THE RELUCTANT CIVIL SERVANT

THIS morning Dr Pat Donlon deservedly begins the rest of her life, having formally left the National Library yesterday alter eight years as its director. I'm sad about it. I love the place," she says. I came in to make a difference and I did make a difference, but that difference was not as big as I would have liked it to be. I want it to be worthy of the title of National Library . . . we are still struggling."

Under Donlon the library underwent a transformation, and all on the embarrassingly tiny budget of £2.1 million.

While retaining its old world charm, the library was freed of its stuffy Victorian institutionalism. In addition to the practical business of extensive refurbishment, Donlon initiated much needed technical innovations to guide the library into the 20th century before the 21st arrives.

Impressive progress was made in the area of conservation, preservation and computerising cataloguing systems. Accessibility improved within the limitations of staffing and improvements were also introduced in new security measures.

A high tech photographic archive has also been created: it deals with the library's collection which is now estimated to be approaching 300,000 pictures. The preparations for this archive, which is to be housed in an exhibition centre in Meeting House Square in Temple Bar, near the film archive and the Gallery of Photography, are virtually complete. Everything is ready - except of course, for the lack of staff. There is also further expansion planned as the library will eventually take over the NCAD premises on Kildare Street.

In the absence of sufficient government funding, Donlon fund raised and battled for the library as a bustling mother would for her child. Heroic efforts indeed, yet the optimistic, friendly Donlon made her share of enemies - not to mention, of course, working her way towards the triple heart bypass operation she had five years into the job.

A small, blonde, pretty, womanly woman, she still has her girlish looks, but she does look weary. Still, she is neither defensive nor defiant.

She revitalised the National Library and leaves it a friendlier, more efficient, healthier, brighter place, while personally appearing to have fallen from favour.

In theory it would appear to be the dream job. In reality, it turned into a nightmare. Donlon's personality did not help. In a way, her arrival at the National Library could be compared with an American entering Victorian London society. This is an energetic woman, alarmingly devoid of gravitas. Blunt and direct, she is not typical executive material. No big suit, no entourage of minions, no jargon, no clinical detachment, a dangerous inclination towards approachability, a tendency to listen to others and above all a natural unorthodoxy which amounts to taking chances. "I think my sense of humour doesn't help either: at moments of crisis, I tend to make jokes - after all, what else can you do - but I don't think many of my jokes went down too well either.

Of the many frustrations she encountered working within the civil service was that "you can't really reward work well done. I had people working for me who are worth twice their salaries and there is nothing you can do about it."

The Strategic Management Initiative intended to reform the civil service was launched last year and Donlon, not surprisingly, is an enthusiastic supporter. "I think it is a good plan as well as a much needed one. I for one will certainly be standing on the sidelines applauding its success.

Realistic enough to concede that a civil service environment is not her natural world and conscious that she is incapable of changing her personality and approach to work - "you finally have to learn from experiences and recognise sources of stress, I suppose, and I knew I could persist where I would only find myself heading down towards another bypass" - she decided it was time to go, and she sought early retirement on medical grounds.

Heart trouble was not something she had anticipated; there was no family history. "I've never smoked and I certainly have never considered myself a stressed person. I'm 54, I like work and I like living. I'm actually, fairly easy going.

Having previously worked at the Royal Irish Academy and the Chester Beatty Library, where she spent eight years as curator of the Western Collection, she is not lacking proven professional expertise. Nor is she without a sense of history and the past. While she became a professional administrator, she has never lost her academic habits - "I love the business of researching and assessing material. Above all, I love the world of books."

Aware there were critics who felt she would challenge the library's traditions and its prevailing ethos, Don Ion recalls one of the bits of Dublin gossip that eventually winged its way back to her. "You always hear the things said about you, and this one was quite funny ... `That one will have the dancing girls in here yet', I heard." No doubt because it was felt Donlon would do anything to raise money for the library?

"Obviously that must be one of my regrets, I never did manage to bring those dancing girls in.

