
‘We Irish were never homogeneous. Always hybrids, always mongrels'
For a generation of TV viewers growing up in the early 1980s, the history of Ireland will be forever sketched by the soft, Oxbridge tones of historian Robert Kee in his magisterial series, Ireland: A Television History.
The landmark 13-part 1981 series sought to explain Ireland's past during the height of The Troubles, firstly, to an English audience left ignorant by 'the distorting lens of unquestioning assumptions laced with post-imperial incomprehension', as his obituary later described.
From Sunday, June 8th, a new telling of Ireland's story from its very first inhabitants to the present day, narrated by Dublin-born Hollywood film star
Colin Farrell
, will begin on
RTÉ
.
Entitled From That Small Island, the four 50-minute programmes, filmed in 17 countries from Barbados to Australia, are written and produced by Bríona Nic Dhiarmada and directed by Rachael Moriarty and Peter Murphy.
READ MORE
From the off, the series seeks to merge the skills of historians, archaeologists and scientists to tell the island's history in fresh ways that will both inform and challenge many long-held readings of the past.
In the first episode, viewers will come face to face with 'Rathlin Man', whose Bronze Age remains were discovered on the island off the North Antrim coast in 2006 during the clearing of land for a pub driveway.
In the past, an artist's impression would have been used to convey to viewers what he looked like in life, but today, advances in ancient DNA sampling mean that an accurate facial reconstruction is possible.
'We know this man's face, the muscles, the structure, the colour of his hair, the colour of his eyes. He's got the gene for
haemochromatosis
, the supposed Celtic disease. He was lactose tolerant, which shows his diet was very much dairy,' says Nic Dhiarmada.
History professor Jane Ohlmeyer is the series' historical consultant and associate producer, as well as the co-author with Nic Dhiarmada of an accompanying book to be published next year by Oxford University Press.
The very first people to come here were hunter-gatherers. We don't know where they came from, but they came by sea. That's the only thing that we're sure about
—
Bríona Nic Dhiarmada
Sitting in Ohlmeyer's office in Trinity College Dublin, Nic Dhiarmada and Ohlmeyer enthusiastically describe the origin of the TV series.
The idea grew from conversations the two had when they met in São Paulo, Brazil, in 2016, where they agreed to work together to tell a new history of the island from a time without written records – 'pre-history' to historians – up to today.
The search into the past was not only useful, but necessary to throw light on the present: 'Gabriel Cooney, the eminent professor of archaeology at UCD, says that what comes before determines what comes after,' says Nic Dhiarmada.
The two have clearly enjoyed the experience of nearly 10 years of work and the hundreds of hours of recorded interviews gathered by Nic Dhiarmada: 'Do you know how much fun it is? It's work, but it's powerful craic as well,' says Ohlmeyer.
Old shibboleths will be tackled: 'This homogeneous Ireland idea, this little Catholic thing, was never the case. We were never homogeneous. Always hybrids, always mongrels. We didn't set out to prove that, but that's what came out,' Nic Dhiarmada says.
[
Northern Ireland youth keen on a more integrated society but feel it is a long way off
Opens in new window
]
The people who built Newgrange and the other megalithic creations that are so much part of Ireland's international image of today left monuments of stone behind them, but they did not leave behind a DNA heritage, disappearing from history.
'The very first people to come here were hunter-gatherers. We don't know where they came from, but they came by sea. That's the only thing that we're sure about,' says Nic Dhiarmada.
[
The Irish passport at 100: Not just a travel document but a declaration of hope and of reclaiming identity
Opens in new window
]
'They stayed here and then they just disappeared. They left things behind them like fish traps, or cremated remains, but the latter are not that useful because you can't extract DNA from them.'
Then, the first farmers came, having migrated from Anatolia in modern-day Turkey, leaving behind in the boglands of the Céide Fields in north Mayo the earliest signs of organised agriculture found anywhere on Earth.
In time, the Anatolian migrants almost entirely disappeared from the DNA record, too, though a skeleton of one of them, known as 'Ballynahatty Woman', was found in a townland near Belfast in 1855.
'They knew she had dark, sallow skin and brown eyes. When I asked what these people looked like, I was told, 'Go to Sardinia, they look like contemporary Sardinians,'' Nic Dhiarmada says.
