Back in 2014, the inimitable and ground-breaking Dublin folk discombobulaters, Lankum, in their song Cold Old Fire prophetically sang of how they:
look for signs that Dublin’s heart’s still beating, That concrete and glass and peelers and mass, they haven’t stopped the people from screaming.
When it came toward the latter half of 2021, some 7 years later, you could say that Lankum needed not to look for those signs anymore. On an early Saturday afternoon, arriving up at Smithfield Square, even the most optimistic of those intending to attend could not have imagined the vista that would greet them, as it did us when we emerged from the winding alleyway concealing the entrance to the Jameson Distillery.
With placards, loudhailers, musical instruments, cameras and other such paraphernalia, the thousands had assembled to make a stand. To send a message to the powers that be that we weren’t going to sit down and allow them to pave over one of our most beloved of Irish cultural institutes – The Cobblestone Pub.
Now, the story of the protests and planning battle that ensued when there was a proposed redevelopment of The Cobblestone in 2021 is, at this stage, a well-told story. The purpose of this particular blog post is not to add anything new to that narrative, but I had been looking through our archive of photos the other day and noticed that I had taken more photos of the initial protest than I initially thought.
So, on foot of that, I decided I’d put together a post for the website, just to briefly tell the story of the protest that I attended and just a brief timeline of the planning battle thereafter. But it’s all just a vehicle to share some of those images, which are a mix of digital and black-and-white film.
In October 2021 the news came in the form of a small piece of paper that had been affixed to the front of the pub. Some crowd called Marron Estates were applying for planning permission to hotelify The Cobblestone. It was to be built upon and the actual pub portion of the premises dissected into a fraction of its current guise.
Action was swift. A protest, the protest depicted in these images, was called for the very next Saturday, and despite the short notice and the fact that society hadn’t exactly returned to full, post-pandemic normalcy yet, the turnout was far in excess of what most had anticipated.
Being no stranger to the odd protest, before this, I can say with absolute certainty that this one felt very different. Perhaps it was because it wasn’t anything to do with the money in the protestors’ pockets, or because it had a ratio of one traditional musician to every 2 persons in attendance. But there was a great sense of camaraderie in the air amongst all that marched.
The protest started in Smithfield Square, where members of the Mulligan family (Tom Mulligan being the publican who holds the lease for the pub) and friends carried a coffin with RIP Dublin and RIP Culture daubed on either side. They took this from the pub and into the centre of the square. Some short speeches were delivered, and the procession began its slow and steady circuitous march toward Wood Quay, the main offices of Dublin City Council being the end point of the march.
From Smithfield, we emerged onto the quays from Lincoln Lane and made toward the Ha’penny Bridge, where we stopped shortly at Merchant’s Arch, which only the week prior, had been earmarked for destruction by hotel. It was during this stoppage that an American tourist’s curiosity got the better of her and she asked my partner and I what we were marching for. When we told her it was to keep a pub from closing, she seemed to leave with more questions than she had arrived to us with.
We shortly arrived at Wood Quay after that, where some tunes and dancing broke out near the entrance to the building. As the bulk of protestors arrived, a more structured gathering formed outside the building and around the steps up to it. Then some of the organisers, marchers and some of the Mulligan family made some further short, yet emotional, speeches. And then we all had a sing-song and a session. And went for a few pints afterwards. Naturally.
A deadline of early November was identified as that by which the public could submit objections to the request for planning permission. Another protest was to follow and a well-organised online campaign to advise people on how to submit objections seemed to be omnipresent online in the time leading up to the deadline.
When the deadline did pass, it was reported that a massive figure of almost 700 people had lodged an objection. Thankfully DCC listened to the weight of objection and opted to refuse the planning permission.
This was then to be appealed by Marron Estates in December of 2021 before them ultimately withdrawing that appeal in May of the following year.
While the future of the pub does remain somewhat unsure, we have collectively been breathing something of a sigh of relief since the withdrawal of that appeal. The whole saga does, however, remind us to be ever-presently grateful for the fantastic pubs that remain dotted around our city. The Cobblestone is still welcoming musicians in every night of the week and allowing them to ply their trade. So make no excuses for getting in there as soon as you can.
We’re embedding the full gallery of images we have from the protest, below. They’re in a Flickr album that you can scroll through using the arrows on the left and the right.
Could we also suggest, for a better and more fully rounded, telling of the story of the battle for The Cobblestone, that you check out this excellent documentary – Athbhaile -The Cobblestone. And also have a look at Luke McManus’ masterpiece: North Circular.
