William Graham was a 23-year-old Dubliner and member of the anti-Treaty IRA when he was shot dead by the Free State Army in November 1922 at Leeson Street Bridge. There is no plaque or monument to mark the spot of his incident.

William was born in 1900 to William Sr. and Mary Graham, both originally from Wexford. The 1901 census shows that the family were living at 5.3 Cornmarket, the road that links High Street (by St. Audoen’s Church) and Thomas Street. William Sr (43) was a Stationery Engine Driver while his wife Mary (39) looked after their four sons and three daughters. All were Roman Catholic. Myles (15) was a messenger at the GPO and Alice (14) was an apprentice in a shirt factory. John (10), Katie (7), James (5) and Bridget (3) were at school while young William (1) was only a baby.

Ten years later the family had moved around the corner to 4.5 Ross Road, part of the Corporation Buildings. This road connects High Street with Winetavern Street.

Graham Family, Ross Road. 1911 census.

The 1911 census tells us William Sr. had died sometime during the last decade. He left his widow Mary (50)  along with his children Alice (26), a Cake Packer, John (20), a Van Driver, Cathrine/Katie (17), no occupation listed, and James (15), a Telegraph Messenger. Myles had left the family home by this stage. Bridget (13) and William (11) were both at school. Denis Lennon (54), an illterate single man from Wexford listed as Mary’s brother in law, also lived with the family.

At the time of his death in 1922, William Graham was listed as living at 4 Ross Road which corresponds with the census records. Interestingly, 4 Ross Road is the address given by two insurgents who were arrested after the Easter Rising in 1916. These were Peter Kavanagh, a plumber’s assistant, and Patrick Kavanagh, a fitter’s assistant. The 1911 census shows that there were two Kavanagh families living in the Ross Road Corporation Buildings, however, only one matches the above names.

‘Cristíona Ní Fhearghaill bean Seáin Uí Caomhánaigh’ which translates as ‘Christina Farrell, wife of John Kavanagh’ was living at 2.2 Ross Road in 1911 with her three sons and two daughters -  Máire (22), Peadar (16), Padraig (13), Samuel (10) and Cáitlín (7). Mary were listed as working as a ‘bean fuaghala’ (seamstress) while Peter is down as a ‘buachaill oiffige’ (office boy). Patrick, Samuel and Kathleen were at school.

Irish Volunteer William Christian from Inchicore recorded in his witness statement that:

On Easter Monday I was mobilised by Peter Kavanagh. He was then living in Ross Road and he desired me to pass on the news to any of the other volunteers who might be perhaps living in the neighborhood. I knew of nobody save my pal, James Daly, so I called fro him and both of us proceeded to Earlsfort Terrace…” (BMH WS 646)

IRA officer Seamus Kavanagh from Clanbrassil Street records in his Witness Statement (No. 1053) that Peader Kavanagh was a member of ‘C’ Company who fought in Bolands Bakery. It is not known where Padraig fought.

It is interesting that the two Kavanagh brothers, living at 2 Ross Road in 1911, would give their address as 4 Ross Road after the Rising in 1916. While I can’t find any evidence that the 16 year old William Graham played any role in the Rising, there is no doubt that he would have been politicalised by the event and, in particular, the arrests of his two neighbors. Or perhaps they were actually living with the Graham family in 1916?

Ross Road, c. 1887-1913.

The only reference that I can find of Graham in the Witness Statements from Stephen Keys who was Section Commander of ‘A’ Company, 3rd Batt. Dublin Brigade IRA from 1918-23. Quite bizarrely, he calls him ‘Kruger Graham’ and I haven’t yet been able to find out why. (Kruger seems to be a name associated with South Africa)

Stephen Keys gives a first hand account of the events, that himself and Graham were involved in during the winter of 1922, leading up to his death:

At the next attempt to blow up Oriel House, my job was to take away the men and cover the retreat … I commandeered a car from Leeson St. I was not able to crank the motor and I always had to leave the engines running. The mine went off with such force that you would be blown off your feet … The lads ran by … The last to come was Kruger Graham … (he) jumped into the back of the car and said, “Drive Steve. They are all out. I am the last”

Oriel House, at the intersection of Westland Row and Fenian Street, was the HQ of the feared and hated Free State Intelligence Department. Today, it is owned by TCD and is the headquarters for CTVR, The Telecommunications Research Centre.

Stephen Keys goes on to say that after the aformentioned attempt on Oriel House, their next engagement was “…sticking up an armed guard at Harcourt St. railway.”. He describes this as “a battalion job (with) mostly ‘A’ Company men” involved. We can come to the conclusion that William Greham was a member of the 3rd Batt. of the IRA and quite possibly ‘A’ Company.

Keys writes:

I had another car on this occasion, an open car. They were to bring down the rifles from the railway and load them into the car. Willie Rower was on this job and he shot someone, which disorganised the plan and spoiled the job. I drove around, thinking I would pick up some men who might be straggling around the place.

The Irish Independent of 28 November 1922 wrote that a Lt. Comdt. of the Free State Army was “on duty in the vicinity of Harcourt St … with 3 whippet cars and a tender (when) shortly after 9pm … he heard shooting.”. This patrol rushed to Harcourt Station and found one of the guards there had been disarmed.

After finding out what had happened, he collected his men and proceeded along Hatch Street to Leeson Street. Here, three men were spotted by the bridge. The Free State soldiers called on them to halt. Searching the trio, they found nothing on the first man but they discovered that Graham had a fully loaded Webley revolver tucked down his trousers.

The Freemans Journal headline of 28 November 1922

This is when the story diverges slightly.

The Free State witness said that Graham  made an attempt disarm him which forced him to discharge his weapon. Graham’s comrades maintain that the Free State Lt. Comdt. shot Graham at point blank range once he had found the gun on him. Stephen Keys says:

…Kruger Graham, was captured by the Free State Army in Leeson St. and they shot him dead on the street. They got a gun on him.

As it was punishable by death to be caught with an unlicensed gun, the second scenario is plausible.

Bus crossing Leeson Street Bridge. Credit – Flickr user Cooze

After being shot, Graham was taken to a nearby house where a d doctor and two clergy men were called. He was subsequently brought to St. Vincent’s Hospital where he was pronounced dead. Dr. Blanc stated at the inquest that he died due to shock and hemmorhage, caused by a gunshot wound that entered and exited his stomach.

At the inquiry that followed, the unnamed Lt. Comdt. was cross-examined by solicitor John O’Byrne (acting for the authorities) and then Alex Lynn (acting for the next-ok-kin):

Mr. O’Byrne – Have you any doubt that it was your shot that hit him?
Witness – No; he fell when I fired
Mr. O’Byrne – Have you any military instructions as to what to do if a man attempts to disarm you?
Witness – Yes, shoot him
Mr Lynn – Don’t you think it is necessary for a citizen to carry a revolver (in) these times?
Witness – Is it, if he wants to be executed for it
Mr. Lynn – Is it any worse to be executed than to be shot in Leeson Street?
Witness – A man cannon carry a revolver without a permit from the competent military authority.

The newspapers reported that the dead body of “William Graham, aged 23, Labourer of 4 Ross Road” was identified by his brother Maurice. As there are no Maurice Graham’s listed in Dublin in the 1901 census, this is likely to have his brother Myles who was recorded in the Graham family census return.

William Graham was just one of dozens of young anti-Treaty IRA men who were killed by the Free State in Dublin from August 1922 to August 1923. Of the 25+ murders, there are only a handful of plaques.

If you have anymore information about William Graham or his relationship with the Kavanagh brothers, please get in touch by leaving a comment or emailing me at matchgrams(at)gmail.com

Edward Fitzgerald

Lord Edward Fitzgerald is one of the most romantic figures in Irish history, a rebel aristocrat associated with the failed revolution of 1798, known as the ‘Citizen Lord’. He is today buried in Saint Werburgh’s Church near to Dublin Castle, an institution he hoped to overthrow by force. A small plaque on the front of the church marks this fact, and it’s one of the great ironies of the city that Major Henry C. Sirr who captured him is buried in the graveyard at the back of the church.

Plaque on Saint Werburgh’s Church, Werburgh Street.

