December 2024 saw the 25th anniversary of powers being devolved to the Northern Ireland Assembly To mark this significant event, former Agriculture Committee Clerk Paul Moore has been recounting some stories from the Assembly’s early days.
In this sixth (of eight) episodes, Paul sets out on his first foreign trip with a three-man Committee delegation to Strasbourg in support of local fishermen. Can he ensure the visit is conducted without diplomatic incident and that none of MLAs goes missing on his ‘watch’?
Audio versions of this episode (and the previous five) are available on Paul’s ‘Mister Clerk’ podcast which may be found on the Spotify, Apple and Amazon podcast platforms. Listen below:
Episode 6 – Boys on Tour to Strasbourg
It’s 4pm on Monday, the 10th of December, 2001. The Agriculture Committee delegation gathers in the Great Hall, Stormont – home of the Northern Ireland Assembly.
The delegation is led by Unionist grandee Rev Dr Ian Paisley MEP MP MLA and marshalled administratively by me, the eponymous ‘Mister Clerk’. Ours is a confident assemblage of muted ties and tasteful menswear, which ranges from my standard M&S-level off-the-peg two-piece, to the much more sartorial elegance of the elected representatives.
We have secured a meeting tomorrow in Strasbourg with the European Union Fisheries Commissioner, Franz Fischler, so we can put the case for Northern Irish fishermen. The fact that Austrian MEP Fischler oversees ‘Fisching’ – is a source of amusement – to me at least.
Dr Paisley is travelling separately in his escorted armored vehicle, while the delegation’s other two MLAs – the UUP’s George Savage (as Deputy Chair) and the SDLP’s PJ Bradley (as the member with the greatest constituency interest) – head off with me in an overpriced taxi to Belfast City Airport.
I’m bricking it. It’s my first foreign trip as Clerk, and I’m responsible for three MLAs, one of whom is the biggest figure – both metaphorically and physically – to dominate Northern Irish politics in modern times.
Despite my anxiety, it’s also strangely exciting to be accompanying such a recognisable individual. At the airport, our group (his fellow MLAs, ‘Mister Clerk’ and his bodyguards) is assumed to be the big man’s entourage – an assumption he does nothing to dispel – and there is lots of nudging and pointing at us in departures and some friendly greetings and well-wishing as we head to the Gate.
This is my first taste of a ‘celebrity’ lifestyle, and I think I might be starting to enjoy it!
The cops go only as far as the Gate – London counterparts have been tasked to meet us in Gatwick – then we’re boarded and seated in Business Class. This is another first for me – economy is only a thin curtain away but when pulled across there’s an undoubted air of importance attached to those on the right side of it.
Dr Paisley and I are in the front row with unrivalled legroom and the middle seat is empty, allowing uncompetitive access to armrests. George and PJ are similarly luxuriating in the row behind.
No sooner are we airborne than the stewardess offers Bucks Fizz and snacks. Dr Paisley declines ‘the Devil’s buttermilk’ although I’m disappointed that he doesn’t call it that. He just says “no thank you” and asks for water, while I enthusiastically accept all that’s on offer.
There’s little conversation between Belfast and Gatwick. The Chairman is clearly used to travelling, and using the time to catch up on work: a bible appears, and I get the impression his work is about spiritual, rather than political, matters and I happily leave him to it.
At Gatwick, I discern a notable difference in the ‘Paisley effect’ between the two airports. This time, there are only a few ‘whispers and points’ among the crowds, and those possibly on account of his being met by two glowering protection officers. They cheerlessly whisk the good Doctor away by car for the short hop between terminals. We, the entourage, must fend for ourselves via the public monorail, but, strangely, his journey takes longer than ours.
On the next leg of the trip, from Gatwick to Strasbourg. Dr Paisley continues to work, and I continue to enjoy the perks of this better-than-I’m-used-to class of travel. I am not quite ‘under the influence’ – I am on duty after all – but equally I think it’s a shame to turn down anything that’s ‘free’! Thankfully, Dr Paisley seems unbothered by my lack of abstinence.
We have now landed at Strasbourg and are retrieving our small amounts of luggage. In this airport, we are met by nobody at all. The place is full of self-important MEPs and their staff arriving from all over Europe, and there’s a distinct absence of whispering, neighbour-elbowing and pointing in our direction. The pond has just got a lot bigger, I think to myself.
During the layover at Gatwick, we had made a plan. Dr Paisley needs to ‘sign in’ at the European Parliament, presumably to ensure payment of expenses for the day. We had agreed that he would take a taxi to the Parliament Building, and the rest of us would sort out our own taxi for the trip to Baden Baden. That is across the border, in Germany. It is some 60km from Strasbourg, but it was the only hotel we could get at short notice. The plan is for Dr Paisley to catch up with us there.
That seemed reasonable in Gatwick, but as Dr Paisley makes his way towards the taxi area, George approaches me and expresses his doubts about leaving “the Doc” to make his way to the hotel himself. “The man is well into his seventies, you know”, he says.