The excavation of the island's megalithic inheritance, especially the most famous of its tombs, Poulnabrone in the Burren in Co Clare, led to the discovery of the remains of a six-month-old child.
From That Small Island: Kiloggin Castle
From That Small Island: Leuven records
'When they analysed the DNA, they found that she had the chromosomes which showed that she had Down syndrome, had been breast-fed for at least six months and was buried in honour,' says Nic Dhiarmada.
Throughout, the TV series will show how the island's history shares common threads with elsewhere, but also where it fundamentally differs from the rest of Europe, largely because it is an island.
'Being an island is hugely important because you're isolated to a degree, or things will come later, or in a different way,' says Ohlmeyer.
Nic Dhiarmada interjects: 'Compared to Britain, which has pretty much the same climate, pretty much on the same geographic line, we have 40 per cent less flora and fauna than they do.
'We don't have toads, we don't have snakes, or vipers. Snakes. It wasn't because of St Patrick. They never came, they never got here, because getting to an island is much more difficult.'
The later episodes will tell the often-grisly story of colonisation.
'The Catholic Irish in the 17th century suffered enormously. The expropriation of eight million acres of land, a third of the land mass. And it's the best land. And then this transplantation of people to Connaught, effectively into reservations,' Ohlmeyer says.
'That's what we saw later in America in the 19th century. So, all of this happened in Ireland for hundreds of years. Ireland is the playbook for imperialism as it unfolds around the world later. That is something that hasn't been fully appreciated.'
However, the narrative so often told in Ireland today that 'we were oppressed for 800 years, that we were always very good, that we never did anything bad, that we suffered under the English yoke is not necessarily true, either,' says Nic Dhiarmada.
Instead, the history of Ireland is full of endless contradictions, which need to be understood today: 'We are this exception to everything else. We were a colony, but we were agents of empire – we were colonisers as well.'
In the 17th century, thousands of Irish were sent as 'press-ganged' indentured servants to the Caribbean. Many died because of the brutal conditions.
'They all suffered tremendously,' says Ohlmeyer, 'but at the end of the day, their whiteness does afford them some privilege. Over time. In Barbados, some Irish such as the Blakes and Kirwans from Galway profited hugely from sugar.'
If they survived, the indentured servants were given plots of land. Some prospered. Others did not; their equally poor descendants today in Barbados are known as 'Redlegs', or 'the Ecky Beckies', as the programmes will show.
I think Ireland is having a conversation in a very actually mature way that has paved the way for a very difficult conversation around empire and the legacy of empire
—
Jane Ohlmeyer
'On the one hand, you have people who are desperately poor, who remain desperately poor. On the other, you have people who go on to become very effective overseers on the plantations and plantation owners themselves,' she says.
In Jamaica, the records are filled with stories of the Irish who made good on the backs of others – 'the Kellys, who are as rich as any other plantation owner in 18th century Jamaica, investing it in conspicuous consumption back home in Ireland'.
Nic Dhiarmada says: 'The people on the island of Ireland were oppressed, were colonised. They often then went out and did the same thing to others, working for the British Empire, Dutch Empire, French Empire, particularly the Spanish Empire.
Ricardo Wall, whose parents had left Limerick, 'ends up running the Spanish Empire in the 18th century, and not only is he running it, he's also then the most amazing patron for other Irish people', she says.
Often, they argue, 'the abused became the abusers', particularly in the Caribbean where 'people who themselves had been transported and hideously abused go on to be the most violent and aggressive overseers themselves', says Ohlmeyer.
[
'Nobody knew things were going to get so bad': Catholic RUC officer's defaced headstone at centre of Troubles exhibition
Opens in new window
]
The challenges posed by the series will not just be for Catholics, or those with a Catholic cultural identity: 'For some Protestants, the 17th century or 18th century issues will be hard. To this day, some don't accept that Ireland was ever a colony,' says Ohlmeyer.
Yet, equally, the rigid framing of history for nearly 200 years has hidden stories of Protestants suffering during the Famine, who were written out of the narrative: 'Cholera made no religious distinction,' as one US academic puts it.
Any idea that only Irish Catholics suffered in the Famine is 'rubbish, absolutely untrue, a myth', says Nic Dhiarmada, one propagated by some in the Orange Order more comfortable with a framing of history that laid the blame for hunger at the door of 'feckless' Catholics.
