Well The Little Museum of Dublin is not exactly hidden, it’s an imposing Georgian mansion standing in full view of St. Stephen’s Green, the spacious park in the heart of Dublin. But it is certainly a gem, as we discovered on our whirlwind five day tour of Ireland with four teenage boys. The ratio of adults to teens was one on one but we often felt outnumbered. It was a scenario fit for a National Lampoon family vacation spoof. The Little Museum was our first stop on Day One when we were jet lagged after an overnight flight. Would the sleepy teens have patience for viewing exhibits about Dublin history? But I needn’t have worried. The Little Museum is an experience, not a collection of exhibits. That’s the new buzzword in museums. Last time we visited Ireland we saw the Book of Kells exhibit at Trinity College. This year we had the Book of Kells experience, an immersive digital presentation that feels like stepping inside the book itself and the world of the medieval monks who created it. Absolutely wonderful!
Absolutely wonderful too was The Little Museum of Dublin experience. We were ushered into an elegant drawing room with an eclectic mix of seating. I perched on the fender stool by the fireplace. A door opened and a tall dapper gentleman wielding an impressive cane strode into the room. He looked as though he could have walked the streets of Dublin at any time in the last hundred years. This was our guide Evan who would present The Little Museum’s famous 29 minute tale of Dublin history. It was no dull lecture. It was a performance that soon had everyone engaged, even our hard to impress teens: a masterful combination of vivid storytelling, wit, audience engagement, and even a magic trick or two! Soon the boys were laughing and speaking up. Most in the room were American so when I spoke up my accent gave me away. Afraid of becoming a symbol of England’s cruel history of oppression in Ireland I hastened to assure Evan that I’m actually half Irish and half Flemish. The audience ceased their accusing glances when Oliver Cromwell was mentioned.
Finishing up on the dot of 29 minutes Evan asked if there were any questions. What happened next was my own fault. Before our trip I had cautioned the boys not to talk about leprechauns. I didn’t want us to come across like the kind of Irish American tourists whose knowledge of Ireland goes no deeper than the cartoonish symbols of St. Patrick’s Day. I had also taken to heart a scene in Tana French’s Irish crime novel The Hunter. An Irishman in a small village explains how they “leprechaun up” when a tourist visits their pub. Heaven forfend! But now the most boundary testing boy asked what about leprechauns? Evan took the question in stride and explained that they are beings from Ireland’s pre-Christian folklore, tricksters who interfere in human affairs and are never to be trusted. Not really cute at all.
With that we were free to wander the rooms of the mansion, all crammed with objects, over 5,000, the walls completely covered with all manner of memorabilia. It felt like rummaging about in the nation’s attic. In fact that is literally true as everything here was donated by Dubliners and people from all over Ireland clearing out their own attics! There was something for every interest here. The boys gravitated towards a room entirely devoted to the rock band U2. Dominating the space was a vintage East German Trabant car the band used on their sets. I found myself in front of Joyce’s death mask and the beautiful stained glass of St. Brendan made by renowned Irish artist Harry Clarke in the 1920’s. It was miraculously rescued from a skip by an architectural historian who recognized its value. We wandered amazed through rooms devoted to the 1916 Easter rising, President John F. Kennedy’s visit to Ireland, Irish support for the South African anti-apartheid movement, of course a great deal of Catholic iconography, and much much more.
As we exited through the gift shop jet lag was forgotten and we were ready for the next adventure. The following morning it was onward to Blarney Castle. I told the boys there was no need to risk their lives kissing the Blarney Stone as they were obviously born with the gift of the gab already. Two of them kissed it anyway!
Dispatches From the Former New World 