I do not know to what degree I should be utterly ashamed of myself for not knowing of the works of the Brocas family or, for that matter, of the family name, other than by the 12 standard Brocas topographical prints of Dublin; and, even then, I could not have told you what the term Brocas referred to. Probably I should feel deeply ashamed, yet I might be consoled by the fact that they do not make it into the Cambridge Biographical Encyclopaedia, which manages to include - I choose at random - Desmond Ryan, Peig Sayers, Kate O'Brien, Vincent O'Brien, Eimar O'Duffy - so it is not as if it is indifferent to Irish matters.
But no Brocases. Yet we are, I suspect, all vaguely aware of the imagery of the Brocas tribe; they fill our subconscious perception of the Dublin of old, both as satirical artists, social observers and superb draughtsmen. Perhaps over the years the name, associated with the standard prints, came to be taken for granted. What is always there is never seen - until, that is, somebody draws our attention to it.
Patricia Butler, who some years ago produced one of the most beautiful Irish books of recent decades - Irish Watercolours and Drawings, happily recently reprinted - has done just that; drawn our attention to the Brocas family in a National Library production dedicated to the great and good Pat Donlon. It is the kind of publication which sends the pulses racing, for not merely does it give so much pleasure, but it promises so much more to follow.
Window on the Past
Though in her introduction Patricia Butler declares that the Brocas family might not be regarded in the front rank as artists - but were nonetheless fascinating recorders of life in 19th-century Dublin - I would be inclined to differ. Taken as a body of work, the Brocas collection is indeed in the front rank, and the discovery of some 2,500 Brocas drawings, watercolours and prints, most of which has been unknown until recently, should bring joy to the soul.
Cataloguing of this collection, which had been assembled by that curious fellow, Jasper Joly, in the last century, only began in 1990, resulting in the Butler work which, in addition to being a very fine guide to the Brocas collection, serves as catalogue to the recently-opened Brocas exhibition in the National Library.
Apparently many of the works have been digitalised, whatever that means, and will be available on the Internet, a method of communication which I have not yet mastered, though God knows I have tried. It would be rather nice if some of these prints and watercolours became available in print-form for those of us who always end up in outer space shouting into a vacuum every time we start trying to communicate through the Internet.
Artistic Treasury
The Brocas family consisted of James and his brother, Henry, who were born in the middle years of the 18th century, and Henry's four sons, James, Samuel, William and Henry; and at which point the Brocas genius seems to have exhausted itself - as does the name today, for there are no Brocases in the telephone directory. But what they have left us is a treasury almost beyond compare: what happened to the heartbeat of the first person to go through this collection in recent times?
As Patricia Butler says (in part, contradicting herself, though I say this in the kindest possible way), Henry Brocas senior was a master beyond all comparison, and not merely of his art, but also of giving us an insight into the people and the places of Dublin at the end of the 18th century - including a Thomas Doolittle, a Methodist clergyman who, when he arrived at Ashford in Co Wicklow, was accosted by a boy named Tighe.
"What's your name?" inquired the brat. The clergyman told him, whereupon the brat replied: "Doolittle! That's a queer name to have upon a man; well, come and preach a sermon like yourself, short and fat." Young Tighe spoke for every child who has ever endured a sermon upon a summer's day; I honour him for it. But did there remain within the Protestant community of Dublin people of that name who might have influenced George Bernard Shaw when he was looking for a surname for Eliza?
Time Capsule
What is truly wonderful about the Brocas collection is its range, for although there are streetscapes and landscapes from Dublin and Limerick and other places, there are views abroad - one of Edinburgh by Samuel is quite enchanting; and, in addition, there are satirical sketches, anatomical drawings and wildlife illustrations, as well as family groups. It is almost as if somebody had launched a time capsule from a century and a half ago to inform us how life was led, how people dressed, how ships were berthed and traffic conducted itself all those years ago.
We are given to complain a great deal about how Dublin has changed; but some of the Brocas drawings remind us of how blessed we are with a priceless continuity. Samuel Brocas's coloured pencil drawing of the view from Carlisle (O'Connell) Bridge towards Westmoreland Street/D'Olier Street discloses a vista largely available today, save for that towering concrete atrocity, O'Connell Bridge House.
And, similarly, the front cover of the catalogue, of the Corn Exchange across the Liffey to the Custom House, reveals much that is there to this day. For that, for the Brocases, and last, but certainly not least, for Patricia Butler, we give heartfelt thanks.