Jemmy Hope.

Jemmy Hope is a name unfamiliar to many Irish people today, and yet he remains one of the most radical voices in Irish history. Described by veteran republican socialist George Gilmore in 1964 as being to 1798 what James Connolly was to 1916, Hope was a leading voice in the United Irishmen movement. He survived that first republican insurrection, and was active in Emmet’s Rebellion in 1803. Hope fought at the Battle of Antrim in June 1798 alongside Henry Joy McCracken, and in 1803 was influential in organising support for Emmet’s failed rebellion, primarily among the working class in Dublin.

Jemmy Hope was born in Templepatrick, Co.Antrim. Self-educated, he was of Presbyterian stock. As Sean Cronin wrote in his brief biography of Hope:

The Dissenters laboured under religious and political disabilities, though nothing on the scale of the penal laws against the Catholics. They had strong anti-authoritarian views. When their grandfathers slammed the gates of Derry on the troops of King James II they acted in the name of liberty and in defiance of the theory that kings ruled by “Divine Right.”

Hope, like many other northern Pyresbyterians, was drawn to the politics of republicanism, and as Cronin has noted a young Hope “saw the rise of the United Irishmen as a revolt against the tyranny of privilege and foreign rule.” The United Irishmen had been established in the winter of 1791, when a group of Protestant Irish nationalists which included Theobald Wolfe Tone, Samuel Neilson and Thomas Russell met in Belfast. Initially quite in line with the thinking of Henry Grattan and other moderates, this society in time drifted towards radical republicanism.

Hope’s political beliefs were much to the left of even many of the United Irishmen. He believed that:

By force the poor were subdued and dispossessed of their interest in the soul; by fiction the titles of the spoilers were established; and by fraud on the productive industry of future generations, the usurpation continued.

The emblem of the United Irishmen. Around the harps are the words ‘Equality- It is new strung and shall be heard’.

In the spring of 1796, Hope was sent to Dublin. A weaver by trade, he settled in the Liberties, near to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. At first though, Hope had resided in Balbriggan. He notes in his autobiography that:

I took up my residence at Balbriggan, in the character of a silk weaver from Scotland, and used to come backwards and forwards, between Dublin and that town, without exciting suspicion for some time.

The man with whom I worked in Balbriggan was a bitter Orangeman. and at length I became an object of suspicion to him, on learning which I returned to Dublin, and succeeded in obtaining my freedom to work in the Liberty, which enabled me to promote the objects of my mission.

Sean Cronin has noted that the purpose of sending Hope to Dublin was “to introduce the Union (United Irishmen) among the workers in the capital.” Hope had been “promised money which did not arrive and given contacts which proved unreliable”. Hope had arrived in a city described by Cronin as “perpetually simmering with revolt”, and in which “the weavers constituted the most militant element.”

Hope’s organising work continued in Leitrim, Roscommon, Cavan, Monaghan, Fermanagh and Armagh. When the United Irishmen rose in 1798, Hope in Antrim found that “everything had become disorganised- the fearful and half-hearted had deserted, many of the zealous knew not where to go or whom to follow.” Henry Joe McCracken was to lead an assault in Antrim on 7 June 1798 however, with Hope alongside him. The United movement, singing the Marsellois and Irish songs, marched on Antrim town, unfurling a green banner there. On 7 July, McCracken faced his death when hanged for his role in the insurrection, but Hope remained on the run. In the period following the 1798 rebellion, he would once more settle in the inner-city of Dublin. Hope returned to the Coombe.

After the battle of Antrim, I remained in the north, till the month of November, 1798, when I was compelled to quit that part of the country to avoid being arrested. I proceeded to Dublin, where I was joined by my wife and child, in the summer of 1799, and worked there at cotton weaving

Later, with the assistance of a man named Charles H. Teeling who Hope had worked for, he would open “a small haberdasher’s store, at No.8, on the Coombe, and I remained there till the month of June 1803.”

Hope came into contact with Robert Emmet in Dublin, who informed him that “some of the first men of the land” wished to renew the struggle for independence. Hope believed that “the fire of 1798 was not quite extinguished- it smouldered and was ready to break out anew.” Hope was, in Cronin’s belief, “in effect Emmet’s quartermaster and chief organiser.”

Robert Emmet

Hope notes in his autobiography that he was visited in the Coombe n the spring of 1803, and that:

The place I lived in, on the Coombe, was directly opposite a temporary barrack, where a company of soldiers was stationed. In the spring of 1803, James McGucken, the attorney of Belfast, called upon me for information, which I refused to give him.

Hope had done particularly well in organising the workers of Dublin, in a city where anger ran high in the wake of the Act of Union. Yet as Sean Cronin has noted, “one of the tragedies of the Emmet Rising was that the preparations were so thorough and the results so poor.” Hope was sent North by Emmet, but ultimately Emmet’s rebellion was consigned to the south inner-city of Dublin. Indeed, as Mike Cronin has noted: “Rather than creating a well organised assault on British rule, the whole thing descended into a general riot of the population in Dublin.” With the head of Robert Emmet held high like a trophy by a hangman on Thomas Street who boasted that “this is the head of a traitor”, the United Irish story had come to an end.

Map of The Coombe today from softguides.com. No.8 The Coombe was the location of Jemmy Hope’s small shop premises.

Hope remained in the Liberties of Dublin until January 1806, before returning north. Hope believed that the failures of the movement rested in his belief that “there could be no solid foundation for liberty” which wasn’t grounded in the issue of class. He would write years after the insurrections that:

It was my settled opinion that the condition of the labouring class was the fundamental question at issue between the rulers and the people, and there could be no solid foundation for liberty, till measures were adopted that went to the root of the evil, and were specially directed to the restoration of the natural right of the people, the right of deriving a subsistence from the soil on which their labour was expended.

Hope died in 1847, a veteran of two attempted revolutions. The grave of the former Liberties weaver is found in his native Antrim, and notes:

Erected to the memory of James Hope
One of nature’s noblest works – an honest man.
In the best era of his country’s history
A soldier in her cause.
And in the worst of times still faithful to it.

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The autobiography of Hope is available to read in full here.

Pólo is a longstanding Come Here To Me! supporter, and contributor of many fine comments. We’ve met on a few occasions now, such as at the recent CHTM! booklaunch. Carrying a camera around in 1960s Dublin, Pól captured some real gems and moments in Dublin’s history. He’s allowed me to reproduce these brilliant photos on the blog, of a time he saw the head of Horatio Nelson on Killiney Beach! The words are his, as are the snaps.

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Image: Póló

One day in late March, 1966, I was walking along the station road in Killiney when my eye was caught by something unusual happening near the waterline in front of Homan’s.

One of Homan’s long rowing boats was partly drawn up on the beach and seemed to be flanked by balaclavad figures presenting oars. It was too far away to be sure of what was going on.

I had my camera across my shoulder and I set out for Homan’s. When I got there the action, whatever it had been, was clearly over and there were just a few ordinary looking people hanging around. I was convinced, however, that something had been going on so I started photographing what remained.

The boat was still there but there were no balaclavas and no oars. There was an odd looking sack which clearly contained something very heavy. I thought of a body but figured it wouldn’t fit. It was heavy enough, though, to leave a deep trail in the sand.

Image: Póló

The guys eventually got it as far as their car, an Austin Mini parked on the outcrop which can be accessed from the road. I couldn’t see the registration number and went round the front of the car for a better view. Quick as a flash, one of the people was sitting on the ground obscuring the registration plate.

At this stage, I figured it might not be in my interest to hang around much longer and I scarpered.

Image Póló

Image: Póló

I thought no more about it, writing it off as one of the mysteries of life.

Then, unexpectedly, the plot was revealed.

The Evening Press, of 2 April 1966, carried a photo, on page 4, which explained everything.

The people I had seen on the beach had got a hold of Nelson’s head, which was indeed missing at that time. They had taken a photo at the waterline with the head in the foreground. I don’t know whether the photo had been commissioned or whether they subsequently managed to flog it to an agency. But, two young ladies had been photographically patched into the background in the photo studio, and the result ended up as a fashion shot in the Evening Press!

The Evening Press image from the beach, which Póló tracked down!

