I set out several weeks ago to write a single post about essays from Ireland of the Welcomes in 1972 devoted to our tradition of literature. There were six issues, therefore 6 essays – focusing on what Ireland had given to the literary world was one of the ways that the magazine ‘sold’ Ireland to its readers. I found myself so entranced with the first two topics – The Gaelic Story Teller and a translation by John Montague of a poem, Under Sorrow’s Sign, by the bard Gofraidh Ó Dálaigh – that each got a post of its own. And now I am down to the wire to do the four remaining essays in one post, before we more on to 1974 and I can stay 51 years behind, or maybe even catch up a bit. So here goes.
The January-February essay is by Martin Green and is titled Patrick Kavanagh, Monaghan Poet. Martin Green would make a column by himself – but I mustn’t get distracted. Here, he gives a brief description of Kavanagh’s life and considers how his rural Irish roots informed all his writings. He picks out Kavanagh’s autobiographical The Green Fool for special praise.
The Green Fool, in spite of the author’s later remarks that the book was ‘a stage-Irish life’, must surely be one of the gayest autobiographies ever written. There are no fearful soul searchings or tormented adolescent confessions, it is simply and purely a celebration of life, and way of life that was lived in rural Ireland in the early years of this century. And yet is is not dated, it is as fresh as today.
We have visited the Kavanagh Centre in Inniskeane – highly recommended.
I haven’t read The Green Fool – I wonder if that statement still holds up, 50 years later. Comments on a postcard, please. For a little more on Kavanagh, see Robert’s postOn the Passing of Poets.
The second essay, from March-April, is by Dervla Murphy, much loved and missed Irish travel writer, who died last year at 90. Numerous obituaries will tell you more about Dervla, but perhaps my favourite is the one in the New York Times. All of them start with the gift from her parents at age 10 of an atlas and a bicycle, resulting in her plan to cycle until she got to India. Similarly, all of them speak of her love of Lismore and West Waterford, her home.
Dervla’s essay, Seen From a Gatepost: A View of West Waterford, is about this very place. In it you come to understand how, not unlike Kavanagh, her rootedness in an Irish rural landscape gave her that sense of security from which she could explore the world.
My third selection, from September-October, is a piece called Bands and Ballads by Benedict Kiely. From Co Tyrone, Kiely was one of the best known public intellectuals of my youth, frequently on radio and TV, or writing in the paper. Read his bio on the always-excellent Dictionary of Irish Biography site, written by Patrick Maume. This is a nostalgia piece for Kiely, here talking about his father:
I have scanned the second page in full, as it is such a delight to read.
My final choice, from November-December, is by Colin Smythe and tells the story of the Rebirth of the Cuala Press. Managed by Elizabeth Corbet Yeats, the Press published its first book in 1903, and from then until 1946 it produced beautiful hand-coloured books of poetry of stories in limited editions – works of art in themselves. After that time it continued with cards and prints.
As the page below explains, it was revived by Michael and Anne Yeats, son and daughter of WB Yeats and Georgie Hyde-Lees, along with Liam Miller of the Dolmen Press.
Whew – I made it. It was touch and go – any one of those topics is good for a full post. But I look forward to diving into the next whole year of Ireland of the Welcomes issues soon.
One of the ways in which Ireland of the Welcomes consistently sought to present an image of Ireland was through the lens of literature. As I said in a previous post on IOTWIt showed us what others might find interesting about Ireland and therefore what we ourselves could be proud of. Ireland was so different then – but Ireland of the Welcomes was chronicling the emergence of who we are now. And all the best people wrote for the magazine, no doubt due to the canny and charismatic editor, Cork woman (and noted climber) Elizabeth Healy (below, from her obit).
