Fr Mathew seems an unlikely subject for a play. How does the temperance campaigner shape up in today's world, asks Brian O'Connell.

"The smell from Patrick's Bridge is

wicked, how does Fr Mathew stick it?

Here's up them all, says the boys of

Fairhill"

The Corkonian intoxication with the figure of Fr Mathew, founder of the temperance movement, is well established in both popular song and sentiment Leeside. The Fr Mathew statue, known locally as "de statue", has taken on symbolic significance, and is to Cork what Clery's clock is to Dublin - a place where relationships begin and end, and friendships are born and broken. The strong connection with the "apostle of temperance" looks set to be further articulated this week when a new theatrical production supported by the Cork Opera House opens.

Written by Sean McCarthy, who has had a 20-year interest in the subject, the production seeks to examine the complexities of Fr Mathew, separating the historical figure from the well-known populist folk hero.

It's no easy task. Theobald Mathew was born in Thomastown Castle, Co Tipperary, on October 10th, 1790, and his lifelong affinity with the poor and distressed was evident from an early age.

Influenced by local priest Fr Denis O'Donnell, Mathew entered the seminary in Maynooth in 1807, at the age of 17. Not long after, he reportedly threw a party in his room in honour of some kindred spirit, and to save himself the embarrassment of expulsion, the following morning he left the seminary.

The Capuchins took a chance on him, and he entered the order in 1810. He quickly established a name for himself as an engaging and magnetic public speaker.

From a friary at Blackamoor Lane in Cork he captured the affections of the poor and the confidence of the rich, with his treatment of the penitents in the confessional drawing particular attention to his sympathetic nature. As with contemporary society, alcohol abuse was rampant in early 19th-century Ireland. While accounts differ, Mathew himself was known to take a drop, and many argue it was this personal experience that gave him an insight into the alcoholic mindset.

"I think the affinity came from his own life," says Capuchin friar Fr Dermot Lynch, "for the 10 years while he was involved in the temperance movement, he became a pioneer. Before that he was a moderate drinker. I think his greatness came from the fact that he helped turn the tide of public opinion. It was a very popular thing to drink at the time, yet eventually more than three million people took the pledge. The temperance movement was only the beginning of a large scale social movement in Ireland, yet it was an important first step."

THERE IS LITTLEdoubt that Fr Mathew did a lot of good, particularly for the poor of Cork. Yet he remains a controversial figure, and one of the tasks facing the upcoming production will be to examine the purported facts surrounding his life and cut through some of the historical hyperbole.

Like all great leaders, he had his demons, and was known to be ego-driven, arrogant and prone to serious lapses of judgment. Throughout his life he had financial difficulties and was at odds with the hierarchy of the church, yet that's not unexpected given the mood of the time, says Prof John A Murphy.

"I think it's fair to say he was at an oblique angle to conventional Catholic thinking in that he was a tee-totalling freelance cleric. I don't imagine he was subject to any great discipline by his own order, but then again one of the great themes in the 19th century is the tension between diocesan and regular clergy, and he fit into that."

Prof Murphy also points to the fact that while on paper the temperance movement looked impressive, appearances deceive, and the movement had little long-term results in achieving large-scale Irish sobriety.

"All these campaigns lose momentum because of the unnatural demands they place on the individual - I mean abstaining from anything is a wholly unnatural position for anybody to take! I think really that Fr Mathew was more in line with the Victorian notions of social reform and betterment."

As for the significance of the Corkonian devotion to the statue, Prof Murphy points out that you can have an attachment to the statue, but that doesn't necessarily mean an attachment to the man.

"Essentially it is a much-loved urban landmark and a convenient one as well. There was a genuine concern among citizens when the idea to shift the statue was mooted. The idea was frowned upon and rightly so.

"I think the Fr Mathew statue is much more important to Cork people than any corresponding statue in Dublin. I can't think of a Dublin landmark with similar public appeal - perhaps the O'Connell monument - but I don't think it has the same resonance of affection. It'll be interesting to see how the play deals with that, while at the same time avoiding cliche."

