St. James's Hospital Chapel

This is the South Dublin Union chapel. Built in the 1890s originally as a Church of Ireland chapel, it was reconsecrated as a Catholic place of worship in the early 1900s and was in use until very recently as part of the James's Hospital complex.

In 2010, in the face of local opposition, permission was granted for its demolition to make way for the new Children's Hospital as it wasn't a protected structure.


I got permission to photograph at the hospital in 2016 and took the opportunity to record it before the arrival of the wrecking ball.

Location of the church



The location in 2017

The Lady on the Rock

Apologies for the long gap since my last post.

From Victorian mantelpiece dogs to musical gondolas, the livingrooms of Dublin are host to many and varied items of dubious taste. Mostly residing in glass and mahogany cases, they are hidden from public view and are rarely visible to anyone who is not a visitor to the house in question. A type of secular Infant of Prague if you like.

There is a notable exception to this scenario. Introducing...

The Lady on the Rock.

A casual stroll through the Liberties of Dublin (and, I believe, further afield on the northside although I've never been there) reveals a pretty and well kept collection of pretty artisan dwellings complete with beautifully Brassoed door handles, window boxes and many, many examples of the subject of this post.

The Lady on the Rock - and friends

Who is she?

Visually she bears a passing resemblance to a long lost German Art Deco piece that wouldn't have looked out of place as a public sculpture in the proposed "New Berlin" of Hitler's dreams. However her origins are much more recent.

Our plaster heroine started life in the 1990s - one of the creations of artist Harold Gardiner, ably assisted by Edward Loughman who made the mould. After Gardiner's death, the mould that "gave birth" to her was acquired by Dublin Mouldings of Parnell Street, a company more renowned for painstakingly recreating Georgian Ceiling decoration for historic buildings.

Some examples of the Lady In Situ in Clanbrassil Street. Courtesy Google Street View

Nevertheless, our plaster icon is revered by large swathes of the inner city population, leading to some urban myths which persist among outsiders. Some legends describe her visibility in a window as signifying the presence of a resident drug dealer, or of a "madam" whose services, or those of her ladies, are available within. Still more insist that she represents the fact that the occupants of the house have a relative in prison. (Researchers have apparently knocked on doors to seek answers. They were not forthcoming)

The urban legends are all nonsense of course.

She is simply a piece of folk art that has been adopted en masse by real Dubliners as an identifier of their status as the last bastions of a real community in a city slowly being consumed by international tech and other business interests.

Long may she reign.

 

Bullet-riddled Dublin

It’s difficult for the average stroller-through-Dublin to fully appreciate the level of destruction wrought in the city in 1916. The subsequent Civil War meant that reconstruction of damaged buildings was taking place in earnest only in the mid 1920s, mostly taking place in O’Connell Street and the quays, giving us the streetscape familiar to us today.

Sackville Street Post-1916

Some moving images here:
  
http://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?id=79411
Look carefully and, even today, you will see telltale signs of bullet damage on buildings and sculptures caught in the crossfire.

Strangely the GPO’s façade, one of the places one would expect to be riddled with pockmarks, is entirely devoid of bullet damage. Holes in the columns have been confirmed by the Irish Post Office (and supported by Dublin History Guru Pat Liddy) as NOT being attributable to action in 1916.

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So if they’re not on the GPO, where are the scars of the birth of the Irish Nation to be seen?
The most striking damage is seen on the Daniel O’Connell memorial in O’Connell Street. Sculpted by John Henry Foley and unveiled in 1882, it’s a miracle the structure survived 1916 at all considering that its surroundings were smashed to rubble in 1916 by the gunboat Helga, moored on City Quay and shelling the GPO without a clear line of sight.

The winged Victory figures represent patriotism, courage, eloquence and fidelity. The Victory representing Eloquence (with the book) sustained an elbow “wound” 

The Winged Victory vanquishing the snake (Courage) has a hole in her breast.

