An Irishman's Diary

I RECEIVED a press release the other day concerning a horticultural product that, according to the blurb, would unleash – of all things – my “inner gorilla-gardener”. And, okay, I’m not denying I may have an inner gorilla. We all have our moods, occasionally. But given the context, I could only presume that the intended reference was to “guerrilla” gardening: an activity by which waste-ground and other neglected public spaces are planted, secretly or otherwise, with flowers and trees.

Sure enough, the product in question proved to be something called a “Seedbomb”. Shaped like a hand-grenade, it contained seeds and a compost made from recycled coffee granules, and was aimed (in some cases – I imagine – literally) at a wide range of horticultural consumers: from the lazy garden owner, struggling with his own patch, to the committed eco-warrior, bent on beautifying a city. And any doubt about the intended metaphor was removed by a promise that, as a gift, the product would “blow the recipient away”.

Yet you can understand the gorilla/guerrilla confusion: even if, apart from sounding alike, the words are in no way related. Far from having any military connotations, “gorilla” is an old Greek term meaning “hairy women”, and as such comes down to us from all of 2,500 years ago. It was used back then by Hanno the Navigator, who on his travels in West Africa, thought he had seen a tribe of unusually hirsute females.

Probably, in fact, they were apes: so that when gorillas were first recorded by 19th century naturalists, Hanno’s word was retained.

But of course guerrillas can be considered creatures of the wild too, in a way. They may also, often, be hairy, if only because their activities sometimes involve long periods of living rough. One thinks of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro, hiding out in the mountains, circa 1958, while waiting their chance to descend on Havana. Here, therefore, we even have the phrase “mountain guerrilla”: from which it requires only a short leap of the imagination to see David Attenborough peering at them through the leaves while whispering into a camera.

In this part of the world, the gorilla/guerrilla confusion is further exacerbated by that well-known Dublin expression: “gurrier”.

Its meaning of “ill-mannered, loutish person” might even suggest the term as a linguistic bridge between the other two words. But it’s not, apparently. (Nor, although it’s a popular explanation, may it have anything to do with Gur cake: the confection once popular with the urban poor).

According to Diarmaid Ó Muirithe, of “Words We Use” fame, gurrier is most likely an onomatopoeic invention. He cites the English Dialect Dictionary, where one may find the verb “gurr” (to snarl or growl like a dog), and the noun “gurry”, meaning loud argument or brawl. Thus, Diarmaid believes, the derivation of the Dublin slang word. And while I would add that, where I grew up, “gurry” was a baby pig, I suspect he’s right.

Anyway, getting back to geurrilla/gorilla gardening, and to compound the confusion, I note that another phrase sometimes used for this activity it is “bewildering”. The usage harks back to the origins of that word, meaning “to lead astray, or into the wild”. But according to one leading bewilderer, an Australian named Bob Crombie, the verb also used to have a spiritual sense too.

A retired park ranger, Crombie now devotes himself to planting flora on roadside margins or otherwise neglected public spaces. And in an interview with the Sydney Morning Herald a while back, he spoke of the positive effects this had on people, even such typical waste-ground congregators as drug users, who, when they saw the planting work, would sometimes join in.

There may be similar projects afoot in this country already. Either way, I can see big growth potential in Dublin especially. Not only could much public waste-land be reclaimed, so could many public wastrels. In fact, if the thing took off, I could foresee a local refinement of the terminology, describing a process whereby gurriers are transformed into things of human beauty through exposure to seed planting.

“Guerrillier-gardening” it might be called.

FURTHER TOthe Trail of the Lone Vulpine (Irishman's Diary, April 20th), meanwhile, several readers have been in touch to describe similarly close encounters with the latter-day urban fox. So impressed was Charlie Keegan by one such meeting, in his drive-way, that he even wrote a song about the creature's battle against rural oppression and its application for asylum in the city. Here's the last verse: So he's made the big move/His den neatly downsized,/ And is now living large/Suave and urbanised./(But take care little creatures/If you he should greet,/It's not only hounds/Who have sharp pointy teeth.)

Another correspondent on the subject was Garrett Hayes, whose photograph (seen here) suggests that even in the countryside, the fox is growing more relaxed with human company. It was taken in west Clare last year, when he saw a man walking two pets, canine and vulpine respectively. They were all perfectly relaxed together. Only the photographer was a source of concern for the fox, which may explain the latter’s unusual location during the shoot.

Not, come to think of it, that the location is unprecedented. Many a fox has been seen draped across a human shoulder down the years.

Traditionally, however, the shoulders were female. And I think this may also be the first recorded case wherein the fox is still alive.

fmcnally@irishtimes.com