I hate appearing to be a hyper-critical know-it-all. Some might be surprised and a little disquieted at the way in which I seem to have founded upon the intellectual banality of a fellow Cavan historian. There will be murmurings of “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size Parker?” but the individual who has been the object of my scorn has not been content with inflating himself to the level of my equal, but has sought to portray himself as far superior. I would not have said anything, had not this individual, Dr Brendan Scott, Research Officer of Cavan County Museum, gone out of his way to belittle me. I have never had the “pleasure” of meeting him. Nobody could accuse me of spreading vile comments about him as I know nothing about him. I know he hails from Belturbet where I think his father is a town councillor. He went to St Pats (to which I went for a short period too), He has a PhD from the National University of Ireland in Galway, and I think this is on some aspect of seventeenth-century history but I’m not sure – but that’s the extent of what I know about him. He no doubt knows far more about me, but does he ever ask how much of it is true?
It is as if I don’t exist. He has never contacted me, even though there was a time when I would not have been averse to hearing from him. I heard that he had published a book on the subject. I endeavoured to send him a message asking for a copy that I might review for my Echoes of the Past column, but I never received any reply. No doubt my humble scribblings are too far below the ken of his exalted intellect. I was never been invited to any of the talks he has arranged. I don’t go to those sorts of things much, but it would have been nice to be asked.
But yet to organise a conference on the history of Cavan which included a medieval section and not invite a person who has written numerous articles and who has studied the period for over two decades was a definite snub. And what was Dr Scott’s defence of his actions? There had been trouble between me and the museum, but it was before his time. This rationale wasn’t delivered to me personally of course. I was unworthy of any reason. In the same way as I wasn’t entitled to a reason for the abrupt ending of my employment in the museum twelve years’ ago. It sounded very much as if he had been listening to every little drop of bilge water spread by the flat earth element of the Cumann Seannchais Bhreifne.
I ask one favour of those who are going to spread lies about me. At least meet me once before doing it. Try to get to know me. Meet me in the flesh; don’t call me late on a Friday night. I’m always puzzled by those who say upon meeting me. “I never realised you were such a nice guy Ciaran” to which I jocularly respond “What exactly did you expect?”
My protests at being snubbed were met by comments from one of Scott’s friends who scoffed at my absurd “attestation” to be an expert on the history of medieval Cavan, while another commentator, who claimed to have expert knowledge of me said that the decision to snub me was my karma for my lack of generosity. (It goes without saying that I don’t believe Scott knew or approved of these comments.) I’ve been writing a column for over two years’ now for the Cavan Echo, in many of which I place my research of anyone who is bothered to read it. I have never claimed copyright protection on it, because it is of little value in Cavan, and I’m accused of being ungenerous? While blogs may be written by crazy people, those who respond to them are crazier.
But the worst response of all was from Cavan County Manager, Jack Keyes, Dr Scott’s boss, to whom I sent a mildly worded letter expressing my disbelief at what had occurred. Mr Keyes in the best spirit of the Irish Public Service never deigned to even reply. No doubt he had been provided with golden opinions of me. I know he has not enjoyed the best of health, but all he needed to do was reply, even with a brief acknowledgement saying something that there was nothing he could do. By his arrogant non-reply he identified himself fully with whatever motivated Scott, and he cannot say that he was on a frolic of his own. Mr Keyes has been quite public in his support of initiatives to help those with disabilities dealing with the County Council, but what prevents me from saying that I was deliberately victimised because I am disabled? But then as a disabled person I should know my place, and keep my mouth shut.
“Oh inti bowld Jools?”
“Sometimes he goes too far. He’ll need Cavan County Council before they’ll need him” – the f£&k he will!
The time I spent working in Cavan County Museum is something I remember with a mix of joy and frustration. He was a decent man having to operate in a shitty situation alongside shitty people. We had many a laugh together, as he was a rich reservoir of Australian slang. I often sensed that if he were a free agent he’d have been off like a shot. The last thing I want to do is contribute to the whispering campaign against him that’s been circulating for years.
Looking back, it often appears to have been a constant struggle against a plethora of hangers-on and relatives of council staff who were saw the museum as a cash cow. The curator asked me to find a job for one girl. As there was often little enough work for me to do I prevaricated, but said I’d find something for her. A week passed and the curator again asked me to find her a job. This time I came up with something that didn’t really need doing, and I was compelled to there and then telephone the girl offering her the work. She did it well and I was grateful, but I got a shock when the issue of payment for her arose in discussion. The curator proposed giving her far more money than I was getting. (Actually, to be fair to him, he didn’t actually know how little I received.) And then I remember the time when the curator, tired of the hectoring of the then county manager, threatened to resign. All of said to him: “If you go, we’re going too.” I told this to a very good friend of mine, and she said: “And do you think he’d do the same for you Ciaran?” Less than six months were to pass before I discovered how prescient my friend was. But I honestly didn’t expect him to.
One of the joys of working for the Museum was working alongside people on the FAS scheme, the form of cheap labour used by local authorities throughout Ireland for such projects. I think it worthwhile to remind people that I wasn’t the person who initially said the FAS people were not to be invited to the opening by President Robinson. If that decision had been gone along with I wouldn’t have been seen dead at the opening. The curator thankfully put his foot down as well. He asked me to draw up a list of people I’d like to invite, but not one person on my list got an invitation, and for all I know it ended up in Brian Johnston’s toilet. On the day of the opening there wasn’t a stone for more than fifty miles from under which some creepy-crawly hadn’t emerged. I say without any fear of contradiction that if it wasn’t for the people on the FAS schemes over the years there would be no museum, but yet for years they’ve been shat upon, whether by the County Council or by FAS itself.
Some might say this is all “Fart-and-tell”, the ultimate touch-stone of the scoundrel. I just want to show people I worked bloody hard in the short period I was there, but it is as if I never was in the place, and whenever my name is mentioned in the context of the museum eyes incline towards the floor as if someone had said “fuck” in earshot of the vicar. I became a “non-person”, airbrushed out of existence; credit for my work was taken by others. This is no doubt what Scott meant when he said there had been “trouble” between me and the museum, but maybe he is genuinely unaware of the work I did. Somehow I doubt it.
A lot of this happened long ago, and a lot of water had passed under my personal bridge. But I was truly distressed to find that, even after more than ten years, there were those in the Museum who still bore me ill-will. It really reopened a lot of sore memories for me.
But why am I still the black sheep? I can stand, hand on heart, and say I have nothing to be ashamed of. I was born with one disability which I attempted to overcome. The good Lord in his wisdom saw fit to saddle me with another, the degenerative disease of Multiple Sclerosis which I have also attempted to deal with, and I think, all things considered, I’ve done fairly well. I’ve never looked for sympathy, but a bit of respect wouldn’t be out of place, but then I know I look in vain for respect from people who don’t respect themselves.
No doubt all this will engender a response. There will be those who will pooh-pooh my “outburst”, but you know I don’t care. I do hope (for his sake) that Dr Scott doesn’t emulate his predecessor in the job in the museum, who once rang me up threatening to sue me and who was verbally abusive to my late mother – God be good to her – and sister. On that occasion I had, that very day in fact, received formal notification that I did indeed have Multiple Sclerosis, so I suppose I could have been forgiven for ignoring such a provocation. I would not be so passive now.
One last thing – after which the rest will be silence. I wish local politicians would stop belly-aching to me about the Museum, how much it is costing and how little it is taking in. It’s got nothing to do with me. It’s not my concern – it’s yours.