The sword that one graced the statue of Patriotism quite recently had its blade broken off. I distinctly remember seeing it in situ in the 1970s.
Anyway back to bullets; Daniel O’Connell’s statue’s chest is quite peppered with battle damage as you can see here

Over to Stephen’s Green and you’ll see the Fusiliers’ Arch. Many people are blissfully unaware of its purpose as a memorial to the Dublin Fusiliers who fell in the Boer War. Perhaps its anonymity – being “hidden in plain sight” has saved it from the destruction meted out over the years to Dublin’s once-numerous equestrian statues. Here you can see more damage from rifle-fire – perhaps from troops firing at the College of Surgeons which held an IRA garrison – at the side.

Finally here is the College of Surgeons building mentioned earlier showing pock marks around the window. These probably resulted from an attempt to take out a sniper within the building as the marks are grouped together in such a way as to be near misses (or should that be Near Hits!)

The Four Courts is similarly pockmarked:

This evidence of history provides a real, thought-provoking, physical connection with history. A different experience to reading a book about the events in Dublin in 1916 (or indeed reading a blog about it!) these scars vividly bring home a sense of the events having really happened.

The Church that Isn't

St. Jude's Church Kilmainham

Travellers entering Dublin from the west, entering St. John’s Road in Kilmainham, will be aware of a church located behind the two office blocks (belonging to the Department of Social and Family Affairs) which stand opposite the War Memorial Gardens.  

  However, intending worshippers shouldn’t be in too much of a rush to check out the times of services there, as the church was demolished in 1988. The body of the church was disassembled, leaving only the spire, and rebuilt in Straffan Co. Kildare as part of the Steam Museum by none other than Robert Guinness of the brewing dynasty. Benjamin Guinness, who rescued St. Patrick’s Cathedral from falling into terminal disrepair, would surely turn in his grave at the fate of St. Jude’s.

  The church opened for worship (coincidentally when the abovementioned St. Patrick’s restoration was approaching completion) on the 2^nd of January 1864. It owed its existence to the newly-arrived Great Southern & Western Railway Works; the employees of which worshipped there alongside local parishioners.

The early days of the church were notable for many reasons. A harmonium was used instead of an organ. Seemingly the size of the church made the acoustics perfect for the playing of the instrument. An organ was later installed, paid for by the Rev. Thomas Mills, who was largely responsible for the building of the church itself. He was also the chairman of the Select Vestry of St. Jude’s and seems to have been quite  a strong-willed clergyman to put it mildly. The organ was later to become part of an intra-family dispute.

Rev. Mills had given £400 towards the building and furnishing of St. Jude’s and seems to have taken the view that the Select Vestry were superfluous to the running of the parish. His sermons were notorious, lasting up to an hour prompting the Vestry to pointedly suggest that “…services of shorter duration would tend to increase the congregation”  

  He gathered, counted and lodged the Sunday collections himself. Bills were paid by him personally. The organist, a Mr. Sinclair, was paid £20 a year. Henry Mason of Richmond Hill was sexton of St. Jude’s – salary 10 shillings a week. The bellringer was paid ninepence per service until parishioners noticed his alcoholic tendencies and he was relieved of duties. His name is not recorded…

The Rev. Thomas Mills died, aged 78, on the 27^th of January 1900.

  He was superseded by a Rev. GD Nash who promptly received a letter from two nieces of Rev. Mills who demanded that the organ be given to them as inheritors of Rev. Mills’ estate.

It was pointed out to the ladies in question that the organ that existed at the time of their uncle’s demise had been insured, improved over the years and also tuned directly as a result of parishioners’ donations over the years.  In any event, the organ (be it the original or not) was immovably bolted to the wall.

  It was revealed that all of Rev. Mills’ property reverted to the church, so the ladies left empty-handed.

Later, a memorial window “To the glory of God and in memory of the late Rev. Thomas Mills” was installed in memory of the late, much-loved, cleric.

