On both sides of the Liffey, former cinema buildings dot suburban Dublin. They have taken on new lives, often as bingo or snooker halls. The old Astoria Cinema (later the Oscar) by Ballsbridge has become a Sikh temple, while Ballyfermot’s  Gala Cinema became home to a carpet shop, Chinese takeaway and more besides.

One I’d walked by several times before noticing is The Casino in Finglas village. Sitting between Supervalu and the Shamrock Lodge, The Casino was perhaps a victim of its own ambition, boasting a remarkable 1,910 seats. To put that in context, a nearby church could hold 1,500 parishioners. The misfortune of The Casino was the timing of its arrival on the scene,  opening in 1955 as the spectacle of television was beginning to loom large over suburban Dublin. Looking at it from across the street, it retains the very distinct appearance of a suburban cinema, despite its entrance being swallowed up by new development.

Constructed by Maher and Murphy, a building company based on Dublin’s Aughrim Street, the new cinema became an integral of a suburb that was very new, much like Artane and Ballyfermot on the other side of the Liffey.  Almost overnight, it seemed to the Evening Herald that Finglas, “a picturesque Dublin village, has become one of the largest housing estates in the city.” New suburbs required churches, schools, shops and cinemas.

The Evening Herald praised the building, noting that “the front of the three-story Casino is done in red brick relieved with reconstructed stone and is a most imposing structure with two shops, one on each side. A feature of the entrance is the fact there are doors leading to the foyer.”

Evening Herald report on opening of cinema.

The new suburbs saw an influx of families from the inner-city, where tenements remained a subject of worry to many, and which continued to pose a grave threat to the welfare of Dubliners, with four lives lost to tenement collapses in 1963. In the below RTÉ feature from 1964, it is clear that some were quite content to move to Finglas. One youngster interviews mentions there being “plenty of fields to play in”,while another talks of her joy of having hot water in her household. Still, local amenities were often slow to pop up in new suburbia, creating alienation and boredom. The actor Brendan O’Caroll remembered the positive impact of The Casino in the area in the absence of other amenities, recalling that “I loved the fact you could go to the pictures and imagine you were the boy up there on the screen. I never thought that one day I’d ever be in a movie, that would be crazy, but the films allowed you the chance to dream, to use your imagination.”

What nobody could predict when the doors of The Casino opened was the impact of television in the following decade. In a city and county that boasted no fewer than 56 cinemas in 1956, the arrival of television into the living rooms of suburbia heralded their death kneel. Cinemas sometimes took on a new lease of life as concert venues, with The Ramones  famously playing in Cabra and Phibsboro cinemas, while The Casino hosted concerts of its own.

Evening Herald, 1968.

What suburbia felt it needed now was not cinema, but shopping centres. By 1970, The Casino was a memory,  replaced by Superquinn. Still, the facade remains today, reminding many locals of simpler times.

Joseph Nannetti, Lord Mayor of Dublin 1906/7.

Little Jerusalem has a special place in the folk memory of Dublin, with the area around Portobello and the South Circular Road boasting a number of plaques and a museum which tells the story of Jewish Ireland. The story of Jewish Dublin includes names like Harry Kernoff, Leopold Bloom, Leslie Daiken and Chaim Herzog, and has been documented in memoirs like Dublin’s Little Jerusalem by Nick Harris.

One of the more curious migrant quarters that has all but disappeared from memory is Little Italy, located in the vicinity of Little Ship Street, Chancery Lane and Werburgh Street. Its story is intertwined with that of the Cervi family, who established a lodging house in the area which became popular with Italian workers in the city. In the words of Toni Cervi, son of Guisseupi Cervi (who opened Dublin’s first fish and chip shop in 1882):

The area around us – off St. Werburgh Street….was known as ‘Little Italy’. If someone came to Dublin and wanted to locate a particular Italian, he would more often than not be directed to Little Italy. The place was filled with barrel-organ men, ice-cream men who traveled the city with their barrows, and with marble men.

The 1911 Census returns of the Capoldi family, living in Chancery Lane. Notice the diversity of birthplaces, revealing the journey the family had undertaken before setting in Dublin (National Archives of Ireland.)

Little Italy never amounted to a community the size of Little Jerusalem. As Cormac Ó Grada has noted, Dublin by 1912 contained fewer than 400 migrants of Italian stock. What is telling was the diversity of Italian migrants living in Ireland in terms of skilled labour; workers from Italy’s Lucca region tended to be “made up of artisans, plaster workers, and woodworkers, with surnames like Bassi, Corrieri, Deghini, Giuliani and Nanetti.” Others, originating in the Val di Comino, tended to be “either street-sellers of ice cream or cafe owners.” The later included familiar names like Forte and Fuscos.

References to Dublin’s ‘Italian Colony’, as such quarters were known, are plentiful in the press of the 1880s and 1890s. The Freeman’s Journal wrote in 1886 of the contribution of Italians living in Dublin to New Years Eve traditional festivities:

 There is within the boundaries of Dublin no more extraordinary spectacle to be witnessed on New Years Eve than the annual serenade of the Italian organ-grinders and musicians in Chancery Lane. This comparatively unknown portion of the city has been for many years the headquarters of all the Italian and other itinerant foreign street musicians who migrate to Dublin.

Italian ice cream men sometimes got a hard time of it in the Irish press, with the Evening Herald lamenting how “thoughtless city children eagerly partake of the ice-creams vended by them. These delicacies are manufactured and stored in the tenements of Chancery Lane…It should interest the authorities to discover whether these dairies are registered according to law.” Still, Dubs trusted the Italians when it came to ice cream. John Simpson has noted that “the 1901 Ireland census records the Dubliners’ indebtedness to their compatriot Italians for ice-cream. Of 23 people listed as involved with the ice-cream trade as vendors or makers, all but seven were born in Italy.”

Italian organ grinders, complete with performing monkeys, became familiar sights on the streets of the capital too. The occasional escaping money made it into the press, and sometimes their owners made it into the courts.

Irish Independent, March 1906.

The most well-known figure to emerge from the Italian community in Irish public life was Joseph Nannetti, the son of an Italian sculptor and modeller who involved himself in both municipal and national politics. A Home Rule nationalist and a committed trade unionist (though of a school of trade unionism that was very different from the radicalism preached by men like Connolly and Larkin), Nannetti served as Lord Mayor of Dublin in 1906/7, and is mentioned by James Joyce within the pages of Ulysses.

The level involvement of Italians in radical Irish politics is difficult to gauge, though there are some passing references to the Irish Italian community within the Bureau of Military History. Stephen Keys,a section commander in the IRA’s Dublin Brigade during the War of Independence, remembered that “No one in Camden Street ever attempted to obstruct us.. In fact, they had great respect for us. Some of the shopkeepers; in that area, including an Italian named Macetti who had an ice-cream shop, used to subscribe to our arms fund.” There are mentions of some members of the Italian community in Belfast suffering during the Anti-Catholic pogroms there in the dark days of the Civil War too.

One family of Italian blood who were deeply involved with republicanism during the revolutionary period were the Corri’s, with Hayden Corri’s Military Service Pension file detailing his contribution to the Republican Police during the War of Independence and the Republican side of the Civil War. Hayden and his brother, WIlliam Corri, were the grandchildren of the talented landscape painter Valentine Corri, whose family hailed from Rome.

Contemporary Ordinance Survey map showing some of the streets where Dublin’s Italian community settled, including Ship Street Little and Chancery Lane (Image Credit: OSI)

With the emergence of Fascism in Italy, the ideology gained influence among some sections of the Italian community in Ireland. The presence of Italian ‘Fascisti’ in Dublin was closely monitored by state intelligence. The fourth anniversary of Mussolini’s March on Rome was marked at the Italian Consul’s Office on Lower Abbey Street, while an ‘Irish Free State Fascisti Headquarters’ was opened at Fownes Street in September 1927. At the funeral of Kevin O’Higgins, the government minister assassinated by Irish republicans in retaliation for the execution policy of the Free State in the Civil War, the Leinster Leader newspaper reported that “a picturesque note was struck by the Dublin Fascisti in blackshirts.”

Evening Herald, October 1926.

There is no trace of Italian migration in the areas around Chancery Lane, Werburgh Street and Little Ship Street today. Familiar Italian names over fish and chip shops, and beautiful stucco work inside some of Dublin’s finest homes, remain however.

Paddy O’Brien at work in McDaid’s, from Bord Fáilte Archive, Dublin City Council collections.

John Ryan’s memoir Remembering How We Stood may be the most battered book on my bookshelf, which is a remarkable achievement in itself. It has the tea cup stains,  dog-eared pages and the scrawled notes of a truly loved and enjoyed book. It is, in essence, the tale of a man who went to an auction to buy an electric toaster and came back an accidental publican. Ryan was infinitely more than that, and as an artist, publisher, broadcaster and critic he left a fine legacy of work behind. His memoir is packed full of little gems like this:

 A man I knew was taking a stroll down Grafton Street one day when he happened to overhear part of a discussion which three citizens were having outside Mitchell’s Café. The gist of their dialogue was that they were deploring the absence from the Dublin scene of any real ‘characters’. They appeared to be genuinely aggrieved. They were, in fact, Myles na gCopaleen, Seán O’Sullivan and Brendan Behan.

Ryan’s pub, The Bailey, became a central part of the literary scene of Dublin in the second half of the 1950s and into the following decade. Still, there was one public house that was head and shoulders above them all for literary appeal, and that was McDaid’s of Harry Street. In the words of Brendan Behan’s finest biographer, Michael O’Sullivan, it was quite simply “Dublin’s literary Mecca.”

Central to the appeal of the pub was its head barman, Paddy O’Brien. Still fondly remembered in Dublin’s public houses today, O’Brien pulled pints in McDaid’s from 1937 until his departure for the nearby Grogan’s on South William Street, which played no small role in giving the later a literary reputation that continues to this very day. A Dubliner of Meath stock, O’Brien answered an advertisement for a pub job in his early 20s, beginning a career that would span decades.

In the important Kevin C. Kearns oral history Dublin Pub Life and Lore, O’Brien recalled the McDaid’s of the 1930s as a pub that “was nothing at all. It was a dreadful place. Just an ordinary pub with snugs and little partitions and sawdust and spittoons.” To his mind, Davy Byrne’s was then the only true literary public house in the capital. In trying to pinpoint the moment at which McDaid’s began attracting a literary clientele, O’Brien pointed towards the arrival of John Ryan as a regular. In Ryan’s own words, “in those days I published Envoy and people would come into McDaid’s who were seeking me out….There’d be Behan, who was a marvelous stage filler, and Kavanagh and O’Nolan and Donleavy and Tony Cronin. And Liam O’Flaherty was there quite a lot. Quite regularly you’d see five of them together there.”

A young Anthony Cronin, Enniscorthy-born and carving out a name as a poet in literary Dublin, quickly fell for McDaid’s, remembering that “McDaid’s was never merely a literary pub. Its strength was always in the variety of talent, class, caste and estate. The divisions between writer and non-writer, bohemian and artist, informer and revolutionary, male and female, were never rigorously enforced; and nearly everyone, gurriers included, was ready for elevation, to Parnassus, the scaffold or wherever.” Visitors fell for it too; the Irish American hippy Emmett Grogan, so central to the Summer of Love that took San Francisco by storm, recalled in his autobiography (written in third person):

He liked the saloon with its high ceiling, scattered tables and solid wooden bar. It was a big, funky room and the only decor was the people in it. They were very hearthy and whether they were laughing or arguing, discussing or pontificating, they were enjoying themselves and each other. They weren’t dressed up to impress anybody.

In folk memory, the characters of literary Dublin become two dimensional, remembered as heavy drinkers who reveled in each others company. In reality, there were often very real tensions between the men. Writing in the 1980s, Seán Dunne rightly decried the “attitude which finds writers easy to handle as anecdotes but not as artists”, and which overlooks much of the difficulties of the much romanticised 1950s in Dublin public houses. Sometimes, tensions were no doubt motivated by professional jealously and circumstance at any moment in time. In an interview with the Evening Herald in the 1980s, O’Brien recalled how:

Myles (Flann O’Brien) would arrive at the same time every day, half past one, dressed in the same coat and hat…When the ball of malt was set in front of him he’d turn to Kavanagh at the end of the counter and ask ‘Are you buying me that?’ Kavanagh would give him a dirty look and Myes would remark: ‘You mean Monaghan bastard.’

The ability of O’Brien to calm men and tempers was central to his popularity as a barman. Different public houses in the city, as today, had their own regular clientele, who debated the issues of the day, sometimes to a bizarrely localised extent. The poet Louis MacNeice recalled on the eve of World War Two how he “spent Saturday drinking in a bar with the Dublin literati; they hardly mentioned the war but debated the correct versions o fDublin street songs.” The Palace on Fleet Street, like McDaid’s, had its own impressive crew that included diverse faces like Irish Times editor R.M Smylie, the sculptor Jerome Connor, artist Harry Kernoff and the occasional radical like Cathal O’Sullivan and Leslie Daiken. On occasion, people drifted from one milieu into the next. The curious mix of IRA veterans, young poets and aging writers that took McDaid’s to their heart was beautifully described by Ryan as being comprised of “Grafton Street boulevardiers and the MacDaidian intelligentsia.” In O’Brien’s own words, he was not part of such scenes, but he was respected among them.

Anthony Cronin, John Ryan and Paddy Kavanagh, all centrally important to the story of McDaid’s in the days of Paddy O’Brien (National Library of Ireland)

The end for O’Brien and McDaid’s came in 1972. When the pub was put up for sale, O’Brien bid for it with the financial support of another man. No Dublin publican would oppose him, but the pub was sold to an outside bidder; “so that was the end of me. And all the other city publicans having nothing to do with it, and me thinking I have the whole field to meself…and then out of the blue.”

