A defective detective who really needs a rub of the green

BEFORE safeguards were installed, the kissing of the Blarney Stone required a certain degree of bravery and agility. Participants were grasped by the ankles and dangled bodily from the castle ramparts. I waited for retaining railings before I puckered up.

Today the Blarney Stone is open for business, reinstated with full Covid-19 precautions in place. The Cork attraction came to mind when I happened to catch a Sherlock Holmes episode on the radio: The Adventure of the Blarney Stone, first broadcast in 1945. The victim suspiciously falls to his death while kissing the stone.

Fast forward 75 years to the latest incarnation of the detective, Enola Holmes. This focuses on Sherlock’s teenage sister in a version that is not to the liking of the estate of Arthur Conan Doyle. They’re suing Netflix for portraying Holmes as kind, genial and caring, as well as for inventing a sister.

Being an avid fan, I’ve visited the key Sherlock locations in search of his character. In Edinburgh, Doyle’s birthplace, Surgeons Hall Museum gives the lowdown on his life. Doyle’s parents were Irish, and he often mused on his national identity.

This could possibly constitute its own Sherlock story, maybe called A Study in Green.

Picture, if you will, me as Dr Watson presenting the facts:

It was an autumnal morning when the lady who does for us, Mrs Higgs, approached our rooms with a postal communication.

‘Ha! ha!’ cried Holmes, clapping his hands. ‘A singular case! Scotland Yard need to know if Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, our creator, is Scottish or Irish.’

‘How the deuce will we investigate that?’

‘Elementary, my dear Watson.’

‘Er, you never actually said that,’ I observed.

Holmes looked at me languidly, and returned to the letter.

Thus the plot unfolded until finally the riddle was solved.

‘The great thing about this, my dear Doctor,’ said Holmes, ‘is that we may not be English gentlemen after all. But half-Irish half-Scottish.’ ‘How distinctly queer,’ I declared. ‘Not at all. It means we’re full of what they call “the craic” while at the same time allowing us to be careful with our money. A win-win situation, to use the modern parlance.’ ‘Well,’ retorted I, ‘let’s just hope we don’t all find ourselves in the dock with Netflix.’