An Irishman's Diary

I thought the Chief State Pathologist was exaggerating a bit when, in an interview in this paper at the weekend, she expressed astonishment at the Irish fascination with death.

All right, her job has a much higher profile here than it would have in her native Scotland. The fact that she rivals Charlie Bird as a media personality is a comment in itself. And yes, death notices are a vital and popular part of Irish local radio, read out like a solemn version of the GAA results.

Even so, when Prof Cassidy joked about Irish people that "if they haven't been to a removal. . .it's a bad week", I thought she was egging the pudding a bit. Then I reread Patrick Kavanagh's early memoir The Green Fool - in particular the chapter called "Death and Burial" - and I was forced to concede that she might have a point.

The memoir dates from the 1930s, when Kavanagh was documenting what was supposedly a disappearing way of life. Ways of life are always disappearing, it seems, although the chapter in question specifically regrets the demise of the traditional Irish wake, condemned - according to the author - by simultaneous rises in respectability and the price of whiskey.

"Continental Catholicism" had finally replaced the colourful druidic culture that St Patrick admired and assimilated, Kavanagh wrote, and celebration of death was one of the victims. "So the wakes passed out and we all began to wear long faces," he lamented.

But the wakes, or at least the spirit of them, didn't pass entirely. Some of the celebratory attitude he described - especially when it concerned "an old man or woman going on a cruise to eternity with baggage complete and passports in order" - survives even today. And so, clearly, does our interest in the actual process.

Death is no longer the source of entertainment it was when Kavanagh described the secret disappointment caused by a temporary improvement in a patient's condition ("We didn't want the man to live another week. It was a slack period in the neighbourhood and a wake and funeral would be a break in the monotony").

On the other hand, customs such as "watching" the dying - relays of people sitting up night after night (since "to let a man or woman steal into the Shade unwatched was a disgrace"), put down deep roots that haven't been completely eradicated yet.

In Kavanagh's Inniskeen, everyone was a pathologist. The difference was that, where a college-educated pathologist only has to record the time of death after it happens, the challenge for the village pathologist was to record it in advance. There were some, like Red Pat, who made "almost a profession" of vigil-keeping. These "could judge to the minute when the dying would become the dead. . .One glimpse at the bed was enough".

Credibility was at stake here. A skilled watcher would have to think hard before returning a verdict such as Red Pat's: "He'll not pass one o'clock". Whether the prediction was correct or not, however, the kitchen clock was always stopped at the moment of death, to show that the vigil-keepers had done their duty.

The instinct must still be still there among us, 70 years on, although maybe prolonged exposure to material wealth will finally finish what "Continental Catholicism" started. Time poverty is the problem now, and the Irish reputation as serial funeral attenders - as certified by the State pathologist - must be under pressure.

But still on the subject of materialism and before leaving The Green Fool, I should recall in passing the old practice at Catholic funerals of making "offerings for the dead". This was a custom whereby mourners expressed their respect with a donation (to the church), the generosity of which was influenced not just by affection for the deceased, but by the fact that the amount and the donor's name ("Peter Woods, half a crown") were announced to the entire congregation.

It was already controversial in the 1930s: Kavanagh has the locals worrying what "the Protestants" would think, and suggesting it be dropped. But in the diocese of Clogher, at least, the custom survived for another 30 years, outlasting Kavanagh himself, before finally dying of shame. The coming of materialism was not all bad.

Readers may have suspected by now that this is all a thinly disguised preamble to the news that this Friday sees the start of the annual Patrick Kavanagh Weekend in Inniskeen. In life, the man himself was very relaxed about death. And when it came for him in 1967, as with many poets, it was a very good career move. His robust personality had probably held him back before that. Since then, his reputation has gone from strength to strength.

It should be further boosted by a weekend that begins on Friday with a keynote address by Anthony Cronin. There will be talks also by Vincent Browne ("The Politics of Poetry") and John Waters ("In Search of the Flash", while John McArdle will discuss the work of two contrasting Ulster poets in the intriguingly titled "Big Tom and Seamus Heaney - where is the parish now?" Jimmy Crowley, among others, will provide music.

Elsewhere, planned excursions from Inniskeen include a conducted walking tour of what Kavanagh called "the oriental streets of thought" (now better known as Carrickmacross). Further details are available at www.patrickkavanaghcountry.com