One figure associated with Edward Fitzgerald I’ve been fascinated by for a while now is Tony Small, an escaped slave Fitzgerald encountered in the United States who he later employed as a personal assistant. Small became a frequent sight around Dublin in the 1780s and 1790s, in a city where coloured men were few and far between. Fitzgerald commissioned a portrait of Small in 1786 by the artist Thomas Roberts:

In her brilliant biography of Fitzgerald, Stella Tillyard noted that “If Lord Edward’s mother was his great love, his constant companion was Tony Small, the runaway slave who saved his life in North America in 1781″, and she went on to note that “Tony embodied and brought to life his master’s commitment to freedom and equality for all men.”

Small had witnessed the British and Americans at war firsthand in 1781, as when his owners had fled South Carolina with their possessions and slaves, Tony had escaped and stayed on. On the 8th September 1781, Tony wandered onto a battlefield, and as Tillyard has noted he stumbled across “the blood-soaked uniform of a British officer of the 19th Regiment of Foot. The man was alive but unconscious, overlooked by the search parties of both sides.” The man was Edward Fitzgerald, and when he next awoke he was in the small hut Tony Small knew as his home. Fitzgerald offered Small liberty, and a new life working as his servant, in return for wages. An incredible and unlikely friendship had been born.

Kevin Whelan discusses the friendship between the two in his entry on Lord Edward Fitzgerald for the Dictionary of Irish Biography, noting that “The best-documented Irish example of imaginative sympathy between a white and a black man is the subsequent relationship between Fitzgerald and Small. Until his death in 1798, in a sprawling career that took him across much of Europe, America, and Canada, Fitzgerald never subsequently parted from his ‘faithful Tony’.”

In time, this one-time British soldier and darling of the Ascendancy class was converted towards the ideas of republicanism, the influence of writers such as Thomas Paine and personal observation on the streets of France inspiring this total shift in identity and politics. It was not until 1796 that Fitzgerald joined the United Irishmen, but the seeds had long been planted.

Small followed Fitzgerald wherever he went, and on moving to Dublin with Fitzgerald, Small lived within the family home of Leinster House for a period. By this point Fitzgerald was married to a young French woman by the name of Pamela, and as Tillyard has noted “to Ascendancy society Pamela seemed to be every bit as much a symbol of the revolution as she was to Lord Edward himself.” Her poor English, and her Catholic faith, instantly distanced her from the Dublin ruling class of the day. Yet imagine how ‘different’ Tony Small must have appeared in the Dublin of the late eighteenth century.

One story relating to Small and Leinster House was told by John Brennan in a feature on Fitzgerald for The Irish Times in 1963, in which he noted that on one occasion when Fitzgerald was returning to his family home, Small alerted him to the presence of soldiers inside the house, thus saving Fitzgerald from arrest.

Leinster House. Today the home of the Dáil and Seanad but once the family home of the Fitzgerald family (NLI)

When Fitzgerald moved to Kildare in 1795, Tony moved with him, returning to Leinster House before the birth of the son of Fitzgerald and Pamela. The time in Kildare is remembered in Tillyard’s biography as a very happy one, with Tony said to come up from the servants’ rooms to dance jigs and enjoy Irish music and culture. He would travel also to Germany in May 1796 when Fitzgerald departed for there, to engage in discussions with the French Directory.

Tony Small had not alone an employer within the small travelling party in which he frequently accompanied the Fitzgerald’s, but also a partner. From the time he had lived in Kildare he had been very much in love with Julie, another servant who was the nursemaid of Pamela. Together they would have children.

Fitzgerald played a leading role in the planning of the insurrection for 1798, and his arrest and capture in May of that year on Thomas Street was a major blow to the republican movement. A reward for £1,000 was on the head of Fitzgerald, and he was considered among the most influential and indeed dangerous United Irish leaders still at large. He was taken to Newgate Prison, where he died having been denied proper medical treatment. This prison holds an infamous place in Dublin’s history, and it was there that the Sheares Brothers were hung, drawn and quartered for their role in the republican movement.

At the time of the passing of Edward, Tony was staying with Pamela in England. Both were naturally devastated, and the passing of the aristocrat-turned-revolutionary brought an unexpected twist in Tony’s life, as Pamela would in-time remarry and Tony and Julie felt it time to move on. Setting themselves up in London off the back of their savings, Tony died there following a period of illness. Not much was known of this period in Tony’s life, but recently released letters from the Fitzgerald family have shined a light on the period. Kevin Whelan has noted in a feature for History Ireland magazine that:

After 1798, Tony drops out of view but these new letters pick him up again. He had moved to London, and set up in trade in Piccadilly. Falling ill in 1803, he appealed to the Fitzgerald family for assistance which was quickly forthcoming (according to Lucy). The letter demonstrates Tony Small’s accomplished literacy. He talks of having spent money on doctors and asks ‘the family to make up a sum of money for me so that I might be able to keep on business for my wife and children which is my greatest trouble’. Small was obviously in contact with Arthur O’Connor’s peripatetic servant, Jerry O’Leary, because O’Connor wrote from Fort George that he had heard that Tony had fallen on hard times and was not being helped. Lucy Fitzgerald adds an indignant annotation that the family were indeed assisting him.

Beyond Tillyard’s excellent biography of Fitzgerald, little has been written on Tony Small. Did he appear in any of the Dublin newspapers of the day I wonder, as he would have been an unusual sight on the streets of the capital with his close relationship to Fitzgerald. The escaped slave who made it to Leinster House is as good a Dublin story as any, and Tony should not be forgotten.

On Wednesday 23 January, RTE’s Nationwide programme had a special feature on the Jewish community in Dublin. It can be watched, anytime over the next sixteen days, on the RTE Player here.

It includes:

- Elaine Brown and her daughter Melaine taking Mary Kennedy on a tour of Clanbrassil Street and helping to identify Jewish shops from a 1965 RTE documentary.

J. Goldwater shop on Clanbrassil Street. (RTE, documentary 1965)

- A feature on the originally Jewish Bretzel Bakery (estd. 1870) in Portobello which has had its Kosher status re-established since William Despard and Cormac Keenan took over in 2000. Also includes interview with Cantor Shulman whose job is to inspect the bakery and make sure it is following the Kosher rules.

Walworth Road Synagogue pictured in 1965. Now the Irish Jewish Museum (RTE documentary)

- Detailed story of Ettie Steinberg, the only Irish born victim of the Holocaust. She grew up on Raymond Terrace off the South Circular Road and was educated in St. Catherine’s School on Donore Avenue. Ettie was murdered with her German husband in Auschwitz. Includes interviews with Dubliner and Irish-Jewish genealogist Stuart Rosenblatt and Yvonne Altman O’Connor of the Irish Jewish Museum

The Irish Press reports on the death of Jim Larkin. He is shown here being arrested on Bloody Sunday, 1913.

January 30th marks the anniversary of Jim Larkin, who died in 1947. The Irish Press reported on the day after his passing that it marked the end of an epoch in Irish history, and that “with him to the grave goes the turbulence and tumult of 1913.” Larkin was 72 years old at the time of his passing, and to this day remains a giant of not only trade union history in the city of Dublin but also the collective memory of the capital. On the day following his death, Sean O’Casey paid tribute to ‘Big Jim’ in the pages of the national media, where he was quoted as saying:

It is hard to believe that this great man is dead; that this lion of the Irish Labour movement will roar no more. When it seemed that every man’s hand was against him the time he led workers through the tremendous days of 1913 he wrested tribute of Ireland’s greatest and most prominent men.

O’Casey noted that Larkin was far and away above the orthodox labour leader, “for he combined within himself the imagination of the artist, with the fire and determination of a leader of the downtrodden class.”

To deny that Larkin was an at-times difficult character is to deny the truth, and many biographies of Larkin give insight into what was at times a dangerously sharp tongue and what historian Emmet O’Connor perfectly described in his biography of Jim as a “brash personality.” His clashes with others in the union movement like William O’Brien on occasion quite literally divided the movement, yet he remains the most inspirational figure to arise from the pages of Irish labour history, on par with the Edinburgh born James Connolly.

Larkin’s funeral arrangements, as reported in major newspapers on the day of the funeral.