This great story was first told over here, on Póló’s own site. A quick search on Come Here To Me! will reveal our back catalogue of articles on Nelson’s Pillar. My thanks to Póló for helping to add another!

I picked up this great postcard recently, showing College Green in the snow with King Billy overlook proceedings.

The King William of Orange statue on College Green was eventually removed in 1929, following an explosion in the early hours of Armistice Day that year, but was one of the most vandalised monuments in Dublin prior to that. It sits right opposite the old Irish Parliament building. Inside the building, a tapestry showing the victorious King Billy at the Battle of the Boyne has outlived the monument, and you can still go and see it to this day by just walking into the bank. It was one of the stops on our recent walking tours of the city.

Come Here To Me at the King William of Orange tapestry, College Green.(Image:Branno)

Penney’s have recently expanded their store on Mary Street significantly, with much more of the building now being used as retail space. Architecturally, the building is very interesting, having originally been constructed for the department shop Todd Burns, described in newspaper reports as a “palatial Dublin warehouse” at the time of its opening in 1905. The building boasted a principal frontage over 120 feet in length facing onto Mary Street, with the building running 300 feet along Jervis Street. The project cost in excess of £70,000 at the time, and the architect was William Mitchell who was also responsible for the Hotel Metropole on O’Connell Street, destroyed in the 1916 insurrection.

1905 newspaper illustration of Todd Burns

This premises had been constructed following a fire which destroyed the original Todd Burns building in January 1902. Incredibly, within a month the business were trading on the site again! Out of a wodden ‘temporary structure’, described here in The Irish Times:

The site now occupied by Penney’s is marked by two historic plaques, connected to two hugely important characters in Dublin’s history. On the Jervis Street side of the building, a small plaque marks the birthplace and home of Dublin historian J.T Gilbert.

J.T Gilbert plaque

Gilbert wrote the classic A History of the City of Dublin in 1861, a detailed history of the city from its viking origins to the contemporary world Gilbert knew. This was a groundbreaking study in its day, and it is fitting that today the Dublin City Library and Archive on Pearse Street is known as the Gilbert Library in his honour. Gilbert was knighted by Queen Victoria for his work in the field of history, and remains one of Dublin’s most important local historians. You can read the work in full here.

On the Mary Street side of the building, is a plaque which marks the location of the Volta Cinema.

This was Dublin’s first dedicated cinema, it opened in December 1909 and was first managed by James Joyce. This cinema seated between 600 and 700 people, and:

It was a simple shop conversion i.e. no racking, and only the plainest of comforts. Doors opened at 5.00 pm and there were continuous 35 to 40-minute programmes every hour up to 10.00 pm. One extraordinary feature was that the titles of the films were all in Italian – Joyce received the films direct from the Trieste source rather than through English film exchanges, and so handbills were given out with English translations. Music was supplied by a small string orchestra, led by Reginald Morgan. Tickets were 2d, 4d and 6d, children half price.

(via thebioscope.net)

The cinema closed in 1948, having undergone several changes of name, and the location was not marked by a plaque until 2007.

The Volta, Mary Street.

The architecture of the Penney’s building is well documented on Archiseek, who note that the passing eye shouldn’t miss its ” glorious red brick with terracotta details, all capped with the beautiful bronze dome.”

Luke Fallon (CHTM illustrator, responsible for our recent book cover) snapped these images of Maser at work today. I’ve huge time for Maser, and in January 2012 we chatted with him about his work, style and inspirations. I find Maser understands the history and complexities of the city, and he often incorporates Dublin characters and stories into his work.

Maser has just painted a nice bit on Kevin Street encouraging Dubs to live and love, and it’s good advice we fully endorse. This work was part of the First Fortnight festival, which promotes mental health issues in the city.

The finished product:

Image via Maser

In the depths of the Coombe in Dublin’s Liberties lies the memorial below. Dedicated to the memory of the many women who gave birth in the Coombe Lying-In Hospital, it has to be amongst the most impressive monuments in the city. The plaque at it’s base reads as follows:

“Towards the end of the 1825, two women in a vain attempt to reach the Rotunda hospital perished, together with their new born in the snow. When this became known, a number of benevolent and well disposed people founded the Coombe Lying-in Hospital in the year 1826 for the relief of poor women. Leading the charitable Committee was a Mrs. Margaret Boyle of Upper Street, Dublin.

The portico surrounding this plaque formed the entrance until the year 1967, when the hospital moved to a new location in Dolphin’s Barn. The old portico having been retained and restored by Dublin Corporation as a memorial to the many of mothers who gave birth to future citizens of Ireland in the Coombe Lying-in Hospital and also to the generosity of the staff and friends of the hospital.”

The Portico of the first Coombe Lying-in (Maternity) Hospital

There had been a hospital on this site for close to 200 years, with the foundation stone for the “Meath Hospital and County Dublin Infirmary” being laid in 1770. This hospital operated in this guise for over fifty years until it was closed in 1823.  In 1826 Mrs. Margaret Boyle founded the Coombe Lying-In Hospital on the site, with the Guinness family as one of the hospital’s benefactors. It was Dublin’s second maternity hospital, the first being the Rotunda.

The old Coombe hospital closed and relocated to a newly built premises in 1967. The building was demolished in order to make way for Dublin Corporation housing. Interestingly, the steps at the back of the monument are a memorial to Dublin’s characters of old. Bang Bang and Johnny Forty Coats feature, along with a host of others.

If you’re interested in taking a look for yourself, the monument can be found near the corner of the Coombe and Brabazon Street. 

(Previously we’ve looked at Dublin’s oldest established restaurants and the city’s first Chinese restaurants)

Italian restaurants have flourished in Dublin since at least the late 1930s. Some of the first and and most influential of these were:

The Unicorn at 12B Merrion Court (1938 – Present)

Originally based at 11 Merrion Row, it moved around the corner to Merrion Court in the early 1960s. Ran by the Sidoli family from Bardi for 57 years, it was taken over by Giorgio Casari in 1995.
In the ‘The Book of Dublin’ (1948) it was described as offering “central European cooking and very good of its kind. A quiet place for a slow meal and good conversation. The clientele is cosmopolitan, literary or artistic.”

Ostinelli’s at 17 Hawkins Street (1945 – 1963)

Opened by Ernest and Mary Ostinelli, this restaurant was a popular spot for 18 years. A WW1 veteran, Ernest from Como in Italy came to Dublin in 1944 (after spells in Leeds and Belfast) and lived in Clontarf until his death at the age of 78 in 1970. Ostinellis was purchased by the Rank Organisation and demolished to make way for Hawkins House.

Advertisement for Ostinellis restaurant. Trinity News, 27 May 1954.

Alfredo’s at 14 Marys Abbey (c. 1953 – late 1960s?)

From Ospedaletti in Northern Italy, Alfredo Vido ran this popular late-night restaurant for nearly a decade. In Fodor’s Ireland guide (1968), it was described as “a place for an after-theater meal … in one of the oldest parts of the city and, as the location suggests, is on part of the site of a one-time abbey. Small, but has character and good food.” Ulick O’Connor, in February 1978 in Magill magazine, called it “Dublin’s first late-night restaurant … You banged on the door which looked like a knocking shop and a little spy hole opened like a Judas in a prison cell. If Alfredo liked you, he let you in and gave you a flower for your girl. When he didn’t like you – and a lot of people who used to flash the green backs he didn’t like – Alfredo just wouldn’t open the door.”

Restaurant Bernardo (aka Bernardo’s) at 19 Lincoln Place (1954 – c. 1991)

Moving to Ireland from 1952 from Rieti, Bernardino Gentile opened this restaurant with his brother Mario who later took it over. It was a popular spot for 37 years. It was described in 1998 by Patricia Lysaght as Dublin’s “first restaurant to offer an exclusively Italian menu using authentic Italian ingredients”

Advertisement for Restaurant Bernardo. The Irish Independent, 29 March 1960.

The Coffee Inn at 6 South Anne Street (1954 – 1995)

An Italian snack bar run by Bernardino’s other brother Antonio Gentile. Very popular with the art, student and music set of the 1970s and 1980s especially Phill Lynott.

The Coffee Inn from 1967. Dublin City Photographic Collection.