Jane Ohlmeyer and Bríona Nic Dhiarmada and at Duncannon Fort, Co Wexford
Layering on the complications, the two tell the story of the Irish Catholics in India who formed two-thirds of the British military forces there working directly for the Crown, or the East India Company.
'Within the British Army, they were treated as if they were indigenous, just like the Indian sepoys. They could never get promoted, even though they enforced British rule,' Nic Dhiarmada says.
For decades, historians shied away from telling the fuller story of Ireland's past, especially during The Troubles when everything was politicised 'by both sides in a very unhelpful way, so historians avoided it like the plague', says Ohlmeyer.
'We're in a very different space now. I think Ireland is having a conversation in a very actually mature way that has paved the way for a very difficult conversation around empire and the legacy of empire.
'History muddies the water. Were we the good guys, or the bad guys? We were both. We were the good guys and the bad guys. We had harm done to us, and caused harm to others,' she concludes.
From That Small Island begins on RTÉ 1 next Sunday, June 8th at 6.30pm
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Irish Times
2 hours ago
- Irish Times
I'm always telling Sorcha to tone down the southside when we come out to Bray but she never listens
I'm like, 'Bray?' And Sorcha's there, 'Yes, Ross – Bray!' I'm like, 'But why do we have to go to Bray?' sounding like a spoiled child – in other words, one of ours. She slows down as we're approaching the Loughlinstown roundabout. For a second or two, I consider opening the front passenger door and throwing myself out on to the road. But, at the vital moment, I make the fatal mistake of hesitating and suddenly we're through the thing and heading south at one hundred K's per hour. READ MORE Sorcha's like, 'We're going to see my friend, Claire–' I'm there, 'Claire from Bray of all places?' 'Yes, Ross, Claire from Bray of all places.' 'And will he be there?' – he being her husband, Garret, who I despise more than anyone else in the world and not just because he has zero interest in rugby. Sorcha goes, 'I've been promising for – oh my God – ages to pop out to see this new coffee shop of theirs.' I'm like, 'Another one? So what's the gimmick this time?' She goes, 'All the staff are ex-offenders.' I'm there, 'Did you just say all the staff are sex offenders?' ' Ex -offenders, Ross. All the staff are ex -offenders. And it's not a gimmick.' 'It's a definite gimmick.' 'Ross, they're offering an opportunity to people who – yeah, no – made mistakes in their lives and want to get back on the right road.' 'I'd say they're dirt cheap to hire as well.' 'That's a horrible thing to say. And can I just remind you that your actual father is an ex-offender?' 'It still sounds like you're saying sex offender. I think it must be your invisible braces.' You're not only serving coffee, you're serving hope — Sorcha Anyway, 10 minutes later, we're walking through the front door of what was, until very recently, Wheat Bray Love, but is now called Second Shot Roasters. Garret is wearing a bow-tie and one of those hipster moustaches with the ends twisted upwards that seems to say, 'Please punch me very hord in the face', and I end up having to put my hands in my pockets just to keep the porty polite. He goes, 'Sorcha, how the hell are you?' because he's such a wannabe. Greystones. I rest my case. He says fock-all to me, but he makes a big point of looking at the crest on my Leinster training tee and sort of, like, smirking to himself. I'm there, 'Have you got a problem, Dude?' And he goes, 'One of us has. Claire's over there, Sorcha. She's training in our new barista.' So we tip over to where Claire – yeah, no – is showing some random woman how to use the coffee machine. The woman – I'm just going to come out and say it – looks rougher than a sandpaper condom and she just, like, glowers at Sorcha while her and Claire do the whole, like, air-kissing thing. Sorcha goes, 'Oh my God, this place is amazing!' Claire's like, 'Thank you.' 'I mean, you're not only serving coffee,' Sorcha goes, 'you're serving hope,' and I'm thinking that's definitely a line she came up with in the cor. While this conversation is taking place, the woman making the coffee is just, like, glowering at Sorcha. I'm always telling her to maybe tone down the southside when we come out here but she never listens. At the top of her voice, she's like, 'So how's Scout getting on in Vancouver?' and you can see not only the staff but the customers looking over as if to say, 'Who the hell does this one think she is?' She goes, 'Claire's niece is working in Canada for the summer, Ross.' Claire's there, 'Yeah, no one's going to the States this year because of the whole, like, Trump thing? She's absolutely loving Canada.' Sorcha's like, 'Is it safe over there? I always say to Honor, if you ever find yourself in a strange place and you feel unsafe, just remember: FTL.' Claire goes, 'What's FTL?' And I'm like, 'Sorcha, maybe this isn't the right place for this conversation,' because the woman making the coffee is looking at her like she wants to take that milk thermometer she's holding and stick it up her focking nose. 