As of this moment, I’ve a list of about twelve pubs that I need to get written up for the blog and I really shouldn’t be writing this thing. But for some reason, probably because I’m afraid of forgetting it, I’ve decided that I’m going to forego normal programming and commit this one to paper.
It was midweek. Springtime. I had leave to take, so a day off work was required. And while a day off work is a fine thing, it wasn’t that which made it one of these days – that was down to a combination of factors. First of all, everyone was accounted for. All my nearest and dearest were away, in work, or otherwise engaged. I had no favours to do or errands to run. The calendar was entirely empty.
The other piece of the puzzle was in my pocket – for you’re never truly free when there are pennies to be counted and set against bills, rent and whatever else. For reasons unremembered to me now, I was as flush as I’d be all year on that particular afternoon. It might have been one of those months that had an extra payday or something, but for the first time that year, I possessed actual tangible and disposable income and was able to saunter into the city centre at my leisure and peruse and purchase from shops that I had been begrudgingly storming past on numerous occasions prior.
Of course, sauntering about town, taking in a museum, or a gallery and a few shops is thirsty aul work. So, it wasn’t too long before a pint was on the cards. With tiring legs passed beyond the bustle of College Green, plans for pints moved out of their conceptual stage toward something more realistic. Passing under the portico of Grattan’s parliament – I came to stand at Pat Ingoldsby’s patch on Westmoreland Steet and realised, as I’m sure many have before me, that I was headed directly for The Palace Bar.
Before much longer, I was sitting with a pint and a toastie in the back room of the pub, thumbing through a paper, or a book or inspecting a record I’d bought. Whatever it was I was doing, I cannot be certain because I’d quickly become distracted by all that was going on around me. At first, I’d been taken aback by two considerably sized oil portraits which had been newly hung since my last visit to the pub. Painted in what this art novice would call reminiscent of a Jack B. Yeats style, they depict two of the pub’s most notable former patrons – Patrick Kavanagh and Flann O’Brien. A man was sitting under the paintings, and I was enjoying the repartee between himself and Willie, an owner of the pub, as they chatted away.
Shortly after, a few more customers had trickled into the pub and Willie returned behind the bar to serve them. At this point, I noted a gathering of middle-aged to elderly men chatting amongst themselves in the corner. I attempted, futilely, to return to my book or my paper but couldn’t help but earwig in on the conversation between the table when I hear one respond to another:
Jesus, ye went to a Beckett play. You’re a brave man.
You see, I could sympathise with this – I’d recently been to that same Beckett play, and having understood none of the first twenty minutes, found myself denied readmittance for the interval-less remainder on my way back from the toilet. Nonetheless, the lads continued. The talk turned to GAA – hurling mostly. Refrains of ‘it’s a different game these days’ could be heard after chat about a red card – with one of the men declaring that a ‘bang of a hurley was a mark of endearment in our time’.
There’s more entertainment to come when one of the group of men gets up to retrieve a fresh round for the table. While waiting for these to settle he strikes up a conversation with the man who had been speaking to Willie earlier. As they speak, in tones gentler to those at the other table, I come to suspect, through the snippets I hear and the body language between the two, that they are discussing the two portraits. This, I have confirmed when the man responsible for the round returns to his table and informs all at it that ‘that man there… he painted the two of those’.
They all began to converse, then. ‘Well, this fella is Woody Allen and there’s Harrison Ford beside him’, said the supposed artist, jovially, in a thick southern accent. ‘West Kerry,’ he answers proudly when asked of where he comes from by one of the men. Though he does qualify this by stating that he lived in Dublin for years at one time. ‘Ah sure you’re a dub then’ proclaims another of the men. The artist gives his name as Liam O Neill, which I can’t help but Google to find out that this man is the real deal. A phenomenally accomplished painter. And him sat there, unassuming, and modest, right in front of me like some sort of 21st-century Kernoff.
Liam receives due praise from all and they come to discuss his subjects – on Flann O’Brien, one of them muses that ‘he was the only man sacked from the Civil Service… He was found working’. They go on in a similar vein and as one of them finishes reciting a John B. Keane poem, I finish my pint and make my exit.
I’m not sure exactly what compounded me to write this, as I alluded to at the outset – I’ve loads more pubs that I should be writing. I suppose the experience has just sat with me over the last few months. It was like something out of time. A moment where I fancied myself a voyeur to a sort of intelligentsia you don’t encounter too often in contemporary Dublin. Everything they said seemed to be gold. I imagined myself, in that short time, an abstract part of this irregular set of regulars – someone who was no stranger to bringing disrespect to a respectable hour by bathing it in intoxicating liquor. Unfortunately, though I was back at my desk, sober as a judge at that same hour, the next day. What’s rare truly is wonderful.
