WE MUST SAVE OUR MUSEUMS
From famine commemorations to the history of Lady Gregory’s family, small community museums are central to Irish culture – but many are in dire straits
WITHOUT fail, on the first night of every Friel family reunion, the question will be asked: ‘When are we going to the famine village?’
It may not seem a likely top spot to visit while on a weekend away with a couple of dozen cousins, but a trip to the Doagh Island Famine Village, which is tucked away on the north-western shore of the I ni s howen peninsula i n Co Donegal, has become a much loved tradition for my extended family.
Every two years we meet for a few days in July, close to the place where my father and his six siblings were born and raised. There are trips to the local beaches and drinks in the hotel where my grandparents would go for their Sunday lunch.
At some point nearly all of us will go to the famine village, which has been running for almost as long as we have been meeting up. Each time we’ve gone, we always agree that it’s better than ever.
Set up and run by Pat Doherty and his sister Majella in 1997 at their parent’s homestead, it’s hard to think of anywhere else that you’d find a heritage centre quite like this one, except in Ireland.
Set two miles down from the main road, it’s made up of a collecti on of pretty white- washed thatched cottages. A guided tour brings you around each of the buildings, and throughout there are life-sized exhibitions depicting
‘I do fear we will lose some of them now’
Irish life down through the last 150 years or so. Stuffed with an eclectic collection of authentic artefacts and curios, there are scenes of a traditional wake, complete with an open-topped coffin surrounded by mannequins dressed in mourning garb, an eviction of tenant farmers by their landlords and one that shows you how poitín, once a serious cottage industry in Inishowen, was made.
It’s a thoroughly unique, if slightly eccentric, experience; one that gives you a real flavour of how life once was in this far-flung corner of Ireland. And it’s not just my family that loves it.
As recently as this week, it was getting f i ve - star r eviews on Tripadvisor. They praised the engaging guides, the wealth of information about Irish history and the delicious homemade scones that were included in the €10 entrance fee.
These glowing reviews should have helped the village see a final influx of visitors before it closes for the winter at the end of October.
However, because of current Covid-19 restrictions, Pat Doherty has had to shut his doors once again, after only reopening them back in early July, after the last lockdown. At least he got to open for a decent length of time over the summer. Many other small to midsized museums around the country didn’t even get that chance. Due to social distancing, some felt it was just too awkward to try manage visitors to their premises.
With the absence of foreign tourists this summer, others believed there was little point in opening their doors for a handful of staycationers. Judging by the dismal numbers to some of our museums this summer, it looks as though they were right.
‘In Dublin alone the median number of visitors to museums was down to 7%,’ says Gina O’Kelly, the executive director of the Irish Museums Association.
There are more than 200 museums in the Republic of Ireland, many of which you will have never heard of. They’re run by small bands of local historians who devote huge swathes of their time for free to ensure we have access to our past. ‘Many of them have a dual function as community centres, young and old people coming through the doors for a chat, a talk or a browse around,’ says Gina.
‘Costs are minimal for most of them, they’re run by volunteers or people on community employment schemes. But there are costs that are immovable, for instance they have to have public liability insurance, and light and heat are costs they will always have.
‘I do fear we will lose some of them now, not only because of economic reasons, but also because of burnout. A lot of people run these places because it’s a passion for them and they work extremely hard. There has to be investment in our local culture, in particular the independent museums, which are run in a professional capacity with one or two staff and have collections of national importance.
‘With the smaller, more local museums, I’d be encouraging local councils to invest in them. But I do think, centrally, there has to be recognition of the role they play, and part of that recognition is through funding.’
The Kiltartan Gregory Museum near Gort in south Galway has never attracted huge numbers of visitors — usually about 1,000 a year. But those who do stumble across this beautifully preserved, red-roofed schoolhouse are always delighted they stopped by.
Built in 1892 by the Gregory family, who lived at the nearby Coole Estate, it served as a school until 1960. Rena McAllen was a pupil there, and as a member of the Kiltartan Gregory Cultural Society, she helped establish the museum in 1990.
‘It’s a way of preserving our local history,’ she explains. ‘It’s set up like an old school, filled with things from the school that had been stored in a local shed for decades, like the blackboards and other stuff donated by past pupils. There are lots of original artefacts from Coole House, it’s a very precious collection, historically speaking.’
Indeed it has won awards for its exhibition of memorabilia, furniture and manuscripts charting the history of Lady Gregory’s family and the Irish Literary Renaissance. ‘This whole area has a strong literary heritage,’ explains Rena. ‘We call it our literary triangle, with
‘We had no more than ten people in the season’
Lady Gregory, William Butler Yeats and Edward Martin.’
With a €3 admission charge and the help of the odd donation, the museum just about manages to break even each year.
‘We just about keep ourselves,’ laughs Rena. ‘It’s a small, personal kind of place where people can spend a long time reading what we have. We get a lot of Americans, tracing their roots. Any money we get covers the insurance, maintenance of the garden and electricity.’
However, this year she doubts they’ll have enough to cover even those modest costs.
‘This summer we were open by appointment only,’ she explains. ‘We had no more than ten people over the whole season.