The funeral of the Liverpool born agitator brought thousands of Dubliners onto the street. The removal alone witnessed thousands coming out to see the body removed to St Mary’s Church, draped in the Plough and the Stars, the flag of the Irish Citizen Army of which Larkin had been a founding member. Prior to this the body had been at Thomas Ashe Hall, and The Irish Times noted that “the guard of honour who kept watch beside the coffin throughout Saturday were drawn from members of the Irish Citizen Army and veterans of the 1913 labour struggle.” Among the messages of sympathy received was one from Archbishop McQuaid, along with others from the international trade union movement. George Bernard Shaw told the media that “we all have to go. He done many a good days work.”

Thousands lined the route of the funeral procession from St Mary’s Church to Glasnevin Cemetery, and the scale of the turnout is obvious from reports, which noted for example that at Liberty Hall 1,200 Dublin dockers formed a guard of honour. The mass itself had been celebrated by John Charles McQuaid, and John Cooney notes in his biography of McQuaid that “while the poor poured out their grief at Larkin’s death, McQuaid thanked God that the man long feared as the anti-Christ had died with Rosary beads wrapped around his hands. Larkin’s pious death was McQuaid’s most treasured conversion.”

At Glasnevin Cemetery the oration was delivered by William Norton, Labour T.D. Norton told the crowd that: “If each of us here would resolve to reunite our movement, to eliminate the bickering, the pettiness and the trivialities which divide and impede us, our success in achieving a united movement is assured.” It was not until 1990 that SIPTU was formed from a merger of the Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union and the Federated Workers’ Union of Ireland.

Multitext, UCC’s remarkable online project in Irish history, contains fantastic images of Larkin’s removal and funeral. We have reproduced them below. Larkin remains a giant of Dublin history and the story of the Irish working class, and he should be remembered with pride on this year in particular, which marks the centenary of the 1913 dispute.

The funeral cortege of Jim Larkin. Via http://multitext.ucc.ie

A scene from the funeral of Larkin. Via http://multitext.ucc.ie

The funeral of Jim Larkin. via http://multitext.ucc.ie

We’ve recently had some posts on the history of football hooliganism in Dublin, which have attracted considerable interest. It’s the tip of the iceberg with a lot more study to be done in the area, but over the course of my research I came across this pretty comical article from the Sunday Independent, of a Benny Hill like operation at Milltown which resulted in a mob attacking a bus in a case of mistaken identity.I’m a bit confused by the report though, as Miltown was the home of Shamrock Rovers at the time. Anyone know more about this one?

Glasnevin Museum are currently playing home to a beautiful old tramcar, which is on loan from the National Transport Museum in Howth. With this being the year of the centenary of the 1913 Lockout, which involved Dublin tram workers, there is no more fitting time for Dubliners to see this iconic form of public transport. The tram is at Glasnevin until this Saturday, and was on-site for the anniversary of Jim Larkin’s passing yesterday:

Image via: Glasnevin Museum

I couldn’t resist getting a snap with the tram, which is bedecked with slogans of the union movement from the period:

Thanks to Scott Millar

Jer O’Leary, the Dublin actor who performs the role of Jim Larkin with great passion, done the very same. Last year I saw Ger deliver one of Larkin’s speeches to a class of schoolchildren in Ringsend, one of the areas in Dublin which was caught up in the labour dispute. Anyone who hasn’t can see Jer in action here.

Jer O’Leary, photograph by Scott Millar.

The Irish Independent, April 1st 1971.

On March 31st 1971, a small protest by activists from the Irish Women’s Liberation Movement grabbed nationwide media attention. Angered by the decision of the Seanad not to allow a reading for Senator Mary Robinson’s Contraceptive Bill which could have led to the legalisation of contraception, fifteen women who were accompanied by children made their way to the gates of Leinster House, forcing their way into the grounds. Shortly after 3pm, the women made their way through the Merrion Street gates, before a few of them snuck into the building through the open window of the male bathrooms!

Among the women who partook in the protest were the journalist Mary Kenny, Sinn Féin secretary Mairin de Burca and Margaret Gaj. Gaj was a fascinating character, born in Glasgow to Irish parents in the year 1919, she was a veteran of the women’s movement and many other progressive movements in Irish society. She also owned the popular restaurant and hangout Gaj’s on Baggot Street. In a 2011 obituary for Mrs. Gaj, Rosita Sweetman noted that ” trade unionists, aristocrats, lawyers, bank robbers, prostitutes, students, artists, prisoners, civil-rights activists and Women’s Libbers all rubbed shoulders around the scrubbed hardwood tables.”

1963 advertisement.

The group made their way into the grounds of Leinster House singing ‘We Shall Not Conceive’ to the tune of ‘We Shall Overcome’, and were refused permission to speak to any Senators following the decision of the Seanad not to discuss the issue. One individual who did speak to the women was Joseph Leneghan, the Fianna Fáil T.D for West Mayo. The journalist Mary Kenny was among the protesting women, and raised the issue of his use of the term “whores knickers” in the Dáil with Leneghan. The Irish Times reported that “Mr Leneghan- he comes from Belmullet,said that knickers hadn’t come to his part of the country yet; they’d only reached Ballina.”

Leneghan went one better by offering to bring the women to the Dáil bar, and “he was preparing to lead them through the entrance but the attendant would only admit him and not the entourage.”

Media coverage of the protest from April 1st 1971

While this invasion of Leinster House through the window of the toilets is a comical enough story, the women’s movement in the 1970s had serious teeth, and led many important progressive campaigns in Ireland, from opposing censorship (see this CHTM post on Spare Rib magazine) to the battle for contraception in Ireland. Not long after this event, the famed ‘Contraception Train’ action would follow, grabbing national and international attention.

There is an enduring legend that during one game of cricket in Trinity College, a stray ball broke a window of the exclusive Kildare Street Club on Nassau Street. The story is usually associated with the legendary British Cricket player W.G. Grace who did visit Dublin a number of times in the late 19th century.

In 1897, witnesses are on the record saying hit a ball from College Park in Trinity over the fence and onto Nassau Street. Since then however, the story has grown legs and numerous individuals have been credited with his achievement.

James Joyce was obviously a fan of the legend as he wrote in Ulysses (1922):

Heavenly weather really. If life was always like that. Cricket weather. Sit around under sunshades. Over after over. Out. They can’t play it here. Duck for six wickets. Still Captain Buller broke a window in the Kildare street club with a slog to square leg.

An online Joyce website has done extensive research on trying to find out who this Bulller referenced could have been.

Kildare Street Club in 1860. Credit – http://archiseek.com

Stephen Gwynn in his Dublin Old And New book, published in 1938, makes reference to the incident :

(In Trinity) more than one lusty man has lifted a ball to leg and broken a window in Nassau Street: indeed it sticks in my memory that in one of the first Australian teams, when Spofforth was dreaded as a demon bowler, a handsome giant, Bonner, hit a ball off an Irish bowler, to a measured distance of 175 yards

Sports journalist MVC in the Irish Independent on 19 July 1945 wrote:

Famous Cork County cricketer Major Parry … often delighted my young heart with some mighty hitting at College Park. Parry may not have accomplished the legendary feat of breaking a window in the Kildare Street Club but more than once I remember having to duck to avoid being decapitated by fierce hooks that went straight from the bat to the Nassau Street wall without the touching the ground. By way of a chance, can anybody tell me if the Kildare Street Club ever did suffer such an assault and by whom – or is the story as apocryphal as the one about somebody hitting from Rathmines to break the Town Hall Clock

He received a reply from an Enniskerry-based reader the following week:

A window of the Kildare Street Club was broken by a bat but (so far as I know) not by a cricket ball from College Park. In May 1922, I was in Kildare St. when some Army footballers returning from a playing pitch to Oriel House (Westland Row) kicked their ball football  in the street. One kick resulted in the smashing of a Kildare St. Club window. The ball was kicked by Capt. Charlie McCable and I think that later McCabe defrayed the glazing expenses.

An Irish Times writer, on a bus home, was retold the Grace story by a friend.

WG Grace (Credit – Telegraph)

In the paper on 16 September 1954, he recounted the conversation with his companion:

“We are now passing the Kildare Street Club. Nearly a century ago, W.G. Grace broke a window in it with a slog to square leg”. My correction was instantaneous and stern. “It was not W.G. Grace. The man’s name was Tyndall, he was an Irishman, and it didn’t happen nearly a century ago”.