Christmas – it comes earlier and earlier each year. And arriving earlier alongside it is that time-honoured tradition that me and mine call CCP season. CCPs, not to be confused with The Chinese Communist Party are Cosy Christmas Pints. Though sharing many similarities to normal pints, Cosy Christmas Pints have several unique defining characteristics which set them apart. These are as follows:
CCPs should always occur within eyeshot of twinkling Christmas lights. Along with just generally looking well, twinkling Christmas lights take on a dream-like quality as the intake of pints increases.
CCPs may often be disguised as shopping: “I went in to do a bit of present shopping, but the shops were mad.”
Warm drinks often accompany CCPs. Hot whiskies, hot ports, Irish coffees – whatever you’re having yourself; It’s freezing out there.
CCPs are not confined to the weekend. Catching up for a pint is inestimably more acceptable on a school night in the run-up to the big day. Sure, it’s Christmas time. We’re on the wind down in work anyways.
So, with the above in mind, we wanted to just throw out our top five Christmassy Dublin pubs for 2022. Pubs that really suit the CCP season and are always worth a look around this time of year.
J O’Connell:
Starting with what is maybe a less obvious one – J O’Connell’s makes it into our list for somewhat personal reasons. We tend to find we always get up to Portobello in the run-up to Christmas for a look at the pub and we’re not exactly sure why. It might be that the pub’s name is identical to the one featured in the Guinness Christmas ad, or maybe it’s the glossy green and red interior design. Most likely it’s just the fact that O’Connell’s is just an out-and-out great pub.
The Gingerman.
Named after author J.P Donleavy’s magnum opus – The Gingerman – I often wondered why the pub doesn’t seasonally rename itself for another of Donleavy’s books – the one that inspired Shane McGowan when he came to title what would come to be his most famous song – A Fairytale of New York. It would be an apt name, given that the place gets what can easily be described as the most intensive Christmas makeover in the city centre each year.
The Oval.
The Oval don’t go anywhere near as heavy on the decoration as The Gingerman but they make the cut due to their proximity to ground zero of Christmas Shopping mecca. When you’re wading through the street sellers on Henry Street as they bellow their wares into your ear or as you sit in a queue of dozens for some trendy outlet in Arnotts, you know that you could be sat in The Oval with a pint and a Hot Whiskey quicker than you could say ‘Can I get a gift receipt with that’.
The Hole in The Wall.
We’re often at pains to remind people that this is a blog primarily focused on pubs in Dublin City Centre, but it would be remiss of us to not include The Hole in the Wall, the Phoenix Park-adjacent pub, which is the longest in Ireland, festoons its entire length in Christmas bric-a-brac every year. It really is a sight to behold.
The Bankers
The Bankers makes our list for something similar of a reason as The Oval does – call it the Southside Oval: it being on the fringes of the Grafton St shopping area (note: we didn’t say Grafton Quarter). Honestly, though, there is little else in the city around this time of year that’s cosier than being sat, at ease, in the window of The Bankers peering through the lights in the window at all the stressed-out shoppers, weighed down by bags as they hurry to and fro up and down Trinity Street and Dame Lane. All while you’re safe in the knowledge that you won’t have to worry about any of this until the 24th. Besides, what sort of a druncle would you be if you arrived up with the actual gift. They’ll have more craic going in to buy it with the voucher in January themselves anyway.
That’s our Christmas pub list for 2022, anyway. Do leave a comment and let us know if you plan to visit any on the list, or if we missed any.
We do hope you get into the pubs and experience them for yourselves. Honourable mentions for The Palace and The Strawberry Hall (which is incredibly Christmassy, but just a disaster for us non-drivers on the east side of the city to get out to).
Wishing you all a wonderful and safe CCP season ahead folks. Remember to keep enough money for the presents and do try and add your bartender into the odd round too, they do a fine job keeping us all well-oiled throughout it all.
The news came through in the same way that news like this often does – via rumour and hearsay. A friend of a friend’s workmate was “in there the other night and the barman said it’s closing in a week, getting turned into a hotel.”