As if by fate, 1972 witnessed the purchasing of Grogan’s on the nearby South William Street by Tommy Smith and Paddy Kennedy. Smith told Kearns in his oral history collection that he informed O’Brien immediately that “there’ll be a job for you over with us if you want it.” He did, and with it came an exodus of writers from one watering hole to another, beautifully described by one contemporary as a ship deserting the rats. Grogan’s claimed a literary and artistic set that included Liam O’Flaherty, Kathleen Behan, Tony Cronin, Aidan Murphy and others, while characters as diverse as Michael Hartnett, John Jordan and others also settled into one of the only boozers in the city that can today claim to be a true literary pub. Like the McDaid’s of O’Brien’s day, the magic perhaps lay in the diversity of clientele, with a similar mix of republican, artistic and bohemian types. O’Brien worked the bar there until his death in 1989, with Smith recalling that “Paddy hopped around at 72 years of age the day before he died.” The obituaries were kind, with the Irish Examiner remembering him as someone who “brought to his vocation the quality of listener, friend, amanuensis and comforter for countless customers… Wherever he is now, he won’t be stuck for company.”

The Military Service (1916-23) Pensions Collection today released files relating to claims lodged by 1,442 individuals (or their dependants). The May 2018 release includes 600 female participants and 82 individuals who died in the period 1919-1921. As a Project Archivist employed on the collection, I was responsible for the processing of about 470 of these individuals.

A full list of the names and addresses and of those released today can be viewed here.

Using the name or reference number, users can then download the original files and read the individual’s service histories here.

For those interested in labour and socialist history, this release contains newly digitised and released files relating to seven members of the Irish Citizen Army. All seven applications were unsuccessful.

1. Annie Collins (?-?) 35 Upper Dorset Street, Dublin. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF1139.

” Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army from 1913 until 1923. On Easter Sunday 1916, Annie Collins states that she was based in Liberty Hall preparing food and bandages.

Taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War (June 1922 – May 1923), the applicant states that when the Four Courts was attacked, she was mobilised for Barry’s Hotel where she spent one night. Annie Collins claims that she was then sent to the Hammam Hotel which acted as Brigade HQ. On several occasions, the applicant states that she transported arms and ammunition from the Stanley Street workshop to the Hammam Hotel. Further states that she carried arms in advance of a raid of Griffith’s boot store on the corner of Upper Abbey Street and Capel Street. Also claims that she brought a dispatch to Harry Boland (MD909) in Blessington [village] from Cathal Brugha and returned to the Hammam Hotel with a Lewis gun, some rifles and ammunition.”

Hand-written testimony from Annie Collins about her Civil War service. Ref: MSP34REF1024

2. Edward Conroy (1901-1982) 4 Robert Street, Dublin. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF1126.

“Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army from June 1917 until August 1923.

Attached to the Dublin Brigade, ICA, it is stated that the applicant took part in ICA general activity before and during the War of Independence (January 1919 – July 1921) including; a reception for Countess [Markievicz] at Kingstown (Dún Laoghaire); attending the funeral of Mrs. McDonagh (1917); attending the funeral of [Joseph] Norton (MD33223) in Swords [1917]; the defence of Liberty Hall [Armistice Night 1918]; attending the funeral of [Richard] Coleman (1D15) [1918]; the 1918 General Election; Belfast Boycott work; a fight on Dawson Street [1919]; demonstration in connection with the hunger-strikes (1920) and attending the funeral of Tadg Barry (1D373) [1921].

Taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War (June 1922 – May 1923), the applicant states that he took part in engagements with the National Army in the area around the Hammam Hotel, O’Connell Street and Marrowbone Lane. Edward Conroy claims that he was arrested by the Free State (National Army) on 28 October 1922 and interned in Wellington Barracks, Dublin and Hare Park, the Curragh, County Kildare until 21 August 1923.”

 

3. John Craven (?-?) 193 Donnellan Avenue, Mount Brown, Kilmainham, Dublin 8. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF863.

“Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army from 1913 until 1923.

Attached to the Dublin Brigade, ICA, it is stated that the applicant took part in ICA general activity during the War of Independence (January 1919 – July 1921) including: drilling and “military operations against the enemy”.

Applicant states that he was arrested on 5 August 1922 by the Free State and imprisoned in Maryborough Gaol (Portlaoise Prison), County Louth and Tintown No 3 Camp, Curragh, County Kildare until release on 23 November 1923.”

4. Stephen Hastings (? – 1935). 11 George’s Quay, Dublin. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF1024.

“Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army from 1917 until 1923.

Attached to the Dublin Brigade, ICA, it is stated that the applicant took part in ICA general activity before and during the War of Independence (January 1919 – July 1921) including: removing transport arms and ammunition from an American boat; a reception for Countess [Markievicz]; the defence of Liberty Hall (Armistice Night 1918); the 1918 General Election; attending the funeral of [Joseph] Norton (MD33223) in Swords (1917) and demonstrations in connection with [Mountjoy Jail] hunger-strikes [1920].

Taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War (June 1922 – May 1923), Stephen Hastings states that he took part in the defence of Moran’s Hotel, Dublin and the destruction of a bridge in Blanchardstown, Dublin (5 August 1922). Applicant claims that he was arrested by National Forces on 6 August 1922 and imprisoned in Maryborough Gaol (Portlaoise Prison), County Louth and Tintown No 2 Camp, Curragh, County Kildare until October 1923.”

Hand-written account from Stephen Hastings of the 1918 period. Ref: MSP34REF1024

5. Michael Meleady (?-?) 56 Thorncastle Street, Ringsend, Dublin. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF1167.

“Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army from 1917 until 1924.

Attached to the Dublin Brigade, ICA, it is stated that the applicant took part in ICA general activity before and during the War of Independence (January 1919 – July 1921) including; a reception for Countess [Markievicz] at Kingstown (Dún Laoghaire); attending the funeral of Thomas Ashe (1D313) [1917]; the funeral of Mrs. McDonagh (1917); the defence of Liberty Hall [Armistice Night 1918]; the 1918 General Election; a reception for [Éamon] De Valera at Merrion; Belfast Boycott work; attending the funeral of Tadg Barry (1D373) [1921] and a planned ambush on Sydney Parade which was called off (no date).

Taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War (June 1922 – May 1923), Michael Meleady states that he took part in fighting against the National Army in the area around the Hammam Hotel and O’Connell Street. Claims that he took part in an operation to blow-up a bridge in Ashtown. Applicant states that he was arrested by National Forces on 9 August 1922 and was interned in Wellington Barracks, Dublin and Gormanstown camp until release in [November] 1923. “

6. William Nelson (?-1940) 60 Mountjoy Square, Dublin. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF1588.

“Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army (ICA) from 1917 until 1923.

Attached to the Dublin Brigade, ICA, it is stated that the applicant took part in general ICA activity in Dublin during the War of Independence (January 1919 – July 1921) including: attending mass in Tallaght, Dublin that was attacked by the police (no date); a reception for the Countess at Kingstown (Dun Laoghaire) (no date) and attended the funeral of Norton (MD33223) in Swords, Dublin (July 1919).

Taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War (June 1922 – May 1923), William Nelson states that he was arrested by the Free State on 1 September 1922 and took part in a 15-day hunger-strike.”

7. Jeremiah O’Shea (1892-1966). 28 The Coombe, The Liberties, Dublin. Unsuccessful application. Ref: MSP34REF1263.

“Applicant claimed membership of the Irish Citizen Army (ICA) from 1917 until 1924.

Attached to the Dublin Brigade, ICA, it is stated that the applicant took part in ICA general activity before and during the War of Independence (January 1919 – July 1921) including: removing transport arms and ammunition from an American boat; a reception for Countess [Markievicz] at Kingstown (Dún Laoghaire); attending the funeral of Thomas Ashe (1D313) [1917]; the defence of Liberty Hall (Armistice Night 1918); the 1918 General Election; a reception for [Éamon] de Valera at Merrion Gates; a fight on Dawson Street (1 May 1919); Belfast Boycott work; attending the funeral of Tadg Barry (1D373) [1921] and a planned ambush of ‘Black and Tans’ (RIC) headquarters on Sydney Parade which was called off (no date).

Taking the anti-Treaty side in the Civil War (June 1922 – May 1923), Jeremiah O’Shea states that he took part in fighting against the National Army at the ‘High School’ and Vaughan’s Hotel in the Parnell Square and Dorset Street areas. Applicant claims that he was arrested by National Forces on 3 February 1923 and imprisoned in Mountjoy Jail, Dublin and Tintown No 3 Camp, Curragh, County Kildare until 9 November 1923.”

Letter to Oscar from Jim O’Shea, brother of applicant dated 9 August 1940. Page 1/2. Ref: MSP34REF1263.

The introduction of the Eighth Amendment into the Irish Constitution in 1983 “was a remarkable feat by a small group of Catholic right-wing conservatives.” After a bitter referendum battle, the anti-abortion legislation was passed 66.9% to 33.1% in September 1983.

The leading ‘Anti-Amendment Campaign’ was supported by the ‘Anti-Amendment Music’ sub-group which included more than sixty of the country’s leading musicians, singers, actors, comedians, journalists, DJs and poets. It is worth remembering their names and the sacrifices that they took back in a society which is very different to ours in 2018.

The Irish Press, 8 Sep 1982.

Some of the big names who backed the cause were Paul Brady, Moya Brennan (Clannad), Adam Clayton (U2), Paul Cleary (The Blades), Bob Geldof and Christy Moore.

Others who nailed their flags to the mast included:

Bands: Auto Da Fe, Back to Back, Dr Strangely Strange, High Heeled Sneakers, The Lee Valley String Band, Les Enfants, Max, Nine Out Of Ten Cats, Scullion, The Shade, Stepaside, Stockton’s Wing, Tokyo Olympics

Singers/Musicians: Sonny Condell, Jimmy Crowley, Keith Donald (Moving Hearts), Mick Hanly, Honor Heffernan, Donal Lunny, Ferdia MacAnna (The Rhythm Kings), Barry Moore (aka Luka Bloom), Maura O’Connell (ex. De Danann), Red Peters (1946-2012), Noel Shine, John Spillane, Jil Turner (Eugene), Freddie White, Gay Woods

Actresses: Kathleen Barrington, Carol Caffrey, May Cluskey (1927-91), Ingrid Craigie, Nuala Hayes, Annie Kilmartin

DJs/Presenters: BP Fallon, Dave Fanning, Carolyn Fisher

Comedians: Billy Magra, Dermot Morgan (1952-98), Helen Morrissey, Roisin Sheeran

1982 saw a host of fundraising gigs in some of the capital city’s best venues.

13 September: The Blades, Paul Brady and DJ Dave Fanning at The Baggot Inn

The Irish Times, 22 Sep 1982

30 September: Some Kind of Wonderful, BP Fallon and Max at McGonagles

9 October: The Rhythm Kings and High Heeled Sneakers at The Baggot Inn

Paul Brady, Mary Robinson and Ferdia McAnna. The Irish Independent, 8 Se 1982.

14 October: Comedy gig with compere Billy Magra at The Sportman’s Inn, Mount Merrion

Anti-Amendment Music – Rock against the Referendum (1982). Uploaded by Student History Ireland Project.

Things picked up again in 1983:

21 April: Unknown acts at Owen O’Callaghan’s (Mark’s Bar), Crowe Street, Dundalk, County Louth

July: The small concert hall in RDS hosted singers Honor Heffernan, Moya Brennan (Clannad), Maura O’Connell (ex. De Danann), comedian Helen Morrissey, actress May Cluskey who performed from her show ‘Mothers’ and actresses Nuala Hayes and Ingrid Craigie staged the “total 30-hour Oireachtas debate on the amendment in 15 minutes flat”. The MC on the night was RTÉ presenter Carolyn Fisher.

Evening Herald, 05 June 1983.

July: Auto Da Fe with Gay Woods, Barry Moore (aka Luka Bloom) and Scullion at Stephen’s Green.

In August 1983, the campaign hosted a press conference with Christy Moore, Keith Donald (Moving Hearts), Paul Cleary (The Blades), Adam Clayton (U2), Ferdia MacAnna (The Rhythm Kings), Jill Turner (Eugene) and Maura O’Connell. It was chaired by Senator Michael D. Higgins. Adam Clayton said: “It is like a witch hunt with people going around saying who is a slut and who isn’t”. Paul Brady told the press that “he agreed with Senator Robinson that there were ‘subterranean rumblings’ to try to take Ireland back to an era which he for one was glad was gone”. Finally Ferdia MacAnna remarked that the amendment would be “as much use as outlawing sex in this country which has been tried before by repressive education”

The Irish Press, 27 Aug 1983.

The last two gigs took place in Dublin and Cork in August 1983.

On 28 August, on the same day that Black Sabbath played Dalymount Park, Paul Cleary, Les Enfants, Donal Lunny, Stepaside, Red Peters, Mick Hanly, Keith Donald (Moving Hearts), Nine Out Of Ten Cats were advertised to play outdoors at Blackrock Park. While in Cork, Jimmy Crowley, The Lee Valley String Band, Noel Shine, John Spillane were listed to play at the Coolquay venue.

If you have any more information or material from the Anti-Amendment Music campaign, please get in touch!

In terms of the international stage, Ireland was still finding her feet politically either side of World War 2. Successive Fianna Fáil governments under the stewardship of War of Independence and Civil War veteran Éamon de Valera sought to define a New Ireland, marked by the independence he had fought for.

To assert this independence, he led the country through a period of economic isolationism, and to define her sovereignty denying steadfast at times to engage in acts of support for her neighbours- refusing to deal with the requests of the Allies right down to refusing to repatriate German spies and prisoners of war in her custody. This denial of co-operation should not be seen as a singularly pro-Axis act, rather the naivety of a new nation under a conservative and stubborn leader, but also as Michael Kennedy suggests in his document “A Deed Agreeable to God,” an Ireland sceptical of the British justice which she so well remembered.