In this next series of post, rather than going chronologically through the editions of 1972, I am going chronologically through the eras of Irish literature that were the subject of articles, beginning with the Bards! John Montague, the distinguished poet, (that’s him at the top) wrote a piece in July/August called Under Sorrow’s Sign, which I give in full below. There’s a wonderful interview with him in the Irish Film Institute Archives. He said he spent many hours discussing the poem with his great friend Sean Ó Riada. I met Montague during his tenure at UCC in the 70s and I remember the adulation with which we all viewed Ó Riada, as he strolled through campus, so this piece was a personal memory-trigger for me. Robert has written about Sean Ó Riada here.
Here is what is believed to be the remains of one of those O’Daly bardic schools, this one on the Sheep’s Head. Perhaps Gofraidh spent part of his apprenticeship here, among his O’Daly kin.
The poem itself was intended to be declaimed by a professional reciter (a reacaire), accompanied by a harpist, as illustrated in this famous woodcut of MacSweeney’s Feast from John Derricke’s 1581 Image of Ireland. It shows the harpist and the reciter in the act of entertaining the head table. Note they are marked with a D.
Under the woodcut is a legend. For D the text reads:
Both Barde and Harper, is preparde, which by their cunning art,
Doe strike and cheare up all the gestes with comfort at the harte
The poem is, according to Montague, a metaphor for earthly existence. He concludes his piece by saying: O Dalaigh was from Cork, where O Riada now lies buried: Across six centuries, its bleak but Christian vision speaks as an epitaph. Here now is Montague’s translation.
Thoroughly depressed now? I’ll try to be more cheerful in the rest of this series.
It’s been too long since I started my series Ireland 50 Years Ago, intending to update it regularly. We had been gifted a complete set of Ireland of the Welcomes from the 1970s, and my first three posts reflected on what was seen as important to highlight about Ireland, to the word, 50 years ago. Alas, my good intentions got derailed by all kinds of other interesting topics, with the result that 1972 got left out altogether. What I’ve decided to do is go through the six 1972 issues now and pick out one thing from each issue to highlight. It’s a quirky selection of things that appealed to me for various reasons.
January-February
Daphne Pochin-Mould was a hero to us in the Archaeology Department at UCC in the early 70s. She came occasionally to do a slide show of her aerial photos, and I have a hazy recollection of going to her house in Aherla. We knew then she was an amazing woman, but I hadn’t realised just how amazing until I read her entry in the Dictionary of Irish Biography.
March-April
Viking/Medieval Dublin – Excavations by the National Museum of Ireland by Breandán Ó Riordáin
This was not the infamous Wood Quay excavation, which came later, but an ongoing investigation by the National Museum located around High Street and Winetavern Street. Ó Riordáin described the Viking artefacts that were found, and the good state of preservation that were the result of burial under a dark-coloured peaty layer of debris that had accumulated over hundreds of years. Houses, with central hearths, were “formed of upright posts with horizontal layers of wattled or rods (generally of Hazel, ash or elm) woven between them”. Carved bone trail pieces were evidence of ‘schools’ of artists. The Norman period of occupation left a very well-preserved assemblage of artefacts too – including this shoe.
Ken Mawhinney has an article in this issue called The Waterwheel: Joy of the Industrial Archaeologist. He provides lists of where waterwheels are still to be seen but the one which resonated with me was the Monard Spade Mill. When we as students visited there around that time it was home to a pottery (Monard Glen – I bought coffee cups for my mother) but I remember being shown around by the knowledgeable people who were living there. Much of the original machinery was still in place.
Richard Condon, the American writer of thrillers, was living in Ireland in the 70s and indulging his gastronomic appetites by roving throughout the country visiting restaurants. Does anyone local to West Cork recognise this establishment? Here’s what Condon has to say about it:
And, of course, as confirmed to me by Jim O’Keeffe, it was what we all know as The Courtyard. The building is still there, with the iconic iron gates with the words O’Keeffe on them.
So there it is, a highly personal and idiosyncratic selections from Ireland of the Welcomes 51 years ago. I’ll try to catch up on 1973 before the year ends.