I know now that I’ve let might have let stewardship of this blog go to my head – because I was far too quick to disregard this rumour when it had come through to me from Pintman №6. Too small for a hotel, I thought. I’d have heard it before now, I reasoned. But will and reason were forces not strong enough to detract from the truth of the issue – it eventually came through too many channels to be denied. The pub actually was closing. And it was closing soon. That Thursday to be precise. There was no way we were missing that.
There was just one problem, though – that curse of the drinking class, as Oscar would put it. Work. Not only was I due in the office on this particular day, but I was also already predisposed to a leaving doo that evening as well. Plans of being in the pub early were all but gone.
On the day itself, we had a number of different ears and eyes on the ground. Some would be dropping in on their lunch, or on their way through town elsewhere. Some were to be on the high stool shortly after it was permissible to clock out of their job. All reportage alluded to a bittersweet atmosphere and a brisk trade. Bits of information periodically trickled through as the day elapsed:
None of the current staff would be retained.
It was not bought for conversion to a hotel.
It would remain a pub.
It had been bought by the owners of The Kings Inn.
In time, this would all prove to be correct information but was all conjecture at this moment in time.
When at last I did get to turn the harp (turn the harp?) and make haste toward the pub, I had to battle my way to the further end of it, such was the swell of drinkers who had amassed to bid the place farewell. Wasting no time, I joined the three-deep bar and called for a pint which was dispatched with the usual skill and professionalism as would be expected in The Flowing Tide.
Joining Pintman №2, I find him cornered by a towering man. Pink in the face and as bald as a boiled egg, the man had the facial features of a baby and the slurred speech to go along with it. Pintman №2, the bigger admirer of general chaos out of the two of us, was delighted with this man’s company – joyous as he joked and equally so as he’d abruptly threaten us in a manner befitting Joe Pesci in Goodfellas. Personally, I couldn’t wait to escape the giant baby and it wasn’t difficult to do so in the end. The last I saw of him was an hour or two later as all six foot seven of him was being admonished by a comparatively diminutive barman for eating too much of another customer’s cake, which was being distributed around the adjoining table.
Thereafter, we had a changing of the guards – Pintman №2 departed and I was joined by Pintman №6. He and I managed to nab an actual seat and proceeded to reminisce about the pub over a few pints. We recalled the big days and nights we’d had there: Paddy’s Days, Christmas Eves, and En-route to a wedding-days amongst them. Toasted, too, were the not-so-big visits – nondescript afterwork drinks and umpteen instances of seeking space offering better shelter to wait out the bus than that constructed by CIE.
We took time to gaze upon the fittings and furnishings for the last time, also. The Abbey posters, the Smirnoff mirror, the painting of Sackville Street with the misproportioned Nelson’s Pillar, and the chalkboard advertising the WiFi password, (Neptune, a callback to the name given to the pub’s former downstairs venue). While we half-jokingly conspired to maybe bring home a keepsake of our own, we delighted in old staff and old regulars being invited in behind the bar to have their photo taken with the barmen fulfilling their final shift.
And as we took this all in, we decided that it would be too much to hang around until such a time that the lights were flashed, and the last shout was given. There was too much of a finality to that.
And walking out onto Abbey Street, we find a city that carries on. Taxi, bus and tram whirr by on schedule. Workmen go about their nightshift tasks. Passengers hurry for last buses. Late awesome light of a clear evening in July dies, unnoticed, in the sky above. And an institute below it, already clad in scaffolding, does likewise.
Postscript
So, the pub did close. And the crowd that owns the Kings Inn did buy it. And, while we’re most certainly sad that the old guard have gone, we’re more than happy that the new owners didn’t overhaul the pub too drastically. A sensible renovation occurred over the rest of the summer and the pub reopened in October. Here’s to plenty more craic in The Flowing Tide
When I came to write this little blog post, it was entirely appropriate that I had the above-quoted lines of The Mary Wallopers’ “The Night the Guards Raided Owney’s” jangling around in my head. For it was only a short while before, that I was in the very privileged place to get the chance to taste some liquor so rare, courtesy of Michael and all our pals over at Last Drop Distillers.
They had dropped us a line to let us know about three different expressions of a 50-year-old Glenrothes Single Malt Scotch that they’d persuaded three Dublin publicans to part with their cash for – and install behind each of their respective bars. And it just so happens that these three pubs are all great.
If you haven’t heard of The Last Drop Distillers, they are an arm of the Sazerac company and are a relatively new outfit concerned with finding rare and unique spirits and bringing them to market, regardless of how limited a supply of the spirit remains – hence the name. They also happen to be headed up by some Drinks industry legends – you can read more about them here.
