The French airman may be regarded as a rather exotic species in the graveyard, but it has been argued that he “is a reminder that Ireland has made itself marginal to the fight against continental European fascism.”38 An attempt has also been made to identify a real-life source for the character: Pilot Officer Maurice Motte alias Remy of the Free French forces, who was interned in the Allied Officers’ section of the Curragh Military Camp, having landed in County Waterford in June 1941 after running low on fuel.39 Whether the character had a basis in reality is an interesting question in itself, but he is a representative of an external dimension and wider world beyond the graveyard, Conamara, and Ireland itself.
The graveyard is divided into three sections—Áit an Phuint (the Pound Place), Áit na Cúig Déag (the Fifteen-Shilling Place), and Áit na Leathghine (the Half-Guinea Place), and commentary on the social status of each section is supplied on the hustings before the graveyard election. Locating the graveyard in that context offers multiple possibilities for informed historical, political, and sociocultural criticism. The discourse in general reflects the passions, anxieties, and preoccupations of an intimate rural community, warts and all. Land, social status, love, lust, greed, and visceral hatred all feature strongly in the exchanges, extending the significance of the text beyond temporal and regional contexts.
The Story
The action, which is nearly all verbal, is helped along by the regular arrival of fresh corpses, bringing fresh news from the world above. Many of the characters can be identified only by their recurring peculiarities of speech, thus focusing attention on the characters themselves. In a lecture Ó Cadhain delivered to Cumann Merriman the year before he died, he said (in translation): “The most important thing now in literature is to reveal the mind, that part of a person on which the camera cannot be directed. Speech is much more capable of this than observations about his clothes, his complexion…. It is not what covers a person’s skin that is important, or even the skin, but that which he is walking about with inside his head. We know more about the stars in the firmament than about what’s going on under that small skull beside you.”40
As to where the idea for Cré na Cille came from, Ó Cadhain went on to say:
When I was released from the prison camp I was at home that winter. A neighbouring woman died during the short dark days around Christmas. There was a deluge of rain and sleet so that the grave couldn’t be dug until the day she was being buried. Five or six of us went to dig it, so as to hurry the job. We dug up two graves but didn’t find the right coffins. The map of the graves was sent for but it was like a child doing sums in the ashes on the hearth. It was late in the day and the funeral would soon be upon us. We said we’d dig one more grave and that would be it. On our way home one of my neighbours said: “Do you know where we sneaked her in eventually,” he said, “down of top of a person whom I will call Micil Rua.” “Oho!” said another, “there will be some grammar there alright!”41
The story (or stories) is in ten parts described as interludes (eadarlúidí). The dialogue is augmented by snippets of verse, occasional parodies, and the distinctive passages uttered by Stoc na Cille, the Trump (Trumpet) of the Graveyard, at the beginning of interludes 3 to 8, which then peter out into textual insignificance.
Critical opinion on these distinctive passages varies from complete dismissal to wondrous admiration, but there is general agreement that the prose is markedly denser and intentionally metaphoric, and appears to have no discernible impact on the graveyard inhabitants.
Daniel Corkery criticised these passages as an extraneous romantic affectation, an attempt by Ó Cadhain to add depth to the narrative.42 “Rather purple punctuation marks” is how Breandán Ó hEithir chooses to describe the Trump’s exclamatory pronouncements,43 and a combination of “Father Time” and the Fates is another surmise.44 Concepts of playfulness,45 mockery,46 and practical jokes47 are also alluded to. But more serious intent is posited by scholars who note the development of death as a primary motif in the passages: “dreochan atá i saol na mbeo”48 (living is but decaying), and “dreo an fhómhair agus reo an gheimhridh”49 (decay of autumn and freeze of winter). “The Trumpeter adds a further dimension to the work,” says Ailbhe Ó Corráin. “His is the only contemplative voice. It is he who introduces the central themes of regeneration and decay and gives the work much of its suggestive power. You might say that he brings a little gravity to the grave.”50 Róisín Ní Ghairbhí also argues that Stoc na Cille provides a marked contrast to the dialectal exchanges of the graveyard and seeks to offer an alternative model of authority, parallel to the graveyard chatter.51 Declan Kiberd has described Stoc na Cille as “an entirely playful, ironical invention” that functions as “a debunking of the cult of the author.”52 Joan Trodden Keefe argues for the validity of several purposes for these passages, which are “clearly satiric” in her view and could possibly be based on “a parody of the ‘Bugle’ and ‘Loudspeaker’ announcements of the Curragh, where the voice of authority is ever-present but ultimately ignored by the camp inhabitants, and so also in the graveyard.”53 The present translation of these high-flown passages reflects our conviction that, as invocations of the great cycles of life and death, they are to be read with extreme seriousness.
