One F in Foley: The historians who walk among us

During fairly long treks to work every morning, I have to find new ways to entertain myself along the treks up and down the road to and from Moville. And that form of new age audio enjoyment comes my way from the ‘Blindboy Podcast.’

Told in the dulcet tones of your typically nasal Limerick city-sounding accent, the Blindboy - real name unknown - is a revelation in his study of Irish History, both ancient and modern. As a History graduate myself, I could’ve put myself up as some sort of Know-It-All, but I must confess, this guy’s podcast is a revelation in our history.

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Recent episodes that caught my attention were ‘Geriatric Millennials’ and ‘Paddy Dracula.’ The simplicity and humour he puts into the telling of each story is immensely engaging, witty and, above all else, thought-provoking.

As intriguing as the history of Ireland is, there’s no doubt that there does tend to be a significant smattering of exaggeration and hyperbole that goes into some sections, mainly because of the political tendencies the author or researcher might already have before putting pen to paper.

Historical Bias
During my Leaving Cert year back in 2003, I vividly recall a textbook our class used. It was a state-sponsored book of essays about this country’s events between 1870 and 1966. As much as I enjoyed the readings of Michael Collins, not to mention enjoying the film, which starred Liam Neeson, this textbook’s bias was a bit on the cringeworthy side.

It referred to Collins as being “wildly humorous and a man of such warm-heartedness.” Even for the most ardent nationalist, that all sounded a touch too cutesy-poo for what was supposed to be a serious source of historical information.

There were other examples, particularly when the author continuously portrayed Eamon de Valera as some sort of pantomime violin. It had become all too clear, even to our class group of teenagers, that there was an element of bias and romanticisation at play here. That’s why I can’t help but embrace the new approach adopted by the Blindboy.

In the aforementioned episode, ‘Geriatric Millennials’, the focus was on a more recent history. The one-way discussion covered the trials and tribulations of being a teenager in Ireland at the turn of the millennium. Being about 15 or 16 myself at the time, it was easy for me to relate.

What cast my memory back to that time was when he nattered on about how teenagers would write the names of the bands they liked on their school bags. The feeling was that this was a way of making a statement about your identity long before social media. It drew a parallel with another episode he conducted about Teenage Discos at GAA clubs.

While there is time to share in the laughs about the nostalgia of those events, he does take a few moments here and there to question the morality of some of the behaviour that took place at these dances. Kids being peer-pressured into swigging naggins and young boys and girls being praised or disgraced for how many shifts they got.

‘Paddy Dracula’
Similarly, he evokes the question of why Bram Stoker - creator of Dracula - never gets the same literary praise on this island when compared to the likes of James Joyce or Samuel Beckett. The podcast detailing some of the inspiration behind the narrative is a fascinating one. What's more is that it holds close ties to the northwest of Ireland.

Without giving away any spoilers, we are enlightened to the horrifying truth of the cholera outbreak in Sligo back in 1832. A time where panic and fear caused anarchy and where diseased persons, although still alive, were thrown into mass graves and torch-lit rampages of homes was common.

All of these terrifying events, and more, were witnessed by Stoker’s mother. As a bedridden child, she would tell these stories to her son, and there’s no doubt that they shaped the way for Dracula to be forged later.

And yet, for some reason, the History books I had studied for so long had never covered this atrocious event of less than 200 years ago. That’s why it's nice, despite the long commute to my new school, to have a new historian to pass the time on my journey with. A historian, although his name is not known, walks amongst us today.