The Whiskies/Pubs:
So, these three very special whiskies are available in the these three excellent Dublin pubs that are listed below.
The Bankers:
First up is The Bankers – situated in the historic financial district of Dublin City and a mere Stone’s throw from the inventor of the Coffey Still’s alma mater – The Bankers have added the 1968 expression of The Glenrothes Single Malt to their impressive already-impressive collection.
The Ferryman:
I’ve always maintained that The Ferryman could be considered the last true Docker’s pub. Nowadays, as it quenches the thirst of dockers of the silicon variety on John Rogerson’s Quay it’s ideally placed to enjoy a whisky as old as the 1969 Glenrothes Single Malt and imagine the hustle of the bustle of incoming and outgoing trade on the quayside in years gone by.
The Palace
What can one say about The Palace Bar that hasn’t already been said? Home to the cream of the country’s literary crop, The Palace was already legendary when the 1970 Glenrothes Single Malt which now sits behind its bar was casked. As one of the city’s best-known whiskey bars, it’s an ideal place to enjoy a dram, especially one as special as this.
Conclusion
On the whiskies: though these are all the same liquid, time and cask and that mysterious magic that happens, therein, have rendered them entirely unique to one another – the 1969 was juicier on the palate than the 68, which had more peat behind it – while the 1970 had maltiness in spades. I’m certainly not someone with as advanced a palate as most in the whiskey community in this country, but when you taste a whisky as extraordinary as this, you can quantifiably taste an intensity that sets them apart from most other whiskies you might have tasted prior.
It goes without saying that these will be expensive drops – I’m not even sure what price the pubs will set for them. Suffice it to say that they’ll be very easy to spot in your online banking on a Monday morning.
But this is a pub blog and whisky is certainly an important aspect of Dublin pub and drinks culture – even the pricy stuff.
And, who knows, that scratch card from your granny or a longshot Cheltenham tip could come in some day and you’ll want to treat yourself to something really special, and it is nice to know that the option is most definitely there.
(The Transparency Bit: I received free samples of all of the whiskies mentioned above. I wasn’t asked to write this in return)
Let me start this post by assuring you that DublinByPub has not decided to pivot toward a clickbait, listicle-heavy style of content. Nor are we looking to join the small country sized amount of Guinness review pages out there. But being a website, Instagram account, twitter account, with something of a following, we’re often queried on where we believe the best pints in Dublin can be found. So hence: this post.
Before we go any further, please let us say that we believe the finest pint for sale within the known and ever-expanding ninety-three billion lightyear-wide cosmos which we inhabit is that which pours in Kavanagh’s pub in Glasnevin (original post here). Our position on this remains unchanged.
But for this post, we want to concern ourselves exclusively with pubs in Dublin city centre – i.e. between the canals.
I also want to say that taste is subjective. Some people eat liver with mushrooms and listen to Garth Brooks, and it’s not my or your place to pass judgement on such freaks of nature. If you don’t agree with our list, that’s ok – you can go and make your own list and post it up on the internet yourself, too.
Anyhow, here we go – in no particular order (after the first one) here are our five best Dublin City Centre Pints.
J.M Cleary’s: Amiens Street
A favoured haunt of Michael Collins, Cleary’s is said to have had its electricity bill taken care of by Irish Rail to balance the inconvenience of having had a railway bridge pass over its roof. Evidently, the time that would have been spent on the administrative task of paying the electric has been better spent perfecting their pint purveying abilities- they’re unrivalled between the canals, as far as we’re concerned.
We adore and have always adored The Lord Ed. And while this has been the favourite pub in the world as far as yours truly is concerned, I had always only considered the pint to be adequate – not poor, but not even threatening for the top ten. But then something changed. Upon returning after lockdown, the quality of the pint was found to have improved exponentially. And a year or so later that level of quality remains the same.
Famed as the only pub that WB Yeats set ever set foot in, Toner’s is sat on the well-trodden drinking trail referred to by some as The Baggot Mile. William Butler was good at the poems, but not great at the pints – so consider the likes of Ronnie Drew, Peter O’Toole and Patrick Kavanagh’s former patronage of the place as a more qualified endorsement of it. That said, it would have to lose a point or two on grounds of price, but it always feels worth the money when you’re sat in that famous snug.
Sitting at the very start of the district which houses the Guinness brewery – The Liberties, Fallon’s is as fine an ambassador as you could hope for, for both the area and the brewery. One of the great historic Dublin pubs, it’s always dishing out consistently decent stout.
