Education Pack - Millennium Forum

Education Pack
LANCEY: Do your job, translate.
OWEN: If they still haven’t found him in two days’ time they’ll begin
evicting and levelling every house starting with these townlands
(LANCEY reads from his list.)
LANCEY: Swinefort.
OWEN: Lis na Muc.
LANCEY: Burnfoot.
OWEN: Bun na hAbhann.
LANCEY: Dromduff.
OWEN: Druim Dubh.
LANCEY: Whiteplains.
OWEN: Machaire Ban.
LANCEY: Kings Head.
OWEN: Cnoc na Ri.
LANCEY: If by then the lieutenant hasn’t been found, we will proceed
until a complete clearance is made of the entire section.
OWEN: If Yolland hasn’t been got by then, they will ravish the whole
parish.
LANCEY: I trust they know exactly what they’ve got to do.
*
* Posters from stagings at the National Theatre, the
Manhattan Theatre Club, the Birmingham Repertory
Company and The Abbey.
Poster of Field Day’s original
touring production of Translations
in 1980 (see above).
Plot Synopsis
Summary
Translations, set in the fictive townland of Baile Beag, 1833, traces the impact a detachment of British Army Royal
Engineers has on the Irish-speaking community there. To start off with, they are simply charting the territory and
translating or ‘standardising’ the Donegal place names for the purposes of making a map. They are perceived as
harmless, even friendly by the townspeople of Ballybeg, especially those who attend the local hedge school (soon
to be replaced by an Anglophone national school). When one of the Royal Engineers goes missing though, their
presence becomes sinister and the colonial character of their actions becomes clear.
Act One
We begin with Manus, lame assistant at the resident hedge school, teaching Sarah to speak. Sarah has a speech
defect so bad the locals believe she is dumb. With some encouragement however, she is slowly but surely learning
to say “My name is Sarah”.
Next to them is Jimmy Jack Cassie, ‘the infant prodigy’, an elderly self-taught classics scholar engrossed in Homer.
As Sarah is nervously forming words, Jimmy confidently quotes the Odyssey in the background, making special
reference to Glaukopis Athene – flashing-eyed Athene.
Other adults from the class arrive. Firstly Maire, fresh from the harvest, followed by Bridget and Doalty. Together,
they talk about the newly arrived sappers surveying the land; the master Hugh, tipsy at a christening; the Donnelly
twins, suspiciously absent; and ‘the sweet smell’, a potential indication of crop failure. From the discussion it
transpires that Maire is Manus’s fiancé – and that, unless he applies for the position of teacher at the new national
school, she will go to America. Manus explains that he cannot apply for the position, as his father, Hugh, has put
himself forward as a candidate.
Finally, Hugh arrives – a seasoned drinker, he is not yet drunk. He tests his students on the Latin
origins of words and checks their exercises. Maire asks if she can learn English:
“I don’t want Greek, I don’t want Latin. I want English”. She cites the politician Daniel O’Connell’s assertion that
“the old language is a barrier to modern progress”.
Nuala
Hayes
(Maire)
and
Liam Neeson
(Doalty) in the
original
production.
The lesson is interrupted again by the unexpected arrival of Hugh’s other son, Owen. A city man, he has done well
for himself acting as a translator for the British Army. Accompanying him are two Royal Engineers – Captain
Lancey, “a small, crisp officer” and Lieutenant Yolland, “a soldier by accident”.
Lancey addresses the class to describe the work of the Ordnance Survey, expressing himself awkwardly. Owen
misrepresents some of what he says in translation, underplaying Lancey’s comments on empire and taxation.
Only Manus, who speaks both English and Irish, can see the darker implications of Lancey’s speech.
He challenges his brother Owen privately, labelling the enterprise “a bloody military operation”. Owen dismisses
this. The act ends with Owen introducing the officers to everyone.
Brenda Scallon
(Bridget) and
Roy
Hanlon
(Jimmy Jack) in
the
original
production.
Act Two
Scene One – Some days later.
Owen and Yolland sit in the hedge school anglicising local place names. Though they use several reference books
(such as a church registry), their standardising veers into the arbitrary.
Yolland expresses his love of Ballybeg, which he finds heavenly.
He asks Owen if he could perhaps settle down there. Owen calls him a romantic. Yolland concludes that:
“Even if I did speak Irish I’d always be an outsider here, wouldn’t I? I may learn the password but the language
of the tribe will always elude me, won’t it?”
Hugh enters. He says he needs to tell the builders of the new national school what kind of living accommodation
he will require. Clearly, Hugh expects to be successful in his application as new school master. He speaks to
Yolland briefly about the richness of Irish before departing.