In the 1956 book Cricket in Ireland William Patrick Hone quotes Captain Fowler, the oldest cricketer member of the Kildare Street Club, as saying that the only window he ever heard of being broken “was when a sniper had a shot at Lord Fermoy and missed”.

Map showing College Park in relation to the Kildare Street Club

In The Irish Times on 10 July 1956, ‘Skipper’ suggested that the feat was actually accomplished by a Scottish student:

Scotland were meeting Dublin University … in College Park, and finding themselves a man short, invited “RH”, who was then a student at Edinburgh Veterinary College, to play for them. He accepted, and during his inning he hit two balls into Nassau Street, one of which smashed a window in a cab parked on the roadway, while the other rebounded from the wall of the Kildare street Club. The ‘cabby’ was amply recompensed for the broken window and the balls in question were retrieved in the ordinary way.

An Irish Times article from 11 October 1972 adds even more elaborate details :

W.G. Grace hit a six from Trinity College Park which landed in the Earl of Meath’s custard, thus giving rise to the timeless saying “Waiter, there’s a cricket ball in my soup!”

But while a football and a snipers shot did break windows of the Kildare Street Club, it would seem that that the Cricket ball story is indeed just legend.

James Spain was a 22-year-old Dubliner and member of the anti-Treaty IRA when he was shot dead by the Free State Army in November 1922. The killing took place in the area then known as Tenters Field off Donore Avenue, only yards from where Spain grew up. There is no plaque or monument to mark the spot of this incident. We have previously covered Noel Lemass and William Graham.

James was born in December 1900 to Francis and Christina Spain, both originally from Dublin. The 1901 census shows that the family were living at 63 Harty Place off Clanbrassil Street Lower. Francis (30) was a boot maker while his wife Mary (39) looked after their three sons – Joseph (4) Francis Jr. (2) and James (4 months). All were Roman Catholic.

1901 census return for the Spain family

Ten years later the family had moved to 9 Geraldine Square off Donore Avenue. The 1911 census tells us that Francis (41), still a boot maker, and his wife Christina (35) were now living with their six sons and one daughter. These being Joseph (14), Francis Jr. (12), James (10), Annie (7) who were all at school along with Michael (5), John (3) and Patrick (1). Francis had Christina had been married for fifteen years.

1911 census return for the Spain family

At the time of his death in 1922, James Spain was listed as a upholster living at 9 Geraldine Square which corresponds with the census records. Relatives told the subsequent inquest that he had escaped from a military prison three weeks previously. His grave states that he was 1st lieutenant of A Company, 1st Batt. of the Dublin Brigade IRA.

Spain was a part of a 20-30 strong IRA team who launched a major military attack on Wellington Barracks (now Griffith Barracks) on the night of 8 November 1922. The principal attack was delivered at the rear of the barracks while shots were also fired from house-tops in the South Circular Road area.

The Irish Times, the following day, reported that the neighborhood was the:

” scene of a miniature battle. Thompson and Lewis guns answered each other with equal vigour, the sounds of the firing being heard all over the city … For nearly an hour ambulances were busy taking the wounded to hospital.

A total of 18 soldiers were hit. One was killed instantly and 17 were badly injured.

Wellington Barracks on the South Circular Road c. 1900. Credit – National Archives of Ireland

Republicans like Spain tried their best to flea the area and escape arrest. John Dorney writing in The Irish Story summarised that:

The Republicans made their escape across country, through the villages of Kimmage and Crumlin, pursued by Free State troops. They were seen carrying two badly wounded men of their own.

Spain ran north, possibly out of instinct, towards the Donore Avenue area and his home. Witnesses claim that he was dragged out of a house by soldiers and shot in Tenter Fields while the Army’s official version of events claim that he was shot in the Fields after he refused an order to stop running.

The Irish Times of 10 November 1922 reported on the events leading up to his death. Two hours after the attack on the barracks, a wounded Spain ran up to 22 Donore Road. Here a woman, Mrs. Doleman, was feeding her birds in the yard. He shouted “for god’s sake, let me in” and fell just as he got inside the gate but managed to make it the kitchen where he collapsed onto a sofa.  According to Dolenan, he was only there for a few minutes before a group of Free State soldiers ran into the house and grabbed Spain. Mrs. Doleman heard shots a few minutes after.

Map showing Geraldine Sq. in the top left hand corner (where Spain was grew up), Tenters Field (where Spain was shot) and Susan Terrace beside it (where his body was found)

As often in these cases, this is where the story diverges slightly.

At the inquest, an unnamed member of the Free State Army reported that himself and five riflemen in a Lancia car came across one of the attackers (Spain) in Tenter Fields and “called on him to halt four or five times”. After this request was denied, they shot him and the man fell.

Either way, the body of this young 22 year old local was found at Susan Terrace at the edge of Tenter Fields. He had been shot five times with the first likely to have been during the initial attack on the Barracks.

The Irish Independent on 11 November 1922 wrote:

The remains of Mr. James Spain … were last night removed from the Meath Hospital to the Carmelite Church, Whitefriar St. A man who was introduced at a previous protest meeting as Mr. O’Shea of Tipperary mounted the ruins in O’Connell St. last night and addressing those about him, asked that the meeting of protest against the treatment of prisoners be adjourned as a mark respect to the late Mr. Spain.

Two days later, the same newspaper reported on the funeral:

A number of the Cumann na mBan marched behind the hearse and there was a large cortege. The remains were received in the mortuary chapel by Rev. J. Fitzgibbon. A large numbers of wreaths were placed on the grave and three volleys from firearms were fired over the grave. The chief mourners were – Mr. F. Spain (father), Mrs. Spain (mother), Joe, Frank, Mickie, Jack, Paddy and Peadar (brothers), Annie, Molly and Crissie (sisters), Maggie and Mickie Spain (cousins), Annie and Mary Spain (aunts) and Jack Spain (uncle)

Spain was buried in the family plot in Glasnevin. Thanks to Shane Mac Thomais (of the Glasnevin Museum) for getting in touch and sending me the image of the grave.

James ‘Jim’ Spain grave, Glasnevin Cemetery. Credit – Shane Mac Thomais

James Spain was just one of dozens of young anti-Treaty IRA men who were killed by the Free State in Dublin from August 1922 to August 1923. Of the 26 murders as far as I can work out, 16 are marked by small monuments where the bodies were found.

If you have anymore information about James Spain, please get in touch by leaving a comment or emailing me at matchgrams(at)gmail.com

Peter Paul Lens was an English eighteenth century miniature painter, as was his father Bernard Lens, and his brother Andrew Benjemin. An artist of some renown, we know from the Dictionary of Irish Artists that he came to Dublin in, or shortly prior to, the year 1737. Numerous examples of the work of Peter Lens can be found online today, such as this miniature painting of a gentleman which recently sold at auction in England for £480.

Miniature portrait of a gentleman, by Peter Lens

Lens is a fascinating character owing to his prominence in a club known as ‘The Blasters’, a club which managed to become the subject of a report by a Committee of the House of Lords in March 1738 owing to its supposed Satanist practices, which led to Lens fleeing the country for England. This club was similar in many ways to the infamous Hellfire Clubs of the period. One contemporary described Lens as a “reprobate… An Ingenious Youth”, and his activities and the activities of The Blasters even led to condemnation from Jonathan Swift. Swift refereed to club as “a brace of monsters called blasters, or blasphemers or bacchanalians”, and listed Lens as one of its leading figures.

A miniature portrait of Bernard Lens (Father of the artist) by Peter Lens. This image is taken from the Victoria and Albert Museum collection.

Gabrielle Williams wrote an article biographical sketch of the Lens family for The Irish Times in 1972, noting that the father of Peter Lens served as a miniaturist to George I and George II, and outlining that Peter “is even attributed with having founded the Irish school of miniaturists, and certainly his influence was strong.” Williams noted that Peter’s lifestyle was “gay and somewhat foolhardy”, a persona one imagines to be right at home in the Dublin of the eighteenth-century!

