The New Versions: Bibby, Moylett, Kiang & Byrne in 1978. Credit – Irishrock.org

Thirty-three years after its release, a rare and essential Dublin New Wave single has finally made it online. The New Version’s ‘Like Gordon of Khartoum’ was released by Mulligan Records in 1981. It has somehow evaded a digital airing until now. Thanks to the uploader.

Personnel

The New Versions (1978-82) were:

- Ingmar Kiang (aka Iggy Kiang) on Vocals and Guitar
– Johnny Byrne (1956-97) on Bass
– Regine Moylett on Keyboards
– Paul Bibby on Drums

Ingmar Kiang, son of Chinese-born Irish astronomer Professor Tao Kiang, was a Trinity College student when he co-launched “Dublin’s first mobile Punk Rock disco” in early 1978 with his pal Mark Ryan who worked in a “Grafton Street hamburger restaurant”. Presumably the recently enough opened McDonalds or Captain Americas?

Ryan & Kiang. Credit – The Sunday Independent (8 January 1978)

Fed up with 70s disco music, the pair launched a DJ night called Snots in TCD’s New Library offering Punk/New Wave and 1950s Rock n Roll. They told the Sunday Independent (8 January 1978):

We’re in it for the fun, we don’t charge in … We toyed first with calling our disco Scabies until a girl friend of mine came up with Snots. [Our posters say] ‘Snots will be appearing under your nose’.

Regine Moylett with her sister Susan launched their ‘New Romance’ punk/new wave clothing store in the Dandelion Market in July 1978. Their brother John (aka Johnny Fingers) found fame as keyboard player with The Boomtown Rats while another brother Pat was the original drummer with Berlin and later became their manager.

Band

Originally a trio called Sordid Details, playing their first gig supporting U2 and Revolver on 17th March 1978 in the Project Arts Centre, the band added Moylett on keyboards and changed their name to the New Versions in the summer of ’78.

During their four year careers, the band played all the main live music venues in Dublin, supported a number of touring bands and were part of one of the first New Wave tours of Ireland with fellow Dublin band Berlin.

They appeared on the definitive Irish Punk/New Wave sampler ‘Just For Kicks‘ released in 1979 with ‘Tango of Nerves’.

Hot Press journalist Shane McElhatton, now an editor with RTE’s Morning Ireland, reviewed the band’s headlining gig in The Magnet in April 1979:

I came to the gig ready to slag the Versions right off the stage. A so so track on the “Kicks” LP, and a godawful “Our Times” video were my only previous experiences of the band. However, I left all my preconceptions and prejudices (“No Romance” and Boomtown Bigtime connections etc.) in a plastic bag outside. Objectivity prevailed … Imagine a big, fat fairground organ sound tacked on to a melodic ’77 thrash, and you’ve got the New Versions.

Regine Moylett looks like a cross between the wicked witch and a music teacher. She sits at the keyboards, pumps out the colours, the textures that flesh out the rest of the sound. Guitarist Iggy Kiang (somebody read this man the 2nd commandment) pale, gangling, with a self inflicted haircut, wraps himself round his guitar looking incredibly like George Harrison circa 1960. He strikes the right poses, plays the right guitar (Fender telecaster original!!) from which he gets the right sound – raw, dirty, and very loud. Bassist Ivor – plays bass, and looks grim. Drummer Bibby – plays drums, and adds effective backing vocals. Covers include Glen Miller’s “In The Mood” and Talking Heads’ “ Psycho Killer”, which they play without sounding like Talking Heads.

The Versions are by no means a great band, and probably never will be. They do make, however, an entertaining rock ‘n’ roll noise. The songs start to run into each other as the set progresses, the result of a lamentable lack of pace and variation. The need; (a) a lead singer (Kiang cannot sing). (b) a lot more texture on guitar. Moylett’s keyboards do too much of the work in that area. (c) Some manners.

Declan Lynch, Sunday Independent columnist  and author of several books, reviewed the band for Hot Press supporting Salford punk poet John Cooper Clarke in the Project Arts Centre in March 1979:

That the majority of today’s Irish bands are outstandingingly mediocre – much worse than boring – is one of the more disquieting features of a trip downtown on a Monday morning. That the “New Versions” are certainly an exception (the exception?) was made plain by their support set Bob Dylan – Cooper – the first time I’d seen them. A certain Ms. Moylett, of a well known musical, political family, plays the most simplistically charming, and endearingly poppy keyboards I have ever witnessed – such a change from the “musicians” with an abundance of facial hair, who should have turned in their piano lessons at grade 3 instead of trying for that Royal Irish Academy scholarship. Vocally they are weak, and percussively, (?) they need a new one, but, without being effusively laudatory, they cut it better than 92% (to quote Berlin – average age 58) of other Irish bands. They deserve your immediate and undivided attention.

New Versions, The Threat and others in the Dandelion Market – December 1979. Credit – u2theearlydayz.com

The late great Bill Graham wrote the following in Hot Press in May 1979 after the band supported The Blades in the Baggot Inn:

For the New Versions, it wasn’t such a happy Sunday afternoon. Granted that their supporters claimed they could do better and a claque of antagonistic Blades fans obviously disturbed and distracted them so the set may have suffered from lack of conviction, but the New Versions’s design could still do with some revision. Overly Stranglerish in their construction, the New Versions’ problems come down to the lack of colour and versatility in their arrangements. Johnny Byrne’s pulsating bass is the backbone of the band but alongside him both Regine Moylett and Paul Bibby could contribute more.

Certainly Ig sounds to have the capacity to add more than just well scrubbed rhythm guitar while as a neophyte keyboards player (no shame that), Regine Moylett might opt more for sound and effect. With a name like theirs, more novelty is expected form the New Versions than was on offer here.

Ferdia MacAnna (aka Rocky DeValera) was much more favourable in Hot Press June 1979 after seeing the band in McGonagle’s with Free Booze:

It’s a strange thing these days to see a young band as politically aware and as musically capable as they are. However they’re at a very early stage of their development and a lot more work needs to be done before their true potential is realised – but they’re heading in the right direction, that’s for sure.
On Monday night in McGonagle’s they managed to overcome some bad sound problems to play a tight, well organized set. At first they sound like a really fine new wave danceband but when you stand back and listen to them, there’s more to it than that. They’re not content to write songs which appeal just to the feet, (though that’s important): the attitude which comes across in original songs like “Orrors From Above”, “Tango Of Nerve” and “Brenda Spencer” is that there’s more to the whole thing than just bland acceptance – even bland acceptance of the new wave. It’s a stance which could easily backfire on them – and at times it nearly does – but, in the end, they win through despite the odds.
If they have a real problem, it’s with their sound. Regine Moylett’s keyboards playing is subtle and delightful – when she can be heard. On Monday she came through only at the end, which was a pity – because when she does she adds a whole dimension to the textures of the music. Her playing is very individual as is Iggy Kiang’s guitar work these two together giving the Versions songs a particularly melodic flavour. Johnny Byrne on bass (and excellent lead vocals) and Paul Bibby on drums, make up a fine rolling rhythm section. If the New Versions stay together, sort out their sound problems and continue to develop along the lines they’ve already charted, they could well become the most important band in the country within the next year.

In 1982, the band appeared on the RTE language show ‘SBB ina Shuí’ miming ‘Around The Corner’ (video below) and ‘The Only Cure’.

They split soon afterwards.

Single

‘Like Gordon of Khartoum’ was the band’s first and only single. It was released by Mulligan Records who had been the home of other great contemporary Dublin New Wave acts like The Boomtown Rats, The Vipers, The Radiators and The Atrix. The single was produced by record label founder Donal Lunny.

7″ inch single cover. Credit – bigtom (45cat.com)

The unusual title ‘Gordon of Khartoum’ refers to Charles George Gordon, a British Army officer killed in 1885 in Khartoum, Sudan. After a ten month siege of the city, the British were defeated by the forces of Muslim religious leader Muhammad Ahmad.

Henry McGlade in the Connaught Telegraph (17 June 1981) wrote that the single “features a blend rarely found on Irish releases – lively sound, good production and an intelligent lyrics”.

While Con Downing in the Southern Star (20 June 1981) was less enthusiastic:

this record comes in an eye-catching colour sleeve and a copy of the hand-written lyrics … but the attractive packaging is not enough to compensate for the lack of drive and edge which this record could have.

I think it’s catchy enough and stands up well when comparing the record to what their peers were releasing in the same period.

7″ single back cover. Credit – bigtom (45cat.com)

Postscript:

After the New Versions broke up in 1982, Ingmar Kiang and Johnny Byrne collaborated with Mannix Flynn in The Corporation and later formed Max with Marian Woods and Conor Kelly. Working for Island Records and others in the 1980s and 1990s, Kiang produced work for U2, Ronny Jordan, Aswad, Courtney Pine and also re-mixed a series of Bob Marley songs. An early manager of Damien Dempsey, he produced his albums ‘They Don’t Teach This Shit in School’ (2000) and the single ‘Hold Me’ (2005). Today, Kiang is a freelance journalist for The Sunday Times, Aer Lingus’ Cara magazine and a host of other publications.

From dabbling with the sound desk while playing with The New Versions, Johnny Byrne discovered his true calling and soon put down his bass to take over chores behind the mixing console. He worked at the Keystone and Windmill Lane studios in Dublin with artists like U2, the Chieftains, Christy Moore, the Boomtown Rats, Thin Lizzy, Paul Brady, the Radiators from Space and Rory Gallagher. He  moved to New York City in 1985, where he worked as a live sound engineer while producing and recording acts that included Black 47, Eileen Ivers, Pat Kilbride, Rogue’s March and the Rascals.

In August 1997, Byrne fell from the fire escape of his East Village apartment. He was rushed to hospital with two broken legs and serious head injuries. After laying on life support for three weeks, he passed away in the Bellevue Hospital in Manhattan. He was 39. Larry Kirwan of Black 47 called him the ‘the kindest, gentlest and most generous member of the Black 47 family’. Philip Chevron echoed others by saying: Even at a distance, Johnny was the most supportive and closest of friends He really taught me a lot about friendship, miles never seemed to matter.’

Regine Moylett moved to London after the band’s break up. She started writing gig reviews for NME before joining Island Records’ press office and working with Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Since 1985, she has been U2’s press agent and publicity director.

Drummer Paul Bibby later played with Some Kind Of Wonderful and the Soulmates. Based in England, he is currently works as a Sales Director in the Media industry.

For a full and updated list of Dublin Punk & New Wave singles released from 1977 to 1983, check out our previous post here.

Google Maps view of Londis on the corner of O’Connell Street and Parnell Street.

On the corner of O’Connell Street and Parnell Street today stands a Londis shop/Subway premises, which isn’t the only combination of newsagents and Subway restaurants on O’Connell Street, with a new one popping up every ten minutes it seems. The location of this shop was one of two newsagents and tobacco shops owned by the veteran Fenian Tom Clarke in the early twentieth century. At the time of its operation as a newsagents by Clarke, the street was known as Great Britain Street.

Born in the Isle of Wight in 1858, but spending much of his formative years in Dungannon, County Tyrone, Clarke was active in the radical Fenian movement from a young age. This was somewhat unusual, giving that his own father had been a bombardier in the Royal Artillery of the British armed forces. Having emigrated to the United States in the early 1880s, he involved himself in Clan n Gael, and was sent to Britain in 1883 on a dynamiting mission. Shane Kenna, author of an entertaining and informative history of the Fenian bombing campaign of Britain in this period, has written that “Clarke was lucky to survive the journey – the ship on which he was traveling hit an iceberg and sank in the Atlantic.” Arrested and sentenced for his role in the attempted bombing, Clarke would later recall being “driven away at a furious pace through the howling mobs that thronged the streets from the Courthouse to Milbank Prison. London was panic stricken.”

Thomas Clarke, Keogh Photographic Collection (National Library of Ireland)

Clarke would spent fifteen years in British prisons for his actions,becoming one of the last Fenian prisoners in British institutions.  One of those who visited him in prison, to see the conditions in which he was being held, was  the prominent constitutional nationalist John Redmond. Redmond would comment that “. I have seen day after day how his brave spirit was keeping him alive … I have seen year after year the fading away of his physical strength.” Following his eventual release he returned to the United States, where he married Kathleen Daly, before returning to Ireland in 1907.

In Dublin, Clarke would open two tobacco shops and newsagents. One at Amiens Street, the other on Great Britain Street. It is not surprising given his history that these shops were closely monitored by the authorities. The shop sold Irish nationalist and radical newspapers, and advertisements for papers such as Irish Freedom were often to be found outside the shop.

Thomas Clarke’s Tobacco shop and newsagents, notice the Irish language signage.

