Recently Ireland bade farewell to one of its most famous sons with the untimely passing of leading psychiatrist, broadcaster, author and well-known personality Professsor Anthony Clare.

I have interviewed many people over the years and my time with the Professor stands out. He was a warm, accommodating and deeply fascinating interviewee.

This interview was originally included in a book entitled 'Dubliners– What's the Story?', published by Curragh Press. The excerpt is republished here in tribute to Professor Anthony Clare who passed away suddenly in Paris last month with his wife Jane by his side. He is survived by Jane and his seven children. May he rest in peace.

“I'm terribly cynical! I never believe a word economists say because I don't think they know what they're talking about. I always say they're a bit like psychiatrists!” says Dublin's most famous psychiatrist Professor Anthony Clare, who is seated in his spacious consulting room in St. Patrick's Hospital, James's Street where he is Head of Psychiatry.

Today's Dublin is a far cry from the Dublin of Anthony Clare's youth. Brought up in Ranelagh, the son of a state solicitor, he attended Gonzaga College and developed a keen interest in medicine in his late teens, going on to study at University College Dublin. So what did he think of Dublin in 'the rare oul times'?

“People had less,” he states plainly. “At the moment the past is getting a bad deal and we're all concentrating on how bleak it was and how glum and how boring Dublin was, but there were good things as well– friendship was strong, home and family was strong and they were important. Indeed we're worrying about how we can protect them in this 'new Ireland'. My parents lived in a much simpler city and they lived simpler lives, but they knew that buying a house wouldn't cripple them. Now here we are, some forty or fifty years later, yet my own sons and daughters find it hard to buy the most fundamental requirements.”

Clare sees many positive aspects to the cultural developments in Dublin. “The biggest single change is the sheer proliferation of things to do. There's a tremendous vitality and we are slowly developing an alternative to the drinking culture.”

He agrees that the old Dublin may have been gravely lacking in financial security and the luxuries of life but having analysed the situation he remains adamant in his desire for the rebirth of a stable family-orientated society. He refers to the fact that his mother knew everyone else who lived on their street.

“Dublin,” he says, “was made up of a selection of communities, the Northside and Southside were never joined, but places like Phibsboro, Killester, Clontarf, Howth, Ringsend, Drumcondra, Finglas, Cabra, they were all so different, and the question therefore is 'Are there still communities within Dublin?' I don't know,” he concludes after a brief hesitation. “I wonder how many people know each other now in Ranelagh or Palmerstown Park or Ballsbridge or Ringsend? Ranelagh Village? God help us all!” he sighs dramatically.

Family is high on the list of priorities for the individual who expertly manages to juggle a career as a working psychiatrist, broadcaster, author, devoted husband to Jane and father of seven children. “Families and extended families did spend more time together in times past– it did have its downside: some families were absolutely ghastly and pathological and people couldn't wait to get away from them but in general there was a strong emphasis on family, on people and on social interaction and when you've been abroad in a country like Britain for twenty years you see the difference.

“Irish people will sacrifice anything for as party and good luck to them! I think that's not a bad thing in proportion whereas in Britain social interaction comes low on the list, after work, your possessions or your pension. I'm exaggerating of course, but I do hope we don't become like that.”

Dublin's crime rate has risen considerably in recent years, an issue Dr. Clare considers from the viewpoint of someone who has himself been a victim. Despite this highly-publicised and traumatic attack which occurred in his own home, he retains the view that hysteria can reign where common sense ought to prevail.

“I think you can get these things out of proportion and you can start to breed an atmosphere of panic. People say, 'I'd never go out to the cinema in O'Connell Street and that sort of nonsense but Dublin is no different to the rest of the world and the worst thing you can do is to withdraw from the centre of the city. That's what happened in America. They turned the city centres into highway exchanges and the result was that they became ghastly places.”

Very much in tune with and somewhat emotionally attached to the places he encountered as a child, Anthony Clare still enjoys brief periods of recreation in visits to Donabate beach and Sandymount Strand. Here he recaptures precious childhood memories, varying slightly from those of his immediate family.

“I was away a lot and so my children were much more aware of France and Italy and were very lucky. It was a different experience. Of course, today's kids aren't going to Donabate beach– they're going to Malibu and Ibiza,” he laughs. “But I love the sea and would love to live closer to there one day. I love the mountains and the north coast and the Liffey Valley in Lucan is beautiful. I love flying into Dublin on a summer's day and seeing the layout of the city.”

Confessing to being spoilt for choice when selecting his own heroes, he does however attribute great credit to James Joyce, while harbouring a deep fondness and sense of admiration for Dubliners in general.

“I used to have a much stronger Dublin accent and it got lost down through the years,” he reveals coyly. “I love the Dublin humour– O'Casey and Joyce. The average Dubliners from Gardiner Street and the Coome are wary, captivating and humourous. They don't put their faith in money or buildings.

That's where Dublin is different. It's a fine city but not a grand city like Paris. Dubliners don't take themselves too seriously and they won't get corrupted by all this gold and the Celtic Tiger. I like the Dubliner,” he concludes, grinning mischievously.