The refusal to ‘play ball’ with Allied nations as well as spurious rumours in the press regarding warm welcomes being meted out to German U-Boats in Irish ports and an island swarming with German spies formenting anti- British sentiment did little to dispute the widely held notion that the nation was pro-Axis. The flagrant anti-Semitism and vocal support given to Hitler by Charles Bewley (the Irish minister in Berlin until 1939,) did nothing to help her image. Nor did the nail in the coffin, that being De Valera’s visit, accompanied by the Secretary of External Affairs, Joseph Walshe to Dr. Hempel, the German Minister to Ireland to express his condolences on the suicide of Hitler. Walshe had pleaded with De Valera not to make the visit, and the sensationalist coverage in the press all over the world in the days following proved him correct, along with more bogus allegations amongst others, that the Nazi flag had been flown at half-mast outside various Irish ministries.

In truth, Ireland’s ‘friendly neutrality’ towards the war effort meant freedom for thousands of Irishmen enlist for the war effort, large scale press censorship, shared intelligence between Ireland’s G2 and the British MI5, suppression of the IRA during the war years and although there’s a massive counter argument to be made, there is many a suggestion that Ireland neutral was far more beneficial than Ireland belligerent. And of course the War did come to Ireland, with Nazi bombs raining upon the North Strand resulting in the deaths of 34 Dubliners.

Similarly, the plentiful accusations that Ireland was a bespoke but well-worn ratline for Nazi war criminals whilst ringing true on occasion was, in truth light on merit. Even the Simon Wisenthal Institute argued that no ‘big fish’ had made it to Ireland. The allegations that those who did pass through and the handful that settled here had the backing of the Irish State is also arguable, given the recent Dept. of Justice and Dept. of External Affairs papers examined by Kennedy in his aforementioned work.

Despite all this, it is undeniable that there were some figures that made it to Ireland- from Breton and Flemish exiles, to a mad Scottish separatist with the amazing name of Ronald MacDonald Douglas. Two of the most high profile names to make it though were Hitler’s one time bodyguard, Otto Scorzeny and the inspiration for this piece, Andrija Artuković.

Adolf Hitler, Hermann Goering, Mladen Lorkovic and Andrija Artuković looking over Ante Pavelić’s shoulder

Artuković, in a nutshell was known as the ‘Yugoslav Himmler’ and ‘the Butcher of the Balkans’. As Minister for the Interior of the Nazi puppet ‘Independent State of Croatia’ he oversaw the construction of a string of Ustaše death camps and is claimed by sources to be responsible for the deaths of anywhere between a quarter and three quarters of a million Jews, Roma, Serbs and anti- Ustaše Croats.

It was Hubert Butler’s ‘the Artukovitch File’ that introduced me to the fascist Ustaše Artuković and the fact that not only did he spend a year in Ireland but lived not a kilometre away from my home and attended church daily within sight of my front door. For many years, Butler was the ‘go-to’ on Artuković, but without denying Butler’s greatness as a writer, his document is not without flaws given that at the time of writing, the Dept. of Justice and Foreign Affairs files in the National Archives were still classified forcing him to somewhat fill in the gaps. It was of its time.

Butler always made the assumption that the Irish state, in granting asylum to Artuković (albeit under an alias) knew what they were doing to an extent and posed the question “Why do we know so little of his sojourn among us… did we cherish him because he presented himself to us as a Christian refugee from godless Communism?” The reality of his arrival here is less conspiratorial.

What Butler succeeded quite well in was laying the foundation for future investigators- he describes succinctly the escape of Artuković to Switzerland, and the arrival and the life of Andrija Artuković (under the alias Alois Anich) in Dublin. Artuković arrived in here with his wife Maria and their children Zorica and Vishnya on Tuesday, July 15^th 1947. He had not long previous escaped to Austria from Croatia when the puppet state collapsed and there he met Krunoslav Stjepan Draganović.

Draganović  was a Roman Catholic priest known for his work spiriting Ustaše war criminals out of Europe. He assisted Artuković in gaining Swiss papers under the name Alois Anich and in March 1947 Irish minister to Berne Frank Cremins received Visa applications from Reverend Father Anton Louis Ivandić and his Uncle, Professor Alois Anich who were hoping to engage in ‘philological and historical studies’ in Ireland.

Their applications came through the Delegate General of the Franciscans of Switzerland who, as Kennedy notes explained that Anich was ‘naturally desirous of saving his family from Yugoslav persecution.’ Their applications made it clear they would not be a burden on the Irish state- Ivandić would be looked after by the Franciscans of Merchants’ Quay, whilst Anich ‘did not lack financial means.’

With regards the movement of the Artuković’s through Europe and onwards to the US, the Swiss authorities and Franciscans would have a lot more questions to answer for me than the Irish Government. Whilst it is arguable that the Swiss knew exactly who they were dealing with, it seems according to recently declassified records from the Department of Justice and the Department of External affairs (who Cremins had forwarded documentation on to) were ignorant of Artuković’s past. Indeed the Visa application bounced back and forth between the Departments where there was some discussion on their status as political refugees before the file landed on the desk of a relatively low ranking civil servant who stamped it with the seal of approval- the application wasn’t even referred to G2, An Garda Síochána’s Intelligence Branch.

The Artuković home in Dublin, 6 Zion Road. From Google Maps.

In Dublin the Artuković family settled in Rathgar on Dublin’s leafy south side. Thanks to Butler’s investigating we know their first address was at 7 Tower Avenue (where the two ‘Anich’ girls registered to attend the Sacred Heart Convent girl’s school from) and later at 6 Zion Road not far away. In Dublin the girls too adapted new identities and Zorica and Vishnya became Katherina and Aurea. Little is known of their time in Dublin, though friends the family made spoke of Andrija’s ‘strong, seamed face’, talked of his kindness and how he ‘lived for his family’, his strong faith in God and the fact he was a daily Communicant. There was shock and disbelief when photographs were presented of him in his Ustaše uniform.

Incidentally 6 Zion Road, where the family spent the majority of their time in Ireland, was once home to Isaac Murray Craig, Captain in the Royal Engineers in World War I, veteran of the Balkan campaign who found death in Palestine in August 1918 creating an interesting historical parallel.

The family would welcome a third child when in Dublin with Radoslav born in June 1948 in Prague House Nursing Home, Terenure but the following month, the Anich’s (as their papers read now) would make their way  to California with ‘Certificates of Identity’ from Ireland, having applied for and received non-immigrant Visas to the US under their false identities with the auspices they were going there on a six month holiday.

When eventually extradited to Yugoslavia from the US in November 1986 and tried for his crimes, Artuković was sentenced to death but died of natural causes before justice could be carried out.

It’s worth noting here that Ireland was certainly not without sympathy for what Butler described as “Christian refugee[s] from godless Communism.” In May 1949, more than 100, 000 people had turned out on Dublin’s streets in protest at the imprisonment of Archbishop Stepinac. To put this into context, the numbers considerably dwarfed those who gathered in Dublin to celebrate the declaration of the Republic a month before.

The ‘Catholic ruler of Dublin’ Archbishop John Charles MacQuaid often rallied to the aid of Stepinac from the pulpit, vilifying Butler’s writing’s whilst seemingly ignoring Stepinac’s support for Pavelić’s Ustaše. In 1952 MacQuaid led protests against a scheduled friendly between Ireland and Yugoslavia in Dublin’s Dalymount Park. Such was the anti-communist sentiment in Ireland and power of the man at the time that through his intercession, the game was called off.

As it would happen, MacQuaid would be further angered when the game was re-scheduled in 1955. A furious MacQuaid called for a boycott of the game, accusing the FAI of entertaining ‘the tools of Tito in the capital city of Catholic Ireland.’ The boycott was ignored and 22,000 people would pack out Dalymount Park to watch as Yugoslavia bagged four goals to Ireland’s one. The boycott would garner open opposition, with artists and poets, notably Patrick Kavanagh in attendance at the game.

This article is part of ongoing research into Ireland’s and specifically Dublin’s relationship with Axis agents during and post World War 2 and was delivered in Rijeka at the recent Atlantic to Adriatic conference. 

Michael Collins, Luke O’Toole and Harry Boland, 1921. O’Toole was central to the success of the Gaelic Sunday events of 1918. (Image Credit: GAA)

1918 was a defining year in the Irish revolution, witnessing the first real acts of mass opposition to the British presence in Ireland from the civilian population. The year is primarily remembered for the General Election, which saw Sinn Féin essentially dismantle the Irish Parliamentary Party. Yet events like the general strike against conscription in April (described by The Irish Times as “the day on which Irish Labour realised its strength), Lá na mBan in June (when women pledged to oppose conscription in their tens of thousands) and Gaelic Sunday in August also demonstrated the manner in which Dublin Castle was slowly losing its grip over the Irish population.

In the summer of 1918, a Dublin Castle directive made it clear that there were to be no football, hurling or camogie matches played across the island of Ieland without a permit being obtained from the local Royal Irish Constabulary. While organisations like Sinn Féin, the Irish Volunteers and even the Gaelic League had to content with challenges to their existence via means of outlawing them, it was believed that forcing GAA clubs to seek permits to play was the means by which that organisation was best confronted.

Faced with the ban, GAA authorities writing from Croke Park on 22 July made it very clear what the response was to be:

….under no circumstances must a permit by applied for either by Provisional councils, Co.Committees, Leagues, Tournament Committees, Clubs, or by a third party such as Secretaries of Grounds, etc. Any individual or Club infringing the foregoing order becomes automatically and indefinitely suspended.

It was made clear to all clubs that the collective response of the GAA was to “to arrange for Sunday, August 4th at 3pm a series of matches throughout your County, which are to be localised as much as possible.” The idea of Gaelic Sunday was born. Central to the planned opposition was Luke O’Toole, a firebrand nationalist within the organisation who was central to the development of the game in the revolutionary period, and who would later condemn “the Seonín spirit that tried to ape everything English.” Having been interviewed at Dublin Castle by the authorities at length, O’Toole was in no mood for politeness with British forces.

The figure of 1,500 games appeared in the contemporary press.

In his statement to the Bureau of Military History, the republican and Easter Week veteran John Shouldice, who was then serving as Secretary of the GAA in Leinster,  remembered that the logic of the day was that “the Crown Forces could not be everywhere at the same moment….the result was that more hurling and football matches were brought off in the country on Gaelic Sunday than ever took place on the one day in the history of the GAA.”

With something in the region of 1,500 games beginning at the same time, the authorities were powerless to stop what was essentially now a political spectacle. Observing the events, the Freeman’s Journal was moved to proclaim that “there was no interference with the matches, which were carried out with perfect order in the presence of large numbers of spectators….the progress of the play was everywhere followed with enthusiasm, and the occasion provided a unique display of the popularity of the Gaelic games.”

All eyes were on the capital, the likely location of any showdown in front of the watching media. The Freeman’s Journal noted that games were played at “Ringsend, Clondalkin, Sandymount, Baldoyle, Fox and Geese, Crumlin, Balheary, St. Margaret’s, CLonsilla, Bloackrock, Cornelscourt, Terenure and Church Road”. There was a showdown in the city when “a fife and drum band which played through the streets of Dublin when returning from a football match was stopped by the police in Townsend Street. A crowd of about three or four hundred persons followed the band, which was proceeding to its rooms on Sir John Rogerson’s Quay. The bandsman having been halted for some time resumed their march.” It was another act of defiance on a day full of such small victories.

In what should have been one symbolic victory for the authorities, access to Croke Park was restricted for much of the day. This produced its own moment of defiance however, as a game of camogie was played on Jones’s Road. The Camogie Central Council called the ban “a petty piece of the absolute tyranny exercised over the whole country right now” and enthusiastically encouraged its members to partake in Gaelic Sunday.  The women played under the watchful eyes of Dublin Metropolitan Policemen, but more importantly, an enthusiastic crowd of supporters.

Gaelic Sunday deserves its place in the Decade of Centenaries, and the centenary of this act of mass defiance of British occupation will hopefully be commemorated in the weeks ahead. It was undoubtedly the day on which the GAA firmly nailed its colours to the mast.  In the words of historian William Murphy, “the occasion on which the Association acted with the greatest vigour and unity to oppose the British state occurred when that state threatened the very business of the Association – its games.”

In eighteenth century Dublin, much like more recent times, ‘street characters’  of sorts emerged among the populace. Sometimes these people were well-known for their political escapades, and sometimes their talents.

One of the more curious eighteenth century characters was a man colourfully known as ‘Prince Hackball’, real name Patrick Corrigan. A beggar in a city with little tolerance for them, Hackball became known as ‘the king of the beggars’, arriving in spectacular style and often followed by crowds. As Karen Sonnelitter notes in her history of charity in eighteenth century Dublin, “despite being paralysed, he managed for decades to elude the authorities, who were seeking to place him in either the Workhouse of the House of Industry.” He was a recognisable enough figure in Dublin to warrant inclusion in the celebrated portrait-painter Hugh Douglas Hamilton’s work The Cries of Dublin, published in the 1760s and showing familiar Dublin scenes and faces.

Corrigan traveled through the city in a cart, which some sources suggest was occasionally drawn by dogs. With the opening of Dublin’s House of Industry, figures like Hackball were driven from the streets and into the institution, with one contemporary source noting that the House of Industry had its own patrol who sought out beggars on the streets:

The cart is sent into the city, and the guards which accompany it are armed with firelocks and bayonets; the poor people who are begging in the streets, flee, the guards pursuing ; the active get off, the blind and infirm are taken and put into the cart.

Hackball successfully evaded the authorities, and Sonnelitter notes that “in 1744 one beadle actually managed to capture Hackball and attempted to take him to the House of Industry, but was attacked by a riotous mob…” An account of the incident appeared in the contemporary press, and it was noted that “the sum of five pounds be paid to any person who shall discover and prosecute the conviction of any person concerned of the rescue of the said Hackball.”

The wonderful Drawing Dublin exhibition in the National Gallery at the moment includes a work showing Sackville Street and Gardiner’s Mall, Dublin (c.1750), attributed to Joseph Tudor (1695-1759). Intrugienly, the display panel for the piece wonders if the figure shown in the bottom of the work being wheeled along is none other than Hackball himself:

As Niall Ó Ciosáin has noted, “Hackball was also used for satirical purposes in contemporary political pamphlet literature, being imagined as welcoming new economic policies on the grounds that they would increase his following, that is the number of beggars.”