We wanted to include something of a wildcard here – a pub you never hear referred to as a great Guinness pub – but anytime any of us darkens the doors of the Piper’s, we’re always served some top-class pints. And the fact that you’ll likely get a decent bit of trad to listen to while you sip only sweetens the deal.
Some other places we’ve enjoyed some very good pints in within the canals over the last few years.
The Thomas House
Grogans
The Palace
Kehoes
J McNeills
The King’s Inn
Ryan’s (Parkgate)
The Old Royal Oak
Mulligan’s (Poolbeg)
Briody’s
Walsh’s (Stoneybatter)
O’Connell’s (Portobello)
Don’t Agree?
I’m sure some of you out there think we’ve gotten things totally wrong here, given that this is the internet. Do feel free to give out to us in the comments and offer your recommendations for great Guinness in Dublin City Centre.
We recently passed a milestone on the blog here, the other week. Dublin By Pub had its 4th birthday. Starting as a bit of craic between mates in October 2016, it’s been a bit of a wild ride in parts to see how far it has come.
We recently passed a milestone on the blog here, the other week. Dublin By Pub had its 4th birthday. Starting as a bit of craic between mates in October 2016, it’s been a bit of a wild ride in parts to see how far it has come. The popularity of pubs amongst Dubliners is something that could never be understated and it’s been our absolute Joy to write about them, to photograph them but mostly to visit them.
Anyhow, I thought that we might try and do something to mark our birthday. And then I forgot about it for a few weeks. But, alas, here it is now. We’ve made graphic from a photo-shopped image we made back in June – which got a fair bit of attention on our social media. We’ve stuck it on a t-shirt which is up for preorder until the 20th of November over on everpress.
Dublin’s public houses are amongst the best & the most unique in the world. We don’t need them watered down and homogenised by saps. That on a tshirt. These limited edition Dublin by pub garments are only available here.
So they’ll be up for preorder on Everpress for the next two weeks and then they’re gone forever. Grab one while you can 🙂
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This is a bit of an abstract post, relative to our usual content – but I thought it worth writing.
It started innocently enough in the depths of COVID lockdown. Pintman №2 gets a text in one of his WhatsApp groups – a screenshot of a picture that pops up now and again of Andy Fletcher from Depeche Mode, supposedly sitting in a Dublin Pub beside a little old dear in 1983. It’s a fantastic snap! Two completely different worlds collided in silent wonder. But the picture, of course, begs the question – any idea what pub? And this is where the obsession begins.
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So, I resort to Facebook. I’ve seen the image there in the past. I find it on in one of these Dublin Nostalgia groups I’m in and scour the comments to find a few lone suggestions, none of which, alone, will satisfy our curiosity but might lead us in the right direction.
“Could be Lowe’s”, says someone. We check. Lowes has moved location since 1983, it having previously been located on one of The Four Corners of Hell. We find photos of it back then and check it on Google Maps in its current location. No Joy.
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We start to forensically examine the picture. The beermats are certainly a clue – they clearly state: “Stag For Enjoyment”. Stag’s head, we dare to hope for a minute before agreeing that these probably refer to Stag Lager (correction: Stag was a cider, not a lager. Thanks to Jack Gleeson on Twitter for the heads up) and that this is not the Stag’s Head. We check Dame Lane on Google Maps, anyway and find that the ironwork outside the pub has an insignia similar in style to that of the one on the window in the picture. But the windows in the Stag’s Head don’t correspond.
This segues us nicely into the window, the most unique feature of the image. The insignia set into the centre of it is the logical first section to examine. We decide that it’s most likely to be intended to be street-facing, meaning that it’s back-to-front in the image. So we flip it to have a look at what it’s supposed to look like from the front. It seems to contain some sort of combination of letters: J and a C, for certain. Maybe a T too. The James Connolly? The Julius Caesar? The Jesus Christ?
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J O Connell in Portobello, I wonder, half knowing that it couldn’t be. We check and find that the building doesn’t conform to the window shape. We then set about looking for old Dublin pub and publican names conforming to some assortment of the initials but tire of this easily enough. We park that and move on.
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We know that the image coincides with a gig that Depeche Mode were playing so the location of the gig seems the next logical thing to look at. There are a few different suggestions as to where that was in the various comment sections of the various instances of the photo on social media – the most common of which are that is was in The SFX – the St. Francis Xavier hall on Dorset St. We set about confirming that and in doing so, find a scan of the original article that featured the picture in NME Magazine.