Quo Vadis at 15 St. Andrew’s Street (1960 – 1991)

Also opened by the trendsetting Bernardino Gentile. He worked here until his retirement in 1991, he passed away in 2011 at the age of 91.

La Caverna at 18 Dame Street (1963 – early 1980s)

Ran by Bernardino’s other brother  (!) Angelo Gentile who later opened Le Caprice Restaurant with his wife Feula. 1960s guide books describes how in La Caverna “dancing is also an added attraction”

Nico’s at 53 Dame Street (1963 – Present)

Long-established Italian, celebrating 50 years of business this year.

Nicos (c. 2011). Credit – Infomatique

(Note: Other journalists featured on this blog so far include Paddy Clare and Alan Bestic)

Irish journalist Jack Smyth, who was held captive in a Nazi concentration camp for eight months, and his wife Eileen were tragically killed when their car plunged into the River Liffey on a cold December night in 1956.

Born in Galway, Jack began his career at The Connacht Tribune before leaving for London in the early 1940s to join the Reuters news agency. Swapping a quiet civilian life and desk job for the dangerous life of a war correspondent, he underwent secret training as a paratrooper before being dropped with British airborne forces in the abortive Arnhem landings of September 1944. In the thick of battle Jack, the only reporter at the frontline, wrote:

On this fifth day our force is still being heavily mortared, sniped, machine-gunned and shelled … When the Second Army arrives and relieves this crowd, then may be told one of the epics of the war. In the meantime, they go on fighting their hearts out.

Most of the airborne force, that Jack dropped with, were wiped out. Injured in the bloody battle, he was captured by the Nazis. For 17 days he was tortured under Gestapo interrogation and overall spent eight months as a Prisoner of War in a concentration camp before finally being released by American troops. On his return he told a friend and fellow journalist:

Jaysus, they beat the s*** out of me!. There was I, in British Army officer’s uniform, telling ‘em I was a neutral and demanding to see the nearest Irish ambassador. Well, they were having none of that.

He wrote and published his experiences in a book, “Five Days in Hell”, in 1956. Lucky to get out alive, five of Jack’s fellow war correspondents and friends at Reuters had been killed in the War.

Cover of Jack Smyth’s 1956 book “Five Days In Hell”. Credit: market-garden.info

After Germany, Smyth traveled East and was aboard the last British cruiser to bombard Japan. Later, he was one of the first journalists to enter Tokyo and visit the ruined city of Hiroshima.

Leaving Reuters to take up the post of Managing Editor at The Waterford Star, he stayed there for sometime before joining the staff of the Irish News Agency in Dublin. Taken on as Assistant Editor of the newly fledged Evening Press, it was this capacity that he was involved in the sensational finding of the kidnapped Ashmore baby. He was appointed Managing Editor of the Irish Press in 1955, the year before his untimely death.

On the night of the 2nd of December 1956, Jack and Eileen were driving home to their house in Rathfarnham. He had to drop into the offices of the Press, on Burgh Quay, to help with the next day’s front page showcasing Ronnie Delaney’s sensational win at the Melbourne Olympics.

Driving from the office, the car accidentally entered the river at the junction of Lime Street and Sir John Rogerson’s quay. It was noted in The Irish Times on December 5 1956 that:

At this point there is a dockside warehouse, the gable end of which might be mistaken for a continuation of Lime Street and cause a driver unfamiliar with the area to overshoot the quay

The body of his 35-year-old wife Eileen Smyth, originally from Limerick, was found in the car when it was taken from the river on December 4th.

Jack’s body was unfortunately never recovered. He was 38. The couple left two young children behind.

A picture of Eileen and Jack after the announcement of their engagement. The Irish Press, July 13 1946

In a bizarre, tragic coincidence that occurred two-year later a relative, John Shannon, who was looking after the two orphaned Smyth children was also was killed after he accidentally drove his car into the Liffey. It was noted in the 1958 newspaper report that eight similar accidents had occurred around Sir John Rogerson’s quay over the last twenty years. Today, there is better lighting and more road bollards to prevent such disasters.

That accident in December 1956 was a very sad ending to the lives of a brave war correspondent and his devoted wife.

“To subvert the tyranny of our execrable government, to break the connection with England, the never-failing source of all our political evils and to assert the independence of my country- these were my objectives. To unite the whole people of Ireland, to abolish the memory of all past dissensions, and to substitute the common name of Irishman in place of the denominations of Protestant, Catholic and Dissenter – these were my means.”- Theobald Wolfe Tone

One of the oldest plaques in Dublin on street level must be that marking the birthplace and boyhood home of republican icon Theobald Wolfe Tone. The plaque is on the Axa Insurance building on what is today known as Wolfe Tone Street but was formerly Stafford Street.

Henry Boylan, biographer of Tone, has noted that:

Tone’s background and education in no way foreshadowed his romantic and tragic life. His father, Peter Tone, was a coachmaker and the son of a prosperous freehold tenant on the estate of the Wolfes of Blackhall, near Clane, in Co. Kildare. He called his first-born after the young squire, Theobald Wolfe.

Axa Insurance building (image credit: ratemyarea.com)

The National Library of Ireland have a fantastic image of Stafford Street from between 1880 and 1900, which was taken by Robert French. The street was crucially important to the development of Tone as a youngster, and he was also educated in a school on Stafford Street, noting in his memoirs that he learnt Latin and Greek at this school. In time Tone’s father would lose not only his home on Stafford Street but another property owned at Summerhill, with Tone noting in his memoirs that both ‘were sold much under their value’ in an hour of financial need.

44 Stafford Street, birthplace of Wolfe Tone (Image rights: NLI)

A plaque was placed on the boyhood home of Wolfe Tone by the ’1798 Centenary Committee’, which was established to mark the centenary of the 1798 rebellion. Among those involved in the organising of events to mark this centenary were Maud Gonne, James Connolly and W.B Yeats. A beautiful coloured certificate associated with The Wolfe Tone and Ninety Eight Memorial Association recently came up for auction at Whyte’s in a lot of items connected to the centenary.

A certificate associated with the 1898 centenary. Notice the French tricolour appears alongside the harp of Ireland. (Image credit: http://www.liveauctioneers.com)

A leading-light in the United Irishmen movement which first consisted of liberal Protestants aligned to the constitutional reforms demanded by Henry Grattan, but which later turned to militant revolutionary republicanism, the combination of Tone’s writings and his romanticised role in the uprising of 1798 has led to him frequently being regarded as the ‘father of Irish republicanism’. The centenary of the uprising in 1898 was a significant moment for Irish nationalism, and as Yvonne Whelan has noted it “provided an opportunity for nationalists to commemorate what they saw as Ireland’s loyalty not to Britain but to Irish heroes and the struggle against British rule.”

On 15 August 1898, ‘Wolfe Tone Day’, 100,000 people came onto the streets to see the laying of the foundation stone for a monument dedicated to Wolfe Tone. The foundation stone began its journey in Belfast, in many ways the ideological birthplace of Irish republicanism as it was there that the United Irishmen were formed. The placing of a plaque on the birthplace of Tone then was not a ‘one off event’, but part of a broader period of commemoration.

Today, the plaque bears all the signs of its historic lifespan, notice for example that several letters are now missing from the piece:

The Wolfe Tone plaque (Donal Fallon)

Coincidentally, the Wolfe Tone statue for which a foundation stone was laid in 1898 was never completed. It was not until 1967 that Tone would finally have a statue in the city, thanks to the sculptor Edward Delaney. In 1971 this statue was targeted by loyalist extremists, just like Wolfe Tone’s grave in Bodenstown which was also bombed. Newspaper reports noted that “the statue was wrecked, leaving only the base. Huge slabs of the bronze sculpture were hurled 20 feet in the air.” The irony in the statue of a Dublin Protestant, who had been instrumental in establishing his political movement in Belfast, falling victim to a Northern Irish bomb was lost on few!

The shattered monument to Wolfe Tone (The Irish Times)

Photographer Paul Reynolds contributed many photographs to the recent Come Here To Me book, and is a regular contributor to Rabble magazine like ourselves. I was very taken by these images he just posted online, which show the effect of photographing with a night strobe on the streets of the capital. Some of these sites are historic, and have featured here in the past.