The idea of Hackball (pulled along by mules, dogs or boys depending on the source one chooses to believe) evading the authorities for decades in eighteenth century Dublin is a somewhat amusing one, but there is little humour in the attitude towards beggars like him. When the Mendicity Institute opened its doors in 1818, it was praised by one religious leader in the city on the basis that “it has purified the highways of our Metropolis from a noisome crowd of importunate and vicious supplicants, and we can now pursue our accustomed occupations without disturbing assaults on our feelings or our purses.”

12 D’Olier Street.

Easy to miss, a plaque at number 12 on D’Olier Street marks the location of the offices of Irish Freedom, the newspaper of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. Founded in 1910, the newspaper was the public expression of a secret revolutionary underground movement. Bulmer Hobson,once described by British intelligence as the most dangerous man in Ireland, recalled that “the paper was the property of the IRB and was financed by a monthly subscription of one shilling collected from each member in each IRB Circle. It was printed by Patrick Mahon, Yarnhall Street.”

Founded in Dublin and New York City on Saint Patrick’s Day 1858, the oath-bound movement popularly known as the Fenians had considerable influence in Irish American life in particular. James Stephens, a founding Fenian and the self-described ‘Provisional Dictator’ of the body, built contacts with radical movements across the continent and beyond, even proclaiming that “were England a republic battling for human freedom on the one hand, and Ireland leagued with despots on the other, I should, unhesitatingly, take up arms against my native land.”

The abortive Fenian uprising in 1867 had an important influence on many of the 1916 leaders, who stood in the same tradition. The 1867 proclamation, sent to The Times in London, was, in many ways, a more radical document than that read out at the GPO in 1916, with a very definite separation of church and state and its rallying cry  that “Republicans of the entire world, our cause is your cause. Our enemy is your enemy. Let your hearts be with us. As for you, workmen of England, it is not only your hearts we wish, but your arms. Remember the starvation and degradation brought to your firesides by the oppression of labour.”

A disastrous bombing campaign of London followed in the 1880s, primarily brought about by the determination of Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa, an exiled Fenian leader based in the United States. Thomas J. Clarke was imprisoned for his participation in the so-called dynamite campaign. By the early twentieth century, the IRB movement was in decline. By 1910, it was estimated to have as few as a thousand members in its ranks. Dan Breen dismissively recalled a generation who had become great fellows for talking and drinking and doing very little after that’. However, a younger generation of political radicals such as Bulmer Hobson, Dennis McCullough and Seán Mac Diarmada were crucial to the reorganisation of the secret society.

At D’Olier Street, the IRB newspaper Irish Freedom was managed by Mac Diarmada, literally a stones throw from the watchful eye of the DMP intelligence police headquarters. The paper was highly seditious, maintaining that “our country is run by a set of insolent officials, to whom we are nothing but a lot of people to be exploited and kept in subjection. The executive power rests on armed force that preys on the people with batons if they have the gall to say they do not like it.”

Much like James Connolly’s newspaper The Workers’ Republic, Irish Freedom believed the lessons of the past were to be applied in future, studying previous insurrections and their tactical failures and successes. The newspaper reflected Mac Diarmada’s deeply held belief that when world war came, it was the duty of Irish nationalists to seize upon it. The very first issue of the paper maintained that “the history of the world proves that there is but one road to freedom and that is the red road of war.”

With the passing of time,the newspaper became more and more radical in tone,and with the outbreak of the First World War and its campaigning against Irish recruitment into the British army, its days were numbered. Unsurprisingly, the newspaper was suppressed in the winter of  1914.

Revolutionary Dublin 1912-1923 : A Walking Guide by Donal Fallon and John Gibney is available now from Collins Press.

Evening Herald, 5 September 1991.

Anyone of a certain vintage will recall Thom McGinty, the King and Queen – depending on his mood – of Grafton Street, who brought colour to the very grey 1970s and 80s with his street theatrics and costumes. What is important about the story of Thom McGinty, who left us on 20 February 1995, was not only the manner in which he lived, but the manner in which he died. As a publicly recognised figure living with AIDS, he did much to challenge the stigma and preconceptions around those living with the disease, and his appearance on The Late Late Show remains one of the most groundbreaking interviews in Irish television history.

McGinty became as synonymous with the streets of Dublin as Bang Bang or Lord Mayor Alfie Byrne, but he was not a Dubliner. Born in Scotland in 1952, he arrived in Dublin from Glasgow in 1976, having been involved in theatre and street performance there. He himself later remembered that “I went to university to become a chartered accountant. I don’t know why. Anyway, I didn’t last very long there. I collected the grant for the two years and I got very involved in theatre.”  He took a job with the National College of Art and Design, as a nude model of all things, but quickly found a better calling, donning make up and costume and taking up a sort of residence at the Dandelion market, at the site of what is today the Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre. Thom became the ‘Dandelion Clown’, standing mute and motionless in the attire of a joker, and in his own words he was “a colourful pseudo-beggar.”

He retained a great grá for theatre in its more traditional form,  even launching a theatre company in the west of Ireland and taking to the stage in Dublin in a number of high profile productions, but street performances became his forte. The name Diceman stuck, and came from The Diceman games shop, which was located for some years on Grafton Street before moving to South Anne Street. They were just one of many Dublin businesses who hired him to promote their goods in whatever fancy dress took his fancy.

The legality of it all was up in the air, and sometimes he caused quite the scene, leading Gardaí to move him on. He developed a great routine of moving on at the pace of a snail, if not slower, which annoyed more than one on duty Garda but which crowds found hilarious. In his own words.  “I used to be totally still, but the guards said I was causing an obstruction and I thought I was totally fecked. So then the walk was developed to retain the statuesqueness and at the same time still be on the move. The walk is held up in Zen Buddist circles as the classic example of Zen walking.”

Often, Grafton Street was so captivated by him that things just stopped. While today the street is often occupied by buskers playing the same contemporary songs, this was wonderful because of its unpredictability. The great poet Brendan Kennelly nailed it:

Time and again, bang in the middle of Grafton Street, I have been happy to join other children gazing on this figure, either utterly immobile or moving with a slowness so perfectly measured as to be almost imperceptible. Thom McGinty’s magic has to do with his ability to mesmerise his audience, to lure them out of their busy city selves and to take them away into that land of perfect stillness where marvelous dreams are as normal as Bewley’s sticky buns.”

Costumes included the Mona Lisa, contemporary political leaders, Dracula, a lightbulb, Captain America, contraceptives…. one could go on and on. His manager, Aidan Murphy, often had the job of keeping the children of Dublin at arms length, who were eager to have their own fun. Nothing was too out there. Or was it? In September 1991, the Diceman was brought before the courts, charged with wearing an “indecent costume”. The offending piece was a Rocky Horror Picture Show costume. God help the Guard who had to stand up in court and proclaim that the Diceman’s “buttocks were clearly visible and the only thing covering his genitals was a G String.” The Diceman described himself in court as ‘Living Art’, showed up one day wearing a purple jump suit, and pledged not to wear the offending outfit again – the judge decided to use the Probation Act. The newspapers had their fun, with the Irish Press headline of the day saying “Diceman’s Fishnets an Offence to Decency.” The actor Tom Hickey came to the Diceman’s defence in court, saying you’d see more underwear in the Dublin City Marathon.

Irish Independent, 5 September 1991.

His final performance, if you will, was his own departure. His friends took turns to carry his coffin down Grafton Street in February 1995 when Thom lost his courageous battle. The Irish Independent reported:

The bustling street that served as his open air theatre for a decade came to a complete standstill as the coffin of Thom McGinty glided slowly down the crowded streets on the shoulder of his friends. When alive, he intrigued and amazed with his ability to stand utterly still, or to walk in a theatrical slow motion. Now it was his grieving public that stood so still as his cortege moved past in sad slow-motion. The silence was broken twice the street erupted with spontaneous applause. Five storey’s above the street, construction workers removed their yellow helmets as they watched the scene below.

 It sounds funny to say about someone who spent their life dressing up as so many different characters – but the Diceman was always himself.

In 1961, Tony Richardson’s magnificent big screen adaptation of Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey (see my recent Irish Times piece on the play here) made a star out of Rita Tushingham. It also demonstrated that there was a public hunger for films which dealt with real life issues, far removed from glitz and glamour escapism. It was a time for Angry Young Men, or Angry Young Women in Delaney’s case.

Tushingham scooped up a number of high profile awards in its aftermath, including the Cannes award for Best Actress and Most Promising Newcomer at the BAFTA’s. Three years after Honey, she played the leading role in Richardson’s Girl With Green Eyes, an adaptation of Edna O’Brien’s novel The Lonely Girl. Just as Salford’s industrial built landscape became a character in Honey, 1960s Dublin was crucially important to Girl with Green Eyes, the story of a young rural woman moving to Dublin and finding love with a sophisticated older man. Looking at it today, it is an important piece of Dublin archive footage and social history, capturing since departed institutions like the much loved Greene’s Bookshop on Clare Street.

Edna O’Brien had burst into Irish consciousness with The Country Girls in 1960, a book which dared to talk about sexuality and which instantly attracted the unwanted attention of the censor. In her memoir, O’Brien recalls the difficulty the response to the book created even in her own family, as “in her letters my mother spoke of the shock, the hurt and the disgust that neighbours felt. I had sent her a copy, which she did not mention as having received, and one day, after her death, I would it in a bolster case with offending words daubed out with black ink.” The publication of the book infuriated Archbishop John Charles McQuaid, who was moved to discuss its content with Minister for Justice Charles Haughey, writing that “like so many decent Catholic men with growing families, he was just beaten by the outlook and descriptions.”

Such opposition to her work only served to enhance O’Brien’s appeal to young readers, and having taken the familiar path of an Irish writer into exile, O’Brien achieved international renown as a writer in the 1960s. Given that Richardson had grappled with themes with homosexuality and single parenthood in Delaney’s Honey, Girl with Green Eyes likely appealed in part because of its taboo nature.

Walking along the Liffey in Girl With Green Eyes.

Among other things, the film captures disappeared Dublin landmarks like the Four Provinces Ballroom and Greene’s, both shown in the below clip.  Tushingham was a mere 21 at the time of the release of the film, with Life magazine proclaiming that she was “a remarkable young actress, visible through nearly every inch of this film. She cannot be called pretty by a long stretch: her nose is long and thin, her mouth a wide slash,and her hair is a Beatles mop. It is her large, lustrous eyes that have it.”

From a deeply Catholic background, Tushingham’s character, Kate Brady, finds it difficult to embrace any kind of sexual activity, eventually departing Dublin for London, a familiar path O’Brien had taken for different reasons.

O’Connell Bridge

Girl with Green Eyes is not a perfect film, and I find it difficult to disagree with Mel Healy’s view that ” It has some awful central casting, forgettable music and truly terrible attempts at Irish accents by several of the English actors.”

Since 1912, when Herbert Heymour Pembrey established the business, the Greene’s bookshop on Clare Street was a much-loved institution on Clare Street, which the Irish Times rightly noted not long before its closure had “a past, an atmosphere and a story to tell”, while one Dublin travel guide beautifully described it as “a dusty wonderland for bibliophiles.” Frequented by George Russell, Jack B. Yeats, Paddy Kavanagh and others, it had the feeling of a Shakespeare & Company or other continental bookshop about it, with books for sale outside in all seasons and endless shelves inside. Just as Joseph Strick’s 1967 masterpiece Ulysses did us all a favour by capturing the interior of the then already doomed Irish House pub on Winetavern Street, Richardson’s film captures Greene’s forever.

To the annoyance of some, Edna O’Brien never lost her voice or influence in Irish life, and became a fearless opponent of censorship, speaking at a packed meeting in Dublin’s Gate Theatre in 1966 which proclaimed that “the system of censorship branded authors as pornographers, obscene and indecent.” Her work had a crucial impact in breaking taboos down and highlighting the normality of sex and sexual attraction, in a country that often scoffed at such things. Just as he had done with Shelagh Delaney’s work, Richardson managed to use the local environment beautifully, and while it is old classic Dublin that shines brightest on screen (in particular her Georgian squares and her river), it is the changing face of Irish society and sexuality that is most important here.

A contemporary illustration depicts a Skeleton Army on the march.

The Salvation Army has been in business since 1865, today boasting more than 1.7 million members internationally. The ‘Sally Ann’, as generations knew it, has long had a presence in Dublin, establishing themselves here in the 1880s, and still active in the city today. A rather curious part of the history of the Salvation Army concerns its opponents. People who were hostile towards its campaign to ‘clean up the streets’ so to speak – in particular organised mobs who confronted the Salvation Army as they went about their work – became known on the neighbouring island as The Skeleton Army. Carrying banners, beating drums and even wearing mock uniforms, the Skeleton Army  are a curious social history phenomenon, no doubt often encouraged in their work by publicans.  While the term Skeleton Army was not used here to describe opponents of the Salvation Army, the hostility was bad enough in Dublin that the Salvation Army newspaper warned their readers how “the sight of a woman wearing an Army bonnet in the streets” had the same effect in Dublin as “a red rag to an infuriated bull.” When Mrs. Booth, wife of the leader of the Salvation Army, attempted to speak in Dublin in 1882 at a meeting in the Christian Union Buildings, her meeting had to be postponed due to what newspapers termed “riotous proceedings.”

A Protestant charitable body, the Salvation Army was born in London’s East End. It modelled itself on the army in terms of structure, and had its own flags, symbols, uniforms and marching songs. The Salvation Army went right into the slums of Britain, and into what they termed ‘Hostile Areas’.  In Dublin they encountered opposition from the beginning as they were viewed very much as outsiders, in England the form of opposition was sometimes surprising.