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The magazine article, which is uploaded to a fantastic website called BrandNewRetro, makes no mention of name of the pub – nor the website post it is attached to. The post even asks readers if they recognise the pub. There’s a comment section where one of the commenters offers The Welcome Inn, on Parnell Street, as a possible solution. It’s proximity to the venue makes it worthy of checking out.
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None of us had ever been prior to the pub closing down, so we have no first hand knowledge. Most historical pictures of the pub relate to the damage caused to it in the 1974 bombings which accompanied others in Dublin & Monaghan. We wonder whether the pub would have installed such ornate and decorative windows after such damage and ultimately agree that the shape of the windows don’t match those in the Depeche Mode image. Back to the magazine for clues we go. It comes by way of the name of the photographer
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Photography: Adrian Boot, the article reads, in capital font – we type it into google and find a link to his Facebook page – not a business page. His personal profile. I hover over the Add Friend button for a moment. Fuck it, I think. I’ve come this far. To my surprise, the man who stood in this very pub and snapped this very picture adds me back almost immediately.
Instantly, I set about posting to his profile. I craft a graceful and complimentary paragraph to accompany the photo and ultimately ask him if he remembers the location. Moments that feel like eternities pass and a notification pops up. He has replied. I wait for it to load.
“haven’t got a clue”
Fuck ye in anyways, Adrian!
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By now we’re weary. We decide we’ve probably exhausted every avenue and nearly agree that we’ll have to put the matter to bed. But not before one last check on the Instagram post to see if there are any more suggestions. And there we lay our eyes on a post that says:
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We’ve been in Brannigan’s a good few times but it doesn’t ring a bell. Google Images to the rescue. Lo and Behold, there it is in all its glory, the very same insignia in the middle.
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We pull up a few historical pictures of the Hill 16.They are not close up enough that any details in the windows can be made out. But we count the panels in the windows facing onto the street and they seem to check out.
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But then we notice that there’s a difference in the two. In the Brannigan’s one, the sections with the cross (the +) are on the outside. But they’re not so in the image of Andy.
It’s late. And we’ve been at this a while. Begrudgingly, we have no option but to accept that this is just a different window in the pub. We actually have exhausted every avenue now. We’re about 65% sure it’s the Hill 16. That will do. We need to sleep.
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Fast forward another two or three months and Ireland is set into grief and mourning upon the announcement of the death of Jack Charlton. I’m watching the news that night and in the middle of one of the many reports on Jack, they roll a clip of him holding a trophy on front of a pane of very familiar-looking stained glass.
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I pull the image down from the RTE Player to compare it to that from 1983 and find that Jack’s one unarguably has only the 2 initials – J and C. No sign of a T to be seen. And it appears to be in a house, as opposed to a pub. So, I google Jack Charlton Stained Glass and the glorious floodgates open.
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As per an Irish Independent Article, wasn’t the stained glass window only presented to Jack by the people who ran a pub, you’ll never guess which one! Wasn’t it only The Hill 16! The boozer happens to be the first and the last pub that Jack drank in at the start of and the end of his tenure as the manager of the Republic of Ireland football team. And as such, is mentioned along with a humorous anecdote from the pub in an RTE news report on Jack’s sacking. (Link Below)
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Republic of Ireland soccer manager Jack Charlton resigns after nine and a half years.
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And so there it was. Proven, as far as we were concerned, beyond a reasonable doubt. And Big Jackie Charlton, the man that launched a million sessions – his parting gift to us, as if he ever needed give us another. May he rest in peace.
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We were overwhelmed by the response to this article after we published it. People really just can’t get enough (sorry). Anyhow, the internet really is a fantastic thing when you think about it, we had a reply to the tweet with the article from one Geoff Boyle. Geoff mentioned that The Hill 16 happened to be one that his father and his uncle “supported” back when he was growing up and asked if we’d like him to have a go at establishing the identity of the woman in the photo. We took him up on the offer, of course.
Geoff replied to us last night and told us that the woman was Lizzie Ryan. Lizzie was a street trader up on Parnell Street and she would pop in for a sup on her way home to Mountjoy Square after a day out hawking her wares.
So when you next get out to the pub and have a fresh pint on front of you, stick a bit of Depeche Mode on the Jukebox and raise your glass for Lizzie and for Big Jack.
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In the midst of our new normal lockdown status, we stumbled upon an instagram page called Creatives Against COVID-19. Their premise was fairly straightforward:
Have people send in images, illustrations, photos, sketches, whatever you’re having yourself, under the the one brief: ‘Soon’.
