An Irishman's Diary

I’VE HEARD OF worrying signs and signs of the times, but I think the one pictured qualifies as a bit of both. It was taken by concerned reader Timothy King. And had it appeared on a farm gate or warehouse, he might have paid it no attention. What piqued his interest, as it does ours, is that it was at the entrance to a Dublin church.

Maybe this is standard now and we just haven’t noticed. After all, under the Occupiers’ Liability Act, the relationship between churches and church-goers must be broadly similar to that between farmers and hill-walkers. And the wording is clearly a formula.

Nonetheless, the bit in small print seems unduly harsh in the context of a place of worship, viz: “[Take notice that the occupier,] given the nature, character and activities of these premises [. . .] hereby excludes the duty of care towards visitors.” Even if the various scandals that have recently beset the clergy did not make the wording doubly unfortunate, you would think churches could devise a verbal compromise that would meet the legal requirements while not implying abandonment of pastoral duties.

In fairness to organised religion, its fear that visitors may have accidents is well justified. From the lighting of votive candles, to the crooked crosses and kerbstones of old cemeteries – so picturesque, yet so hazardous – churches and churchyards are fraught with personal injury risk.

We could mention too the curious respiratory disorder that afflicts people as soon as they sit down in a church or concert hall, and which seems to be some sort of nervous reaction to classical music. At any rate, the point is that those who enter church premises may suffer injury and when this happens they may sue.

Yet there must be some special dispensation in such cases. Consider, for example, the fact that most people attending Christian services speak (or silently acquiesce in) the words: “Forgive us our trespasses”. I’m no lawyer: but would that not amount to a partial admission of fault in any case for compensation? Either way, the warning signs could at least be better tailored to a religious context. They might be given a vaguely biblical tint, for example. My suggestion is a sign saying: “Abandon hope of spurious compensation claims all ye who enter here”.

After which, in brackets, people could be referred to the appropriate verse from the Book of Occupiers’ Liability, for further reading.

ON THE SUBJECT of last week’s column about Jeanette Winterson’s plumber, Margaret McGrath from Castlecomer writes questioning whether the “fairy oak” referred to could really be an oak.

“Here in Kilkenny,” she says, “we always believed that [the fairy tree] was the whitethorn: ‘An sceach gheal’. I never heard any lore about an oak.” Margaret adds that no farmer would cut down a sceach gheal if it grew in the middle of a field: “The little people dance around it at midnight! The farmer would be afraid of ill luck befalling him.” Well, yes, Margaret, I always thought it was the whitethorn too. But who knows? Maybe during the boom years, even fairies lost the run of themselves and traded up. If so, at least they seem to have survived the crash. I’m not sure about Kilkenny.

But in neighbouring Tipperary, the fairies are still going strong.

I know this courtesy of the singer Shane McGowan, an extraordinary interview with whom featured in a recent issue of Mojo magazine. It was an epic undertaking by the journalist involved, who had to pursue McGowan through a series of rearranged appointments: first in London, then Dublin, and finally Nenagh, where he at last found the singer holed up in his favourite bar, Philly Ryan’s.

Even then, the interview had to wait until closing time, while the Pogues man stood rounds for all the regulars, who were duly invited — along with Mojo — back to McGowan’s 200-year-old stone cottage, deep in the countryside. Here, noisily and in the early hours of the morning, the long-sought interview took place.

As reported verbatim, it was a very wide-ranging discussion, in which answers bore only passing relationship with questions. But the highlight came at 6 am when McGowan asked his English visitor if he would like to see the local “fairy fort”. A short while later they were observing the said fort from a cautious distance, as the singer explained why it was a place to be avoided.

“Only two people have ever gone in there,” he claimed, among other things. “The first one [. . .] had to be taken straight to the lunatic asylum. Another came out with totally white hair.” I suspect that, by the time he left Nenagh, the Mojo interviewer also had whiter hair than when he arrived. Unfortunately, he did not record whether what the trees in the fairy fort were oaks or whitethorns. He merely referred to them collectively as a “copse”.

And while I can well understand Shane McGowan’s reluctance to get in trouble with the copse, the interview also raises a question about occupiers’ liability. Namely: is a farmer whose land contains a fairy fort liable for any supernatural misfortune that befalls unauthorised visitors? There are no legal precedents that I know of, but someone is bound to test the law sooner or later.

So if I were such a land-owner, I would get my signs up now. In this case, the standard warning – “given the nature, character and activities of these premises, etc” – should just about cover it.