Various narrative strands in the novel involve three sisters: Caitríona Pháidín, the chief protagonist, a seventy-one-year-old widow with a married son called Pádraig Chaitríona; Nell Pháidín, Caitríona’s younger sister, who married the young man Caitríona was in love with; and Baba Pháidín, their eldest sister, who has been left a legacy in Boston, whose death is imminently expected, and whose last will and testament is the subject of constant transatlantic correspondence—the Big Master (An Máistir Mór) writing for Caitríona, and the priest (An Sagart) writing for Nell. A relation of these sisters, Tomás Inside, is an easy-going bachelor who avoids any form of labour while drawing a weekly pension, and is playing both sisters against each other, with their eye on his patch of land.
Caitríona was in love with Jack the Scológ, who could enchant the young women of the village with his repertoire of songs and traditional (Sean-Nós, or Old Style) singing. But Nell stole him away from them all, married him in triumph, and has kept Jack and his songs to herself ever since. Caitríona has carried her hatred and envy of Nell into the grave with her, along with her love and longing for Jack the Scológ. Jack and Nell are still above ground.
When reacquainted with Muraed Phroinsiais in the graveyard, Caitríona makes a seemingly innocent statement of intent: “Anything concerning me personally, anything I saw or heard, I brought it to the grave with me, but there’s no harm in talking about it now, as we are on the way of truth.” (Being “on the way of truth,” ar shlí na fírinne in Irish, is a common expression for being dead.)
Muraed functions as a safe foil, allowing Caitríona to engage in full, frank, and extensive disclosure about her relatives and in-laws, safe in the knowledge (for most of the time) that Muraed was a good friend and neighbour above ground. Hardly anybody else escapes the lash of Caitríona’s tongue, but her son Pádraig’s mother-in-law, Nóra Sheáinín, with her aspiring notions of culture and grandeur, is a constant target of Caitriona’s, especially when Nóra boasts of having an affaire de coeur with the Big Master, and puts her name forward as a candidate in the graveyard election.
The Big Master dominates large parts of the book. He marries his assistant but soon after falls ill and dies. Shortly after his burial a new arrival tells him that his widow is being consoled by Billyboy the Post (Bileachaí an Phosta), then he hears that they have married, and after that again that Billyboy is at death’s door, all of which inspires the Big Master to scale new peaks of invective and vituperation, culminating in what is probably the longest litany of curses ever uttered in a graveyard.
Adaptations of Cré na Cille
Cré na Cille has had a life beyond the confines of its covers and has been the subject of several dramatic, stage, and film adaptations
in addition to substantial critical documentary features on television and radio. Shortly after the establishment of Raidió na Gaeltachta in 1972 Cré na Cille was adapted as a serialized drama for radio by the poet and writer Johnny Chóil Mhaidhc Ó Coisdealbha (1929–2006). This was an ambitious project for the fledgling Gaeltacht radio service and involved the production of twenty-five separate thirty-minute instalments that were broadcast between 6 February 1973 and 24 July 1973. Recorded by Tadhg Ó Béarra (†1990) and produced by Maidhc P. Ó Conaola, the series required the services of an extended cast, designated as Aisteoirí Chonamara, some of whom were located in Dublin and travelled weekly to the headquarters of Raidió na Gaeltachta in Casla in Conamara for the recording sessions. The part of Caitríona Pháidín was played by Winnie Mhaitiais Uí Dhuilearga (†1982) from Béal an Átha, Mine, Indreabhán, with eloquence and élan. This dramatic version was remastered by Máirtín Jaimsie Ó Flaithbheartaigh and rebroadcast on a weekly basis between January and June 2006 as part of the commemoration of Ó Cadhain’s birth by RTÉ, Ireland’s national television and radio broadcaster. The series was then issued as a publication by Cló Iar-Chonnacht and RTÉ in 2006 and is contained in a set of eight CDs with production notes and short biographies of the cast. Charles Lamb’s portrayal of the graveyard is reworked and reinterpreted by Pádraig Reaney’s artwork on the CD publication.
