The O'Shea brothers, enormously talented, and insuppressibly unconventional

The museum Building at Trinity College, Dublin was designed by architects, Deane & Woodward however the stone carvings on doors, windows and capitals were carried out by the brothers John and James O’Shea along with their nephew Edward Whelan from Cork. These stone masons were of considerable talent and the building with its Gothic revival style is impressive even to this day.  It seems the brothers were trusted to be creative and given a degree of freedom in how they worked.

 “Woodward allowed the brothers considerable flexibility and they carved their designs in situ. It is said that they worked from material gathered from the College Botanic Gardens, in Ballsbridge. The keen-eyed may spot cats, snakes, frogs, squirrels and birds, lurking among shamrock, daffodils, oak, ivy, lilies, and acanthus.”

Patrick Wyse Jackson’s ‘A Victorian Landmark: Trinity College’s Museum Building’ in the Irish Arts Review Yearbook 1995, p.151 

Their realism in the stonework is impressive in its detail and the use of depth and negative space is particularly stunning. In places the leaves appear as if curled back to reveal berries behind them.  The usual practise was to carve at ground level and have the work inspected for accuracy and skill before being lifted into situ. However, such was skill of the O’Shea’s they were allowed to carve unworked blocks of stone already lifted high into their final position in the building. The brothers achieved some reknown after their work on Trinity College and on Kildare Street Club.  This later club was described by George Moore in contemptuous terms, 

“The Kildare Street Club is one of the most important institutions in Dublin. … it represents all that is respectable, that is to say, those who are gifted with an oyster-like capacity for understanding this one thing: that they should continue to get fat in the bed in which they were born. This club is a sort of oyster bed into which all the eldest sons of the landed gentry fall as a matter of course…”

The O’Shea brothers incorporated a rather creative criticism of their own in the Kildare Street Club window piece which presents the club members as monkeys playing billiards.  It was clear that these brothers had not only creative ability but also a sense of humour that they freely expressed in their beautiful stone work.

Another example of their creative skills is to be found in Oxford Museum which was opened in 1860.  Henry Acland, a Reader in Anatomy at Christ Church campaigned to have a new museum for both research and teaching purposes.  In particular, he wanted to bring together in one place all the extensive collections that Oxford University had accumulated over the years.  In the open competition for architects for the new museum, Deane and Woodward, of Dublin won with their neo-Gothic design.  Their success was in part due to their earlier success in designing Trinity College Museum in Dublin.  The Oxford Museum was heavily influenced by the ideas of John Ruskin who felt that architecture should be shaped by the natural world. This museum has its place in history as within a year of it being completed it was the venue for the famous debate on Darwin’s Origin of the Species. 

Each column surrounding the court is made of a different British rock while the capitals and corbels are carved into a range of plants.

These carvings took two years to complete (1858-1860) and James and John O’Shea with their nephew Edward Whelan once again demonstrated their exceptional talent as stonemasons of both high quality and creativity.  They used living specimens from the botanic garden to inform their work.  The brothers started working on carvings around the outer windows but a shortage of funds and the constant interference of University officials (the Members of Convocation) meant that the project was never completed.

O’Shea was said to be so incensed he carved owls and parrots as a parody of the University Convocation and was immediately sacked.  He had been heard shouting from high up on the scaffolding,  "Parrhots and Owwls! Parrhots and Owwls! Members of Convocation!" University officials were so angry about this parody that they accused the O’Sheas of "defacing" the building with unauthorised work.

These unfinished carvings are still visible today over the main entrance of the museum. The remaining capitals, which had to be subsequently finished in 1910 by other stonemasons, are easily identifiable as they are so evidently beneath the standard of the work of the O’Shea brothers.

The O'Sheas and Whelan would later work with Woolner and the architect Alfred Waterhouse in the design of the Manchester assize courts. 

They produced a series of capitals depicting gruesome forms of punishment in history for this building, an unusual choice for a court building! The original building was demolished following bomb damage in World War Two however some of the brother’s carvings survive in the replacement building.

These enormously talented, and insuppressibly unconventional, mason sculptors, the O'Sheas have certainly left their mark on memorable historical buildings.  Twenty years after working at the Oxford Museum James O’Shea, left his family in Manchester to return to Oxford. However, by this time he was homeless, an alcoholic and he would tragically die here.  It feels perverse that a talent that had beautified one of the most historic buildings of Oxford would find himself living destitute and die alone on those very same streets.

May your pain be short and your pleasure long!

