If you could have been anything else at any place or period in history, what would you choose? I'd have picked special correspondent in Russia during the revolution, or London at the time of the Parnell split. The role of theatre-going, coffee-swilling gadfly in Restoration England, leading a life of endless pleasure-seeking and idle gossip, also has an undeniable appeal. And despite the revelations about What They Did to the Indians, I have not entirely jettisoned boyhood romantic notions of riding the range in the Wild, Wild West, taming a bucking bronco one day and lassoing an errant steer on the High Chapparal the next.
Stone-carver
I have just added a new one to the list. A surprise choice, perhaps - certainly an unusual one. I'd like to have been a stone-carver for one of those ancient high crosses you still see scattered around the country. A wha', Gay? Yes, I'd have enjoyed doing those representations of scenes from Scripture depicting the Last Judgment or the Devil pushing the baddies ahead of him into eternal damnation.
An unorthodox career option, the guidance counsellor at the local monastery might have said. "And the points are very high too." Nevertheless it would have been great fun. High crosses almost always have a series of panels portraying episodes from the Christian saga for the instruction of the faithful. Worn and weather beaten now, in their day they were clear and vivid and quite possibly painted in different colours. Imagine the sport these early sculptors must have had, watching from the back of the crowd as Aunt Emer or Uncle Cairbre cowered in fear and devotional submission before their illustrations of what could happen to those who departed from the paths of righteousness.
Fun?, you say. Why not? Those elaborate doodles of dogs chasing each other's tails that you see in the old books suggest that the monks in the scriptorium relied on a sense of humour to while away the long hours - so why not the stonecarvers?
These fanciful thoughts were inspired by a recent visit to Clonmacnoise, the great monastic site on the Shannon, which boasts several high crosses and innumerable carved gravestones, not to mention round towers, ruined churches and a spectacular setting. The river was in flood when I stopped by - an awesome sight that brought home the difficulties those early monks and their camp-followers laboured under as they tried to pursue their lives of holiness and piety.
Vikings
As if nature's whims and unpredictable rages weren't bad enough, there were successive raids by the Vikings, the Normans and just about everyone else who happened along. Now an out-of-the-way detour from the Dublin-Galway road, Clonmacnoise was in its time the main crossing-point on the route from east to west. It was more than just a holy place: it had real strategic importance too.
Little more than a century after St Patrick brought the Good Word to his fellow-Celts, a young monk called Ciaran laid the foundations for the Clonmacnoise community around 544-548 AD. We are told he had only seven followers and died after seven months at the tender age of 33. The death of the founder was only the first difficulty and was followed by: an epidemic of jaundice (664 AD); three accidental fires (8th century); a massacre by the King of Cashel (832 AD) and a foray by the Vikings (842 AD) The prior, whose name was Flann, was thrown into the Shannon and drowned. Ota, the wife of the Viking chieftain, Turgesius, attired herself as a pagan priestess and gave forth "oracles" from the church altar - latter-day rock stars please note.
Crozier
There were good days, too, and the 11th century in particular seems to have been a generally peaceful and happy time. The monks started working in gold and silver as well as stone and a magnificent crozier in the National Museum gives testimony to their artistry. Other items were looted systematically and continuously over the centuries. The final blow came in 1547 after the cathedral was severely damaged in a great storm. Before it could be repaired, squaddies from the Athlone garrison arrived and looted everything of value they could find, including even the window-glass.
On the day I visited, Clonmacnoise was receiving scores of visitors, oblivious to the weather and the exposed location. Like other monastic locations, the site is dotted with graves both ancient and modern and there were fresh flowers on some of them. The last High King of Ireland, Rory O'Connor, was laid to rest here in 1198 and it could almost be said that you were nobody in ancient times unless you were buried at Clonmacnoise.
In the words of the poet T.W. Rolleston, "The warriors of Erin in their famous generations slumber there."