A special edition of Ireland of the Welcomes, July-August 1971, was devoted to Jack B Yeats, in honour of the hundredth anniversary of his birth. Having been intensely moved recently by the National Gallery’s exhibition, Jack B Yeats: Painting and Memory, I was interested to look at how he was viewed in 1971, as part of my Ireland 50 Years Ago series.
The illustrations are all from this issue and sorry – photographing from an old magazine doesn’t guarantee the greatest quality. This post will take us up to the beginning of his career as an expressionist painter, after he honed his drawing and watercolour skills and started to exhibit. This part of Yeats’ work is not really covered in the National Gallery Exhibition, which is almost entirely devoted to his oil paintings and is organised thematically rather than chronologically.
Island Funeral, rendered in the magazine in black and white
The long article is by Roger McHugh, based on his Introduction to the Dolmen Press book Jack B Yeats, A Centenary Gathering. Roger McHugh was himself an esteemed academic at UCC, a writer, playwright and critic, an ardent republican, and according to his bio in the Dictionary of Irish Biography, ‘an enthralling dinner-table raconteur.’ His analysis is insightful and evocative. I will simply use his words after the poem by MacDonagh and through the rest of the post, indicated by italics.
Create? The painter had his reservations: ‘No one creates’, he wrote; ‘the artist assembles memories’. By this I think he meant that the intense moment is always already past but that observation, memory and technique can recapture it. . . He thought that ‘painting was the freest and greatest means of communication we have’ and that the finest paintings always had ‘some of the living ginger of life in them’.
As a youth in Sligo He preferred to play around the quays and the streets, inspecting with due reverence sea captains, sailors and pilots, or at country fairs and sports observing and sketching small farmers, pig-jobbers, worried shopkeepers, untamed tinkers, shouting ballad singers, exultant jockeys surrounded by triumphant or sullen wild faces, or the stirring arrivals of Bianconi long cars, of bands, of circuses.
As a background to these assorted characters was a setting of great variety; cliffs whose wildness was accentuated by the ‘crashing wind and lashing sea’ . . . legended mountains like Ben Bulben and Knocknarea, long reaches of sand sometimes marked ominously by wrecks perhaps dating to the Armada.
Jack B Yeats as painted by his father, John Butler Yeats. I find it uncanny how little his expression changed between this boyhood image and a photograph taken of him as an older man (below)
Even at sixteen he had started his career as a professional illustrator . . . he illustrated school-books, newspapers, periodicals, comic-cuts, racing papers.
Where England gave him many subjects for his illustrations and sketches, Ireland provided almost all those for the drawings and watercolours which he exhibited up to 1911 in Dublin and London. The Painters who exhibited at the Royal Hibernian Academy at that time were either English or Irish imitators of the Leightons and the Poynters, titled men who set the standard. ‘It was into their varnished world where it was nice to see a bit of Normandy or something from Surrey painted by an Irish artist,’ wrote C. P. Curran, ‘that Jack Yeats broke with his troop of tinkers and maggie-men, jockeys and drovers, pig-jobbers and purse-proud horse dealers, stout farmers and sea-faring men, the whole life of a little western town by the sea. It was very exciting, but was it art?
Following his own lead about the affectionate zest for life that is the basis of artistic achievement, I think that people untutored in technique but with some sensitivity can catch the essential elements of those early works. . . . They depict individuals. . . . but in such a way as to capture some essential quality which lifts the picture above its particulars. A tinker is painted in black garb which is set against the black of rock and the dark sky, relieved by a glimpse of white sea-foam. His wild eyes gleam from a ‘black-avised narrow face; he seems the embodiment of some wild night spirit.
The line-drawing of the squireen, bowler-hatted, gloomily assertive, owes much to the sharp, sure vertical lines of his coat and umbrella set against the curve of road, wall and mountain.
The next post will take us through his life as the greatest of Irish painters. Here’s a sample image from the article.