Manus comes with news that he has been offered a position in Inis Meadhon starting a hedge school for £42 a
year. As he is describes the housing and additional benefits he will receive, Maire enters. Strangely, she does not
seem too excited by his news. The scene ends with Maire inviting Yolland to a dance at Lying Anna’s.
Owen translates for Yolland. He is intoxicated by the suggestion.
Scene Two – later that night.
Maire and Yolland leave the dance at Lying Anna’s, out of breath and holding hands. Though they do not
understand each other, they often say the same things to each other without realising, notably “I love the sound
of your speech”. Eventually, Maire says the only English she knows, an old fashioned maxim. Yolland mirrors her,
reciting the only Irish he knows – the place names he and Owen are replacing. Caught up in each other, they kiss.
Sarah sees them and cries out for Manus, softly.
Stephen Rae (Owen) and
Roy Hanlon (Jimmy Jack)
in the original production.
Act Three
The following evening at the hedge school.
Yolland is missing. Owen tries to work without him but is distracted. Manus packs his bags, leaving instructions for Owen
to take care of Hugh as he does so. It is obvious he is in considerable distress, having found out from Sarah about Maire
and Yolland. Sarah watches proceedings timidly, defensively pretending to read.
Owen urges Manus to clear his name with Lancey and clarify that he is not responsible for Yolland’s disappearance.
Manus ignores this and asks Owen to write to the Inis Meadhon men to say he will be there in three of four months’ time.
Manus shakes Owen’s hand. As Manus goes to the door, he asks Sarah her name in full; she answers, he kisses her on the
forehead, and departs.
Ann Hasson (Sarah) and
Mick Lally (Manus) in the
original production.
Bridget and Doalty enter with stories of soldiers searching the land, destroying fences and scattering hens and sheep
in the process. Owen asks them about Yolland. An uncomfortable Doalty mentions the Donnelly twins. Maire enters.
She is absentminded and upset. After asking about Yolland, she reverts to idle shop talk, focusing on menial tasks in a
confused haze. She leaves to go to the wake of Nellie Ruadh’s baby, christened in Act One. Captain Lancey enters.
He announces that if Yolland is not found in twenty-four hours, all livestock in Ballybeg will be shot; and, following
that, evictions will be made and every house will be levelled. This time, Owen translates him word for word. Lancey
aggressively asks Sarah her name. Petrified, she is unable to speak.
Doalty asks Owen to tell Lancey his camp is on fire. Lancey leaves to assess the damage, adding threateningly that
he’ll remember ‘Mr Doalty’, and that he holds Owen responsible. The act ends with Hugh and Jimmy drunkenly
returning from the wake. Hugh has lost his position at the new national school to a bacon curer from Cork – he
declares in good humour that he will write a satire on him. Jimmy announces that he is getting married – to Athene.
Hugh reads out the translated place names left by Owen and concludes “We must learn where we live. We must
learn to make them our own. We must make them our new home”. Finally, Hugh recalls the destruction of Troy,
reciting from the Aeneid.
Ray McAnally (Hugh) in
the original production.
Character Analysis
Manus O’Donnell
Manus is Master Hugh O’Donnell’s eldest son and unpaid assistant at the hedge school. Due to his father falling over
his crib as a baby, Manus is lame and feels responsible for him. He cooks, cleans and teaches for Hugh – only to be
treated as a “footman” and thrown the odd shilling for his pains.
Though Manus has an understanding with Maire Chatach, with no salary to support her, this relationship goes
nowhere. He won’t compete with his father to run the new national school in Baile Beag, and, by the time he has
been offered a position in Inis Meadhon, it is already too late; Maire has feelings for Yolland. Manus is effectively
ruined by his lack of self-interest.
At the same time, Manus is no fool. He picks up immediately on the colonial undertones of the Ordnance Survey.
After Lancey’s first speech to the class, Manus asks Owen “What’s ‘incorrect’ about the place-names we have here”
and concludes “there was nothing uncertain about what Lancey said: it’s a bloody military operation”. Similarly he
recognises that Owen is compromised by his association with Royal Engineers – using the name Owen is mistakenly
called by Yolland and Lancey, Manus notably jibes him with the line “but there are always Rolands, aren’t there?”
Vindicated in his opinions by the action of the play, Manus is also, according to Ciaran Deane, “(literally) crippled by his
convictions and this leads to exile”. When Yolland disappears, Manus does not clear his name with Lancey. Instead, he
limps to Mayo, an outcast. It is not clear whether he escapes from the British Army.
Sarah Johnny Sally
Sarah is a young woman of the village who attends the hedge school. She has a speech defect so bad she is treated as
a mute by the people of Baile Beag. With substantial encouragement from Manus though, she is able to say “My
name is Sarah”.