The Salvation Army’s rallying cry centered around the Three S’s – soup, soap and salvation. Its opponents raised their own satirical rallying cry in the form of the Three B’s – beef, beer and bacca! The phenomenon of the  Skeleton Army was first noted in England in 1881, when banners with skulls and crossbones on them began appearing at rowdy anti-Salvation Army events. The way they are described in the contemporary press suggests there was real fear, take this from a Bethal Green newspaper:

A genuine rabble of ‘roughs’ pure and unadulterated has been infesting the district for several weeks past. These vagabonds  style themselves the ‘Skeleton Army’…. The ‘skeletons’ have their collectors and their collecting sheets and one of them was thrust into my hands… it contained a number shopkeepers’ names… I found that publicans, beer sellers and butchers are subscribing to this imposture… the collector told me that the object of the Skeleton Army was to put down the Salvationists by following them about everywhere, by beating a drum and burlesquing their songs, to render the conduct of their processions and services impossible.

 The Skeleton Army adopted some ingenious tactics – once, they placed red pepper under the wings of pigeons who were released into a Salvation Army hall during a meeting in northern England. Imagine the sight of terrified birds fluttering about, raining red pepper down on the gathered Salvationists, running from the hall only to be confronted outside by a waiting mob.

On one occasion in Worthing, about 4,000 so-called Skeleton Army showed up to pelt the local Salvation Army hall, and then attacked the towns police station was one of their ranks was imprisoned. In Chester, the violence was so bad that one day became known  as ‘Black Sunday’. Over the course of 1882, there were at least 650 assaults on Salvationists on the street, and more than 55 buildings were damaged. Where do the Irish fit into all of this? It’s probably fair to presume that some of those attacking the Salvationists in England may have had little love for Irish immigrants in Britain either. Yet on the other side of things, it does seem that Irish Catholic migrants got in on the act of attacking the Salvationists too,  perhaps fearful of attempts to convert Irish districts to Protestantism. In Boughton, one newspaper wrote following violence there that “the attacks of the Irish Papists of Boughton on the unoffending Salvationists will be handed down as another proof of the development which the human mind is capable of under the influence of Popish learning.”

In Dublin, the Salvation Army attempted public rallies at the Custom House, a long established location for public speakers, but encountered real opposition. In 1887, it was reported that a mob followed the Salvation Army after one such rally as far as Harcourt Street, where “their car was stopped by the mob and the occupants of it would eventually have been subjected to violence but for the arrival of fifty constables who had followed on the cars.”

Belfast Newsletter report on violence towards Salvation Army in Dublin, October 1887.

This all leaves the very important question – who was making all of this happen? Thousands of people don’t just descend on a scene with banners, drums and uniforms – somebody puts them there. Evidence points towards brewers, publicans and even brothel keepers, all of whom had plenty to lose. One publican in Surrey was revealed to have donated a thousand pounds to the cause of the Skeleton Army, which was a most considerable sum of money in the 1880s.

To some, this all began as a bit of a laugh, and perhaps many who involved themselves in early riots had no real motivation beyond liking the thrill of violence. Things took very sinister turns, and tactics were becoming more and more unsavory and downright vile. Salvationists, including women and children, drenched in the contents of chamber pots. At Guildford, a female Salvationist was fatally injured by a mob. Drunken seamen on the Thames fired ships rockets, essentially flare guns, in the direction of a Salvationist gathering. Rotten vegetables were one thing to have rain down on top of you, burning coals and dead rats were something else entirely.

Curiously, there is evidence of some people making the leap from one to the other. Charles Jeffries from Shadwell had been heavily involved in the Skeleton Army in London, physically attacking Salvationists on more than one occasion and a much feared ‘street fighting man’. He was moved to join the Salvationists after showing up to wreck one of their meetings, later remembering that his old pals in the Skeletons didn’t take well to this and enjoyed attacking him:  “In the Open-Airs my old mates gave me many a blow and kick – but I stuck fast. At times they would follow me home singing, ‘Jeffries will help to roll the old chariot along’ – and, thank God, I am doing it.” He went on to serve the cause in Australia and other places, with the passion of the convert.

Note: I’ve previously looked at a criminal street-gang from Dublin’s North Inner city named the ‘Sons of Dawn’ who were also tracked down and arrested by the IRA in the same period.

Introduction

In 1921, an eight-man gang were responsible for a number of armed robberies in Dublin. The core of the group was made up of British Army deserters from the Royal Air Force (RAF). After an intelligence operation, the group was tracked down by the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and handed over to the authorities.

The gang has been recalled in different accounts as “Claude Gunner’s gang”, named after their ringleader, and “McNally’s gang” named after their first robbery victim.

The four key members were RAF deserters and a mixture of English, Irish and Scottish. All were aged between 21 and 23 at the time of the robbers. They were:

• Claude Gunner from Bishop’s Stortford, Hertfordshire, England. DOB 24 June 1900.
• Thomas Speers from Greenock near Glasgow, Scotland. DOB 10 April 1899.
• Denis Marry/Marrey from Balbriggan, North County Dublin. DOB 17 July 1898.
• George Collins from Dewsbury, Yorkshire, England. DOB 10 Feb 1900.

They were aided by:

• Charles Rennie, a former Scotland Yard detective
• Jimmy Marry, brother of Denis, from Balbriggan
• James Kenny, the owner of the ‘Silver King’ fleet of buses in Dublin
• An individual with the surname Wibberley, allegedly a former IRA Volunteer in Dublin
• An unnamed caretaker of the Soldiers’ Central Club, College Street, Dublin

Robberies

On 23 July 1921, the armed gang robbed Patrick Farrelly of £265, the property of Kennedy’s Bread, on the Ringsend Road, Dublin. The hoist was not reported in the newspapers at the time.

The IRA through its Irish Bulletin (November 1921) described the gang as a group of “gentlemen cracksmen … ex members of the British forces who had become moderately wealthy from the proceeds and their robberies”. It was stated that they “dressed well and were educated (and) only attempted big coups”.

On 10 September 1921, the same group robbed Hugh Charles McNally of £768 on the Howth Road in Killester, Dublin. The Sunday Independent (11 Sep 1921) described the incident as “one of the most daring and most sensational highway robberies in Dublin of recent years”. As a result, the gang were called “Killester robbers” in the military pension application file of Peter Byrne (24SP8784).

The Sunday Independent, 11 September 1921

McNally, a well-known builder, was the contractor for a new housing project for former British Army servicemen named Killester Gardens. On the day of the incident, McNally left the city centre in a motorcar with a large bag of cash to pay the workmen. Accompanied by his clerk Mr. Mitten, they were nearing the corner of Killester Lane (now Killester Avenue) on the Howth Road when they were confronted by four men. It was noted by the Sunday Independent that the thieves “spoke with English accents (and) were not disguised in any way”.

McNally later told the Freeman’s Journal (12 Sep 1921):

One of the fellows came to my side with a revolver pointed at me and I jumped out of the car over the side and tackled him. I held him. Whilst I was wrestling with him, the other fellow with the revolver fired and put a bullet through the glass of the screen where my clerk was sitting. (He) was fortunately not injured.

The newspapers reported that McNally’s car tyres had been slashed with razors but he did manage to chase after the thieves by foot and saw the gang of four jumping into a Ford car which already had two men sitting in it. After some initial car trouble, the gang made their escape in the direction of Fairview.

The crime was reported to the IRA and the Irish Republican Police (IRP) who were committed to maintaining law and order during the Truce Period.

IRA Intelligence Operation

Patrick J Kelly (First Lieutenant, G Company, 1 Battalion, Dublin Brigade, IRA) wrote a detailed account of the organisation’s efforts to uncover the gang in his Witness Statement (no. 781). He also mentioned the operation in his application for a military service pension (MSP34REF457).

Patrick Kelly in front of the Advisory Committee, 20 February 1935. Ref: (MSP34REF457)

Things began when the IRA’s General Headquarters (GHQ) circulated the serial numbers of the stolen £5 notes and asked all IRA Volunteers in the city to “seek information and report” back. Thomas Curran (Intelligence Officer, G Company, 1 Battalion, Dublin Brigade, IRA) was told by the barman in Doyle’s Corner in Phibsboro that a customer who had been unemployed for months had been in the pub and “changed a fiver“. Curran, naturally suspicious at this, asked to see the note and it matched the notes stolen in the Howth Road robbery. An IRA Volunteer named Curran got the address of the man who had come in with the £5 and reported everything back to Robert ‘Bob’ Oman (Captain, G Company, 1 Battalion, Dublin Brigade, IRA).

George Collins was subsequently the first of the gang to be picked up by the IRA. He was arrested at his residence at 61 Phibsboro Road, Dublin 7. IRA Officer Robert Oman wrote in his military service pension application (MSP34REF16645) that another individual Wibberley, a former IRA volunteer in H Company, 1 Battalion (?), was arrested at the same time of Collins.

According to Kelly’s account, George Collins was arrested with a “.38 revolver in his hip pocket”. He was brought to Columcille Hall at 5 Blackhall Street in Smithfield, Dublin 7 for questioning. This building had been owned by the Gaelic League since 1900 and was used as the HQ of 1 Battalion, Dublin Brigade of the Irish Volunteers/IRA from 1914 to 1922.

George Collins admitted that he was involved in the robbery of McNally and revealed that he was a RAF deserter who had teamed up with five others in a similar position.

PJ D’Alton writing about Joe Dodd’s IRA service. Ref: MSP34REF2287

At this stage, Kelly recognised Collins as being the driver for the RAF’s General Gerald Farrell who had been caught up in an IRA ambush on the South Circular Road, Dublin 8 some time before. Collins was subsequently accused of being involved in the reprisal burning of the Half-Way House in Crumlin. The prisoner admitted that he had driven a party of British Army officers from Baldonnel Camp to Crumlin but had not personally taken part in the burning. Knowing that the game was up and so “badly scared at being so well-known”, Collins gave up the names of his five conspirators and revealed the gangs plans was to rob Cook’s Tourist Agency, Grafton Street; Tedcastle McCormack’s payroll, North Wall and the National Bank, Cork before absconding to England.

It was revealed that the gang’s ‘fixer’ in Dublin was Denis Marry from Balbriggan. Collins gave his IRA captors a description of Marry and said that he would be arriving into Dublin on a Great Northern Railway train in the coming days.

Five days later, Vincent Gogan (IRA Intelligence Officer, 1 Battalion, Dublin Brigade) reported that a man matching Marry’s description had arrived into Dublin by train and had checked into the Globe Hotel on Talbot Street.

Kelly and a squad of IRA men including Mick Downes, Joe Dodd (MSP34REF2287), James Kelly and Vincent Gogan, found Marry in a lodging-house near Malrboro Street Church which the Globe Hotel also owned. He was captured with a Colt .45 revolver and was also taken to Columcille Hall. When he saw his fellow RAF deserter Collins there, he must have known that the game was up too.

Marry told the IRA that three more of the gang would arrive into Dublin in a couple of days. Two would arrive into Dún Laoghaire and then take a train to Harcourt Street. They were Charles Rennee and Claude Gunner. The other man, Thomas Speers, was to arrive into the city by the Great Northern Railway. (Two IRA accounts have described Speers as a “jockey” but British Army service records reveal that he too was a RAF deserter who worked previously as a “printer”)

Nicholas Laffan (BMH WS 703) described how the IRA raided two houses in Springgarden Street in the North Strand and later the Westbrook Hotel on Harcourt Street unsuccessfully for Rennee.

Excerpt from Nicholas Laffan’s account. Ref: BMH WS 703

Denis Marry offered to go and meet his two fellow gang members in Dún Laoghaire and travel into town with them so the IRA would recognise them more easily.

Speers was caught by IRA Volunteers James Kelly and Mick Downes at Amiens Street train station. He too was carrying a .38 revolver and was brought to Columcille Hall.

Afterwards, Kelly and Downs rushed over to Harcourt Street to help fellow IRA men Robert Oman, James Kelly, Joe Dodd and Callaghan with the arrest of the remaining gang members. Renne and Gunner were caught while Denis Marry and his brother Jimmy escaped down Montague Street.

(Kelly’s account suggests Denis Marry’s brother was named ‘Ned’ while Oman’s account and census records suggest Jimmy is the correct name)

The IRA visited the Marry household in Balbriggan and were told the two brothers had fled to Belfast.

Nicholas Laffan (BMH WS 703) wrote that some of the gang had been tracked down to the North Strand Road where they put up a fight and fire their revolvers from a tram as they were being pursued. Robert Oman (MSP34REF16645) states that Jimmy Marry was “arrested on a tram at North Strand”.

Robert Oman’s hand-written list of the gang members. Ref: MSP34REF16645

Gang leader Rennee offered the IRA a substantial bribe for their release and asked them to collect his luggage from the Soldiers’ Central Club on College Street. He also provided the name (never recorded in any account) of the caretaker who was in charge and the name of the man who “supplied cars for the hold-up”. Kelly wrote:

His name was Kenny and was well-known in Dublin. We had him under arrest in under an hour. He gave us a cheque for £50 which he said was his share of the McNally robbery.

On collecting the luggage from the Soldiers’ Central Club, Kelly wrote that it contained “the filthiest collection of photographs and French postcards imaginable.”

Rennee told Kelly that he was lucky that he was not at Harcourt Street station when they arrived as Marry had given him his description and they intended to shoot it out.

Kelly wrote that the British Government “requested that Rennee, Gunner, Collins and Spears (sic) be handed over to them as deserters”.

Kelly believed that Gunner and Collins “were sentenced to three years imprisonment in Stafford Detention Barracks, England”. Rennee was sent to London for trial but the IRA “never learned the result”. Nor did they learn what happened to Speers. Kenny received a “stiff fine to pay” and soon “went out of business”. The caretaker in the Soldier’s Home was released with a warning.

Kelly lamented at the end of his account that:

The proceeds of several robberies was never discovered. Gunner said they spent it touring the Continent, and judging by their luggage I believed them.