She did, however, speak her mind in an interview which appeared last year. She talked frankly - but certainly not negatively - about the National Library. "For about 10 days, no one said a word about the interview." It was politely, and studiously, ignored. "It was as if no one had seen it. Then someone did mention it and right away it was as if it was okay to discuss. It told me a lot about how uncertain we are of our own opinions in Ireland."

In addition to holding material which effectively tells the story of Ireland, the library also houses the national newspaper archive and the prints and drawings collection, which comprises 90,000 items. "I hate, whingeing - I even had a sign up in my office forbidding whining, but you can't not make comparisons. Our National Library has a collection of some five million items - in terms of size we have a slightly bigger collection than the National Library of Wales but it receives more than double the funding and has almost four times the staff - 223 as opposed to between 65 and 70 people."

The National Library of Scotland is also comparable in terms of size and it has a staff of 260 and a budget of £11.4 million." If you don't have the staff it makes it very difficult to serve the public. Libraries are extremely service intensive. For every item a reader wants to see, it takes one staff member to fetch it."

Does she feel angry? Bitter? Frustrated? "Oh, frustrated - and I'm also worried. I feel the library has had to battle against an image of elitism. It is a researcher's library. I don't think the public is particularly interested in it. It is an institution which is too easy to take for granted." Donlon has raised its national profile but it is true that the National Museum has a higher one and possesses a wider public appeal. "When we see generous government funding going into the arts, of course it's great. But a lot of these projects are new. I think it is vital to look after the existing institutions.

"This is not a demand for ongoing injections of money, but an initial large amount is needed to ensure an institution such as the National Library is functioning at its maximum strength."

Donlon is no zealot; her arguments are sane, practical and commonsensical. It is probably too easy to underestimate her and she makes her points in a conversational rather than rhetorical way: nor does she exude the self seriousness common to many arts administrators and academics alike. Whether she speaks about early Spanish poetry or the naturalist R. L. Praeger (who spent 31 years at the National Library and for three years until his retirement held the post of chief librarian/director); the weather or her granddaughter, her tone is the same enthusiastic and open. In fact, most of Donlon's comments are heavily effected to literature, art or history.

Donlon's final acquisition as director was the purchase of many of award winning children's illustrator P.J. Lynch's original watercolours and, she adds, "I was delighted to acquire Hugh Leonard's complete archive, surely one of Ireland's most underestimated writers".

Many projects have delighted her, such as the Treasures From The National Library of Ireland exhibition in 1994 and its award winning catalogue which was sponsored by Boyne Valley Honey. The forthcoming Brocas exhibition will introduce the public to the work of the late 18th early 19th century Dublin family of artists - a father, his four sons, and one grandson - their combined work is an extraordinary historical document as well as a fascinating chapter in Irish 19th century nature painting. "Our Brocas collection has over 4,000 items and again, while not stepping on the toes of the National Gallery, it shows the overlapping of our various collections," says Donlon.

HARD work is something Donlon learned about from her mother. "She was always working in the house. She would stay up all night to make us something to wear if we were going out. She used to say `hard work never killed anyone' - little did she know!" she jokes.

"I suppose I'm driven, I know I'm driven, but I've never been ambitious. I'm interested," she says. Her career pattern has tended to reflect her interests rather than any concerted plan to reach the top.

"I think when I went to school and did well at exams my mother realised I could have things she never did. She didn't push me, but I knew she wanted me to do well for me.

Marcella McCarthy - "she always hated her name" - sent her two girls to a small local school, Miss Maguire's. The regime was not particularly demanding and there were no exams. While there, young Pat soon learnt she loved reading. By the time she arrived at the Holy Faith Convent in the Coombe, joining the fifth class, she knew she was clever: she came first in the first exam she ever did. Her elder sister, May, is a business woman and has six children.

When Pat Donlon arrived at University College Dublin in 1960, she was conscious of being the first person from her family to attend college. "I was also one of the few from my class at school. At that time we were educated to go to work in the Jacobs, factory which was nearby, or - if you were, really doing well - to do secretarial. All of it, of course, was aimed at what you did before you got married.