Sidney Czira, a republican activist in Dublin who later became secretary of Cumann na mBán in New York, remembered dropping into this shop to buy Irish nationalist newspapers:

I knew Tom Clarke very well and often called at his shop for a chat. The first time I saw him was when I went in to his shop to buy one of the nationalist papers that were advertised on a billboard outside his shop.I tried to involve him in a conversation by making some remark about national affairs, but he shut up and assumed a real business manner. He obviously thought that I was probably sent by Dublin Castle to extract some information from him.

The presence of nationalistic posters and advertisements outside the shop could, at times, provoke authorities. In her biography of Clarke for the Sixteen Lives series of books, Helen Litton has noted that in 1911 a huge reception was held in the Phoenix Park to coincide with the visit of King George V to Ireland. Litton has noted that  “as a group of British soldiers and sailors returned from the Phoenix Park through Sackville Street, they were confronted by a huge Irish Freedom poster outside the Clarke shop which read: ‘Your concessions be damned. England!!! We want out country.’ A large and angry crowd collected, and the poster was taken down and thrown into the shop.” Kathleen Clarke, Tom’s wife and later Lord Mayor of Dublin, simply hung the poster up again!

An advertisement for the shop that appeared in a Sinn Féin Christmas special in 1910  listed the shop under the name Thomas S. Ó Cléirigh,  and noted that it was a  “Tobacconist: All makes of Irish tobacco stocked” it went on to describe the shop as the “Agent for Irish Freedom and The Gaelic American.”

As much as it was a shop, the premises became a sort of social space for republicans in the city, who would drop in. Countess Markievicz recalled that the shop was “handy”, given its central location, remembering years later that  ” His advice was always so well thought out and so sound, and the little shop at the corner of Parnell Street so handy, that one could always find a moment to run in and hear what he had to say on any trouble or complication that might arise.”

Members of the British forces pose with the captured ‘Irish Republic’ flag at the Parnell statue, opposite Thomas Clarke’s shop.

Clarke not alone took part in the Easter Rising of 1916, but he put his name to the rebel proclamation, which would ensure his execution. Following the collapse of the Easter Rising, Clarke was among the rebels who were gathered in the grounds of the Rotunda Hospital, not far from where the decision to surrender had been made at Moore Street. One rebel who was there was Joe Sweeney, who remembered a humiliating ordeal for Thomas Clarke:

Anybody who put his foot out of line got a whack of a rifle butt. We were kept there all night and a British officer amused himself by taking out some of the leaders. He took out poor old Tom Clarke and, with the nurses looking out of the windows of the hospital, he stripped him to the buff and made all sorts of disparaging remarks about him. ‘This old bastard had been at it before. He has a shop across the street there. He’s an old Fenian,’ and so on, and he took several others out too. That officer’s name was Lee Wilson and I remember a few years later I happened to be in the bar of the Wicklow Hotel and Mick Collins in his usual way stomped in and said to me, ‘We got the bugger, Joe.’ I said, ‘What are you talking about?’ He said, ‘Do you remember that first night outside the Rotunda? Lee Wilson?’ ‘I do remember,’ I said, ‘I’ll never forget it.’ ‘Well we got him today in Gorey.’

The shop is today marked by two plaques. One of the plaques, dating from the fiftieth anniversary of the Rising, is far too high to read on the Parnell Street side of the shop. Below it, and closer to the ground, is a newer plaque from the National Graves Association.

1966 plaque (Wikicommons)

‘ A Few Men Faithful And A Deathless Dream’ – Saint Patrick’s Athletic fans in Lansdowne Road yesterday.

This blog is a good space to share our love of Dublin’s history, but there’s one piece of the sporting history of the city I’ve never felt any fondness for. The last time Saint Patrick’s Athletic won the FAI Cup, Nelson’s Pillar on O’Connell Street was still standing, Éamon de Valera was President and Telefís Éireann was yet to go live on air. The 1961 Cup Final was an all-Dublin affair, the first such final since ’54, and it was hotly tipped to be a cracker in the press. W.P Murphy, football correspondent with the Irish Independent, noted that:

I expect this 1961 final to be a hard-hitting affair, for there are men on either side who can make the going very tough should occasion demand, and with its all-Dublin atmosphere and the tension natural at this stage of the competition, I expect plenty of excitement.

A successful Pats side of the late 1950s, including many players who would feature in the 1959 and ’61 finals, such as goalkeeper Dinny Lowry and Paddy ‘Ginger’ O’ Rourke (Image: http://www.dublinpeople.com/article.php?id=3259)

22,000 people watched Saint Patrick’s claim a 2-1 victory in Dalymount Park on that occasion. Was it the brilliant match anticipated? No, but they all count don’t they? The FAI Cup was handed to Pats captain Tommy Dunne by Oscar Traynor, a veteran of the 1916 Rising who was juggling being Minister for Defence with being President of the Football Association of Ireland. The front page of the Irish Press the day after the final reported that Patrick’s fans had paraded through the city following victory, with red and white scarves and hats to be seen everywhere.

Oscar Traynor presents the FAI Cup to Saint Patrick’s Athletic in 1961.

Since that day of success in 1961, Saint Patrick’s had lost an impressive seven FAI Cup finals. At 17,038, the crowd yesterday was significantly smaller than that which saw Patrick’s lift the cup in ’61, but there were plenty of people who stood in both crowds. To mark the occasion, here is a brilliantly edited video capturing the rollercoaster that was yesterday for me and many other Saint Patrick’s Athletic fans, shot by Peter O’Doherty. While I don’t fancy another half-century, I’m happy enough not to deal with the trauma of an FAI Cup Final for a while at least!

Somewhere between John Gilroy and Diageo, a wise marketing man in Guinness decided that ‘Good Things Come To Those Who Wait’. For Pat’s, the wait is finally over.

FAI Cup Final 2014 – Short from Peter O’Doherty on Vimeo.

An application has been submitted to Dublin City Council to build a 400-bed student residence on an empty 2.5 acre site in Mill Street (formerly Tanner’s Alley) in the historic South Inner city area of The Liberties, Dublin 8.

The €41m scheme will provide new retail, restaurant and office space for local businesses, an extensive landscaping to Mill Street and Warrenmount Lane and the opening up of a section of the mainly underground Poddle stream for public access.

Map of area. Credit – Irish Independent (03/10/2014)

Historians, conservators and Dubliners alike will be pleased to hear that the planned project will also see the complete refurbishment of a dilapidated 18th century townhouse at no. 10 Mill Street.

Shaffrey Architects in a 2005 report titled ‘St. Luke’s Conservation Plan‘ for Dublin City Council (DCC) described no. 10 as “perhaps the sole survivor in the area of the gable-fronted house type” while the DCC noted in a 2009 report that it “appears to be the last extant double gabled Dutch Billy” in the city.

The same report pulled no punches:

Number 10 Mill Street is extremely important to the entire city both architecturally and historically and it is a failure on the part of the City’s PSR system and on the part of the public authority who owned the building for so many years that it has been allowed to deteriorate to such an extent.

The location and entrance to the house is marked by the letter ‘A’ in ‘QUAY’ in this late 19th century map.

Map of the area in the 1890s.

Area history

Following Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries in the mid-sixteenth century, the area’s lands were acquired by William Brabazon, ancestor of the Earls of Meath, and became known as the ‘Meath Liberties’. French Huguenots, fleeing religious persecution,  settled in the Newmarket and Weavers’ Square area from the late seventeenth century, where they contributed substantially to the development of the textile industry. Around 1700 there were seven Hugenot families living in Mill Street including one called Disney, ancestors of the American cartoonist Walt Disney.

The immediate area known as the Blackpitts, the name of which probably derives from the large black vats used for curing hides by the tanners and skinners, became the hub of the tannery and leather trade in the city. Tanning, for those who don’t know, was the act of converting animal skin into leather by soaking in a liquid containing tannic acid.

No. 10, sometimes referred to as Mill Street House, was built in the 1720s by the Brabazon family, Earls of Meath.

An etching of 10 Mill Street published in The Irish Builder (1871). Credit – Clanbrassil Street 2, Sean Lynch.

Christine Casey, senior lecturer in architectural history in Trinity College, has described the house as:

Tall and relatively narrow, of 5 bays and 3 rendered storeys over basement, with a gabled brick porch and brick top floor with a gabled centrepiece. Originally it had a pair of curvilinear  [curved line] gables, flush sash windows and an attenuated [thin] Corinthian doorcase crowned by a vigorous swan-necked pediment … The rooms were wainscoted [lined with wooden paneling] and the stair had three fluted and twisted balusters [decorative pillar] per thread, Corinthian newels [central supporting pillar of a spiral staircase] and a richly carved apron to the landing.

An old image of no. 10 Mill Street. Credit – Archiseek

After nearly a hundred years in the possession of the Earls of Meath, the house was procured by the Christian Brothers who opened a school there catering for 500 boys in 1818. This was the second school that the Brothers opened.

In the 1850s, the building began a new life as the Mill Street Ragged School which was founded by Daniel Molloy. Ragged Schools were charitable organisations dedicated to the free education of destitute children.

10 Mill St, nd. Credit – Patrick Healy Collection (South Dublin Libraries)

At the end of the 19th century, it was remodeled by architect GP Beater as a Methodist Mission and school. The roof and gables were removed and replaced by a hipped roof and the house was given a Gothic-Revival-type makeover.

Old drawing of 10 Mill Street. Uploaded onto Archiseek by Anonymous.

In the 1901 census, a cabinet maker John Gibson and his wife Lilla lived in the house along with five elderly female Protestants who were unmarried or widowed. Their occupations were all listed as ‘Widows House –  No Business’.

At the front of the house, ‘A & J 1913′, is carved on a blank wall in ornate fashion. Historian Maurice Curtis suggests that this might refer to A & J Clothing.

No. 10 Mill Street was used as a residential house in the 1960s and 1970s. Jean Kelly Carberry wrote on great ‘Growing up in the Liberties’ Facebook page:

I lived in Mill St (No. 10) from ’68 till ’71. It was a fine house. Grand entrance. Fab staircases. The main room on first floor was like a church with a pulpit. There was a very big garden in the rear. And if you climbed the wall you were in the Blackpitts. Where the convent is. It had a beautiful front hall door which I have seen in many books about Dublin. Bang Bang lived across from us on the left facing up to Newmarket.

In the 1970s, it was used used as a storage facility by the Leyland and Birmingham Rubber Company  which manufactured golf balls, Wellington boots and other rubber products.

The Department of Posts and Telegraphs bought the building in 1981 as part of a parcel of property adjoining a telex exchange. They had no plans for the building and neglect led to the house being broken into and vandalised several times in 1982. Windows were broken, the fireplace and lead flashing from the roof stolen and the bannisters from the staircase stripped.

An undated image of the interior staircase of no. 10 Mill Street before it was vandalised. Credit – Clanbrassil Street 2, Sean Lynch

Amidst much protest, the Department bricked up the windows and door of the house in April 1983. Many felt that this was a short-term solution to a long-term problem and the Liberties Association made repeated demands that the historic house should be restored and turned into a community centre or museum.

Here is an image of the house showing it already in a state of disrepair. Note the graffiti on the left hand side, suggesting this photograph was taken sometime in the early or middle part of the 20th century.

10 Mill Street. Uploaded onto Facebook by Willie King.

The house pictured last year with blocked up windows and door. An ugly sight and a wasted opportunity.

10 Mill Street in 2013. Credit – ‘pegasus’ (Dublinforums)

But the good news is that the house will finally be restored. Scaffolding has been erected and work has already begun.

Side view of the house. Picture taken 3 November 2014. Credit – Sam (CHTM!)

A planning permission notice on the site details the significant refurbishment work which will take place.

Part of the planning permission notice. Credit – Sam (2014)

Let’s hope the ambitious project, particularly the refurbishment of Number 10 Mill Street, is a success and coalesces well with the local established community. I’ll keep people up to date with developments.

The view of the top of 10 Mill Street coming from the direction of Oscar’s Square. Credit – Sam (CHTM!)

When you think of Kilmainham Gaol and the big screen, it is undoubtedly the classic 1969 film The Italian Job that comes to mind. Four years before the release of that film however, audiences would have caught a glimpse of the prison in The Face of Fu Manchu, a 1965 film staring Christopher Lee in the role of Chinese villain Fu Manchu. The film is set in London, and the plot involves the evil mastermind working from a secret base underneath the River Thames. While Kilmainham was transformed for the role, the stonebreakers yard where the leaders of the 1916 rebellion were executed is clearly visible in the trailer above.

The Irish Times photo from the Kilmainham set.

