#000 - The meeting that started it all ...

Welcome to The Ballygobbard Project. We’re so glad you’re here.

In February 2024, the residents of Ballygobbard, an Irish village of approximately 900 people, gathered in the local Scouts Den for a community meeting. Curiosity had been piqued by notices posted through letterboxes and on windows of local businesses promising news of a ‘windfall’. Even though the evening was rainy and the meeting coincided with the weekly Zumba with Mags class at a nearby gym, it was standing room only. Among those present was Sylvia DeRossa, a journalist for the County Chronicle newspaper. The following is her report…

MIXED REACTION FROM RESIDENTS AS BALLYGOBBARD WINS INAUGURAL PUBLIC PRIDE OF IRELAND GRANT

“Is that not what the internet is for?” – locals confused as time capsule project is announced

By Sylvia DeRossa

The first disturbance of the night came when Ballygobbard resident Jamesie Kelly used his crutch to push open one of the small windows that circle the Scout Den, just below the ceiling. Several of those attending the village meeting voiced their protest about the barely-above-freezing temperatures outside. One woman – Teresa ‘Tessie’ Daly, an organiser – opened her coat to show a hot water bottle tied to her middle with a scarf. Kelly continued his crusade to open windows, pointing to the condensation already gathering on the walls, and the multiple Superser gas heaters glowing around the hall. His concerns about carbon monoxide poisoning fell on deaf ears, with one local jibing that Kelly ‘can be the canary, tweet tweet’. With good-natured laughter, he took his seat.

It is a wonder there was such a turnout on a night like this, cold and damp. And yet, they continued to stream in, playing musical chairs with the available seating to ensure that every elderly and vulnerable attendee could rest their legs. At twenty to eight, a sharp and persistent knock drew attention to the front of the room. Una Hatton, member of the local Tidy Towns Committee, was on her feet, banging a small gavel. To her left was Tessie Daly, and to her right the parish priest, Father James Fenlon, who looked a little bemused. All eyes on her, Hatton held up a piece of paper. “You’re wondering why we’ve brought you here, no doubt.”

“Did we win the Lotto? Are we getting a waterpark?” came a cheeky voice from the back of the hall. Hatton didn’t answer, instead making a grand gesture of unfolding the paper and beginning to read. “Dear residents of Ballygobbard, it brings me great pleasure to inform you that you are the recipients of─”

At this point an excited murmur danced to life. Snippets of “we did win the feckin’ Lotto”, “Tidy Towns overall, has to be”, “maybe we’re getting a Big Tesco” darted around the crowd, before Hatton pulled them back in with a marked raise of her voice.

“─THE RECIPIENTS OF the Public Pride of Ireland Small-to-Medium Village Division Time Capsule Grant. We feel─”

The second disturbance of the night was marked by loud cries of dismay, gasps and tuts. Hatton was drowned out by disappointed shouts, with one local clamouring that he had chosen the meeting over the latest episode of The Chase. It was Constance Swinford, a tall and striking woman standing by the door and seemingly immune to the cold, who spoke up and over them in a clear tone. “Folks, let’s hear the woman out, for goodness’ sake.”

Continuing among a rumble of discontent, Hatton explained to the locals that they are the recipients of the inaugural national time capsule grant, aimed at encouraging the village to engage in a “living project, The Ballygobbard Project”, as well as curating a trove of artefacts for future generations to enjoy when the capsule is opened in a hundred years. “Is that not what the internet is for?” called a voice from the middle of the room. “Aha, we thought you might ask that,” Hatton replied, before handing the floor to Tessie Daly, who explained “the idea is to produce a physical record from this exact time in Ballygobbard history”. She went on to ask the attendees to imagine a fiery future where the internet is no more, but the time capsule, buried far beneath the burning soil, continues to hold the secrets of 2024. There was another disruption where several crying children were removed from the hall, but then the questions continued apace. “What’ll go in it?” “Are you two in charge of it?” “Do we get paid if we do it?” Hatton took charge of the room again.

“Our first task is to form a committee. We propose five people in total, including Tessie Daly and myself.” At this point she noted that Father Fenlon had already delivered his regret that he could not form part of the committee, valiantly proposing that the project should remain secular. Several locals I spoke to after the meeting speculated that the parish priest had, in fact, become overworked of late, owing largely to the death of his housekeeper, Mrs Bowles. “Father Fenlon might be a man of the cloth, but he’s not a man of the washing machine or the gas hob,” one resident confided, asking to remain anonymous.

With three committee spots to fill, Hatton and Daly asked for volunteers. The first tentative hand was that of Peter Mahon, a relative “blow-in” who has been part of the BGB – as Ballygobbard is known locally – community for fifteen years. There was a slight delay while Hatton and Daly argued quietly about who should be the first to say “aye” to Mahon’s appointment to the committee, with the solution that they would agree to take turns. At this point the atmosphere in the room had turned restless, with some zipping up coats and donning scarves. “Anyone else?” called Hatton, ignoring the mischief of some teenagers nominating each other. Another hand went up, this time that of Terry Crowley, a local taxi driver and a popular choice if the cheer around the hall was to be believed. “The nosiest fecker in Ireland,” was how another anonymous source described him afterwards, adding “he’ll be in his element”. It was agreed that Tessie Daly would approve Terry with an “aye” and Una Hatton would second it.

With one position left to fill, it seemed like nobody might volunteer, until Hatton’s voice rang out across the buzzing crowd. “Is that your hand, Aisling?” I followed her gaze to see the younger woman’s cheeks flush pink. Her protestations were difficult to hear, but she appeared to be indicating that she was merely stretching. This was ignored as both Hatton and Daly loudly proclaimed “aye” at the same time, abandoning their system in their haste to recruit the woman. Speaking to the County Chronicle afterwards, Aisling indicated that she had actually attended the meeting based on information she received about a draw for a Dyson Airwrap hair styler. Asked if she intended to take up her place on the committee, she said, “I was on the editorial team for the school magazine in fourth year and managed to talk Avril Keogh out of publishing her Home and Away fanfiction, so maybe I can do some good for The Ballygobbard Project.” She also recalled how she and her best friend used to make their own time capsules when they were children and bury them under trees for their older selves to dig up. Unfortunately, the map of locations was lost in a fire at the home of her friend several years ago. “Maybe it’s a sign to try again,” she said brightly, before turning on her headlamp and phone torch and marching out into the frigid February night.

The first committee meeting of The Ballygobbard Project will take place next week, with residents expected to be asked to start thinking about suitable artefacts to contribute. Father Fenlon ended the meeting with a blessing and a request that no more lasagnes be left at his door as his fridge-freezer has now reached capacity.

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Coming next week: The inaugural BGB Project committee meeting gets off to a rocky start…