The Whole Hogge with Jacqueline Hogge

NEIGHBOURS are a funny thing. You can be blessed with them or cursed, and I should know as I've come through periods of living next door to angels and devils in my time. There was a real fear during the boom times that in losing the run of ourselves we had lost sight of the value of community, and the social structures that enhance our lives on a daily basis. As estate after estate flew up throughout the country, often in areas where the housing need wasn't exactly obvious, an influx of â€Ëœoutsiders' began to occupy areas where there was a distinct lack of a community being fostered. I hasten to add that such outsiders are not confined to non-nationals. An outsider could hail from five miles up the road, but if they aren't born and baptised in a parish they'll forever be a blow-in. During my teenage years I became close friends with a group of girls from â€Ëœthe country' and despite one of them in particular being suspicious of my sham credentials, and what she deemed a townie superiority, I was always envious of those who were born into a small parish. So much so that most summers were spent out in Cortoon, navigating the now lethal N83 on my bike and disappearing for days on end, much to my parents' annoyance. Those friendships have endured more than 20 years and I still think those who are from smaller villages and rural parishes have something of an advantage on us shams in terms of community protection. Earlier this year I was tasked with visiting the diligent folk out in Belclare who had strived for over 20 years to realise their dream of a community sports complex. Slow, steady progress eventually delivered a state of the art facility that the entire parish can be proud of, and claim credit for as it was delivered through years of community fundraising. Only last week I had the pleasure of meeting a group of people in Castleblakeney who have decided to turn the annual October bank holiday into a major charity fundraising weekend to try to make a difference to the lives of those living with cancer. And the once dilapidated community hall in my former stomping ground of Cortoon has in recent years been transformed into one of the most modern community childcare facilities in the county. What struck me most about these experiences, on opposite sides of the county, was the solidarity of those involved. The shared determination that meant personalities were left aside as the greater good was worked towards. I think it's a vision thing, in that a group of people share an idea and a passion for delivering something worthwhile for the area in which they live, and they have the commitment to see the dream become a reality. Of course the grass can always seem greener and I'm not for one second suggesting there are not many worthwhile charitable ventures arranged and delivered by the people of my own hometown. The success in securing a Pieta House that will serve a vast region of the west is testament to what can be achieved when communities put the bigger picture first. But the most humbling and heartening display of local solidarity didn't involve any money and yet was the most rewarding venture I've experienced in years. The sea of pink ribbons that appeared on shop fronts throughout the town centre as a mark of respect for the little Gilmore girls saw my faith in humanity soar to new heights. Driving through the square on Wednesday afternoon brought a lump to my throat but a lift to my heart that whatever sacrifices society made in the pursuit of property and wealth during the boom, we've not lost sight of what really matters. A shared sense of heartache and helplessness was harnessed, both by those neighbours of the family, who lit candles to welcome the children as they were brought home in the days after the tragic accident, and those who lined the street in a guard of honour as the family made their poignant journey to the church for the funeral Mass. While the floral and cuddly toy tribute to the girls continues to grow at the accident site, there was something so much more personal in the display of support for a family who were no different from all the other families living alongside them. While the estates that have peppered the landscape in towns and villages the length and breadth of the country are a symbol of the madness that took hold during the boom years, the community spirit that was once as much of our national symbol as the harp is still there when it's needed. And while communities in smaller areas may be somewhat more close knit than their townie equivalent, human nature being what it is shows that in times of crisis, people draw incredible strength from those around them. So while neighbours will come and go, especially in towns such as Tuam, where people can go for days on end without seeing or speaking to the person living in the house next door, the community spirit that ties us all together continues to bubble under the surface.