Several years ago we were the fortunate recipients of a complete set of Ireland of the Welcomes from the 1970s, and guess what? That’s exactly 50 years ago! So I am going to try to chronicle 1971 for you from our vantage point of half a century later, as we go through this year, using the articles in the magazine. Call it recent history, call it nostalgia, call it an exercise in compare and contrast.
Every issue from 1971 to 1979, six issues a year
The magazine is still flourishing – indeed, it’s one of the longest periodicals of its sort in the world – and continues to put out 6 issues a year. The website describes it thus: Each issue features lavishly-illustrated articles on Irish beauty spots, regular features on Ireland’s extraordinary millennia-spanning history, remarkable literary talent and history, music and dance traditions, as well as folklore, festivals, events and so much more… The photography nowadays is superb.
Flying Pan Am into Ireland – 1970s Mad Men-style advertising
Although published by a private company now, in the 1970s Ireland of the Welcomes was an official publication of Bórd Fáilte, the Irish Tourist Board. Aimed at the overseas market, it was nevertheless also deservedly popular in Ireland. My father, who worked in marketing in Aer Lingus, brought home each issue as it came out and we poured over it. It showed us what others might find interesting about Ireland and therefore what we ourselves could be proud of. Ireland was so different then – but Ireland of the Welcomes was chronicling the emergence of who we are now.
Each issue contained pages of small ads for shops and hotels and there is a poignancy to many which have since disappeared, such as the beloved Cork institutions of Cash’s and the Munster Arcade
Because this is part of a tourism campaign, selling Ireland as a happy destination, you won’t find a mention of The Troubles in Northern Ireland here, even though killing had become an almost daily occurrence there, bombing was commonplace and internment prisons were being set up. South of the border, we are told in these pages, all is calm and friendly and everywhere you go you will meet poets, wits and artists, ready to befriend you and pour you a pint.
The couple in this ad had been able to fly to Ireland, hire the car for two weeks staying in hotels and guest houses, all for $298 per person. That’s the equivalent of $2,000 per person today, or $4,000 in total. – that €1600/3200. How does that compare?
But this was no ‘shamrocks and leprechauns’ representation of Ireland – it showed a country transitioning into the modern world, while fiercely clinging to what made us unique. Articles on heritage jostled with pieces on modern farming methods; biographies of bygone artists contrasted with a description of Rosc, the famous modern art show that everyone of my generation visited; wildlife photographs vied with pen-and-ink drawings of inviting pubs.
All the best people wrote for Ireland of the Welcomes: I think they must have paid well. Familiar names from the time crop up: the 1971 issues include writing by John Montague, Gerrit van Gelderen, The Knight of Glin, Maurice Gorham, Hilary Pyle, Bryan MacMahon, Mary Lavin, Terence de Vere White, Benedict Kiely, and Niall Sheridan (husband of Monica). Even the American writer, Richard Condon (The Manchurian Candidate), then living in a restored Georgian pile in KIlkenny (below), wrote a bon-viveur series on restaurants and hotels.
So let’s get started with the issue that was published exactly 50 years ago – January-February 1971. I turned 21 in 1971 and went from being an undergraduate to a graduate student at UCC. I was living between Cork and Dublin, with forays to Newgrange and Kerry. I spent the summer in Malahide, studying for my BA finals at the National Library and at Trinity College Library, ducking out for lunchtime concerts at St Anne’s in Dawson Street. In the autumn I set up in my very first independent flat in Cork with my friend Bessie and embarked on my Master’s in Archaeology, paying my way with what was then charmingly called a ‘Demonstratorship’ at UCC. The world was my oyster.
What the well-dressed Demonstrator was wearing in 1971
That whole sense of emerging into a modern world was true for Ireland as well in the 1970s. Anybody who lived in Dublin in the 70s will remember the Dandelion Market – it was the place to see and be seen on Saturday morning, full of hippies and trendies selling antiques, tat, artwork, crafts and lots of cool clothes. No tweed suits here – those fringed waistcoats were more my style! Take a look at RTE Archives footage from around then. Were you there? Recognise anyone?