In his history of film producer Harry Alan Towers, Dave Mann wrote that the use of Kilmainham caused considerable controversy at the time, as Towers “caused commotion when he stabled horses in the courtyard where IRA martyrs had been executed.” A reporter from The Irish Times visited the set of the film and noted that “time goes by very slowly. When a scene has been shot four times, there is a call for lunch. For the monks sandwiches and tea are served in the main hall of the prison among the grim tiers of cells and the metal staircases.”

The prison courtyard is also visible in the below 1965 poster advertising the release of the film, which is available to purchase here.

Upon the films release, the Sunday Independent complained that “the Thames is easily identified as the Liffey- I could see the Pigeon House in the background. Rush is the Essex village exterminated by Fu Manchu’s deadly gas. I don’t complain about that. But it is asking too much to expect anyone to believe that the Wicklow Hills are the Himalayas!”

Image Credit: https://www.lewiswaynegallery.com/face-of-fu-manchu-seven-arts-1965-lobby-cards-4-christopher-lee-p-10226.html

Tailors Hall, Back Lane (Image: Paul Reynolds)

Tailors Hall at Back Lane in the Liberties is an often overlooked building of great importance in the heart of the city. For over 300 years it has served as an important place for meetings and assemblies in the city. It was constructed between 1703 and 1709 by the builder Richard Mills, and Robin Usher has written that “a bust of George III was placed over the external doorcase in 1771.”

In  the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries a variety of such guild halls could be found in the city, for example not far from Tailors Hall was the Weavers Hall in the Coombe. Tailors Hall became known as the ‘Back Lane Parliament’ in the 1790s when those seeking improved rights for the Catholic majority in Ireland met here in 1792. It would also become a popular meeting spot for the Society of United Irishmen in the city. Despite its important history, the building was allowed fall into disrepair, as was sadly too often the case in Dublin. In a 1983 article in The Irish Times,  campaigners stated that:

For well over a year now, Tailors Hall has stood empty, cold, damp and open to the elements, the windows open, doors broken and with many break ins. It is a sitting target for anyone who wished to burn it down and for those who wish to vandalise it.

Today, it is home to An Taisce, and the guild hall is open to the public.

Tailors Hall in the 1970s, image from An Taisce (www.antaisce.org)

A brilliant account of attending a meeting of the United Irishmen at Back Lane was published in the book Sketches of Ireland Sixty Years Ago, from 1847. In it a student of Trinity College Dublin talked about watching a meeting of the society at first hand, and below we have republished the account. His descriptions of some of the people present are brilliantly colourful.

Image Credit: James Napper Tandy, from National Portrait Gallery http://www.npg.org.uk/

I entered college in the year 1791, a year rendered memorable by the institution of the society of the United Irishmen. They held their meetings in an obscure passage called Back Lane, leading from Corn Market to Nicholas Street. The very aspect of the place seemed to render it adapted for cherishing a conspiracy. It was in the locality where the tailors, skinners, and curriers held their guilds, and was the region of the operative democracy.

I one evening proceeded from college, and found out Back Lane, and having inquired for the place of meeting, a house was pointed out to me, that had been the hall in which the corporation of tailors held their assemblies. I walked in without hesitation, no one forbidding me, and found the society in full debate, the Hon. Simon Butler in the chair. I saw there, for the first time, the men with the three names, which were now become so familiar to the people of Dublin: Theobald Wolfe Tone, James Napper Tandy, and Archibald Hamilton Rowan.

The first was a slight, effeminate-looking man, with a hatchet face, a long aquiline nose, rather handsome and genteel-looking, with lank, straight hair combed down on his sickly red cheek, exhibiting a face the most insignificant and mindless that could be imagined. His mode of speaking was in correspondence with his face and person. It was polite and gentlemanly, but totally devoid of any thing like energy or vigour. I set him down as a worthy, good-natured, flimsy man, in whom there was no harm, and as the least likely person in the world to do mischief to the state.

Tandy was the very opposite looking character. He was the ugliest man I ever gazed on. He had a dark, yellow, truculent-looking countenance, a long drooping nose, rather sharpened at the point, and the muscles of his face formed two cords at each side of it. He had a remarkable hanging-down look, and an occasional twitching or conclusive motion of his nose and mouth, as if he was snapping at something on the side of him while he was speaking.

Not so Hamilton Rowan. I thought him not only the most handsome, but the largest man I had ever seen. Tone and Tandy looked like pigmies beside him.His ample and capacious forehead seemed the seat of thought and energy; while with such an external to make him feared, he had a courtesy of manner that excited love and confidence. He held in his hand a large stick, and was accompanied by a large dog.

I had not been long standing on the floor, looking at and absorbed in the persons about me, when I was perceived, and a whisper ran round the room. Some one went up to the president, then turned round, and pointed to me. The president immediately rose, and called out that there was a stranger in the room. Two members advanced, and taking me under the arm, led me up to the president’s chair, and there I stood to await the penalty of my unauthorized intrusion. I underwent an examination ; and it was evident, from the questions, that my entrance was not accredited, but that I was suspected as a government spy. The ” battalion of testimony,” as it was called, was already formed, and I was supposed to be one of the corps. I, however, gave a full and true account of myself, which was fortunately confirmed by a member who knew something about me, and was ultimately pronounced a harmless ” gib” and admitted to the honour of the sitting.

Me Jewel And Darlin’ Dublin (1974, O’Brien Press)

With the cinema release and hugely popular RTE screening of documentary ‘One Million Dubliners’, which tells the story of Glasnevin Cemetery, there has been very considerable media coverage of both the cemetery and its late resident historian, Shane MacThomáis. One of the most moving moments of the documentary focuses on Shane’s father, Eamonn MacThomáis, the well-known historian and television presenter. Eamonn is buried in Glasnevin Cemetery right beside Frank Ryan, fitting as both men were editors of republican newspaper An Phoblacht.

While Ryan contended with state repression of the newspaper in the 1930s, MacThomáis was himself jailed for his editing of the publication in the 1970s, which raised considerable controversy at the time, and led to a debate on the rights of journalists in political spheres. MacThomáis had transformed the Sinn Féin newspaper having assumed editorial duties in October 1972, not long after the publication took up residence in 44 Parnell Square. The paper became a weekly from March 1973, and boasted a circulation of 40,000 copies per issue.While imprisoned for his editing of the newspaper, he would produce ‘Me Jewel and Darlin’ Dublin’, a classic work of Dublin folklore and history.

A 1988 image of Eamonn MacThomáis, then a well-known tour guide and writer in the city, clutching the ceremonial mace of the Old Irish House of Lords!

In July 1973, following Garda raids on the Sinn Féin premises at 44 Parnell Square, MacThomás was arrested at home in Ballymun and charged with being a member of the IRA. A newspaper report from the time noted that  “when asked if he was seeking bail, MacThomáis said he refused to recognise the court. The only thing he did recognise was that the court in which he now found himself was the same court in the Sheares Brothers, Robert Emmet, O’Donovan Rossa, the Invincibles, Sean MacStiofain and Joe Cahill had been convicted. If it was a court of justice, let justice be done.”

The evidence to try MacThomáis included the fact he has taken part in a press conference on 13 July 1973, where leading members of the Provisional IRA were present to launch a pamphlet which claimed that the organisation was in a strong fighting position in the North and not crippled as some were claiming. Among those who spoke at the press conference was Seamus Twomey, who would later escape from Mountjoy Prison by helicopter in October 1973. An image of MacThomáis speaking at this press conference, which appeared in the Irish Press, was produced in court. While the Special Criminal Court felt that the caption and article in the Irish Press were not strong enough to “prove the guilt of the accused”, the evidence of a Garda Chief Superintendent, and MacThomaís’ own address from the dock in which he did not deny the charges before him, were deemed enough to convict him to 15 months imprisonment. In the courts, there was some jeering of the Judge from the public gallery, leading to men being hauled before him by Gardaí and being given the option of either apologising for their behavior or accepting fines!

Kevin Barry Memorial Hall, 44 Parnell Square, shown on the right. This is the premises that was raided by Gardaí. (Image: Archiseek)

The responses from journalists in Ireland varied, with some calling for immediate condemnation of the arrest and conviction of the editor of a publication. The journalist Seamus O’Kelly was one of the most vocal, writing to the Irish Press that:

The State had again interfered with the right of a journalist to put forward the editorial policy of the paper of which he is the editor….. It is time for all members of the profession to stand up and be counted, if we are not to become the slaves of any political hack who dares to tell us how to carry out our duties as members of the Fourth Estate.

In prison, MacThomáis would begin work on his study of Dublin, which would become the first book to carry the O’Brien Press imprint. In a letter to Tom O’Brien, founder of the O’Brien Press and a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, MacThomáis joked that “James Joyce locked himself in the tower at Sandycove for twelve months to write his book – I don’t see much difference between the tower and Mountjoy.” O’Brien was eager to bring MacThomáis book to the public, telling him in his first letter to the imprisoned writer that “I can see it now. I can feel it now. It’s a book that will live forever. People won’t want to read it, they’ll be satisfied just to read the chapter titles.” The book was collected from Mountjoy Prison by Michael O’Brien, son of Tom, who recalled twenty years later that “I collected the book, hand-written in a series of ‘ledgers’ when I visited Eamonn in the ‘Joy’ – what a start to a publishing career!” Having served his time for his 1973 conviction,MacThomáis was again jailed for fifteen months in October 1974, after less than two weeks out of prison, this time for possession of IRA documents. On this occasion he was sent to Portlaoise, which ensured he would miss his own book launch. In his absence, the book was launched by his wife Rosaleen in The Stag’s Head on 15 November 1974. It became an instant success, despite the refusal of one major distributor to supply the work owing to MacThomáis’ conviction. Hundreds of copies flew off the shelves of the O’Connell Street Easons in days.

Irish Times report from October 1974, detailing the trial of MacThomáis.

An interesting dimension of the story regarding the documents that were in Eamonn’s possession comes from Osgur Breathnach, whose father Deasún was working as a sub-editor and journalist at the time.

In the mid seventies, in the war years, Eamonn was the part-time editor of An Phoblacht, the official organ of Sinn Féin. My father, Deasún, a journalistic contributor, was a sub-editor in the Irish Independent, an Irish national daily newspaper.

Once a month Deasún received by post a copy of a monthly litany of all the press releases issued by the IRA. Nothing unusual in that as all Irish and some international media, foreign embassies and many journalists also received the same document.

My father handed his copy to Eamonn, who unfortunately was stopped shortly thereafter by the Special Branch, searched and arrested The document was used as evidence against Eamonn to sustain a charge of Irish Republican Army membership.

In the Special Criminal Court, which sits without a jury, Eamonn refused to recognise the authority of the court, as was the want of many republicans at the time.

My father, Deasún, wrote to the court explaining his original possession of the document, how he had received it and that he had handed it to Eamonn and that it could not, therefore, constitute proof of IRA membership.

The Dublin Branch of the National Union of Journalists at first voted by 50 votes to 37 not to offer support to MacThomáis during his imprisonment, though MacThomáis himself held membership of the NUJ. Niall Connolly, chairman of the Dublin Branch, complained that “I attempted to visit this journalist in Portlaoise Prison while he was on remand. The governor of the prison refused me permission to visit Mr. MacThomáis. No reason for the refusal was given.”Reviews of his book were hugely favourable, with the Irish Press going as far as to say “Only James Joyce and Flann O’Brien have caught the mood of Dublin as well as Eamonn MacThomáis.” When MacThomáis was granted parole to visit his wife in hospital, the media noted that “MacThomáis, author of the current best-selling non-fiction book in the country, Me Jewel and Darlin’ Dublin, is due to return to Portlaoise next Saturday morning.”

The book detailed Dublin characters like the nineteenth century street poet Zozimus, places of interest like the Liberties and detailed old customs and trades in the city. He detailed great Dublin stories with great Dublin wit, ensuring that the book would go on to see a remarkable ten reprints.

Eamonn MacThomáis signing copies of a later book in Easons (Image from the Facebook page Eamonn Mac Thomais, A legendary Dubliner)

Following his release from prison, MacThomáis went on to produce a number of further works on the city of Dublin. His next release was ‘Gur Cake & Coal Blocks’ in 1976. Despite the controversies that surrounded him as editor of An Phoblacht, he became a hugely popular figure in the city of Dublin, with his walking tours of the city becoming legendary. He was frequently to be found also in the Bank of Ireland on College Green, showing visitors around the Old Irish House of Lords. In tribute to him, his picture is displayed in the eighteenth century parliament today, which is open to visitors. Much of his televised output is today available on YouTube, for example this episode of his popular ‘Dublin: A Personal View’ which examined the Liberties. He died in 2002 Speaking of his funeral, his son Shane recalled that “lollypop women stood beside Trinity professors, while balladeers and newsreaders looked at each other’s shoes.”