Official British state files

On 25 November 1921, Claude Gunner and Thomas Speers were court-martialled and attended a military trial in Dublin. The British Army ‘Register of courts martial” in Dublin (Ref. no. WO 35/57) state that the pair were accused of “robbery with aggravation (while) armed with firearms” of the hold-up of Patrick Farrelly in July 1921 and of Hugh Charles McNally in September 1921. They were found guilty of the Farrelly robbery but not-guilty of the McNally heist.

On 28 November 1921, all four of the men (Gunner, Speers, Collins and Marry) were tried at a Field General Court Martial trial in Dublin (Ref No.WO 35/137). It was reiterated that Gunner and Speers were guilty of the armed robbery of Patrick Farrell and were sentenced to three years penal servitude. All four of the accused were found not-guilty of the hold-up of McNally. There was a recommendation of mercy because:

1. Robberies are committed with impunity by Sinn Feiners
2. Voluntary confession
3. 10 weeks previous imprisonment

Postscript

Claude Lionel Gunner, RAF records, Ancestry.co.uk

Claude Lionel Gunner (Service No. 180360) was born on 24 June 1900. His birthplace has been listed as Furneux Pelham and Bishop’s Stortford, both in Hertfordshire, England about 16km apart.

In 1901, Claude was living at Ulpine Cottage, 76 Plynlimmon Road, Hastings, East Sussex, England with his father Thomas (36), a Baker & Confectioner, his mother Emma (38) and three older siblings. In 1911, Claude (10) was living at 7 Milton Terrace, Swansea, Wales with his widowed father Thomas (46), a “Business Merchant Clerk”, and two older siblings.

Claude enlisted with the RAF on 10 July 1918. He listed his permanent address as Havenwood, St. Leonards, Ringwood, Hampshire, England. In 1919, he married Beatrice C. Townsend in Edmonton, Middlesex, England.

His RAF service record reveals that he was a ‘Plymouth Brethern’, was employed as a ‘Assistant Motor Mechanic’ and that his father Thomas lived at Chirstchurch Street, Kingswood, Hertfordshire, England.

Claude was transferred to the Baldonnell military camp in Ireland on 29 September 1920 and deserted on 10 July 1921. The robbery of Patrick Farrelly occurred 13 days later. His service record states that following his arrest and sentencing, he was transferred to Liverpool Prison on 24 December 1921.

In the 1939 census, he was listed as a “Sales Manager, Electrical Appliances” living at 37 Rosehill Terrace, Swansea, Wales. He died in Swansea about March 1970.

Thomas Speers, RAF records, Ancestry.co.uk

Thomas Speers (Service No. 236356) was born on 10 April 1899 in Greenock, near Glasgow, Scotland.

In 1901, Thomas (1) was living at 12 Lewis Street, Derry, Ireland with his father David (30), a Shop Porter, his mother Eliza Jane (30) and two older sisters. The family was Presbyterian. His parents were born in Donegal while both his siblings were born in Derry. In 1911, Thomas (11) and his family had moved down the street to 21 Lewis Street, Derry. His father David (43) was now working as a carter and he had four new younger siblings.

Thomas enlisted with the Royal Navy on 27 August 1917. His occupation was listed as a ‘painter’. He transferred to the RAF on 1 April 1918 according to his service record.

He was moved to the Curragh camp, Ireland on 2 November 1920 and deserted on 10 July 1921 (the same day as Claude Gunner) and just 13 days before the Patrick Farrelly robbery.

His service record states that following his arrest and sentencing, he was transferred to Liverpool Prison on 24 December 1921.

On 19 May 1925, it would be appear that Thomas re-enlisted with the British Army in Omagh, County Tyrone as a motor-driver. At the outbreak of the Second World War, he re-enlisted once again on 27 October 1939 with the ’14 Argyle Regiment’ of the British Army.

Denis Marry, RAF Records, Ancestry.co.uk

Denis ‘Dinny’ Kevin Marry (Service Number 294193 or 333974) was born on 17 July 1895 in Balbriggan, North County Dublin to parents James, a “Linen Factory Workman”, and Elizabeth Marrey (nee Walsh).

In 1901, Denis (4) was living at 14 Mill Street, Balbriggan with his father James (42), a “Linen Yarn Beamer and Warper”, his mother Elizabeth (29), three siblings and his grandmother. The whole family was Catholic and were all born in Dublin except for the father who was originally from County Louth. In 1911, Denis (14) was living at “363 Balbriggan” with his father James (50), a “Linen Yarn Dresser”, his mother Elizabeth (40) and six siblings.

The service record of Denis shows that he enlisted with the RAF on 4 September 1918. His occupation was listed as a ‘petrol driver’. The file reveals that had married on 2 January 1920 and his wife lived at 38 Rijnkaai, Antwerp, Belgium. However, there is another marriage cert for Denis Marrey for 19 October 1921:

Denis deserted from the British Army on 2 May 1921. This occurred a little over two months before the Farrelly robbery.

In July 1921, a Peter Malone and “Denis Marry (alias Simpson)” were arrested at 2 Phibsboro Avenue, Dublin. No further information is available but a brief mention in the FindMyPast’s ‘Easter Rising & Ireland Under Martial Law’ records.

At the time of the 1922 Irish Army Census, Denis Marry was based at Gormanston army camp, County Meath. He was attached to the Air Traffic Control. His home address was 14 Mill Street, Balbriggan. The file shows that he enlisted with the National Army on 4 November 1922 in the last few months of the Civil War and just a week before the census was taken. His next-of-kin was his wife Annie Murray of Mill Street, Balbriggan.

(I unfortunately can’t find George Collins’ RAF records online)

George Collins (Service Number 336394 or 4681442) was born in Dewsbury, Yorkshire, England on 10 February 1900.

In 1901, George (1) was living at 23 Ambler Street, Batley, West Yorkshire, England with his father James (38), a “Coal Miner Hewer”, his mother Catherine (36), a “Retired Rag Sorter” and nine older siblings. In 1911 , George (11) was living at 2 Oldroyd Square, Batley, West Yorkshire, England with his father James (49), a “Coal Miner Hewer Unemployed”, with his wife Catherine (46) and ten siblings.

During the War of Independence period in Dublin (1919-21), George was a motor-driver for Major-General Sir Gerald Farrell Boyd.

In November 1921, George Collins was arrested for breaking and entering into the Ulster Bank in Dundalk with intent to commit a felony. He was transferred from Dundalk Prison to Mountjoy Prison on 28 November 1921 for a trial at “Leinster Assizes” in Dublin. His next-of-kin was listed as James Collins, 14 Powells Yard, Beckett Road, Dewsbury, West Yorkshire.

In the 1939 census, he was listed as a ‘Unpaid Domestic Duties’ living at Dewsbury, West Yorkshire where he died in 1972.

Charles Rennie was a former Criminal Investigation Department (CID) officer from Scotland Yard. Little else is known about him. James Kenny Sr., of 103 Sandymount Avenue, Dublin was proprietor of the Silver King and Silver Queen line of buses. In August 1929, he was £30 for not paying the road-tax on three of his vehicles.

More reading:

The IRA Volunteers who tracked down the gang were from G Company, 1 Battalion, Dublin Brigade. The key players were:

Patrick Kelly – MSP34REF457 and BMHWS781 files.

Nicholas Laffan – MSP34REF3964 and BMH.WS703 files

Robert ‘Bob’ Oman MSP34REF16645 file. No BMH WS.

Joseph Dodd. MSP34REF2287 file. No BMH WS.

Earlier this week, the statue of Molly Malone was added to the Talking Statues series, an innovative and playful idea that allows Dubliners and visitors to engage with monuments in the city. Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw and James Connolly (albeit without Edinburgh brogue) are just some of the monuments that are brought to life by the series. This summer is the thirtieth anniversary of the unveiling of the famous Dublin statue of Molly Malone,making her an ideal candidate for inclusion.

Molly Malone by Jeanne Rynhart took her place on the Dublin streetscape in 1988, the year of Dublin’s so-called Millennium. The historical merit of 1988 as a Millennium date for Dublin was widely disputed, but the year did lead to much civic pride and engagement. When quizzed on this, a Dublin Corporation official came out with something that was almost Flann O’Brienesque, insisting that when it came to historians, “you can never get these people to agree anyway. After all, there are some who say St Patrick never existed, but that doesn’t get rid of March 17th. And who picked December 25th as Christ’s birthday? Nobody was sure what the real day was, so they had to pick something.”

Rynhart’s proposal emerged victorious from dozens of entries, and was unveiled in December 1988 right at the end of the year of celebrations. When first revealed, the Irish Independent reported that “men reacted favorably to the buxom, six-foot Molly…wearing a low-cut, off the shoulder period dress, her hair immaculately braided.” In the eyes of one journalist, the monument had “more curves than a seventeenth century road through the Liberties.” In defending her work, Rynhart noted that Molly’s outfit was based on discussions  with costume experts from the National Museum of Ireland, and that “breasts would not have shocked seventeenth century Dubliners.”

Rynhart defending Molly Malone, Irish Press.

Whatever about the criticisms of Molly’s appearance, the greatest criticism of the work came from the Independent Socialist politician Tony Gregory, who maintained that the monument was on the wrong side of the Liffey and should have been placed in a “place of historical relevance.” Still today, it seems peculiar Molly Malone – a fictional street trader – stands so far from the traders of Moore Street.

While Aosdana lamented the statue as being “entirely deficient in artistic point and merit” at the time of its unveiling, I am personally a great admirer of Rynhart’s Molly Malone. A strong mythology grew up around Molly Malone in 1988, when an attempt was made to sell the idea that she was based on a genuine seventeenth century fishmonger/prostitute (the 13 June was declared ‘Molly Malone Day’ in honour of a woman who had died on that date in 1699).  There was no need for it. To me, Molly Malone is not one woman from history, but a representation of women workers in a Dublin long gone. As for her location, I’m with the late Tony Gregory on that one.

Equally controversial was the Anna Livia fountain placed on O’Connell Street, which was quickly descended on by Fairy Liquid bandits who knocked great enjoyment out of watching suds spill over onto the street. Today, Anna Livia (the work of sculptor Éamonn O’Doherty) sits in the small public park at Wolfe Tone Quay, near to the National Museum of Ireland. Smaller acts, like the planting of hundreds of new trees in the city centre, also changed the appearance of the city centre in a meaningful way too during the doubtful Millennium.

Gabriel Lee is the only member of Eoin O’Duffy’s Pro-Franco ‘Irish Brigade’ to be commemorated with a public memorial in Ireland. A small plaque in Dublin’s Pro-Cathedral marks the fact that he died fighting with the Fascist forces in Spain in 1937.

This is in stark contrast to the 20+ plaques and memorials across the island to Irishmen who fought with the International Brigades in defence of the Spanish Republic.

Gabriel Lee was born on 21 May 1904 in Kilcormac (formally known as Frankford), a small town in County Offaly between Tullamore and Birr. His parents were James Lee, a Sergeant in the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC), and Elizabeth Lee (née Conroy).

Gabriel Lee, birth certificate 1904.

At the time of the 1911 Census, Gabriel Lee was living with his large family at 22 Townsend Street, Birr, County Offaly.

It is claimed that Gabriel Lee was a member of the Pre-Truce IRA although he only would have been in his mid to late teens during the War of Independence (1919-1921). Taking the Pro-Treaty side in the Civil War, he enlisted with the National Army on 25 March 1922 at Marlborough Hall, Dublin. When the Irish Army census was conducted in November 1922, he was serving with the 1st Battalion, South-Western Command at Mallow, County Cork. His home address was given as 45 Lower Drumcondra Road, Dublin.

Gabriel Lee, 1922 Army census.

During the early 1930s, Gabriel Lee served as Vice-Chairman of Fine Gael’s Dublin North West Exectutive and Vice-Divisional Director of the League of Youth, Dublin. He was known to his comrades as Gabe Lee.

James Lee and and his son Gabriel Lee photographed on O’Connell Street, 1934. Credit: ‘Arthur Fields: Man on Bridge’

A committed anti-Communist and devout Catholic, he left Galway with Eoin O’Duffy’s ‘Irish Brigade’ for Spain on 12 December 1936.

Gabriel Lee was injured by shellfire at Ciempozuelos on 13 March 1937 and was brought to Griñón Hospital, Madrid. Eoin O’Duffy recalled in correspondence that Lee had tried to “raise his hand in the Fascist salute” in his hospital bed. Apparently his “final request” was to buried in a green shirt as retold n Fearghal McGarry’s 2007 biography of Eoin O’Duffy. This indicated his strong loyalty to O’Duffy who had broken away from Fine Gael in 1935 to form the National Corporate Party and the Greenshirts (military wing).

Gabriel Leeand died of his wounds on 20 March and was buried in Cáceres, Spain with several other members of the ‘Irish Brigade’.

Gabriel Lee. The Sunday Independent, 12 June 1960.

The Irish Brigade Headquarters, 12 Pearse Street, Dublin released a statement three days after Lee’s death to the Irish Independent (23 March 1937) saying that:

To those who scoff at the motives impelling such sacrifices we say that charity should dictate that only good be spoken of such bravery men. We in this Headquarters know how little inducement or hope of worldly gain was offered to the members of the Irish Brigade. We know their motives, and we know that the souls of these men are with God because they died for God.

Historian Robert Stradling believed that Gabriel Lee was the only individual who fought with Eoin O’Duffy’s ‘Irish Brigade’ in Spain to have a public memorial in Ireland. In Dublin’s Pro-Cathedral, there is small plaque on a pew dedicated to his memory which I photographed over the weekend.

Gabriel Lee plaque, Pro-Cathedral Dublin. Credit – Sam, Come Here To Me! August 2018.

Gabriel Lee plaque, Pro-Cathedral Dublin. Credit – Sam, Come Here To Me! August 2018.

