An Irishman's Diary

THE RECENT subject of a centenary statue to Brian O’Nolan has provoked intriguing suggestions from readers, none more than Tony McGaley who, also noting my comments yesterday about the success of the Dublin bike-rental scheme, suggests the two themes be combined.

In short, he proposes an O’Nolan memorial that would be “half-man, half-bicycle” and located at the rental station in Stephen’s Green, complete with a health warning about the dangers of molecular interchange to heavy-using renters.

At first glance, this seems an excellent plan. The theme of velocipedal transport was one dear to the writer, especially in his novelist persona, Flann O'Brien. Central to the The Third Policemanis Sgt Pluck's great question: "Is it about a bicycle?" And with Dublin City Council's policies increasingly answering that question in the affirmative, it would seem only right to allow O'Nolan share the credit for cycling's revival.

On the other hand, there are certain ethical issues. Even in the straight-laced 1940s, when a man generally confined himself to riding his own bike, Flann O'Brien worried about the problem of atomic interchange in those with big mileage, such as the postman who was 71 per cent bicycle. Indeed, the nearest The Third Policemangets to discussing sex is its delicate allusion to the scandal of a majority-male bike that one day positions itself outside a school in such a way that the "lady teacher" mistakes it for her own.

Circa 1940, not even Flann could have imagined something like the bike-sharing scheme, where the same machine may have multiple users, from both genders, in the space of an afternoon. The sheer promiscuity of it would have shocked him. Even with a public warning attached, I doubt he’d want to be implicated.

PASCAL DESMOND suggests what sounds like a simpler idea – that the statue be located “under Andy Clerkin’s clock”. This is the infamous stopped timepiece, outside the premises of a Dublin coal-merchant who also happened to be lord mayor, which became the focus of a long-running campaign of protest by O’Nolan’s other alter ego, Myles na gCopaleen.

There would even be a model for such a statue, in the ill-advised photograph O’Nolan once posed for, under the clock, thereby publicly identifying himself with the newspaper column, which may later have contributed to his forced retirement from the Civil Service. So such a statue would be both apt and dramatic. But there is the slight problem that the clock – and indeed the Pearse Street coal-merchant’s – no longer exists.

Recreating the timepiece would add to the project's cost, unless one were to cheat slightly and locate the statue a mere street away, under The Irish Timesclock, a magnificent example of the genre (though, needless to say, never stopped). As it happens, putting it there would also involve proximity to a bike station. And a police station. So there would be enough cross-references to keep a tour guide talking for an hour.

Against which, the footpath in question already has a life-size bronze of Countess Markievicz. Which might incur the same criticism that another reader, Jeannette Huber, makes of my suggestion that the statue be located outside McDaid’s Pub in Harry Street. There, it would have to share space with the existing Phil Lynott memorial and Jeannette worries that, juxtaposed, they might look like “bookends”.

Her counter-proposal is for the statue to be placed at a city-centre bus stop, where the brother of “The Brother” cornered much of his audience. She doesn’t say which number bus.

But an early favourite might be one of the Finglas routes, as nominated by Myles’s celebrated “Catechism of Cliche”, one one of those occasions when it veered into Latin: Q. “Which omnibus line is best augured?” A. “Fortuna favet 40 bus”.

AS FOR my suggestion that any statue should be a straightforward rendering of O’Nolan’s classic Emergency-chic look – including overcoat, collar-and-tie, and broad-brimmed hat – Dr Kevin Atherton of the National College of Art and Design begs to differ.

He writes: “Given Flann O’Brien’s creation of multiple identities in the services of literature, the first creation of which was that of Flann O’Brien himself, then surely any public statue of the underrated genius could not simply be as a tribute to ‘the great man’ but of necessity would have to be in recognition of the combined literary output of the ‘Great Men’.

"Along the lines of The Three GracesI would like to propose The Three Flanns, a sculpture that whilst following the neoclassical lines of Antonio Canova's iconic piece, would combine the overlapping identities of Brian O'Nolan, Flann O'Brien, and Myles na Gopaleen, freezing forever O'Nolan's elegantly spiralling dance with himself and his literary personas."

That certainly sounds interesting. But it also sounds expensive. And I note with concern that none of the statuary suggestions made so far has been accompanied by a donation, or even a funding proposal.

I fear that in these difficult times, minimalism may be the way to go. Thus, while keeping the hat (or hats), the collar-and-tie, even the suggestion of an overcoat, we could achieve cost-savings lower down. As a civil servant from the straitened 1940s, O’Nolan would hardly complain if his centenary had to be commemorated in the sculptural form that perhaps best suits our age. I refer, of course, to the bust.