'FTL,' Sorcha goes, 'stands for Find the Lululemon. Because their location people – oh my God – really, like, do their homework ? I always remind my daughter, no matter what city you're in, the Lululemon will always be on the best street. Nothing bad ever happens near a Lululemon.' Your daughter got 200 hours of community service. I got six months in prison – for stealing three pairs of yoga pants — Nicola, barista and ex-offender That's when she suddenly storts patting the top of her head, going, 'My sunglasses! Oh my God, where are my sunglasses?' And the woman making the coffees is like, 'Why did you look at me when you said that?' Sorcha's there, 'I didn't look at you.' She actually did look at her, but it was – and this is possibly a made-up word – an unconscience thing? 'I remember you,' the woman goes, then she turns and looks at me. 'And I remember you as well.' Jesus, I'm thinking – has she had the pleasure of my –. 'I was in court,' she goes, 'the same day as your daughter.' Yeah, no, I keep forgetting that Honor – in her own way – is sort of, like, an ex-offender herself ? Sorcha looks around her – again, it's unconscience – to see who might be listening. 'She caused criminal damage to 200 SUVs,' the woman goes. I'm there, 'It was actually only 150?' because I've always been my daughter's biggest defender. Sorcha goes, 'Also, her crimes were sort of, like, an environmental protest ?' 'Sort of, like, an environmental protest ?' the woman goes, doing a pretty good impression – it has to be said – of my wife. Claire's there, 'Nicola, can I remind you that you're only, like, two days into your six-month probation here?' 'And what sentence did she get?' this – like she said – Nicola one goes. I'm like, '200 hours of community service,' ever the proud dad, 'which she completed.' Nicola's there, 'Well, I got six months in prison – for stealing three pairs of yoga pants.' Sorcha looks away. She doesn't want to hear what's coming next. 'Yes,' the woman goes, 'from a Lululemon.' Sorcha's there, 'Like I said, my daughter was actually attempting to save the planet. Claire, it was lovely to catch up with you. We're going to head off.' I'm there, 'Are we not even getting coffees?' Nicola goes, 'You sanctimonious southside–' Claire's like, 'Okay, that's a verbal warning.' But Nicola there, '–cow! And, by the way, your sunglasses are in your shirt pocket.'


Irish Times
3 hours ago
- Irish Times
Rathmines locals protest over An Post move to sell ‘cultural icon' later this year
Protesters gathered outside Rathmines post office on Saturday morning in a demonstration against its relocation and planned sale of the building. The protest came after An Post this week confirmed its plans to move the Rathmines branch by September, paving the way for the sale of one of the most prominent buildings in the south Dublin suburb. Labour leader and local TD Ivana Bacik organised Saturday's demonstration, alongside local councillors Fiona Connelly and Dermot Lacey. Speaking at the protest, she said the building should be kept 'in community usage', adding that 'our priority is to keep the postal service in the retail hall'. Labour leader Ivana Bacik at the protest in Rathmines on Saturday. Photograph: Ella Sloane The imposing 1934 art deco building will be sold with two other Dublin post offices – Phibsborough and Tallaght – as well as a further three across the State, as part of the 'transformation of the national post office network,' An Post said previously. READ MORE At present, 95 per cent of the country's post offices are already contracted out to independent business owners, who often run post office services as part of a local shop. It is understood the Rathmines post office will move to a Centra store in the locality. Ms Bacik described the demonstration as 'a last-ditch appeal' to Minister for Communications Patrick O'Donovan and Minister for Expenditure Jack Chambers to not sign off on the property's divestment. 