Create and sell prints of the submitted artwork
Donate the money to Womens Aid & the ISPCC
Looking at the images trickling in on their feed, we were kicking a few ideas around of what we could submit and eventually put something together only to realise that we’d missed the submission deadline.
Thankfully though, after posting the image on Instagram, the folks behind the initiative got onto us and allowed us to make a late submission. So we did. Here it is below.
It’s available for sale over on the link listed below. So if you like the look of it, please consider purchasing it as the funds will go to two very worthy causes.
Creatives Against Covid-19 called on the creative industry to design and donate inspiring posters to raise funds for vulnerable women and children during the current crisis. The result? Over 1,000 posters, from over 30 countries, were designed and submitted within 7 days. All proceeds will be donated equally between ISPCC Childline and Women’s Aid.
And if you’re not into it, there are hundreds more prints on the Creatives Against COVID-19 website, many of them – far superior to out efforts.
Creatives Against Covid-19 called on the creative industry to design and donate inspiring posters to raise funds for vulnerable women and children during the current crisis. The result? Over 1,000 posters, from over 30 countries, were designed and submitted within 7 days. All proceeds will be donated equally between ISPCC Childline and Women’s Aid.
Update: The project did wind up in Summer 2020 and culminated in an exhibition in The Guinness Storehouse. We were delighted to see our print on display amidst all the other great entries.
So since we last posted the entire world has changed. I don’t need to tell you about the coronavirus, you’re likely to be getting that from all angles. But for those of you who have been living under a rock, all pubs in Dublin, and Ireland have closed in a bid to stop the spread of Covid-19.
So since we last posted the entire world has changed. I don’t need to tell you about the coronavirus, you’re likely to be getting that from all angles. But for those of you who have been living under a rock, all pubs in Dublin, and Ireland have closed in a bid to stop the spread of Covid-19.
It was last Thursday, the 12th of March that The Taoiseach, Leo Varadkar, announced the closure of schools, universities and other such public spaces and advised that we all needed to start engaging in social distancing. Queue panic buying and a large move to remote working for those who could.
In the following weekend it became quite apparent that pub-goers weren’t the best at the whole social distancing thing. And on the Saturday following the Taoiseach’s statement, and following a slew of videos from packed pubs that day and the night before, a movement aiming to dissuade pub-goers and would-be pub-goers from going to the pub began online under the hashtag #closethepubs. This was amplified when the Chief Medical Officer made mention of the issue in a press conference.
Pubs slowly began to close. The first we noticed was Peadar Browns, who announced on the Saturday morning that they felt it in the best interest to shut up shop. Then came Grogan’s, and Grogan’s being a pub that’s a little more known than Peadars, it cast a few fairly big ripples into the whole metaphorical pub closure ocean.
Realising that our social media reach to the pub-going public was more considerable than most, we thought it best to put something out through our active channels to push the message out further. So the graphic (pictured) was hastily put together, the ‘leave the pub now to get back to it quicker’ sentiment of it having come from Historian, podcaster and Grogan’s diehard, Donal Fallon in a conversation we had over DM on Instagram.
Shortly thereafter, we decided to start compiling a list of pubs that had made the difficult and repsonsible decision to close on a Twitter thread and then things sort of took off. More and more pubs began to announce closures and the tweet started to amass a decent amount of traction.
A thread of Dublin pubs which are known to have closed due to #COVID19 / A list of pubs to go on the lash in when this is all over.
Peadar Browne’s Grogans Whelan’s Anseo Bonobo The Big Romance The King’s Inn L Mulligan Grocer’s
By Sunday morning, government were in the media stating that they would legislatively shut pubs if needs be and public pressure had shut the majority of pubs. A meeting was convened between government and the LVA and the VFI, the latter two being the main publican lobby groups in the country. Following this meeting, it was agreed that pubs would close to facilitate the tackling of the spread of COVID-19.
So no pubs on Paddy’s Day. A grim first, especially when considering the fact that the LVA spokesperson stated that some pubs may never reopen due to the financial upheaval caused by the closures. Devastating.
So that was that. All pubs closed. Then come Monday, I happened upon a New York Times article:
The article, which is taken from Reuters and is duplicated on a number of other major publications including the Huffington Post and others across the world. The article, which reports on the pub closures, ends with the paragraph:
Twitter users praised the pubs that had closed voluntarily, with the DublinByPub.ie bar guide offering a list of responsible pubs “to go on the lash in when this is all over.”
So there you have it, I’ve officially added “got the phrase ‘go on the lash’ published in three major global publications” to my CV.
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