Looking Back

It was the Late Late Show of the campus. The Literary and Debating Society every Thursday night was the highlight of a more easy going era at college. It was the main subject of anticipation during the mid week and the main topic of discussion after the event. Sometimes the debates were educative, often informative but always entertaining. It was the entertainment that brought them out.

And they came in their thousands or so it seemed. The tiered benches in the Greek Hall would be perspiring. Every nook and cranny, every window ledge would accommodate people. An intimidating array of hecklers had pride of place on the elevated bench at the back of the hall. People would be huddled at the rear of the hall like recalcitrant parishioners in a country church Further huddles on big night debates would gather outside the windows. These would part only for a large gentleman with a great voice called Bill Sweeney, who, along with his entourage would attempt to enter by the window. Encouraged by hours in the Cellar Bar he would then bellow for help claiming to have been “defrenesrated” by the Auditor. Notwithstanding his late arrival, space was somehow found for him with good grace, although this did not always extend to his loungers, many of whom traded on his reputation.

The great Debate of the night would have been widely promulgated. But it was the Private Members Time that preceded the main business that was the unpredictable hilariousness, and won the largest participation. Here the heavyweights of the society squared up to the leaders of the C.T.M (Editor’s note: presumably the SU) to demonstrate whose writ ran. The result was seldom clear-cut but the night had been a success if at least one of the main protagonists had got a bloody nose. Reputations were made and humiliations inflicted. You were on your own and any betrayal of helplessness would be mercilessly exploited not just by one’s opponents, which was barely tolerable, but by the wicked intervention of the leading hecklers, which was not.

The minnows got a terrible time. A single well-timed heckle from the likes of Cillian Roddy or Kieran Muldoon could reduce a struggling debutante to a red-faced bubbling wreck. However if one was fortunate enough to dredge up a riposte for one of the long-serving gentlemen whose only business at college seemed to be a graduate of heckling, then you would be listened to in silence for the rest of the speech.

Not even visiting dignitaries were afforded an easy ride and we had them all – businessmen, diplomats, writers, academics and politicians including numerous politicians from Northern Ireland.

Pat Rabbitte, T.D.