Since the publication of our article ‘Jewish community during the Revolutionary period (1916-23)‘, a number of people have left comments, emailed me directly or posted on external sites with new information and leads on the subject.

They are as follows:

1) 1901: Two Jewish workers listed as being active in James Connolly’s Irish Socialist Republican Party (ISRP).

2) 1908: Establishment of the short-lived Judaeo-Irish Home Rule Association.

3) 1919-1921: Philip Sayers (1876 – 1964) Jacob Elyan (1878- 1937) and Dr. Edward  ‘Eddie’ Lipman (1887-1965) as Sinn Fein supporters.

4) 1920: Death of Russian-born Jew Sarah Medalie at the hands of the Black and Tans in Cork.

5) 1924: Arrest of Polish Jew Idel Weingarten who later admitted to being a gunrunner for the Republican movement.

6) 1926:  Release of the film Irish Destiny which was written and produced by Dr. Isaac ‘Jack’ Eppel, a Jewish pharmacist.

7) Late 1920s/early 1930s: Involvement of Herman Good with the James Connolly Workers’ Clubs and the Irish Labour Defence League.

8) 1939: Arrest and imprisonment of Jewish IRA member Harry Goldberg in Liverpool.

9) late 1960s: Anecdotal evidence that many older working-class Jews in Dublin read the Manchester Guardian and the Moscow Times.

1.

Discovered in the Irish Socialist Republican Party (ISRP) minute book of 23 July 1901 and first publicised by Manus O’Riordan in a 1988 Saothar article – two Jewish workers living in Pleasant Street, Dublin 8 were active with this organisation. They were Abraham Volkes and an individual by the name of Barnet. O’Riordan also informed us that the pair had previously been involved with the Social-Democratic Federation (SDF) in Salford. This was the organisation that James Connolly spoke for during his two public speaking trips (1901 and 1902) to the city.

Members of the Irish Socialist Republican Party (ISRP) photographed in the Phoenix Park, May 1901. Credit – http://multitext.ucc.ie

Unfortunately, I cannot find anyone by the name of Barnet or Volkes living in Pleasant Street in 1901. Though they are a number of Jewish families including Greenfield, Abrahams, Werner and Goldstone. Only one person with the surname Volkes seems to be living in the city at that time and he was an American Catholic. Also, there is only one Barnet but he was a Catholic Dubliner. Perhaps Barnet was his first name? There is one Jewish individual with the first name Barnet but he was only a baby at the time. Volkes is a German name and there is one German Jew with the first name Abraham in Dublin in 1901 but his surname is Cohen. At the time, he was a tailor living on Auburn Street off the Phibsboro Road.  The 1901 census was taken on 31^st March 1901 so there’s a slight possibility that the two arrived into the city after this date and so were not present for the census.

If anyone can shed any light, please get in touch.

2.

The Irish Judaeo Home Rule Association was founded on 10th September 1908 at a meeting in the Mansion House that attracted around sixty Jews and three Irish Parliamentary Party MPs. The group was formed by Jacob Elyan and Joseph Edelstein and was believed to have contained about two dozen core supporters. MPs John Redmond and John Dillon sent their best wishes to the organisation and the names of Daniel O’Connell and Michael Davitt were recalled at the meeting as great friends of the Jewish people. Speakers at the meeting, besides Elyan and Edlestien, included Arthur Newman and the three Irish Parliamentary Party MPs – William Field, Timothy Charles Harrington and Stephen Gywnn.

An Irish Jew with Unionist sympathies was ejected from the meeting after trying to disrupt proceedings and a fight broke out amongst at least a dozen people towards the end. The Irish Times (11 September 1908) reported:

It appears that some of the Jews who were not in sympathy with the object of the meeting proclaimed their views rather loudly, with the result that they were rather roughly treated at the hands of their co-religionists, who were supported by a number of United League Leaguers.

The organisation seemingly only lasted a few months and didn’t receive any media coverage except for their inaugural meeting. Elyan is the only known original member who continued to be active in Home Rule politics, joining the United Irish League and becoming a member of its Dublin executive.

3.

I’ve been made aware of three mor Jewish individuals who were supporters of Sinn Fein in the War of Independence period.

The first of these was Philip Sayers, described as a “Lithuanian-born early Sinn Feiner” by the Irish Independent (19 April 1943). When he passed away at the age of 88 in 1964, his short obituary included the line that he “took part in the Sinn Fein movement and was a life-long sympathiser with the national movement”. His Dublin-born son Michael was a well-known and celebrated poet and writer with strong political sympathies who married Mentana Galleani, daughter of the militant Italian anarchist Luigi Galleani. When he passed away three years ago, it was noted that Michael had “vivid childhood memories of [IRA] fugitives being hidden in the house and of police raids”.

Jacob Elyan (1878- 1937), who we mentioned earlier as having been a founding member of the Judaeo-Irish Home Rule Association in 1908, was also a close supporter of Sinn Fein. He had been invited by John Redmond to stand for election but declined due to ill-health. For the same reason, he was unable to take take a seat in the Free State Senate of 1923.

Dr. Edward ’Eddie’ Lipman (1887-1965) was close friends with Count Markievicz, Arthur Griffith, James Stephens and other figures in the world of politics and the arts. He took up medical practice in London in the early 1920s where he and his Mayo wife Dr. Eva Kavanagh Lipman “ministered generously, both in matters of health and in personal affairs, to Cockney proletarians and working-class Irish migrants and their families” as the Irish Times of 7th January 1965 noted.

During the Anglo-Irish Treaty negotiation in London in 1921, Arthur Griffith used to frequently call on Eddie Lipman for a “talk and walk through the streets of the English capital”. He worked in the East End until retirement when he returned home to his native Dublin. He died there after a short illness  in June 1965.

4.

In December 1920, a Russian-born Jew Sarah Medalie died of a heart attack after the Black and Tans burst into her bedroom in her home in Cork.

In 1901, the Medali family (spelt without the ‘e’ in the census) were living at 8 Elizabeth Terrace on the southside of the city. Husband David (36), a pedlar, lived with his wife Sarah (32) and their three children Lena (7), Joseph (2) and Harrey (8 months). All were born in Russia except for the youngest two children. After considerable searching, I cannot find the family in the 1911 census.

Manus O’Riordan who has done much research into the case wrote:

By 1915 David Medalie’s economic circumstances and occupation had improved from that of peddler to draper, and the family moved home into rooms above his own city centre shop in Tuckey Street.

During a massive search operation in Cork that left a trail of destruction, the Black and Tans forcibly broke into the Medalie’s home at 23 Tuckey Street. The Cork Examiner reported on 13 December 1920:

Mrs. Medalie, a Jewess, died suddenly in her house in Tuckey Street, Cork … on Friday nigh as military entered her bedroom. ‘We are Jews’, she said, when she saw the soldiers, ‘and have nothing to do with the political movement’. Then she exclaimed, ‘Oh my heart!’ and … collapsed.

She was 53.

The fact remains that the only three Jewish killed during the revolutionary period (1916-23) were at the hands of the Black and Tans (Sarah Medalie in 1920) and anti-Semitic former Free State officers (Bernard Golderg and Ernest Kahn in 1923).

Raphael Siev (RIP), former curator of the Jewish Museum, with a picture of Ernest Kahn. Credit – The Sunday Independent (24 June 2007)

Some fiction writers, most noticeably Roddy Doyle’s A Star Called Henry, have portrayed the IRA as having anti-Semitic murderous elements. However it is according to Manus O’Riordan an:

uncontestable historical fact … that Ireland’s War of Independence, in which members of the Jewish community themselves participated, never saw a single Jew killed by the IRA, whether deliberately or even accidentally.

5.

A Polish-born Jew, Idel Weingarten, was arrested in Glasgow in August 1924 for “contravention of the Aliens order”. It transpired that he had just come from Ireland via Germany and in his possession were “several photographs of prominent persons” in the Republican movement. The Irish Times (28 Aug 1924) headline read “Wandering Jew: Mystery of visits to Ireland”.

In 1948, he was arrested and sentenced to two years in jail for being the “ringleader of a fake passport ring” which aided foreign citizens to illegaly enter Britain and Canada. The newspapers reported at the time that Weingarten had previously admitted to “trafficking arms to Ireland” for the IRA.

He seemingly spent most of his life in and out of prison.

In November 1955, he was arrested and sentence to another two years in jail in Glasgow for “fraud charges involving good valued at more than £1513″. The Evening News (17 Nov 1955) reported that his lawyer had told the court that Weingarten had did “good work during the war helping to smuggle people out of Europe to Britain and America”.

He was arrested again in 1962 for attempting to defraud a woman from Portadown of over £20,000. He was charged with, amongst other things “falsely pretending that he was married .. was in employment of the Government of Kenya (and that he) had inherited £38,000 upon the death of his father in Nairobi”. Proving that Nigerian prince type scam emails were popular well before the establishment of the World Wide Web!

6.

The ground-breaking silent full-length film Irish Destiny (1926) was financed, written and produced by Isaac Eppel (1892-1942), a Jewish doctor who ran a pharmacy on Mary Street.

Film poster for Irish Destiny (1926). Credit – IFI blog

Set between mid-1920, at the height of the War of Independence, and the Truce of 1921, the film traces the love affair of IRA volunteer Denis O’Hara (Paddy Dunne Cullinan) and his fiancee, Moira Barry (Frances MacNamara). It was firmly populist and pro-Republican no doubt reflecting Eppel’s own political views.The film interweaved actual newsreel footage of the Black and Tans, the burning of Cork, and the burning of the Customs House in Dublin with dramatised scenes which were filmed in Enniskerry, London and Dublin. For over five decades it was believed lost until the IFI Irish Film Archive found a print in the U.S. Library of Congress in 1991 and restored it to its original tinted and toned glory.It was Eppel’s first and only film. The costly production had cost him his marriage and personally bankrupted him. He gave up his medical career and took over the Palace (later the Academy) cinema on Pearse Street. He later emigrated to England and died in obscurity.7.

Herman Good (1906 – 1981), was a Jewish Dublin-born solicitor active with the James Connolly Workers’ Clubs in the late 1920s and the IRA led Irish Labour Defence League in the early 1930s. He described himself as the first Jewish member of the Labour Party, running for them in elections in 1933 and 1944. Qualifying as a solicitor in 1929, he served in the legal profession for over 50 years rising to the post of Justice of the District Court.

Well-known for legally representing the unemployed, strikers and individuals injured in the workplace, some of his cases included:

- November 1929: Defended an former soldier charged with “riotous assembly” at a demonstration of the unemployed outside Leinster House.

-  December 1929: Defended two young men charged with breaking windows in St. Stephen’s Green after a protest march of the unemployed.

- March 1930: Appeared in court on behalf of the Irish Labour Defence League and appealed that the judge free several men including Christopher Ferguson (secretary of the National Unemployed Movement) and John Fox (secretary of the Irish Labour Defence League) after their arrest at a demonstration.

- March 1931: Defended the five leaders of a strike at the Greenmount and Boyne Linen Company mill in Augnier Street who were charged with the assault of a man. Good described the charges as a “frame up” to “defeat the strike”.

- May 1933: Defended former IRA volunteer Sean Murray and Sean Nolan (both members of the and Revolutionary Workers Group) who were inside Connolly House on North Strand Street when it was attacked by a large anti-Communist mob wound up by a local priest.

- June 1933: Represented 96 families of the Municipal Tenants Association in a case against Dublin Corporation who were trying to evict them.

- July 1934: Defended four striking workers from Samuel Oliver and McCabe shirt factory on South Great George’s Street who were charged with “wrongfully and without legal authority watching and besitting” the factory.

In July 1938, he defended an Austrian Koppel Roeffler who escaped from the Nazis and was living in Dublin but who the State wanted to deport. During the Second World War, he became an officer in the Local Defence Force and helped Jews in the six counties who had successfully escaped the Third Reich.

Good was active with the James Connolly Workers’ Club (JCWC) in Dublin in the late 1920s. This group was established in October 1924 as a forum for Marxist politics and workers’ education. Their offices at 47 Parnell Square were raided by the police in August 1928.

He then joined the Labour Party, becoming their first Jewish member, and ran for the party in the June 1933 Municipal Elections in District No. 4 in Dublin. I was unable to find out the results of this election. In the May 1944 General Election, he stood in the Dublin Townships constituency and won 2,104 first preference votes, keeping his deposit. This was a respectable result when you take into account he was up against the mighty giants of Fianna Fail‘s Sean MacEntee and Fine Gael‘s John A. Costello.

Hermann Good. Credit – The Irish Times (Jul 10, 1976).

Throughout his 50 year legal career, he defended an unending list of young shoplifters, joy riders, smugglers and individuals injured in various bus, car, tram and workplace accidents. He was an outspoken opponent of both corporal and capital punishment and believed that the Swedish model of rehabiliation and rededucation for offenders was the way forward.

Never waiving from his republican views, he told Eileen O’Brien in an Irish Times interview (10 July 1976) that “there will never be peace in Ireland until Ireland is united”. He passed away in 1981.

8.

In 1939, a Dublin IRA member by the name of Harry Goldberg was sentenced to three weeks in Strangeways prison for refusing to divulge the names of fellow Irish Republicans in Liverpool. The Irish Independent (25 Feb 1939) revealed that he worked as a “mattress maker” and lived on Auburn Street in Everton. He had moved over from Dublin in 1937. Good admitted to attending two IRA parades in the city, one being at a house in Edge Lane. In court, he was questioned but “refused to mention names”.

1939 Liverpool IRA trail. The Irish Independent (15 March 1939)

(For the full story of the Liverpool IRA’s 1939 bombing campaign, read Bryce Evans’s excellent ‘Fear and Loathing in Liverpool: The IRA’s1939 Bombing Campaign on Merseyside’)

I think it be assumed beyond doubt that Goldberg was Jewish. As such, I wonder if he was connected to the republican-leaning Goldberg family from Cork.

In 1911, there two Harry Goldberg’s living in Ireland. Both Jewish and Dublin basde.

10-year old Harry lived at 31 Harcourt Street with his father (a Dentist originally from Poland), his mother (also from Poland) and five siblings (all Dublin born). This Harry would have been born in 1901 making him 38 in 1939.