‘We’ll try and ride it out this year, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. The prospects for next year don’t sound very promising either regarding restrictions and when you’re so small like us, social distancing is difficult. We put something up on the Facebook page, asking for a little help with donations, but there was absolutely no response. I understand, there are many other people and institutions with the same problems.’
It doesn’t help that the insurance company has been less than forthcoming with any assistance.
‘I have been trying to talk to them about our disruption of business clause, but they’re not getting back to us,’ says Rena. ‘And when it was due for renewal it actually went up €200. I begged to see if they could lower it. In the end they gave me three months free. It’s very difficult.’
The Donaghmore Workhouse and Agricultural Museum reopened its doors in mid-July, only to have them shut again in its peak month of August, when Laois was put into lockdown for another two weeks. Established in 1993, it’s a faithful restoration of how the workhouse would have looked in the mid-1800s, when the most desperate people of Laois lived and worked there.
‘It’s very important, to be able to show how people once lived,’ says Trevor Stanley, secretary of the museum’s committee. ‘We have the workhouse but we can also tell the famine story, which has always attracted the foreign visitors, whose families might have left Ireland during those times.
‘We can show them the very floorboards the boys and girls used to sleep on, it brings all those sorry stories to life for them.’
Like the majority of smaller museums around the country, Donaghmore relies on volunteers and donations to get through each year. They are also lucky to be involved in the local job activation scheme. ‘Four to five people at a time work here though that scheme,’ explains Trevor. ‘So we’re lucky not to have any huge overheads.’
With a €5 entrance fee, they normally raise between €6,000 to €8,000 a year, which helps the place run. This year, however, they’ll be lucky if they bring in €2,500.
‘The numbers were dismal enough this summer,’ he says. ‘Usually in August we’d have about 500 to 600 people, but because of going into lockdown again, I’d say we had 100. But the pleasant bit was that a lot of local people came, saying they passed through so many times and had never called in.
‘September is usually a great month for us for the people from Britain and Northern Ireland, but that’s effectively dried up. We’ve applied for small grants from a various range of departments, so we’ll see if anything comes through.
‘We’re down to single figures on a daily basis at the moment, but we’re very lucky that our overheads are not dragging us down. If we were a private collection, we’d be in a lot worse of a position, but we’re voluntary and we don’t do anything too wild or exciting from a management perspective.’
Pat Doherty is also stoic in the face of the current situation he’s facing at his famine village in Donegal. The difference is, his venture is privately owned, with his own f amily, his sister and a small number of staff reliant on the business. ‘We employ about seven people, full-time and part-time,’ he says. ‘Myself and sister Majella work full-time here. We’re unique I suppose, very few heritage centres in Ireland are privately funded and privately run.
‘We wouldn’t survive on just the summer business, there’s a lot of upkeep to a place like this, so in the winter we turn into a Santa village, which helps a lot.’
Pat’s family lived on the property until 1983. He revamped the buildings into the Doagh Island Famine Village in 1997.
‘I knew Donegal was just as beautiful as the rest of Ireland, but there was no reason to come here, so it gave me the idea of the village,’ he says. ‘1997 was the 150th anniversary of the famine, so I got the idea to do a tour about that.’
His idea worked. On a good year it can attract up to 30,000 visitors, and although numbers were down this summer, when he opened after lockdown in July, they weren’t as bad as he thought they might be.
‘We’re down a fair bit so far, 30 or 40%, but you know it wasn’t the worst summer,’ he says. ‘It seemed like everyone headed north to Dongeal this year. In many ways Covid has been a disaster, but in another way it did more for Donegal than any other kind of tourism initiative that’s been tried.
‘We’ve been trying for years to get people up here. Then just by accident people started to arrive, that’s the good story. The bad story is that it’s closed up again.’
Donegal, like Dublin, is now under strict Covid restrictions. ‘We’d usually close towards the end of October and then convert into the Santa Claus Village for a month or so. We get 7,000 to 8,000 people, and it helps fill up the hotels locally as well, the majority of people will stay overnight. The fear is that the restrictions will it run on into Christmas.’
But Pat, a father- of three, is determined to remain as positive as possible, and being a historian, he knows bad times pass.
‘I would look back at things that happened years ago, they’ve all happened before,’ he says. ‘So I’d be optimistic. I think the virus, like all viruses before, will slowly start disappearing.
‘You have to think positively otherwise you’d crack up. Other businesses are in a far worse state. I’ll scrape through I think. I’ll have to think of other things, we’re already looking at virtual tours, we have to if we want to survive
‘We have to be pragmatic and try to think positively. We’re so surprised at how many people did come here over the summer. And we’ve so many attractions on Inishowen now, the bears [at the Wild Ireland animal sanctuary in Burnfoot], brilliant water sports over in Moville and the cruises out to the dolphins have been a big hit.
‘We provide the history of the place for everyone. We’re interdenominational, we have an Orange Hall and a Republican safe house at the village, so we get all groups from both sides. As well as the famine we have a way of one side looking at the other in the history of Northern Ireland.
‘So you see, there are lots of good stories to share. But I won’t lie, you need money to get through. And it’s about getting through, it’s as simple as that.’
‘You have to think positively or you’d crack up’