  The outbreak of the Great War saw the congregation of St. Jude’s increase with an influx of servicemen from nearby Richmond Barracks. Concerts and light refreshments were regularly provided for “The Boys”. Indeed some of St. Judes’ clerics themselves served in the conflict - Captain Norman Palmer, Second Lieutenant Arthur George Atock, among others.

  St. Jude’s did sterling work during WWII when the Parochial Hall was used for Air Raid Precaution meetings. St. John's Ambulance Brigade was allowed to turn the hall into an emergency hospital in case of enemy invasion.

  1953 saw the first attempt at the elimination of the venerable collection of buildings when vandals attempted to burn down the Parochial Hall.

  Today, St Jude’s spire is all that remains of this historic church which would have served well as a transport museum on its original site, being so close to the Inchicore Railway works.

Townsend Street, The Lock Hospital and the German Lutheran Church

Next time you’re passing a street sign for Townsend Street, look closely at the Irish version of the name. Instead of something like “Sraid Deireadh an Bhaile” you’ll see “Sraid Chnoc na Lobhar” which translates as “Leper Hill Street”. 

Leprosy was common in Ireland from the 5^th to the 14^th centuries, and it was from Townsend Street that victims would assemble before embarking on the pilgrimage to Santiago De Compostela in Spain in the hope of a cure. To the Medieval faithful it was similar in status to Medjugorje or Lourdes today.

Townsend Street, in more recent times, was important in the treatment of a very different illness. The plot of land where the Countess Markievicz  Leisure Centre stands today was the once the site of the “Lock Hospital” or Westmoreland Hospital. It was built in 1753  as the “Hospital for Incurables” and remained so until 1792 when it started to be used for the “reception of persons in indigent circumstances afflicted with the venereal complaint” 

The Lock Hospital, Townsend Street (Photo: Seamus de Burca from "Lost Dublin" by Frederick O'Dwyer 

A peek at a single page of the 1911 census (online and free to view thanks to the National Archives) for the Lock Hospital makes interesting reading:

http://www.census.nationalarchives.ie/reels/nai000222314/

The Lock Hospital was demolished in the 1950s. The door pillars were salvaged after its demolition and stand in the gardens of John Hunt (of the Hunt Museum fame) on the hill of Howth.

This is how the Lock Hospital looked on a map of Dublin in 1847:

Note the tiny “German Lutheran Church” behind it. The church was somewhat notorious. 

A certain Rev, J.G.F. Schulze, for a fee, would perform secret marriages for people keen to circumvent stigma surrounding mixed marriages, or those who didn’t want the expense of a public marriage. He was one of several clergymen in Dublin performing this service. He performed over 6,000 clandestine marriages between 1806 and 1837.  

The church was last used for worship in 1840. The Irish Times reported that it was bought afterwards by a blacksmith who removed the tombstones in the church’s burial grounds and sold them to the Dublin Corporation who used them as window-sills when building houses in the Coombe area of Dublin. The church remained standing until the 1940s by which time it had suffered the indignity of having been a warehouse, a club, a granary and a motor engineering works. Its site is now part of an office block car park.

The Lutheran Church Townsend St ca. 1820 (Drawing from the National Library by an unknown artist.)

An interesting postscript to this is that when researching the Lutheran Church part of this article I was told by a member of the current Lutheran clergy that an archaeological excavation of the site in the 1990s (unsurprisingly) turned up human remains. The Church was told that these bones would have been a lot older than the church and "probably dating back to a hospital from the 13^th century." 

The remains were newsworthy at the time due to the fact that they showed evidence of dental damage caused by pipe smoking. As tobacco was only introduced into Europe in the 1500s, this reassurance given to the Lutheran Church by the Archaeological company seems very suspect indeed.