‘Me Jewel And Darlin’ Dublin’ remains a classic study of the city of Dublin, written in the most unusual of circumstances.

Earlier on tonight I joined Ciarán Deeney and Myles Dungan on RTE’s ‘The History Show’ to discuss the brilliant ‘Man on Bridge’ product which Ciarán has been working on. The ‘Arthur Fields: Man On Bridge’ project celebrates the work and output of Arthur Fields, the street photographer who spent decades photographing Dubliners and visitors to Dublin on the O’Connell Bridge and O’Connell Street. I’m something of an O’Connell Street anorak now giving the book on Nelson’s Pillar earlier in the year it would seem!

The discussion can be heard here, and it was the first item on the show.

Arthur Fields standing on O’Connell Bridge with the Nelson Pillar visible in the background.

A documentary examining Fields and his work will air on RTE television over the Christmas season, but if you’re interested in Arthur Fields and the history of street photography in Dublin check out the exhibition currently running in the Gallery of Photography, Temple Bar. The exhibiton sees images taken by Arthur between the 1930s and 80s displayed.

Arthur Fields exhibiton in the Gallery of Photography (Image: Arthur Fields: Man on Bridge page)

Five Star Internet Cafe (Talbot Street) Image by Ciaran (CHTM)

Covered in graffiti, the Five Star Internet Cafe on Talbot Street is an interesting building to look at from outside. Inside it is taken over by computers, telephones and pool tables, which give no real hint of the former life of this building.

This building was once a church – a Welsh Presbyterian Church to be precise. The foundation stone of the church was laid in 1838, and as Howell Evans has written “its original intention was not for the Welsh in Dublin, but mainly for the Welsh visiting the city.” Its proximity to the docks of Dublin ensured that visiting Welsh seamen would avail of the church. A contemporary sailors magazine noted that  “In Dublin, English and Welsh seamen hear the Gospel preached to them several times a week, in their respective languages.” Another article in a sailors magazine noted that “the inhabitants  [of Dublin] are friends of seamen, as evinced by the lofty colum erected to the memory of Nelson, with its colossal statue of that hero on its summit, which stands in the centre of one of the finest streets in Europe.”

While very little has been written on this Dublin church, Einion Thomas has described how the background of the men who visited the church greatly influenced customs within it:

The gallery was called the ‘Quarter‑Deck’ and only sailors were allowed to sit there. On the ground floor (or the ‘Main Deck’ as it was called) the men sat on the ‘starboard side’ (the right) and the women on the ‘port side’ (the left). It also included some surprising accessories such as spittoons near some of the men’s seats and in the early years smoking was permitted!

The church attracted some Irish language advocates owing to the fact services were conducted in Welsh, and Thomas has noted that Ernest Blythe was one such visitor. Blythe was born into a Presbyterian and Unionist family near Lisburn, and over the course of a long and colourful political career he would later become a key figure in the Army Comrades Association, or Blueshirt movement. Of the Welsh church he remembered:

When I joined the Gaelic League and began to learn Irish, one of my fellow members told me, almost with bated breath, that the Welsh community in Dublin had its own church in which services were conducted in Welsh. I went there one Sunday morning to revel in the sound of a language closely related to Irish.

In June 1944, the Irish Independent (nowadays located just across the street from the church) reported that “a regrettable break in the few remaining links binding the Irish people with their fellow Celts, the Welsh, will follow on the closing down of the Welsh Church, Talbot Street. This church, the only one of its kind in the country, will be offered for sale on June 20.” The paper noted that the last Minister in the church was Rev. John Lewis, who was Minister from 1894 to 1934, serving forty years. The report gives the impression that the building had been scarcely in the period between that and the publication of the paper.

What became of the building between church and internet cafe? For many years it served as a shoe shop, operating under the name Griffiths. A ‘ghost sign’ remains today in the form of the tiling leading into the internet cafe which still says Griffiths.

Griffiths Shoes (Image; Dublin City Public Libraries, http://dublincitypubliclibraries.com/content/091-griffiths-shoes )

In March 2013, Colette Kinsella put together a short but fascinating audio report on the church which can be played here. Einion Thomas’ interesting article is here.

Image Credit: @ccferrie

Recently I read a fascinating discussion on Twitter where people were debating some of the more controversial (shall we say) buildings in the city of Dublin. Hawkins House and the Central Bank naturally made an appearance in the discussion, but there was also reference to the O’Connell Bridge House beside (obviously enough) the O’Connell Bridge. I was unaware that the architect behind the project, Desmond Fitzgerald, had sketched two buildings in his original proposal for the site, and the Irish Architectural Archive posted a quick snap of his drawings. Architect Ciarán Ferrie put the image above together quickly to give us an idea just what it may have appeared like had Fitzgerald’s plans come to fruition.

Fitzgerald, who oversaw the construction of the contemporary building in the 1960s, was Professor of Architecture at University College Dublin since 1951, and had once remarked once that technology would have little relevance to architecture in Ireland, as “Ireland is a very backward country and most buildings that are required here can be built by a handyman, his son and a ladder.” Of his own work, his finest achievement was undoubtedly the 1937 airport terminal building at Dublin Airport, described by Archiseek as “the most important pre-war Irish building in the International Style.”

“The changing face of Dublin” – Trinity News printed this great image of the demolition of the Carlisle House building in 1961 (Image: http://www.trinitynewsarchive.ie)

In his hugely important study The Destruction Of Dublin, Frank McDonald noted that O’Connell Bridge House, “twelve storeys high and bestriding the bridge like a colossus”, had a controversial beginning. The site on which the building stands today was purchased by Kerry-born property developer John Byrne, who would become one of the richest men in Ireland. Byrne purchased the Carlisle Building, which had stood at the site prior to the contemporary office block, for a relatively small sum, a total of just £53,000 spent by 1961 in acquiring one of the most prominent sites in the capital. Just how much did O’Connell Bridge House cost in material and financial terms? McDonald has written that the project

…consumed 500 tons of structural steel, 90 tons of steel-reinforcing bars and no less than 7,500 tons of concrete – not to mention the Portland stone cladding. It cost £1 million, kept more than fifty men at work for two whole years an, in the end, stood at 145 feet tall – eleven feet higher than Nelson Pillar. So much for that handyman, his son and ladder.

McDonald believed that “the most incredible fact about O’Connell Bridge house is that it was built at all.” The building contained 45,000 square feet of office space, but not a single car parking spot, despite the fact Dublin Corporation were adamant at the time that there be a carparking space for every 500 square feet of office space.

Irish Press report on the opening of the O’Connell Bridge Building

When O’Connell Bridge House opened to the public in the 1960s, contemporary newspaper reports noted that the office block included a rooftop restaurant offering views over the city. Evidently it was envisioned that the building would fulfill many roles, serving not merely as another office complex in the heart of the city. It is probably best known to Dubliners not for its ill-fated restaurant however but the hugely expensive advertising signage upon it. Having previously promoted both Guinness and Coca Cola, in recent years it has become synonymous with the Heineken advertising upon it. Not too long ago I heard two Dublin young lads standing at the traffic lights beside the building refer to it as “the Heineken building”, proof that advertising works.

A view of the Carlisle Bridge House as it appeared. It was ultimately replaced by the O’Connell Bridge House (Image: http://www.irishtimes.com/bridges-of-dublin-1.1554914)

If any readers haven’t yet taking the time to do it, I really recommend a walk around the Soldiers and Chiefs exhibition in the National Museumm of Ireland at Collins Barracks. The exhibition aims to tell the story of the Irish at war, from revolutionary movements at home like the United Irishmen of the 1790s to international conflicts such as the American Civil War. Centuries of history are presented here, with everyone from King William of Orange in the 1690s to B-Specials in the 1960s making an appearance!

Two Irish veterans of the International Brigade, Michael O’Riordan and Bob Doyle, with the banner now contained in the National Museum of Ireland (Image: AFA Ireland Facebook)

One of my favourite items in the exhibition is a banner in honour of Irishmen who fought in the International Brigade during the Spanish Civil War. While the numbers of Irishmen who fought within these Brigades and in defence of the Spanish Republic are relatively small when compared to those who traveled to Spain from Ireland with Eoin O’Duffy’s Irish Brigade, the men who fought against fascism in Spain endured many losses on the battlefield, something which stands in sharp contrast with the experiences of O’Duffy and his men, who found themselves entangled in a fatal friendly fire incident soon after their arrival in Spain and who saw little fighting beyond it. Fearghal McGarry, a leading historian of the Irish dimensions of the war in Spain, has noted that:

The Irish Brigade was blighted by bitter infighting between O’Duffy and his officers while Franco was unimpressed by its lack of military expertise. The Brigade’s first battle in February 1937 was with another Nationalist battalion who mistook them for the enemy while their next (and final) action ended in failure when the Brigade’s officers mutinied, refusing an order to attack the well-defended village of Titulcia. Drunkenness and indiscipline added to these problems and the Brigade was disarmed and ordered out of Spain by Franco.

I was aware I had seen this banner before, but decided to dig a little and see what could be found out about it. The banner was first unveiled in Dublin in November 1938, at a time when the war in Spain was still ongoing. Molesworth Hall was the location for the unveiling of the banner, and the occasion was the two-year anniversary of the establishment of the International Brigades. The banner was described in The Irish Times as being “a memorial banner to the 44 Irish members of the International Brigade who were killed in Spain.”

A detailed image of the banner showing the vivid colours within it. Taken from Michael O’Riordan’s book ‘Connoly Column’.

The unveiling of the banner was performed by Father Michael O’Flanagan, a fascinating figure in the history of radical politics in Ireland, as he was one of very few Catholic priests willing to support the Spanish Republic. An outspoken leftist, O’Flanagan is sometimes remembered as “the Sinn Féin priest”, and his involvement with the Republican movement in Ireland stretched right back into the revolutionary period. Vice-President of Sinn Féin, Flanagan was invited to recite the invocation at the first meeting of the Dáil in 1919 at the Mansion House. He was vocal in his opposition to the Catholic Church support for General Franco’s coup in Spain, and while on a speaking tour of North America in defence of the Spanish Republic he made his feelings perfectly clear, noting that “when the Church tries to step outside of its own activity, which is to preach the gospel, it is very likely to do wrong.” Recently the British Pathe archive uploaded footage of Father O’Flanagan speaking in 1920 during the War of Independence period. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imGHoN1W5ag

O’Flanagan stated at the unveiling of the banner that “those present that night were honouring themselves by coming to do honour to the members of the Irish unit of the international Brigade, becaue in doing so they required if not physical then moral courage.” He was adamant that the men who traveled to Spain to fight with the Brigades had saved the reputation of the country, stating that “they ought to congratulate themselves that there were some men in Ireland who had the intelligence to do the correct thing and the instinct to follow the best traditions of the Irish people to go to Spain and take part in the fighting in the international Brigades” While Father O’Flanagan spoke at the meeting, it was presided by Roddy Connolly, son of the executed 1916 leader James Connolly. Several returning members of the International Brigades were present too, one of whom, Terry O’Flanagan, reminded the crowd that Frank Ryan was now a prisoner of General Franco’s and that all efforts should be made to save his life. Two minutes of silence were observed at the meeting in honour of those who had died. Over two hundred people attended the meeting, which did not suffer from any of the jeering or physical confrontation that marred other left-wing meetings in the city during this period.

Roddy Connolly. who chaired the meeting at which the banner was unveiled, shown with V.I Lenin in Petrograd, 1920. (Via: https://www.facebook.com/IrishRepublicanMarxistHistoryProject/photos/pb.618026518228391.-2207520000.1418120818./849167988447575/?type=1&theater)

Manus O’Riordan, son of International Brigade fighter and lifelong communist activist Michael O’Riordan, has discussed the banner before at the National Museum of Ireland itself, and during a talk there in 2009 he told a crowd:

This Memorial Banner was painted at the back of Kelly’s shop in Dublin’s Amiens Street. It was executed by a group of art students led by Maurice Cogan, acting under the supervision and according to the design of the artistic daughter-of-the-house, Aida Kelly [1915-1979]. Aida’s husband, Maurice MacGonigal, would become an internationally acclaimed artist. Their son, Muiris Mac Conghail, became a renowned documentary film maker, while his son, Fiach Mac Conghail, is currently Director of the Abbey Theatre.

O’Riordan’s talk also gave great insight into just where the banner had been between its unveiling in 1938 and its display in the National Museum of Ireland:

It was my father who, on behalf of his fellow International Brigade veterans, had been custodian of that Banner since the 1940s, preserving it in James Connolly House. Its awkward size and vulnerability rendered it unsuitable for use in commemorative events. Instead, we use a smaller banner made by Jer O’Leary, which I have brought along to show you, and which suitably consists of the red, yellow and purple flag of the Spanish Republic, bearing the words – in Gaelic script – Connolly Column XV Brigada Internacional.