At several points in the text, we get the impression Sarah may be in love with Manus. She presents flowers to him in
class and, at the end of Act One, she is seen staring at him. Likewise when she catches Maire and Yolland kissing in Act
Two, she goes and tells Manus.
Friel wanted Ann Hasson to play the role of Sarah for her “strange young-old face”. Ciaran Deane thinks this might
have been because she symbolises “both Ireland past and present”. It also seems likely that Sarah is meant to
represent the Irish language itself.
When she is nurtured by Manus, quietly in the classroom, she flourishes.
When asked aggressively for her name by Lancey, she is struck dumb with fear, a metaphor for the suppression of the
Irish language.
Jimmy Jack Cassie
Jimmy Jack Cassie or ‘the infant prodigy’ is a man in his sixties intimately acquainted with the classics. He is an isolated
man who attends the hedge school for company. Jimmy knows Greek and Latin and, for him, “the world of the gods
and the ancient myths is as real and as immediate as everyday life in the townland of Baile Beag”. Notwithstanding
Jimmy’s impressive education, he is always filthy.
Jimmy is a close friend of Hugh’s. In the 1798 Irish rebellion he marched with Hugh – only to skive off and get drunk.
Jimmy is caught up in the fantasy of literature. In some ways, he is a warning that non-engagement with the real world
is not a viable option.
For all his blindness to more material concerns though, Jimmy is aware that a clash of cultures is occurring in Ballybeg.
In reference to his dream forthcoming marriage to Athene (and perhaps to Yolland and Maire), he says to Hugh “Do
you know the Greek word endogamein? It means to marry outside the tribe. And you don’t cross those borders
casually – both sides get very angry”.
Maire Chatach
Maire is a beautiful and feisty young woman in her twenties. She attends the hedge school to improve her prospects
and has an understanding with Manus.
Maire’s relationship with Manus is complicated. With ten younger siblings and “no man in the house” she is anxious for
him to earn a salary; she makes it quite clear that if he doesn’t, she will more than likely go to America. When drawing
a map of the America in class, she says simply “the passage money came last Friday”. When Manus does receive the
offer of a position at Inis Meadhon, however, it is already too late – Maire has feelings for Yolland and her loyalty to
Manus has dissolved.
By comparison, Maire’s relationship with Yolland is simple – instant, romantic, idealising love. Though neither
understand each other, the pair’s connection transcends the language barrier. This is perfectly demonstrated when,
after the dance, Maire says to Yolland “I love the sound of your speech” in her own language, while Yolland says it in
his.
Maire’s love of Yolland is in keeping with her attraction to the brave new world represented by English speaking, Daniel
O’Connell and emigration to America. Her desire to learn English is particularly important; Maire is a reminder that
“the decline of Irish resulted from forces within the Irish-speaking community itself, the aspirations of Irish speakers for
themselves and their children” (Sean Connolly). Just as public telephone boxes have been replaced by the use of
mobile phones in our own time, so English replaced Irish in Maire’s time as the language of new aspiring
professionals. Despite Maire’s aspirations and pragmatism though, she too is undone by the action of the play, driven
mad by Yolland’s disappearance. Her final speech is both poignant and childish as she traces Yolland’s hometown –
Winfarthing – on a map of England before obsessively repeating to herself the mundane tasks of the day.
Doalty
Doalty is a semi-literate young farmer – he comes to the hedge school to learn basic numeracy and literacy. Described by
Friel as “generous and slightly thick”, Doalty is a good natured character who provides comic relief (e.g. when it
transpires he does not know his seven times table). Like Bridget, he is comparable to Shakespeare’s and Thomas Hardy’s
rustics, a source of humour used to relate plot points; the building of the National Schools, the arrival of the British Army
as surveyors etc.
When in Act Three the action turns serious however, we see that Doalty will put up a resistance - “I’ve damned little to
defend but he’ll not put me out without a fight”. Significantly, Doalty is the most aware of the Donnelly twins and their
activities throughout the play. It is important that he does not go to join them until after the British Army become
aggressive and threaten the livestock and land, implying that his resistance is provoked and the result of alienation.
Bridget
Bridget is a pleasant young countrywoman who possesses “instinctive cunning”. She attends the hedge school to
improve her reading and writing level. Thoroughly absorbed in the life and gossip of the townland – she knows Nellie
Ruadh’s baby’s father must be Eamon Donal from Tor – Bridget is sharper than her rustic counterpart Doalty (e.g. she
knows her seven times tables).
Like Doalty, Bridget is used to relate plot points, such as the christening and the building of the National Schools.
