Heritage Week is busy and, as a member of the council’s heritage committee, I’ve had a hectic few days. I also endured a most embarrassing episode at the launch of the event that landed me in a particularly hot pot of water, both politically and personally.

It’s a long story. During the election campaign, while canvassing in Drumpusheen, one of my new electoral areas, I was approached by Vincy Hennessy, a farmer who has been fighting for years to get planning permission for a new shed and a slatted unit. Part of his problem is that his farmyard at Lemmygowna, Drumpusheen, is within the walls of an old stone edifice and every time he tries to advance the cause of modernising his farmyard, he gets no further than the planning office.

In an attempt to impress this new constituent, I wrote a letter supporting his latest application for planning permission and, to my cost, I took a certain license with the facts and indulged in more than a little verbosity. I have to admit that I never even saw the farmyard or the stone edifice concerned, the nearest I got to them was the description given to me by Vincy over a hang sangwich and a pint in the local hostelry.

“’Tis a pile of auld stones and ’tis standin’ in the way of progress,” says Hennessy.

“Is it a listed buildin’?” I asked

“Is it listed?” says he, “if you stood still long enough in the one place around here they’d list yourself. The last lady I spoke to in the planning office says to me: ‘Mr Hennessy, we have to protect our past.’ And what about our future? says I. ‘That’s none of my concern,’ says she.

“Sure ’tis pointless talking to a woman who only cares about yesterday.”

That evening, after reading the notes of my conversation with Vincy, I phoned my expert adviser, Tom Cantwell. He’d surely know about this site of historic significance in Drumpusheen.

“Off the top of my head I know nothing about it,” says he, “but I’ll look it up.”

He rang me back to confirm that there is a walled structure in Lemmygowna about which little is known except that it appears to date back to druidic times.

Armed with this scant knowledge, I sat down and put pen to paper to support this ‘hardworking farmer who is being trapped in the past and forced to operate a modern farming enterprise in primitive conditions.’

‘It appears,’ I concluded, “the remnants of a minor, walled structure of dubious historical significance are more important than the future of a progressive farm family.’

I sent the letter to the planning office and a copy to Vincy. I heard nothing back from either until the bould Vincy appeared at the launch of Heritage Week with a placard in his hand and a loudhailer under his oxter.

The great and the good were gathered in county hall for the launch, but as soon as proceedings got underway, Vincy began to shout down the speakers as he brandished the placard with the slogan: “Heritage puts the dead before the living.”

He heckled all who tried to say a few words, until eventually the renowned local historian, Deaglán Mac Gearailt, intervened.

“Mr Hennessy, I’m familiar with your case and familiar with the site in Lemmygowna. This was a significant druidic site, especially during the month of May when the newborn calves were gathered for trade and people held rituals to greet the summer. The name Lemmygowna is thought to refer to the frolicking of young calves.”

“Well, Mr MacGearailt,” says Hennessy, “there’s a word that sounds like frolics and it describes perfectly what ye’re making of my farm. What’s more, I have a letter here from none other than Councillor Maurice Hickey, a member of the heritage committee, who describes the place as a minor walled structure of dubious historical significance. Now, why are ye holdin’ up the development of my farm for the sake of protectin’ a heap of stones?”

Mac Gearailt got back to his feet and delivered a major lecture on Lemmygowna. By the time he was finished, we were in no doubt but that the minor walled structure I had dismissed with such disdain, could be ranked with the Great Wall of China in terms of its significance.

To add to my embarrassment, it emerged that Hennessy has no claim to the farm aside from squatter’s rights, and has no living relations, which fairly destroys my argument that his is “a progressive family farm”. ’Tis true for Pat Rabbitte, you should be careful what you say in the heat of an election campaign

When ’twas all over I felt like a … like a … like a proper …

In common with Vincy, I think the word I’m looking for rhymes with frolics.