The second Harry Goldberg was 7 years old and living at 5 St. Kevin’s Parade in the heart of Little Jersualem with his coal merchant father (born in Russia), his mother (originally from Leeds) and four siblings (all Dublin born). This Harry would have been born in 1904 making him 35 in 1939.

Again, if anyone has anymore information – please get in touch.

9.

Ken McCue, Inner City activist and founding member of Sports Against Racism in Ireland (SARI), told us that he used to deliver newspapers in the late 1960s to many members of the Jewish community around Capel Street and North King Street in the north inner city. He remembers that Moscow News and the Manchester Guardian were particularly popular and most of his Jewish customers were “quite old and radically left wing.”

Ken took over the paper route from his older Hugh after he started playing football for Home Farm. (Another brother Harry was recently Ireland’s under-21 caretaker manager). They worked for Matt O’Connor and Charlie Kinlan who were the two newsagents on North King Street.

Ken continues:

The Manchester Guardian was broadsheet at the time and I delivered it along with the Moscow News (picked up from Mary Bassett on Parnell St.). Mary had it posted from the CPGB in England and it was often impounded at the PO sorting office in Amiens St. The other left-wing paper in circulation at the time was the Morning Star that my Grandfather had in the house by way of his printers union and now and again we would get The United Irishman that was moving to the Left under the influence of Eamonn Smullen and Eoghan Harris.

///

Acknowlegements:
Barnet and Volkes (Politics.ie poster ’12 bens’ & Manus O’Riordan for original research); Irish Judaeo Home Rule Association (John Gibney); Sarah Mendalie (Séamas Ó Sionnaigh and Manus O’Riordan for original research); Herman Good (Brian Hanley); Harry Goldberg (Brian Hanley and Bryce Evans).

City Hall is an open door, but like most open doors in the city the locals don’t tend to wander in.If you you do walk in though you’re rewarded by the sight of a beautiful rotunda, the centrepiece of the 1779 building designed by the architect Thomas Cooley. There are a whole series of excellent murals to view inside the building, telling the story of Dublin. Work on these murals began in 1914, and was undertaken by students of the Dublin Metropolitan School of Art, under their Headmaster James Ward. I sent Paul Reynolds of Rabble fame in to photograph them, lacking anything even resembling a camera myself!

Philip McEvansoneya has noted that “The subject matter was suggested by Alderman Thomas Kelly, the senior Sinn Féin councillor on Dublin Corporation.” The Corporation would have had a strong nationalist prescence even in the years prior to the Easter Rising, refusing to officially welcome several Royals to Dublin in the early twentieth century. McEvansoneya has noted in Irish Arts Review that there seems to be three themes running through the murals – “Dublin legends and history, Irish christianity and the historic struggle for Irish independence.”

‘Saint Patrick Baptising the King of Dublin in 448 A.D’ (Paul Reynolds)

The first reference to the murals I can find is a letter from James Ward to the Dublin Corporation in October 1913 offering to provide students and designs for paintings in the Rotunda of City Hall. The Irish Times reported that “On the motion of Alderman T.Kelly, it was resolved to accept the offer, provided the designs were of historical subjects connected to the city, and that the Corporation approved of them.”

Irishmen oppose the Landing of the Viking Fleet, 841 A.D (Paul Reynolds)

By January, 1915, the same newspaper were reporting that the first two of the murals were in place. The first depicted the arrival of Saint Patrick in Dublin, while the second showed the coming of the Norse.The murals were not completed until 1919, when the Corporation thanked Ward at a function below the paintings, over which the Lord Mayor presided.

Brian Boru and the Battle of Clontarf 1014 A.D (Paul Reynolds)

My favourite of the murals depicts the Battle of Clontarf in 1014, and shows an aged Brian Boru upon a horse. There will be much focus on this moment in Irish history next year, an event around which much mythology and folklore has grown. The arrival of the Anglo-Normans is also depicted, with Richard de Clare, or Strongbow, arriving at the gates of Dublin.

Parley between St Laurence O’Toole and Strongbow outside Dublin, 1170 A.D (Paul Reynolds)

Lambert Simnel, ‘Pretender to the Throne’, is shown being paraded through Dublin. Simnel was crowned in Christ Church Cathedral in May 1487, and then carried through the streets of the city. He was about ten years old at the time, and one historian has noted “He was merely a commonplace tool to be used for important ends, and the attempt to overthrow Henry VII would have taken place had Simnel never existed.”

Lambert Simnel carried through the streets of Dublin 1487 A.D (Paul Reynolds)

Below are the remainder of the set Paul snapped, including the four provincial shields. They are beautiful works of art, certainly worth dropping in for a look the next time you’re passing. For further information, an interesting article from Irish Arts Review can be read here.

In March 1969, one of the most unusual and important items in the Old Library of Trinity College Dublin vanished. Known as the Brian Boru Harp, the celebrated harp of Trinity College is believed to date back to the 15th century. The story of its taking grabbed huge media attention both in Ireland and abroad, and was caught up in the politics of the day. The harp was presented to Trinity College Dublin by William Conyngham in the late 18th century, and was restrung in the British Museum in 1962. This particular instrument is perhaps most famous for serving as the model for not only the insignia of the present Irish state, but also serving as the model for the Guinness trademark logo, which was registered in 1876.

The celebrated harp can be seen here, on display, during the visit of Queen Elizabeth II to Trinity College Dublin in 2011 (Credit: http://www.tcd.ie)

The background to this amazing robbery is told in The Lost Revolution, Brian Hanley and Scott Millar’s study of the rise and demise of The Workers’ Party as a power in Irish political life. In that book, readers learn of Joseph Brady, a one-time member of the Irish Republican Army. Brady, an ex-British soldier, was recruited into the republican movement in 1967, joining the IRA and becoming a training officer to the Dublin Brigade. In the book it is noted that

During early 1969 Brady raised the idea of stealing the Book of Kells from Trinity College and holding it for ransom, but found no support. On 24 March he broke into the College himself and, unable to gain access to the Book of Kells, stole the Brian Boru Harp instead. A few weeks later he contacted the college and demanded £20,000.

Irish Independent (26 March 1967)

On 26 March 1969, the Irish Press broke the story to their readership, outlying the concerns of T.C.D authorities with regards to the handling of the object:

The 600 to 700 year old Brian Boru harp, the oldest and most elaborately carved Irish harp in existence, has been stolen from the library of Trinity College. Dublin. It was discovered that the harp was missing yesterday morning. The thief broke in through a window by forcing the catch, and he forced open the case in which the harp was stored. Yesterday, College authorities appealed to the person who has the harp to handle it with extreme care as it is very fragile. They also asked that it be returned through whatever means would be safe in the handling of the 600-year-old harp. “It is not much use to anyone,” he said. “It is an antique, easily recognisable, and can barely be handled. Therefore,its sale is hardly likely. Maybe some person has it for a responsible cause, but we would ask them to please, please handle it carefully.”

International coverage was plentiful, and in some cases highly colourful versions of the truth were told. The Milwaukee Journal proclaimed the harp to be an astonishing 1,300 years old for example.

The harp photographed in 1962, following restoration at the British Museum (The Irish Times)

Henry Giltrap, the Secretary of Trinity College Dublin, began to receive calls in the aftermath of the robbery, requesting a sum of money in return for its safe exchange. The issue caused huge embarrassment for the authorities at Trinity College Dublin, with many questioning how a library which served as home to so many priceless works could be broken into with such relative ease.

When the harp was ultimately recovered, on 17 April, there was a suitably dramatic conclusion to the story. Indeed, as one journalist noted at the time, it was recovered “amid a series of episodes which could have come straight from the pages of a James Bond novel.” A threat was made via a ransom note that unless money was left in a dustbin at Bull Wall at 1 a.m, the instrument would be destroyed. Eleven Garda cars were stationed at a discreet distance from this bin, and when a man was seen to approach it, a decision was made to move in. The Irish Independent reported that:

As they did so a car which had been parked nearby accelerated from the scene and a chase followed. The driver was captured shortly afterwards. The other man, who is believed to be British, then drew a gun but threw it away as he made his escape. The harp which had been taken to Pearse Street Garda station was handed over by Inspector O’Brien to Mr. G. H. Giltrap, Secretary, T.C.D. “I am delighted that it has been recovered. This represents a great deal of hard work on the part of the detectives and Gardai,” said Mr. Giltrap.

The Long Room of the Trinity College Dublin Old Library, where the harp can be seen today (source: Wiki)

In May 1970, R. Tynan, a young man from Drimnagh, pleaded guilty to receiving the harp knowing it was stolen. He was given a suspended sentence of two-years imprisonment for his role in the crime. During his court case, the story of the actual recovery of the harp was told. Gardaí noted that Tynan had co-operated with Gardaí and brought them to a “sand pit about two miles from Blessington. There, with Mr. Giltrap standing beside him, he unearthed a shovel and went to an overhanging ledge nearby and started digging until he uncovered something wrapped in black plastic material. It turned out to be the missing harp.”

What became of Joseph Brady? The Lost Revolution tells us that there was suspicion within the movement that he was a provocateur, indeed Brady was so distrusted that he was picked up at gunpoint by members of the IRA but managed to escape, dispute being shot twice. During his case, it was reported in the Irish Press that he had been in contact with Gardaí “for some years prior to the present case”, and i was noted that he had passed on information. Brady’s solicitor attempted to make the case in court that his life would be in danger in prison, and that he should be given a suspended sentence “which would allow him to go abroad as he would not be safe in this country and would always be branded as an informer.” He was sentenced to two years imprisonment.

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The Lost Revolution is available to purchase, with free delivery worldwide, from Kennys.ie

I stumbled upon this hilarious personal account, of four tongue-tied students and a bewitching girl from the early 1910s, in the Witness Statement of Robert Brennan. The story is centered around a house in Lennox Street in Portobello and is worth reading in full:

“I had traveled to Dublin for an examination and I was met at the railway station by three Wexford friends of mine, John Moloney, his brother Peter, and Fred Cogley, all students. They were all staying at the same digs in Portobello and they had arranged for me to stay there also. We were hardly well inside the house when the three of them rushed to the front room crying, “Here she is”. I joined them and saw a very good looking girl. She came up the steps of the house and entered and the attentions of all three of them were transferred to the doorway through which she could be seen tripping lightly up the stairs. They said to me

“Isn’t she grand?”

I agreed and asked what she was like.

“Well, haven’t you seen her for yourself?”

“But what is she like to talk to?”

They didn’t know. They had never spoken to her, because they had not been introduced. She was a lodger like themselves. Her name was Kiernan and she was a native of Carlow. I thought it strange that in the course of several weeks they were unable to strike up an acquaintance. They wanted to know how.

“Well” I suggested, “you could, for instance, run up the stairs when she’s coming down … bump into her and ‘beg your pardon’ and there you are”.

“But” said Peter, “what could we talk to her about?”

“I don’t know” I said, “maybe if you get talking to her you could think of something”. I suddenly remembered she was from Carlow. “Why not talk about Carlow?”

They knew nothing about Carlow, did I?

“The only thing I know bout it,” I said “is that they have electric light there.”

At the time Carlow was the only provincial town in Ireland so blessed.

The next day I left the library and walked up into Grafton Streer. What was my amazement when I saw Peter Maloney on the opposite side of the street standing talking to Miss Kiernan, or rather he was standing looking at her, his round, fair, innocent face like the rising sun. When he saw me he sent out signals of distress and I joined him and was introduced.

“This is Mr. Brennan, Miss Kiernan”.

I looked at her and saw the bluest eyes I had ever beheld. They were paralysing. I managed to say:

“How do you do?”

“I’m well, thanks” she said, and she was blushing too. I made a violent effor to concentrate.

“It’s a fine day” I said

“Yes” she replied

Then I tried in vain to think of any further word in the English, Irish or any other language. The silence was sold. At last I blurted out:

“Which way are you going?”

She indicated the direction of Stephen’s Green.

“That way” she said.

“So am I”

The three of us walked towards Stephen’s Green. I tried to think of something to say and Peter’s obvious embarrassment did not help me. At last I had an idea. Of course, I could not know that Peter had said it already.

“I understand” I said “that you are from Carlow, Miss Kiernan”.

“Yes”

I saw now that Peter had already said it, but it was too late to draw back.

“I believe”, I said, and there was desperation in my voice, “that you have electric light there.”

“Yes.”

We entered Harcourt Street without another word. The perspiration was rolling off me. It was clear that what Peter was saying to himself should have blasted me from the earth.

We were halfway up Harcourt Street when we saw Cogley coming down. I thanked God.

He stopped and was introduced.

“How do you do”, he said and I was horror stricken to see that her eyes had the same effect on him.

“I’m well thanks”

He managed to say “It’s  a fine day.”

“Yes”

After a very long pause, he said: “I think I’ll go back with you”.

And the four of us walked on. The silence was now fourfold.

Of course, Fred got the same idea. I saw it dawning in his mind and I kicked him. This only spurred him on.

“I believe, Miss Kiernan” he said, “that you come from Carlow”.

“Yes.”

He knew now. It was evident from the quiver in his voice.

“I understand” he said “you have electric light there.”

“Yes.”

It was terrible. There was not a word spoken till we turned into Lennox Street. John Maloney was sitting on the steps of house. I hastened on in front.

“John” I said in a tragic whisper, “don’t say anything about electric light in Carlow”.

And aloud he said: “What about electric light in Carlow?”

She heard him and she passed indoors, her head held high. She never looked at any of us again.”

It was fantastically written so I was not surprised that the author, Robert Brennan, wrote several novels, plays and a well-received memoir.

Brennan was a founder member of the Wexford branch of the Gaelic League, Wexford IRB organiser in 1916, commanding officer of the Sinn Fein Press Bureau from 1918- 21, director of publicity for the anti-Treaty IRA during the Civil War, a founding member of the Irish Press and Fianna Fail, Irish Minister to the United States from 1937 to 47 and later director of broadcasting at Radio Éireann.

He published his first novel, The False Fingertip, in 1921 under the pen name ‘R. Selskar Kearney’ followed by a crime novel The Toledo Dagger, in 1926 under his own name.

