I flew from Edinburgh to Dublin on one of those rare perfect days of which there might be 6 in a good year, sparkling sunshine, no wind, the first spring day I hadn't needed a coat. It was the same less than an hour later in Dublin, but otherwise it was like a different planet. In Edinburgh, the businessmen, bankers, lawyers were dour, unsmiling as they made their way along George Street where Wendy had dropped me by the city terminus of the airport bus. I thought of the fire breathing Church of Scotland parson Wendy took our unwilling kids to hear (believing any religious instruction is better than none). That parson's message was simple: "Life is grim... and the goal is but the grave." An hour later in Dublin the weather was identical but everyone looked cheerful, they greeted each other happily, people whistled as they skipped along in the spring sunshine that's as rare there as in Edinburgh. I went into one of those marvellous Dublin pubs -- it could have been one frequented by Leopold Bloom -- on a lane leading off O'Connell Street by the post office with its bullet scarred portico. The bullet holes have mellowed, but are unmistakably bullet holes, a sad reminder of the Easter Rising. Michael Enright's brilliant radio documentary on the 100th anniversary of the Easter Rising provoked this post, which I intended as a ringing endorsement. But this post is taking a more cheerful course. I'd deliberately arrived in Dublin a few hours early to explore and absorb a tiny moiety of this city, so I could compare it to Edinburgh where we'd made our home, were putting down roots. I spent much of the day, strolling Dublin's streets, browsing book shops, absorbing the atmosphere.
That evening I met the President, the Secretary and the Treasurer of the IMA. Between the four of us, we'd fathered 32 children. Two dinner table conversation topics were unlike any I'd had at comparable gatherings in UK or Oz: the relative merits of available minibuses to take the family for a Sunday afternoon drive (Mercedes minibus, all agreed). The other topic was totally new and foreign to me: What's the best electric potato-peeler on the market? They described this device to me: you drop potatoes, preferably round and about the size of tennis balls, into a receptacle where sharp blades abrade the skin until it's all gone. This handy kitchen aid costs about as much as 6 months wages for a kitchen maid...
Next morning I was driven across Ireland's green and pleasant land, lush, fertile, cattle up to their midriffs in lush green pasture. In Limerick, there was abundant time for sightseeing this prosperous small city, which gave off warmly welcoming vibes. I don't recall any details of the next two days scientific papers and other presentations. My paper on the organization and economics of general practice in Australia was part of a package that included similar papers on the situation in New Zealand and Canada, and one other, perhaps Rhodesia, but I've forgotten the details, probably never having absorbed them in the first place. I do remember many questions, more directed at me than at any other of the speakers. I got the impression that half or more of the audience left the meeting resolving to inquire about how to migrate from Ireland to Australia.
The highlight of the meeting was yet to come -- a mediaeval banquet in Bunratty Castle,which is on the outskirts of Limerick. Mediaeval banquets are rather hackneyed affairs nowadays but this one, the first I'd ever attended, was smoothly and efficiently mounted. The serving wenches wore low-cut blouses with scooped necklines. They served mead as well as ale so before long the atmosphere was softened by a benign haze. I'd learn't by that time to watch and control my alcohol intake at such functions, but mead was a new drink for me, far more powerful than I'm expected. Fortunately I managed to stay sober enough to remain respectable.