Comrades in Death - an Irish perspective

German military burials are notable because of their tendency to inter their soldiers in pairs. This is a feature of German cemeteries in mainland Europe, and also in Ireland’s German cemetery in Glencree Co. Wicklow. In German it is referred to as Comrades in Death (Kameraden in den Tod).

The concept of men who fought side by side being buried together is a touching one. After all, they paid the ultimate sacrifice together. They were, on the face of it, fighting for a common cause even though the personal reasons for doing so varied from soldier to soldier. Irishmen volunteered and fought alongside English, Scots and Welsh in the First World War for multitudes of reasons. These ranged from the purely financial, the hope that Home Rule would be granted, all the way to pure family tradition where the father was in the military and was followed by his sons.

This all changed on the 24^th of April 1916 when the (at the time deeply unpopular) Rebellion in Dublin started. From that day forward Irishmen in the British army found themselves in the impossible position of having to aim down their rifle barrels at fellow Irishmen who happened to be Republican volunteers.

180 civilians and “insurgents” were killed and 614 wounded during the disturbances.

Ireland has always had a discomfort surrounding the commemoration of those who fought on the British side. This has been addressed in recent years with State commemorations of these men now commonplace.

On a more personal level, there is a little-known corner of Dublin where those who are interested will find it is possible to commemorate both IRA Volunteers and British Army casualties who lie, quite literally, side-by-side; Comrades in Death. Here, unusually, Easter lilies and poppies are equally welcome.

The burial place in question is situated in the grounds of what is now the Health Service Executive (HSE) building opposite Heuston Station.

The building  was formerly Dr. Steeven’s Hospital and was built to cater for the poor and destitute. It was founded in 1717.

Walking across the road outside Heuston station you will come across a vehicular security barrier at the right of the building (access for pedestrians is not a problem). Walk straight ahead and through an open doorway in a wall you will enter a courtyard containing some Portakabins.

In the corner facing you, you will see two gravestones.

The area from the security barrier to this point is marked “Steeven’s Hospital Burial Ground” in the 1847 Ordnance Survey Town Plans of Dublin. This would indicate that this whole area was originally a pauper’s graveyard, especially when one considers the function of the original hospital. It is also safe to assume that there are hundreds of unmarked burials all around this area.

The British Army men (mostly Irish) in question, marked with a British standard Commonwealth War Grave stone, are:

4628 Private George William Barnett,  Sherwood Foresters (Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire Regiment)  2/8th Battalion

Resided in Loughborough, Leicester England. Enlisted in Newark, Nottinghamshire,  Killed in action on 27 Apr 1916


Here is Pte. Barnett's service record entry showing him as a KIA:

7022 Private Oscar Bentley, Household Cavalry and Cavalry of the Line, 5th Lancers (Royal Irish)

Born Welshpool, Montgomeryshire, resided in Blackpool, enlisted in Preston

Killed in action on 24 Apr 1916


Here is Pte. Bentley's medal entitlement card showing place of death:

9852 Private Michael Carr, Royal Irish Regiment 3rd Battalion

Resided: Mulhuddart, Co. Dublin. Killed in action 24 Apr 1916. Enlisted Dublin

9947  Private James Duffy Royal Irish Regiment, 3^rd Battallion

Born Carisvilla, Co. Kildare, Died of wounds on 24 Apr 1916 Enlisted in Limerick

11162 Private Thomas Treacy Royal Irish Regiment 3rd Battalion

Born and resided in Mordike, Co. Tipperary, Died of wounds on 24 Apr 1916, Enlisted in Clonmel, Co. Tipperary

The IRA Volunteers’ resting place is marked with a National Graves Association scroll-type “Oglaigh na hEireann” memorial. These men were:

Volunteer Sean Owens 4th Battalion Dublin Brigade, Irish Volunteers.