The False Fingertip (1921). Credit – yvonnejerrold.com

In the 1930s his play about the life of convicts in an English prison, The Bystander, was performed in the Abbey, and later in the decade his comedy on the disappearance of the Irish crown jewels, Goodnight Mr O’Donnell, was performed at the Olympia Theatre.

The Bystander (1930). Credit – yvonnejerrold.com

After his retirement, he wrote and published his memoir Allegiance in 1950. The following year he wrote another novel, The Man Who Walked Like A Dancer, that was set in Washington. Through 1956 and 1957 Brennan published a weekly column of reminiscences in the Irish Press entitled Mainly Meandering. He passed away in 1964 and is buried at Mount Jerome cemetery.

His daughter Maeve Brennan was a celebrated New Yorker columnist (1954-81), called the Long-Winded Lady, who was almost unknown in Ireland until her work was revived to critical acclaim in the late 1990s. Described by one journalist last year as “The greatest Irish writer you’ve never heard of”, Maeve grew up at 48 Cherryfield Avenue, Ranelagh (the setting for almost half her forty plus short stories) but moved to New York in her late teens after her father became secretary of the Irish legation in Washington DC.

Her entry in the Dictionary of Irish biography by Angela Bourke discusses her early work and the build up of her image:

From 1943 to 1949 she wrote fashion copy for [Harper's Bazaar] and its offshoot Junior Bazaar, often accompanying photographers on assignment, and also completed her novella ‘The visitor’. Her strikingly glamorous image, with dark lipstick, high heels, and hair piled on top of her head, dates from this period, while her trained observations of fabric, cut and colour would lend characteristic detail to all her fiction, and to her ‘Long-Winded Lady’ essays in the New Yorker’s ‘Talk of the town’.

cruited to the New Yorker in 1949 by William Shawn, Brennan first wrote fashion notes and book reviews, but fiction editor William Maxwell soon began to publish her stories about Dublin. Maxwell later said of her: “To be around her was to see style being invented”. Some believe she was the inspiration for the character of Holly Golightly in Truman Capote’s Breakfast At Tiffany’s. The two had worked together at both Harper’s Bazaar and The New Yorker.

Maeve Brennan at home. Photo by Karl Blissinger. Credit – http://thelicentiate.com

Journalist Colin Murphy picks up the story:

She married a colleague, St Clair McKelway, but he was even more unsettled: he had been married three times, and was a drinker, womaniser and depressive. Their five years together were chaotic; they had no children and, after they split, Brennan remained single.

Her sardonic observations of New York life  in her The Long-Winded Lady column in The New Yorker and her fiction criticism, fashion notes, and short stories were widely praised throughout the 1950s and 1960s. However, by the 1970s she became increasingly isolated and unable to take care of herself. She was mired in debt, thanks to her generosity, extravagance and a habit of abandoning apartments to stay in hotels. Brennan became homeless, and took to sleeping in a cubicle at the New Yorker, where she nursed a sick pigeon she had rescued. Her last New Yorker piece, ‘A blessing’, appeared on 5 January 1981. She died, in 1993, aged 76, in a nursing home.

It was only after he death that she became to be appreciated in her home country. Thanks mainly to a series of posthumous collections and biography of her written by Angela Bourke. Two plays about aspects of her life have been performed by Emma O’Donogue (‘Talk of the Town’, 2012) and Eamon Morrissey (‘Maeve’s House’, 2013) in recent years. The latter of whom met her in 1966 in New York as a 23 year old after he found out he was living in that house she grew up in. Eamon explained to the Irish Examiner back in September:

She is a neglected author in the Irish canon. And she is very definitely an Irish writer, even though she lived most of her life in New York. She’s in that difficult situation where the Americans regard her as an Irish writer and the Irish regard her as an American writer. Both nations should be proud to claim her.

I’ve always enjoyed the classic British comedy Citizen Smith, the work of John Sullivan, who later gave the world Only Fools and Horses. I think anyone who has spent any time in left-wing politics in particular can only laugh at poor Walter Henry Smith, or ‘Wolfie’, as he attempts to bring revolutionary inspiration to the people of South London.

A great Dublin dimension to it all is the fact that Walter Henry Smith’s nickname in the programme, Wolfie, is taken from Theobald Wolfe Tone. While in Paris, Theobald Wolfe Tone operated under the alias of Citizen Smith, with ‘James Smith’ appearing on his fake American passport. Tone had travelled to the United States in 1795, and while there attempted to drum up the support of the French Minister for the cause of Ireland.

Ralph E. Weber, in his study of United States diplomatic codes and ciphers, details a very interesting letter received by James Monroe in 1796, as a sort of introduction to the revolutionary Dubliner. Monroe, who would become the fifth President of the United States, was at that point serving as the Minister to France. As Weber has noted:

The text of the letter introduced the bearer to Monroe as a friend, Mr. James Smith, “who has been about two years in our Western Country in pursuit of lands, and now visits Europe in search of a good market.” The enclosed portion of the letter, however, revealed the bearer’s name to be Theobald Wolfe Tone, and that “the bearer hereof is an agent from Ireland in whom you may confide. His object is to obtain of France aid in favor of his distressed country what that aid should be and the manner of giving it he will mention.”

The real Citizen Smith.

Sadly, I’ve been unable to find any reference to Sullivan explaining just why he took Theobald Wolfe Tone as the inspiration for naming the character. Neither Citizen Smith the secretive Irishman, or Wolfe the London revolutionary, ever brought about the change they envisioned for their respective people sadly. For anyone who has never watched the classic comedy, it is available to view on YouTube today. Below is the pilot episode, which even opens with The Red Flag.

l-r Brian Foley, Paul Cleary, Conor Brady and Jake Reilly. From The Blades official FB page

As I continue to transcribe the interview that I did with Paul Cleary of The Blades the other week, I thought it would be worth collating the band’s lyrics in the run up to next weekend’s two gigs in the Olympia Theatre.

Friday is completely sold out but there’s a few tickets left for the Saturday night via Ticketmaster. Copies of both albums are available on CD via Reekus or via Itunes.

The lyrics to the 15 songs from Raytown Revisited weren’t included in the sleeve notes to the LP so I spent a couple of enjoyable hours listening to the album and trying to make out the words. Thankfully I got a lot of help from other members of The Blades fan group on Facebook.

The lyrics to the 11 songs from ‘The Last Man In Europe’ were included with the sleeve notes so it was just a case of writing them up.

If you see any mistakes, please leave a comment.

Lyrics from Raytown Revisited 1980-85 – LP – Reekus Records, 1985

1. Ghost of a Chance

Long weekend
When boredom takes a grip
I’m in Dublin
She’s on a working trip
Cause she send me postcards
Every now and then
Yes, she send me postcards

To put the blame on education
Call it separation

Ghost of a Chance
We never had
Ghost of a Chance
We never had

United Nations
They sit with headphones on
Hearing speeches
Protect the Lebanon

To hear her talking  (talking)
Sweet sincere
To her her talking  (talking)

This situation
Doesn’t need interpretation

Ghost of a Chance
We never had
Ghost of a Chance
We never had x 2

2. Animation

I dreamed I had a dream
And in that dream
I turned to snow
I woke up in the park
Under a statue in the dark
Then the statue walked away

Full buses, busy streets
No-one lost and no-one found
Can’t tell if my heart beats
I never hear a sound

Though it’s funny how I go into
Animation, when I see that girl walking by
Animation, with the single blink of an eye
Animation,  though I’m usually so shy

Long nights and longer days
And all that trouble that they bring
Statue of coloured haze
I never seen a thing

Though it’s funny how I go into
Animation, when I see that girl walking by
Animation, with the single blink of an eye
Animation,  though I’m usually so shy

Animation, when I see that girl walking by
Animation, with the single blink of an eye
Animation,  though I’m usually so shy

3. Muscle Men

What a compliment, they say he’s got chiseled features
A face like granite would be fair
Wrestled with the thought, he may be one of God’s creatures
I’d rather wrestle with a bear

Muscle Men

Go and do your duty
And if anyone complains

Muscle Men

Make them understand
That muscle men have got no brains

I had to pinch myself just to see if I was dreaming
Woke up in hospital today
What a poor excuse when they asked him for the reason
“He wasn’t dancing the right way”

Keep the place in order
Shirt and suit and black bow tie

Muscle Men

Safety provocation
Muscle Men don’t ever lie

Muscle Men x3

Keep the place in order
shirt and suit and black bow tie

Muscle Men don’t ever lie

MUSCLE MEN!

4. Stranger Things Have Happened

Don’t…… try to hide
Your feelings
The way that I do
Please…. open your mind
And let…. me in it with you
Waking up together
Imagine it it this way
We could both swap memories
And stay in bed all day

Stranger things have happened x2

If… you go away
I won’t cry
And I won’t grieve
Faith… is a word
It means nothing
If you refuse to believe

We could say I made you and stop these silly games
In a foreign country, where no-one knew our names

Stranger things have happened x2

This is self-inflicted
Why must our hearts be blue?
Sometimes when out drinking I fool myself that…
I’ll forget you

Stranger things have happened x5

5. Rules of Love

Too many rights and wrongs
That just can’t be explained away
So full of bitterness
This empty feeling is here to stay

Your life comes tumbling down
And you wait for the phone to ring
Don’t be so miserable
Self-pity won’t change a thing

Rule one, don’t walk with someone new
Rule two, don’t ever disagree
Rule three, don’t let the other person know how much you need them

These are the rules of love
They’re broken and abused
These are the rules of love
Though I remain confused
These are the rules of love

Don’t break the rules of…

You should have been prepared
You should have known it could never last
No turning back the clock
There’s no time to retrace the past

Rule one, don’t walk with someone new
Rule two, don’t ever disagree
Rule three, don’t let the other person know how much you need them

These are the rules of love
They’re broken and abused
These are the rules of love
Though I remain confused
These are the rules of love
Don’t break the rules of love
Rules of love x2
Don’t break the rules of love

6. Hot For You

The days are really getting longer now
The rain is gone
The sun is stronger now
So cast aside your inhibitions
And your raincoats too

The pretty gals are lying on the sand
They’re trying their best to get their bodies tanned
I don’t know why but when it’s summer all I think is you

So… come outside baby
Now the time is right
With your brand new shades
And your jeans so tight
Well the sun is burning and I’m getting hot for you

And never mind what other people say
They’re only praying for the rainy day
Make up your mind to have some fun and we’ll go out tonight (?)
That’s right
And when we’re dancing nothing can go wrong
The DJs playing all our favourite songs
And all my worries drift away when you hold me tight (So tight)

So, come outside baby
the time is right
with your brand new shades
and your jeans so tight
Well the sun is burning and I’m getting hot for you

x3

7. Some People Smile

We’ve wasted time as well as tears
All in the name of fun
Now as the weeks they turn to years
Slow motion as we run

Who would have thought?
We’ve come to this
It’s kissing time
But we don’t kiss
We just wonder
Some people smile
We just wonder
Some people smile

And when you’re lying in your bed
Eyes closed but still awake
The little things you should have said
Hands touch but by mistake

Who would have thought?
We’ve come to this
It’s kissing time
But we don’t kiss
We just wonder
Some people smile
We just wonder
Some people smile

Some people smile x 4

8. The Bride Wore White

There are a lot of things, a lot of us are scared to mention
Of pain and breaking down and silly rules we call to measure
The open secret quickly turn to an ugly rumour
Another scandal

Living in a world that makes me sad
I’m living in a world that makes me dream
I’m living in a world that makes me mad
This world makes me scream

He hopes, she thinks
There’s no danger
Turn out the light
Happy…
XXX who’s that stranger?
The bride wore white

Donations and in health, XXX somebody else’s poor relations
Try to be absent when they’re giving out the invitations
In sickness and in health, in poverty or deep depression
What could be better?

Living in a world that makes me sad
I’m living in a world that makes me dream
I’m living in a world that makes me mad
This world makes me scream

He hopes, she thinks
There’s no danger
Turn out the light
Happy, X who’s that stranger?
The bride wore white

He drinks, she shows no resistance
It’s cold tonight
Girl, boy
Who cares? What’s the difference?
The bride wore white x3

9. Revelations of Heartbreak

Whose undergone a transformation?
Now that you’re twisted and you’re bitter
You must have had every indication
There was going to be a bitter twist

Now that it’s time for big decisions
Now that your friends are all advising
Throw the ring back into his face or
Leave it on the long finger

Face the fact
Don’t be scared
To look back
In time

The revelations of heartbreak
The revelations of soul
Find out when it’s too late
The revelations of heartbreak x2
The revelations of soul
Find out when it’s too late
The revelations of heartbreak

Trying to make a bad impression
You hear your name but you don’t answer
You’d rather wallow in depression
Cause somebody whispers in your ear
It hasn’t turned out like you expected
Now you’re free
You’re becoming a public exhibition
That no-one wants to see

Face the fact
Don’t be scared
To look back
In time

The revelations of heartbreak
The revelations of soul
Find out when it’s too late
Revelations of heartbreak x2
Revelations of soul
Find out when it’s too late
The revelations of heartbreak

The revelations of heartbreak (“Hey Hey Hey”)
The revelations of soul (“Revelations of soul”)
Find out when it’s too late
The revelations of, the revelations
The revelations of heartbreak (“Hey Hey Hey”)
The revelations of soul (“Revelations of soul”)
Find out when it’s too late
The revelations of heartbreak

10. Those Were The Days

There’s a teacher in the class
With a tight grip on my ear
And I know he won’t let go
Until I can force a tear
So I cry the best I can
To eliminate the pain
Now I forget what I did wrong
All I remember is the shame

Still they’re saying
Those were the days
So simple and so clear
Those were the days
With only God to fear
Those were the days
When people weren’t afraid
Those were the days of hoping

Father Father, I confess
In my ignorance and haste
I was caught out with this girl
Now I am no longer chaste
Human instinct is a flaw
In this theory you have built
Though it’s a blessing in disguise
Now I know it to be guilt

Still they’re saying
Those were the days
So simple and so clear
Those were the days
With only God to fear
Those were the days
When people weren’t afraid
Those were the days of hoping

Those were the days
When everything was right
Those were the days
When people used to fight
Those were the days
When people weren’t afraid
Those were the days
(Listen to me)
Those were the days
So simple and so clear
Those were the days
With only God to fear
Those were the days
When we weren’t afraid
(Those were the days)
Those were the days
So simple and so clear
Those were the days

11. You Never Ask

Everything’s right now, so it seems
Saturday shopping, save and share
Your smile of contentment how it beams
Into the the warm suburban air

You… forget the past
But you… don’t want to know
You… never ask me
How I feel
(About her)
How I feel
(Without her)

The party was over much too soon
We may as well finish off the punch
All this rushing to consume
It used to be dinner, now it’s lunch

You… forget the past
You… don’t want to know
You… never ask me
How I feel
(About her)
How I feel
(Without her)

You… forget the past
You… don’t want to know
You… never ask

12. Too Late

Misery will be my fate
To say I’m not a happy man
Is to understate
What I understand
The heavy steps I never took
The feel of crushing
Always shared
So I overlooked
What I overheard

I found out when it was too late
I found out too late x2
(Too late x2)

Out of mind is out sight
Someday maybe a friendly call
Did you cry that night?
Do you cry at all?
Another long and painful day
With midnight colours
Blue and black
Would you help me say?
Would you help me pack?

