#frankoconnor

by Jim McKeon

Writer, Frank O’Connor, was just twenty years of age when he was released from Gormanstown Interment Camp. Cork had been badly hit by the Civil War. It was still a smouldering ruin. Because the city and county had been the focal point of much of the bloodiest fighting the turmoil of the Civil War lingered there longer than it did elsewhere in the country. In the spring of 1924, the city was still edgy. O’Connor had no money and no job. Under the new government all teachers were required to learn the Irish language. For a few months he taught Irish to the teachers at the Protestant school in St Luke’s Cross, near his home. He was paid a few shillings a week for this. He struggled by, a twenty-year old in his father’s patched up, old hand-me-down trousers teaching middle-aged teachers how to speak the Irish language. It was frustrating, especially if you were on the losing side in the Civil War. MacCurtain and MacSwiney had tragically died but he still met Corkery and Seán O’Faoláin regularly. As so often before Daniel Corkery, forever in O’Connor’s background, stepped in and arranged an interview for a job. Cork dramatist, Lennox Robison, who was secretary of the Carnegie Library, was organising rural libraries and he was looking for young men and women to train as librarians. After a tough interview O’Connor got the job. His mother packed his little cardboard suitcase, including a big holy picture of the Sacred Heart, and he set off for Sligo.

 Bust of Frank O’Connor - on display in the City Library, Grand Parade

At last he had enough books to read. Even for 1924, the wages were poor, thirty shillings a week. His lodgings were twenty-seven and sixpence. He had a half-crown (12.5 cent) left for cigarettes and drink. He posted his dirty laundry on to Cork every week. His mother washed it, with unconditional love, and posted it back, and sometimes included five shillings for her son. As a librarian he was all hands. His boss said he was untrainable. He kept busy by reading poetry books and getting them off by heart. He was blessed with a phenomenal memory. The only thing of note in Sligo was that he celebrated his twenty-first birthday far from home. After six months he was sent to Wicklow, where a new library was to be opened.

 When he arrived a local priest wanted to close down the library. Lennox Robinson had just been heavily criticised and fired from his library position because of a controversial story he wrote about a pregnant girl who felt she had mysterious visit by the Holy Ghost. O’Connor’s boss was Geoffrey Phibbs, an influential fellow poet with controversial opinions on many aspects of life. The two young poets became great friends.  Phibbs escorted O’Connor to Dublin and introduced him to Lady Gregory, George Russell (AE) and Yeats. AE was editor of the Irish Statesman and encouraged O’Connor to send him on something for publication. He sent a verse translation of Suibne Geilt Aspires and when AE published it 14 March 1924, it carried for the first time the pseudonym Frank O’Connor. It must be remembered that he was a young civil servant and he may have been contemplating on keeping his job by using a pen name ever since Lennox Robinson’s enforced resignation. He chose his confirmation name, Francis, and his mother’s maiden name, O’Connor. The prominence AE and the Irish Statesman gave him thrust him into literary view. Yeats had great time for O’Connor and said that he did for Ireland what Chekhov did for Russia. But the young librarian missed home and his mother. A vacancy came up in Cork. AE tried to talk him out of it and warned him he’d be miserable back in Cork. It never occurred to O’Connor that he would not return home. Like his father he was, at that stage, a one-town man..

 Notwithstanding AE’s forebodings, he accepted the job of Cork’s first county librarian in December 1925. He was just twenty-two years of age. His salary of five pounds a week was more than anyone in Harrington’s Square had ever dreamed of earning. The library was at twenty-five Patrick Street which was still in the process of being rebuilt.  Minnie was happy that her son was back home again and his father, Big Mick, was impressed that a pension went with his son’s new job. The city was still in a poor condition. The foundation of the Irish Free State in 1922 augured a period of new confidence in Cork. But in 1924 a public inquiry found: 

  …limited progress had been made on rebuilding Cork’s city centre since it had been burned down in 1920. Criticism was made of the poor quality of maintenance of the city streets, many of which were still paved with timber blocks. Part of Anderson’s Quay had fallen into the river. The public water supply was of poor quality…There was virtually no building in progress in the city.  

