John Dolan: Saluting Cork’s Michelangelo, whose genius lives on in city

How much of a legacy will you have left behind 50 years after you die?

Perhaps a few grandchildren will remember you, or your career or sporting achievements may live on for a while.

But imagine creating objects with your bare hands that are so beautiful, and such an intrinsic part of the city that you loved, that your legacy shines as brightly today as the day you passed away half a century ago.

That is surely true of the great Cork sculptor Seamus Murphy.

Fifty years ago today, he was buried in Rathcooney graveyard, having passed away two days earlier, aged 68.

But so much of his genius remains, if you know where to look.

Take a stroll with me down Pana and stop at No.124, site of Cameron’s Bakery. Here, at ankle-biting height, you will see a dog trough carved out of limestone by Murphy.

It was commissioned in the 1950s when Knolly and Christine Stokes ran the Milk Bar here. Customers would tie their dogs outside, so the owners decided to provide refreshments for their pet clientele as well.

The story goes that when Knolly queried Murphy’s use of the Irish for dogs - madrai - on the ornament and suggested his well-heeled customers might not understand it, the sculptor shrugged: “I’m quite sure all the dogs can.”

Before his death in 1975, Murphy is said to have volunteered that the madrai was his favourite work - evidence, perhaps, of his well-documented humility and humour.

Now, join me for a stroll further up Pana, and into The Long Valley for a coffee and a doorstep sangwidge.

Here, you can see Murphy’s bust of his contemporary, Dublin composer and Abbey Theatre music director, Freddie May.

Walk on to the Grand Parade, and there is Murphy’s Onion Seller sculpture in Bishop Lucey Park, and at the library is a bust of the writer, Seán Ó Faoláin.

Across the river, at City Hall, are his busts of martyred Lord Mayors Terence MacSwiney and Tomás MacCurtain.

Fancy a walk away from the crowds? Pop into Fitzgerald’s Park and you will be unable to escape Murphy’s legacy.

Here are his busts of Michael Collins, Tomás MacCurtain and Éamon de Valera - who died just a month before Murphy - along with his famous Dreamline sculpture, recently lovingly restored, and death masks of Cork musician Seán Ó Riada and Cork writer Frank O’Connor.

There isn’t a well-known figure from the first half-century of the Irish state that Murphy didn’t either know or pay homage to through his wonderful art.

Pop across the park now to UCC, and marvel at Murphy’s statue of St Finbarr, which replaced the one of Queen Victoria in 1934.

University historian John A. Murphy once asked Seamus why the patriotic people of Cork had left the statue of the English queen in situ for so long - 85 years - and he retorted: “Sure, they thought she was the Blessed Virgin!”

Let’s end our tour of Seamus Murphy’s Cork by heading to Blackpool, to appreciate the Church of the Annunciation he designed, just down the road from his Watercourse Road workshop.

When it opened with a dedication ceremony 80 years ago, on October 7, 1945, poet Patrick Kavanagh was in attendance, and recalled the pride with which local people viewed it. “An old fellow told me: ‘Do you see that iron railing there? That was made in Cork, and they say we can do nothing in Cork!’” recounted Kavanagh.

Not all of Murphy’s work survived the ravages of time.

A limestone cross he designed was erected at the top of Galtymore in 1962, after an epic journey. The three-quarters of a ton monument was driven to within 70ft of the peak by a Bren Gun Carrier, a task that took three days as it kept getting stuck in bog. It was carried the rest of the way by five men, and on Whit Sunday, more than 1,000 people witnessed the blessing ceremony.

Sadly, just 13 years later, the cross was wrecked by gales.

Nor does Murphy’s work lie solely in Cork. His sculpture of St Brigid and the Twelve Apostles proudly adorns the Church of St Brigid in San Francisco - which, fittingly, the Church sold to the San Francisco Academy of Art University in 2004.

The sculptor’s wit and humour follow him around, and a story grew legs that he had modelled the apostles on the leaders of the Easter Rising!

Although never proven, it is widely believed that Murphy based his Doubting Thomas on de Valera, while the other apostles were based on his friends, such as Tim Buckley, of The Tailor And Ansty fame.

Although he was born in Mallow in 1907, Murphy moved to Ballyhooley Road in Cork as a child and became a beloved adopted son of the city. He adored it and its people, many of whom he documented in his acclaimed 1950 memoir, Stone Mad.

He moved to Wellesley Terrace in Wellington Road when he married, and his knowledge of that part of the city became legendary - to the extent that in later life Murphy became something of a historian.

An insight into this can be found in the 1975 Holly Bough, and an article about the Old Youghal Road - “the longest named road in Cork city’.

Three esteemed journalists of the day had been commissioned to write about three different sections of it - Walter McGrath the western end, Tim Horgan the centre section, and Michael Dromey the Mayfield end.

McGrath wrote: “Seamus Murphy, an adopted son of Old Youghal Road, had promised to edit the article, to add to it, and correct it - as only he could have done. Sadly, he died while this article was being prepared.

“No man alive knew as much about the Old Youghal Road as Seamus. All three of us writers claimed his friendship and comradeship. This article is published in humble tribute to him.”

Tributes after his death 50 years ago included this heartfelt comment from Murphy’s friend, Padraig O Maidin: “Long after us, men will talk of the time that Seamus Murphy was alive. In his company, life was wholesome and good and real - he gave it meaning. Seamus wanted to share his vision of life with us, so he painted and sculpted and talked and wrote. His faith in us was indestructible. Some day we would see. Men would come, sometime, and make Cork the city he longed for, a caring, generous, joyous community, creating great architecture and lovely homes.”

That vision may still be very much a work in progress, but it underlines that Murphy was not just a great Cork man for his talents - but for his love of the city and its people. He really was the best of us.

The 50th anniversary of his passing was marked earlier this year when Cork City Libraries selected Stone Mad as the One City, One Book choice at Cork World Book Fest. Perhaps the acclaimed memoir could be added to the school syllabus in English or History, for the insights it gives into a now lost Ireland.

We are lucky to still have plenty of evidence of Murphy’s brilliance all around us. We really should have a statue of him too in Cork... but who on earth would we ask to create it?