I found out when it was too late
I found out too late x2
(Too late x2)

13. The Reunion

I stand on the corner almost every day
Hoping she looks in my direction
In front of the mirror, before I go out
Combing my hair to perfection

I got tired of love telling me what to do
I had to stay clear but sneak out of you
So, I thought that I was free

When will it be the reunion?
I was wrong x2
Will this be the reunion?
It’s been too long x2

I talk to her sister whenever I can
Trying to make a connection
I used to write letters but threw them away
Cause I’m afraid of rejection

I wonder if she ever thinks of me now
I try to forget but I just don’t know how

So… I thought that I was free
When will it be the reunion?
I was wrong x2
Will this be the reunion?
It’s been too long x2

The reunion x4

14. Tell Me Lies

XXX
Asking us to play
Mass excitement is the order of the day
We could all be happy
If only we could find out where or when
If XXX mantra
Over and over… again

When the day comes
Heaven help us all
Staring at the paintings on the wall
Some make sacrifices
Others try to live from day to day
Excommunicate these evil vices
Sweep them all away

Why can’t you see?
I’m looking for
Something I can feel
Why can’t you see?
That I don’t know
What is or isn’t real
Why can’t you see?
That I have doubts about XXX
If you see me with someone else
Try to act surprised
Tell me, Tell me, Tell me lies

XXX
Asking us to play
Mass excitement is the order of the day
We could all be happy
If only we could find out where or when
If XXX mantra
Over and over again

Why can’t you see?
I’m looking for
Something I can feel
Why can’t you see?
That I don’t know
What is or isn’t real
Why can’t you see?
That I have doubts about XXX
If you see me with someone else
Try to look surprised
Tell me, Tell me, Tell me lies

15. Fool Me

I used to think
Now I have stopped
Shoes badly shined
Hair neatly cropped

I know the score
I’m up to date (yeah)
What’s that you said?
Twelve years too late (yeah yeah yeah)

But you can never fool me
(fool me, no no)
But you can never fool me (no)

He’s got a wife
Six kids at home
Drinks in the bar
All on his own
Looks forward to
Ten days in Spain
Works very hard
Never complains
But you can never fool me
(fool me, no no)
But you can never fool me (no) x3

Lyrics from The Last Man In Europe – LP – Reekus Records, 1985.

1. The Last Man In Europe

Now I’m expecting you to track me down
And yes I think I know what you’ll say
This place was dark but now it’s bright again
Oh no, don’t tell me it’s a new day

Need your tales of doom and gloom
So it can all be over soon

I wish that I could be The Last Man In Europe
Then would you fall for me, the last man in Europe

Don’t poison me with fear and jealousy
And all the secrets that I’ll never know
Deception hurts my brain like acid rain
So tell the truth and let the venom flow

Hurry up and block the sun
And maybe then I’ll be the only one

I wish that I could be The Last Man In Europe
Then would you fall for me, the last man in Europe

2. Downmarket

In an unfamilar bed
In a unfamiliar room
There’s a throbbing in my head
I’ve succeeded I presume

Everything’s black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
I suppose I can’t be choosy, when there’s not too many choices
With the problems of the nation
I’m not waiting at an airport
I’m not waiting at a station
I’m standing at a bus stop. Downmarket. Downmarket.

On a rainy afternoon
On a gambling machine
Same old jukebox, same old tune
It’s hard to break this old routine

Everything’s black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
It’s a fatal resignation, when there’s nothing left to hope for
In a hopeless situation
I’m not waiting at an airport
I’m not waiting at a station
I’m standing at a bus stop. Downmarket. Downmarket.

3. That’s Not Love

If only you would talk to me the way you do
If only you would walk with me out in the midnight blue
I’m absent minded window gazing in the pouring rain
I look at my reflection I can see it’s pretty plain

For all the young romantic fools
Who like to feel the pain
Self pity is your only friend, helps you to complain
That’s not love

And if it’s time for vengeance well I think that it’s my turn
But I haven’t even got a photograph of you to burn
I sit here drinking wine and whiskey from a plastic cup
I phone up the Samaritans but even they hang up

4. Talk About Listening

Five long days for a night on the town
Can’t speak up when you’re not kept down
No one smiles in a warehouse
Counting tiles in a warehouse

Always talk about listening
And you never hear a word
Always talk about listening

Five long days…

Under pressure with overtime
Steal away it’s a reasonable crime
Mental block in a warehouse
Taking stock in a warehouse

5. Got Soul

Give me a sign prove to me you’re pure
Hearts on the line waiting for a cure
Your train of thoughts going off the rail
Slogans for sale

Got soul (if you got soul, where is it?)

Nothing’s being said just a lot of noise
Trying to fool working girls and boys
Now there’s a way of making career
Ruling by fear

Got soul (if you got soul, where is it?)

We’re on our knees bowing to a flag
They’re whipping it up in the daily rag
Take me away to another age
From this plastic rage

Got soul (if you got soul, where is it?)

6. Chance To Stop

A million housewives every day
Pick up a magazine and say
I could have been, I could have been
I could have had, I could have had
But I got married too soon
Though not exactly Mills and Boon

A million husbands every day
Look through an empty glass and say
Everyone I see is much better off than me
Just to make ends meet
I’ve to work until I drop
Never really had a chance to

A million children day
Pick up the magazine and say
I want to be, I want to be
I want to have, I want to have
I’ll take my chances wait and see
Have all my friends look up to me

A million husbands every day
Look through an empty glass and say
Everyone I see is much better off than me
Just to make ends meet
I’ve to work until I drop
Never really had a chance to… stop

7. Don’t Break The Silence

I never had a worry
I never had a care
As long as you were with me
As long as you were there
The bills are piling up
And money’s all been spent
Holding hands together
Will never pay the rent

There were some things
We could have said
Ah but some how
Time slipped away
But that’s okay
Don’t break the silence now

A two up, two down daydream
I wonder if it’s so
And now I know what they mean
By running hot and cold
We thought we climbed a mountain
It was just a slope
Say goodbye to wisdom
Say hello to hope

8. These Were The Days

(See above)

9. Pride

I’d like to break down and say that I’m lonely
But something prevents me
That something can only be

When you know you’re giving way
Heavy is the weight, endless is the wait
Hopeless!

And you want somewhere to run
Need somewhere to hide
If you never cried
Whisper!

I’d like to break down and say that I’m lonely
But something prevents me
That something can only be

So when bitterness comes ’round
No one is exempt
Try and look your best
A vain attempt!

After all is said and done
Someone else’s name
Coming from her lips
Screaming!

10. Boy One

Boy one wants to know
If you still want him
Then tell him so
If not then don’t delay
In sending this boy on his away
No point in hanging on
No point in talking tough
It’s time for honesty
This girl is calling this boy’s bluff

I’m losing the feeling
Without your teach

11. Waiting

I think it’s genuinely sad
I never thought I’d have to learn to crawl
You know you mean the world to me
I’m waiting for you call

I hope that you don’t think I’m mad
Now that I’m barricaded here at home
You know you mean the world to me
I’m waiting for you to call

Even now an optimistic notion
Save my skin by floating in an ocean
DO you agree or disagree?
That fear of death will be
The death of me
I don’t believe them anymore
Waiting for World War
Waiting for World War
Waiting for World War 4

Below is the excellent 1976 RTÉ documentary on Irish involvement in the Spanish Civil War (Spanish Anti-Fascist War, 1936-1939) uploaded by our good friend and grandson of brigadista Michael O’Riordain, Luke in the last couple of days. Presented and produced by Cathal O’Shannon, the documentary features contributions both from Irishmen who fought for the International Brigades on the Republican side and those who travelled with Blueshirt Eoin O’Duffy’s Irish Brigade to support Franco and Fascism.

The documentary title was inspired by poet Charlie Donnelly, who remarked that ‘even the olives are bleeding’ shortly before he died fighting for the Republic at the Battle of Jarama in February 1937.

The documentary features some amazing footage, including an Eoin O’Duffy address from the balcony of the Ormond Hotel on Dublin’s Ormond Quay. Other notable contributions, apart from those with Michael O’Riordan and his great comrade Bob Doyle, came from Terry Flanagan, ex-baker and Saor Eire member and Alec Digges, a brigadista who returned to Ireland from Spain, before going on to fight in the Second World War, where he lost a leg.

Mural of Brigadista, Bob Doyle, installed on the Cobblestone Bar, Smithfield, (since removed.) From An Phoblacht.

On the fascist side, there is contributions, amongst others, from George Timlin, an NCO in the Irish Army who gave his reasons for going to Spain as “the spirit of adventure” and to quote “to oblige a friend… Eoin O’Duffy who wouldn’t have asked me if he didn’t want me to go” and Padraig Quinn, veteran of the War of Independence and the Civil War who, encouraged by the anti-communist sermon of his local bishop, joined Eoin O’Duffy’s legion.

Its sometimes easy to forget that there were Irishmen on both sides in an at times brutal war, and this documentary gives a good account of both.

1939 headline from The Irish Times.

With the rise of late night spots like the Vintage Cocktail Club and the Liquor Rooms in Dublin, there seems to be quite a market for cocktails at the moment. Interestingly, in the 1930s, cocktails in particular were targeted by the temperance movement here, who saw them as a threat because of their appeal to the middle class and female drinkers. Cocktails were routinely denounced by some within the religious community, often lumped in with jazz dancing, gambling and other such risks to faith and morals.

The temperance movement in Ireland has a long and interesting history, with Father Theobald Matthew central to its story. In April 1838, Father Matthew established the ‘Cork Total Abstinence Society’, which quickly became a nationwide movement. Individuals took ‘The Pledge’, which saw them pledge that “I promise with the divine assistance, as long as I continue a member of the teetotal temperance society, to abstain from all intoxicating drinks, except for medicinal or sacramental purposes, and to prevent as much as possible, by advice and example, drunkenness in others.” Thomas O’Connor, in his entry on Father Matthew for the Dictionary of Irish Biography notes that:

His crusade rapidly developed into a mass movement whose organisation, given its scale, was necessarily loose. For this reason, it never became a structured, national organisation. This may be how Father Mathew preferred things, partly, perhaps, out of a fear of losing control, partly out of the conviction that the movement was divinely directed.

Father Matthew is today honoured with a monument on O’Connell Street, which was unveiled by the Lord Mayor of Dublin in 1893, when huge crowds thronged the streets. After Father Matthew’s movement, the most significant to emerge was the Pioneer Total Abstinence Society in 1898, though it should also be noted that the movement for abstinence was not limited to Catholic organisations, with sizeable Protestant equivalents active both in Ireland and Britain.

A historic image of the Father Matthew monument, O’Connell Street. (Image Credit: National Library of Ireland)

At the 1938 centenary celebrations of Father Matthew, where Éamon de Valera presided in front of a packed room in the Mansion House, the Bishop of Kilmore warned that:

I am told of a danger, not from the good old glass of whiskey, but rather from a new thing I have heard of called the cocktail, and I am told is not workmen you will see going after cocktails, but people who have some claim to education and better positions in life than the workmen, and that these people are falling more or less into the cocktail fashion. I have not seen it with my own eyes, but I have heard stories, which, if they are true, make me very sorry. If what I have been told is true, we should get busy about it, and open the eyes of fathers and mothers to it.

The appeal of cocktails to young female drinkers was often identified by those in the temperance movement. At the annual meeting of the Irish Association for the Prevention of Intemperance in 1936, it was noted that “appalling revelations have been made in the press lately about cocktail and sherry parties even among business girls in their own apartments.” This well attended meeting, which was held at Bewley’s on Grafton Street, called for “the discontinuance of cocktails and the elimination of drinking clubs”, as well as seeking “the elimination of drinking at public dances.”

Of course, the very idea of a young woman drinking was shocking to many. At a packed meeting in the Theatre Royal in 1932, hosted by the Pioneer Temperance Association, “the advent of the modern girl” was discussed, with one speaker noting that “she loudly proclaimed herself a post-war creation. She was certainly a post-war sensation. The Irish Independent reported that “They knew the type he meant – a feather headed, immature creature who talked a lot of being independent, emancipated and ‘flap doodle’ of that sort.”

The Irish Times denounced the cocktail in 1932, warning readers that the cocktail “fulfils no useful function. It is supposed by the many to induce an appetite and to stimulate intelligent conversation; in fact, it absorbs the pancreatic juices and encourages cheap wit.” Never one to over-sensationalise things in the 1930s, the paper reported the belief of a doctor from Clare Mental Hospital in 1937 that “now that women have taken with avidity to tobacco and cocktails, one can visualise the most appalling results for the human race at a not far distant date.”

In 1930, one writer in the pages of the same newspaper wished a quick demise to the cocktail trend in Ireland, hoping that it would not alone be put to rest but would remain there. “May earth lie heavy on the cocktail, for its influence has been heavy on the earth”, he hoped. Today, it seems the cocktail has never been more popular.