'The post office is a very well loved, much-used building. This is very much from the heart.' Ms Connelly stressed the importance of public buildings such as the post office 'as a community asset and a community resource'. Cllr Fiona Connelly at the protest. Photograph: Ella Sloane 'It's really sad to see a resource like the post office, that's in such demand and so heavily used, closing.' Enid O'Dowd, a local and regular user of the postal service, said the decision to sell the building was 'just ridiculous', expressing concern at the pressure the branch's relocation would place on the post office in Ranelagh. Speaking of the branch's speculated move to a nearby Centra, she said the shop 'is going to be a very crushed place with queues spilling out on to the pavement'. 'What's going to happen is people are going to start using the one in Ranelagh but that isn't big enough for the demand. They've only two cashiers there.' Enid O'Dowd at the protest. Photograph: Ella Sloane Cliona Buckley, who grew up on Leinster Road said: 'The last thing they [An Post] should be doing is shutting down memorable, protected, built for purpose buildings. What they should be doing is spending money cleaning up the front of it or they could have lovely potted plants or flower baskets and make it a feature.' She said the post office's planned closure and sale showed a failure by An Post 'to serve the Irish citizens'. Andrew Folan, Mary Freehill and Cliona Buckley at the protest. Photograph: Ella Sloane Another local demonstrator, Andrew Folan, said he felt 'absolutely outraged' by An Post's decision, adding that it was indicative of 'the digitalisation of our culture'. 'The analogue thing of writing letters, posting letters, distributing parcels and meeting the community while you do it is an essential part of our life. I think that the gradual shutting down of post offices is a very negative thing.' Mr Folan pointed to the need for 'a spacious building' due to demand for the service. 'This is a fantastic cultural icon, beautiful design and art deco, well built and a landmark for Rathmines. I think we should celebrate what we've got and show a bit more regard for our culture and our heritage,' he said. Former Labour councillor Mary Freehill, from Rathmines, said the recent loss of the suburb's citizen's information centre in 2022 had already taken a toll on the community. 'There isn't a place for people to come together.' 'Rathmines has very few publicly owned buildings,' said Ms Freehill, adding 'this is the only thing built by the Irish State in Rathmines. All of our other public buildings were built by the British.'


Irish Times
8 hours ago
- Irish Times
Collected Poems by Gerard Fanning: Elliptical, at times cryptic works built on mood and atmosphere
Collected Poems Author : Gerard Fanning ISBN-13 : 978-1943667154 Publisher : Wake Forest University Press Guideline Price : £19.99 I hadn't come across the late Gerard Fanning's work before encountering it whole, as it were, in the shape of this Collected Poems. It comes with helpful apparatus – a foreword by Gerald Dawe, an afterword by Colm Tóibín – a contemporary and friend of Fanning's at UCD – and an interview with Fanning and Conor O'Callaghan. All of these angles are helpful, perhaps even essential, to the new reader of his writing. These poems are elliptical, at times cryptic; they mostly don't so much perform as talk quietly into their shirt sleeves, operating in an air of manila envelopes and uncompromisingly referential Europhilia; they're lit by a sort of coastal glare, and often feel as if they're squinting under exposed scrutiny. Tóibín rightly says that poetry wasn't – for Fanning – Auden's 'memorable speech', and these are poems built on mood, atmospheres – his avowed Derek Mahon and Paul Muldoon admiration hint at his wide range of references, from film and literature to something more playfully esoteric, more guardedly private and coded. He was a government man, a life of 'benign Glengarry Glen Ross', in his own words; on the road, and on the right side of intrusion. On the page, too. If the early work from the 1990s has an abiding flavour it's one of withdrawal and departure, a sort of whistling chilliness, looking for – as per one of the best of his early poems An Evening in Booterstown – 'a pale permanence'. READ MORE He has something of Tom Waits to his titles – often proper names, recognisable or otherwise, are thrown around; we're located but we're left out a little too – this is a poetry of overhearing, eschewing careless talk, or the loose lip. [ From the archive: Poet and Rooney Prize winner Gerard Fanning dies Opens in new window ] At times in the first books he can exclude us entirely – one feels the need to ask for a primer, or Rosetta Stone, for some of his piled-up enigmas, but later he seems to relax into a more open, approachable clarity. Rhyme comes in, but by Slip Road his language as a whole is, largely, more open, more parseable – poems like These Days allying a new clarity to an encroaching sense of creeping dread, spotlighting a melancholy undertow that was always there, tidal like so many of his landscapes – 'I will be sent for, soon, at night'.