  In the burning of Cork not alone had many of the character and physical structures of the city been lost, but so also had thousands of jobs and many peoples’ homes. The Cork Examiner reported that thousands were rendered idle by the destruction. The rebuilding was tediously slow mainly because of the shortage of funding. Britain’s refusal to accept blame and pay compensation didn’t help. The Civil War itself and the post-war political divide were also major factors in delaying the building progress. This was another chapter in Frank O’Connor’s Cork, a damaged city struggling to survive. He opened his library over a shop near the corner of Winthrop Street. It was five years since the burning yet major buildings, just yards away, like Roches Stores and Cash & Co, were still rubble. Rebuilding had not yet started in these two well-known shops. In January 1927, Roches Stores finally re-opened for business. Summing up, the burning of Cork had a unifying effect on a people that had been collectively damaged by the event. It also exposed divisions in Cork society at the time. A Church/political divide came to the surface during this traumatic time. It was demonstrated through criticism by councillors of Bishop Coholan for his refusal to condemn the burning. Many republicans were unhappy because they felt the clerical comments were often selective. Frank O’Connor had a huge responsibility for a young and inexperienced man. He was given a cheque for three thousand pounds to set up and stock his library. He made his first mistake. At that time an anti-Catholic bias still lingered in commerce. He naively lodged the cheque in the nearby and more practical catholic bank when the accepted practice was to use the protestant bank. This innocent action caused a major committee dispute and O’Connor was accused of having a personal and ulterior motive. Then, when he insured the building, the insurance company gave him a cheque as a personal thank you. He didn’t want it and kept it for years but never cashed it. He sums up this whole chaotic scenario: 

  By the time the Cork County Council had done with organizing my sub-committee it consisted of a hundred and ten members, and anyone who has ever had to deal with a public body will realize the chaos this involved. Finally I managed to get my committee together in one of the large council rooms, and by a majority it approved my choice of bankers. There was, I admit, a great deal of heat. Some of the councillors felt I had acted in a very high-handed way, and one protested against my appearing in a green shirt – a thing which, he said, he would not tolerate from anybody. 

  When he finally got his stock of books together and organised his new library, he decided that he should have closer contact with the rural community. If they couldn’t come to him then he’d go to them. He bought a van, packed it with boxes of books, and drove all over the county. After six months this affected his health. He was exhausted from working long hours driving all over West Cork and he wrote almost every night. In a letter to old Wicklow colleague, Phibbs, he wrote, I’m working like a brute beast. He became ill and had to have a serious operation in the Bon Secours Hospital. He spent two weeks in hospital and six weeks convalescing. It shows his stubbornness when he shocked the nuns in the hospital by refusing to receive the sacraments before the operation. 

           Cork had a long tradition of theatre and a critical play-going audience, but in 1927 there was only one drama group in the city, the newly formed Cork Shakespearian Company. Daniel Corkery’s little theatre had closed in 1913 and groups like Munster Players, Leeside Players and Father Matthew Players were also defunct. On 8 August 1927 Micheál MacLiammoir and Hilton Edwards brought their touring company to Cork. They performed The High Steppers’in the Pavillion Theatre in Patrick Street. This venue later became a cinema and is presently HMV music shop. After the opening night there was a party at Seán and Geraldene Neeson’s home. Geraldene was Terence MacSwiney’s bridesmaid when he married in England. MacLiammoir encouraged O’Connor to revive drama in Cork. O’Connor was inspired and was instrumental in forming the Cork Drama League. Although he knew nothing about drama he threw himself headlong at the project. Old friend, Seán Hendrick, recalls: 

  That Michael knew nothing about producing plays and I knew nothing about stage-managing them did not trouble us at all…The producer was to be given a free hand in the choice of both plays and cast and members were bound to accept the parts allotted them. There were to be no stars and an all-round uniformity of performance was to be aimed at. 