Paul Cleary by Mice Hell (http://triggerthumbs.wordpress.com)

When I spoke to a healthy Philip Chevron in the lobby of Brooks Hotel in April 2012, I asked him about Paul Cleary and The Blades. He said with much enthusiasm:

I very much admired Paul Cleary. He appears to have retired from Irish music, which is a huge loss, but I don’t blame him. I know how difficult it is. I have utmost admiration for him and the band.

I don’t think anyone could have imagined that just over 18 months later, we would have tragically lost Philip to cancer at the age of 56 and that Paul would be coming out of perceived retirement to play with The Blades on stage for the first time in 27 years.

Both events are somewhat linked.

Paul explained to Pat James on Radio Nova last Sunday night (8th December) that Philip had invited him to play at his testimonial in the Olympia in August 2013. Paul sang two songs, a cover of ‘Enemies‘ by The Radiators From Space and his own ‘Downmarket‘. I’m not 100% sure but I believe this would have been the first time he had played a Blades song in public since March 2002 and before that January 1986.

Eamon Carr summed it up so well during the week when he said:

…the audience agreed on two things. One: the spirit of Philip Chevron would live forever. Two: Paul Cleary had stepped out of some ghost estate of the heart to save Ireland in a time of crisis.

In the same radio interview on Nova, Paul explained that the dignity of Philip and his close family and friends on that special night in the Olympia made a huge impact on him. While he admitted that the two weren’t particularly close friends, he had met Philip at various events down through the years and always liked him. He knew that Phil would have loved to have been able to play himself on the night if he had had the strength. Philip’s emotional testimonial concert, at which the crowd gave Paul such an amazing reaction, was one of the reasons that spurred on Paul to get the The Blades back together.

Besides sharing the same initials (ignoring Philip’s real surname of course), I believe Paul Cleary and Philip Chevron shared quite a bit in common.

Both were proud Dubliners and gifted songwriters who were able to write fantastic love songs as well as tackle serious political issues in their work. Born a couple of years apart, the explosion of punk changed both their lives. Philip formed The Radiators from Space at the dawn of punk in 1976 while the younger Paul had to wait until 1977 to get The Blades together. Both bands received widespread critical acclaim but found little financial success and their first bands suffered from record company woes.

Paul Cleary, Hot Press, 1985.

On the other hand, their song writing was very different. While Philip was strongly influenced by the theatre, the literature of James Joyce and cabaret stars like Agnes Bernelle, Paul’s Dublin had a lot more to do with James Plunkett and Sean O’Casey. It was kitchen sink realism with a Dublin twist.

So while only Philip Chevron could write:

We’ll even climb the pillar like you always meant to,
Watch the sun rise over the strand.
Close your eyes and we’ll pretend,
It could somehow be the same again.
I’ll bury you upright so the sun doesn’t blind you.
You won’t have to gaze at the rain and the stars.
Sleep and dream of chapels and bars,
And whiskey in the jar. (Song of the Faithful Departed)

Equally no-one could come close to matching Paul Cleary’s bitter description of a city torn apart by unemployment and monotony:

On a rainy afternoon
On a gambling machine
Same old jukebox, same old tune
It’s hard to break this old routine

Everything’s black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
It’s a fatal resignation, when there’s nothing left to hope for
In a hopeless situation
I’m not waiting at an airport
I’m not waiting at a station
I’m standing at a bus stop (Downmarket)

In the bar of the Herbert Park hotel on 20th November, I spent a very enjoyable hour talking to Paul Cleary. While he sipped soda water, we spoke about football, his early musical influences, some aspects of The Blade’s career, his political motivations, his song lyrics and his plans for the future.

As is often the case with these kind of things, I believe our conversation was only really beginning to flow properly just as we had to wrap things up. But Paul is a very busy man these days and he had at least another interview if not two lined up immediately after mine. I was just chuffed that he had managed to take time to speak to me. Come Here To Me! is not a national newspaper or a music magazine. We’re just a small Dublin-focused social history blog with a loyal community of readers. I’ll always thank him for that chat and to his long-time fixer and close friend Elvera Butler of Reekus Records for sorting everything out.

In as much as possible, I wanted our chat to be a informal conversation than a rigid interview. Here it is…

I thought I could break the ice by talking about football. I heard you were quite a decent player in your younger days?

“Yeah, I played seriously until I was about 14 or 15. I was good enough to play for Dublin schoolboys. A scout from Man United came down to my parents and they were going to send me over for a trial but a few weeks before I was supposed to go over, I pulled a ligament in my ankle.”

And you were a Shamrock Rovers fan from day one?

“Yep, my Dad used to bring me to Milltown as a kid. Frank O’Neill up front. Mick Leech on the wing. We’d walk up from Ringsend most times. That was quite the walk! Though sometimes we’d get the ‘football’ double decker bus from town. We’d go home after the match and listen to Brendan O’Reilly reading out the sports results. That was the only way we’d find out about the other games that night. Then from around the age of 14 or so, I started going with a gang of mates to the matches.”

Was there much bootboy trouble on the terraces at this point?

“Oh there was. An awful lot. Rovers fans did have a bit of a reputation then. We’re talking late 1960s, early 1970s. My first floodlight game was Rovers-Bayern Munich in Dalymount. 1-1 I think. 1966 if I can remember correctly. I would have been about 7 or 8.”

Did music become your next passion after football or was there a bit of an overlap?

“There was an overlap. My Dad was really into music. He had a very eclectic taste. He was into classical, jazz and pop. One day he went out to get a [Felix] Mendelssohn album but came back with Bad Company’s ‘Running With The Back’ [1976]. He also had all the Beatles albums plus Buddy Holly, Bill Haley and other Rock ‘n’ Roll stuff too.”

Did you start buying your own records then at around that time?

“Yeah, from the early 1970s onwards. Cat Stevens, Elton John, Paul Simon, James Taylor. Maybe a bit of Slade and T-Rex. It seems the opposite of punk but this was all pre-punk. Punk blew all that out of the window. But for me then, it was that kind of stuff. The likes of James Taylor taught me how to sing because I used to sing along with those kind of albums.”

Which record shops were you visiting in town?

“A place on Tara Street. I think it was called The Banba. Albums were 2.40 and singles were 50p!”

Did you have your own record player or did the family share one?

“Yep, we all shared a big stereogram. A big wooden thing. The first record we put on it was Bill Haley’s ‘Rock Around The Clock’. Maybe I’m looking through rose-tinted glasses but it really was a magical object. It was how I was introduced to music. I remember putting on headphones and listening to albums for hours and hours on end. It was my world.”

Would you have been swapping albums and singles with your mates? Were they into music as much as you were?

“No, they weren’t really. It was my brother really. He would recommend bands to me. At around 15 or 16, he started showing me a few chords on guitar.”

Can you remember how you heard of the whole Punk explosion?

“It would have been through reading about it in NME I suppose. Reviews of the Sex Pistols and the like. I remember one reviewer said something along the lines of –  “This is not Rock n Roll, it’s more important than that”. It just sounded great to me and I loved the name The Sex Pistols. Rock music had become very stagnant and stale by that stage. All that Prog-Rock rubbish. I always had a passion for music but I saw this as my opportunity to actually do something about it. I was in a choir as a kid so I knew I could sing reasonably well. So could my brother so we used to bounce off harmonies off each other. It was thanks to him. I may have taken up music myself but not as quickly or with as much enthusiasm if it wasn’t for him. I started then to write the odd song and he’d tell me it was very good, sometimes when it really wasn’t but that encouragement from your older brother really helped.”

Were you going to many gigs at this point?

“Yeah well then me and my brother started going out to see bands. We were playing a little bit ourselves so we knew we had to go and see what was out there. We had to see the Irish equivalent of what we’d been reading about in NME and Sounds. We saw a few bands, and I won’t name them because that would be unfair, but they weren’t that good.

But then we saw The Vipers one Saturday afternoon in McGonagles on South Anne Street. The first thing that struck me was that there was a queue outside the door. Now, I’m not nationalistic at all but I remember thinking “this is a queue of local people to see a local band and this can only be a good thing”. They were very good. They wrote pop songs with energy and they didn’t look like middle-class tossers in it for only a laugh. They looked like genuine people into their music. I remember turning to my brother Lar and saying ‘we can do this too’. At the time, The Vipers were the benchmark for us.”

The Vipers, McGonagles (May 1978). Scanned by ‘U2 & Dublin ’76 to ’80′ Facebook page.

Were bands like The Boomtown Rats and The Radiators from Space in your orbit?

“Not really, they’d moved to London about the time I started going to gigs. The other lads in the band went to see the Rats in Morans Hotel at one of their last gigs before they left but I didn’t make it. They said they were a good Rhythm and Blues band.”

Dr. Feelgood esque?

“Yep, exactly. I really liked Dr. Feelgood. In a way, they helped pave the way for the whole punk thing.”

One of your first big gigs was supporting them and The Specials in the Olympic Ballroom in November 1979?

“It would have been, yep. Wilko Johnson wasn’t playing with them at that stage. I think The Specials were booked for that gig well in advance, before they had really broke. So when the gig came around, they were the bigger band. So in a way Dr. Feelgood were relegated to second. The Specials blew me away that night. I learnt a lot from them at that gig. I remember watching The Specials and taking note of how they worked the crowd.”

My ma’s ticket stub for the Dr Feelgood/Specials/Blades gig. November 1979.

How did you guys end up on that bill?

“I really can’t remember. It could have been through [gig promoter] Pat Egan. He probably knew our manager Mark [Venner]. They used to try to put on local, young bands as warm up. I think they probably still do. We were getting some good reviews at the time. We were a bit nervous playing that gig but I really enjoyed it.”

How did the legendary Magnet gigs come about?

“We started playing The Magnet on Tuesday nights. Only about 6 or 7 people turned up to the first few gigs. We probably knew four of them. We then put an ad in Hot Press saying “Punk Rock at The Magnet”. It was mainly known as a cabaret venue at the time. Maybe Boppin’ Billy was doing the rockabilly nights at that stage but it definitely wasn’t a place to see punk bands. It wasn’t really on the circuit as such before we started the residency there. It was only up the road from us anyway so people starting associating The Blades with The Magnet. It was a real small sweaty place and I don’t think we ever played a bad gig there. Also, I always enjoyed making up compilation tapes to play them during the interval between the support band and us. It used to be Jimmy Cliff and a lot of reggae.”

Ad for ‘Hot For You’ single and Magnet gigs. From Imprint Fanzine (May 1980). Scanned by Brand New Retro.

In terms of your diehard mod and scooter boys support, did you ever feel that that fanbase could hold you back in terms of acquiring a wider success?

“I didn’t mind it at all. Sometimes we may even have cultivated it a bit! I always liked the Mod gear myself. I’m not stylish enough to be one myself but I always loved Northern Soul and Motown. I never shoehorned The Blades into a specific Mod category but I’m happy enough to be considered part of the wider Mod family. But you’re right in one way, there was always that danger of being categorised as simply as a ‘mod band’. The Jam are an example of a band who weren’t straight-jacketed by it unlike the likes of The Lambrettas, Secret Affair etc. who weren’t that amazing anyway.”

It always struck me as odd that besides The Blades, Ringsend didn’t produce any other bands during that period. So while there were clusters of bands in specific areas like Howth (The Spies, Rocky De Valera & The Gravediggers, The Modulators etc.), Artane/Ballymun/Malahide (U2, Virgin Prunes etc.), and on the Navan Road etc. you would only ever associate Ringsend with The Blades. Any idea why that is?

“That’s a good question. I’m not sure really. I definitely can’t think of any other Ringsend Punk or New Wave bands. At the time there were a couple of cabaret/wedding bands who did covers but that was about it.

The only other angle to that is that I do remember seeing Eamon Carr [drummer, Horslips] around the area. Usually on the number 2 or 3 bus to Sandymount. You’d see him sitting upstairs at the front. A very cool looking guy. I thought it was great seeing someone like that on a bus. I remember thinking that that’s the kind of person I want to be. In a band but on a bus too” I always liked the idea of being in a band. Sometimes more than the reality of being in a band itself. I get bored in the studio. I get nervous playing live gigs but hopefully I utilise that nervous energy. An anxious sort of nervousness. Rehearsals are mind numbingly boring and hard work. Photo sessions are probably the worst of all. Standing there for hours on end. The only thing I really liked was when I wrote a song, brought it to rehearsal and everything would go well.”

Jumping ahead to politics, how did you first become politically aware?

“It was just my background really. Seeing how life was unfair in terms of access to opportunities. How society and how politics was run in general. I would have started having political arguments when I was 15 or 16. All the bullshit from big business and the Fine Gaels and Fianna Fails of the country. Even the PDs saying that they would be good for the general society when they were only really interested in helping their own kind of people – people they went to Clongowes with or whatever.”

One of several Anti-Apartheid/Dunnes Strike benefit gigs Paul played. January 1985. Scanned by Shay Ryan.

Have your politics shifted over time?

“I probably wouldn’t be as edgy or spiky as I was then but I still hold most of those political ideals. I’d still be voting Hard Left.”

I’m really fascinated with 1980s agit-prop soul bands. I’ve come up with the descripion of ‘up-tempo brass-driven left-leaning Motown-influenced soul’. Bands like Dexy’s Midnight Runners (first album), The Jam’s last album and then the Style Council, The Redskins, The Faith Brothers and Fire Next Time. Did you feel at the time that The Blades were part of this ‘community’ or is it only in hindsight that The Blades seem to fit in well with this strand of mainly British bands?

“I don’t really know. I tend to leave that up to people themselves. It’s so difficult for me to be objective when asked questions about The Blades and what genre or groups they belong to. If people wanted to put us into the same group with Billy Bragg, the Style Council etc. – I certainly wouldn’t be offended, put it that way. They would have been mostly left-leaning Labour Party/Red Wedge supporters.”

What about The Redskins?

“Certainly. They’d be more Socialist Workers Party, which is fine again by me. I wouldn’t have any problem being put into the same category as those kind of groups.”

It seems that your more political songs are more relevant today than they have been since at any time since the early 1980s, has the irony been lost on you?