ONE OF THOSEwho has sought to capture the Cork association with Fr Mathew down through the years is balladeer Jimmy Crowley. As the church's grip on Irish morality loosened, Fr Mathew proved a popular source of sardonic wit in the folk tradition, as he explains.

"I suppose he was to Cork what Matt Talbot was to Dublin in a way," says Crowley, "and he remains popular in the folk tradition at least. Further back you could muster 10 good songs about him, from the likes of John Fitzgerald, the bard of the Lee, who wrote an impressive elegy and several others. They were all very much in the ballad broadside tradition - mostly religious songs - none would have been sardonic at that time. Later on, with the passage of time and a more liberal era, he became a sort of figure of derision to a certain degree."

Crowley himself joined the ranks in the 1970s at the expense of Finance Minister Richie Ryan, who committed the unforgivable act of raising the price of a pint in excess of the price of a drop of whiskey, thus provoking the ire of Crowley's pen:

"If you go down to Patrick Street you're bound to meet with Fr Mathew,

A temperance man of high degree, sometimes for short he's called 'de statue',

He tried to keep us off the booze,

and on it looked with reprobation,

Yet if he had Richie by his side, he'd have success throughout the nation."

Humour aside, Crowley argues that Fr Mathew lived a Christian life to the full, and for this reason ballads about him are always well received throughout the country.

"I know people who are complete heathens and are very taken by him. There have been some wonderful clerics in Cork, such as Fr Prout and people like that, who have stepped outside the conventions of clericism. To my mind Fr Mathew was part of their story."

Writer Sean McCarthy first came in contact with the story of Fr Mathew through his grandparents' generation. For the past 20 years he has been researching the story in depth, and looks to bring some resolution to his life-long interest when his play opens tonight.

The story he presents will not shy from the controversies of Fr Mathew the man, and ultimately the success of the production will depend on how convincingly he manages to sidestep nostalgic hagiography. He acknowledges that there are different historical viewpoints, and he is determined to take a rational and reasoned approach to the subject.

"For instance there are two extremes in relation to his drinking; one says he hardly drank at all, and certainly not to excess, while others claim he was a drunkard. Archbishop McHale of Galway, who was a lifelong enemy of his for a lot of diverse political reasons, said that all through the temperance campaign Fr Mathew went up and down the country with a blonde on his hand, and that the profit made on the sale of medals was spent on buying brandy! We know he never made a profit on selling medals because he ended up in prison for debt half-way through the campaign, so we can take it that is untrue. In the play we go with fact that he was a heavy drinker, and perhaps an alcoholic embryo, which is precisely what gave him insight into the alcoholic mind."

McCarthy points to Fr Mathew's arrogance as his ultimate downfall. It was while researching the story further in the early 1990s that he came across some documents in a library in Boston, which would add another sub-plot to an already complex drama.

"In 1840, Fr Mathew and Daniel O'Connell prepared an address to the Irish people in America on the issue of slavery - this become known as the 'Abolitionist Charter'. It was very strongly worded, and implored all Irish people who called themselves Christians to follow the cause.

"Eight or nine years later though, when the question of slavery was more alive and controversial, Fr Mathew is brought to America by Governor Lumpkin of Georgia and the Archbishop of Savannah, both of whom are slavers. He lands himself in a very difficult situation, where to my mind he is at his most arrogant and most dishonest. This provides for his downfall both in life, and also in the play."

Despite his reservations, as with most Corkonians, McCarthy has deep-rooted admiration for Fr Mathew, and sees him in the broader context of Irish social reform.

"He was a man of extraordinary ego to the point of megalomania, and ultimately this arrogance was to be his downfall. He became a figure of fun to people of my generation. But in fact, he was a great social reformer, and also a great liberal thinker. Arguably, he was a liberation theologist years before the term was even invented."

• Father Mathew opens at the Half Moon Theatre, Cork tonight at 8.30pm. See www.corkoperahouse.ie