Conway’s, opposite Guinness.

The below shot of the Iveagh Market is a personal favourite, I’m fascinated by the building and its former life.

Iveagh Market

Cromwell’s Quarters has featured on CHTM before.

Cromwell’s Quarters

Heuston Station has always struck me as a natural stomping ground for a photographer, with people coming and going and the tracks themselves for inspiration. This is a lovely shot.

Heuston Station

A classic Dublin Zoo image (NLI)

Over the years, a few animals have managed to carry out ‘The Great Escape’, ditching the surroundings of the Phoenix Park for a life of freedom. In many cases, the escaped animals were captured and returned to the zoo, but on occasion they had to be killed. The below are just a few examples of animals who have the trip over the wall or out the gate, some didn’t make it beyond the park, while others made it as far as city centre shopping centres.

The bear who feasted on sweets, and passed out.

In March 1939, a bear escaped from its enclosure only to be discovered in the refreshment rooms of the zoo, thankfully closed to the public at the time. He had feast on cake, sweets and nuts, and was discovered sleeping in a cloakroom!

Irish Independent, March 16 1939

In September 1961 one of the two pelicans in Dublin Zoo escaped, and was spotted by many Dubliners “perched on houses and public buildings on the northside of the city.” Missing for three weeks, he was eventually recaptured. He was found in Drogheda, where he spent some time in the Civic Guard station before his return to the capital. This adventurer was following in the footsteps of an earlier pelican, who in September 1943 vanished from the zoo.

The stag who explored the Magazine Fort, February 1924.

In February 1924, a Wapiti stag spent a lonely night on a small island near the Castleknock gates to the park, having only arrived days earlier at the zoo from New Brunswick. Making short work of an eight-foot railing, he found himself occupying the small island instead. When approached, he darted towards the Magazine Fort, jumping its barbed wire fence with ease. After a long day of avoiding park authorities, the animal collapsed with exhaustion and died soon after his recapture.

Two cheetah’s in two weeks.

In August 1990, two Cheetah’s managed to escape from the zoo, only a week after one another. The second of these animals was shot dead, in an incident involving plain clothes Gardaí. When zoo vets fired two tranquillisers into the animal, it only seemed to become more agitated and Gardaí were required to kill it.

The incident was highly embarrassing for Dublin Zoo, coming so soon after another cheetah had escaped its premises. On a Saturday in August, the park was packed with families, and newspapers reported that children as young as twelve had witnessed the cheetah being shot five times at close range.

The Mary Street Raccoon.

In December 1942, a raccoon escaped from the Zoo and was later spotted wandering around Mary Street. His exploits were reported in The Irish Times on the 14th and 15th of December.

December 14th 1942

The following day, it was said he “continued to do the sights of Dublin”, and was “seen in various shopping centres.”

The Seahorses of Grattan Bridge. (Ci.)

Back in December we decided that the blog would make an attempt to fundraise for two worthy Dublin charities. We planned to do this in two ways. Firstly, we sold a limited edition print based on the cover of our recent book. For this, we owe huge thanks to Luke Fallon who designed the image, but we are also very much indebted to Mark and his team at Grehan Printers, who produced the top quality prints for the night.

This print was sold on the night of the booklaunch, and €400 was made which was then donated to the Simon Community. Simon do hugely important work for the homeless in Dublin, and against the backdrop of an awful winter were a very fitting charity.

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In early January, we done something totally new and embarked on a Come Here To Me! Walking tour of Dublin. Over two days, we took over 50 readers of the blog on a tour of Dublin which looked at the offbeat side of the capitals history. We owe huge thanks to all who came on these tours, and personally I want to thank Ci and Sam who found themselves acting as tour guides for the first time, but who were both fantastic in the role. These tours raised €540, which has been donated to ALONE.

ALONE do vital work on behalf of the elderly in Dublin, and the charity was established by Dublin firefighter Willie Bermingham, a hero of mine and a man who embodied all that is good, decent and honest about Dublin and Dubliners. Willie penned his own epitaph before his death, in which he wrote that he:

Joined the Dublin Fire Brigade in 1964 and spent a long time pushing for the pension. Favourite food, good old irish stew and lots of fish. For breakfast several mugs of tea at work. Also loves to eat lots of red tape to teach the bureaucrats a little manners.”

Thanks to everyone who supported these two efforts, which raised €940 in total. We hope that in the future we can use Come Here To Me! again to fundraise for deserving Dublin causes, and we thank everyone for their continued support.

(Previously we’ve looked at Dublin’s oldest established restaurants, the city’s first Chinese restaurants and the city’s first Italian restaurants)

When did pizza first arrive in Dublin?

One of the first mentions in the newspapers was Monica Sheridan writing in The Irish Times on 7 April 1956. Explaining to her readers that pizza was “a sort of open tart made with tomatoes and cheese on a base of yeast dough”, she described it as becoming “frightfully fashionable all over Europe”. Sherdian doesn’t make any reference to any restaurants in Ireland where you could get pizza. However in Italy, she wrote:

It is sold (and very cheaply, too) in little restaurants known as pizzerie, where they have special open ovens. The pizze are prepared and cooked before your eyes, and a very appetising sight it is. They are eaten piping hot, at a sort of quick-lunch counter, or you can take your pizza with you and gnaw it on a bench.

In The Irish Times on 20 July 1959, Moira Molony offered advice on ‘Giving a Party On a Shoestring”. She described pizzas as “absolutely scrumptious, but learning how to make the wafer thin pastry requires a practised hand”. Smartly, she advises readers to try “the concoction first on your family”.

A year later, the same paper reported on a “very gay reception” held by the Italian Ambassador at Lucan House (described as “the most beautiful embassy in Dublin”). At this soirée “Pizza, washed down with Ovrieto, was consumed in great quantities”.

So while a certain layer of Irish people may have been aware of Pizza in the 1950s it wasn’t until the mid 1960s (as far as I can work out) that Italian restaurants started to offer it on their menu.

A restaurant called Paycock at 32 Dawson Street offered the dish in January 1965 (Irish Press) with Bernardo’s at 19 Lincoln Place offering”pizza napoletana” by March 1967 (Irish Times).

The Irish Press, Jan 14, 1965.

By a the mid 1970s and early 1980s, a lot of Dublin’s American style restaurants started to offer it on their menus. Places like TJs Pizzera on Lower Grafton Street and Georgian Fare at 14 Lower Baggot Street.

The Irish Times, 21 July 1972.

Not forgetting Murph’s Gasworks Cafe at 21 Bachelors Walk (1976 – 1985), Thunderbird at 84 Grafton Street (1977 – early 1980s) and Solomon Grundy’s at 21 Suffolk Street (1978 – 1986).

Though now associated as a Take Away, Mizzoni’s opened its first restaurant in Rathgar in 1976.

The Irish Times, 10 Dec 1975.

Flanagan’s at 61 O’Connell Street (1980 – Present) and the Bad Ass Cafe at 9-10 Crown Alley (1983 – Present) are the only two restaurants, who fit that bill, that are still open today.

Pizzaland which opened a branch at 52 Lower O’Connell Street in 1976 and at 82 Grafton Street the following year should also be mentioned at this point. They were part of a UK chain of pizza restaurants which was wound down in the mid 1990s.

Pizzaland (beside Axis), St. Stephen’s Green, 1990. Credit – Dublin City Photographic Collection

Italian-run places also started to offer pizza in this period. Some of the ones that have come and gone include The Pizzeria at 12 St. Andrews Street (early 1970s), La Caprice at 12 St. Andrews Street (1976-?), Pizzeria Italia at 23 Temple Bar (1986 – 1996), Chew ‘n’ Chat at 112 Ranelagh (c. 1987 – 2007) Da Vinceno’s at 133 Upper Leeson Street (1988 – 2011) and Da Pino at 38-40 Parliament Street (1993 – 2010).

Of those still operating, Pizza Stop at Chatham Lane can definitely be described as the oldest operating Italian pizzeria in Dublin City having being on the go since 1982.

Writing in the Irish Press on 12 Jan 1989 critic Ruth Tooth described their experience:

We loved the atmosphere… The smell of garlic hits you in the minute you walk in the door. The kitchen is visible to all. It is clearly very popular and the business and bustle of the place makes for warmth and feeling of being totally at home.