  Undaunted, Frank O’Connor tore into their new venture. Lennox Robinson’s play, The Round Table, was to be the first production. It was its first appearance in Cork and there were some slight adjustments to suit the local audience. The curtain-raiser was Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard. Typically, O’Connor wrote the programme notes, directed The Round Table, and appeared in both plays. The Round Table was a difficult play to produce. It had fourteen characters. Many of them doubled up and played two roles. They had trouble trying to cast the part of Daisy Drennan, but one night Geraldine Neeson brought along a pretty young girl to audition. Although she had a terrible stammer she was a natural actress. Not alone did she get the part but that night O’Connor walked her home. From then on Nancy McCarthy became his leading lady and for years to come she was to flit in and out of his life. The company’s first play opened on 28 February 1928 in Gregg Hall in the South Mall, a theatre venue no longer used in Cork. They got high praise all round especially Nancy McCarthy. They immediately started rehearsing for their second venture, The Cherry Orchard. Cork City was now back on its feet and completely rebuilt and people were getting used to a new freedom and sense of safety. Theatre was a hugely popular event.  Plays at that time generally had an Irish theme and written by the likes of Yeats, Synge, Robinson and T. C. Murray. That had been the custom and they were very popular with Cork audiences. But the young Frank O’Connor had other ideas. He was into French and German and Russian theatre and he wanted to offer the Cork public something different. 

  English drama, no matter how significant it may be in its own setting can have no beneficial effect upon a country which is subjected to cultural influences only from one source. The Cork Drama League proposes to give the best of American and continental theatre, of Chekhov, of Martine Sierra, of Eugene O’Neill and those other dramatists whose work, as a result of the dominating influence of the English theatre, is quite unknown in Cork.  

  That was a more than subtle dig at Fr, O’Flynn, a local priest, who had founded the Cork Shakespearian Company in 1924. The two men did not get on. From 20 December to 30 December1927 they exchanged four letters in the Cork Examiner trading insults. Fr, O’Flynn signed his letters The Producer while O’Connor used his name in Irish. Seán Hendrick joined in the attack calling himself Spectator. Everyone in Cork knew who both men were. Ironically, they were more alike than they cared to admit; they were two proud Cork men, they both loved Shakespeare and they both loved Irish. Two more plays were produced, The Cherry Orchard and A Doll’s House. Both got fine reviews, but the audiences were poor. Maybe the Cork Drama League was going too far too soon, and Cork wasn’t ready for them. By now O’Connor was spending most of his time with Nancy McCarthy. Nancy was a religious girl from a well-known Cork family. He brought her home to see his mother and the couple went on a three-week holiday to Donegal. They stayed in houses three miles apart. They met every day for a year outside of St, Peter and Paul’s church after mass. They were engaged for a while but it did not work out. She would not marry him. He would not marry in a Catholic church and there was no way Nancy would marry outside the Church. She was one of ten siblings and he was an only child. She felt he was spoiled. This was quite true. By now he was being regularly published in the Irish Statesman. He had a poem dedicated to Nancy published 9 May 1928. The last two lines are filled with melodrama: 

  That even within this darkness of our body keeps  

Communion with the brightness of a world we dream  

  Frank O’Connor was beginning to feel that AE was right. He should never have left Dublin. He was no longer enjoying his years in Cork. It was no longer the place he had known. O’Faoláin was in America and recently he had found it difficult to talk to Corkery. He made it plain that he was taking sides and that O’Connor was on the wrong side. O’Connor was restless and felt that Cork was threatening to suffocate him. He missed Wicklow where he could talk literature and art to Phibbs and go on to Dublin to meet AE and Yeats. AE would give him all the latest books and gossip, and Sunday evening he could go to the Abbey Theatre and see a series of continental plays, Chekhov, Strindberg and contemporary German plays. Eventually, getting frustrated with the parochialism of Cork and his lack of success with Nancy McCarthy, he applied for the job as municipal librarian in Ballsbridge. On Saturday 1 December 1928 he packed his case and left for Dublin. He still felt it was only a temporary move. Nothing could cure him of the notion that Cork needed him and he needed Cork. Nothing but death could ever cure him of this. 

Jim McKeon’s book Frank O’Connor: A Life is available to borrow from Cork City Libraries