In total, I believe that 10 pro-Franco Irishmen were killed in action during the conflict. I have collected these dates, names and addresses from contemporary newspaper article and death certificates via Irishgenealogy.ie:

1937-02-19 – Captain Thomas Hyde (40) of Ballinacurra, Midleton, Cork – killed at Ciempozuelos in friendly fire incident – buried in Cáceres, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1937-02-19 – Daniel Chute (27) of Boherbee, Tralee, County Kerry – killed at Ciempozuelos in friendly fire incident – buried in Cáceres, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1937-03-13 – John MacSweeney (23) of Mitchell’s Crescent, Tralee, County Kerry – died from wounds received on Madrid Front – buried in Cáceres, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1937-03-13 – Bernard Horan (23) of Mitchell’s Crescent, Tralee, County Kerry – died from wounds received on Madrid Front – buried in Cáceres, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1937-03-20 – Gabriel Lee (32) of 45 Lower Drumcondra Road, Dublin – died from wounds received on Madrid Front – buried in Cáceres, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1937-03-21 – Thomas Foley (30) of 16 Mary Street, Tralee, County Kerry – died from wounds received on Madrid Front. Refs: (1)(2)

1937-07-15 – Michael Weymes (29) of Mullingar, County Westmeath and later 2 Belton Park Gardens, Donnycarney, Dublin – killed at Villafranca del Castillo on the Mardrid Front- buried in Cáceres, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1938-08-? – Patrick Dalton of Pilltown, County Kilkenny- killed in Spain. Incorrectly listed as P. Dolan in one source. Described as Irish student in Spain studying to be a priest. Not Patrick Dalton (1897-1956) of Waterford/Dublin who also served in Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

1938-09-10 – Daithi Higgins (21) of Ballyhooly, County Cork – killed at the Battle of the Ebro fighting with the Spanish Foreign Legion. Refs: (1)(2)(2)

1938-10-? – Austin O’Reilly of Kilmessan, Co Meath – killed at the Battle of the Ebro. Refs: (1)(2)

Five of the Irishmen who were killed fighting for Franco in the Spanish Civil War.

I have also calculated that about 21 of Eoin O’Duffy’s men also died in at home or abroad from diseases contracted while serving with the ‘Irish Brigade’:

1937-04-?? – John Walsh of Midleton, County Cork – died in Spain and buried in Cáceres. Refs: (1)(2)

John Walsh, Irish Independent (05 April 1937)

1937-06-?? – Thomas Troy of Tulla, County Clare – died in Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

Thomas Troy, Irish Press (30 June 1937)

1937-07-?? – Eunan McDermott of Erne Street, Ballyshannon, County Donegal – died in Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

Eunan McDermott, Irish Press (12 July 1937)

1937-07-24 – John McGrath (22) of Lenaboy Avenue, Salthill, County Galway – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

John McGrath, Irish Independent (27 July 1937)

1937-08-20 – Thomas Doyle of Roscrea, County Tipperary – died in Salamanca, Spain. Refs: (1)(2)

Thomas Doyle (Longford Leader, 04 Sep 1937)

1938-01-08 – Matthew Barlow (44) of Chapel Street, County Longford – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

Matthew Barlow, Longford Leader (22 January 1938)

1938-02-02 – John Cross (32) of 49 William Street, County Limerick – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

Jack Cross, Irish Independent (04 February 1938)

1938-02-09 – Patrick Dwyer (32) of 19 Sheehy Terrace, Clonmel, County Tipperary – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

1938-09-17 – Martin O’Toole (28) of Ballynacally, County Clare – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

Martin O’Toole, Irish Independent(21 September 1938)

1939-03-04 – Patrick Collins (33) of Bandon, County Cork – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

Patrick Collins, Sunday Independent (12 March 1939)

1939-03-27 – Thomas Slater (30) of 47 Garrymore, Clonmel, County Tipperary – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

Thomas Slater (Irish Independent, 30 March 1939)

1939-04-12- James Doyle (22) of Boherglass, Clonlong, County Limerick and later 63 High Street, Thomondgate, County Limerick. Died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

James Doyle, Limerick Leader (22 April 1939)

1939-06-29 – Francis Maguire (32) of Belgium Square, Monaghan Town, County Monaghan – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

1939-09-13 – Laurence Heaney (37) of 32 North Great George’s Street, Dublin – died in IRL. Refs: (1)(2)

1940-02-04 – William Tobin (37) of 2 Abbeyside, Cashel, County Tipperary – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

William Tobin, Irish Independent (8 February 1940)

1940-02-05 – Philip Comerford (25) of Kells, County. Kilkenny – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

Philip Comerford, Irish Independent (13 February 1940)

1940-03-23 – John McCarthy (37) of Castletownbere , County Cork – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

John McCarthy, Irish Independent (6 April 1940)

1940-03-26 – Austin Hamill (33) of Hill Street, Monaghan town, County Monaghan – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

1940-04-25 – Denis Maher (36) of 25 King Street, Clonmel, County Tipperary –  road traffic accident in IRL. Refs: (2)

Denis Maher, Irish Independent (26 April 1940)

1940-06-?? – Thomas Gunning of County Leitrim – died in Germany Refs: (2)

?? – Frank Nevin of 82 St. Lawrence Road, Clontarf Dublin – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

Couldn’t find obit in newspapers but thought this was interesting re: Frank Nevin (Irish Independent, 3 April 1937)

?? – Michael O’Donoghue of County Galway – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

?? – Patrick McGarry of Newtownforbes, County Longford – died in IRL. Refs: (2)

–

(1) Listed as one of the 21 men who “lost their lives” while serving with the Irish Brigade. The Irish Independent, 03 May 1939

(2) Listed as one of the 33 “deceased members” of the Irish Brigade. The Irish Independent, 16 October 1940

Thanks: Gerard Farrell for additional documents and information.

In March 2013 we published an article on the site looking at the Papal Cross in the Phoenix Park. For the week that is in it I have revisited this subject, and this is an expanded piece on the subject. The original comments are included below.

Irish Independent map, September 1979.

Yellow and white pontifical flags are flying on the main streets. Bright coats of green paint have been slapped on hundreds of buildings and “Brits Out” and other graffiti have been scrubbed from thousands of walls. At Phoenix Park in Dublin a 200‐foot steel cross, bleachers and vast roped enclosures await a crowd of a million for an outdoor mass Sunday afternoon.

So wrote The New York Times days before Pope John Paul II arrived in Ireland in 1979. American readers were told that “no Pope has come to Ireland before, and John Paul’s visit is viewed here as a kind of papal blessing on Irish nationhood.” Never mind New York, perhaps the truest observation came from The Spectator on the neighbouring island, proclaiming that “Ireland in its history has been more loyal to Rome than Rome has been to Ireland.”

When it was all over, they made their way home from the Phoenix Park in their hundreds of thousands, still streaming out of the park six hours after the conclusion of mass. The Irish Independent correctly proclaimed that it all “proved the most major feat of organisation in the history of the state.”

Little remains to be said or written about that Papal visit of 1979. The lasting legacy, of course, is the Papal Cross monument in the Phoenix Park, which will be central to this weeks visit by Pope Francis. The story of its construction and placement in the Phoenix Park is the stuff of legend, with the structure turned around in mere weeks. The visit saw something in the region of a million people crowd into the park, with six thousand people in the choir alone. The Papal Cross was the work of Scott Tallon Walkers Architects, and cost an incredible £50,000. It was constructed in the Inchicore steelworks factory of J and C McGloughlin, and the structure weighed in at 31 tons. It, in many ways, was the main symbol of the event, attracting international media attention and designed to capture the magnitude of the occasion.

Writing about the cross in 2004, architect Ronnie Tallon gave some idea of how quickly the project was completed, noting that:

At the beginning of August 1979, I received a call from the Archbishop of Dublin appointing our practice to design and build an outdoor event for the celebration of Mass for one million people. He had just received confirmation that the Pope was coming to Ireland in eight weeks’ time.

The arrival of the cross in the Phoenix Park, Irish Independent.

The sheer scale of the event is clear from all the small details of the day. The Papal carpet alone was two acres in size, and was delivered to Dublin upon three lorries, each carrying thirty rolls. The carpet was made in Antrim, the home county of the Rev. Ian Paisley, something which the media didn’t fail to comment on. Ian Paisley outlined his “total opposition” to any attempt by the Pope to visit the north, and in the end Dundalk was as far north as he went.

Tallon recalled that “we decided that we required a cross the height of Nelson’s Pillar, which was 125 feet high, which would be clearly visible to all from the furthest reaches of the vast congregation and which would give a sense of focus to the occasion.” Tallon was afterwards awarded a Papal knighthood for his efforts in designing the cross and altar for the historic event. According to Tallon, “normally if you were doing a steel contract it would take six weeks to get the material in and another twelve weeks on top of that to have it fabricated and erected.”

Evening Herald, 1979.

The cross arrived at the park on 7 September, and took a rather unusual route, beginning its journey in Inchicore but heading into the city and crossing the O’Connell Bridge. The sheer size of the structure meant that this longer journey was required, as shorter routes would not accommodate the cross. It took two hundred-ton cranes to lift the cross into position. Was Tallon ultimately satisfied with his Papal Cross? He would tell a journalist that “I’m never happy with anything I’ve made and if I was I’d retire. It’s one of the difficulties of any creative society. You aim at perfection, which is impossible to achieve.”

It didn’t all go according to plan for Tallon and his team. It was reported on 13 September that attempts to raise the cross into position were delayed by “winds gusting up to 50 knots”, and that “the high winds have ruled out any attempt to hoist the cross into position.”

A visiting English journalist, writing for The Spectator, was struck by the atmosphere in the Phoenix Park on the day of the visit, writing that:

For thousands of People at the back of the big gathering the most they could see was a tiny white figure on the distant altar. That was all they could glimpse, and that was enough. It is hard to think of any cause or person, not even the monarchy, not even a football match, which would unite people in Britain in this way, but then we have never had to wait 1500 years for anyone.

When the visit passed, the question of the future of the Papal Cross opened up almost immediately. Recently released state papers show that the Catholic Church sought £100,000 from the state for ownership of the cross, claiming it was owed this money from costs incurred by the visit. Charles Haughey believed the site of the Papal Cross needed to become an attraction in itself, when he wrote to minister of state Sylvie Barrett that “effort should be made to make it attractive, even inspirational. I think we should go for an abundance of trees of all kinds and create a pleasant setting in which visitors coming to see the cross can relax.”

A year after going up, the base was daubed with a huge scrawl, proclaiming that “if men got pregnant, contraception and abortion would be Sacraments.” The slogan, rather than being quickly painted over and forgotten about, appeared in most Irish newspapers in the following days, though nobody was ever prosecuted. Calls for its removal were, to be frank, few and far between.

The Irish Times, 1980.

Kevin Myers was one of few voices to condemn the structure in the media, albeit later, attacking it in a 1990 column for The Irish Times, where he asked “does An Taisce not have an attitude to this defacement of a public place by a cross which is a monument to vulgar triumphalism?” The “ghastly monstrosity”, he believed, had no place over a decade on from the visit.

I agree with the magnificent Buildings of Ireland database, which describes the cross by saying it is “a considerable feat of engineering, rather than a piece of sculpture. Marking an significant moment in history, it is of considerable social and religious importance.” More curious is the small plaque on the runway of Dublin Airport, where the Pope first touched Irish soil, something only a select few Dublin Airport workers will ever see. Half a million people will gather at the monument later this week, proving the church still has considerable influence – or perhaps saying more about the pulling power of Pope Francis. For historians, there will be real interest in what he says – Just as John Paul II focused on the issues of the day in Ireland in terms of the spiraling violence in Ulster – how will Francis deal with the legacy issues facing the church?

Original Comments on March 2013 piece:

Póló: I remember well the euphoria of the time. It was like the second coming. Sadly it actually presaged an era of spiritual repression which is not over yet.

FXR: I remember that day. I had a few things to do in town. I walked home from there through a ghost town. It felt like I was the only person in Dublin not up in the Park. In 2009 I photographed Kevin Flanaghan burning a copy of the Ryan Report after midnight mass (starts at 10pm?) outside the Pro Cathedral on a freezing Xmas eve. Then we drove up to the Phoenix Park and dumped copies of the Ryan Report around the base.

The monstrosity should be taken down with a few pounds of explosives or a team with angle grinders. It’s a monument to a nation of forelock tugging peasants who kow tow before the Vatican. We haven’t moved that far since then either: Bertie& Co are still enjoying the fruits of his loyalty to the Church and the victims have been buried like the carcasses of dead mongrels. The Indemnity Deal is still proving an armour plated defence of Vatican assets and no cardinals, bishops or Nuns are in prison for their crimes.

innaminna: I would like it removed. I walk there very often and I resent the fact that it is there in such a prominent place that it is impossible to avoid it. I think the time has come to remove it to some churchyard somewhere and they can commemorate the visit with a plaque. But at present it is forcing all people who walk in the 15 acres to have Christianity invade one’s thoughts. Walking in parks etc can be a personal, and often rare opportunity for reflection on one’s own private world. It is one thing to share that with other people or animals, but to have it invaded in such a manner by a religious symbol that is so loaded, is really not on. If I wanted to go to a church I would. And while we’re at it, I would like all religious statues etc to be removed from public land, the angelus removed from RTE and basically all religion removed from public life. Religion is private, I have no problem with it as long as it stays that way.

US 1920s advertisement for the Tommy Gun, “the gun the bandits fear most.”

In time of revolution, hushed meetings can happen in the most unlikely of places. In revolutionary Dublin, intelligence policemen followed republican suspects from cafe to newsagent and everywhere in between. At the National University of Ireland, Earlsfort Terrace, both students and staff had radicals in their midst.

That some prominent nationalists worked in academia at the university ensured that more than just academic issues were discussed on campus. P.J Paul, Officer Commanding the East Waterford Brigade in the intensifying guerilla war in the Irish countryside, recalled meeting Richard Mulcahy in his office in the university in 1921 to discuss the course of the conflict, before being taken to another room in the University:

which I remember had the name on the door saying that it was the room of Professor Eoin McNeill. There I met Emmet Dalton and a man named Cronin, an American, and another American who was with him. I was shown a specimen of the Thompson sub-machine guns which I learned were being smuggled in from America in some quantities. The two Americans were the experts on the gun and they demonstrated how it worked and explained its mechanism.