In Act Three after Lancey’s speech, Bridget is the only one who keeps her wits together; she is sharp enough to think of
hiding the threatened beasts before the British Army can get to them.
Her panic over “the sweet smell” – a sign the crops are failing – is vindicated by history and the impending Great Irish
Famine.
Captain Thomas Lancey
Yolland calls Lancey a “perfect colonial servant” and in many ways this is an adequate description of him. Uptight and ill
at ease as a peaceful envoy to the people of Baile Beag in Act One, he comes into his own when threatening the same
people with evictions in Act Three.
Though of the officer class, Lancey is surprisingly ignorant – in Act One, he mistakes Latin for Gaelic and assumes the
natives will not understand the concept of a map.
Lancey is the most criticised of Friel’s characters. Historian Sean Connolly calls him a “caricature” and needless symbol of
“Sanders of the River’” colonialism. His more ‘English than the English’ sensibility abroad however, is
plausible, and perhaps Lancey’s problematic characterisation in necessary to represent the British Empire simply in this
context.
Owen
Owen is Hugh O’Donnell’s younger son. He left for Dublin to make a success of himself and returns to Baile Beag working as a translator
for Royal Engineers. The ultimate go-between, he is at first satisfied with the value of his work; content to be mistakenly called ‘Roland’,
content to anglicise local place names, content to do Lancey’s bidding. In the beginning, Owen dismisses his brother Manus’s misgivings
about the Ordnance Survey and its potential implications. By the end though, Owen is dismissing his own work with Army map-makers
as “a mistake – my mistake – nothing to do with us”.
Friel wrote to Stephen Rea while he was writing Translations that Owen is “a PR man… if he had been alive today he could have been a
good host of a TV chat show” (25 September 1979). In reality, Owen’s character arc is much deeper that this suggests, as he undergoes a
transition from complicit and naïve co-operator in Act One to knowing and bitter dissenter in Act Three.
Ultimately Owen is the play’s survivor because he is neither fish nor fowl – neither attached to his father’s old way nor to Lancey’s new
one. He ends the play in confusion, left to negotiate the middle ground; “He had repudiated his Irishness, but he never was English”
(Ciaran Deane).
Lt. George Yolland
A subordinate to Lancey, Yolland is, by his own admission, not a natural soldier. He finds the hierarchy and regulations of the army
vaguely stifling. Ballybeg, by contrast is a delight – “It’s really heavenly” – and he is keen to immerse himself in the culture completely,
learning Irish, getting to know the locals, even attending the dance night at Anna na mBreag’s (where the poteen is notorious for its
frogs).
To Owen, he is a romantic – wrapped up in a hot summer and light labour. A more likely reason for his rose-tinted view of the townland
though is Yolland’s strong attraction to Maire.
Sean Connolly sees Yolland as a stereotype, “culturally as well as socially gauche”, entranced by a heritage so much richer than his own.
In fact, Yolland is at times the most perceptive person onstage. While Owen contends they are standardising place names “as
accurately and as sensitively as we can”, it is Yolland who recognises that “something is being eroded”.
Similarly, Yolland understands that he will always be an outsider here; “the language of the tribe will always elude me, won’t it? The
private core will always be… hermetic, won’t it?
Hugh
Hugh is the master of Baile Beag’s hedge school where he teaches Irish and classics (English he finds too “plebaien”). A contemporary of
Jimmy’s, he is in his sixties, often drunk and unable to take care of himself – hence is dependency on Manus.
Like Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, although Hugh is the central character, little happens to him in the course of Translations. He applies for
the position of teacher at the new National School and is rejected in favour of a bacon curer from Cork. Otherwise Hugh is a bystander,
and his significance lies in his speeches; “it is not the literal past, the ‘facts’ embodied in history, that shape us, but images of
the past embodied in language”.
An anti-hero, his failure to adapt to the new ways is potentially a metaphor for Ireland and its failure to adapt to its
circumstances.
Language, Structure and Tone
Language
“The play has to do with language, and only language. And if it becomes overwhelmed by that political
element, it is lost” – Brian Friel, Sporadic Diary, 1 June 1979
The language of the local hedge school in Translations is extremely rich and varied – ranging from Bridget and Doalty’s Synge-like
rural slang (their terms for drunk, “he’s as full as a pig”, “he’s been on the batter” etc.) to Hugh’s pompous, intellectual
observations (“You’ll find, sir, that certain cultures expend on their vocabularies and syntax acquisitive energies… entirely lacking in
their material lives”). With use of Northern Irish colloquialisms, “yous” and “crack” in combination with references to the classics in
the original Greek and Latin, Friel gives the impression of a unique and special culture. By contrast, the language of English Captain
Lancey seems overly formal and static “this enormous task has been embarked on so that the military authorities will be equipped
with up-to-date and accurate information on every corner of this part of the empire”. Lancey also appears ignorant next to the
hedge school users as he mistakes Latin for Gaelic.
