An Irishman's Diary

IT'S NOT every day you get to unveil a statue, or even to assist at the unveiling of one, which is as much as the invitation promises. But such is the honour that befalls me this weekend when the south Dublin suburb of Ranelagh finally honours in bronze one its greatest residents: the balloonist Richard Crosbie.

I can hardly complain if someone else gets to pull the ceremonial cord. After all, my main contribution to this event was failing to mention Crosbie in a 2006 column about Ireland's remarkable - if often accidental - contribution to the history of aviation.

I named nearly everyone else, from Michael O'Leary back to Alcock and Browne, not forgetting the Lithuanian pilot who crash-landed in Mayo in 1934 while trying to complete the first transatlantic crossing to his Baltic homeland.

But Crosbie escaped my attention. Until, that is, Ranelagh man Terry Connaughton wrote to this page highlighting the omission, and saying it was a shame there was no memorial to the balloonist, despite a local campaign stretching back years.

Whereupon, in turn, the Labour councillor Mary Freehill contacted Terry.

By a happy coincidence, a social housing project near the site of Crosbie's landmark achievement had created a situation where there was some money available under the public art scheme. One thing led to another. And the upshot is a statue by Rory Breslin, to be unveiled next Sunday in Ranelagh Gardens, where Ireland's first manned balloon flight took off in 1785.

Crosbie's initial plan on that occasion was to emulate some of the progress made by an unfortunate cat he had sent up in one of his earlier experiments, in a balloon later spotted off Scotland and then, after a wind change, near the Isle of Man, where it was picked up by a ship. His intention for the balloon in which he himself travelled was to cross the Irish Sea. In the event, he got only as far as Clontarf.

But, coming barely a year after the Montgolfier brothers sent up the first manned flight anywhere, this was still a fearful undertaking. A crowd of 20,000 came to watch (the enterprising balloonist sold tickets for the take-off). And in these days, when Irish aviators are synonymous with no-frills flight, one has to admire the sheer opulence with which Crosbie risked his life.

A natural showman, he wore a robe of oiled silk lined with fur, a waistcoat and breeches of white quilted satin, Morocco boots, and a leopardskin cap. The "chariot" of his balloon was almost as impressive, being embellished with paintings of Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, and Mercury, the messenger of the gods, along with the arms of Ireland and emblematic figures representing the winds.

When he left the ground, to cheers, an observer from Faulkner's Journalwas clearly impressed: "Idea cannot form anything more aweful and magnificent than his rise; he ascended almost perpendicular and when at a great height seemed stationary, he was but three and a half minutes in view when he was obscured by a cloud."

Commemorating such a spectacular event in bronze was a challenge. In the event, rather than add yet another historical figure to the statuary of Dublin, Breslin's sculpture of a flight-obsessed young boy is a tribute to the spirit of adventure that impelled Crosbie.

Also assisting in its unveiling will be Rose Doherty, mother of Ranelagh-born snooker star Ken, and originally - like Crosbie - from Baltinglass. But the actual ceremony will be performed by Cllr Freehill, unless I can get my hands on the cord first.

IN ANOTHER column here some time back, I mentioned the then imminent invasion of Ireland by an international band of Anthony Trollope enthusiasts, mainly from Britain and the US, who planned to retrace the steps of their literary hero from the 20 years he spent here in the mid-1800s, working for the post office.

As the grateful organiser told me later, the trip was a spectacular success. Local Trollopians emerged from the undergrowth, forcing the 46-strong party to take several detours from an already busy itinerary and subjecting them to ferocious hospitality wherever they went.

Two years on, the visit continues to reverberate. And tomorrow in Leitrim, many of the tourists will be back for the formal inauguration of the "Anthony Trollope Trail" in Drumsna. No doubt assuming I would be too busy to perform the honours, the organisers have instead settled for President McAleese. Even so, it should be a great occasion.

Drumsna was the setting for Trollope's first novel, The MacDermots of Ballycloran, and so can claim to have laid the foundations for one of the most prolific careers in English literature, which would eventually include another 45 titles. The Drumsna Development Association and Leitrim County Council are now hoping to exploit renewed interest in the writer by showcasing places associated with him, and a few of the area's other attractions as well.

I have just one piece of advice for them, which is to drop the "Anthony" from the name of the new attraction and go with the simple "Trollope Trail" instead. Not only would this would be catchier; it might also attract curiosity from tourists outside the immediate niche market (who might also be less likely to be able to spell). Maybe some of these would be annoyed when they find out that the tour concerns a Victorian novelist. But the beauty of the idea is that there's no way anyone would complain.