

I HAD no idea why Irish 'rebels' were called Croppies; they cut their hair short in the French revolutionary style. Nor that a Viking changed the country's name from Eirinn to Ireland. That Viking himself had a wonderful name: Ragnar Hairy Britches. His first cousin was called Sitric the Squinty. This is an absolutely wonderful read. Don't be put off by the heft of it, you can dip in randomly and read about the Brehon Laws, Daniel O'Connell (right), Liam Mellowes. Stunning, from the last Ice Age, to the multi-forested island – an energetic squirrel could travel from Donegal to Cork without touching the ground – to the wanton butchery of Henry II and Cromwell, the French landings, Parnell and right up to the recent past when Cantonese speakers outnumbered Irish ones. Bardon draws on an impressive array of sources, and doesn't perpetuate common myths. For example, there is no old guff about Grace O'Malley talking down to Elizabeth. Speaking of Grace, who was clearly a handful, Sir Richard Bingham ? "Lord President of Connacht" (what a bloody cheek) ? complained by letter to Elizabeth that Grace O'Malley was of a "naughty disposicion towards the state." Never a great hand at the spelling, was Richard. The book to hand is a masterly example of compression.
CORK is clearly a place apart. I love the place myself, but why oh why are Corkmen so defensive? The city, we are reminded here, is the real capital of Ireland. In the 18th century, Cork had an ambassador appointed to Dublin in order to maintain a voice in the capital. In 1878, the Cork School of Music was established, "the first of its kind in Europe." Surely that can't be true? Moving from minor to major, in a manner of speaking, the book opens with an excellent monograph of the truly talented Rory Gallagher. The world tours, and you had to cut your hair before entering Franco's Spain. The Rolling Stones' visit to Cork is recalled. Another memorable event was Len de la Cour's attempt on the European drumming record; he just failed, managing 42hours 20minutes but discovered a novel way of relieving himself.
CALLED Jolly Jack Tars by tradition, British sailors of the 18th century were anything but jolly. It was not unusual for ships to spend more than a year at sea and on landfall, sailors were not allowed ashore because it was feared they would go AWOL. And who wouldn't? The vessels were little more than prison ships. They were clapped in irons for the most trivial offence. A dozen lashes was the usual punishment recommended by the Admiralty, but very often, that punishment was flippantly exceeded with a man's back looking like "roasted meat." They were fed on hard sea biscuit, salty pork, pea soup and burgoo (porridge). Even the grog (rum) was heavily watered.
When they encountered a French man-o-war, they cheered going into battle. Maybe they wanted to take it out on the French.
WRIGHT'S book of literary detection took him over 20 years to achieve. The stated aim was to inspect every book Wilde is known to have read, so the book to hand is more a scrutiny of the books that formed Wilde's imagination. From his childhood on Merrion Square – the mother had a huge influence – to Oxford, on to those crowning times in London, to the books he sought while held in Reading Gaol and to his final days in Paris, these are the books which fed him ideas. Some of the books are now possibly out of print. Some others deserve to be, such as Traits and Stories of the Peasantry by William Carleton.
Typical of Wilde, he wittily provides a list of books which are best not read at all, together with books not to be missed.
WORK continues at the stately home in Kent. Once a 1960s crumbling manse with gardens like a weedy scree, the author – grandson of author/diplomat Harold Nicolson and writer Vita Sackville-West, one-time owners – wants to regenerate the entire estate, not just the stately home, but the orchards, the farm, the gardens. The place will pull in the garden lovers, tourists, who will partake of food organically home-produced. They will pay handsomely for the privilege. At least that is the plan, according to Adam, who inherited the place in 2004. We should have a say, the long-serving staff of the estate insist. The British National Trust, which runs the estate, also has a vested interest and it is sceptical about Adam's plans. The economic concerns of the leisured and treasured, eh?
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