In 1968, Mick Meaney, an Irish laborer with no money but a strong determination, set his sights on becoming the world’s most renowned ‘burial artist.’ His goal was to remain buried underground longer than anyone had ever managed before.

On February 21 of that year, the streets of Kilburn, the heart of London’s Irish community, were filled with supporters and television crews. They gathered to witness a coffin, measuring just 6 feet 3 inches by 2 feet 6 inches, being paraded as if it were a celebrity.

The coffin, lined with foam and equipped with an air pipe and a chute for food, was carefully lowered into a builder’s yard. There, it was covered with soil, sealing Meaney inside.

His ambitious mission was to endure 61 days underground, aiming to claim the unofficial world record for his extraordinary feat.

A new documentary titled Beo Faoin bhFód (Buried Alive) is set to premiere on November 26 on TG4. The film explores how this peculiar stunt, which once captivated global media attention, ultimately led to heartbreak and left many questions unanswered.

Through interviews with Meaney’s family and archival footage, director Daire Collins sheds light on this forgotten tale of extreme endurance and showmanship.

‘My father was a proud Tipperary man,’ daughter Mary Meaney says. 

‘He was another Irishman, they are now called the forgotten Irish, they were over there working with a pick and shovel and sending the money back to their families. Times were poor back then.’ 

In 1968, penniless, but determined, Mick Meaney vowed to become the greatest ‘burial artist’ on the planet by staying entombed underground longer than anyone else

On February 21, supporters and TV crews lined the streets of Kilburn, the centre of London ‘s Irish community, as a coffin measuring just 6ft 3in by 2ft 6in was paraded like a celebrity

Meaney’s mission was to survive 61 days beneath the surface and seize the unofficial world record

Foam-lined and fitted with an air pipe and chute for food, the coffin was lowered into a builder’s yard, where soil sealed Meaney inside

Originally dreaming of boxing stardom, Meaney turned to tunnelling work in London after an injury cut his sporting hopes short.

When he survived being trapped under rubble, a new ambition formed. 

He decided to conquer burial endurance – a craze that began in the 1920s California and escalated into headline-grabbing stunts by the 1960s.

His main rival was Texan performer Bill White, known as ‘the living corpse’, whose 55-day record was the mark to beat.

Meaney partnered with Michael ‘Butty’ Sugrue – a circus man turned London Irish showman – who masterminded the spectacle.

A public ‘wake’ at the Admiral Nelson pub saw Meaney sealed in the coffin before being transported to burial.

A tiny trapdoor beneath served as a toilet and a telephone line kept him in touch with the outside world, but it came at a price.

Punters at the pub were charged for every call, even when celebrities such as Henry Cooper called him for a chat.

‘I had a great night’s sleep last night,’ Meaney told a TV anchor on day two, establishing a daily routine of exercise, reading and communicating from his cramped tomb. 

But as Vietnam and the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. overshadowed the stunt, media attention waned – and pressure mounted.

Emerging in sunglasses, beard thick and confidence intact, Meaney declared: ‘I’d like to go for a hundred days more. I’m delighted to be the champion of the world’

After 61 days, the coffin was exhumed to cheers

Meaney eventually settled into council work in Cork before his death in 2003

Sugrue pushed on, organising a grand ‘resurrection’ on April 22.

After 61 days, the coffin was exhumed to cheers. Emerging in sunglasses, beard thick and confidence intact, Meaney declared: ‘I’d like to go for a hundred days more. I’m delighted to be the champion of the world’.

Yet, the riches never followed. It was later claimed Sugrue pocketed the profits. 

Promised sponsorships, including a deal with Gillette, evaporated and Meaney returned home with nothing to show for global fame.

‘In all walks of life there are people who just use you like a vampire,’ Mary says. ‘He came back without as much as the price of a bottle of milk in his pocket.’

Adding to the injustice, his feat was never officially recorded. A Rival, Tim Hayes, contested his claim, and later that year a former nun, Emma Smith, managed 101 days buried at Skegness fairground – stealing headlines Meaney believed were his.

Meaney eventually settled into council work in Cork before his death in 2003.

‘He could live an ordinary life, working class, ordinary, but he craved this extraordinary life,’ Mary says. ‘Breaking the world record made him feel, ‘I’m somebody’.