On the banner, the names of many of those who fell in Spain are visible, including UCD student and poet Charlie Donnelly and Tommy Wood, who we have previously looked at on the site. Wood was only seventeen at the time he gave his life in Spain, making him the youngest Irish fatality of the Spanish Civil War. Before leaving for Spain, he explained his logic for doing so in a letter to his mother. He told her “we are going out to fight for the working class. It is not a religious war, that is all propaganda. God Bless you.”

Ambulances which were sent to Spain were first blessed by members of the clergy in Dublin. This image from February 1937 shows the blessing of three ambulances.

This article appeared in the last issue of Rabble. I have expanded on it here and included plenty of images.

If there was a monster under the bed for conservatives in 1930s Ireland, it was called communism. Among those to the right of the political spectrum, there existed a belief that Moscow was gaining more and more ground in international politics, and when coupled with the emergence of new left-wing organisations in Ireland like the Republican Congress and the rise of revolutionary forces in Spain, this was enough to spark a red scare.

Of the various anti-communist groups that emerged, the Irish Christian Front was undoubtedly the most significant. Not only did the group do its best to whip up anti-communist hysteria in Ireland, it openly championed fascist leader General Franco’s coup in Spain, by lobbying Irish political parties to recognise him as the legitimate leader of Spain, and by sending ambulances and other supplies from Ireland to the frontlines of the Spanish Civil War.

An October 1936 street meeting in Howth.

The Irish Christian Front first emerged in 1936, and in many ways was a more significant threat to the left in Irish society than organisations like it that had come before, such as the Saint Patrick’s Anti-Communist League. Crucially, the organisation was led by Patrick Belton, a veteran of the Easter Rising and a respected member of the Dáil. Irish Christian Front rallies were often addressed by members of parliament, including not only Fine Gael T.D’s but also representatives of Fianna Fáil, and even the Labour Party on occasion. Trade union bands were to found performing at some I.C.F rallies, perhaps eager to dissassociate themselves with communism.

The first meeting of the organisation took place at the Mansion House on 28 August, and was addressed by a certain Alfie Byrne. Known in the city as “the shaking hand of Dublin”, he was elected Lord Mayor nine times consecutively between 1930 and 1939. The new organisation was given strong support by the Irish Independent, who printed its manifesto after the inaugural meeting, which noted that “the Irish Christian Front has been founded by Irish working men and women to unmask Communism and to give a lead to Irish workers.”

Poster for a Rathmines meeting of the Irish Christian Front, via Irish Election Literature (www.irishelectionliterature.wordpress.com)

Huge demonstrations followed the inaugural meeting. At College Green, nearly thirty thousand people mobilised on a cold October evening, and were told “we repudiate Communism as an alien importation, opposed to the religious, economic and political liberties of the Irish people.” At a meeting in Cork, reports on which were collected by Gardaí for security purposes, the Right Rev. Dean Sexton told a crowd that a “renegade Jewish gang in Russia” was seizing control of European society. This was a time when the radical left was unable to mobilise in any significant numbers on the streets without facing the risk of physical confrontation. In 1936, for example, there had been physical attacks on socialists partaking in an Easter commemoration at Glasnevin Cemetery. Jack White, a founding member of the Irish Citizen Army, recalled in the aftermath of this that “The pious hooligans actually came inside the cemetery and tore up the grave rails to attack us.”

When the first issue of the Irish Christian Front newspaper appeared, it didn’t hold back. It’s banner proclaimed that the organisation stood for “co-operation and not class war”, while the paper contained a highly alarmist article on the “red horrors” and “devilry” underway in Spain. It was reported that:

Where the Reds are in control there is murder, outrage and burnings. The Red horrors are so so far beyond description that it is no wonder that the Holy Father calls them ‘Satanic’. They are not the things that happen in any war. They are devilry. They are the climax of the campaign of devilry devised by Moscow, and carried out ever since the Republic was established. GOD SAVE CATHOLIC SPAIN.

Coverage of the Spanish Civil War in the Irish Independent. The paper labelled Franco’s forces as “patriot forces” during the conflict.

To those on the left of the political spectrum, the Irish Christian Front was a real threat. The Worker newspaper was vocal in its condemnation of Belton, who was ridiculed as “the he-man from the midlands, the acknowledged leader of the ‘New Christianity’ in this island.” The paper noted that Belton was a former Fianna Fáil member who had been expelled from the party, and attacked Belton’s record as a property developer, claiming he had underpaid his own labourers and had poor relations with trade unions. The newspaper noted:

The ‘Front’ is a Fascist racket: Belton is and was with O’Duffy in the Blueshirts and the ‘Front’ is busy trying to disrupt the trade unions, as well as supporting the Fascist militarists in Spain, whose declared policy is to destroy all Labour organisations. Thirdly, the ‘Front is a capitalist-employers’ racket, to further the business interests of its immediate heads. It is a racket of businessmen and political careerists, composed of aliens and natives. Its attack on Communism and loud professions of Christianity is simply a smoke screen behind which the Fascist game is played for the destruction of the whole working class movement in this country. This Fascist game must be stopped by the united action of all sections of the Labour and progressive movements.

Irish Christian Front ambulance destined for fascist forces in Spain.

The Irish Christian Front proved capable both of lobbying the political establishment of the day and organising a grassroots campaign across the island. The group lobbied political parties to see if they were willing to “ban communism, implement a social policy based on the Papal encyclicals and recognise General Franco.” Branches were organised in many suburbs and towns. At the launching of its Phibsboro Branch, a packed meeting was told by a Father O’Herlihy that “Communism is the plague of modern times and we have an example of it in Russia today where all liberty has been lost for the individual, the family and society.” The organisations campaigning was acknowledged by General Franco. In October 1936 a telegram was read at a meeting of the organiation which noted that “General Franco very gratefully acknowledges the message of congratulations from the Irish Christian Front and their most noble help for our wounded.”

Advertisements like this one were placed in rural newspapers, encouraging people to travel to Dublin for the I.C.F’s national demonstration in October 1936.

The Irish Christian Front were not alone in spreading hysteria and misinformation. The Catholic Truth Society for example produced vast quantities of pamphlets, ranging from now-comical pamphlets on issues like sexuality and the cinema, to sinister publications about communism, Freemasonry, and the invented links between the two. “Marx’s self-appointed mission was to bring Atheism to the people”, a priest warned in one such pamphlet, and such publications only played into the hands of Irish Christian Font recruiters. In 2013 a collection of covers of some of the more loony Catholic Truth Society pamphlets were republished as a coffee table book.

Even by the standards of the day, the I.C.F seems to have drifted towards more and more bizarre politics, described by historian Fearghal McGarry as “negative and often unconventional subjects”. Campaigns against things like Jewish immigration to Ireland were waged alongside campaigns to close down Dublin’s “thriving nudist clubs”. Increasingly seen as a crank, and becoming more and more anti-Semitic, Belton would lose his seat in the 1937 General Election, by which point the movement was in decline.

Perhaps Dublin’s most celebrated Lord Mayor, Alfie Byrne. Byrne spoke at the inaugural meeting of the Irish Christian Front and later welcomed home Eoin O’Duffy and his Blueshirt forces from Spain.

A disagreement over whether Irishmen should physically fight in the Spanish Civil War was decisive too, and while Belton personally opposed Irishmen going to Spain to partake in the ‘crusade’ against Communism, many members of the I.C.F were within Eoin O’Duffy’s Irish Brigade. When O’Duffy and his men returned to Dublin after their brief sojourn in Spain in June 1937, they marched to the Mansion House where Alfie Byrne was waiting. The Lord Mayor told the returning Blueshirts that he felt that he was voicing the opinions of all Irish liberty loving people when he said “welcome home” to the men.

With Christmas just around the corner, we look at some of the best Irish and Dublin history books published this year.  Apologises about the short reviews but I wanted to ensure this list was out before Christmas. I plan to expand on these descriptions over the holiday period when I’m off work and have more time on my hands.

Top picks:

Captain Jack White: Imperialism, Anarchism, and the Irish Citizen Army – Leo Keohane (Irish Academic Press, 2014)
288 pages. €20 RRP.

The first proper biography of a fascinating Irish historical figure – Boer war hero, protestant Home Ruler, socialist convert, first Commandant of the Irish Citizen Army, Republican Congress activist in the early 1930s (during which he was physically attacked by both the IRA and the fascist Blueshirts) and finally, an anti-Fascist medic in Republican Spain during the Civil War.

Described accurately as “one of the few notable figures in Ireland to declare himself an anarchist”, author Leo Keohane introduces the reader to the theory of Anarchism in a honest and impartial manner. A rare feat.

Reviews from the Irish Story and An Phoblacht.

Captain Jack White: Imperialism, Anarchism, and the Irish Citizen Army – Leo Keohane

Modern Dublin, Urban Change and the Irish Past, 1957-1973 – Erika Hanna (Oxford University Press, 2013)
240 pages. €75 RRP.

The price (due to its limited print run and academic audience) will unfortunately be a barrier to most but this is a fantastic book which will be of interest to anyone with an interest in modern Dublin history.

Most importantly the book analysises the political and social differences and similarities between the work of the middle-class Irish Georgian Society, dedicated to saving Dublin’s Anglo-Irish architecture from destruction, and the activist-led Dublin Housing Action Committee (DHAC) whose short but explosive existence saw an inspirational campaign of squatting and an attempt to build links with the civil rights struggle in the North.

Reviews from the Irish Arts Review and the Dublin Review of Books.

Modern Dublin, Urban Change and the Irish Past, 1957-1973 – Erika Hanna

Secret Dublin : An Unusual Guide – Pól Ó Conghaile (Jonglez Publishing, 2013)
256 pages. €18 RRP.

A perfect guide for both local and visitor. Well-produced and accessible. Personal highlights Blessington Street Basin, the Hungry Tree in Kings Inn, the chapter house in St. Mary’s Abbey, bullet holes in the Daniel O’Connell monument, the City Hall murals, St. Kevin’s Park, Freemason’s Hall, animal carvings on the old Kildare Street Club, Challoner’s Corner cemetery in Trinity College, the Coombe Monument and the Jewish Cemetery.

Secret Dublin : An Unusual Guide – Pól Ó Conghaile

The Legendary ‘Lugs Branigan’ – Ireland’s Most Famed Garda: How One Man became Dublin’s Tough Justice Legend – Kevin C. Kearns (Gill & Macmillan, 2014)
384 pages. €25 RRP.

One of the most interesting history books that I’ve read for sometime. I finished it in a couple of sittings. A policeman on the beat in South Inner City from 1931 to 1973, boxing champion Lugs went head to head against the Animal Gangs (1930s/40s), Teddy Boys (1950s), skinheads and football hooligans (1960s/1970s) and any innocents unlucky enough to get in his way. A fantastic social history of the capital.

Review from the Irish Independent.

The Legendary ‘Lugs Branigan’ – Ireland’s Most Famed Garda: How One Man became Dublin’s Tough Justice Legend – Kevin C. Kearns

The Pillar: The Life and Afterlife of the Nelson Pillar – Donal Fallon (New Island, 2014)
154 pages. €15 RRP.

The most comprehensive account published on Dublin’s most iconic piece of street architecture. A real gem of a book. Written by Donal of this parish.

Review from the Dublin Review of Books.

The Pillar: The Life and Afterlife of the Nelson Pillar – Donal Fallon

Plus:

D’you Remember Yer Man?: A Portrait of Dublin’s Famous Characters – Bobby Aherne (New Island, 2014)
160 pages. €8 RRP.

A nice stocking-filler featuring all of Dublin’s most famous street characters (Bang Bang, Billy in the Bowl, Hairy Lemon, Zozimus etc.) as well as some living legends (Aidan Kavanagh, Pat Ingoldsby etc.) and some memorable 20th century personalities  (The Diceman, Hector Gray, Joe Edelstein, Matt the Japp and Ubi Dwyer). A book to dip in and out of.

D’you Remember Yer Man?: A Portrait of Dublin’s Famous Characters – Bobby Aherne

Dublin: The Making of a Capital City – Dr. David Dickson (Profile Books, 2014)
720 pages. €38 RRP.

A heavy-weight scholarly volume on the history of Dublin city. A present for the scholar or serious enthusiast. Still haven’t got around to starting it yet.
Reviews from the Telegraph and the Dublin Review of Books.

Dublin: The Making of a Capital City – Dr. David Dickson

Ghost Signs of Dublin – Antonia Hart (History Press, 2014)
144 pages. €18 RRP.