Tooth’s guest described his pizza (medium Margherita for £2.95) as “one of the best he has ever eaten”.

The three of us from Come Here To Me! and two close friends had a meal there a few weeks ago. All five of us were greatly impressed with the quality of the food. Four starters, five pizzas, nine beers and four expressos came in at €149.

Pizza Stop, Chatham Lane (2010). (Pizza Stop Facebook)

The Independent Pizza Company at 28 Lower Drumcondra Road wasn’t far behind, openings its doors in 1984. They continue to receive glowing reviews.

In August 1987, self-confessed pizza addict Padraig O’Morain went on search for the best pizza in Dublin for The Irish Times. TJs’ pizza was described as “unexciting but nothing wrong with it”, the Pizza Calzoni at Flanagans was “unforgettable” and got the thumbs up, the Bad Ass Cafe was a given a glowing review, Pizzeria Italia was excellent while O’Connell Street’s Pizzaland was of average quality and on the expensive side. You wonder why he didn’t try Pizza Stop or Independent Pizza Company?

The late 1980s and early 1990s saw a rake of pizza places open that are still in business today: Fat Freddy’s on Crow Street, Miller’s Pizza Kitchen at 9-10 Baggot St Lower, Pinheads at 104 South Circular Road  (estd. 1989), Ristorante Romano at 12 Capel Street (estd. early 1990s?), South Street Pizza on South Great Georges Street (estd. early 1990s), Little Caesars Pizza at 5 Balfe Street (estd. 1991), Gotham Cafe at 8 Anne Street South (estd. 1993), UK chain Milano at 38 Dame Street (estd. 1995), the Steps of Rome at 1 Chatham Street (estd. 1995) and Cafe Topolis at 37 Parliament Street (estd. mid 1990s?)

Yum… Steps of Rome, Chatham Street. (Stepsofrome.ie)

The 2000s saw many pizzerias come and go. Some of those that were opened in this decade and that are still open include  Ciao Bella Roma at 25 Parliament Street (estd. 2003), Enoteca Langhe in the Italian Quarter (est.d 2003), Bar Italia on Ormond Quay (estd. 2004), Bottega Toffoli at 34 Castle Street (estd. 2005), Taverna in the Italian Quarter (est. 2005)  Paulie’s Pizza at 58 Upper Grand Canal Street (estd. 2010), Credo at 19 Montague Street (estd. 2010), Da Mimmo in Fairview (est.d 2010), Al Vesuvio at 73 Mespil Road and Manifesto at 208 Rathmines Road Lower.

Though really takeaways, Di Fontaines at 22 Parliament Street (estd. 2011 but based in Crow Alley for many years before that) and Ray’s Pizza at 2 Fownes Street deserve a mention.

2013 is the year I hope to try all the (great) pizzerias that I haven’t visited yet.

Questions for readers:

What was your first experiences of eating pizza in Dublin?

What’s your favourite pizzeria at the moment?

A youngster is shielded from missiles during a clash between Saint Patrick’s Athletic and Waterford United at Richmond Park, April 14 1986.

Writing in the Irish Press in 1972, one sports journalist asked with tongue firmly in cheek why was it that “Irish footballers are not able to emulate English footballers to some small degree, when their supporters have no trouble in successfully aping the cross-Channel hooligan element.” While football violence in Ireland never reached the level of that in the U.K, the media was awash with stories of the hooligan threat to the Irish game in the 1970s and 1980s. This brief article will look at one Dublin stadium, Richmond Park in Inchicore, and see when ‘hooliganism’ was reported on in the ground during the period.

Much of the Irish media coverage of soccer hooliganism in the 1970s centered around violence in British football. The Irish Times for example quoted Magistrate Grahame Hands in March 1974 when he demanded “labour camps for soccer hooligans.” Considerable space was given to reporting the antics of ‘firms’ at some of Britain’s leading clubs.

Clashes between Shamrock Rovers and Saint Patrick’s Athletic fans in March 1972 brought the issue of soccer hooliganism in Dublin out of the sports pages and into the national news section of the mainstream media, with a youngster stabbed during a terrace fracas. Disturbances at Richmond Park between both sets of fans, the second example in weeks, brought The Irish Times to note that “the FAI can do very little about these occurrences once they do not interfere with the actual match”. The Irish Press would write that “Shamrock Rovers, like their great Glasgow contemporaries Rangers and Celtic, should declare WAR on the hooligans who are dragging their club’s name down to gutter-level.”

The stabbing of a youth in Inchicore put real pressure on Shamrock Rovers, who pledged to stop those banned from Miltown Road attending away games as supporters of the club:

Violence in Irish football in the 1970′s and 1980′s was not confined to Shamrock Rovers, or indeed Dublin. Clubs like Sligo Rovers, Bohemian FC, Linfield, Dundalk and others had witnessed clashes and violence, with the August 1979 clashes between Linfield and Dundalk fans entering Irish football folklore for their viciousness. Journalist Peter Byrne wrote of those clashes, when he stated that

This was the night when the concept of All-Ireland club football was killed stone dead. Two hours of raw, naked tribalism on the terraces of Oriel Park convinced even the most reformist among us that the dark gospel of the paramilitaries has permeated Irish sport to the point where all attempts at reconciliation are futile.

Richmond Park found itself on the front of national newspapers in January 1977, following clashes on the football pitch which would see two footballers hospitalised. Pats goalkeeper Mick O’Brien and Home Farm left-winger Terry Eviston sustained injuries following assaults on them by fans, and the referee had to be taken off the pitch. Dozens of fans made their way onto the pitch, and St.Pat’s manager Barry Bridges pleaded with angry supporters over the P.A system not to attack match officials or players. The game finished in a 2-1 victory to the Saints.

1977 media coverage of hooliganism at Richmond Park

Richmond Park witnessed little in the line of football violence in the 1980s, but some incidents of note did occur. In February 1980 it was reported that Shamrock Rovers supporters “chanted slogans of a political nature”, and chanted their support for Celtic, during a Dublin derby encounter. Reports of a brief fracas between both supporters featured in coverage of what sounded like a thrilling game on the pitch.

25 February 1980 (Irish Independent)

Perhaps the most serious violence the stadium has ever witnessed though was to come later in the decade, on a day that proved embarrassing for club officials and the Football Association of Ireland, and sparked a media frenzy. On 13 April 1986, Saint Patrick’s Athletic welcomed Waterford United to Inchicore. The clash was a FAI Cup tie, yet it would make the front page of the following days newspapers for all the wrong reasons. Violence on the Inchicore terraces marred the clash, which was to be the first defeat inflicted on the saints in 20 outings. The game was a crucial FAI Cup semi-final, and the two sides went into the game at 1-1. It ended with a 4-2 win to the visitors on aggregate.

The clash between Waterford United and Saint Patrick’s Athletic supporters was by no means the beginning of a hooligan problem in Irish football. None the less, the scenes were ugly and demanded attention. The Irish Times noted in their match report that:

Richmond Park, so often an oasis in the turbulence of modern football, has never seen anything like it as the thug element in the crowd of 4,000 chose to ignore the days main attraction and involved themselves in a stone-throwing exercise that left several in urgent need of attention.

For a period, the players risked injury as the missiles, coming off the terraces, rained about them but eventually the referee, John Spillane, took the ultimate action of leading the team into the dressing rooms with the game in progress for just 19 minutes.

In the midst of the media coverage, it was almost forgotten a match had been played! (Irish Independent)

The blame for the hooliganism rested with the visiting supporters, as minutes before the unruly scenes the Saints had taken the lead in a match they would ultimately throw away. Paddy Dillon scored the goal for the Saints, and almost scored soon after the restart. Waterford came back into the game with a spring in their step however, and proved an unstoppable force. The blame-game began immediately after the clash, and it was reported in The Irish Times that “in another era, Jim Brannigan and his storm troopers might have dealt with the situation with some alacrity but in the modern concept of policing, it was decided on a containing operation.”

Interestingly, in Pats folklore the blame for this violence has often been rested with bikers from Waterford, a gang who had traveled to the fixture intent on causing trouble. This gang have been mentioned on several occasions by those who attended the clash.