In his study Witchcraft and Black Magic (1946), the clergy man Montague Summers noted that In Ireland “one of the vilest and most notorious of these demonic societies was The Blasters, a miniature painter, and a professed Satanist, who openly proclaimed himself a votary of the Devil”, and noted that in the eyes of Bishop George Berkeley what this club engaged in were “no ordinary profanities or oaths uttered in the debauch of drink or the heat of passion, but a studied, deliberate and public worship of the Devil.” Berkeley was horrified that Lens had “publicly drank to the devil’s health” and in a letter to Berkeley from another Bishop, Bishop Forster, it was noted that “the zeal of all good men for ye cause of God should rise in proportion to ye impiety of these horrid blasphemers.”

Eighteenth-century Dublin contained many public houses and taverns which hosted clubs of this kind. The Hellfire Club was said to meet at the Eagle Tavern at Cork Hill for example. A 1963 article on the club for The Irish Times by Lord Oxmantown claimed that when the meetings would break up, “Satan, a member of the club, dressed in the skin, tail and horns of a cow, would charge forth into the streets to the terror the locals.” Other clubs like Daly’s Club saw their share of debauchery in eighteenth-century Dublin too.

Bishop George Berkerly (Bishop of Cloyne), who was horrified by ‘The Blasters’.

The seriousness with which clubs like The Blasters were taken is evidently clear from the fact that these society were discussed at the level of the House of Lords. The Report from the Lords Committee for Religion, dated March 10 1738, offered fascinating insight into how this society was viewed by those in authority, and noted that:

As Impieties and Blasphemies of this Kind were utterly unknown to our Ancestors, the Lords Committee observe, that the Laws framed to them must be unequal to face such enormous Crimes, and that a new Law is wanting more effectively to refrain and punish Blasphemies of the kind.

An excerpt from the 1738 report.

The entry on Lens in the Dictionary of Irish Artists notes that following this report “It was ordered that he be prosecuted, and warrants were issued for his arrest. He left Dublin and was pursued through various parts of the country, but he managed to evade capture and got safely over to England.” Lens continued his career in England.

The demise of The Blasters, and indeed the ‘Hellfire Club’, did not mark the end of infamous and blasphemous clubs in the city. In March 1771 the pages of the Freeman’s Journal reported on the establishment of a club styling itself the ‘Holy Fathers’, a blasphemous club similar in many ways to those of the earlier eighteenth-century. Writing in 1867, Richard Robert Madden noted that “most of the members of this club were young men of fortune”, and that it was said that this group also toasted the Devil.

This cartoon is taken from a 1908 edition of The Lepracaun, a satirical magazine founded by the cartoonist Thomas Fitzpatrick in 1905. A monthly publication, it featured some biting satire and James Joyce was among its contributors. This cartoon from 1908 deals with the issue of relations between the Guinness Brewery and other brewers in the city, and relates to the manner in which Guinness would not allow their traders to use Guinness labels if they continued to supply any other porter or stout, something which led to their profits almost doubling in a period of just over ten years.

Once a staple of this here blog, our “monthly” pub crawls have become somewhat sporadic of late. We only managed to fit in five last year, the last taking place all the way back in June, making it 114 pubs that we’ve visited on the crawls alone. Add in another 30 pubs or so that we’ve done on “Random Drop Inns,” I make it that (including the five pubs here) we’ve visited and reviewed 149 pubs in the city.

The back story… for anyone that doesn’t know the story by this stage, once a month or so the three writers behind this blog, joined by a small group of friends, visit five Dublin pubs and then write about our experiences. A different person each month picks the five pubs and makes sure not to give away any details beforehand. This month was my turn, and for the first pub crawl of 2013, I decided to drag people out to Ringsend, from where we could make our way back into town, stopping in a couple of spots along the way.  I’ve always loved Ringsend; standing on Bridge Street, you’re a fifteen minute walk to Grafton Street and less than that to Sandymount Strand. Perfect.

The Oarsman, from their official Facebook

Meeting the other two and KBranno in town at five, a Leo Burdocks and a taxi in the lashing rain later, we headed over the canal and into The Oarsman. A very busy spot this and my first impression was that… Christ, this place is a relic; but in a good way! The pub doesn’t appear to have changed too much inside or out for donkey’s years. There has been a business on this spot since 1882, and a pub here since the sixties. The original grocers shop became the snug area inside the door (where we were lucky to nab seats, kudos to Paul R for that,) and the pub was extended out the back. A long narrow layout means ordering a pint from the beautiful old wooden bar is awkward enough. The stairs down to the jacks is halfway along it on the right, meaning if the seats at the bar are taken and you’re ordering, chances are you’re blocking someone’s way. Nonetheless, we weren’t left waiting and ended up staying for a couple of pints apiece, at €4.45 a pop. The most expensive pint of the crawl but still, relatively cheap compared to pints closer towards town.  A lovely pub this and a place I’ll be back to, if just to try out the food they’ve recently started to serve.

Onwards and upwards, and out into the rain. I had intended our next port of call to be next door, The Hobblers, but it appears that the pub that once stood on the spot has been replaced/ revamped so we decided to give it a miss and cross the road to The Yacht. I’d been warned about this place beforehand; it is TINY and very much a locals joint. Heads turned when we entered, and the lack of seats, coupled with five lads who had obviously never set foot in the place before looking quite awkward made us stick out like a sore thumb; and we got asked if we were Pub Spy.

The Yacht, from Rate My Area

Luckily we managed to nab a little snug area at the left hand side of the bar, tucked away from the curious eyes of the locals. No animosity, they were all lovely and chatty once they realised we didn’t write for the Sunday World. €4.15 a scoop, and decent enough, four of us on Guinness and one on Carlsberg, there were no complaints. Have I said how tiny the place is? I’d heard rumours of people knocking in here on a Saturday night, and tables and chairs having to be stacked on top of each other to free up room, and you could tell why. Even the jacks were tiny, the toilet door being little more than a bamboo screen. Probably my favourite spot of the night this, best moment of the night  anyway going to when a Hanley Centre collector walked in, we forked over our change as charitable types, and when they left, one of the locals walking up with a box saying he was collecting for the “old folks.” And then calling the Hanley Centre “Chancers” when we told him where all our change had gone. Chancers indeed.

Sally’s Return, from Rate My Area

Out one door and in another as we paid a visit a couple of doors down to Sally’s Return / The Shipwright. I honestly don’t know what to say about this place other than… It was bedlam. Madness. Nuts. Without a doubt, one of the maddest pubs we’ve visited. Not altogether in a bad way, I quite liked it to be honest. Again, a locals spot, but then, every pub we visited apart from maybe The Oarsman was. Lykke Lee and Gangnam Style both blared over the speakers a couple of times apiece when we were there, leading two of our party (one of whom writes for this Blog, and is not me or Sam) to get up and do “the horse dance.” Not a remark passed, it’s just that kind of place; in fact the barman came down a couple of minutes later with a tray of sandwiches for us. Not too many places we’ve gotten that.  A “children must remain seated at all times” sign was blissfully ignored, and toddlers milled around the place to their hearts content. Anyways, €4.10 a pint, and like the others on the crawl, no complaints.

The Padraig Pearse, from Mark Waldron’s Flickr

The night was before us, and we had a couple more places to visit before home and sleep. Leaving the comfort of Ringsend, we headed back towards town along Pearse Street, and stopped by the Padraig Pearse for a quick one. Owned by one part of the syndicate that had the infamous Widow Scallans across the road, this pub continues where in the same vein as its predecessor. The cheapest pint of the night this at €4 a go, and another pub none of us had ever been in. Joined here by pub crawl regular Ang, we ordered in the bar area on the right as you come in; this was taken over by a pool table around which locals were taking part in some “friendly competition.” Friendly to us they were too, and happy to include us in the winding up of a bloke who had just made an arse of a shot. We left them to it and headed into the lounge area- plenty of space in here, with only a couple of the tables being taken up.  A brief sojourn across the road for a battered sausage and chips (the second chipper of the day) and we headed down to the Windjammer.

The Windjammer, from Rate My Area

The last spot for some of us this, (others ended up in the Czech Inn; yes, it was one of those days,) and a place with a certain attraction for the Bohs fans among us. Keith Buckley, yes, that man we never measured, and who will surely tackle you, is a lounge boy in the place. Unfortunately he wasn’t working, but not long into our visit, and after a few rousing renditions of his song, his Ma, who was sitting over in the corner cottoned on to us and came over to say hello. And then in came the man himself. Embarrassing and amazing in equal measures.