George’s concern for a political opponent pleasantly surprises me, and I also think he has a point – the risk of losing an MLA on my watch will be significantly increased if we separate.
We hold a further conflab and agree that the rest of us will hitch a ride in Dr Paisley’s (paid for) taxi, then find our way from Parliament to the hotel as one group. Dr Paisley’s signing-in takes no time at all, but, inexplicably, we have to wait around four hours for another taxi to take us to the hotel.
By the time we get there, it is late and we are all tired, but I’m glad there’s still time for a few hours kip.
Early the next morning, I make my way down to the restaurant for breakfast. Dr Paisley has already been shown to a table for four, where breakfast will be brought to us – a nice touch when you’re used to buffet-style – and the waitress greets us with a very friendly (and slightly accented) “Good morning”, then asks us what we would like to order.
Ignoring the printed menu, Dr Paisley roars “I’ll have a bowl of porridge, dear!”
The waitress replies that she is “sorry, but the hotel does not have any porridge”.
“No porridge? That’s why you’re such a weak country!” bellows Dr Paisley, as heads turn throughout the breakfast room. I think he’s joking. Of course he’s joking. Isn’t he? What next? Is he going to mention the war!
He lets out a big guffaw, the waitress smiles, and a diplomatic incident with ‘the Germans’ is avoided. We duly order cooked breakfasts from the menu and the waitress scurries off to let the kitchen know.
“I’ll have some tea, please, Paul” says the big man next. I am taken aback, not at the tea delivery expectation, which has become something of a team in-joke, but by him remembering and using my name. This doesn’t happen often, and never in front of other members, when “Mister Clerk” is the norm. I supposed he feels he can’t call me “dear”.
*
Dr Paisley had got into the habit of asking the most junior Committee staff member for a cup of tea at the start of each Committee meeting, and a young clerical assistant called Niamh had recently joined the team.
When Niamh was introduced to him, Dr Paisley guffawed, saying “Ah, Niamh, I hope you’re not naïve!” and his shoulders shook with mirth at his own poetic wit, before adding his usual: “Get me a cup of tea please, dear”.
It was hardly the funniest gag anyone had ever heard, but clearly it was a keeper, as Dr Paisley repeated it at every subsequent Committee meeting Niamh attended. As I recall, she wasn’t overly happy at the tea-making orders (or, perhaps, with the comedy turn), and, after just five meetings, she’d had enough and moved on.
*
I digress. Back to Baden Baden, and breakfast.
Slightly distracted, I head off to the tea station, grab a teabag from the large number on offer, place it in a very nice little teapot and pour in the hot water from the still. I am having coffee, and I bring both back to the table. Dr Paisley allows his pot to brew for a while, then pours the tea into his white cup, where its bright red colour stands out, and a very fruity, red-berried aroma fills the air. Whoops!
“Whaaaat? I’ll not be drinking that, Mister Clerk” roars Dr Paisley. “Indeed not, Chairman, for that is not tea at all” says I, and I scuttle off to find another teapot and a proper English breakfast teabag to put in it. Dr Paisley makes a great show of opening the lid and checking the contents when I bring this one back, then takes great comedic pleasure in regaling George and PJ with the story of my heinous crime, as each of them arrives at the table.
Breakfast now over, and with best (and in my case, only) suits on, we gather at the hotel’s reception desk, where, thankfully, Germanic efficiency and the newly minted Committee credit card sees a taxi arrive within five minutes of ordering and it whisks the four of us, in silver Mercedes luxury, to the doors of European Parliament Building in Strasbourg.
After Dr P has given us a tour of the building, our group is joined by the Ulster Unionist MEP, Jim Nicholson, for a short briefing before the afternoon meeting. Jim looks very dapper, and clearly feels very at home in this place.
Jim breaks the news that John Hume, the SDLP MEP, is not going to join us today. No particular reason is given, but Dr Paisley looks disappointed that all of our MEPs aren’t going to present a united front to the Commissioner. So am I. I could understand him staying away if the delegation intended to brief against the SDLP Minister’s position, but our group is actually here in support of it.
With a sigh of resignation, Dr Paisley asks me for a copy of the Committee’s letter to Fischler – our plan is to hand-deliver the letter to the Commissioner during the meeting – and he gives it to Jim.
He nods as he reads it, apparently already familiar with the fishermen’s plight. The key issue, everyone agrees, is to seek reinstatement of the 10% cut in the Total Allowable Catch (or TAC) for Nephrops, and avoidance of a further cut.
*
We have now shifted to the MEPs’ dining room. This is no canteen. It is a lovely, high-end beautifully decorated room with crisp white tablecloths, linen napkins and smart, attentive, waiting staff. With the one empty seat at the table now forgotten, we enjoy a delicious starter and main course, with a couple of glasses of very good quality wine served discreetly to those of us who want it. Discussions continue, and the tactics for the meeting with Fischler are soon agreed.