Cré na Cille has been the subject of a number of successful adaptations as a stage drama, primarily thanks to the intelligent and sensitive reworking of the novel by the actor and writer Macdara Ó Fátharta. The Abbey Theatre premiered an adaptation of Ó Fátharta’s in Coláiste Chonnacht, Spiddal, County Galway, on 29 February 1996. Directed by Bríd Ó Gallchóir, it was apparently the first production of Ireland’s National Theatre to open outside Dublin. Bríd Ní Neachtain (Caitríona Pháidín), Máire Ní Ghráinne (Nóra Sheáinín), Peadar Lamb (Tomás Taobh Istigh) and Breandán Ó Dúill (1935–2006) (An Máistir Mór) formed the mainstay of the cast and the well-received production toured various venues throughout the Gaeltacht in addition to Derry and Belfast.54 A further production by the Irish-language theatre company An Taibhdhearc in March and April 2002 was again based on a script by Macdara Ó Fátharta. The play was directed by Darach Mac Con Iomaire, and the set was designed by Dara McGee. Caitríona Pháidín was played by Bríd Ní Neachtain, and the cast included Joe Steve Ó Neachtain, Diarmuid Mac an Adhastair (1944–2015), and Macdara Ó Fátharta himself—all of whom would go on to feature in the film adaptation in 2006.
Cré na Cille went on to be produced as a full-length feature film by Ciarán Ó Cofaigh of ROSG productions, directed by Robert Quinn. It was first shown in Galway in December 2006 prior to its broadcast by the Irish-language public service television station, TG4, in 2007. Nominated for four Irish Film and Television Awards (IFTAs), the film was based on a script by Macdara Ó Fátharta, with photography by Tim Fleming, production design by Dara McGee, and editing by Conall de Cléir. The role of Caitríona Pháidín was played forcefully and effectively by Bríd Ní Neachtain, who has also played this role in adaptations for the stage. Gearóid Denvir, in a glowing critique of the adaptation, notes the introduction of scenes from life above ground and the absence of Stoc na Cille, and remarks that “the film remains true in the main to the original storyline and overall message of the novel, while at the same time successfully making the genre leap from page to screen to produce what is undoubtedly one of the best—perhaps even the best—film ever made in the Irish language.”55
A literary portrait of Ó Cadhain with special emphasis on Cré na Cille was the subject of a detailed and nuanced television documentary broadcast on RTÉ in October 1980 to mark the tenth anniversary of his death. There Goes Cré na Cille! was directed by filmmaker Seán Ó Mórdha and scripted by Breandán Ó hEithir (1930–1990). In the absence of a full-scale monograph on Ó Cadhain’s work at the time this film successfully interrogated many of the critical myths associated with Cré na Cille and introduced the novel to a mass audience that was primarily English-speaking. The measured assessment of the film’s contributors combined with the critical insights of both scriptwriter and director did much to introduce Ó Cadhain to mainstream Irish critical and academic culture. Ó Cadhain’s life and achievements were revisited in 2006 in Macdara Ó Curraidhín’s extended television treatment Is mise Stoc na Cille, produced by ROSG and broadcast by TG4, and in 2007 in Rí an Fhocail, an RTÉ commission that was scripted by Alan Titley and directed by Seán Ó Cualáin and Macdara O Curraidhín.
RTÉ Raidió na Gaeltachta marked the sixtieth anniversary of Cré na Cille’s appearance in print on 10 March 2010 with a sixty-minute radio documentary, Cré na Cille: Seasca Bliain os cionn Talún (sixty years above ground). This documentary, produced by Dónall Ó Braonáin, contains a useful synopsis of critical thinking on Ó Cadhain’s masterpiece and features contributions from Éamon Ó Ciosáin, Lochlainn Ó Tuairisg, Róisín Ní Ghairbhí, Louis de Paor, Gearóid Denvir, Alan Titley, Máire Ní Annracháin, and Cathal Ó Háinle. Another television film is worthy of particular note: Ó Cadhain ar an gCnocán Glas, which was produced and directed by Aindreas Ó Gallchóir (1929–2011) for RTÉ and broadcast on 13 February 1967. The then single-channel national television service was a relatively recent arrival (1962) to the Irish media scene, but many interesting literary documentary features were produced in the initial years of RTÉ television. Ó Cadhain ar an gCnocán Glas is a short but arresting autobiographical portrait and features a visit by Máirtín Ó Cadhain to his native village and ancestral home approximately one mile west of Spiddal. Through a series of direct confessional pieces to the camera, short reflective voice-overs and unscripted, informal conversations with his neighbours, Ó Cadhain’s playful and humorous personality reveals itself in the course of twenty-four minutes. The film was shot in black and white by Will Warham, edited by Merritt Butler, remastered and rereleased by RTÉ Archives, and published in a DVD set with Rí an Fhocail by Cló Iar-Chonnacht in 2007.