If Friel’s assessment of the Irish speakers seems highly romanticised by comparison with the English speakers in Translations, it is at
least undercut by one supreme irony – the actors are all speaking English. Although the characters speak a mixture of English and
Irish, and often cannot understand each other or require a translation, an English-speaking audience will understand every word.
This dramatic device enables Friel to draw out several other ironies. The first is mistranslation; for an audience that hears every
word in the same language, Owen’s version of Captain Lancey’s speech in Act One is very different. Owen not only simplifies what
Lancey says (“a map is being made of the whole country”), but actively changes it as well. The colonial implications of Ireland’s
being surveyed so the “military authorities… [are] equipped with up-to-date and accurate information on every corner of this part
of the Empire” is softened to “the job is being done by soldiers because they are skilled in this work”. Likewise, Lancey’s official
statement that the survey is being done to ensure more “equitable translation” is transformed into “the new map will mean that
taxes are reduced”. Owen also remembers to thank the class for listening where Lancey omits this. Owen’s adjustments to what
Lancey says may seem harmless in Act One, but by Act Three the danger of misinterpreting the British Army’s intentions is clear. At
this point, Owen translates him almost exactly, no longer able to interpret friendliness and goodwill in Lancey’s words; “If Yolland
hasn’t been got by then, they will ravish the whole parish.”
A second irony emerges in the characters’ discussion of the English and Irish languages respectively. When Hugh states to Yolland
that the English language cannot “express” the Irish, or that English succeeds in making Latin verse sound “plebeian”,
it is undercut by the irony that he is speaking English. The “rich…spiritual” language he idealises and places above English – Irish –
is never spoken onstage. Is this to demonstrate that Irish is a lost language? Or is it to demonstrate that the Irish Hugh imagines
never really existed?
Language (continued)
The third and most important irony appears in the relationship between Maire and Yolland, as love not only transcends the
language barrier but is also increased by it. Maire and Yolland love each other’s differences. They are full of curiosity to
understand each other’s speech and homes. Just as Yolland recites the place names local to Maire in Act Two “Bun na
hAbhan? Druim Dubh? Poll na gCaorach. Lis Maol”, so Maire traces his roots on a map of England in Act Three, “I have it all in
my head now: Winfarthing – Barton Bendish – Saxingham Nethergate – it’s about there. And there’s Little Walsingham –
that’s his mother’s townland”. Against the clash of cultures occurring all around them, Maire and Yolland’s romance is proof
of the limitations of language.
Structure
Friel is often referred to as ‘Ireland’s Chekhov’ and from the way Translations is structured it is clear why. Much of the action
of the play happens offstage – the christening, soldier surveying the area, the building of the national school, the dance, and
finally, Yolland’s disappearance, and the arrival of British Army search units. The drama consists of the characters’ reactions
to these events, captured in intimate moments, such as Manus’s bitter recollection of Maire and Yolland’s kiss, and more
uproarious responses, like Bridget and Doalty’s explanation of soldiers levelling the land.
The lengthy monologues of the main characters are often offset by the quick fire exchanges of the minor, comic characters,
undercutting any lapses into nostalgia or sentimentality.
Crucially, the realisation of the ‘disaster’ – Yolland’s disappearance and the subsequent consequences of this for Baile Beag –
happens close to the end, allowing for the play to end in ambiguity and confusion. The impending ‘tragedy’ of British
occupation, the Great Irish Famine, the decline of Gaelic, as well as their own personal disappointments, hangs like a sword of
Damocles over the characters.
The three act structure, with no more than two possible settings – the hedge school and outside the dance – is like the ‘wellmade play’ of the early twentieth century; simple to stage and following a working formula. As one of Friel’s first full-length
plays, Friel may have been wary of experimenting too much with the form of Translations while he was experimenting with
the language.
Tone
“like a true Derry Pape I have structured failure (social, political, cultural) into a half-sustaining philosophy.
So be it. It certainly hadn't occurred to me. I wouldn't deny it. And when I wonder why it may be true the
only answer I can suggest is that we can never find realization in the Northern state where we are
permitted only to their concept of us.” – Brian Friel, in a letter addressed to Seamus Deane on his reading of
Translations, 3rd October 1978 [Friel’s italics].
Failure is a theme that permeates much of Friel’s work. In Translations, the tone is one of inevitable failure – a destruction
that cannot be escaped. Summed up in Hugh’s last speech at the play’s finale, an extract from the Aeneid describing the
ruin of Troy, this destruction is depicted as fated.