Mr. Nicholson asks if anyone fancies dessert. My response is, frankly, unbelievable: “Oh yes, please – now that I’m here I might as well stick my snout in the trough too”!
You know the expression: ‘he has a face like thunder’? Jim’s face is exactly that, plus maybe one or two other weather systems as well – it’s worthy of a Met Office warning.
I have clearly hit a nerve. He has probably heard countless accusations levelled against him about being aboard the EU gravy train. But here he is, enjoying a working lunch on his own patch, only to have a jumped-up little Assembly official ‘putting the boot in’. Oh dear.
Jim can barely get his words out: “work extremely hard”, “long hours”, “legitimate expenses” are all phrases that I catch amidst his tirade.
I am mortified, and I can feel that my face is now the colour of the Chairman’s morning tea. All I can do is apologise and say, truthfully, that I meant nothing personal by it. I may believe that the European Parliament is a colossally wasteful institution, but this is clearly not the time, and definitely not the place, to air such views.
Dr Paisley doesn’t seem bothered by my remark. Indeed, he looks like he might even be enjoying Jim’s (and my) discomfort. George and PJ are very quiet, however, and I am concerned that I may have embarrassed them. That bothers me much more than upsetting an MEP I’ll probably never see again. Committee members must have confidence in their Clerk’s judgement, and that comment was very ill-judged.
Despite my faux-pas, I go ahead and order dessert (and coffee, to boot), as do some of the others, but the rest of the meal is somewhat quieter than the earlier courses had been.
After a bit of freshening up (and regaining composure on my part) it is now time for us to meet Commissioner Fischler. He is a bearded gentleman, and we shake hands as we enter the plush meeting room, where a couple of his officials are already seated. He seems friendly, and makes the group feel very welcome.
The Commissioner is listening attentively to the case being made, and all four of ‘our’ politicians are participating well in the exchanges. Discussions turn to the previous 10% cut in the nephrops TAC, and our ‘team’ lays it on pretty thick about the damage that has already been done to the industry, how much worse it will be if the original cuts are sustained and (heaven forbid) if additional cuts are made, and how such cuts cannot be justified by the available scientific evidence.
The Commissioner appears very relaxed throughout this heartfelt appeal. Then, one of his officials approaches him and whispers in his ear. With a nod, he then delivers his coup de grace in a classic Germanic accent:
“From what I understand, the fishermen in Northern Ireland did not declare that they reached their Total Allowable Catch for nephrops last year”.
He goes on to suggest that something similar has happened in previous years, quoting figures for the TAC versus their declared catch, which more than suggests that the 10% cut (and even further cuts) would likely do no damage at all.
I can visibly see the wind going out of the delegation’s collective sails. Dr Paisley looks round desperately to me, clearly hoping that I have some clever rebuttal for this revelation. I have none. The delegation has been done up like the proverbial kipper.
We had heard rumours that fishermen might not fully declare all of their catch all of the time, but whatever the truth of that matter, Fischler appears to be quoting from the officially declared figures, and the local fishermen did not see the fatal hole that this puts in their argument.
There’s not much more to say, although Dr Paisley still hands over the Committee’s letter. He’s raging when we get outside – mostly, I think, annoyed that the Fish Producers’ Groups have put him in a position where he has appeared foolish and ill-informed. I share his angst – it does not feel good.
To be fair to him (and as a surprise to me) his first thought is to tip Minister Brid Rodgers off about Fischler’s tactics, and he instructs me to talk to her PS as soon as possible to make sure she is aware of this before she attends the Fisheries Council meeting.
*
There hasn’t been much craic on the way home, but nor has it been all doom and gloom. There was certainly deflation among the members about how things had gone, but I can also sense a level of satisfaction from Dr P and the others that they will at least be perceived to have tried to help the local industry. Perception is at least half the battle in politics, it seems.
We’ve reached the arrivals lounge back in Belfast, and I watch as Dr Paisley, with a cheery wave to some admirers, heads off to the car with another team of Close Protection Officers who met us at the gate.
It’s time for me to head home too – exhausted but pleased to have got everyone home safe from this ‘boys on tour’.
Next time, in episode 7: In an rare piece of apparent good fortune, Paul is allowed the day off even though the Committee is due to meet. However, this backfires when he returns to find that Ian Paisley has given a master class of rabble-rousing, marching the Committee to the top of the hill and threatening to use the Committee’s statutory powers against DARD officials. Will Paul be able to retrieve the situation before members do something they might later regret?
Paul has adapted these episodes from his book: ‘Doctor Paisley and Mister Clerk – Recollections of Ian Paisley’s Agriculture Committee Years’, which is still available in paperback and e-book formats from amazon.co.uk: https://amzn.eu/d/89Lkwxq.
This is a guest slot to give a platform for new writers either as a one off, or a prelude to becoming part of the regular Slugger team.
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