“No, it hasn’t at all. It’s sad in many ways. We haven’t really moved on that much, even if some people thought we had. During the Celtic Tiger years, there was some who promoted the notion that “we’re all middle class now”. There was a lot of “pull the ladder up, we’ve made it here”. It was just an illusion though. It seems today that things are more anti-collective bargaining, anti – trade unionism etc. It’s still a very right wing country. That’s the political culture we have here. Some of it has to do with the Catholic Church. Fianna Fail and Fine Gael and other parties have been pulling the wool over our eyes for so long. We haven’t built up that culture of left-wing politics yet. We have a culture of anti-Imperialism but that hasn’t really translated into anything else.”

Did Republican politics ever interest you?

“Not narrow-minded nationalism. I know Sinn Fein talk a lot about socialist issues but to me they’re still a nationalist party. For me, nationalism and socialism don’t mix. Nationalism is all based on the bit of land you were born on. I don’t believe somebody is any better if they were born in Dublin or in Manchester.”

Looking at some of your lyrics, I thought similar themes running through Muscle Men (bouncers) and ‘Those Were The Days’ (teachers) was violence at the hands of authority figures.

“Well for Muscle Men, I think I wrote it after being refused to a couple of places. To be fair, nightclub bouncers are easy targets to write about!  ‘Those Were The Days’ was about Catholic schooling. The guilt and Catholicism and the choices that creep in on you.”

Was it based on personal experiences of getting whacked by school teachers or was it more of a general criticism?

“More general. I got off reasonably lightly. I got a few whacks but as I’ve said before to people the whacks are often not as bad as the psychological damage that can go with it.”

Paul Cleary. Photographer – Colm Henry.

In ‘Talk About Listening‘, you describe the warehouse worker toiling away Monday to Friday for one night on the town on the weekend. It would seem that very few bands in Dublin in the early 1980s were writing about similar genuine day-to-day issues facing working class and young people?

“The song is a bit arty in a way in its construct. There’s very few lines, it’s very minimal. Almost Beckettian without sounding pretentious. It indicates someone’s state of mind in a job like that. As the song is based in a warehouse, it’s bleak so there’s not six or seven verses. It’s not the blue collar stuff of Bruce Springsteen. It’s not all doom and gloom but working class life can be very bleak. It lacks hope. It lacks a future. They’re the real things. There was a horrible politician in the 1980s who said that they could live on X amount a week out in Ballymun. Of course she could. She could do it for 6 months but the fact is that once you know that you can step out of that environment, it’s easy to do. The whole thing about being poor or not having a job is the feeling that it’s always going to be like that. It’s not that you can only afford a small pan loaf of bread, it’s the fact that you only afford a small pan loaf of bread every day for the rest of your life.”

I thought the theme of disenchantment with the political class can be seen again with ‘Got Soul‘:

Nothing’s being said just a lot of noise
Trying to fool working girls and boys
Now there’s a way of making career
Ruling by fear
…
We’re on our knees bowing to a flag
They’re whipping it up in the daily rag

“Yeah, there was also a dig at nationalism in there. It’s what the ruling class do. It’s what Thatcher did during the Falklands. I wrote the song during that war in 1982 and it probably was in the back of my mind when writing those lyrics. The ruling class always say: “forget about your grievances against us, let’s all unite as a people under this one flag”. That’s why I would never trust nationalism as an ideology to get you anywhere.”

For me, it would seem that all of your politics came together in ‘Dublin City Town‘. As I wrote before on the blog, the song deals with wealth inequality, the gombeen political class, the developers’ destruction of the city’s architecture, youth unemployment, mass emigration and Irish society’s relationship with alcohol all in under 4 and a half minutes.

“Ha, well thanks! It was very ambitious alright.”

But it also had good tune!

“Look, it’s little or no use without the good tune. It’s great to think that I wrote these things with a hope that some people might appreciate it later on. You’ve made feel good about myself now.” *laughs*

It’s also quite a uplifting song. There’s hope in the message as well.

“Yeah, it’s a defiant song if you like.”

Paul Cleary – Dublin City Town (1986)

Jumping ahead to your post-Blades work with the Cajun Kings, did you have always have an ambition to play that kind of music?

“Not at all. To me, I wasn’t even involved. It was like a holiday but I got paid. I needed the money. I knew the lads in the band as well. It was just a breeze. For the Wilf Brothers before the Cajun Kings, I would sing about 3 or 4 songs and have a few pints on stage. I could never go to Brazil with the money but we got a few bob. I enjoyed the freedom of it.”

Do you listen to much new music?

“No, I don’t really. I know I should though. Three young children means I don’t have a lot of spare time! I’m probably not as enthusiastic as I used to be in going out and searching for new music but if it comes to me, I’ll embrace it.”

Have you embraced the internet and sites like YouTube and Facebook?

“Facebook, no. I don’t have an account on that or on Twitter. YouTube is great though. If I think of an old song, I can get it straight away.”

Was there any big reason why you decided to finally get the band together after all these years?

“Not really. It was a number of small little things. One thing was the return of emigration. A lot of people obviously come home for Christmas so I thought it would be nice to do something, for the want of a better word, for the diaspora coming home.”

Something like Paul Cleary’s Gathering? *laughs*

“Ha, yeah that’s right. Another angle was that I love the Olympia Theatre itself and the Phil Chevron gig went so well there. He was so great that night as were his people. It was so dignified. I turned up and played a couple of song’s at Phil’s request. He obviously would have loved to play himself and that kinda got me thinking about my own stuff. I said to myself “Why be so precious about it?”

What’s the future for the band going into the New Year, can we expect any new material?

“There’s always a chance. Those bands who played in the 1970s or 1980s and then reform for a few gigs sometimes delude themselves into thinking they can start again and be the same people they once were. It’s just not like that. If I had new material, I’d hope it would be reasonably good. But you have to think, who would give us money to record it? Well, you wouldn’t need as much as you did back then. Would anyone actually buy it? Well, there’d be downloads etc. It’s a different game now. I wouldn’t rule anything out. I’ve been caught out before saying “The Blades will never play again”. I’m concentrating on these two gigs. I want people to be happy walking out so if I decide to do a gig next year or something at least people can go ‘well, at least we weren’t shortchanged then’.”

Thanks for speaking to me Paul.

“No problems Sam.”

The Blades, The Olympia Theatre, December 2013.

“What will the Christmas Monster bring? Geological cataclysms? Political Catastrophe? Economic Chaos? New World Order? Great Confusion? Energy Crisis? Atomic War? End of the World?” So reads the rear of an eight page pamphlet distributed outside the GPO in the run up to the Christmas of 1973 by a group calling themselves the “Children of God.”  The leaflet heralded the arrival of the Comet Kohoutek and the group’s belief in the impending apocalypse.

Comet Kohoutek was discovered on March 7th 1973. Astronomers predicted that it would be the brightest “naked eye comet” since Halleys’ passed in 1910. Dubbed the “Comet of the Century” by the media, much like the recent Comet Ison, predictions fell well short of the mark, and rather than the spectacular show the world was promised, Kohoutek proved to be a bit of a let down, with the Wall Street Journal calling it at the time “a disappointment to sky-watchers, if not a fizzle.”

Front page of pamphlet handed out by the Children of God at the GPO, 1974. Scanned and uploaded by CHTM!

The Children of God were a fundamentalist Christian sect founded in 1968 in California by David Brandt Berg. “Moses David” as he was known within the group, declared himself to be “God’s Prophet for this time.” The organisation had an estimated 165 “colonies” in late 1973, with a presence from London to Paris, Florence to Liverpool and from their headquarters in Dallas, Texas to Dublin, Cork and Belfast. In order to show devotion to the organisation, followers were expected to live a communal existence in their “colony,” obey communiques from their leader (known as “Mo Letters”) , adopt Biblical names and refuse to accept secular employment. Marriage was promoted amongst members, but couples were far from monogamous, and rumours of child abuse in the organisation were rife.

According to a Des Hickey article in the Sunday Independent, September 16th 1973,  a Children of God colony was active in Dublin and based themselves out of a two storey house in Rialto. There were ten members of the organisation living in the house, including a 22 year old named Zibeon, his American wife Aphia,  20 year old Parable, and his English wife Magdala. Both Zibeon and Parable were Irish, Zibeon having attended Blackrock College, before going to the North for University, though both men spoke with “indeterminate American accents.”

Back page of same pamphlet. Scanned and uploaded by CHTM!

The month after the article was written, a bus belonging to the group (which had at one stage been used as the London Headquarters of the organisation), caught fire whilst parked on Nutley Lane in Donnybrook. “Gardaí at the time could not tell if the fire was malicious or not.” (Irish Independent, 17^th October, 1973.) Given that the group were looked upon suspiciously by established churches in the country, it’s doubtful arson could be ruled out. Several religious organisations spoke out against the groups “eccentricities and questionable characteristics” (Presbyterian Church notes in the Irish Times, December 6, 1972.). A 1984 meeting in Malahide proclaimed young people were at grave risk from cults operating in Ireland, and included the Children of God (alongside the Mormons and Opus Dei) on their watch list.

Throughout the early half of the Seventies, the organisation grew to approximately one hundred members in Ireland. At one point there were 27 members, both male and female, living in a house in Clontarf. Their main work consisted of distributing/ selling literature and “rehabilitating” drug addicts and alcoholics; “converting” them and asking them to give up their worldly possessions to the organisation. Judging from the fact that the address given on the Kohoutek pamphlet published here was a P.O. Box in Fairview, it’s possible that they were living here by the end of 1973, although the organisation had also based itself in different locations around the city, including Rathmines, Portmarnock and Miltown according to the Sunday Independent, 3^rd December 1978. Moses David never paid the Dublin colony a visit but did, according to the same report, issue them with upwards of 500 letters, “with instructions ranging from how to brush their teeth to what music they should listen to.”

Des Hickey, Sunday Independent, September 16th 1973

The pamphlet handed out at the GPO largely contained gibberish, proclamations and counter proclamations of impending doom or salvation, warnings that the apocalypse will happen either in forty or eighty days, or as seen below, some time in 1986. Some of the more ‘interesting’ quotes:

“According to our own calculations, 1986 should be about the time of the final takeover of One World Government by a world dictator known as the “Anti-Christ” and the beginning of his reign of terror!”

“For the heat of the comet shall be sevenfold, and men shall gnaw their tongues for pain for the travail that shall come upon them when the Lord shall arise to shake terribly the Earth! Thank You for the words Thou hast given their father! In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

The pamphlet also includes these two pages of useful survival tactics, along with instructions to “pray and stay close to the Lord!” The opening paragraph of these pages ends with the following line:

Are you even ready for the riots, the sabotage, the wrecking of utilities, the blowing up of your bank, the cutting off of your electricity and water, the problems of sewage and garbage disposal and food and gasoline rationing and shortages of all kinds is a state of emergency, and the brutality of martial law under the reign of terror of a military dictatorship of a dying nation that has forgotten God? What will YOU do?

Children of God Survival Tactics, click to zoom. Scanned and uploaded by CHTM!

The main focus for the group seems to have surrounded Comet Kohoutek, and reports about the organisation die out after this event, with the trail for the Children of God going cold around 1978. At the beginning of the eighties, there was apparently a small community in Mountjoy Square, but these fled the country to Argentina in 1981 under fear of another impending apocalypse proclaimed by Moses David.  A couple of newspaper reports appear in 1993, of a Dublin man taking his wife to court for custody of their daughter, whom she had taken without his knowledge to live with the Buenes Aires branch, now known as “The Family.”

This Post wouldn’t have been possible were it not for Harry Warren loaning us the pamphlet. Cheers H!

Advertisements like the one above for The Indian Store were quite commonplace in 1930s newspapers, appearing not only in An Phoblacht and the republican media, but also in mainstream publications like the Irish Press. The Indian Store sold a variety of produce inspired by India, or in some cases imported from the country. This advertisement is interesting because it attempts to ride the wave of the ‘Boycott British’ movement at the time, something we’ve looked at on the site before, in a feature on the ‘Boycott Bass’ campaign.

Republican newspapers gave very significant coverage to Indian affairs at the time, with An Phoblacht proclaiming in June 1933 that “the terror of the Tans, hidden from the eyes of the world, is sweeping over India. Indian revolutionaries, jailed for their activities, against British rule, protesting against their treatment by hunger strike, have been killed by forcible feeding.” Sympathy for Indian nationalism had existed in Irish nationalist circles long prior to the 1930s. Helena Molony, in a detailed statement to the Bureau of Military History about her involvement in revolutionary politics, remembered that the women’s group Inghinidhe na hÉireann had flypostered Dublin with posters in honour of Indian nationalist Madan Lal Dhingra, who was executed for assassinating a British official in 1909. From the gallows, Madan Lal Dhingra stated that “I believe that a nation held down by foreign bayonets is in a perpetual state of war.” He was executed at Pentonville Prison, the same prison where Roger Casement was hanged in 1916.

Back to the advertisement. This image of Maud Gonne MacBride was taken around the same time this ad appeared in the media, in the early 1930s. It should be noted that while her placard simply calls on passersby to “Boycott British Goods”, another placard is visible behind her expressing solidarity with India.

Maud Gonne MacBride protesting on O’Connell Bridge in the early 1930s.

The shop appears to have been based on Moore Street for a period in the 1930s, a street that today includes multiple Indian restaurants and international shops. The most interesting reference to the shop I can find in the archives comes from the Irish Press in May 1933, who reported that the owner of the shop was a relative of Gandhi:

By this point of 2013, many people are perhaps suffering from Lockout fatigue.

The so-called ‘Decade of Centenaries’ however is only in its infancy, with the anniversaries of historic moments like World War I, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence and the Civil War all still ahead of us. Throw in the fact that next year will mark a thousand years since the Battle of Clontarf, and you can only come to the conclusion that ‘commemoration’ is a word we will all be hearing plenty of for the foreseeable future. For all the controversies in the press around how 2016 should be marked, it must be remembered it is a relatively easy affair for the state to commemorate events that are so distant from us in there here and now.

