`I once spent almost a year translating transportation terms into Irish via French, German and Latin. When I rang Bord na Gailge they said it was an `alien enterprise' - I haven't spoken the language since." So says Michael Corcoran, one of a group of transport enthusiasts who have maintained and restored Irish transport history neglected by governments since 1949. That's passion.
They're ex-bus drivers, civil servants, architects, publishers. They know every inch and breath of the museum and, but for them, some amazing vehicles and snippets of information would be rotting away in lots and farms.
Ever since the Victorians we've been obsessed with cataloguing, storing and collecting things. In its most obvious manifestation this takes the form of the National Museum, the Natural History Museum and the National Gallery: big buildings flooded with mainstream history, culture, flannel trousers and aran jumpers. Some things don't capture the public imagination quite as much as dinosaurs (real or political), so there's always a danger that some things are being pushed by the wayside.
Derval O' Carroll at the National Print Museum agrees that the museum is a catalogue. Though there's low interest among the public, "it's important to record and give testament to the traditions and skills of a field that's changed so much." The museum occupies an old garrison chapel in the Beggars' Bush Barracks where children of the word-processor and the Internet can see how newspapers were once put together. They can see wonderful old machines, among them the Columbian Eagle Press from the early 19th century. All meshing cogs and turning wheels with sculpted wrought iron eagle on top, it's a machine you can understand by simply examining - which makes it strange and interesting to today's computer generation.
The second floor of the museum looks like the control room in Blake's Seven - there are computers which look like toys, with very large buttons and green screens. As a luddite, however, I was most impressed by a framed Daily News headline, "Randy Andy Irks Queen", about the days of Koo Stark. The Print Museum gets you thinking in more ways than one, about how times have changed.
THE Writers Museum in Parnell Square is the sort of place where you're likely to find roots-chasing yanks and caravaning Germans. At £4.50, it's a little more expensive than the others. Here, it's not the stuff on Joyce or Beckett that intrigues, so much as exhibits such as the smallest ever edition of Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield from 1896 - it's about an inch across and an inch and a half long. Other things of note include a strangely stern looking bust of Myles Na Gopaleen made by Victor McCaughan.
The museum is a pretty conclusive summation of a rich literary tradition for those who haven't seen the phenomenon bled to death through Joyce T-shirts and literary walks. I couldn't help thinking that they could produce a more colourful and original exhibit if it was connected in some way to its poorer cousin in Beggars' Bush. A big collection on print, literature and newspapers could be of interest to tourists, natives and fanatics alike.
IT'S interesting to note the way Dublin tourism, in its Ministry of Information-like manner, seeks to oversee and validate all that's written about the Writers Museum. This level of official interest is absent at the Transport Museum tucked out of the way in Howth - and cheap at £1.50.
This is perfect place to see grown men turn into 10-year-old boys with scabby knees and runny noses. It's basically a popup catalogue of obsolete vehicles. If old buses and fire-engines don't light your fire, eco-friendly electric delivery vans from the 1940s, home-made Irish army tanks, or gigantic restored trams will certainly start your engine.
A further insight into past social conditions can be garnered if you can get Des to talk about how cold it was to drive a London bus in the 1950s. And you're in luck you can get Michael and Des to talk about the Moriarty Tribunal.
The impressive collection is funded by the voluntary Transport Museum Society of Ireland, which sprang up after a government effort to preserve trams in 1949 fell apart. The volunteers are fans in the original sense of the word, knowing everything about each piece.
Despite his disappointment with Bord na Gaeilge, Michael is still highly dedicated. He is about to publish a book on the history of Dublin's trams - he calls it Through Streets Broad and Narrow. It's the only system in Europe not to have a book on it, which seems strange considering we're about to embark on the project again.
The Transport Museum is open on Saturdays, Sundays and bank holidays, 2-5 p.m.