At college Donlon did arts: "I studied English and Spanish, and looking back, I suppose I took Spanish because it was the shortest queue." At the end of first year, she went to work as an au pair in Spain and arrived to find no one waiting for her. It was a frightening way to begin her first trip away from home. "I couldn't speak the language and all I had was the equivalent of a box number, no address." Eventually after about three days, the family was located and the young Pat McCarthy found herself looking after three small children in the company of their grandparents in a tiny village. It was not the most romantic of experiences. "No, it was quite dull. But I can tell you I certainly learned to speak Spanish. Children are great communicators.

On graduating with a first class honours degree in Spanish, she accepted a one year, research scholarship in Spain. At 22, she married Phelim Donlon. They have two daughters, now grown.

She stayed at home raising the girls who were born within 18 months of each other. But by the time she was 28, she realised she wanted to return to study and completed an MA in Spanish romance poetry. Soon after submitting it she was advised to reject the MA and present it for a doctorate which she was awarded. She then began a library diploma in 1978. One of the course options was children's literature. "I was fascinated, and became hooked." It was only then she realised the significance of a copy of The Wind In The Willows she had bought in 1965. "Little did I know then that I was going to have such a specialist interest in children's literature."

Her first library job was at the veterinary college in Ballsbridge and then in 1979, she joined the Royal Irish Academy, before moving on two years later to the Chester Beatty.

SHE and Phelim still live in the house they moved into in 1965, an ordinary house in a south Dublin suburb. "It's an ugly house," she says helpfully. Ugly on the outside, that is.

Inside, it reveals the atmosphere of a comfortable country house, full of pictures, books, pottery, interesting objects, stripped wood and patrolled by a small dog with a discerning taste in visitors. The garage has been converted to a book room which displays a far stronger sense of order than Donlon is, prepared to admit to.

Upstairs is another book room serving one of her special interests - her impressive collection of international children's literature. Among the rare Victorian books she has are several first editions of works by Rosamond Praeger (1867-1954), the younger sister of R. L. Praeger. It was Donlon who introduced S. Rosamond Praeger to the International Directory Of 20th Century Children's Literature on which she has worked for the 3rd and 4th editions. "She was another of these extraordinary Victorian women, extremely well educated and gifted. Her children's books are amazing, very, very funny, but she is best known in Ireland as a sculptress." Donlon also has first editions of the work of the illustrator Ardizzonne and several books by Maurice Sendak.

Although Donlon's accent retains the influence of her west of Ireland parents and her demeanour has a country ease about it, she was born in Dolphins Barn in 1943. "I'm a Dub, but I know what you're saying," she says. "My father was from Co Galway and my mother came from Killucan, Co Westmeath. At school I was always called a culchie. Even recently I had a row with a taxi driver who didn't believe I'm from Dublin. I had to insist `I'm a Dub. I'm a Dub'. I know he didn't believe me."

The family moved to Dufferin Avenue, off the South Circular Road when she was seven. Donlon remembers her father, Patrick McCarthy as "a large, lovable man. He was a garda and though not particularly career driven, he did become an inspector. He would have gone for promotion not because he wanted to take the place over but as a way of getting something extra for us."

He died 10 years ago, nine months after her mother and, Donlon says, "he was buried on my 44th birthday, I always associate my birthdays with that now. I was lucky, though my parents lived on until I was well grown."

Her mother's last years were difficult. "She was a different person near the end. It has taken me years to claim her back, I think she resented I wasn't there to take care of her. I've been slowly reconstituting her in my mind, looking at old pictures of her when she was a young woman. I had to remind myself of the person she had been, and she was great fun. If a boyfriend phoned, she used to pretend to be me.

"She died of pneumonia after a fall, she was 74. My father was seven years older and he just dropped dead. He was so lonely, it was heartbreaking watching him without her, he was lost. They had been married for 52 years."

Her final word is on the Civil Service:

Well, the best of the civil servants I worked with are wonderful and work hard within their rigid bonds - there is no flexibility - as for the worst, they left me in despair of the Civil Service.

"It took me eight bears to realise . .. I'm not a civil servant." And she doesn't seem unduly worried about that.