The violence in the stadium attracted so much attention that the issue was raised in the Dáil by the late Tomás Mac Giolla, local T.D and veteran socialist. Mac Giolla asked Minister Alan Dukes ” if he is satisfied that sufficient gardaí were on duty at the recent FAI Cup semi-final at Richmond Park on April 13 when there was a serious outbreak of violence between sections of the crowd; and if the gardaí are planning any new moves to curb violence at football matches; and if he will make a statement on the matter.”

The late Tomás Mac Giolla of The Workers Party.

Of course, media coverage of football violence is often sensationalist. Anyone who can remember the visit of Linfield to Inchicore in 2008 will know how the media can make a paragraph out of the smallest detail in the interest of a good story. Still, coverage of football violence in Dublin in the 1970s and 1980s is interesting as much from the point of view of studying the media itself as learning the actions of football fans. Violent scenes in League of Ireland grounds are rare incidents these days, but interestingly when such scenes are witnessed, it is still the influence of British fan culture the media tend to turn to for blame.

Were you at any of these games, or can you remember violence at other football clashes in Dublin at the time? If so, we’d love to hear from you in the comment section.

The Chelsea Hotel in New York has provided a bed to some of the finest minds and talents in human history, serving as an inspiration for Leonard Cohen, Dylan Thomas and others. From Simone De Beauvoir to Jack Kerouac, some of the most celebrated works of some of the most celebrated writers of the past were composed within its walls, and its beautiful facade and iconic ‘Hotel Chelsea’ sign have become a must see for many tourists to New York.

The Chelsea Hotel, New York. (2010,Wiki)

The front of the hotel has several plaques upon it, in honour of some of the figures closely associated with the premises. One of these plaques marks the connection between the Chelsea Hotel and Leonard Cohen, who has sung of the Hotel in his song named in its honour. Thomas Wolfe and Dylan Thomas are among other writers remembered in bronze. Among these great names is that of a Dubliner, Brendan Behan:

Brendan Behan plaque upon the Chelsea Hotel. Thanks to wheresmybackpack.com

The Behan plaque was photographed for wheresmybackpack.com, who took some beautiful images of the building you can see here.

Behan spent some time in New York, though the period was towards the end of his life. Clifford Irving wrote of Behan in America that “he was a vicious tank of a man rolling relentlessly through the minefield of America, crushing everything in sight until he blew up.” The New York media and art scene were both fascinated by the Dubliner, falling for his charm. Novelist Norman Mailer once asked Brendan if he usually had a police escort at home in Ireland, to which Brendan joked “I do, but I’m usually handcuffed to the bastards!” It was said that when in New York Brendan stuffed $80 in the pockets of Allen Ginsberg, hero of the Beat Generation types.

Brendan’s niece Rosemary visited New York in 2001, and followed in the footsteps of her uncle. Reflecting on that visit she noted:

I wasn’t overly impressed with the Chelsea, either. The hotel, a seedy red-brick Victorian building of more than 100 rooms, trades on its past, on a guest list of literati that included Dylan Thomas, Arthur Miller and William Burroughs. It wouldn’t be my choice as a base in New York. It has too little of the promise that Brendan loved about the United States and which he summed up in a sentence preserved in a plaque at the front door: “To America, my new-found land: the man that hates you hates the human race.”

But there is no doubt that he felt at home at the Chelsea. In a disorganised office, filled with piles of books and papers spread across several desks, Stanley told me: “Brendan would come in just as you did now and stand right there where you are standing. I would be on the phone to my wife and he would grab the phone off me and start singing to her.”
By his own standards, though, he was reasonably well-behaved. “We are interested in helping the artist and he respected that,” said Stanley. “He never abused the hotel or anyone in the hotel.”

Brendan Behan’s New York was published in 1964,though it was a ‘talk book’, far removed from the classic novels and plays the Russell Street native had produced before it. Behan’s best days as a writer had passed him as he succumbed to the drink, his untimely death robbing Dublin of one of its most celebrated voices, and as his brother Brian would recall “greater writers have graced the literary canvas than Brendan in Ireland’s history, but not greater characters- before or since.”

On August 7^th 1912 four women- Gladys Evans, Mary Leigh, Jennie Baines (under the nom de guerre Lizzie Baker) and Mabel Capper were sentenced at the Green Street Special Criminal Court in Dublin accused of “having committed serious outrages at the time of the visit of the British Prime Minister Herbert Asquith.” The trial lasted several days during which police came under fire for initially refusing to allow admittance to women. Given the nature of the case, this act was met with steady and mounting pressure until the ban was repealed.

The “acts of serious outrage” have been mentioned in passing here before in an article on the Theatre Royal. The visit of Asquith to Dublin in July 1912 was met with defiance from militant suffragettes, some of whom (including the four above) had followed him over from England. On July 19th, a hatchet (around which a text reading “This symbol of the extinction of the Liberal Party for evermore” was wrapped) was thrown at his moving carriage as it passed over O’Connell Bridge. The hatchet missed Asquith but struck John Redmond, who was travelling in the same carriage, on the arm. There was also a failed attempt at setting fire to the Theatre Royal as he was due to talk on Home Rule in the same venue the following day. A burning chair was thrown from a balcony into the orchestra pit and flammable liquid was spread around the cinematograph (projector) box, and an attempt made to set it alight. It caught fire, and exploded once, but was quickly extinguished. The Irish Times, as below, reported the attempt which, in any case was foiled by Sergeant Durban Cooper of the Connaught Rangers who was in attendance:

At this moment Sergeant Cooper saw a young woman standing near. She was lighting matches. Opening the door of the cinematograph box, she threw in a lighted match, and then tried to escape. But she was caught by Sergeant Cooper and held by him. She is stated to have then said: “There will be a few more explosions in the second house. This is only the start of it.” (Irish Times, July 19^th 1912)

Taken from “Votes for Women,” August 9th, 1912

The four women mentioned above were accused and charged over both actions. The then Attorney General for Ireland, C.A O’Connor conducted the prosecution, and the case was presided over by Judge Madden. It seems that the authorities were at great pains to quell the burgeoning suffragette movement, and so set out to brand the women as highly dangerous provocateurs. O’Connor spoke of the horrors the fire in the Theatre could have caused, and Judge Madden, upon passing sentence on the women, rendered it his “imperative duty to pronounce a sentence that is calculated to have a deterrent effect.” Large crowds had gathered inside and outside the court for their sentencing upon which, as seen in the Evening Post clipping below, applause rang out around a largely hostile room.

Gladys Evans, daughter of a London stockbroker, was accused of trying to set the cinematograph box alight and found guilty on the charges of conspiring to do bodily harm and damage property. She was sentenced along with Mary Leigh to five years penal servitude. The first time a sentence of penal servitude was handed down to a suffragette, the sentence was met with dismay and indignation in Britain. The Women’s Social and Political Union, of whom the women were members, issued a statement calling the sentences an “an outrage which is not devised as a punishment to fit the offences, but to terrorize other women.” (Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, August 10^th, 1912, pg. 2) A petition was raised against the sentencing, saying the “purity and honesty of the motives of the accused were questioned by no one” during the case, and arguing that the sentences were “far in excess of those that were ever passed down in the United Kingdom.”

A copy of the petition raised seeking the release of Gladys Evans and Mary Leigh. From http://www.museumoflondon.org

Evans went on hunger strike upon her arrival at Mountjoy Jail and was force-fed for fifty eight days until her release on October 23^rd 1912 due to ill-health.  Another dubious first, she was, along with Mary Leigh, the first suffragette in Ireland to be force-fed as no Irish suffragette had been force fed up to this point. (“Brown, Susan, Patricia Clements, and Isobel Grundy, eds. Orlando: Women’s Writing in the British Isles from the Beginnings to the Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Online, 2006- .) According to a niece of Gladys in a post on a genealogy website, Gladys eventually went on to drive a supply truck in World War I and then went as a chauffeur to a relief mission in Blerancourt Chateau, Aisne France near the Belgian Border.