Resided in The Coombe. He appears as John Owens aged 8 years in the census of 1901, the son of a Tea Merchant’s Labourer. He was killed in the taking of the South Dublin Union aged 24

Volunteer Peter Wilson, Fingal Brigade, Irish Volunteers, was the son of an Agricultural Labourer and was killed by British forces after the surrender of the Mendicity Institution despite emerging holding a white flag.

Whatever the reason for these men being interred in such an unusual location, it makes the old arguments about commemoration appear nonsensical.

The existence of these men’s burials in such close proximity could have given the Irish Government an ideal opportunity and location to give ALL of the casualties of 1916 (and by extension their Irish comrades buried in mainland Europe and further afield) the remembrance they deserved instead of consigning the memory of Irishmen in British uniform to oblivion for half a century.


Ar dheis Dé go raibh a n-anam 

Swastikas in Dublin

The Swastika:  A symbol of peace? Well nowadays, as a peace symbol, it’s right up there with burning crucifixes. 

Adopted by the Nazi Party in 1920, it remains the most reviled emblem in the Western World.  To manufacture the swastika in any form in Germany is illegal. This is the reason it is no longer supplied in Second World War German airplane kits (even those made outside Germany) where its presence on the tail fin is essential for historic accuracy.

eBay prohibits the sale of any item displaying the Swastika as it is deemed to “promote hatred” and be “offensive”.  Given the amount of airtime the symbol receives on satellite TV these days, I wonder about the wisdom of the eBay prohibition. The reason for sensitivities surrounding the symbol is self-evident, although it is debatable as to exactly how “offensive” the symbol really is. Do people really switch off in their thousands every time it flashes up on the History Channel? Somehow I doubt it.

The Swastika was originally a Hindu peace symbol. The name derives from the Sanskrit “Svastika” meaning “Auspicious Symbol”. Given its later use this is ironic to say the least.

Up until the 1920s people sent “Good Luck” cards emblazoned with the symbol.

Here's a U.S. postcard from 1907:

Rudyard Kipling ‘s “The Jungle Book” originally had swastikas on the front, the spine and in several illustrations throughout the novel. He insisted that editions after 1920 were “swastika-free”

This is from the front cover of The Jungle Book 1920 edition:

So what, I hear you ask, is the relevance of all this to Little Known Dublin? Well if you look carefully there were, and are, interesting examples of non-Nazi swastika usage in Dublin:

From 1912 to the late 1960s there existed in Dublin a business called the “Swastika Laundry”. The symbol remained in use by the laundry even during the war, providing many propaganda opportunities for the British media. Their swastika-emblazoned vans were in use well into the early 1970s, and their chimney on Shelbourne Road  (a protected structure still standing as part of "The Oval" office block) had a Swastika painted on it when the laundry occupied the site.

I vividly remember when I was a lad in Drimnagh the Swastika Laundry van would round the corner to be greeted by 10-year-old fingers pointed in “Colt 45” fashion, and a chorus of “Bang Bang”. You couldn’t ask for a better prop to give real authenticity to the playground antics of young lads reared on war films like The Dirty Dozen,The Great Escape and Von Ryan’s Express.

Swastikas exist to this day in Dublin as decoration from more innocent times when there was no baggage associated with them.

Leinster Memorial Church (Salvation Army) Eden Quay:

St. Nicholas of Myra Church, Francis Street:

Below the St. Patrick stained glass window.

The design is also incorporated in the ceiling stucco work

 National Museum of Ireland Kildare Street:

The original floor tile design extends right round the room, but is now almost completely obscured by book shelves.

The design is echoed on the glass doors at the entrance to the museum:

I was intending to end this piece here until I was surfing through the TV channels far too late at night,  stopping to look at BBC Northern Ireland. There was a shot of the assembly room and some MLA speaking to the floor.

There, behind her, in plain view was THAT symbol again. I’m not quite sure what era the NI assembly room decoration in question dates from, but it’s too tempting not to paraphrase Mr. Gerry Adams MLA:

The Swastika… It hasn’t gone away, you know!