Irish speakers join the row over Abbey drama policy

The on-going row over the Abbey Theatre’s 1916 commemorative programme and its lack of mná na hÉireann overlooked the fact that the programme also let down Gaeil na hÉireann. Not surprisingly, the lack of Irish-language content has met with criticism from drama-loving Irish speakers – though, equally, many Irish speakers are weary of the whole thing.

“We have been here before,” is the message. That weariness was echoed, funnily enough, in a statement from the Abbey in which they said, yes, we are aware that there is nothing in Irish on the programme, we have discussed it, yes, we will discuss it some more.

"The Abbey is not terribly interested in Irish-language drama," is a common complaint. Which is true and has been true for a long time – but it was not always true. For, dear reader, today's occupant of this little corner of The Irish Times online was once in am dram and trod the boards at the Abbey. Well, I say the Abbey but I mean its little stage, The Peacock.

Yes, years ago, this intrepid hack was a member of a Belfast-based Irish-language theatre group. I hesitate to call myself an “actor”. There is more acting skill in the table in front of you than in all my bones. I was a body. I learnt my lines, stood where I was told to stand, spoke those lines, exited stage left.

I appeared – by which I mean "stood upright" – in two productions: a big role – ahem – in Brendan Behan's The Hostage (I was awful!) – and a bit part (yep, demoted) in an Irish-language version of Max Frisch's Biedermann und die Brandstifter (The Arsonists).

You are not familiar with Frisch's work? Really? One is surprised. One expected the august readers of The Irish Times to know a little Frisch. It is a good play, a play very relevant to today's Ireland. Oh, apologies, you know the play but are somewhat taken aback that "Gaeilgeoirí" would be acting in a Frisch play? You expected us to be in Aran jumpers, talking about fishing nets and cailíní from across the cnoc? Not at all! We were hip, fresh, revolutionary. We were not following the rule book.

Admittedly at the time, my interest in drama had mostly been journalistic. I wrote a weekly arts column for The Andersonstown News, a column that needed to be filled, well, weekly. This was Belfast in the bad old days when the only use for the word "art" was that it rhymed with "fart". My colleagues were hard-working, hard-bitten hacks who were used to covering more contentious issues in Belfast's life. "What have you created this week, Pól?" one would ask as I sat down to scuplt a column.

I was shameless in my endeavours to fill the space and regularly blagged tickets to whatever events were on: "Hello, yes, this is Pól Ó Muirí from The Andersonstown News. I see you have an experimental Czechoslovak metaphysical drama on this week. I'd like a review ticket for that. Hm hm. I see. What makes you think that the good people of West Belfast would not be interested in an experimental Czechoslovak metaphysical drama? Are you trying to tell the good people of West Belfast what to think or not think? Oh, you do have a spare ticket after all? Excellent. One last question – should I bring my own popcorn?"

Perhaps it was my dedication to the cause of experimental Czechoslovak metaphysical drama that brought me to the attention of the local am dram Gaeilgeoirí. Perhaps it was just the fact that there were not that many Irish speakers in Belfast then. Who knows? Suffice to say, that I was dragged on stage despite my crippling shyness.

The group went on tour – Donegal, Limerick (the glamour!) and Dublin's Peacock theatre. Truth be told, I remember very little about the production. The set was very modern and very imaginative, the other actors were talented and committed but I did not so much have stage fright as stage terror. I stood where I was supposed to stand, spoke my lines, exited stage left, never to return. Wild horses – or Ros na Rún itself – would not drag me back on stage.

Still, I remember one small detail – there was an audience there that night. (This is, of course, in the days before TG4, Sky and free online porn.) People paid good money to see us, came out, clapped at the end of the show and seemed genuinely pleased to be in the theatre. There was a sense that something worthwhile had happened. It was a good play. It was in Irish. The whole thing was thoughtful and, dare I say it, creative.

There's a lesson there somewhere for the Abbey about developing audiences, by which I mean, filling the theatre with people who want to be in the theatre. So, plenty for the Abbey to mull over. If they want a revival of Biedermann und die Brandstifter, there is a script already in Irish. Alternatively, if the Abbey prefers experimental Czechoslovak metaphysical drama, let me know and I will see about getting something translated in time for 1916.