Some of the photographs of the Dandelion Market that accompanied Maeve Binchy’s article
And guess who wrote about it in the January-February issue? Maeve Binchy! in 1971 Maeve was years away from a successful career as a novelist, but she was already a well-known columnist and editor of the women’s pages for the Irish Times. She and my mother, Lilian Roberts Finlay, shared a stage at the Vancouver Writers’ Festival in the 90s and I got to know her a little then, and as a friend of Mum’s. She was everything you imagine – warm, witty, wise and great company.
The wonderful Maeve Binchy (right), my mother, Lilian Roberts Finlay (left) and our great friend Ingrid, Vancouver, 1998
The Dandelion piece was followed by an article, Some Unexpected Ballad Writers, by Grainne Yeats. I wasn’t sure who Grainne Yeats was so I looked her up. She was WB’s daughter-in-law but that was not her claim to fame. An accomplished harpist and speaker of Irish, she was a music historian and virtuoso singer and player, performing all over the world, and an expert in the music of Turlough O’Carolan. She singlehandedly revived the playing of the kind of traditional wire-strung harp that O’Carolan would have played. Her obituary in the Irish Times spells out her many achievements, while a short YouTube clip gives you a flavour of the sound of the harp.
Her article is about a form of song that was not common in Ireland until the eighteenth century, but was then heartily embraced – the ballad. She tells of Oliver Goldsmith who, while a student at Trinity “lounged about the college gates, wrote ballads for five shillings, and crept out at night to hear them sung.” Yeats wrote ballads because he wanted his poetry to be ‘popular’ – in the sense of poetry that would belong to the people as a whole. She mentions James Joyce, Davis, Mangan, Terence MacSwiney, Arthur Griffiths. I append Yeats’s ballad, Come Gather Round Me, Parnellites, at the end of this post – read it in conjunction with this Irish Times post that lists Jack B Yeats’ illustration for this ballad as a selection for Modern Ireland in 100 Artworks.
One of several pages about the Shannon River, with detailed maps
A huge section in that same issue was devoted The Lordly Shannon. Shannon cruising was emerging as a holiday idyll and photographs showed cheerful boaters negotiating locks and fishermen hauling in salmon, interspersed with monastic ruins and enticing pub signs. It was a successful campaign – Shannon cruising is popular today and indeed by all accounts makes for a superb vacation.
Robert French’s photograph of Adare in the 1880s or 1890s. The second photo was taken in 2015, just before fire destroyed some of the thatched cottages. Some or all have since been restored
Although I know about the Lawrence Collection, and had lost myself in it a few times, I wasn’t really aware that the ‘view’ photographs, 40,000 of them, had not been taken by William Lawrence himself. “The man to whom he entrusted the task of photographing Ireland was an employee named Robert French who worked anonymously for the Lawrence firm all his life.” The article, by Kieran Hickey, rescues French from that anonymity and points to the personality behind the camera, the chronicler of the social history of his time. “Despite the inflexibility of a heavy camera, a cumbersome tripod and individual glass negatives, the images are unerringly composed, never reframed in printing, and taken at the precise moment which shows the photographer’s eye to be selective, observant, patient and alert.”
1 Leinster Market, Dublin; 2 Galway City; 3 Dublin Quays; 4 and 5 Tourists in Connemara
Lawrence’s studios were destroyed in the 1916 Rising, with the loss of all the human subject photographs and negatives. But French’s enormous body of work had been stored elsewhere, which is why it is still available to us. In its sharing of this priceless collection, the National Library is meticulous in crediting Robert French as the photographer – a fitting tribute to one who laboured unrecognised for so long and contributed so much to our visual history.
My aim is to update this series every month or two with a 50 year retrospective. We’re off to a good start!
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