The Thompson submachine gun, or the Tommy Gun, was invented in 1918 by United States Army officer John T. Thompson, coming onto the market in 1921. The gun is synonymous in popular culture with Prohibition-era Gangsterism in the U.S, recalling Al Capone and incidents like the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. The so-called ‘Chicago Piano’ has maintained a lasting place in popular memory owing to television shows like Boardwalk Empire and Peaky Blinders. Still, before the gun was ever utilised in the chaos of mob warfare, it was tested by the Irish Republican Army in Marino and fired for the first time in a military capacity in an IRA ambush in Drumcondra. For the Irish republican movement on both sides of the Atlantic, the gun would represent a definitive turning point in the war in Ireland. Internationally, it is remembered as “the gun that made the twenties roar.” In Ireland, it arrived late in the War of Independence, but would have a formative influence in subsequent political turmoil.

A famous 1930s Hollywood depiction of the Tommy Gun, from Scarface: Shame of the Nation.

Developing and selling the Tommy Gun:

For General John T. Thompson, the journey towards a “one-man, hand-held machine gun” began in 1916 with the foundation of the Auto-Ordnance Company. Financially backed by American insurance magnate Thomas Fortune Ryan, a supporter of the Clan na Gael Irish-American Fenian movement, Thompson’s gun prototype was initially known as ‘The Annihalator’.  Unsurprisingly, the gun attracted the attention of Irish republican representatives in the United States, who supplied IRA GHQ in Dublin with as much information as possible on the Tommy Gun and its capabilities. GHQ relied on number of channels – including the Liverpool docks and European arms dealers – to equip the IRA in its guerilla campaign, and attempted to remain abreast of developments in arms on the continent and beyond.

The Tommy Gun was not cheap, retailing at $225 a piece. Likewise, the absence of suitable ammunition in Europe would create real headaches. Still, greatly encouraged by reports of the guns capabilities, IRA GHQ encouraged those in America to secure quantities of the weapon. Having received cuttings on the gun from Harry Boland in the U.S, Michael Collins sent a memo to the Quarter Master General of the IRA in January 1921, writing “I wonder if you saw the attached having reference to the submachine gun. It looks like a splendid thing certainly. I’d like to know what it costs.”

By May 1921, small quantities of the gun were beginning to arrive in Ireland, along with Major James Dineen and Captain Patrick Cronin, former officers of the US Army who were to train IRA men in their use. Oscar Traynor of the IRA’s Dublin Brigade later recalled:

The first introduction of these guns followed the arrival of two ex-officers of the American Army, one was Major Dineen and the other, whose rank I forget, was named Cronin. These two men were made available to the Brigade for the purpose of giving lectures and instructions in the use of the Thompson submachine guns. The lectures, which were given to selected men of the Dublin Brigade, consisted in the main of taking the gun asunder, becoming acquainted with the separate parts and securing a knowledge of the names of these parts, the clearance of stoppages, as well as the causes of these stoppages. In the early stages it was not possible to give practical demonstrations of the shooting powers of these weapons, but the handling of the guns, together with the methods of sighting, made the men reasonably proficient.

In the presence of Dineen and Cronin, the gun was test fired underground at the Casino in Marino before a select audience of IRA men. Vincent Byrne recalled that “It was Cronin who gave the demonstration. Standing back a few yards, he fired at a tin can. The first shot lifted it into the air and he kept hitting it in mid-air. The Big Fella and Mulcahy were delighted at the results and our only wish was that we had plenty of them.” Tom Barry of the IRA’s 3rd West Cork Brigade fired the gun at Marino too, but the massive roar of the gun led to fears the men would be discovered. All in attendance left impressed by its remarkable capabilities.

The Casino in Marino, where the IRA tested the Tommy Gun for the first time. (Image Credit: WikiCommons)

“Our Latest Ally”

Shortly afterwards, on 16 June 1921, the IRA made history with the first use of the Thompson submachine gun anywhere in the world in a combat situation. As a train of soldiers from the West Kent Regiment passed through Drumcondra, a waiting IRA ambush party opened fire, wounding three soldiers in the process. Brazenly, the internal IRA publication An tÓglach reported on the gun as “our latest ally”, telling Volunteers that “with such a superb weapon available it is up to the individual soldier to lose no opportunity of learning all he can about the construction, use and care of it.” The gun, the newspaper noted, “is the latest improvement in quick-firing weapons. It has many advantages over any other type of machine gun and in particular over those used by the British – Lewis, Hotchkiss and Vickers.”

IRA Volunteers in Clare demonstrate the Tommy Gun. (Image Credit: GeneralMichaelCollins.com)

Getting the weapon into Ireland involved a degree of collusion with sympathetic authorities in the United States. One Bureau of Military History Witness Statement references a New York arms dump which the NYPD were not alone aware of, but sometimes carried Irish republicans to and from. Limerick man Edmond O’Brien, active in the Volunteers since their foundation and hiding in the United States as a result of his War of Independence service in Munster, recalled in his statement that:

The method of getting his stuff over to Ireland was by smuggling in small lots on liners and cargo vessels by the connivance and through the good offices of friendly seamen and dock labourers. A number of these were always in touch with Boland, Nunan and Pedlar, and faked passes were provided to Jim Scanlon and myself to get us through the docks and on to the ships with suitcases filled with arms and ammunition.

The IRA’s faith in the weapon is evident from the sheer number of Tommy Guns sanctioned for purchase, with more than 650 of the model acquired. Unfortunately, the majority of this load never reached Ireland, intercepted on board the freighter East Side, sailing to Ireland from New Jersey. A suspicious crew member stumbled on the cargo, alerting the authorities. A staggering 495 Tommy Guns found their way into the hands of the NYPD and the FBI. In his history of the Tommy Gun, Martin Pegler notes that “as can be imagined, this event stirred up a political hornets’ nest in America, Britain and Ireland. Agents from the US Bureau of Investigation, headed by a young man named J. Edgar Hoover, descended en masse on the vessel….There was little difficulty in tracing exactly who had ordered the guns, for the serial numbers had not been erased on all of them.”

Tommy Guns 1-40 were prototypes of the weapon, making it all the more remarkable that in museums in Ireland today are Tommy Guns with serial numbers in the forties and fifties. In many ways, it was the IRA who first fired the gun in anger, and it would remain synonymous with the organisation into subsequent decades, indeed Tommy Guns brought into the country in the 1920s were still in use when the northern Troubles erupted.

“The Dublin play that started London!” (Image credit: the excellent JPdonleavy-compendium.)

J.P Donleavy’s The Ginger Man is, to my little mind, second only to Ulysses as a Dublin masterpiece of fiction. Like Joyce, Donleavy had his fair share of detractors upon publication of the work, and its eventual banning on both sides of the Atlantic was almost routine. The novel trashes the proclamation of politician Oliver J. Flanagan that there was “no sex in Ireland before television”, and it is a brilliant journey through the catacombs, darkened alleys and public houses of the Irish capital in the 1940s, through the eyes of a sex (and drink) addicted American here thanks to the post-war G.I Bill that enables him to study in Trinity College Dublin. In particular, I adore Brendan Behan’s brief cameo as Barney Berry, “son of the rightful Lord Mayor of Dublin.” Behan was the first to see a manuscript of the work, and his amendments were mostly included by Donleavy.

As was the custom for a 1950s masterpiece, Donleavy’s work made the leap from printed word to stage, being performed in London and Dublin in 1959, four years after its initial publication in Paris. The stage adaptation, performed at the Gaiety Theatre, made it all of three nights before being shut down by clerical pressure. It remains one of the most curious incidents in the long history of Irish censorship, showing that there were agents beyond just the state who wished to control what was read, seen and enjoyed by the Irish public.

When The Ginger Man took to the London stage, it attracted the ire of some in the Irish media. The play was running at the same time as Brendan Behan’s The Hostage and Seán O’Casey’s Cock-a-doodle Dandy, with the Evening Herald lamenting the politics of these works for providing a view of Ireland that was “misleading and distorted….A non-Irish foreign visitor to London would come away from these plays with a depressing opinion of Ireland.”

Richard Harris dominated the reviews of The Ginger Man, with even the most cynical of theatrical reviewers acknowledging his brilliance in the role of Sebastian Dangerfield. At London’s Fortune Theatre in Covent Garden, they came to hear every bad word, though a few were cut. After six weeks, the production transferred to Dublin. Here, it made it all of three performances before clerical pressure led to its sudden cancellation.

To the Evening Herald, a trip to the play amounted to a “sordid and repulsive evening to the theatre.” Going further still was the Irish Independent, to whom the play was a disgrace almost without parallel:

The Ginger Man is one of the most nauseating plays to ever appear on a Dublin stage and it is a matter of some concern that its presentation should ever have been considered. It is an insult to religion and an outrage to normal feelings of decency.

Unlike the Playboy of the Western World, The Plough and the Stars or The Rose Tattoo, there was nothing in the line of audience denunciation, at least nothing significant enough to make it into the media. But then, after only three presentations, it was reported that the play was finished. The following statement was issued by the Gaiety to the press on the third night of the run:

The management of the Gaiety announce that the run of The Ginger Man will be discontinued after tonight’s performance because of the lack of co-operation by Spur Productions Ltd. of London, who refused to make cuts as demanded by the management on Monday.

The driving force behind the collapse of the production was Archbishop John Charles McQuaid. As McQuaid’s biographer John Cooney has noted, “one of the Archbishop’s secretaries arrived at the theatre to convey His Grace’s disapproval of the play, which had been described in the newspapers as an insult to religion and decency. ‘There goes a battleship’, Richard Harris remarked as the priest left the theatre.” In the words of theatre historian Joan Fitzpatrick Dean, “McQuaid’s action was perhaps most menacing because it was not only so effective but also wholly outside the rule of law.” McQuaid’s influence would be utilised repeatedly in this period against what he regarded as low culture. Famously, he would condemn Edna O’Brien’s breakthrough novel as “a smear on Irish womanhood”.

Donleavy never forgave McQuaid for his action, and it took four decades before the play returned to the stage in Dublin for the Dublin Theatre Festival in 1999.  Despite its initial banning, more than forty million copies of The Ginger Man have been sold internationally, and Sebastian Dangerfield’s exploits continue to shock and fascinate new readers.

In memory of J.P Donleavy, who died a year ago this month.

Back in 2011 I attended a conference in Barcelona where social historians and others active in a similar field of history to ourselves from across Europe met up and talked shop. I was very struck in particular by a group called Raspouteam from Paris, who took images of the iconic Paris Commune and essentially pasted them onto the contemporary streets. It was all very naughty, seditious and illegal of course.

‘La Commune’ – BY RASPOUTEAM

The idea of putting historic images back on the street in relevant places stayed with me. When I was fortunate enough to get employment with Dublin City Council as one of their Historians in Residence, the idea came out almost immediately for something called ‘History On Your Doorstep’.  It is, of course, very different from that glorious French street art intervention. Done in conjunction with the city, it nonetheless would bring historic images back to the places they depict and capture.

All of the images featured are taken from Dublin City Archives, contained in the expansive Pearse Street Library. Already, a team of us have compiled dozens of these, with a few already on the streets in various forms. They are in Ballybough (Heffo’s Army), Chapelizod, Dolphin’s Barn, Cabra, Finglas and more besides.

Historic images of Seán MacDermott Street and biography of the Fenian leader.

1930s Cabra and Herbert Simms, Naomh Fionnbarr’s GAA.

“Many bridges to cross” – Ringsend.

This is still in its infancy, and hopefully in time the various info boards and banners across the city can be mapped and put online. Do keep an eye out for them however, and remember that these images all come from the archives of the city. Anything that takes history and puts it back where it was made is something I see as a worthwhile endeavour.

Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock, you will have heard that Sam Maguire is to remain in Dublin at least a year longer. This year marked the 80th anniversary of the last time the Liam McCarthy cup resided in the Irish capital, something which went largely unmentioned. This wonderful clip from British Pathe, audio and all, captures the 1938 All Ireland Hurling Final and is criminally underviewed on YouTube. Dublin defeated Waterford 2-5 to 1-6.

The archive clip is noticeable for the wonderful shots of the Croke Park crowd and terrace. While the official attendance at the match was 37,129, the news clip gives a significantly higher estimate, and the ground seems packed.

Much has changed since 1938, evident even from reading the beginning of the Irish Press report on the occasion:

Liffey men, Lagan men, Suirsiders, Leesiders, country folk and city dwellers, some from every one of the 32 counties, encircled Croke Park’s playing pitch yesterday and saw Dublin win the nation’s premier atheltic trophy.

The actual match was not outstanding – spectators found it a ding-dong terrior-like game – but the unique atmosphere of an All-Ireland Hurling Final was present. It was more than a game, it was a national occasion. Sections of the crowd were still singing ‘Faith of Our Fathers’ when Padraig Mac Con Midhe, Preisdent of the GAA, escorted the Bishop of Waterford on the field to throw the ball in.

In time, the writer got to the action:

Dublin’s lead was reduced to two points shortly before the end, and Waterford, fighting hars gve its supporters – there in big numbers – some hope that they would win the day. The Metropolitan hurlers, however, kept their territory intact. All-Ireland Champions, they yet again have won the coveted trophy their opponents have yet to capture.

Remarkably, Jim Byrne of the 1938 Dublin hurlers is the only native Dubliner to have won an All-Ireland hurling medal. As Hell for Leather: A Journey Through Hurling in 100 Games notes, the strong Dublin sides of the 1920s and 30s were drawn from right across the island of Ireland, as “the exclusion of native Dubs from their own county team peaked in the 1920s and 1930s when legions of countrymen migrated Liffeyside to join the guards, army or civil service.” When Dublin won the 1927 All-Ireland hurling final, there was not a single native Dubliner on the team!