A wonderfully produced photo-book focusing on Dublin’s old advertising signage. Editor Antonia Hart has chosen an eclectic mix of well-known businesses (Bewley’s coffee, Elvery’s sports shop, Jacob’s biscuits), pubs (The Bailey, Bowe’s, Hartigan’s, The Stags Head, The Parnell Mooney) and smaller, nearly-forgotten firms. It’s encouraging to read that the signs for Finn’s Hotel and Lennox Chemicals on South Leinster Street beside Trinity College are being preserved by the building’s owners.

Ghost Signs of Dublin – Antonia Hart

From Clery’s Clock to Wanderly Wagon: Irish History You Weren’t Taught at School – Damien Corless (Collins Press, 2014)
224 pages. €13 RRP.

The perfect present trivia and quiz loving member of your your family. A collection of 101 objects – not least the Jack Charlton Mug, the Pioneer Pin, the MGM lion and Mister Tayto – offering a surreal insight into Ireland’s history.

From Clery’s Clock to Wanderly Wagon: Irish History You Weren’t Taught at School – Damien Corless

Hidden City: Adventures and Explorations in Dublin – Karl Whitney (Penguin, 2014)
272 pages. €20 RRP.

A delightful journey around Dublin, taking in its sewers, underground rivers, ghost estates, odd bus routes and sprawling suburb estates. The chapter on the suburb of Tyrrelstown, 13 km northwest of the city of Dublin, and the 2010 murder of Nigerian teenager Toyosi Shittabey was particularly poignant.

Review from the Guardian and the Irish Times.

Hidden City : Adventures and Explorations in Dublin – Karl Whitney

Irish Citizen Army – Ann Matthews (Mercier Press, 2014)
256 pages. €15 RRP.

A comprehensive but relatively brief insight into the history of the Irish Citizen Army. Ann Matthews analyses its origins in the 1913 lockout, its role in the run up to the Rising, the main event, re-organisation in the 1917-18 period, the part the army played in the Civil War, its demise in the 1930s and attempts by the Old ICA Comrades’ Association to keep the organisation’s memory alive until the mid 1940s.

Irish Citizen Army – Ann Matthews

Stones of Dublin: A History of Dublin in Ten Buildings – Lisa Marie Griffith (Collins Press, 2014)
192 pages. €18 RRP.

A well-written and important contribution to the history of the city. Historian and walking tour guide Lisa Maria Griffith looks at the ten of Dublin’s most historic buildings – Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin Castle, Trinity College Dublin, the Old Parliament House (Bank of Ireland), City Hall, Kilmainham Gaol, St James’ Gate Brewery, the GPO, the Abbey and Croke Park.

Stones of Dublin: A History of Dublin in Ten Buildings – Lisa Marie Griffith

Vivid Faces: The Revolutionary Generation in Ireland, 1890-1923 – R. F. Foster (Penguin, 2014)
496 pages. €25 RRP.

I’ve only just started this book but so far it’s been brilliant. A “multilayered account of that turbulent time”, Foster explores the worlds of Irish republican students, actors, writers and civil servants “often from comfortable backgrounds and often spending part of their lives working in Britain”.

Reviews from the Irish Times and the Guardian.

Vivid Faces: The Revolutionary Generation in Ireland, 1890-1923 – R. F. Foster

The Gala in Ballyfermot (Image: Luke Fallon)

Note: This article originally appeared in SET, a quarterly publication concerned with the relationship between cinema and its architecture. Check them out and give them a ‘Like’ here.

In 1961, Ireland was changed forever with the launch of Telefís Éireann, a national state television station. Lagging behind the rest of the world, television was something of a cultural shock in Ireland, with one conservative politician boldly stating that “there was no sex in Ireland before television.” If television brought the world into Irish homes, it also had some negative effects, in particular playing a central role in bringing about the demise of the suburban cinema phenomenon.

Dublin was home to a staggering sixty cinemas in the mid-1950s, between city and county. Jim Keenan, who has produced a comprehensive pictorial history of these cinemas, has noted that “today, the Savoy in O’Connell Street is the only cinema to survive from that era.” Suburban cinemas do still exist in Dublin today, though rather than the architecturally interesting picturehouses that once dotted Dublin, they are largely confined to shopping centres and run by multinational companies.

Dublin’s first full-time cinema opened its doors to the public in 1909, named the Volta, after a picturehouse in Trieste. Overseeing the entire project was a certain Mr. James Joyce, who had been inspired by his continental travels. A small plaque marks the location of this cinema today on Mary Street in the heart of the city centre, though it makes no mention to the fact for Joyce it was a failed and costly commercial enterprise! None the less its place in history was secured, and it was the first of a wide range of purpose-constructed cinemas that would emerge in the city, being followed for example by the Grafton Cinema on Grafton Street in 1911 and the Dorset Cinema on Granby Row in that same year. Within five years of Joyce’s enterprising idea, Dublin had its first cinemas beyond the city centre with a cinema opening in the wealthy and fashionable suburb of Blackrock (Blackrock Cinema Theatre, 1914) and another in Phibsboro (Phibsboro Cinema, 1914). Sadly demolished in 1953, Keenan has noted that the Phibsboro cinema “had an attractive brick and terracotta facade and an auditorium richly embellished with fibrous plasterwork.”

The Fairview Grand Cinema, January 1971. (Image: Dublin City Public Library and Archives, http://dublincitypubliclibraries.com/taxonomy/term/215/all?page=1)

Many of Dublin’s suburban cinemas were constructed in the decades that followed Irish independence, both in middle class and working class districts, with a golden age of construction in the 1920s and 30s. In some cases the premises’ were designed with multiple functions in mind, for example the Stella cinema in Rathmines which included a dancehall within it. Opened in 1923, it was envisioned as something of a luxurious cinema, though simpler cinemas were constructed in working class districts. Cinemas in Dublin thrived despite an aggressive conservative Catholic agenda in sections of society that viewed them with distrust, with both the Catholic Truth Society and the Dublin Vigilance Association lobbying for strict film censorship in the 1920s. The pressure of bodies like these contributed to the passing of an incredibly restrictive Censorship of Films Act in 1923, allowing the film censor to refuse certificates to films deemed “indecent, obscene or blasphemous.” While the cinema, jazz music and drinking were all condemned by conservative elements in Irish life in the 1920s and 30s, historian Diarmaid Ferriter has correctly and light-heartedly noted that “It is surely ironic, given the constant references to ‘alien influences’, that the Irish population became one of the heaviest cinema-going populations in the world, and were keen to drink as much as possible and dance from one end of the country to the other.”

From Maureen O’Hara to the Ramones: The Cabra Grand

As a case study, the Cabra Grand cinema in the working class Dublin 7 suburb of Cabra is worthy of examination. Dublin Corporation had constructed hundreds of homes for the working class of the city here in the early 1930s, moving Dubliners from dilapidated tenement accommodation in the city centre into a new expansive suburban environment which would continue to grow in future decades. The opening of the Cabra Grand cinema in 1949 was the subject of much excitement in the suburb, captured in the pages of the local and national media. The Lord Mayor of Dublin formally opened the cinema, while a local parish priest was on-hand to bless the premises, indicating the strong role the church continued to play in Irish life, and a cooling in church opposition to the cinema industry.

A 1,600 seater cinema, the Grand was managed by a veteran of the Easter Rising named Louis Marie, and opened with a feature film starring the ever-popular Maureen O’Hara. The Grand was capable of drawing very significant crowds throughout the decade that followed its opening, though interestingly one official warned in 1959 that the biggest problem for it and other cinemas in Ireland “would be the advent of television on a national basis.”

The Grand was one of several suburban cinemas that were bought in 1975 for the purpose of becoming bingo halls, and it still cuts an imposing shape on Quarry Road in Cabra, where the historic signage remains visible through bingo advertising. In addition to welcoming in gambling grannies, it also became a popular location for concerts, with legendary U.S punk rockers The Ramones performing there in 1980, at a gig marred by violence in the vicinity of the venue. So legendary was the violence at punk and rock concerts at the Grand that Dublin District Court decided in 1980 that no further rock concerts could be held at the venue. Other bands to have taken to the stage of the one-time cinema in Cabra include Siouxsie and the Banshees, while an up-and-coming boyband named Boyzone packed a thousand people into the venue in 1995. A surprisingly (and impossibly) high number of people claim to have been there to see The Ramones of course, a significant event in the folklore and mythology around the cinema, while witnesses to Boyzone’s sold out concert are somehow harder to come by.

Joey Ramone in a Dublin cinema. Phibsboro. Former cinemas took on a new lease of life in the 1970s as gig venues. (Image Credit: Bullpost on Pix.ie, http://pix.ie/bullpost/album/320532/goto/2074180)

The uncertain future for Dublin’s suburban cinema buildings.

Like clockwork, many of Dublin’s suburban cinemas closed their doors in the early 1970s, unable to survive in a changing world where visual entertainment could be obtained without stepping outside the front door. Evidently, suburban cinemas also struggled to compete with those in the city, with the owners of several suburban cinemas jointly claiming to the media in 1973 that “discriminatory practices by certain major film distributors were resulting in a delay of up to nine months before new films shown in city-centre cinemas could reach the suburbs.” Fergus Linehan, a film critic with The Irish Times, wrote in 1974 that cinema going had become a “lost habit” in Ireland, and complained that with the exception of the O’Connell Street area, there wasn’t a cinema to be found on the northside of Dublin still in operation. Linehan drew on British statistics, which showed that “in 1952 there were 1,312 million cinema admissions in Great Britain, and 9.3% of British homes had television. By 1962 admissions had declined to 395 million – but 77.1% of homes had TV.” A similar correlation could be drawn in Ireland, though television was a slightly newer phenomenon.

In recent years, the architectural merit of many of these cinemas has finally been acknowledged, though historical neglect has contributed to the speedy demise of some buildings. The beautiful historical signage has been removed from some cinemas, with Stella in Rathmines only losing its signature signage in December 2013. Modern developments saw shopping centres and Tesco’s emerge on the site of old cinemas, while some remain in limbo, for example The Gala in Ballyfermot, a fine cinema premises opened in 1955 that later became a bingo hall and snooker hall but has closed its doors in recent times. An integral part of its community, locals still recall the famed (and rather portly) cinema usher ‘Harry The Hippo’ of the 1960s and 70s with great affection!

The historic Stella signage in Rathmines (Image: Paul Guinan)

The suburban cinema, from the late 1920s through to the 1970s and in some cases beyond that, was an integral part of many Dubliners lives, across socio-economic classes. Of course communities today do not feel the same connection to suburban cinemas that are awkwardly lumped in with multi-million Euro shopping centre developments in Blanchardstown or Clondalkin. By the turn of the millennium, there were only 10 single-screen cinemas remaining in Ireland, with multiplex (and multinational) operations removing smaller competitors en masse. For younger generations of Dubliners, stand-alone suburban cinemas are now just unusual and decaying features of the landscape around them.

Vera Breslin (née Shortall), a great-grandmother and sixth generation street seller of fish in Dun Laoghaire, has passed away. Her death marks the end of an era leaving few, if any, old-style Dublin street hawkers left in the coastal town. Hundreds of people have taken to Facebook to share their memory of Vera, who died in her early 80s in Blackrock Hospice.

Vera at her stall. Photo credit : Michael Merrigan/Andrew Gerard Ball.

A family steeped in fishing and martime history, the 1901 census shows her fisherman father Richard and mother Ellen Shortall living at 15.3 Lower George’s Street with their three sons and three daughters. Ten years later, the family had moved to nearby 5.5 Clarence Street with son Henry joining in his father’s footsteps. Richard and Ellen raised a total of five sons and nine daughters.

Born at 11 Clarence Street in circa 1931, Vera began her working life at the age of seven helping her father cast nets for herring and accompanying her mother selling fish door-to-door.

Tragedy struck the family in December 1934 when her two older brothers, Richard (20) and Henry (19), drowned in Dublin Bay with their bodies washing up in at Sandymount Strand. A friend John Hughes (20) of 8 Bentley Villas also died in the accident. They were described in a 1988 article as “hobblers, nuggety men who went out to sea in all kinds of weather in skiffs to be the first to get their hook on arriving ships and get paid for tying them up in Dublin.”

A similar catastrophe occurred in 1916 when two local men, Harry Shortall (an uncle of Vera’s) and his friend “Rover” Ward, were lost at sea while hobbling.

For well over seventy years, Vera sold fresh fish on the streets of Dun Laoghaire. She started on Upper George’s Street but after the trams were discontinued she moved to Convent Road where she was based from the 1940s until very recently.

Every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday morning, Vera pushed her pram from her home in Bentley Villas to her pitch on Convent Road. It was said that you could set your watch by her and locals valued her as the best source for local news and gossip.