Again, sidetracked. To the pub itself.  The Windjammer is an early house, but not a “Chancery” kind of early house; it has a bit of class, and whilst it serves an early pint, be prepared to be scrutinised via a CCTV camera over the door first. No such formalities tonight, as you may have guessed with the aforementioned shenanigans. It has undergone a face lift in the last couple of years, and is spotless inside, a lovely looking pub. €4.35 a pint, and no complaints. We found ourselves a nice spot in the corner at the end of the bar and settled in for a few here. There was live music on when we were there, being lapped up by the locals, and whilst we were sitting right beside the speakers, the music wasn’t being blared out, and we had no hassle talking. In any case, we were in singing mood at that stage. Again, a locals spot, but again, the locals were quick to chat. Another spot I’ll be back to!

So there you have it. Another five pubs covered and we now stand at 149. Its been hard work so far, but with a bit of luck, we’ll struggle on and hit the 150 mark. 

All roads lead to Dalymount Park in Phibsboro this Sunday for the Africa Cup of Nations Final which will be shown on TV screens in the Phoenix Bar. This will be the third time local residents and Bohs fans have organised an evening of “football, food and music at the Home of Irish Football” for the final of the cup.

ACN poster 2013

Doors open at 5pm with kick off between Nigeria and Ghana at 6:30pm.

Delicious food will be provided by the excellent Madina Desi Curry Co. who fed everyone last year. Food is free but donations are encouraged. Drink deals will also be available on the night.

After the game, DJs  Carax (Punky Reggae Party), Tommy Rash (ex. Freebooters/Ska Reggae at Sin E) and Sparky (White Collar Boy) will be playing an eclectic mix of reggae, ska, soul and electronic tunes to keep the party going till late.

Connect with the Facebook event here.

No.42 O’Connell Street has long fascinated me, sitting next to a sports bar and easy to miss, yet so different from everything else on the street. The building is the oldest surviving residential building on the street according to TJ O’Connor and Associates, a consulting engineer firm.

Their website provides some interesting information on the building, noting that:

The building comprises of 4 storeys over basement and is constructed in cellular form typical of the Georgian period. While the original construction was of high quality, the building has been subjected to numerous alterations during its lifetime, particularly those associated with the adjoining hotel on the 40-41 O’Connell Street site.

Under ‘Client’, the website lists Chartered Land Development, who are embroiled in the controversy around the future of Moore Street and the equally important historic laneways which surround it, connected to the story of the 1916 rebellion.

Detail above the door no.42

The house was the subject of some controversy in 1984, when plans to demolish it led to opposition. Writing in The Irish Times, Frank McDonald noted that:

The house dates from 1752. It was designed by Richard Castle, the architect of the Rotunda, and although the front facade is very plain, the interior contains many fine features, including ornate plaster work ceilings and an exceptionally good carved wooden staircase.

Pat Liddy has detailed the manner in which the building was purchased in 1882 by the Catholic Commercial Club, essentially a club for Catholic businessmen who “had been excluded from the existing social clubs in the city.” A library, a reading room, a restaurant, lecture rooms and other facilities were to be found inside of this club.

It is incredible to read now that once upon the time the very idea of knocking down one of the few buildings on the street to survive the revolutionary period intact was even considered. This is a great building which deserves your attention next time you’re passing.

John Sheares, from an original in a locket worn by his mother.

St. Michan’s Church on Church Street is a place I’ve only visited recently for the first time.

Founded in 1095, the church boasts a fascinating history, but many visitors only seem interested in the opportunity to shake hands with the mummified remains in the vaults of the Church, a pretty unique and morbid experience in Irish tourism! As well as the mummified remains of ‘the crusader’, who has been shaking the hands of visitors for many years now, the vaults also contain the remains of John and Henry Sheares, two individuals of huge importance in the story of the 1798 insurrection. This article will give a brief overview of the lives of these two men, and also look at the history of the vault they now rest within.

A postcard image of the vault of the brothers.

John and Henry Sheares were the sons of John Sheares, a member of the Irish Parliament who represented the Borough of Clonakilty. They were born at Goldenbush in County Cork. Henry was the elder of the two, and was educated at Trinity College Dublin. Henry was called to the bar in 1790. John, who was three years younger, had obtained the rank of barrister-at-law two years previously. Writing in 1886, D.S Sullivan noted that:

Even in the days of Emmet and Wolfe Tone, of Russell and Fitzgerald, when men of education, talent, and social standing were not few in the national ranks, the Sheareses were hailed as valuable accessions to the cause, and were recognized by the United Irishmen as heaven-destined leaders for the people.

In her biography of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Stella Tillyard described Henry Sheares as “a frugal lawyer who lived modestly surrounded by stacks of books” and an “ardent republican”. If the brothers were ardent republicans, it was only as a result of their visit to France in 1792, which continued into the following year, during which they had witnessed a revolution in full swing. C.J Woods notes in the Dictionary of Irish Biography that “In Paris they became acquainted with Roland, Brissot, and other revolutionaries; they were at the banquet given at White’s Hotel, 8 passage des Petits-Pères, by English-speaking admirers of the revolution on 18 November 1792.”

The brothers had witnessed the incredible scene of Louis XVI going towards the guillotine in the Place de la Revolution, and John was even said to have dipped his red handkerchief in the blood of the former King. On one occasion, it was said that Sheares had flaunted this blood stained handkerchief under the nose of Daniel O’Connell. This incident was said to occur on a packed boat from France to England, days after the beheading, and in a piece on O’Connell written for The Irish Story, Brian Igoe noted that:

Daniel asked how, in Heaven’s name, they could bear to witness such a barbaric, hideous spectacle. The answer horrified him. “For the love of the cause”, they said. Cork men both, these were the brothers John and Henry Sheares.

The beheading of the King. John Sheares claimed to have dipped his handkerchief in the blood of the king.

Upon their return to Dublin, the brothers wasted little time in joining the emerging Society of the United Irishmen, and John on occasion would even chair public meetings of the organisation.It was not until the French declaration of war on Britain that this society was outlawed, prior to that it had held open meetings at venues like Tailors Hall. The United Irish movement was crippled by informers however, and the Sheares were to fall victim to the plague of informers within the organisation in time too.

John and Henry Sheares came into contact with John Warneford Armstrong through Patrick Byrne’s bookshop on Grafton Street. This bookshop was hugely important to radical circles in Dublin at the time, and Ruán O’Donnell has noted that it was “the main publisher and seller of radical material in Dublin” at the time. Armstrong held the rank of Captain-Lieutentant in the King’s Co. militia, based at Loughlinstown, but expressed strong radical sympathies on visits to Byrne’s bookshop. James Quinn has noted in his biographical sketch of Armstrong that “On 10 May 1798 Byrne, a United Irishman, introduced him to United leaders John and Henry Sheares as ‘a true brother’”. Armstrong formed a friendship with the brothers, even visiting them at their home on Lower Baggot Street. The brothers wondered if Armstrong could bring his regiment over to the United Irish cause, and were totally unaware that Armstrong was leaking information to his superiors. The Sheares’ home was located on Lower-Baggot Street. On occasion, Armstrong even sat and played with the children of Henry, while all the time collection information to arrest the brothers. On the 21st of May, Henry was arrested at this property. His brother was arrested on the same day on French Street (later Upper Mercer Street). They were quickly brought before Judge Carleton, and tried for treason.

Ulster Bank today, once the site of the home of the brothers. (Image: ratemyarea.com)

In his history of eighteenth-century Ireland, William Lecky wrote that “the evidence of Captain Armstrong was clear and conclusive, and there could be no rational doubt of the guilt of the prisoners.” The brothers were hanged on July 14th 1798, outside of Newgate Prison. Today, their faces feature in the statue of Erin monument there. Hung, drawn and quartered, they walked to their death on the gallows clasping hands. As was the custom of the time, the heads of the men were held aloft following their deaths. It was a tragic and brutal end to the lives of two brave Protestant revolutionaries.

The monument at the site of the Newgate Prison, unveiled in 1898. Lord Edward Fitzgerald is also shown.