Focal Scoir/Final Word
The last word is best left to Máirtín Ó Cadhain himself. In a contribution to a symposium entitled “Literature in the Celtic Countries” in Cardiff in 1969, he told of coming into the Hogan Stand in Croke Park on All Ireland Day as the teams waited for the parade:
In passing, a man whom I did not know, said in the Queen’s English and pointing his finger at me, “There goes Cré na Cille.” In pre-television days few writers of English, if any, would have been so recognised. The man said it as if he had a claim on me, as if he felt I was one of his own, one he could kick around, as the burly Kerry full-back was kicking the football about at the same moment. And of course I was. Whether he spoke Irish or not, he felt I belonged to him in a special way, one who was beyond yea or nay his own. This is worth more than all the money and all the sales in the world. It is recognition …56
Liam Mac Con Iomaire
ON TRANSLATING CRÉ NA CILLE
More talked about than read, for over threescore years Cré na Cille has been the buried treasure of modern Irish-language literature. Our aim in this translation is modest: to give the Anglophone reader the most accurate answer we can provide to the question, What is in this book? There is ample space in the shadow of Ó Cadhain for “versions,” subjective interpretations, radical transpositions into other settings and periods, even parodies; these things will follow. But, be faithful to Ó Cadhain has been our first commandment. This of course involves much more than word-for-word equivalence. In English the words are often lacking, Ó Cadhain being a word addict with access to a world that feasted upon its verbal riches, having little else. So it has often been necessary to jump out of the footsteps of the Irish text, run round it, and fall in with it again at the next corner.
A word on our working method. My Irish was picked up in Aran and south Conamara in the middle of a busy life, when I was exploring and mapping those intricate landscapes; it was serviceable enough then for discussing states of the tide, the gossip of
the townlands, and the promise of the potato crop, but nowadays it is hardly fit for public use. Hence the basis of our translation was produced by Liam, and then the two of us worked through it repeatedly, almost phrase by phrase. In searching for the English words that would most clearly convey Ó Cadhain’s meaning, we have tried to avoid flattening out his extravagances, his anarchic wit, his otherness, his sheer strangeness. At an early stage parts of our text were circulated among anonymous readers by the publisher, eliciting a wide range of comments and suggestions, for all of which we are grateful, and some of which we have adopted, while feeling that their mutual contradictoriness left us free to follow our own lights, which implies that the shortcomings of the present version are entirely our own. Nevertheless we gratefully acknowledge the guidance of Éamon Ó Ciosáin and Gearóid Ó Crualaoich in negotiating some particularly tangled corners of Ó Cadhain’s thorny masterpiece, and of Pádraig Ó Snodaigh, who read through and helpfully commented on our translation.
One of the most frequent and urgent recommendations made to us concerned what is almost an established practice with weighty precedents, of leaving personal names and placenames untranslated, in order to root the text in its original setting in time and space. There is point to this; one doesn’t want to be pretending that Caitríona and her neighbours are buried in some present-day English graveyard. But there are other ways of preserving a whiff of the book’s setting, its irreducible foreignness, across the linguistic gulf. The countless mentions in Cré na Cille of little stony fields, seaweed harvesting, holy wells, and so on, and the occasional references to a motor car, a movie, a woman in trousers, sufficiently locate it in a rural seaside community at a period when its folk ways are being invaded by modernity. (Also, if precedent is to be given weight in this debate, there is on the side of translation the splendid example of Brightcity, Eoghan Ó Tuairisc’s version of Ó Cadhain’s name for the city of Galway, in “An Bóthar go dtí an Ghealchathair.”) The point is this. Placenames are semantically two-pronged. The placename on the one hand denotes a location, and on the other bears a load of connotations with it, including the associations that make a place, an element of a life-world, out of the bare location. But the places mentioned in Cré na Cille are fictional, which complicates the relationship between denotation and connotation; the only existence of these places is in the text, and all we know of them is what the text tells us, which it does partly through the placename itself. What is denoted is constituted by the connotations. Of Lake Wood, all we know is that there is or was a lake and a wood; but given the general setting we can imagine the place. Pasture Glen, the Common Field, Mangy Field, Flagstone Height, Donagh’s Village, West Headland, Colm’s Cove, Woody Hillside, the Deep Hollow, Roadside Field, the Hill Field, and so on, and so on—cumulatively these names paint a picture of a small-scale, well-worked countryside intimately known to its inhabitants. To replace them all with strings of letters the non-Irish-speaking reader will not even be able to pronounce would entail a tremendous loss of texture, of precious discriminations, of meaning. Of course there are difficult choices to be made in translating some of them. To avoid a touch of the English suburban estate we have rendered Lake Wood as Wood of the Lake, and Pasture Glen as Glen of the Pasture, for instance. Also, it’s not possible to give the full sense of tamhnach in one or two English words—but such obstacles are just the usual ones that make translation a joy frustrated.
Graveyard Clay- Cré Na Cille Page 3
