At Swim-Two-Brothers – An Irishman’s Diary about Flann O’Brien

It’s always both welcome and confusing to get a letter from Micheál Ó Nualláin. Confusing because I think of him as “the brother”, which he is – the last surviving one of Brian Ó Nualláin, aka Flann O’Brien, aka Myles na gCopaleen, late of this parish.

And it’s great that we still have such a sibling among us when, incredibly, it will be 50 years next April since the comic genius himself passed on.

But of course Micheál also refers to Brian as "the brother", as well he might. And amid this already muddled situation, I always have to remind myself that neither man is the infamous brother of the Cruiskeen Lawn columns. Who indeed, despite his reputed genius, has no recorded existence outside the fevered conversation of his brother – as inflicted on random hostages at bus-stops.

Anyway, getting back to the real-life brother, he writes to comment on two recent Diary subjects. One was Monkstown Anglican Church (July 17th), that exotic-looking Dublin place of worship beloved of John Betjeman, but not of many others, at least until recent times. For the oriental appearance I ascribed to it, Micheál has an simple explanation – that the architects had been working on two churches simultaneously. One was meant for Monkstown, the other for British India, but somehow the plans got mixed up.

And in fact, I recall this entertaining rumour being advanced once by Niall Montgomery, occasional stand-in for Myles and an architect himself. I think he went so far as to suggest that the church intended for Monkstown had ended up in “Cawnpore” (now Kanpur). Which no doubt some readers will dismiss as utter nonsense, although, as far as I can establish, it’s Uttar Pradesh.

The other point of Micheál’s letter concerns my column about Eileen Joyce (July 23rd), the brilliant Australian-born pianist of Irish ancestry who was noted for her multiple costume changes during live performances, with colours chosen to match the mood of the music – blue for Beethoven, green for Chopin, red for Tchaikovsky, and so on.

Some of the serious-minded critics of her time – the 1940s and 50s – frowned on this. And having seen her perform in Dublin, as the brother recalls, Myles na gCopaleen affected to be one of them.

Excusing himself on the grounds of being “an old man” (he was 41 at the time, or at least Brian O’Nolan was), who believed that “intractable dignity and discipline attaches to any valid artistic event”, Myles confessed to being astonished at the regular dress changes.

Then, in mock indignation, he wound himself up for a pun of which Joyce (James, not Eileen) would have been proud, viz: “God forgive me, I undered whether she had also changed her wonderwear”.

The Cruiskeen Lawn in question is a classic that had previously escaped me. It was provoked by the Irishman’s Diarist of the day expressing surprise that a named top showjumper might also have had a career as a concert pianist.

Naturally, Myles saw no reason why the control of horses and pianos should be mutually exclusive (as he pointed out, both instruments had “legs”, were “highly strung”, had to be played “seated”, etc).

On the contrary, he thought, a person of talent should be able to handle them simultaneously, if required. He suggested that in future, the flamboyant Ms Joyce might consider performing on horseback – sidesaddle, with piano leg extensions – so that she could change mounts as well as dresses to suit the music.

The brother’s continued wellbeing aside, I’m also delighted to confirm this week that the cult of Myles and Flann, once considered a purely local affair, is continuing to spread overseas. It may not have reached India yet, unlike the church intended for Monkstown. But it’s getting there, to judge by the latest biennial conference of the International Flann O’Brien Society. The first of these events was in Vienna in 2011. Then came Rome in 2013. Now it’s the turn of Prague, where O’Brien scholars and admirers will gather next month, for four days of intense discussion at the venerable Charles University. Among those expected to attend, judging by the overall theme (“Metamorphoses”), is the ghost of Franz Kafka. The listed speakers, however, are drawn from at least three continents, and include Joseph Brooker of the University of London, whose keynote address will set the tone by attempting to answer the question: “Do Bicycles Dream of Molecular Sheep?”

If planning to attend, you’re advised to bring several changes of wonderwear.