As in Greek tragedy, where characters’ fatal flaws result in a prophesied outcome, so in Translations we expect the bad
ending from history. The seeds of tragedy are sewn in Act One, in the “sweet smell” of the potato crops, in the arrival of
British sappers, in the gossip surrounding the new national school, and in Lancey’s awkward, out of touch speech to the
class. By Act Three, we know that disaster awaits almost all the characters. Overall, the tone of the play is poignant and
fatalistic.
Rehearsals from the original staging at the Guildhall in
Derry/Londonderry, 1980.
The first time in close two hundred years that a professional
theatre company had put on in a work in the city, Field Day had
to import everything for Translations – the sets, the costumes,
the lighting rig, the sound system etc.
The design (shown left) was kept simple accordingly.
Discussion Point: How might Friel’s use of language,
structure and tone in Translations shed light on the
main themes of tradition vs. modernity, the clash of
cultures and loss and failure?
Context
Field Day Theatre Company and Brian Friel
Field Day Theatre Company was conceived by Brian Friel and Stephen Rea in Derry/Londonderry 1979. At the heart of their
plans to produce theatre locally was “a belief that theatre in Ireland can originate outside the metropolis” (Brian Friel and in
a letter to Stephen Rea, 2nd December 1980), inspired by Friel’s time with Tyrone Guthrie in sixties. Friel and Rea wanted to
create work that belonged to the ‘fifth province’. An idea that surfaced in the Northern Irish magazine Crane Bag, circa 1977,
the fifth province meant a province outside of Ireland and the United Kingdom, connected to and yet apart from both
cultures. For Friel and Rea, who felt like outsiders in NI (isolated as nationalist, yet non-sectarian, non-establishment artists),
the fifth province provided an imaginative space in which to express themselves.
Like Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, the fifth province became its own, imaginary place in Translations – Baile Beag/Ballybeg. A
fictive townland in Donegal, 1833, Baile Beag proved the perfect setting to explore complex notions of Irish identity.
Once Friel conceived of a play set in this time and place, he quickly developed a storyline surrounding the Ordnance Survey.
He read historical sources – such as J. H. Andrews A Paper Landscape – and sought feedback on his drafts from Stephen Rea,
Seamus Deane and Seamus Heaney amongst others.
In 1980, Translations was cast. Friel got his first choice of actor for every single role (including the well renowned Ray
McAnally as Hugh and a young Liam Neeson as Doalty). It is a mark of Friel’s focus that most of the actors were from Ulster.
The play itself – the first professional theatre production created in Derry/Londonderry for almost two centuries – was a
huge success. Journalist David Nowlan wrote of the build-up to the premiere “here Derry was on show and the show was for
Derry. It was an electric love affair. The hotels were in on it, and the taxi driver and the people; the town was in on it.” (Irish
Times, 24th September 1980). Its reception locally was incredible accordingly. Theatre critic Tim E. O’Grady described the
standing ovation as “the most rapturous and emotional… I have ever seen” (New Statesman, 3rd October 1980). More than
just a popular ‘hit’, it was evident that Translations was also important for the city. Recalling opening night, Seamus Heaney
said “There was a feeling in Derry of some kind of civic event… and when the mayor, was not only was present… but… stood
to applaud the play, it wasn’t just good personal behaviour, it was good civic behaviour.” (Arts Extra, 23rd September 2005).
Since its original tour, Translations has been widely hailed as Friel’s masterpiece and a turning point in Irish drama.
The Troubles and Translations
Use of Irish became so common in prisons that Gusty
Spence, a UVF leader, learnt Irish to understand the
conversations around him.
“You couldn’t not be affected by the collapse of society in the North”
– Stephen Rea, Rattlebag, RTE, 23rd September 2005
Friel wrote Translations in 1979 to 1980, after the worst decade of the Troubles. For Nationalists, the introduction of Internment,
Bloody Sunday, the removal of ‘special category’ status for political prisoners and the blanket protests had made the seventies
particularly difficult, and Friel sympathised with their resentment. The problem for Friel and Field Day Theatre was tackling these
events too directly, to the point of controversy or insensitivity. Marilynn Richtarik summarises their dilemma: “Failure to confront the
atrocities left one open to the charge of ignoring the most vital, dramatic subject matter available. On the other hand focusing too
exclusively on current events might make one’s art ephemeral while raising suspicions that one was cashing in on the crisis or exploiting
other people’s pain for personal benefit.”