Mary Leigh, born Mary Brown in 1885 was a school teacher until her marriage. A long serving activist within the movement, she is credited with being responsible for the first act of physical militancy a suffragette when she was arrested for throwing stones at the windows of 10 Downing Street after witnessing acts of police brutality at a suffragette march. (The Women’s Suffrage Movement: A Reference Guide, 1866-1928. By Elizabeth Crawford. Pg 338.) She was responsible for throwing the hatchet at Asquith, missing and hitting Redmond. She initially evaded arrest, but was caught along with Evans and the others in the incident at the Theatre Royal, where she faced the same charges as Evans, having thrown the burning chair into the orchestra pit. She represented herself in court, and spoke so well as to illicit doubt as to whether she could be held responsible for the fire in the Theatre. She was however, found guilty of throwing the hatchet and was sentenced to five years penal servitude. Upon her imprisonment, she went on hunger strike and was force-fed for forty-six days until her release on September 21st 1912. She was re-arrested shortly after her release, and an attempted retrial was held. This was ultimately thrown out, with several references in the court report to her “fiery nature.” Putting her services forward upon the outbreak of World War I, she was turned down for being a “troublemaker.” She reverted to her maiden name and on re-applying, was successful, going on to train as an ambulance driver.

From the Evening Post, September 19th 1912

Jennie Baines (“Lizzie Baker,”) was another long time suffragette, and a volunteer in the Salvation Army. An early member of the Women’s Social and Political Union, she was a notably powerful speaker, and well respected in the movement for placing more of an emphasis on action over words. She had not been seen near the Theatre, and so, any blame for the fire could not be directly apportioned to her. She had, along with Mable Capper, come over with the other two, and lodged with them in a room on Mount Street in which was found flammable liquid and rubber gloves. She pleaded guilty to a minor offence of causing damage to property and was given seven months hard labour. Like the others, she went on hunger strike, but in her case, the prison doctor feared that force feeding may have had serious implications for her health. As such, she was freed after a matter of days. In her later life, she moved to Melbourne, Australia and achieved the status of a children’s court magistrate there.

Mabel Capper was born into a house driven by political activity. Her father was the Secretary of the Manchester branch of the Men’s League for Women’s Suffrage while her  mother was an active member of the Women’s Social & Political Union. She was imprisoned over half a dozen times for activities relating to the Suffragette movement. Although accused of being Gladys Evans’ accomplice, prosecution entered a “non prosequi” in her case, and charges withdrawn due to lack of evidence. Like the others, she adhered to Christabel Pankhurst’s call for the WSPU’s call to abandon it’s campaign in order to support Britain in WWI and joined the Volunteer Aid Detachment.

On the case, and its outcome, the August 16th 1912 copy of Votes for Women, the voice of the WSPU, said that “by meting out punishment of such appalling severity, the government have created a situation which they themselves know cannot last. Even they realise that women cannot be sent to prison for years to convict prisons as the alternative to giving them the Vote.” On sentencing, Mary Leigh announced “It is a frightful sentence; but it will have no deterring effect on us.”

——-

http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=d&d=EP19120919.2.37

http://news.google.com/newspapers?id=tW49AAAAIBAJ&sjid=WysMAAAAIBAJ&pg=3498,4900135&dq=mabel+capper+suffragette&hl=en

Entry at http://www.familytreemaker.genealogy.com, provided by Gladys’ niece, Joan Skinner.

There was a lot of interest in a post earlier this week looking at football hooliganism at Richmond Park in the 1970s and 1980s. Outside the scope and timeframe of that article was the UEFA Cup Clash between Saint Patrick’s Athletic and Heart of Midlothian F.C in Tolka Park in 1988. Clashes at this game were photographed by the media, and this fantastic image was printed in the Irish Press on the day following the fixture:

Irish Press capture violence at Tolka Park, 1988.

The Saints were defeated 2-0 in Tolka Park by their Scottish opponents, but as one match report noted:

The loss of the match will be difficult enough to bear, but the behaviour of some of the estimated 8,000 people who came to watch may cost them dearly. Spectators carrying Glasgow Celtic flags and Irish tricolours inscribed with the letters IRA gathered under the popular stand and in the second half threw missiles onto the pitch causing the referee Harry King from Wales to draw the attention of the officials and the Gardaí to this behaviour.

Paul Hyland noted in his match report for the Irish Independent that a section of the crowd appeared to be wearing Celtic colours. Condemnation of Celtic supporters was widespread in the media, and the following letter appeared in the Irish Press from one Celtic supporter:

Pats crashed out 4-0 to Hearts over two legs, and a decade later would take on Celtic in Tolka Park!

While Dublin is a city of many plaques which mark historic locations, there are still a few missing which would help tell the story of the capital to natives and visitors alike. One of these locations to me is Vaughan’s Hotel on Parnell Square, a premises which had a strong connection to the Irish revolutionary period and Michael Collins in particular. Parnell Square plays a crucial role in Irish republican history. It was there that the decision to stage an uprising was reached prior to 1916, it was there that the occupation of the Rotunda occurred in 1922, it was there that An Phoblacht did (and does) have its headquarters, and it was even there that the Blueshirt movement had their offices in the 1930s.

Google Street View of the corner of Parnell Square where Vaughan’s was found.

Vaughan’s Hotel was acquired in 1953 by the Workers Union of Ireland, and remains a home of the trade union movement to this day. The sale of the building in 1953 attracted some controversy, owing to the strong connection between the premises and the War of Independence. The Irish Times reported on an auction of the hotels contents in November 1953, writing that:

Just how did a Hotel in the centre of the city come to be so closely associated with Michael Collins and the republican movement? Writing in one of his popular Irish Press columns, ‘Down Dublin Streets’, Eamonn MacThomais noted that Vaughan’s had first opened at no.29, at the corner on Granby Row and Lane, next to a premises owned by a surgeon doctor, and next to it was the Civil Service Institute. When Vaughan’s grew, it acquired the premises next to the Civil Service Institute, and both of these premises nestled between the two ends of Vaughan’s gave the cover or the impression of a respectable and law-abiding square! The Hotel had the added advantage of a long back garden running parallel with Granby Lane, and a system was developed whereby a “flowerpot in the back window told Michael Collins and his men to keep away from Vaughan’s Hotel.”

Vaughan’s as it appeared at the time

Many veterans of the revolutionary period discussed Vaughan’s Hotel in their statements to the Bureau of Military History. Frank Henderson told the Bureau how Vaughan’s was just one of a number of premises in the area republicans used, noting that: “As well as Vaughan’s Hotel there were James Kirwan’s publichouse in Parnell Street and Flynn’s in Moore Street, where I sometimes contacted the Director of Organisation and where I used see at the same time Michael Collins, Piaras Beasley and other G.H.Q. officers.”

Piaras Beaslaí wrote an article on the Hotel for the Irish Independent in 1966, writing that:

From the beginning of 1920 until November 21st – “Bloody Sunday”- hardly a night passed when some Directors and officers of the G.H.Q did not meet in the smoke room of Vaughan’s Hotel in Parnell Square, Dublin, partly to transact business, partly to relax and indulge in general conversation, which however, seldom lasted long without bringing in topics concerned with the struggle with which we were engaged.

A now iconic image of Michael Collins, taken at the funeral of Arthur Griffith.

A fascinating story regarding Collins and the Hotel was told by Christopher Harte, who had been a young porter in Vaughan’s in the days Collins would frequent it. Harte told his story in the Officers Mess of McKee Barracks, where he worked as a waiter in later life, and the story was transcribed for the BMH, with the transcriber noting that:

He was arrested shortly before midnight on the night of 31st December, 1920,and detained in Dublin Castle where he
was ill-treated. The time was fixed in his memory by the fact that church bells were ringing in the “New Year” as he was entering Dublin Castle under arrest. A few days later, the exact date he cannot remember, while still in custody in the Castle he was questioned in a dark room as to his knowledge of Collins. He denied all knowledge of him, but was confronted with the statement that he had frequently been seen carrying Michael Collins’ bicycle down the steps of Vaughan’s Hotel from the hall into the street.

It was suggested to him by his unseen questioner that he was a poor man and that he would like to earn some money.
He was informed that the authorities would be prepared to pay a sum, perhaps up to even £10,000 for information leading to the capture of Collins. The scheme suggested to him was that on some occasion when Collins would be in Vaughan’s Hotel, he, Christopher Harte, should ring up the Castle, Extension 28, and give the following message:

-
Brennan: The portmanteau is now ready

Harte never took the castle up upon their offer.

