Fifteen years ago, Cork farmer Henry Brown cast his fishing rod into a murky river in the hope of trout but reeled in an idea to help rid land and rivers of pollution which he has worked on relentlessly every day since.
Thousands of pounds later, he claims to have devised the first machine that can transform sewage into a purified soil, rich in nitrogen, phosphate and potassium, that could revolutionise how governments respond to the global concern on how to dump waste. Brown claims his invention, which was perfected last Christmas, transforms an environmental hazard into a fertile soil that can be used for compost in farms and gardens. Initially, Brown intends to target county councils and rural hotels that have their own sewage plants, but it could be marketed worldwide, he says. Brown believes if it was in widespread use, the term landfill could become a footnote in environmental history. He ploughed his own money into testing the machine at University College Cork and a private Waterford laboratory "after going blue in the face asking for help," he says. "After taking 15 years to produce one, I now have it down to one a week." Forbairt, the Government agency responsible up to this month for doling out millions of pounds to budding industrialists and companies, declined to give Brown a helping hand. "But they are interested now," he says, smiling.
His invention, called the Envirogreen, is scaled to the size of population it is built to serve. The largest model (32 feet by 32 feet) converts the waste produced by 1,000 people in 24 hours, Brown says and it can be made of fibreglass, plastic or steel. He is determined to escort his discovery through patenting, marketing and production. With his partner, Michael O'Callaghan, the father of five set up Envirogreen Ltd and has produced two machines with the help of one employee. Patenting for the device is pending here and in Britain, Brown explains, confident he will redeem his investment and clear a profit. There is a scattering of independent inventors throughout the country who quietly sink hours of spare time and their own resources into converting ideas into prototypes. Forty-nine are members of the Inventors' Association of Ireland and meet regularly, trading suggestions on how to get inventions into production and onto the marketplace. Vincent Keoghan, an unemployed inventor who founded the association in 1991, says the 49, from 18 counties North and South, all work in other capacities. They include teachers, farmers and a medical doctor who invent part time.
Keoghan has devoted years to his inventions, which include a car safety seat device, a window Christmas decoration and a chess case with a unique feature that he is coy about describing. Keoghan pitched his safety seat device to a General Motors division in Michigan who, he says, is willing to investigate it.
The association members hold vastly different notions on how to improve society but are unanimous in their criticism of Forbairt's efforts to aid independent inventors. "We are disillusioned after years of slicing open a standard rejection letter," explains Keoghan, who is president of the Ballyboughal-based group. "Ask them (Forbairt) how much they give to independent inventors," Keoghan says. "I bet they won't be able to tell you," he complains. "Not one member of the association has ever received government funding," he adds.
Forbairt has regularly rejected funding applications on the basis that it didn't receive full details of the proposal, he says. But it is impossible for inventors to reveal full details of unprotected inventions, he adds, and argues that Forbairt should have been satisfied with an outline.
Inventors apply for funding before their ideas are protected as a patent that covers developed countries where the product is likely to be copied can cost up to £60,000. The association is appealing to private industry for help with funding. It is also embracing corporate membership. Keoghan believes Forbairt hasn't taken independent inventors seriously, and may have a blanket view of them as wacky eccentrics with unworkable ideas. He believes the organisation was afraid to risk backing an individual. "Companies are seen as a safer bet," he adds.
Forbairt, however, claims it judged all proposals on merit and refused funding on the basis that the idea would not make money.
Michael Sharp, head of the Intellectual Property Unit at Forbairt, says there is no meaningful breakdown of funding to independent inventors. Funding for patenting projects is spread over years, Sharp explains and Forbairt has backed about 10 new patenting projects annually. He estimates there are about 50 or 60 ongoing. "What we do is pay the patenting cost directly on their behalf and we get a percentage of what the product makes," he says. It is an investment rather than a grant, given on the basis of a small royalty return to recoup the costs.
"In order for us to support something, there has to be some sort of commercial proposal for a new product. At the end of the day, we must see a proposal that is likely to be produced and marketed which means it needs a company, maybe set up by the inventor or an inventor who has licensed out his product," Sharp says.
A primary role of his unit has been to advise. Often his unit would tell applicants to develop their inventions further before Forbairt would consider funding. If an individual has a good idea, a mechanism would be found to get it off the ground, he adds.
New legislation that comes into effect this month will oversee the merging of Forbairt into a new agency called Enterprise Ireland (see panel). To date, only a few senior appointments in Enterprise Ireland have been announced and its structure is being finalised.
According to Sharp, nobody can say with certainty how Enterprise Ireland will operate. "It will have new services and, presumably, as intellectual property is part of industry, it will be featured in its role," he said.
An inventor since childhood, Tim Lyons from Dublin has spent years lobbying TDs and politicians for funding. He believes the Government is much more likely to back foreign companies in favour of Irish inventions. Lyons is adamant he has a cure for rheumatoid arthritis. Six weeks ago, he dipped his knotted hands into an undisclosed mixture and three days later the swelling and pain he has suffered for years disappeared, he claims. His wife and friends, he explains, have also been cured after smearing the solution on their arthritic lumps. Lyons stumbled on the mixture while experimenting in his garden. His secret also absolves blotches that appear on aged skin and could have cosmetic uses, he pointed out. Lyons says his other inventions developed over years include an ingredient which, when added to water, can put out forest fires without firemen or hoses. This time around, he doesn't plan on asking for Government backing and is keeping his arthritis medication to himself until he privately raises £60,000 for a world patent. Like Keoghan, he believes inventors have a vital role in combating unemployment and stirring the economy, but the potential of their ideas goes unrecognised and unexplored.
Sharp disagrees. In response to the criticism levied at his unit, he points out "there will always be differing views on what's worth funding".