Throughout the 1980s, a weekly Friday customer was the Italian Ambassador to Ireland who would pull up in a chauffer driver car to purchase fresh fish for his traditional fish-on-Friday meal.

A 2000 Irish Times piece described Vera’s typical working day:

6am … Vera’s husband Paddy, a retired dock worker, cooks breakfast for the pair. Vera’s nephew then drives her to the fish auction at the Dublin Corporation wholesale market while Paddy and their sons assemble the market stall … Vera assembles her post by 9.45am. Selections vary according to market availability, but there are often less-glamorous but delicious-tasting fish such as red gurnet, mullet and ling sharing space with delicate plaice, sole, fresh and smoked ray wings and hake …

During lulls, Vera sips tea from her thermos, or sits on an overturned milk crate on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette. Paddy brings her a hot dinner at noon. The stall closes at 6pm at which time Paddy carts away the disassembled stall to a nearby storage area, using the old pram.

Last Summer, a photo of Vera was posted on a Facebook group for current and former Dun Laogahire residents attracting hundreds of comments. As Vera was not an active Social Media user, all the comments were printed off and presented to her.

Vera with printed out Facebook comments. Picture credit – Don Mc Manus.

While her four grown up children chosen different career paths, Vera’s nephew George Rogerson of George’s Fish Shop in Dun Laoghaire is continuing the family’s proud fishmonger tradition which dates back to the 1800s.

Vera’s removal will take place on Saturday to St. Michael’s Church, Dún Laoghaire, arriving at 9.45am for 10am. Funeral Mass followed by burial will take place in Dean’s Grange Cemetery.

Sources:
Pram Women of Dublin, Ireland of the Welcomes (Jan-Feb 1988).
Elizebeth Field, Alive Alive-O: A day in the life of a fish trader, a modern-day Molly Malone, The Irish Times (17 June 2000).

There’s not much left by the way of pre-boom buildings on Sir John Rogerson’s Quay. Row upon row of mis-matched shining steel and glass structures tower over the few remaining Victorian warehouses and enginehouses, relics of an era when Dublin’s docks bustled with industry. One warehouse that has managed to survive, a double gabled redbrick building that sits where the Samuel Beckett bridge meets the Southside boasts two unusual and very original features.

The warehouse at 30- 32 Sir John Rogerson’s Quay was built in the 1890’s and was once home to the Dublin Tropical Fruit Company, who occupied the premises for decades. It has played host to plenty of drama in its lifetime; in the mid-thirties, a young teenager fell to his death from the roof, the sixties saw a long running strike on the premises and the eighties saw a fire come close to gutting the building. On 16^th April 1950, a ship named the Abraham Lincoln arrived into Dublin bearing tonnes of bananas bound for the warehouse. When the ship made port, it was discovered that its cargo of fruit was already too ripe for sale, leading the company to refuse it and the ship’s crew to dump tonnes of black skinned bananas overboard. Alexandra basin was lined with scores of people waiting for the chance to grab any that might float ashore, whilst rowboats set out from Ringsend with the aim of getting to the booty first. Gardaí struggled to maintain order as hundreds of children tried to force entry into the basin. (Irish Press, 17/4/1950.) The building later housed offices belonging to U2 and is now home to a software company.

Representation of Anna Livia, photo credit- Simon Conway

Anyway, to the point of the piece. Over the doors of the building, hang two recognisable figures- two granite keystones representing Anna Livia and the Atlantic, replicas of which appear elsewhere along the River Liffey. Originally sculpted by the eminent (though self-effacing as some records state!) Edward Smyth, they had once adorned the archways of Carlisle Bridge, the structure that predated what we now know as O’Connell Bridge. The bridge was remodeled in the late 1870’s and the granite keystones were removed- Carlisle Bridge having had three arches with a hump rising high above the water below, Anna Livia and Atlantic were deemed too large to fit the lower elliptical arches of the bridge. The new bridge had arches which sat much lower over the water, and the keystones would need to be replaced. They were remodeled by Charles W. Harrison and the originals sculpted by Edward Smyth somehow ended up on the facade of the warehouse on Sir John Rogerson’s Quay.

Representation of The Atlantic, photo credit- Simon Conway

Smyth (1749- 1812) was a sculptor and modeler who served an apprenticeship under Simon Vierpyl (Clerk of Works  for the Casino building in Marino) and later worked for a Dublin stone cutter named Henry Darley. His work was mainly ornamental, according to the Dictionary of Irish Architects, that is until Darley recommended him to one of the leading architects working in Ireland at the time, none other than James Gandon in the early 1780’s. James Gandon being one of the most sought after architects of the time, Smyth rose to prominence under his patronage and went on to sculpt some of the most recognisable features on some of Dublin’s most famous buildings. From humble beginnings he was to become a wealthy man.

The building at Sir John Rogerson’s Quay, photo credit- Simon Conway

Looking out over College Green from the roof of the Old Parliament, stand his figures of Justice, Wisdom and Liberty. His works are dotted around the Custom House; the 14 keystones representing 14 Irish rivers on the building are his, along with the Arms of Ireland- a Lion and a Unicorn standing either side of the Irish Harp. He was also responsible for work on a number of churches throughout Dublin, ornaments, statues and coats of arms at Kings Inns and you can add his name to the debate on something we’ve looked at before- who sculpted the anthropomorphic figures playing billiards and other parlour games on the windows of The Kildare Street Club? In her “This Ireland” column in the Irish Times in March 1975, Elgy Gillespie noted that it wasn’t until the 1950’s that discovery of Smyth’s keystones on the building at Sir Rogerson’s Quay was made, quoting Harold Leask (architect responsible in part for the reconstrucion of the GPO) in the Royal Society of Antiquaries Journal on their discovery. That column, and anything I’ve read on the subject, neglects to mention how the heads managed to make their way from Carlisle Bridge and onto the facade of a building on Sir John Rogerson’s Quay. Another reason why, when walking around this city, you should keep your head up because who knows what you might find!

Last year marked the fiftieth anniversary of the passing of Brendan Behan, and with it there was much focus on the literary output, and indeed the life story, of Dublin’s ‘Laughing Boy’. Particularly welcome aspects of the anniversary included RTE’s documentary feature on Behan and a revival of Borstal Boy at The Gaiety.

The Workers’ Republic, August 1938.

Last week, I stumbled on a work of Behan’s that significantly predates Borstal  Boy,  in the form of a poem written by him while “a young Dublin worker of sixteen”. Red Envoy, a scathing attack on capitalism, was printed in the August 1938 edition of The Workers’ Republic, a monthly journal of the Communist Party of Ireland in the 1930s.

The journal took its name from an earlier radical paper, which was edited by James Connolly. The party produced a weekly in the form of Irish Workers’ Voice, but The Workers’ Republic provided a space for essays and indeed cultural content too. The poem is one of Behan’s earliest published works, and it gives great insight into the mind of the young developing writer and his political outlook. The image on the right is of poor quality, so I have typed the poem below.

The following year after the publication of this work, while still a teen, Brendan was destined for a Borstal in England for a three year stay as a result of a failed bombing mission. He had travelled  to Liverpool  as a young idealistic republican with the intention of  bombing the docks there.

We’ve looked at Behan several times on the site before, with a particular favourite piece being an article on Behan’s monument along the Royal Canal. At the unveiling of that monument in 2003, Bertie Ahern was on duty to do the honours. Paudge Behan questioned the logic of Bertie Ahern being there, and asked:

What has Bertie Ahern in common with Brendan Behan, other than they are both Irish? When you see what is happening with the fat cats in this country, with Bertie Ahern and his Government, I can’t think of anyone further from the spirit of Brendan Behan!

Below is the 1938 poem in full:

RED ENVOY:

The following lines are written by a young Dublin worker of 16 years-of-age.

I bring no songs of rolling drums
Of pennons flying gaily
I sing of filth and dirty slums
Gaunt man with hunger crazy
Canticles, not of virtue bright, nor holy austere lives.

I chronicle consumption’s blight
And the haggard face of wives
Who gaze on children, pale and wan
Who see no flowers nor hear birds song.

I see no beauty rave in dreams of justice, unto those
Who keep the wheels of old earth moving
And oil them with their woes
Of burning towns and brimstone red
A phoenix from the ashes dead
Our city, truth and justice wed arise.

I see this old bad order die
In a great swift blaze of fire
A structure, clear and mighty high
Born in its funeral pyre
Worker, know the world’s for thee
Wert though to raise the serville knee
From on the ground.
Brendan Behan.

1880 illustration of Arthur Edward Guinness, Lord Ardilaun (Vanity Fair/Wiki)

Today marks the centenary of the passing of Arthur Edward Guinness, better known as Lord Ardilaun. Ardilaun is perhaps best remembered for donating St. Stephen’s Green to the people of Dublin, and on Sunday I appeared on RTE’s The History Show and talked about Arthur with Myles Dungan. A brief discussion, we touched on Ardilaun and his place in Guinness family history, as the son of Benjamin Lee Guinness, who put himself into the history books by paying for the restoration of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in the 1860s. Time was against us and as such the discussion didn’t really get around to Ardilaun’s brother, Lord Iveagh (or Edward Guinness), another significant philanthropist in Dublin’s history.

We have looked at Lord Ardilaun’s monument before on the site, in this 2012 post. There, it was noted that while Arthur was crucially important to opening Stephen’s Green to the public, he did not actually attend the park opening.

Lord Ardilaun himself did not attend the opening of the park. Within a week of its opening, a young 16-year-old by the name of Patrick Grennan, listed in the newspapers of the day as being an ashpit cleaner by trade, became the first youngster charged with malicious damage in the park for tearing up plants! Ironically, his home was Arthur’s Lane.

The park we enjoy today is in many ways unrecognisable to the park of centuries past, with the landscaping Lord Ardilaun financed dramatically changing the physical appearance of the space, giving us the wonderful artificial lake for example. In addition to the striking lake, the fine cottage home, Ardilaun’s Lodge, better known as the gardener’s cottage, is also evidence of his investment in the park. It remains for me the dream house, a stones-throw from Grafton Street with the best front garden in Dublin!

St. Stephen’s Green as it appeared in the eighteenth century.

A plaque upon one of the Glasnevin watch towers. (Image: CHTM)

There are many to ways to make a living, and not all of them noble. A profitable enterprise for some in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries involved the physical digging up of freshly buried bodies, which could be sold to medical schools where they were in considerable demand. Far from being just the stuff of fanciful folklore, we have plenty of evidence that this was a real problem for the authorities in Ireland, in the form of newspaper reports of scuffles in cemeteries and unusual towers constructed in cemeteries with the aim of allowing ‘watchmen’ to catch any would-be thieves in the act.

Dublin was, in many ways, a city leading the way in the nineteenth century in the field of Medicine. As Gerard Maguire noted in the 1960s, “she was the first city to establish a guild of medical practitioners, first with the voluntary hospital, and first with the maternity hospital. The names of Graves, Stokes, Carmichael, Corrigan, Colles and Wilde, and the medical schools they are associated with, are familiar to every student of medicine and are as much respected today as they were then.”

The term of choice for those who engaged in this activity today is often ‘resurrectionists’, though in their day they were frequently known as ‘sack-em-ups’ here in Ireland. There was, of course, great educational importance in the bodies of the dead to those studying medicine, and for centuries the bodies of criminals had been dissected. Indeed, there was a Murder Act in the 1750s which noted that only corpses of executed murderers could be used for dissection. This was a fairly gruesome act, with the full title ‘An act for better preventing the horrid crime of murder’, and it actively encouraged “that some further terror and peculiar mark of infamy be added to the punishment”of those who murder others.

Resurrectionists (1847), by Hablot Knight Browne. (Wiki)

As Rónán Gearóid Ó Domhnaill has noted by the nineteenth century “the number of people studying medicine had risen and demand far exceeded the supply, thus corpse robbing developed into a profitable business.” This greater demand for bodies meant that the focus was no longer strictly on the physical remains of dead criminals, but acquiring bodies of totally innocent people to meet the growing demand. Bodies were provided not alone to medical schools, such as the Royal College of Surgeons, but also to Trinity College Dublin. Removing a body from the ground frequently involved utilising a hook to pull the body from the coffin, having first smashed a hole into the wooden box. Early Dublin resurrectionists received only a guinea for a ‘subject’, but as the trade developed into something of a profession prices rose, with prices as high as £10 or even £20 secured on occasion. Bodies of children were frequently sold by the inch, while hair and teeth could be sold separately. As Gerard Maguire has written, owing to the strange legal situation at play, “a peculiarity of the profession was that if a resurrectionist was caught in the act of body-snatching he was brought to justice and charged only with stealing the shroud in which the body was wrapped. Hence, the professional sack-em-up always took the precaution of removing the shroud before carting the body off.” Christopher Dixon, who served as porter at the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland in the early years of the nineteenth century, was caught in Bully’s Acre on one occasion by a mob and “after tying a rope around his waist the mob dragged him to the Liffey into which he was ducked repeatedly.” John T. Kirby, son of the President of the College of Surgeons, was reportedly killed by another such mob!