I have always been bad with pain.  The tiniest cut, from an early age, brought forth howls of despair. Usually, this would be followed by requests for bandages, the bigger the better.  At times my mother was placing bandages on wounds that were so small she could not even see them.  As I grew older, I became aware that I had a remarkably low pain threshold.  Watching other children in school fall and bleed only to get up and run off amazed me.  As I progressed through adolescence my mother would remark, “What on earth are you going do when you have to give birth?”  It was one of those questions that an adolescence feels a parent asks just to manipulate you.  Akin, to her other favourite, “You must learn to cook and clean now because one day you will have your own house!”  To this I always smugly replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll always have servants!”  This must have been particularly abrasive to my sweet mother who carried trays of breakfast to all of us in bed every morning, while Don Williams filled the house with his songs.  I only have to hear one of his songs to find myself hungering for tea and toast on a tray.

Being a coward about pain I asked everyone about what giving birth was really like.  One said it was the most amazing experience of her life.  Another babbled on about this small baby and how beautiful it was.  A third said ominously that one soon forgets the pain.  My mother said, in her day, you were expected to give birth in silence, a slight whimpering was tolerated but not for long.  You were expected to approach birthing in a ladylike way.  She looked at me with a forlorn expression before repeating, “I really don’t know how you will ever get through it!”  When I was pregnant people became much more honest.  One friend told me it was like having a knife plunged into your innards and twisted.  This was altogether too frighteningly honest I felt.

True to form, I was racing to hospital with every little twinge convinced the birth was imminent.  Surely, such excruciating squeezes meant the baby was on their way.   Medical staff said, in ominous tones, I would know it when the real contractions began.  Then, when the murderous contractions actually kicked in I understood exactly what they meant.  I distinctly remember not being ladylike about the whole business.  When asked about pain relief, I retorted “give me everything you’ve got and if that doesn’t work get a big club and knock me out”. At one point, I remember clearly instructing the medical staff to cut off my head and haul the baby out that way.   

My sister-in-law had an even more painful birth but within a matter of hours was saying she would be happy to have another baby soon.  It was as if her memory had selectively eradicated all the pain and suffering.  Today when reading a book, it suddenly all made sense.  It is by Daniel Kahneman, a Nobel Prize winner, entitled Thinking Fast and Slow.  It helps you understand why we make the choices we do in life.  In one section they carry out an experiment on a group of subjects.  The experiment was simple; each person would have their hand immersed in cold water 14 degrees for 60 seconds and at the end would be given a warm towel.  The second experiment lasted 90 seconds, the first 60 seconds was identical to the first and then for the last 30 seconds warm water would be bringing the temperature up by one degree.  The third experiment subjects were told would be a repeat of either the short or long experiment.  They were allowed to choose which.  A surprising 80% chose the 90 second immersion.  Despite this being obviously longer that the first.  What was going on?  According to Kahneman,

“The subjects who preferred the long episode were not masochists and did not deliberately choose to expose themselves to the worst experience; they simple made a mistake.  They chose to repeat the episode of which they had the less aversive memory.  Their decision was governed by a simple rule of intuitive choice: pick the option you like the most, or dislike the least.”

We are strongly influenced by the peak and the end.  That feeling of warming water was such a relief after the pain of the cold it managed to over-ride our rational brain.  Obviously, endings when dramatic/traumatic enough reach parts of our brain that have little to do with rational fact but are emotionally powerful.  Our intuition has lead us to make a mistake.  So too, the pain of giving birth when followed by the joy of a baby is simply edited out.

I used to find when teaching a class you could give a truly awful 40-minute lesson, boring, stilted with little content and follow it with a five-minute exciting game to end.  The classes would invariably close with kids laughing delightedly and a feeling that the lesson had been brilliant.  They had been fooled by the end.  It had dominated their experience and effectively wiped out the previous dire 40 minutes.  This influence also indicates why coping with dementia or a pain filled death etc. creates such an overriding despair in relatives.  A whole lifetime is forgotten and the agony of the last months or years over rides everything.  It almost manages to wipe out every joyous memory of a loved one. 

Our intuition is a powerful tool but also a flawed one, on occasion.  Or, as Kahneman puts it,

“It seems an inconsistency is built into the design of our minds.” 

Our memory has evolved to register the most intense moment (pain or pleasure the peak) and the feelings at the end of the episode.  This neglect of the duration will not serve our desire for pain to be short and pleasure to last.  In other words our instinctive preferences may be seriously flawed.  He ends with this warning.

“This is a bad case of duration neglect.  You are giving the good and the bad part of your experience equal weight, although the good part lasted ten times as long as the other.”

My wish for you - May your pain be ever short and your pleasure exceedingly long!