Identities - George Knowall O'Nolan created George Knowall to write the column "Bones of Contention" in the Nationalist and Leinster Times. Contrary to his John James Doe pseudonym, George Knowall did become a full person. With the Knowall character, O'Nolan was able to speak to the people of Carlow as one of the residents. Knowall developed into a "quizzical and enquiring humorist who might be found in any respectable public house in Carlow" (Green v). It was this ability to create a character that embodies the characteristics found amongst his readers that led to the column's popularity and perseverence. According to O'Nolan, Knowall was "born into a lower middle class family" (Green vii). This upbringing helped to further connect Knowall to his rural readership. Knowall maintained his column from 1960 until his (and his creator, Brian O'Nolan's) death in 1966. What follows is an article by Knowall, which appeared in the Nationalist and Leinster Times. Article by Knowall The fiercest of them all For a reason not clear at all, humans impute to animals motives and behaviours quite alien to them; it is not easy to work out the inter-relation of the man-animal kingdom. Notionally, man is the ascendant and dominant class. Is he in fact, though? The red setter lying at the fire knows every word I say. And if you were to lay a finger on me, without even going to the trouble of pretending you are going to hit me, he would spring up and tear you asunder. Althoughy cats are not strictly speaking domesticated at all, preserving a private life of their own (particularly its nocturnal side) they are faultless time-keepers inasmuch as they show up on the dot at meal times and in cold weather they take the fullest advantage of fires. In matters of cleanliness indoors they are most fastidious and it is fallacy that they are afraid of dogs. A cat on the war-path will terrify any dog, though a chase is often conceded as a matter of exercise and fresh air. We attribute almost limitless intelligence to monkeys, no doubt because of their anthropoid appearance and the human skill with which they drink tea and smoke cigarettes. Elephants we consider very wise and admire the gentleness with which they behave, not withstanding that they weigh several tons. What of the rat? He is not a very personable fellow and often carries a selection of typhus and bubonic germs in his fur coat. All the same, I confess I cannot withhold from him a certain measure of approval. His cunning is proverbial and must be highly commended, if only expreessed in his feat of remaining alive at all. Probably no creature in this part of the world has so many mortal enemies. Not only are dogs, cats and humans after him but he has special enemies such as the hedgehog. I have read that it is estimated that there are 8,000,000 rats in Ireland alone, a great number of them natives of Dublin. The Major Fauna Few of us have soldiered in the Far East and for that reason have only the most perfunctory acquaintance with the great beasts such as the lion, tiger and leopard. The snake family we hardly know at all, thanks no doubt to St. Patrick. Our nearest bears are probably in Siberia, crocodiles infest the foetid swamps of India and the Abominable Snowman is still tramping around in the slopes of the Himalayas. Apart from indigenous minor fauna - the rabbit, the hare, the goat and the deer - that seems to be about the limit of our knowledge of the Wild, a compound of snooping, hearsay and Walt Disney. I keep away deliberately from the subject of salmon for therein we have a mismash of poaching, gunplay and perjury. In a way, we can claim to be innocent enough. We live with Nature, hoping that modest benefit may accrue to us without undue exertion; we give thanks when a fat grouse dies from heart failure at our feet, and with resignation we accept the fact that pheasants cannot expect to live forever. But these notes of mine today are directed to asking the reader to name the most ferocious animal in this part of the world. The badger or the bull? Neither. The dog whose fangs drip with hydrophobia? No. Man himself? Hardly. Quoting from two books I have read let me name the brute. It is the shrew. The shrew is a little thing weighing about half an ounce, in appearance very like a small mouse except that he has a long pointed snout and a shorter tail. Mind This Fellow Naturalists are agreed that, considering the size and needs, nothing in the whole animal kingdom can compare with the common shrew in savagery and voracity. Tigers are clumsy messers in comparison and they always pick a smaller animal when in search of prey. The shrew is permanently in a towering rage and, notwithstanding the fact that in his last meal of a few hours ago he ate three times his own weight, he is perpetually a martyr to hunger. If nothing better can be found, he will kill and eat another shrew – murder and repast taking merely a matter of seconds. But he has no hesitation in attacking, killing and trying to eat the whole of a rat, who must look mammoth in proportion to himself. Part of his armoury is that, apart from the ability to unleash a filthy smell, his tiny biting apparatus contains a glandular poison which can paralyse victims almost no matter what their size. His appetite is quite insatiable, his unending rage is quite startling and by the time he is 15 months old he has eaten himself to death. He is afraid of absolutely nothing except the possibility of doing without his dinner. Should the Irish farmer beware of the shrew and even set shrew-traps? He should not be, for the shrew eats snails, slugs and every manner of insect while awaiting some larger and more succulent dish. But the question does not arise, for there are no shrews at all in Ireland. St. Patrick again! (O’Brien 1-3).