar Jewellery: "I think I bought my wife's engagement ring in here." The owner emerges and there's a lively story about the Carthys' wedding reception in the Druid's Glen Hotel on the same day that Brian Cowen had the famous dinner there with Seán FitzPatrick. It may be a set-up but it's an entertaining one.
Later on, a woman says casually that she doesn’t vote. Carthy pleads with her: “It’s no mistake that the richest people vote 99 per cent of the time. Why do you think the cuts target people who are earning the least or depending on community services? Do me that one favour please, I’m beggin’ you. Please vote. We don’t have a right to complain unless we vote.” The big job is not to convince the voters but to get them out on Friday, he says.
As we proceed through the town, it’s a rare one who turns a face away from the big entourage, of which young Carthy is the clear leader, forging onwards. “Never voted for anyone else in my life,” says a Paddy Power customer. “You don’t have to ask that question,” says another. It’s probably another set-up, since Kevin Meenan in Carthy’s team, happens to be the deputy manager, but the tone is credible.
Debate
As they head off in the impressive fleet of Carthy cars, he's telling anyone who asks that Sinn Féin is going to have four MEPs in Europe. Next stop Galway, for a big candidates' debate on local radio.
That's where Thomas Byrne, the Trinity-educated solicitor, Senator and former TD, is headed too. His day begins with an 8.30am interview on Raidió na Gaeltachta, another on Midwest Radio, then the big debate on Galway FM. This is when the candidates dredge up local connections or manufacture them (usually the wife's side). Pat the Cope's loudspeakers are blasting out Galway Girl in a van doing an interminable loop of the city. Lorraine Higgins has posters urging voters to "Send a Galway girl to Europe". Meanwhile, Byrne's election tune is Ellie Goulding's Burn, which is clever. Byrne/Burn – geddit?
Maximum visibility
We find him looking outstandingly tall in a good dark suit, if a tad nervy, outside Debenhams in the Corrib centre. It's well off the main street and since the mission is maximum visibility, it doesn't seem ideal. He is explaining why – "because it's nearly all locals here rather than tourists" – when an elderly woman asks if he is pro-life. "I am," he says firmly (he voted against the legislation), but adds that, "Europe has nothing to do with abortion. It's a national issue. A lot of people are saying that Europe is forcing it on us – they can't".
A man says he turns off his radio and television during election campaigns – “because we’ll see none of them after Friday”.
A pensioner counts off all the levies and charges on his fingers and says, “They don’t realise it . . . they’re doing a good job in a sense but they’re going about it in the wrong way.”
David Burke, a local candidate, persuades Byrne back towards the high street, where we immediately meet some Germans, an English couple and a man from Kilkenny (who might as well be from England). “I had about five promises of number ones back at Debenhams,” says Byrne, a bit wistfully. It’s clear that people like the look of him but many have no idea where he’s from or what he stands for.
But he will not be discouraged. “The polls are all within the margin of error. I always knew I had a 50/50 chance. I did my own poll,” he says, turning to tell someone his great- great-great-great-great uncle built Knock parish church.
Jim Higgins appears, flanked by John O’Mahoney and Hildegarde Naughton. “I think it’s okay,” he says of his poorish poll position. He thinks the massive 2011 Mayo vote for FG will get him there.
Asked what he thinks, Tom Nally the barber gets serious: "That bog thing is huge in Connemara and there are Fianna Fáil people going over to Ming." Ming's advice was always to listen to the barber.