Their bodies were taken to St Michan’s, and as D.S O’Sullivan wrote in 1886:

The bodies of the patriots were interred on the night of the execution in the vaults of St. Michan’s church, where, enclosed in oaken coffins, marked in the usual manner with the names and ages of the deceased, they still repose. Many a pious visit has since been paid to those dim chambers–many a heart, filled with love and pity, has throbbed above those coffin lids–many a tear has dropped upon them.

These coffins would decay in time, leading one visitor in 1832 to write that “the common jail shells in which they repose sufficiently identified them, and – the headless trunk! I could stay no longer, but rushed into the open air.”

The historian Richard Robert Madden was responsible for placing the bodies in lead and oak coffins in 1853. Madden wrote a history of the 1798 insurrection, and was in-correspondence with figures such as Jemmy Hope who were central to the story of the uprising His history is available to read in full here.

By the 1940s, the vault in which the brothers rest was in dire need of restoration, and this task was carried out by a memorial committee. In 1940 the brothers were encased in wooden coffins, guaranteed to last a hundred years. John McCann T.D led the Brothers Sheares Memorial Committee, and a Dublin business man by the name of R.J Nichols bore the cost of the coffins for the two men. Among those present were descendants of the two men. A replica of their execution order, and a street-lamp similar to that of their time, were also placed in the vault. A wreath was laid in honour of the men.

Today, a small plaque outside the church informs visitors that the remains of the brothers are found here. The plaque contains the harp of the United Irish movement, around which the words ‘Equality – it is new strung and shall be heard’ are to be found. The brothers are remembered in the song ‘By Memory Inspired’, in which it is sung:

We saw a nation’s tears
Shed for John and Henry Shears;
Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong;

Tours are available of the church and vaults, and while for many visitors the chance to shake hands with a dead crusader may be the highlight of it all, for me it is the sight of the vault of these two brothers that makes a visit worthwhile. The tour is very cheap, and the guide is a fantastic character himself.

—–

A particularly helpful source for this article was the brilliant libraryireland.com website. Most books from which quotes were drawn are mentioned in the text, with the exception of Ken Finlay’s ‘Dublin Day by Day’.

October 1900 saw William Henry Pick, occupation listed as a “gentleman”, up before the Dublin Police Court. Pick, who resided at 21 Kenilworth Square in Rathgar, was charged with being a “dangerous lunatic” and committed to Richmond Asylum.

Nenagh Guardian, 17 October 1900

It transpired that the previous Saturday Pick had stabbed a policeman, a local man and made an attempt to attack another police officer with a sword.

Patrick Strahan, a car driver living in nearby 22 Charlemont Place, was at his car-stand when he saw Pick running up South Richmond Street. With a sword drawn, and with no apparent provocation, he made for a Constable Whitney and stabbed him in the left arm.

Strahan had made an attempt to stop Pick, apparently asking him “what he was going to do” with his weapon. Pick responded by stabbing Strahan in the hip with the sword, inflicting a wound of an inch and half deep. Pick then made a run for it, down South Richmond Street and towards the city centre.

Nearby Constable John Walsh chased Pick, jumping on a passing tram car to catch up with him. He managed to knock him down from behind but not before Pick “made a thrust of his sword” at Walsh. Luckily, the blade only grazed his tunic.

Portobello Bridge with South Richmond Street to the left. Credit – http://www.property.ie

Strahan and Whitney, the two wounded men, were treated for their injuries in the Adelaide Hospital but both survived.

William Henry Pick was declared insane and committed to the Richmond Lunatic Asylum. It is not known whether he was ever released.

-

In 1901, there were only 11 people with the surname Pick living in Ireland – none in Dublin. However, that year in Kenilworth Square there was a family by the name of ‘Pic’ living in number 214. Here is their census form.

George Vesian Pic (De Nogart), aged 29 was living in the house with his younger sisters Marie Gertrude and Jessie Adelaide. All were Church of Ireland and had been born in Offaly. The family employed a domestic servant from Carlow by the name of Lizzie Curry. George listed his profession as a Lieutenant in the ’4th Royal Irish’ Regiment.

It can be safely assumed that William Henry Pick (sic) was the sibling of George, Marie and Jessie of Kenilworth Square.

The Irish Times of 23 February 1901 announced that ‘Lieut Vesian de Nogart’, an invalid officer from the West African Regiment, arrived in Dublin on board the ship Biafra from Ashanti, a “pre-colonial West African state in what is now Ghana”. The same paper, the following March, reveals that he leaves the city from Kingstown (Dun Laoghaire). George was later attached to the The Prince of Wales’s North Staffordshire Regiment according to The National Archives and then the India Audit Office in the 1920s according to The London Gazzette.

Refs: The Irish Times 15 October 1900; Nenagh Guardian 17 October 1900

Some nice photographs here from Paul Reynolds, who attended last nights Setanta Cup clash between Glentoran and Saint Patrick’s Athletic in Inchicore.

A 0-0 draw, the game was much better than the scoreline suggests. Setanta Cup games are always marked out by a serious police presence, and the seizure of a four-season old Palmerstown Saints flag (presumably for having well-known Pats fanatic Ernesto Che Guevara on it) was a bit of a pity. Such is life.

Block G- Paul Reynolds.

No Strength Without Unity – Paul Reynolds.

SEI – Paul Reynolds

Outside – Paul Reynolds

‘No unauthorised entry onto the playing area’ – Paul Reynolds.

This poster was sent to us today, for an upcoming public meeting around the Lockout. A fantastic line-up, with James Curry speaking about Delia Larkin. Curry's recent book Artist of the Revolution exploring the work of political cartoonist Ernest Kavanagh was a real achievement in my view.

The meeting coincides with International Women’s Day.

Irish Women’s Workers Union activists on the steps of Liberty Hall.

Sign from the Bird Flanagan pub, Rialto.

One of the most interestingly titled pubs in the capital is ‘The Bird Flanagan’ in Rialto, and its signage of a police officer in pursuit of a man certainly grabs your attention.

The pub is named in honour of Willie Flanagan, who could only be described as a bit of a character in the history of Dublin. Flanagan was a practical joker of great renown in Dublin, and was the brother-in-law of Taoiseach W.T Consgrave. The son of Alderman Michael Flanagan, ‘The Bird Flanagan’ was said to live off the wealth and name of his father, but created a name for himself through his fun and games in the city, in particular two stunts in 1907. Alderman Flanagan and his family lived at Walkinstown House, a beautiful home which stood on what is now the location of the Walkinstown Superquinn.

I first came across ‘The Bird’ in the pages of Walter Starkie’s autobiography, Scholars and Gypsies. In it, he recalls seeing ‘The Bird’ in Jammets restaurant, a favourite haunt of writers at the time. Starkie described him as “Dublin’s celebrated playboy”, and in it he discussed the rumored origins of the nickname ‘The Bird’. It was said that on one occasion Willie Flanagan “went to a fancy dress ball at the roller skating rink in Earlsfort Terrace wearing wings and a tail and laid a huge egg on the dancing floor, to the scandal of all present. Ever afterwards he’s been called The Bird.” In his entertaining biography of Oliver St. John Gogarty, Ulick O’Connor argues that this stunt may have been the work of a “rival jester” circa 1909, noting that “this was the picaresque flavour of Dublin” at the time.

In the newspaper archives, I found that Flann O’Brien wrote about the exploits of The Bird in the pages of The Irish Times in 1962, writing that while some of the stories around The Bird must have been exagerated, “it must be accepted that the Bird Flanagan’s genuine exploits provided the nucleus of other peoples affectionate or amusing invention.”

Flann O’Brien wrote of The Bird in his column for The Irish Times.

O’Brien wrote of one particularly legendary instance where The Bird was said to approach King Edward at the Curragh during an important racing event, who was strolling with “Castle worthies to drop the flag at starting point.” It was said that Flanagan succeeded in getting a loan of a fiver from the King of England, which was no small achievement.

A near legendary tale connects Flanagan to the Gresham Hotel, when he was said to ride a pony into the hotel, a story Ulick O’Connor tells in his history of the hotel, noting that “In 1907, a pony appeared in the Foyer of the Gresham. There was a man in the saddle. It was the famous ‘Bird’ Flanagan, a son of Alderman Flanagan, a prosperous County Dublin farmer” Flanagan requested a drink for the pony, and the exchange led to the naming of the Bird Flanagan Bar in the Hotel.

