I’m not sure if the real-life Brendan Behan ever made it to Rome. But if he didn’t, then on one occasion at least, it wasn’t for want of trying.
In the Holy Year of 1950, inspired only in part by religious fervour, he attempted to do the trip overland, via Paris, relying on lifts and whatever other hospitality he could cadge en route. His travelling companion was an equally impoverished twenty-something, Anthony Cronin, who described the subsequent debacle in his memoir Dead as Doornails. Part of Behan's plan, based on a tenuous grasp of geography, had envisaged a detour through communist Czechoslovakia. But even after Cronin talked him out of that, they found the distance to Italy daunting.
The Catholic French were less impressed by the spectacle of "deux Irlandais en Pèlerinage à Roma" than Behan expected, although the pair played the pilgrimage card with some success in the case of priests along the way. The two were still on friendly terms as far south as Lyons, where Behan took to drinking Pernod Ricard, which as he said was "the nearest thing to absinthe", the spirit (by then illegal) of fin-de-siècle Parisian bohemia. But absinthe did not make the heart grow fonder, clearly. Soon afterwards, within miles of the Italian frontier, the hard-up travellers fell out. Cronin continued alone, making it as far as Milan before giving up. Behan, however, headed straight back to the safety of Paris, where they later reunited to seek repatriation funds from the Irish embassy, and then to drink them, before completing the retreat home by other means.
It's true, mind you, that if not with Rome, Behan was personally acquainted with the Pope, and indeed that the Pope once represented him in court. The incident is described in his book, Confessions of an Irish Rebel, wherein the perplexed governor of a remand prison in Manchester summoned him one day to explain a telegram that had just arrived for Behan saying: "I'm flying in to defend you. The Pope." But as the governor eventually learned, it was only Eoin "The Pope" O'Mahony, a colourful Cork barrister who specialised in representing republicans. He subsequently got his man off with four months, a light sentence for a repeat offender who, previously expelled, had re-entered Britain on false documents.
Anyway, if Behan never made it to Rome corporeally, he should be there in spirit next week when, in a turn of events that couldn't have been foreseen in 1950, he will himself be the focus of a pèlerinage. The pilgrims in this case will include Prof Declan Kiberd, actor Adrian Dunbar, and playwright Janet Behan (a niece). And to mark the 50th anniversary of his death, they and others will spend three days discussing Behan's work, at a conference jointly hosted by Università Roma Tre and the University of Notre Dame. Organiser John Francis McCourt assures me that the event, which begins on Thursday, will focus on Behan the "writer", rather than the "celebrity".
But lest any late pilgrims be intimidated by this serious intent, it should be noted than the official schedule also sees fit to include the All-Ireland hurling final replay, which will be televised at that fine Roman hostelry, The Fiddler’s Elbow.
In qualifying for a Rome conference, Behan follows his one-time friend Flann O’Brien, the subject of a similar event two years ago. That was part of a series begun in Vienna in 2011, when the International Flann O’Brien Society held the first of what have become biennial conferences in beautiful European cities. And having beaten Behan to Rome, O’Brien is staying a step ahead. The IFOB Society has just issued a “call for papers” (see univie.ac.at) for the third international conference, next September. This time, the venue is the capital of what used to be communist Czechoslovakia, Prague.
Closer to home, meanwhile, I’ve been asked to mention the annual Robert Emmet commemoration in Dublin’s Thomas Street, which takes place at 2pm today. The event will as usual feature a wreath-laying at Emmet’s memorial, followed by a talk in the adjacent St Catherine’s church. Or at least, the talk is usually in the church, although – wretched sinner that he was – last year’s speaker (yours truly) was forced to do it outside.
This year, happily, the event has regained access to St Catherine’s. Thus the speaker, former government minister Mary Hanafin, will not have to compete with traffic, a burglar alarm, and the heckles of passing gougers as she reflects on the question: “History – a thing of the past?”
@frankmcnallyIT