Capturing time in a capsule

The discovery of a time capsule at the former site of Nelson's Pillar in Dublin raises some important issues. For one thing, a new capsule will presumably have to go down in its place, under the planned Millennium spire. Which begs the question: what should we put in this one, to best represent our times?

There are a few obvious items. Nothing quite sums up Ireland in the boom years like Riverdance. So I suggest the first thing into the box should be a video of the show - the original one, with Michael Flatley. OK, they probably won't let us put Flatley in the box; but the video should go in, at least.

Another automatic inclusion would be a copy of Joe Jacob's emergency plan. This could be of major interest to future generations of Irish people. Unless of course the plan has been implemented in the meantime, in which case there may not be any survivors to read it.

The preliminary report of the Flood Tribunal, expected soon, might also be included. It will be a useful reference work when the inquiry finally ends, which - at the risk of optimism - could well happen by the time the new capsule is dug up. In any case, this item would also serve as a back-handed tribute to the work of political spin-doctors, whose skill in burying reports is one of the glories of our age.

The second issue raised by the discovery of the Nelson's Pillar capsule is whether we should be opening it at all. Our former rulers thought the pillar would stand for 1,000 years, apparently, and intended the box to stay under it for the same period. Then again, they probably thought Kevin Barry would stay down for even longer, and they were wrong about that, too. Times change, and the wishes of past generations don't have to be respected. Not unless they have good lawyers.

Even so, there's a certain poignancy in the confidence of the people who put that capsule in place back in 1808. According to the history books, the laying of the pillar's foundation stone was marked by an extraordinary display of pomp, with marching bands, military parades and every dignitary in the city attending: from the Duke of Richmond, who laid the stone, to Arthur Guinness, who helped pay for it.

It's sobering - if that's not an inapt term - to reflect that Guinness is about the only thing left in Dublin they might recognise. And even that's not certain. Global warming, which as we all know has turned Ireland into a sweltering, tropical paradise, has since forced a drastic reduction in the temperature of stout, and the extra-cool version would probably cause Arthur to choke. Which reminds me, we should put a video of some of the recent Guinness ads in the new capsule too. More enlightened generations may be able to work out what they mean.

If the Duke and his friends really did believe the capsule would be buried for 1,000 years, it's worth noting that it wasn't necessarily the blowing up of the pillar in 1966 that foiled the plan. It was the more recent mania for digging, which has had Dublin in its grip for several years now, that did the damage.

The Irish have a proud digging tradition going back centuries, in everything from canals, to railroads, to first World War trenches. But in the past, the digging was generally carried out abroad: a fact celebrated in Christy Moore's 1980s emigration hit, Don't Forget Your Shovel.

Since the boom reversed the migration process, however, all our crack overseas digging units have come home. And particularly in Dublin, nothing is now safe from them: footpaths, roads, the past - everything is being dug up. In fact, if we include a pneumatic drill with the rest of the stuff in the new capsule, we'll have the current period well covered.

On foot of a news report about the capsule, former Dublin mayor Tomas MacGiolla rang me with a story about the aforementioned Duke of Richmond. Like many historic figures, the Duke is hung (or a picture of him, anyway) on the walls of the Mansion House. And during his year as mayor, MacGiolla used to invite people to study the painting, and watch their reactions.

The thing is, apparently, the Duke as portrayed bears an uncanny resemblance to one Charles Haughey. I can't comment, because at time of going to press I haven't seen the picture. But I have learned the alarming fact that the Duke's death in 1819 was caused by "the effects of a bite from a fox".

There's a witty conclusion buried here somewhere, possibly including the words "grotesque" and "unbelievable". But I'm going to cover it over carefully, and leave it for future generations to find.

fmcnally@irish-times.ie