Also in 1907, there was fun to be had for The Bird at the International Exhibition at Herbert Park. One of the features of this exhibition was a “Zulu village transplanted to Dublin”, and this exhibition included living people. It was said that Flanagan removed a child from this exhibition and “returned it to the French pavilion, as a gesture against the decline in the French birth-rate.” Flann O’Brien told a different version of the story, writing that “The Bird stole the baby of the wild man of Borneo from the latters straw house or tent and smuggled it into the snug of a pub in Ballsbridge.”

An interesting letter to The Irish Times in 1965 may go some way towards explaining the pub signage in Rialto:

Also in the archives of The Irish Times was this brief notice on the death of the practical joker in December 1925, which makes no reference to his exploits but focuses on other aspects of his life:

He is buried in Glasnevin Cemetery today. When looking for information on The Bird, and seperating fact from fiction, I stumbled upon the fantastic family history website of Mark Humphrys. Much of what I managed to uncover in the newspaper archives and searching books digitally is there, but also other fantastic tales such as “Once during a performance at the Olympia Theatre, Dublin, during WWI, he stood up in the middle of the show and took off his overcoat, revealing himself to be dressed as the Kaiser.”

Quite the character.

Thomas O’Leary was a 22-year-old Dubliner and member of the anti-Treaty IRA when he was shot dead by the Free State Army in March 1923. There is a worn out monument, erected in 1933, to mark the spot where his body was found. We have previously covered the following Republicans who were killed during the final year of the Civil War –  Noel Lemass, William Graham and James Spain.

With the 90th anniversary of his death around the corner, we thought it would be fitting to look at the short life of Thomas O’Leary, a an IRA man attached to the 4th Battalion in Dublin. Thomas, or Tommy as he was known to his comrades, was found riddled with 22 bullets – one for every year he lived. There is a small, extremely worn Celtic Cross to mark the spot where his body is found in Rathmines. Perhaps this would be a good time to restore it.

Thomas was born in December 1900 to Thomas O’Leary Sr. from Dublin and his wife Jane from  Kildare. The 1901 census shows that the family were living at 372 Darley Street in Harold’s Cross. Thomas (30) was a glass cutter while his wife Jane (30) looked after their infant son. All were Roman Catholic.

1901 census return for the O’Leary family

Ten years later the family had moved around the corner to 17 Armstrong Street. The 1911 census tells us that Thomas Sr. (40), still a glass cutter, and his wife Jane (40) were now living with their three sons. These being Thomas (10), John (8) and William (6). All three were at school.

1911 census return for the O’Leary family

Stephen Keys, a member of the IRA in Dublin from 1918 – 1924 mentions O’Leary in his Witness Statement :

Any time Tommy O’Leary, 0/C 4th Battalion Column, had a job, he would ask me to give him a hand with. it. We went out to Thomas St. for an ambush. There was a Free State private car coming up at the Church, with two or three officers in it. I was with O’Leary. The others fired at the car. I did not fire  a shot. – BHM WS 1209

At the time of his death in 1922, Thomas O’Leary was listed as living at 17 Armstrong Street which corresponds with the census records. In the subsequent inquest, he was described as a “most respectable  young man, a fine specimen of manhood, who, in the days of the ‘Black and Tans’, was a member of the IRA and did his duty to his country”. His brother testified that he had remained a member of the Republican Army after the split and was on active service in the months leading up to his murder. His mother revealed that he hadn’t been living at home since July 1922 and that he left his job as tram conductor on the Clonskeagh line in early 1923.

Deirdre Kelly in her book ‘Four roads to Dublin: the history of Rathmines, Ranelagh and Leeson Street’ points to O’Leary as the man who killed Free State politician Seamus O’Dwyer in his Rathmines shop in January 1923. However, Ulick O’Connor stresses in his biography of Oliver St. Gogarty that “member of the anti-Treaty group deny that O’Leary was associated with the O’Dwyer shooting”.

In the weeks leading up to the incident, the O’Leary home in Harold’s Cross was raided at least three times. His mother testified that during a search on the Sunday before, the soldiers told her that Thomas had until “Wednesday to give himself up, and, if they did not, she would fund him in Clondalkin or Bluebell shot; the next time he would be brought to her in a wooden box”. This is exactly what happened.

On the day of his death, his IRA comrade Stephen Kelly remember thats:

O’Leary was after dyeing his hair red. We left the house and went over to the gardener’s tool house in St. Patrick’s Park which was used to store clothes before being sent down to the I.R.A. in the country. The man in charge of the tool house was sympathetic to the cause. O’Leary went back to Harper’s that evening and the Free State came along to raid it. They knocked at the door. One of the women was sick in bed. One of the Harpers called O’Leary and said “Go and get into the bed”. He got into the bed beside her. She was so stout, and he was  so small and thin that he he was covered up in the bed beside her. He got away that time.

It was that night that the Free State finally caught up with him. On the 23rd March 1923, three lorry loads of Free State soldiers raided a house on Upper Rathmines and found O’Leary. This house was either number 82 or 86 as a woman at number 84 was reported as hearing knocking and a commotion “two doors away”.

From reading all the contemporary newspaper reports, it can be accepted that O’Leary made a run for it and was caught by Free State soldiers. His body was found the following morning on the Upper Rathmines Road at the gates of the Tranquilla Convent.

Map showing the location of Tranquila Convent where the body was found

Dr. Murphy, House Surgeon of Meath Hospital said they found “22 circular wounds” in his body. These included:

Three … in the head … one in the region of the ear … four bullets under the skin … three wounds in the thigh … one on the right side of the chest

Near the body, they found eight spent automatic revolver cases, four large spent revolver cases and three small ones.

The Freeman’s Journal. 24 March 1923.

The jury at the subsequent inquiry came to the conclusion that O’Leary was “murdered by persons unknown … by armed forces, and that the military did not give us sufficient assistance to investigate the case.”. They ended by offering their “sympathy to the relatives of the deceased”.

In quite an interesting turn of events, poet and politician Oliver St. John Gogarty named O’Leary as the leader of the IRA men who kidnapped him on 20th January 1923. While having a bath after a long day’s work Gogarty, then a Free State senator, was taken away by six armed men. His biographer Ulick O’Connor wrote:

As he got into the car, the revolver was pressed hard into his back. ‘Isn’t it a good thing to die in a flash, Senator’ one of the gunman, said, as they sped out along the Chapeliziod road.

Gogarty was held in an empty house on the banks of the Liffey, near the Salmon Weir. On the pretext of an urgent call of nature, he was asked to be taken outside where he then made the quite daring decision to jump into the River Liffey. Shots were fired at him as he swam away. He eventually made it to the police barracks in the Phoenix Park.

His exploits were celebrated in a popular ballad of the day, written by William Dawson, which ended as followed:

Cried Oliver St. John Gogarty, ‘A Senator am I’
The rebels I’ve treicked, the river I’ve swum, and sorra the word’s a lie’.
As they clad and fed the hero bold, said the sergeant with a wink:
‘Faith then, Oliver St. John Gogarty, ye’ve too much bounce to sink’

While he got the dates slightly mixed up (O’Leary was killed a couple of months, not a couple of days) after his kidnapping, Gogarty is obviously referring to him in his autobiography:

“My kidnaping would not have been believed had the government boys not found my coat. A few days later a man called with a bullet, evidently from a .38, its nose somewhat bent. It was dug out of the spine of the ringleader who had raided my house and carried me off. O’Leary was his name. He was a tram conductor on the Clonskea line. He had died to a flash shrieking inappropriately under the wall of the Tranquilla Convent in Upper Rathmines.”

In March 1933, approximately ten years later, IRA quartermaster general Sean Russell unveiled a small marker at the spot where his body was found in Rathmines.

Today, this marker is completely eroded.

The memorial, unveiled in 1933, to Thomas O’Leary at the gates of Tranquila Convent, Upper Rathmines Road. (Picture – Ciaran Murray)

With the 90th anniversary of his death next month, the National Graves Association might think about restoring it.

Close up of the memorial, unveiled in 1933, to Thomas O’Leary at the gates of Tranquila Convent, Upper Rathmines Road. (Picture – Ciaran Murray)