An August Writer and Other Subjects

'Mangan' by John D. Sheridan, published in 1957 by the Talbot Press Ltd. Dublin and Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd. London, is a little paperback on the life of James Clarence Mangan, the Irish poet, born in May 1803, died June 1849. This book is apparently in a series called 'Noted Irish Lives' for so it says on the cover. I have no idea of the titles of the other books in the series, and not a hint is given anywhere in this little volume. It was rescued from the recycling centre and truly is in terrible condition. Still, I had to read it first, it seemed such a waste of all the endeavour that goes into the making of a book to simply leave it on the shelf to go its way to ignominy. I have never seen so much foxing on a book, so many of those brown spots that tell the sad story of a book's life in some damp and dreary spot, under the eaves or in the basement or in an old, hardly-ever opened cupboard of some probably musty, stale-smelling house. Someone had thought enough of it to sellotape the spine where the front cover was hanging off.
The author gives credit for many of the facts in his little work to a D.J. O'Donoghue, “and to that writer's very full Life I am, of necessity, much indebted.”

John D. Sheridan was himself a well-known Irish writer, mostly of essays which are full of wit and interest about his life and encounters. As a child I remember them in the newspapers, and collections were published which I often brought home from the public library.

Mangan had a peculiar and somewhat morbid personality, it seems.  I would also call him a typical oldest son, though, having experience of the breed both in my own siblings and among my offspring. Add to that that he was a poet, who wrote several well-known poems, among them two of the most famous Irish poems ever, “My Dark Rosaleen” and “Oh Woman of Three Cows”, the latter a translation from the Irish, which Mangan had diligently taught himself. He was mad about languages and is reputed to have bluffed his way through a lot of them, giving many translations from, John D. writes “the Turkish, Arabic, Persian, Welsh, Coptic, Danish, French, Serbian and Spanish, and on one occasion he informed the editor (of The Dublin University Magazine) that he could supply him with Hindoo poetry if he wanted it.” The translations, by what I read in this book, were often more invented than true to the originals. However, in his day very few of his readers knew the difference, and to his credit, some of his fancied translations were apparently pretty good.

In his unwrinkled prose, John D. Sheridan's describes him as wearing strange baggy trousers, green spectacles and often a fez, summoning up a unique character marching around the Dublin of his time. In his neat, unwrinkled prose, John D. quotes a description of Mangan by a contemporary, John Savage:

“He is of middle height, and glides rather than walks. A dark, threadbare coat, buttoned up to the throat, sheathes his attenuated body. His eye is lustrously mild and beautifully blue, and his silver-white locks surround, like a tender halo, the once beautiful and now pale and intellectual face.”

His friend, Father Meehan, mentioned frequently in the book, described him also:

“And the dress of this spectral-looking man was singularly remarkable, taken down at haphazard from some peg in an old clothes shop – a baggy pantaloon that was never intended for him, a short coat closely buttoned, a blue cloth cloak still shorter, and tucked tightly to his person. The hat was in keeping with this habiliment, broad-leafed and steeple-shaped,”......”Occasionally he substituted for this headgear a soldier's fatigue cap, and he never appeared abroad without a large malformed umbrella which, when partly covered by the cloak, might have been mistaken for a Scotch bag-pipe.” It would appear he wore several types of individualistic headgear.

I got so much from this little book. It really brought home to me what Dublin was like in those days, when my own ancestors walked the same streets as James Clarence Mangan. Who knows, maybe my great-grandfather, a printer and stationer at the time in Dublin, may have actually known him!

There are so many interesting little pieces in the work – the story of how Mangan was evicted from a lodging consisting of a hay-loft, because he refused to agree not to light a candle in it in order to read. Two or three times he is hospitalised, and it is surprising to read of the clean sheets and orderly wards at a time before the middle of the 19^th century – when we are hard-pressed to provide similar refuge for our sick in this day and age. Indeed, we are told that when he was brought to the Meath Hospital, where he died of cholera a week later, a surgeon who knew his fame provided him with writing materials which he duly used despite the seriousness of his condition; sadly, a nurse who had been scolded for her untidy beds disposed of them immediately on his death. No contract cleaners in those days.

Here is the link to a site I found where the poems mentioned above, and another, 'Siberia' are printed:

http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/Poetry/Mangan.html Have a look and see what you think of them.


I found two little Russian grammars a few years ago in a bookshop. They are Vol. 1 and 2 of 'Russian Grammar Simplified' which is in the 'Hugo's Simplified System' published by Hugo's Language Institute, London, and describes itself as “An Easy & Rapid Self-Instructor.” I can't for the life of me find a date anywhere on the books, but I would make a guess at sometime in the 1950s. I have plodded slowly through the first volume, which consists of 18 lessons, and am now revising at Lesson 11. It says something for this book that I have stuck it out. I understand everything I have done so far and am determined to endure to the end. I'm very old-fashioned, probably on account of being quite old, and when languages were taught in school years ago, grammar was very important. It's like going into a forest and finding your way by getting to know the trees along the route. The trees get more familiar the more often you take the route. At first you are totally lost, of course, but it gets easier. More modern language books plunge straight into conversation, but for me anyway, there is nothing in that to hold on to, nothing to tell you where you are. The person who owned these little books before me obviously used the first volume a lot too, and doesn't seem to have got to the second one, which is clean and new-looking while the first was a bit worn. Now the first is even tattered, being a paperback and travelling everywhere with me in my little satchel.

Why am I learning Russian? Well, I made a few attempts before, starting at age eighteen when I found a book called 'Russian Through Reading' in our local library. Full of teenage angst, I lolled around reading Dostoevsky, Turgenev and Tolstoy and it seemed a natural step to have a go at learning Russian. There were many abandoned attempts since then, but now I think I am making some progress. Also, recently to my delight I acquired a beautiful new daughter-in-law who is a native Russian speaker, so there is even more incentive to learn. Of course, she speaks perfect English too and is an English teacher, but I think it would be nice to know her native tongue even a little before we meet

I heartily recommend these Hugo language books. I also have the Italian set, found with the Russian one at a local secondhand bookshop which departed with the 'boom'. They are still obtainable online from book companies, I see. They are the forerunners to the Hugo Learn a Language in Three Months series, and I prefer them at least for beginning. Everyone has his or her own method, I expect.

Kenneth Lemmon wrote 'Winter Gardens', an old Mini-Book by Corgi, published in 1970 by Transworld Publishers Ltd. London. It is a little paperback, with a picture of crocuses appearing through melting snow on the cover. I have this book a long time and have always loved it I think I bought it new, and it pops up every now and then on the shelves when I am looking for something else, you know the way. It consists of six chapters and two appendices, giving details of all the plants that will grow happily in our gardens despite the cold. If even a small part of a garden were separated from the rest a lovely little winter garden could be made that would cheer the darker months. Our own garden is large and we do have winter-flowering plants in it, but I can imagine how well they would look if all were growing close together where they could be seen in a block. I think if I only had a little room-sized patch, as many have these days, I would fill it with winter plants, and in the summer grow annual climbers and other temporary plants all over them so I would enjoy the two seasons to their fullest. A couple of spring-flowering shrubs and autumn-flowering plants, and the show would be complete, no matter what the weather. Placed near windows, the view could be admired cosily from inside if it were not desirable to venture out.