All of which got me thinking, how was the Easter Rising marked in Dublin in the years immediately after the event? In particular, how was it marked in 1917? A year on from the rebellion, and before the outbreak of the War of Independence, was the event marked at all, or did authorities prevent any marking of the painfully recent past? With much of Sackville Street still in ruins, and some prisoners still in English jails, did the republican movement seize the anniversary as a propaganda opportunity? Looking at newspaper reports, as well as the testimony of some participants in events, they certainly did.

Postcard showing the intense damage to Sackville Street, issued in 1916.

On 6 April 1917, a proclamation was issued by General Sir Brian Mahon, Commander-in-Chief of British forces in Ireland, and posted at the different police barracks in Dublin. It was a clear attempt at preventing any commemorative gatherings in the city during the week marking the anniversary of the uprising. It noted that “between Sunday, the 8th day of April, 1917, and Sunday, the 15th day of April, 1917″ any assembly of persons for the purpose of the holding of meetings would amount to to a breach of the peace and would likely serve to “promote disaffection”. Under the Defence of the Realm Regulations, Mahon’s proclamation made it clear there would be no tolerance for unapproved gatherings, ending with the words ‘God Save the King’.

Easter Sunday 1917 was reportedly very quiet in Dublin, with The Irish Times proclaiming that, if anything, there were fewer people on the streets of the capital than on a regular Sunday. This was not attributed to appalling weather conditions. An exception to the rule was Glasnevin Cemetery, where it was noted an “exceptionally large number of persons” had been attending the graves of some who had died a year previously. The paper noted that remembrance wreaths and flowers had been placed on some of the graves, though it is unclear if these graves were predominantly of republican participants or civilians who had died.

On Easter Monday itself, all eyes were firmly on Sackville Street. It was reported in the following days newspapers that small crowds had gathered on the street from early in the morning anticipating something, and The Irish Times reported that:

Towards 9 o’clock in the morning excitement and speculation were aroused by the discovery that the Sinn Féin flag had been hoisted surreptitiously on the staff which stood on the south-east corner of the General Post Office before the rebellion, and survived the effects of bombardment on that occasion. The flag floated at half mast.

The flag fell down the pole at one stage, but by twelve noon a larger crowd had gathered on the streets and there was an incident that attracted the attention of all gathered, as a man walked across the parapet of the General Post Office and raised the flag once more. The paper reported that this was a signal “for an outburst of cheering, and various other demonstrations of approval on a wide scale.” The raising of the flag over the General Post Office once more was followed by another highly symbolic act, as republicans raised what was also reported to be a “Sinn Féin flag” from the top of the Nelson Pillar. The monument, erected to one of the heroes of the British public, had long been detested by republicans, and Nelson himself took a bullet or two during the Easter Rising. A police constable removed the flag from the Pillar, but the focus of the crowd shifted to other sites in the city as the day went on, and it was reported that some made their way down Middle Abbey Street towards Liberty Hall, which was still badly damaged as a result of firing from the Helga warship a year earlier.

The viewing platform of the Nelson Pillar, seen from the General Post Office. A repubican flag from flown from here in 1917.

Defiantly, some Dubliners wore symbols of commemoration upon their own clothing. Black bands were reportedly worn by some in the crowd at Sackville Street, while others wore “ribbons of the Sinn Féin colours.”

It was noted that the rubble of the rebellion was used by some youths to attack the police, with stone-throwing on Sackville Street from about 4 o’clock, and an Inspector and Superintendent were reportedly struck. A number of young men, “wearing republican badges”, appealed to youths to desist in throwing stones, but they continued for some time, even smashing the windows of a military guard passing through Abbey Street. This kind of behaviour was condemned by The Irish Times as “the lower element seeking to let itself loose in honour of Easter Week.” As a result of clashes between youths and police, it was reported that eight civilians and four police men were treated for injuries at Jervis Street hospital. The newspaper also reported that “young roughs” had attacked the Methodist Church in Lower Abbey Street in the melee, breaking a number of windows and doing considerable damage.

Helena Molony, a participant in the rebellion, recalled that the production of the flags that were raised in 1917 was carried out by female republicans. She herself, as well as Winfired Carney, secretary to James Connolly a year earlier, were part of a small core group of women at Liberty Hall behind the making of the flags. She recalled that:

We made the flags-three, measuring six feet by four and a half feet. There was a very nice sailor from Glasgow called Morran, who looked at the flagstaff in the G.P.O. and said: “We could get a flag on that. I will do it, and they won’t get it off in a hurry”.

Molony had ambitions of raising similar flags at other locations which had been occupied by rebels, such as the College of Surgeons. It had been taken by members of the Irish Citizen Army during the uprising, in the aftermath of the disastrous decision to occupy Stephen’s Green, which was open to fire from neighbouring tall buildings. Michael Mallin had been in control of the men and women who were positioned there, and the building today still bears very clear damage from the firefight of 1916. She remembered:

Madeleine French Mullen and I went to the college of Surgeons for the purpose of hanging out a flag there. Our difficulty was to carry the flag, without being noticed. Madeleine had a loose tweed coat on her, and, being rather slim, she wrapped it round and round her. I. was rather slim too, but had no loose coat. As we were coming by Clarendon Street, Madeleine thought she felt the flag getting loose. I said: “Hold on. We will go into the Church” – Clarendon Street Church. We went in, and, with a few safety-pins, we made it secure. I think it was a false alarm anyway….We could not get into the College of Surgeons. We went into a lady’s flat in the house opposite, and put the flag out. She was one of our sympathisers, but I forget her name now. We did not take the same precautions with that flag. If we succeeded in putting it out the window, and if it hung for an hour, we felt it would be all right.

The symbolic raising of tricolour flags was not confined to Dublin, as the Freeman’s Journal reported similar scenes in Cork and Mullingar. In Cork, “300 or 400 persons” reportedly marched through the streets of the city, saluting at City Hall where the municipal flag had vanished in favour of the tricolour. The commemoration in Dublin was not restricted to the raising of flags however, as there was also an organised reprinting of the 1916 proclamation. Helena Molony alleges that some of the type print used for the 1916 proclamation was used in a 1917 equivalent, noting:

Having decided to post up the proclamation, we got facsimiles of it made. We got that printed by Walker, the Tower Press man. I did all the ordering for that. When Walker was printing the proclamation, he was a bit short of type, and he came to me. As is well known,the proclamation of 1916 had been printed in Liberty Hall. In the subsequent destruction of Liberty Hall, the type had been all smashed up, and thrown about. Nobody had cleared it up. I said to Walker: “There may be some type in the corner here”. He came down with his son; and he picked up a number of letters that he was short of. They were actually used in the 1917 proclamation.

The 1916 proclamation, which was reprinted in 1917 by republicans.

A very interesting blog post on the website Typefoundry has looked at the 1916 proclamation in some detail, and includes the words of Joseph Bouch, who wrote a study of the proclamation and the printing of it in 1936. Bouch wrote of the 1917 proclamation in some detail, and his story fits with regards to the recollections of Molony:

Mr. Walker (senior) and his son Mr. Frank Walker, employees of Mr. Joseph Stanley, a well-known Dublin printer, were the actual printers of this rare publication, and the order was given, by one of these women, for a re-issue which should bear more than a close resemblance to the original. Here again these two men had to work through the whole of Good Friday and part of Saturday, in the workshop at Upper Liffey Street, to fulfil their promise to carry out the order in time to allow of its distribution and posting. Such type as remained in the workshop at the rere [sic] of the “Co-op.” in Liberty Hall was collected, and it is of undoubted interest to relate that the same old fount was here again used for the second occasion. Naturally all the type sent out by West of Capel Street in the first instance could not be collected, but as much as possible was gathered and handed over to the printers. As results turned out they succeeded very well.

Molony and others posted the proclamation around the city, with flour paste made from glue, jam pots of which were used by teams of willing republicans all over the city. Molony remembered that “one poster in Grafton Street stayed up for six or eight months”

This was a task not limited to female republicans. Edward Dolan, a member of the Hibernian Rifles, recalled taking part in the same act, as well as raising the tricolour flag over the headquarters of the Ancient Order of Hibernians in Dublin. The Hibernian Rifles were a small armed group who partook in the rebellion the year previously, affiliated to the A.O.H, a strictly Roman Catholic political association founded in the United States by Irish migrants in the 1830s. Historian Padraig Óg O Ruiarc has correctly noted that the A.O.H, still active today, could be described as a “sectarian, conservative, Catholic and nationalist body.”

Dolan, in a statement to the Bureau of Military History, remembered his role in Easter 1917:

Some time in the latter part of 1916, I joined the remnants of the Hibernian Rifles at the headquarters of the Ancient Order of Hibernians (Clan na Gael), 28 North Frederick Street. On the anniversary of the Rising in Easter 1917, I was mobilised and remained on duty that night in North Frederick Street. I assisted in the posting up of copies of the 1916 Proclamation and the erection of the Tricolour on the roof of No. 28.

Dublin Corporation marked the anniversary of the Rising in its own way, by passing a motion calling for an amnesty for Irish prisoners. Easter Week passed off relatively quietly on the whole, but female activists were to the fore in commemorating the anniversaries of executions in its aftermath, and bringing the issue back to the fore. On 12 May, the anniversary of the execution of James Connolly, a banner was hung across Liberty Hall in commemoration of the Edinburgh socialist.

Once again Helena Molony participated in this act of defiance, joined by Rosie Hackett and others. Hackett, whose name has recently been chosen for the new bridge spanning the River Liffey, remembered this evident in her own statement to the Bureau of Military History:

On the occasion of the first anniversary of Connolly’s death, the Transport people decided that he would be honoured. A big poster was put up on the Hall, with the words: “James Connolly Murdered, May 12th, 1916″.

It was no length of time up on the Hall, when it was taken down by the police, including Johnny Barton and Dunne. We were very vexed over it, as we thought it should have been defended. It was barely an hour or so up, and we wanted everybody to know it was Connolly’s anniversary. Miss Molony called us together- Jinny Shanahan, Brigid Davis and myself. Miss Molony printed another script. Getting up on the roof, she put it high up, across the top parapet. We were on top of the roof for the rest of the time it was there. We barricaded the windows. I remember there was a ton of coal in one place, and it was shoved against the door in cause they would get in. Nails were put in.

Police were mobilised from everywhere, and more than four hundred of them marched across from the Store Street direction and made a square outside Liberty Hall. Thousands of people were watching from the Quay on the far side of the river. It took the police a good hour or more before they got in, and the script was there until six in the evening, before they got it down.

It’s clear from looking at these events in Dublin that the question of just how the Easter Rising should be commemorated is one people were asking themselves even before the first shots of the War of Independence were fired. As politicians gather on O’Connell Street at 2016 to pay lip-service to the events and individuals of a century ago, I think I will take the chance to stand on the Rosie Hackett bridge and think of her actions in 1917.

Enjoying the view from the top of the Pillar.

All help in spreading this post is appreciated.

For the last number of years, I’ve been researching the Pillar and its impact on Dubliners and Dublin life. I’m as interested in the memory of the monument, and the various rows over its replacement, as the Pillar itself. I’m hopeful of doing something with my work in the very near future, but now that it is at the final hurdle, I want to issue an appeal to people for personal images and stories.

In recent years, one of my favourite works on Dublin history has been the Hi Tone produced Where Were You, a history of Dublin street style. I liked it because it put people themselves at the heart of the work. Just like the way old photographs have survived of Dubliners in jackets they now maybe wish they never bought (or in some cases, still haven’t taken off!), I know there are hundreds of photographs across the city of people and the Pillar.

I’d be very grateful to anyone who makes contact with
a) Personal images of themselves/relatives at the monument.
b) Other items of interest, such as chunks of the monument in family ownership, or miscenalious bits and pieces like artwork.
c) Proposed alternatives for the site they themselves put forward at competititon level.

You can contact me via donalfallondublin(at)gmail(dot)com. As ever with Come Here To Me and its related projects, thank you to everyone for your support to date.

We are very pleased and excited to announce we will be hosting an evening of music, talk, film and more on 30 December at P.Mac’s pub on Lower Stephen’s Street. It is all part of Visit Dublin’s ‘Dublin Genius’ day of events, and it is totally free to attend.

For anyone wondering just where P.Mac’s is, it is the former Bia Bar, opposite the Hairy Lemon. Our event runs there from 5 to 7pm. A Facebook event for the evening can be viewed here.

We’re still finalising the line-up, but so far we feel we have put together a mix of music, history and more that captures the spirit of CHTM and should make for an interesting two hours.

Firstly, the music line-up:

Pete Holidai (Image Credit: peteholidai.com)

Pete Holidai plays with the Trouble Pilgrims and was a member of the classic Irish punk band The Radiators From Space. We have a lot of love for The Radiators on this website, see for example Sam’s ‘Dublin Punk & New Wave Singles Timeline 1977-1983′.

Lynched. (Image Credit: Irene Siragusa, via Lynched FB)

Lynched describe themselves as ‘local folk miscreants’. Having begun by performing their own folk-punk numbers, in recent years they’ve taken on many Dublin traditional songs and given them a new lease of life. Most recently I saw them perform on the same bill as Barry Gleason, and we’re big fans of what they are doing with Irish folk music.

We have a few interesting speakers lined-up, to give short talks on the subject of Dublin through the ages.

Dead Interesting by Shane MacThomais.

Shane MacThomais is the resident historian of Glasnevin Cemetery, and author of several works on Dublin’s history, most recently Dead Interesting: Stories from the Graveyards of Dublin. He is the son of legendary Dublin historian Éamonn MacThomais, and he’ll be chatting about how Dublin has changed over the years, mostly for the better.

‘Little Ada Cowper visits the Royal Panopticon of Science & Art, Dublin, 1867′ – A post from Jacolette, February 2013.

One of the most rewarding things about Come Here To Me! has been coming into contact with others online who are also doing interesting things with history. Orla Fitzpatrick is a photo historian who runs the Jacolette blog. ‘A gallery of Irish snapshot and vernacular photography’, it features many weird and wonderful pictures of Dublin, and Dubliners, through the ages.

The Destruction of Dublin – Frank McDonald

Few people have championed the cause of Dublin like Frank McDonald, journalist with The Irish Times and author of several works on the city, its architecture and planning. We’ll be chatting to the author of The Destruction of Dublin about how things are since the release of that classic book, and the state of the city today.

