Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

So many of my friends are shaking off their mortal coils. It’s depressing, and at this time of the year there seems to be enough depression.

Marlish was my GP and a friend. I remember when I received the news that I had Multiple Sclerosis Marlish visited me to tell me what she knew about the condition. It was in Marlish’s presence that I first injected myself with this beta Interferon concoction to which I seem now to be inexorably linked.

Marlish was always someone with whom you could share a laugh, often about life’s idiocies. I remember telling her the joke about the London sperm bank that had been forced to close when it lost its last three clients; the first of whom came on the bus, the second who couldn’t come at all and the third who had missed the Tube.

Marlish also had to put up with my childish but no less real phobia for injections. I once joked to her. “You’d think Marlish that after living in Cavan for so long I’d be used to pricks.” And then there was the time when I got so “keyed up” about having a blood test that my veins just collapsed, a sign of a “fight or flight” reaction. I responded by writing a really awful poem, to which Marlish responded in much more polished verse.

Her loss will be felt very far, both amongst her friends and her patients who usually belonged to the one group.

T. P. Ennis

On a visit to Cavan’s library today my good friend Tom Sullivan gave me this photograph of T.P. Ennis. It was taken two years’ ago during Seachtain na Gaeilge. I still can’t believe he’s not around. How I miss him!

St Patrick’s Day is a curious feast. It is celebrated by those “whom God has placed over us”, for whose health and happiness we must pray, by leaving the shores to celebrate the feast in foreign climes. I know that much of the traditional form of celebration indulged in here verges on the naff – those ghastly parades invariably headed by a lone piper in a kilt and the ubiquitous FCA colour party etc. But why indulge in acts of cringing humility and almost comic-book servility like handing over a bowl of shamrock to the US president? It is as if successive Taoisigh have jigged into the oval office, bowl in hand, and touching their forelocks have said: “Begorra an’ top o’ the mornin’ to your worship, now wouldn’t you be a cute lad, being elected President.”
And of course successive US presidents have gone along with the pantomime by wearing a green tie.

But compare this to how proudly other countries celebrate their national day. What would be the reaction if Nicolas and Carla decided to spend Bastille Day outside l’Hexagone?

In my piece for the Cavan Echo this week I try to explode some of the myths about St Patrick, chief among them being that shamrocks are a symbol for the soft drugs to which the saint was addicted. Also, with debate still raging about the saint’s sexual directions I try to answer the question as to whether he was gay and just how friendly he had ever got with the sheep on Slemish.

Now everyone knows I like a laugh. This comes through in my writing, but I’ve recently seen a piece which also appeared in the Echo over a year ago which quite simply had me in hysterics. It was just so …bad.

What particularly tickled me were comments attributed to Brendan Scott of Cavan’s County Museum in Ballyjamesduff. I doubted at first that this was the same Dr Brendan Scott as the piece referred to him throughout as “Mr Scott” – such unspeakable lèse-majesté!

The piece centres on the saint’s visit to Derryrath fort in west Cavan, an event of whose historical certitude Brendan is obviously sure. He says:

“There is a rath at the top of a hill near Ballyconnell in west Cavan called Derryrath, and I reckon that was the original site where Saint Patrick had the battle and destroyed the idol … It is said that St Patrick visited the spot that the stone sunk into the ground at the sound of his voice.”

Said by whom? St Patrick is depicted as acting in a most shameful manner, indeed not unlike a crowd of American pro-lifers outside an abortion clinic. But as far as I know (and who am I to question such an expert as Dr Scott) the visit to Derryrath is not mentioned in either of the two works accepted by scholars as having been written by the saint, namely the Epistola to the soldiers of Coroticux and the Confessio. What’s more it seems as if the account comes from a later life, such as the lives attributed to either bishop Tirechan or the monk Muirchu, written nearly two centuries after the saint was around. Now we all know how inaccurate medieval saints’ lives were, and bear In mind what I’ve said in my piece in the Echo, about an attempt to recast the saint as “Action-man Paddy”.

(Personally, I don’t think Patrick was ever at Derryrath, and if anyone engaged in vandalism there it was St Mogue, a century later.)

Then there seems to be some conflation between the pre-Christian God Crom and the idol that is alleged to have stood there.

“There is no doubt that the Crom Cruach was an important religious and cultural site in its time.”

Crom was one of the most important Gods in the pre-Christian pantheon. Crom cruaich is more likely to mean the deity or godhead of the mound than this fanciful stuff about a bloody crescent.

“I’ve always considered Magh Sleacht as meaning the plain of the slaughter, not “field of adoration.”

But every good joke needs a good punch-line and Brendan doesn’t disappoint.

“There is definitely room there for major research to be done,”

He’s so erudite isn’t he – so butch.

And who better to carry out such “major research” than the Research Officer of Cavan County Museum.
Maybe he could get his boss Mr Keyes to fund such a project, part of which would inevitably be a conference bringing together scholars from every corner of the world and at great expense.

… But given the fact, (and I would say that it is fairly incontrovertible) that the events described never happened, and are accepted by scholars as being the creations of later commentators, what historical research needs to be done? Where are the reliable sources to be examined or re-examined? There are none that would shed any further light on Patrick and his world.

But I’m not finished on this: please see the next

post entitled “A boy doing a man’s job”.

I see in Breffni O’Reilly’s column in the Cavan Echo that the Sligo Rose has been disqualified because she is too old. As a gentleman (if only by name) who is a connoisseur of the more mature woman I naturally concur with Breffni’s comments. I am also someone who finds the Rose of Tralee pageant a cringe-producing charivari of stage Irishness.

With regard to regulations on the contestants one thing I want to know is do the organisers still insist on the girls passing a virginity test?
of the canI see in Breffni O’Reilly’s column in the Cavan Echo that the Sligo Rose has been disqualified because she

I’m sure I’m not alone in believing that eircom’s webmail service is rubbish. When you log on (if you can that is) your box is inundated with spam. You send a message with no idea whether it will get there and when your correspondent replies there is absolutely no guarantee you’ll get it. I could paper the walls with the instances of people, mainly public representatives and other “important” people who claim they have responded to my messages, (and have quite testily rebutted my enquiries as to why they haven’t answered), but of whose responses I can find no trace in my inbox.

I’d love to hear from others who have experienced similar problems. They should write to me at ciaran1965@hotmail.com. But apart from sounding off on the web what can they do? They might send a message to their local TD – but not via eircom webmail!