Dublin, Ireland
May 7 – July 30 2006

I am a Brit, for my sins, and the first I ever heard of Ned Kelly was when I saw Gregor Jordan’s film, coincidentally my Dad bought me Peter Carey’s book at the same time, and I devoured them both, eyes wide open at another man of ‘our colonies’ whose history has been buried.

Ok so it started with fiction, but I come from a long line of rebels and non conformists and people for whom history is a living and breathing thing- to be studied and debated and experienced, so, after more delving and reading, hearing that there was to be an exhibition of Ned Kelly artefacts in Dublin had me scouring Ryan Air’s website.

The exhibition boasted talks by Ian Jones, artefacts never seen outside Australia before (part of the Jerilderie Letter included), live performances of a play exported from Melbourne Jail and, more emotively, the thought of seeing Ned come home. Of course me Dad had to come too, and we exchanged excited emails with the House of the Dead curators about what was organised so that we would get to see as much as we could.

For those of you that may not know, the House of the Dead is part of the James Joyce heritage, the physical home to his novel The Dubliners, a house on the banks of the Liffey and, significantly, on the way to Kilmainham jail, the last accommodation offered not so kindly to many convict deportees. It is home to literary dinners and artistic endeavours and full of soft couches and half painted walls.

On Friday 2nd June we walked along the river to find Ushers Island and sat on the bridge waiting for 10 o’clock, a huge draping sheet half covered the building and a uniformed ‘copper’ outside. I am an emotional soul, I don’t mind admitting, and had bought with me a 1950s copy of Max Brown’s book, to show the organisers, something about connecting with time.

That book had come from a second hand bookshop in Oregon, via the wonders of Amazon search (before I realised I could get it reprinted from Iron Outlaw. Throw stones now.) But it has the original bookshop sticker from Sydney, and a beautifully written inscription from a man called Bruce, so anyhow it is a treasured possession, and I took to show them.

In the first room Heath’s replica armour dominated, I did lift the apron bit to feel the weight; I am not surprised he was staggering. The wall mounted historical time line began here, covering early history and reaching into the next room where The Last Outlaw was playing on continuous loop. Disturbingly there was also a noose and another replica of Ned’s helmet, but this was, we were told, for the play- a rehearsal of which would be taking place soon. I felt sort of nervous going up the stairs, the walls displaying school and prison reports, it felt like getting closer to the source of something.

I hate that picture of Joe Byrne on the door at Benalla, but there it was, extra large and in your face. Well I hate it in so much as it is painful to see, but it is also a shocking and stark reminder and example of what they do to people who oppose them. His name was spelt wrong though, and in the context it made me grit my teeth. In the back ground a tape player played an Irish actor reading the Jerilderie Letter, I would have liked to have sat there but the performance was calling.

The play ‘Such a Life’ (I didn’t know if this was a misprint or a subtle play on words…) was the two person theatre that had been performed in Melbourne Jail many times- the script sent over and Irish actors taking up the challenge to perform it on native soil. They were brilliant- taking costume changes as Ellen, Kate, Harry Powers and Ned, there wasn’t a dry eye nor a breast unstirred in the small audience. Perfect that Ellen was played by a strong Irish woman who commanded the room. It ended with her weeping over her son and the rest of us too.

I returned upstairs then to the main display room, almost afraid to look to be honest. Dan’s armour was showcased and spookily at the right height so that my own eyes were reflected in the slit of the helmet, ‘Betty’, a ‘wanted’ poster, and a piece of that bloody red scarf. That scarf haunted me that night and I returned to draw it the next day. But they didn’t have the Letter. That had returned the previous day to Australia. I can’t tell you how pissed I was.

This was a great exhibition and a unique opportunity- Australia is a long way- but to be honest the organisers had not been explicit in their advertising. They had a part of the letter for a week, but just failed to convey that. As we walked out ‘well Australia it is then..’ were heard across the river. Dublin is a great city and I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, we drank Guinness and raised many a glass to Ned, Joe, Steve and Dan, but I think I need to head south…It was interesting and quirky and I would be very interested to hear the views of others, if there is another soul who saw it, the exhibition was part of a whole, their life in Ireland, and as such it was an honour to be there.

Footnote: You weren’t allowed to take photos inside. There are some images at the House of the Dead web site, all copyrighted.