In Translations, Friel solves this dilemma by setting the action in a fictional place (Baile Beag) and a distant time (1833). By implying the
Ordnance Survey is the controlling measure of a colonial power, Friel addresses current British military occupation; and by making
Lancey’s threats to Baile Beag in Act Three so extreme, he addresses disproportionate punishment. Through the action of the play in
other words, Friel succeeds in subtly engaging with Nationalist grievances.
The subject at the heart of the Translations – the decline of Irish – though not an acute Nationalist grievance in 1980, similarly relates
to the Troubles. Interest in the Irish noticeably increased in Northern Ireland when nationalist political prisoners used the language to
speak in code.
Several Republican slogans emerged from the use of Gaelic, the
most famous of which is tiocfaidh ár lá. Meaning literally ‘our day
will come’, this is the last line of the hunger striker Bobby Sands’s
diary. He is pictured here in a mural on the Falls Road, Belfast.
The Ordnance Survey and National Schools in Ireland
– the historian’s perspective
Attendance at National Schools
in Ireland did not become
compulsory until 1892.
Friel claimed to inflict “tiny bruises… on history” in Translations. For some critics though, the inaccuracies amount
to more than just artistic licence.
In his article “Notes for a future edition of Brian Friel’s Translations”, historian J. H. Andrews insists that Friel
misrepresents the character of the Ordnance Survey. He points out that the Royal Engineers (such as Lt-Colonel
Colby and Lieutenant Larcom) were often well educated men, interested in Ireland and the Irish language; that
those who assisted them were amongst the best Gaelic scholars in Ireland (John O’Donovan, Eugene O’Curry); and
that their work was carried out with utmost sensitivity. Andrews argues that “the Survey’s real-life policy for Irish
place-names... was to collect as many written versions of each name as possible and to publish whichever of these
versions came nearest to the presumed original Irish form”, and that its purpose was therefore to “preserve” Irish
place names, not eradicate them. Some find Andrews’s assessment naïve however – critic Ciaran Deane has said “it
is neither detached nor rational to read the practice of cartography as being merely a benign exercise in
orthographical standardization by the best scholars. The Ordnance Survey in nineteenth-century Ireland, or indeed
any process in any era, is best understood as an exercise of power”.
Historian Sean Connolly, like J. H. Andrews, has similar issues with Friel’s presentation of history – In Connolly’s
case, the National Schools. In his article “Dreaming of History”, Connolly challenges the notion that these schools
were responsible for suppressing Irish. He writes “in reality the National Schools, in teaching through English,
merely continued the practice of the pay schools they replaced”.
Discussion Point: Edna Longley has said of Translations that “the play does not so much examine myths as repeat
them”. To what extent do you agree?
Before surveying the land to make maps, soldiers had to hand in their bayonets.
QI Before surveying the land, soldiers were made to hand in their bayonets.
Classroom
Activities
Most of the original cast of
“Translations” came from Ulster.
Quiz
Act One
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
Which theatre company produced Brian Friel’s Translations in 1980?
In which year is Translations set?
Who played Doalty in the original production?
Translate Glaukopis Athene into English:
What is allegedly wrong with Anna na mBreag’s or Lying Anna’s poteen?
What first name does Nellie Ruadh give to her baby?
Which character says “I don’t want Greek. I don’t want Latin. I want English.”
What do Lancey and Yolland mistakenly call Owen?
Name three ways in which Owen simplifies or mistranslates Lancey’s speech to the hedge school.
Who thinks the Ordnance Survey is “a bloody military operation”?
Act Two
1.
In response to Yolland’s assertion “we’d be lost without Roland”, Manus responds “But there are always
Rolands, aren’t there?” What do you think he means by this?
2.
Where is Manus offered a job running a hedge school, and for what salary?
3.
What phrase do Yolland and Maire both say to each other in their respective languages?
4.
What is the only English Maire knows?
5.
Who catches Yolland and Maire kissing?
Act Three
1.
Why does Manus run away?
2.
There is a wake at the beginning of Act Three. Who is it for and what might it symbolise?
3.
What is the significance of ‘Winfarthing’?
4.
What two things does Lancey threaten will happen if Yolland is not found in 48 hours?
5.
Why does “the sweet smell” cause Bridget to panic?
Write a Review
Here are a few hints and tips on how to write your
very own theatre review of Translations…
Lay out your review correctly
Make sure you introduce what you’re reviewing, use grammar and punctuation
correctly and write in clear, concise paragraphs. Use the programme to help you if
you’ve forgotten half the cast list. ‘Top and tail’ your work carefully – a good
beginning and a strong ending is essential!