The wedding reception of Cork republican Tom Barry was held in Vaughan’s Hotel, and was attended by Michael Collins, Eamon De Valera, Countess Markieviez, Eoin O’Duffy and other leading lights in the movement. The irony that Collins and Barry would later find themselves fighting on opposite sides of the coming Civil War is unavoidable.

Frank Henderson would recall that in-time republicans came to view Vaughan’s as an unsafe location, noting that:

I recollect being in Vaughan’s Hotel subsequent to Bloody Sunday and previous to the Truce for some reason or other. The premises were raided on the Saturday night before Bloody Sunday and it was generally regarded afterwards as being a most unsafe place to be in.

While Republicans ceased to avail of Vaughan’s from this point onwards in the War of Independence, it was a great irony during the Civil War that a former favourite haunt of Michael Collins was occupied by the Anti-Treaty IRA, joined by members of the Irish Citizen Army. Among those occupying Vaughan’s Hotel during the Civil War was Liam O’Flaherty, the writer who had spearheaded the January 1922 workers occupation of the Rotunda.

Surely now is the time to ensure this hugely important historic site is given the plaque it deserves?

Last Sunday, nine of us made the trek from the car park of Montpelier Hill to the Captain Noel Lemmas memorial deep in the Dublin Mountains. While Ciaran is due to post up some pictures from this memorable journey, I thought it would be no harm to talk a little about Captain Noel Lemass and his isolated monument

Captain Noel Lemass (1897-1923) of the  3rd Battalion, Dublin Brigade IRA fought in the General Post Office (GPO) during the Easter Rising of 1916, took an active part in the War of Independence (1919-1921) and joined the occupation of the Four Courts after taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War. His younger brother Sean, who had a similar military career, would go on to become Ireland’s fourth Taoiseach.

After the fall of the Four Courts, Noel was imprisoned but managed to escape and make his way to England. He returned to Ireland during the summer of 1923 when the ceasefire was declared. Returning to work at Dublin Corporation, he asked the town clerk John J. Murphy if he would forward a letter to the authorities that he planned to write “stating that he had no intention of armed resistance to the Government”. (1)

In July 1923, two months after the Civil War ended, Noel was kidnapped in broad daylight by Free State agents outside MacNeils Hardware shop, at the corner of Exchequer and Drury Street.

Notice from Noel’s father in The Freeman’s Journal (16 July 1923)

Three months later, on 13th October, his mutilated body was found on the Featherbed Mountain twenty yards from the Glencree Road, in an area known locally as ‘The Shoots’. It was likely that he was killed elsewhere and dumped at this spot.

The Leitrim Observer of 20 October 1923 described that Civic Guards found his body:

clothed in a dark tweed suit, light shirt, silk socks, spats and a knitted tie. The pockets contained a Rosary beads, a watch-glass, a rimless glass, a tobacco pouch and an empty cigarette case. The trousers’ pockets were turned inside out, as if they had been rifled. There was what appeared to be an entrance bullet wound on the left temple, and the top of the skull was broken, suggesting an exit wound.

Noel was shot at least three times in the head and his left arm was fractured. His right foot was never found.

Meeting two days later, Dublin Council passed a strongly worded vote of sympathy with his family. Describing their fellow employee as an “esteemed and worthy officer of the Council who had been foully and diabolically murdered”, the Council adjourned for one week as a mark or respect.  (2)

It was believed that many that a Free Stater Captain James Murray was behind the murder murder.

His funeral was described by The Irish Times on 17 October 1923 as “ranking with some of the largest seen in the city in recent years”. The hearse was preceded by the Connolly Pipers’ Band and followed by members of the Cumann na mBan, Women’s Citizens Army, Sinn Fein Clubs, Prisoners’ Defence League, many recently released prisoners, representatives of various  bodies and numerous well-known Republicans including George Noble Plunkett (father of Joseph Plunkett), Constance Markievicz and Maud Gonne.

Noel Lemass in uniform. Credit – http://irishvolunteers.org

A year later, a memorial cross was erected at the spot where his body was found.

MJ Freeney, on a hill walking trip, wrote in the Sunday Independent on 24 July 1927:

Our road wound to the right and soon we a met sharp turn on our left. Having negotiated this, we found ourselves on the wild Featherbed Pass. Civilisation had been left far behind. Our only companions were rough mountain sheep and strange wild birds. Truly no lonelier spit could be found. And then a glance to our left. There in the wilderness was a cross. What strange object in such a place. We read the name – Captain Noel Lemass

The Irish Times of 12 September 1932 reported on the “first public commemoration” of the late Captain Noel Lemass which saw:

Omnibuses and motor cars .. (bring) hundreds to the scene, whilst still greater numbers made the journey on foot

The Chairman of the Noel Lemass Cumann of Fianna Fail (Mansion House Ward), George White, laid a wreath at the foot of the cross while The Last Post was sounded by Owen Somers. Joseph O’Connor of the 3rd Battalion delivered the oration:

Noel Lemass… joined the movement in 1916 and was wounded in O’Connell Street in that year, and in 1917 he assisted in reforming the organisation and served in it right up to the time of his death .. He was one of the typical young men in the Republican movement, animated by one great motive – the desire for freedom

In 1932, Sean Leamass (then Minister for Trade and Commerce) led the pilgrimage to the monument. Four years later, several hundred people traveled by bus and motor car to the ‘sequestered spot in the Dublin Mountains’ where the body of Noel Lemass was found.

As far as I can work out, there were annual pilgrimages to the spot in Featherfed mountain from 1932 until at least 1977.

Irish Press, 9 September 1935

Every year saw hundreds descend on the remote spot to pay their respects.

Irish Press, 1 October 1951

The oration in October 1965 was given by 80-year-old Jack Clarke (old IRA) who attended the first commemoration in 1932. Pictured below is Noel Lemass TD, the nephew of Captain Noel Lemass.

The Irish Times, 11 October 1965

In 1973, the Irish Press on 11 October reported on the 50th anniversary finding of the body of Captain Noel Lemass. The flag was raised by the previously mentioned Jack Clarke, Lemasses commanding officer in ‘C’ Company, 3rd Batt. IRA. (Unless there was a typo, he would have been 93 at this stage!)

The Irish Press, 14 October 1973

A letter to The Irish Times in July 1996 let readers know that the original memorial had been badly damaged by vandals over the years and a complete replacement was the only option. To mark the 75th anniversary of the death of Captain Noel Lemass, the cross was re-erected and around 250 people attending a ceremony at the spot in 1998.

The exact spot of the memorial is marked on this map.

Captain Noel Lemass memorial (2003). Credit – South Dublin County Council

(1) http://irishvolunteers.org/2013/01/noel-lemass/

(2) Marie O’Neill, Dublin Corporation in the Troubled Times 1914-1924, Dublin Historical Record Vol. 47, No. 1 Spring, 1994, pp. 56-70.

Isolde’s Tower on Exchange Street Lower was discovered in 1993, during work on the renovation of the Temple Bar area. During excavations on the site of five demolished Georgian houses, archaeologists found the base of the Tower, which served as the north-east corner tower of the 13th century city wall of Dublin. Prior to the demolition of the Georgian houses, they had been occupied for a period by a group calling itself the Society against the Destruction of Dublin, joined by Green Party Councillor Ciaran Cuffe. The find below the Georgian homes sparked huge media interest, and it was estimated by historians and archaeologists that the tower had once stood at 30-40ft, prior to being demolished sometime in the 17th century.

The dig was widely reported in the media. This image featured in The Irish Times.

The firm of architects responsible for demolishing the Georgian houses and building apartment blocks in the location, Gilroy and McMahon, promised to incorporate the archaeologists findings into their project. This fantastic video from the Dublin City Walls App gives some idea of how the incredible tower may have appeared.

True to their word, the remains of the tower were incorporated into the apartment complex of the same name. However one of my pet hates about this part of town is the manner in which they are almost always covered up by bins connected to the complex, as this image shows. It seems a real pity that such a gem of an archaeological find is blocked from view.

Isolde’s Tower, almost always blocked from view.