Rte... what have you done

It's 1978 and I've just discovered Dallas. My father is sitting on his armchair, a ring of cigarette smoke rising between his fingers,  his pioneer pin twinkling against the crisp light of the big box showing Sue Ellen throw ice into a large glass of water and smile as it drips down her lip. Jr is playing a game with a woman that apparently Sue Ellen doesn't like so I've decided not to tell her coz I'm thinking Jr shouldnt be playing silly games and Sue Ellen breaks a lot of glasses and spills the water she's drinking....

The house is silent, apart from my mother muttering about children and dishes banging in the kitchen and every now and again one of my sisters swing a kick at another sister and I'm grateful I'm under the chair hiding.. if Daddy catches me though I'm getting more than a kick. I'm getting sent into the middle of next week which doesn't sound like a good place.....

Oh the memories, and some of the best ones were watching the big box in the corner of the room. The new big box that promised us hope and comfort, gathered us to look at the same space in the house at the same time. The big box that cost money most of us didn't have, but all of us didn't care because we wanted that big box

It was Ireland, a country of feck all but we had feck all together. Having almost nothing meant we shared more, laughed more and when we cried, we cried in a houseful of neighbours and friends catching the tears....

It was Ireland... was...

What happened to us?

When did the big box become something that no longer connected us. When did those who could, decide that they would deceive us. When did they become so damn smug that we were forced to pay a licence for the privilege. What happened to our Ireland

Our little land of A hundred thousand welcomes has become a stranger to us. No longer we gather united, no longer we meet to connect over something we believe in....

The national broadcaster has chosen deceit and wealth, the rich have chosen to trod on the poor and the government has chosen to forget we ever had a happy ending in our poor fairytale of family life....

Meanwhile, in my memories, my father is sitting in his favourite chair twirling his half smoked cigarette while his children argue and laugh and half kill each other and my mother is wringing her hands in her apron wondering how the kitchen could ever look clean again, but it's 1978 and if you ask anyone they'll tell you that life can't get much better than this.....

RTE... you have well and truly shattered the memories of thousands of families in Ireland and I hope you spend your ill gotten gains well because you'll never again be part of our hearts or our past

You'll be poorer for having lost us....

Valerie Masters