Quadrophenia advertisement at Ambassador. Handpainted by Kevin Freeney (Image Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gentlemanofletters/)

We are also very pleased to announce we’ll be showing the short-film Gentlemen of Letters. This new short film from Colin Brady looks at a longstanding Dublin tradition of signpainting, from the days of Dublin legend Kevin Freeney right up to Maser and modern artists in the city.

The Cabra Grand Cinema once upon a time.

On 17 April 1949, the Cabra Grand Cinema on Quarry Road was formally opened. The Lord Mayor of Dublin, John Breen, opened the 1,600 seat cinema by cutting a tricolour ribbon with a pair of gold scissors. The cinema was designed by Samuel Lyons, and in a move that captured the spirit of the time, the building was blessed by a priest from the nearby Christ the King Church in Cabra. After the formalities, the comedy Sitting Pretty was shown. The first two films listed at the cinema in newspaper advertisements (the below advertisement appeared the day after the opening) both featured Maureen O’Hara, and the cinema boasted that it was “equipped with the latest RCA sound system”, to give cinema goers a top class experience.

Advertisement for the new cinema.

The first manager of the cinemas was Louis Marie, an interesting individual who had seen action during the revolutionary period. Marie had been a member of the Fianna Éireann republican boy scout organisation, and took part in the Easter Rising in 1916. His name appears in a few of the statements given by participants in the Rising to the Bureau of Military History. Gearoid Ua h-Uallachain, who took part in the attack on the Phoenix Park magazine fort at the beginning of the rebellion, noted that “Louis Marie, manager of a picture-house”, was among those involved. One newspaper article from the time of the cinemas opening claimed that Louis had served in both the French Army and the Irish Army.

Just over a year after its opening, there were very ugly scenes at the cinema, which saw shots fired by Gardaí over the heads of a reactionary mob. Two women had to seek refuge in the cinema, after they had attracted the scorn of hundreds of local people. They had been going door to door with a “peace petition” calling for the banning of the atomic bomb, and residents believed them to be members of a communist organisation. The Irish Press reported on 25 July 1950:

GARDAI from many parts of the city were hurriedly picked up by patrol cars and rushed to Quarry Road, Cabra, last night, to disperse a hostile crowd of nearly a thousand people who had surrounded the Cabra Grand Cinema and threatened two women who had taken refuge there. Weapons brandished and thrown included sticks, stones, bricks and bottles. One Garda, as he was pushing through the shouting and jostling mass, was struck by a brick in the back, but was not seriously injured. To force the crowd away from the cinema doors, which had been closed, Gardai had to draw batons and a number of shots were fired over the crowd’s heads…. The incident had its beginning shortly after nine o’clock when the two women concerned were apparently canvassing in the Quarry Road’area for signatures in connection with a “peace petition” to ban the atomic bomb.It appears that as they were going from house to house the impression that they were members of a Communist organisation got around and they were soon surrounded by a hostile crowd.

There was more drama at the cinema in 1953 when it was held up by two men armed with what appeared to be a pistol. At the time of the robbery the cinema was showing The Apparition, a religious film which was being screened as a fundraiser for the African Missions of the Holy Ghost Fathers. £6 10s was taken on that occasion.

By the late 1950s, television was the big fear for the owners of Dublin’s suburban cinemas. The biggest problem for cinema in Ireland, one official warned in 1959, “would be the advent of television on a national basis.” Many of Dublin’s suburban cinemas closed their doors throughout the 1960s and 70s, but others took on a new lease of life as centres of their communities. Jim Keenan notes in his study of Dublin cinemas historically that “by the late 1960s, the Grand has become economically unviable and it closed on 31 January 1970. The last film shown there was The Big Gundown.” The Cabra cinema was purchased by Gael Linn in 1975, and like other suburban Dublin cinemas it became both a bingo hall and a concert venue.

Ticket to the Ramones gig at the Grand. Uploaded to the brilliant Facebook page ‘Classic Dublin Gigs’ by James Aquafredda Sr.

The old Cabra cinema witnessed a number of celebrated, and in some cases infamous, rock concerts. Indeed, the behaviour of some youngsters after one gig led to a Dublin District Court decision that no more rock concerts could be held in the cinema in 1980. In November 1980 it was reported in the Irish Press that “Gardaí told the court that gangs of youths lay in wait to attack patrons of rock concerts at the cinema.” One source blamed the violence on a “Mod and Skinhead element in Cabra who are always fighting among themselves.” Four stabbings were reported after the legendary U.S punk band The Ramones played the venue. Joe Breen, a journalist with The Irish Times, rushed to the defence of the cinema by noting that the trouble had not only taken place after the gig, but had happened far from the venue. “There is enough trouble at gigs without it being invented”, he noted. Going into the gig, the organisers claimed that the 1,000 or so in attendance were frisked and even had their belts taken from them. Of the gig itself, Breen was far from blown away, writing that “the concert in the end was something of an anti-climax. The excitement had more to do with expectation than with experience.” The Ramones were no strangers to Dublin cinemas, haven performed two years earlier in the State Cinema, Phibsboro.

Siouxsie and the Banshees, who performed in Cabra in 1980.

Siouxsie and the Banshees played the same venue soon afterwards in 1980. A comment on this very blog from a reader by the name ‘PJM’ recalled this gig, noting that the band abandoned the stage with no encore owing to the “crowd trying to get on stage and bouncers not stopping them.” 1980 was a good year for gigs at the venue, with Duran Duran also playing the cinema. Fifteen years later, Boyzone took to the stage of the old cinema before a crowd of well over 1,000 young fans, with one reviewer noting that “the bingo machine could be partially seen lying behind the curtain.”

Today, the old cinema remains very much a part of the community around it, with regular bingo nights drawing huge crowds. It, and other once thriving cinemas, are an unusual feature of suburban architecture in Dublin, and hopefully the buildings will be preserved long into the future. Many local people have great memories of films, concerts and more at this venue and we’d love to hear from you in the comments section below if you’ve a story to tell about it.

Below is the predicted running order for today’s event. Be sure to get in early to reserve yourselves a spot!

5.05 – 5.20 – Screening of short film ‘Gentlemen of Letters’

5.20 – 5.35 – Shane MacThomais

5.35 – 5.50 – Orla Fitzpatrick

5.55 – 6.10 – Music from Pete Holidai

6.10 – 6.25 – Patrick Brocklebank & Sinead Moloney

6.25 – 6.40 – Frank McDonald

6.45 – 7.00 – Music from Lynched

For more information, please see our earlier blog post and the Facebook event. It is part of Visit Dublin’s ‘Dublin Genius’ day of events in various locations around the city. P Mac’s pub (previously the Bia Bar) is on Lwr. Stephen’s Street just opposite the Hairy Lemon.

Event poster

After nearly seventy years of business, independent family-owned Stein Opticians has closed its doors for the last time. Operating in the Harcourt/Camden Street area since 1944, the shop was opened by Dublin-born Mendel Stein who was born in 1915 and passed away in 2000.

Like many of Dublin’s first large wave of Jewish emigrants, Mendel’s family settled in the ‘Little Jerusalem’ area of Portobello/South Circular Road. By 1911, the family were living in 15 Victoria Street. Harry (29), a draper, and his wife Mary (29) lived with their two young children and Harry’s brother Isaac (35), also a draper. The Mendel’s employed a 55-year-old female servant named Mary-Anne McCormack.

Mendel, who was born four years after the census was taken, became heavily involved in sports and the scouting movement as a young man. In 1945, he established the Apollo gym with Paddy Whelan. Their membership spanned a cross-section of Irish society. He was also active with the Dublin Maccabi Sports Club, Fitzwilliam Lawn Tennis Club and used to train daily right up until he was well into his 80s.

As featured on this blog last year, Mendel’s ophthalmic optician practice at 36 Harcourt Road became one of the most popular opticians in the city. Customers included Michael MacLiammoir, Hilton Edwards, Harry Kernoff and others at the heart of the Dublin art and theatre scene.

An epic David vs. Goliath fight broke out in 1983 when developers wanted to demolish his practice to make way for a new office block. From the earlier article it was noted that :

While other property owners and lessees of buildings due for demolition accepted the substantial compensation, Mendel decided that he wasn’t going to give in so easily. He said that he would not leave until they gave him a new shop in the immediate vicinity and a guarantee that his (beautiful) shopfront would be preserved.

Articles on the campaign from the time period can be viewed here.

Original architectural drawing for Stein’s new shop on Camden Market. Credit – Amelia Stein

Spurred on by local support, Mendel held out and eventually received a guarantee that the shop would be taken down intact and re-erected at a new location in nearby Grantham Street off Camden Street. It traded here for the next thirty years.

Stein Opticians, 1983. Flickr User – David Denny.

This shop eventually closed its doors for the last time on Christmas week 2013. Mendel’s daughter Amelia, who worked with her dad for many years and ran the business since his passing in 2000, now plans to concentrate on her photography. She told me that she would be referring her customers to Fitzpatricks opticians in Terenure. One of the few last remaining independent opticians in the city.

I went down on Thursday 19th December to take some pictures and to mark what is an end to an era.

Front of shop. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Interior. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Second interior shot. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Original eye chart. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Optical instrument. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Sign from first floor. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Original Eye now in storage. Credit – Sam McGrath (CHTM!)

Advertisements from various restaurants around the city included in the guide for the 1983 Dublin Theatre Festival.

Front cover showing a member of the Henan Acrobatic Troupe in their show ‘Barrell Game’:

Front cover. Scanned – Sam (CHTM!)

Solomon Grundy’s at 21 Suffolk Street opened in 1978 and closed in 1986. It offered middle-of-the-range American food fare like burgers and pizza. The premises later hosted Nude and now Tolteca (Mexican style grill).

Solomon Grundy’s. Scanned – Sam (CHTM!)

Blazes at 11/12 Lower Exchange Street in Temple Bar was a late night wine bar and restaurant. It opened (I think) in the early 1980s and closed in 1993. The building was demolished and the site today remains empty.

Blazes. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!).

18th Precinct at 18 Suffolk Street opened its doors in 1981 and closed in 1993. The building now hosts an Pacinos and their website notes that the restaurant:

…was developed and launched by then owner Sylvester Costello. Syl as he was better known planned and developed an all American themed restaurant serving steak, burgers, and salads like ranging in prices from 50p to £10. The 18th Precinct was twined and themed with a New York Police Department where all the waitresses and waiters dressed in police uniform and even had gun holsters on their person. It is rumoured that Syl even ran into trouble in JFK airport when he decided to bring lots of New York Police Memorabilia back from the states to Ireland including replica guns, nightsticks and handcuffs when stopped at customs. A plaque from the 18th Precinct New York Police department, having since been restored can be found on the wall in Pacino’s as recognition of that time.

18th Precinct. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!)

Bananas at 15 Upper Stephen’s Street was a self-service vegetarian restaurant opened by Muriel Goodwin and friends in late 1982. (More on the history of vegetarian restaurants in Dublin here). It now hosts the Restaurant Royale/The Snug Guesthouse which we reviewed a few years back.

Bananas. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!).

Captain America’s on Grafton Street is the only restaurant out of this list which is still open. Opened in 1971, it is still going strong after a staggering 43 years. We’ve featured Jim Fitzpatrick’s 1982 murals on the blog before.

Captain America’s. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!).

The Granary at 34-37 East Essex Street opened in the late 1970s and was then turned into Bad Bob’s in 1984. In 2006 it was bought over as the Purty Kitchen but was renamed Bad Bobs in March 2013. More on the building and Bad Bob’s recent claim that it is the oldest pub in Temple Bar can be found here.

The Granary. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!).

Le Parigot, a French restaurant, at 52 Lower o’Connell Street was based in the basement of Pizzaland. Little information is available online. It was certainly open by 1981 and I assume closed sometime in the mid to late 1980s. Eddie Rockets is now based in the premises.

Le Parigot. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!).

Finally, I thought it be worth sharing this list of theatres that were taking part in the festival.

Theatre list. Scanned by Sam (CHTM!).

For anyone in the city yesterday, the sight of the Liffey spilling out onto the streets of the capital was something to behold. It reminded me to go digging for one of my favourite images of the capital historically, in the form of this great 1807 illustration of a view of the River Liffey. The standout feature of the image of course is the ruins of the bridge. The Ormond Bridge, as it was known to Dubliners, was totally destroyed by flooding in 1802.

‘A South View on the River Liffey, Dublin, 1807′(Credit: British Library, http://www.bl.uk)

In G.N Wright’s An Historical Guide to the City of Dublin, there is a story told of how “A gentleman from the neighbourhood of Chapelizod was riding over at the time, and just as he arrived at a distance of ten or twelve feet from the quay, the arch before and the whole of the part he had passed gave way, when his horse with one spring cleared the chasm before him, and bore him to the opposite bank in safety.”

One interesting feature with the illustration is the manner in which day to day life is depicted, and two men can be seen relaxing against the remains of the destroyed quay wall! The bridge was eventually replaced, with the construction of the Richmond Bridge, erected between 1813 and 1816.

(All help with promoting this class is appreciated. I can be contacted via donalfallondublin@gmail.com)

Last year, myself and Dr. Irial Glynn put together a course with the Adult Education Department of U.C.D, looking at the hidden history of Dublin, and focused on social history and forgotten people from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It looked at issues like working class childhood in the city, Dublin’s history of prostitution, labour agitation in the capital and the tenement city.

It was a great experience, and we talked about it on RTE Radio One’s The History Show with Myles Dungan last year. You can listen to that feature here:

Irial has since moved on to academic pastures new, but I’m happy and excited to say the course is going ahead this February. Half the course is in class, and the other half is on the streets, with four walking tours of the city and suburbs.

It runs for four Tuesdays and four Saturdays, kicking off February 11th. Tuesday is an evening class, and Saturday is a walk from 11am to 1pm.

Please note that the listing below is a week off, and the class begins the following week, but here is the blurb:

Those interested in booking the class can do so by contacting the UCD Adult Education Department. I would be very grateful to anyone who shares this post with others they think may be interested in the class, in particular those who aren’t online.