Assess what you’re reviewing a piece of theatre
Sue Elkin of The Stage says “don’t get distracted. Write about what you see and hear
in the theatre and how effective it is – or otherwise”. That means focusing on the
quality of the acting, the direction, the set and costume design and, most
importantly, the production overall. How does the staging work as a whole?
Remember to justify your opinions and qualify what you say.
Keep it simple
Follow George Orwell’s rules of writing, “Never use a long word where a short one
will do” and “if it is possible to cut a word out, cut it out”. Keep your writing simple
and to the point. Remember that reviews are journalism – not purple prose.
Discussion Points
a) What do you think is the role of the Donnelly Twins is in Translations?
b) At the beginning of Translations Sarah is succeeding at learning to speak. By the end, she is
unable to say her own name. What does this signify?
c) Theorist Sean Connolly contends that Translations substitutes the “recreation of experience” for
“caricature and political cliché”.1 To what extent do you agree with this statement?
d) Seamus Heaney commented that Friel’s work “constitutes a powerful therapy, a set of
imaginative exercises that give her [Cathleen Ni Houlihan or Ireland] the chance to know and say
herself properly to herself again”.2 How might this specifically relate to Translations?
e) Translations premiered at the Guildhall, Derry/Londonderry with Field Day Theatre Company in
1980. Do you think the text was influenced by events contemporary to that time and place, and
if so, how?
1
2
J. H. Andrews, ‘Notes for a future edition of Brian Friel’s ‘Translations’’, The Irish Review, No. 13, Winter (1992/1993), pp. 98-99.
Lionel Pilkington, ‘Language and Politics in Brian Friel’s ‘Translations’’, Irish University Review, Vol. 20, No. 2, (1990), p. 283.
Flash Cards
Lt-Colonel Thomas Colby
– British Royal Engineer
and Director of the
Ordnance Survey.
Colby led the Survey of
Ireland from planning
stages in 1824 right
through to 1846, when
the final maps were
being issued.
Inventor of the “Colby
Bar”, used in surveying.
With Larcom, a possible
source for Captain
Lancey.
Lieutenant Thomas
Larcom assisted LtColonel Colby with the
Ordnance Survey.
Notable for having
studied Irish with scholar
John O’Donovan to
improve his grasp of
original place names.
John O’Donovan worked on the first Ordnance
Survey of Ireland from 1830 to 1842.
With Gaelic scholar Eugene O’Curry, archaeologist
George Petrie and poet James Clarence Mangan,
O’Donovan made up part of the Irish consultative
team on the O.S.
An outstanding Irish scholar of the nineteenth
century, O’Donovan was the first professor of
Celtic at Queen’s University Belfast.
Possible source for Owen.
Flash Cards
This Punch cartoon of the 1840s shows emigration as the ‘solution’ to
the Irish famine.
Flash Cards
Image from Victorian broadsheet
Illustrated London News in 1840.
Sympathetic to victims of the famine.
Punch characterises Ireland as an ignoble monkey challenging its
master, Britain (a lion, king of the forest) during the Famine.
Monkey: One of us MUST be put down.
Flash Cards
Photos from the original production. Can you name the characters pictured?
Flash Cards
“Children carrying turf to school, 1879” – picture
from The National School System 1831 – 1924,
Facsimile Documents, PRONI State Papers.
Maire: Well now, isn’t that a pretty sight. There’s
your milk…
This Ardoyne mural displays an Irish hedge school at a time when
Catholics were prohibited from seeking an education and these
secret schools were the only means of learning the ‘three Rs’.
Andrews, J. H., ‘Notes for a future edition of Brian Friel’s ‘Translations’’, The Irish Review, No. 13, Winter (1992/1993).
Connolly, Sean, ‘Dreaming History: Brian Friel’s ‘Translations’’, Theatre Ireland, No. 13, (1987).
Deane, Ciaran, ‘Brian Friel’s Translations: The Origins of a Cultural Experiment’, Field Day Review, Vol. 5(2010).
Friel, Brian, Translations (London: Faber and Faber Ltd., 1981).
Litvack, Leon, ‘The Historical and Colonial Context of Brian Friel’s Translations’, The Imperial Archive Project, Leon
Litvack as main supervisor to MA students, <http://www.qub.ac.uk/imperial/ireland/trans.htm> [accessed 8/2/2013].
Richtarik, Marilynn, ‘The Field Day Theatre Company’, The Cambridge Companion to Twentieth-Century Irish Drama, ed.
by Shaun Richards (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004).
Rolston, Bill, ‘Republican Murals’, Bill Rolston’s Website, <http://billrolston.weebly.com/> [accessed 8/2/2013].
Whelan, Kevin, ‘The Politics of Culture in Friel’s Translations’, Field Day Review, Vol. 6 (2010).