An 1830s illustration of the Royal College of Surgeons. (Source: http://www.libraryireland.com/articles/royalcollegesurgeonsDPJ1-19/)

There seems to have been a much greater degree of violence towards the ressurectionists in Dublin than in London, indeed the Professor of Anatomy in Trinity College Dublin, a Dr. Macartney, gave evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons in which he stated “the common people frequently of late have assaulted the Resurrection-men: one of these men died in consequence of a severe beating… I may add, that lately also, even medical men and medical students were assailed by the people, and that at present the Resurrectionery men go to a great number of graveyards, some distance from Dublin, provided with firearms, and are accompanied frequently by several students armed in the same manner.”

Sometimes, the resurrectionists didn’t even wait until the body was buried before making an attempt to acquire it. In 1831 a rather morbid account of bodysnatching in Dublin appeared in The Times newspaper:

On Friday evening last, about six o’clock, a party of resurrectionists rushed suddenly into a house in Bow Lane, where the corpse of an aged female, named Carrol, was being ‘waked’ by her friends and neighbours….and succeeded in possessing themselves of the body, which they bore off, before the persons present could offer any effectual resistance. The ruffians acted with the most revolting indecency, dragging the corpse in its death clothes after them through the mud in the street, and unfortunately baffled all pursuit. Information was shortly after given at College Street police office of the transaction, and an officer with some constables immediately visited the College of Surgeons. They were informed that the body had not been brought there, but they were not permitted to search. Several of the fellows engaged in this outrage are well-known resurrectionists, but though the police are acquainted with their haunts, strange to say that none of them have been apprehended yet.

The morality of dissecting the bodies of the poor was endlessly debated in the early nineteenth century, as Nadja Durbach has written “the 1832 Anatomy Act bolstered the relationship between medicine and the state at the expense of the destitute.” This act specific that the bodies of those who died in workhouses of charity hospitals and went unclaimed would be turned over to those anatomists who dissected human remains. To opponents of the act, this “objected the bodies of the poor, allowing them to be probed and penetrated for the use of middle-class doctors and medical students.” Many bodies were exported from Dublin to Edinburgh, as a result that a greater price could be obtained there from medical schools than in Dublin. It seems that some in Scottish society were more than willing to allow the thieving of Dublin corpses, if it spared their own. A letter in the Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle in the early nineteenth century noted that “for every Irish grave subject they seize they insure the rifling of some Scotch grave.”

An iron grill upon a nineteenth century grave. This was intended to deter would-be resurrectionists. (Image: https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2010/10/30/body-snatching-a-most-ghoulish-19th-century-affair/)

Bully’s Acre was a particularly popular location with Dublin’s resurrectionists, as the cemetery was the burial-place of many of the poor inhabitants of the city prior to the opening of Glasnevin Cemetery. There is a popular story of one well-known lecturer in anatomy, Peter Harkan, leading his students here on a resurrectionist excursion was stopped by watchmen, and later died as a result of the injuries he sustained. One one occasion in November 1825 a sentry at the cemetery captured Thomas Tuite, who was a known resurrectionist in the city, in possession of several bodies.

The presence of watchtowers in cemeteries in Britain and Ireland give an indication just how seriously the authorities took the potential robbery of graves. In 1842, a series of watchtowers were erected at Glasnevin Cemetery, while watchmen also availed of Cuban Bloodhounds, right into the following decade. Controversial as the early Anatomy Act was, it did bring about a marked decrease in the activity of resurrectionists, as a greater supply of bodies was available by entirely legal means to anatomists. Still, the Glasnevin watchtowers remain today as a reminder of a macabre trade.

The Dublin Comic Songster, published in 1841, includes a verse
referencing sack-em-ups in Bully’s Acre cemetery:

A nineteenth century vrse referencing Bully’s Acre.

The celebrated Dublin street poet Zozimus, real name Michael Moran, had a real fear of the sack ‘em ups, and in his dying poem noted:

And Tho’ convivial when in body able,
I never liked the vile dissecting table,
So have your eyes upon the Sack-em-up,
And if they stirs be plazed to trip-em-up.

The world of politics and the world of sport have been known to collide from time to time in Ireland. In 1952 for example, Archbishop John Charles MacQuaid urged the football loving people of the capital not to attend an international friendly in Dalymount Park which saw Ireland take on communist Yugoslavia. Sporting stadiums have been used as venues in which to stage political protests too, with political banners appearing on the terraces of Croke Park during the Troubles. One particularly interesting moment in the history of controversial sporting clashes in Dublin concerns the sport of rugby, and the visit of the Springbok team to Dublin in 1970. All all-white team from South Africa, the team were seen by some to be the embodiment of Apartheid South Africa, and their tour of Britain and Ireland in 1969/1970 attracted huge protest. While the Springbok team did play in Lansdowne Road in January 1970, the game occurred behind barbed wire fencing and in front of a small attendance.

Gardaí drag protestors away from the Springboks tour bus at Dublin Airport, January 1970 (The Irish Times)

The Boks arrived in Ireland in January 1970 having completed a two month tour of Britain, a tour which had witnessed considerable scenes of protest. Opposition to their tour of Britain extended beyond anti-apartheid campaigners however, many sporting bodies and figures opposed the visit because of what was then a recent bitter memory. Two years prior to the visit of South Africa to Britain and Ireland to play rugby, in 1967, there had been shock in British sporting circles when the Apartheid government announced that they would not allow Basil D’Oliveria, a South African cricketer who played for England, to take part in England’s cricket tour of South Africa. The potential inclusion of a non-white cricketer in the team caused something of a diplomatic incident, with some senior South African figures suggesting it was a move designed to cause political embarrassment, and in the end the tour was actually cancelled. In Britain, questions around the relationship between sport and apartheid were being asked even before this rugby tour.

A poster from the British movement against Apartheid produced at the time of the cricket controversy. Via: http://africainwords.com/2014/04/28/forward-to-freedom-anti-apartheid-movement-1959-1994/)

When the Springbok rugby team arrived in Britain in the winter of 1969, they faced very real protests in a number of cities. Brian Hanley has written that during December 1969 “there were 98 arrests when the Springbok side played in Aberdeen, 69 during their visit to Manchester, 26 at Murrayfield and more serious disturbances in which several policemen were injured during their game against England at Twickinham.” A young Gordon Brown, future Prime Minister of Britain, was one of the Edinburgh organisers of the opposition to the visit.

Demonstrating in Dublin against the visit of the South African rugby team (Irish Press)

A particular cause of concern for the authorities was the North of Ireland, where the Civil Rights Association was gaining considerable ground and you had young and charismatic leaders like Bernadette Devlin, and where the side were due to play. One statement from People’s Democracy, with which Devlin was involved, stated that it was “no surprise that the corrupt and vicious Unionist clique admires racist South Africans.” This was a time of real heightened tensions in the North, and the authorities there were very fearful of just what could happen with the games becoming the focus of political disagreement. It was unsurprising that any visit by the team to the North was cancelled in the winter of 69, when The Joint Security Committee moved to cancel the planned match. One effect of that was turning up the pressure on the IRFU in Dublin – and there were demonstrations outside their headquarters demanding that the team not play in Dublin or Limerick as planned.

The IRFU found itself in a tough position. The organisation made its view clear, which was essentially that “cultural and sporting relations were the last links that should be broken with a country whose laws and policies incurred condemnation.” The Springbok team had actually visited Ireland only a few short years prior to 1970, and while many on the left and in the trade union movement had condemned their visit on that occasion,it had failed to spark the same level of public outcry as witnessed in 1970.

Irish Times frontpage prior to the visit.

Even before the arrival of the team in Ireland, it was clear they would face organised opposition from the labour movement. In The Irish Times, an official from Post Office Official’s Association said “that if the Springboks’ headquarters hotel was known, all telephone and mail services to it would be withdrawn.” The official was quoted as saying “When we find out the hotel, we will give the telephone number to all exchanges and see that it is not serviced….Similiarly no mail will be delivered to the hotel. All other guests will be affected. The ban will last for the Springboks’ stay.” In addition to this, trade unionists in RTE were eager that the national broadcaster would not screen the match, and were adament they would not work on any transmission of the game.

When the team did arrive at Dublin Airport on 7 January 1970, they were greeted by dozens of anti-Apartheid activists in the airport itself, headed by Kader Asmal of the Irish Anti-Apartheid Movement, clutching tricolours and the flag of the ANC. The Irish Anti-Apartheid Movement had been founded in 1964, and as Diarmaid Ferriter has noted “by the early 1970s it had branches in almost all parts of Ireland. Its first chairman was Dublin barrister Ernest Wood, the honorary secretary was trade unionist and future Labour TD Barry Desmond, and its vice-chairman was Asmal, who had also been a founder member of the Anti-Apartheid Movement in London and had joined the staff of the Faculty of Law at Trinity College Dublin in 1963.” There had been protests against Apartheid in the city prior to the foundation of the IAAM, but it provided organisation and structure to the movement. Some of the earlier opposition to Apartheid here was led by members of the small South African community in Ireland, including those who were studying here. This helped in forging links with the student movement, who were to the fore in opposing the 1970 visit.

Calling for the boycott of South African goods in early 1960s Ireland. (Image: National Library of Ireland)

An egg splattered against the team bus before it left Dublin Airport, and when they eventually made it to the hotel in Bray they were confronted again by protest, this time led by Seamus Costello, who was then a Sinn Féin member of Wicklow County Council. In addition to Costello however, there were young rugby fans, described as “over 100 children…lined up shouting support for the Springboks'”.

The welcoming committee at Dublin Airport.

….and later at the team hotel. (Irish Independent)

The issue of the visit was discussed inside of the Dáil during heated debates, and Fine Gael T.D Patrick Donegan made his views clear on the matter:

We have heard a great deal about  the Springboks’ tour. We all deplore the fact that there is discrimination in South Africa, but I have come to the conclusion that 15 men on one side and 15 men on the other, all young, rolling around in the mud, have nothing on their minds but where they are going to get the prettiest girl and take her out for a meal as soon as the match is over, and I am afraid that is not political. If I am not at the Springboks match I shall be out hunting and anyone who wants to protest about either can protest away.

The game in Landsdowne Road went ahead – a 8-8 draw in front of a small attendance, played behind barbed wire, erected to prevent protesters from disturbing the game. There were demonstrations in the city, with a crowd of between eight and ten thousand marching in opposition to the clash. Among those who marched was Charlie Byrne, later a successful broadcaster with RTE, and he remembered in his memoirs that this was an exciting time in radical politics in the city:

My spare time was increasingly taken up with political involvement. There was an upsurge in left-wing activism in Dublin. It was the same all over Western Europe. I got involved in the Labour Party and with the Young Socialists. These were exciting times….In January 1970, the al-white South African rugby team arrived in Dublin. The Springboks’ were touring Britain and Ireland and the opening match of the tour was scheduled for Lansdowne Road. I was one of those on the picket outside the Royal Starlight Hotel in Bray where the Springboks were staying. There was a huge march outside the stadium on the afternoon of the match: 10,000 protestors marched from the city centre to Lansdowne Road. I helped to carry a Labour Party banner. Despite the size of the crowd, the demonstration passed off without any serious incidents.

While Bird’s account suggests a lack of confrontation on the day between protestors and authorities, one protestor who was there that day recalled that “the Gardaí baton charged protestors at Lansdowne Road and set dogs on us.”

Trinity News, student newspaper at Trinity College Dublin, comments on the decision not to allow the Springboks to train on-campus (Via: Trinity News Archive)

In Limerick, where they were to play Munster, the South African team must have been baffled by the welcome they got from one unlikely source. In Brian Hanley’s entertaining article on the Springboks visit for the Old Limerick Journal (available to read in full here), he notes that a small organisation known as the ‘National Movement’ marched to the hotel where the team were staying and handed them a letter of welcome. Members of this small band had placards proclaiming ‘We Support White Christian South Africa’ and ‘Boks Yes, Reds No’. The Boks enjoyed a good day out on the field in Limerick, defeating Munster 25-9. Protests in the city were small, and Hanley has noted that “only about 350 people, of whom only 30 were thought to be local, including three Jesuit priests, took part in the Anti-Apartheid protest.”

To mark the 45th anniversary of these protests, the RTE Archives have uploaded some great archival footage of protestors outside the Dáil on the day before the match at Lansdowne Road. You can check it out here.