| by Tom Kavanagh |
My earliest recollections of growing up in Dun Laoghaire centre around the family's move to Sallynoggin. O'Rourke's Park was just being built and my eldest sister used to bring me up to our house, No.78, every Sunday where she would light a fire in the grate and go about chipping concrete and plaster off the walls and floors. The houses had not been finished at this time but we had obviously been allocated No.78.
Prior to our move, we were living in two rooms in Lower George's Street where all nine of us were born, six before the 2nd World War and three after it. I belonged to the latter group and we were known in the family as 'The Three Kids'. There was myself, my younger sister and my younger brother. Now we were going to a brand spanking new Corporation house with an indoor toilet and a bathroom. No more sitting in the tin bath every Saturday night. On the day of the move I vividly remember (I was three at the time) sitting in the back of the lorry where my job was to guard the wireless to ensure that the little man who made the BEEP, BEEP, BEEP noise to let you know the time, did not fall out.
Because the houses were so new, the gas supply had not yet been laid on so every morning my older brother had to get up and build a fire in the back yard on a makeshift fireplace made up of building blocks. Then he, who was actually working on the building as a 'Nipper' and my father could have their breakfast before going to work. During the next few years our back gardens (we now had top soil) were our main play area. There were trenches going the length of O'Rourke's Park waiting for services to be laid on, so we could play in the them when the workmen had gone and roam up and down through everyone's garden without being spotted. Our garden backed on to Dun Laoghaire Golf Club so there was the extra adventure of climbing over the fence and looking for golf balls. I had also joined the 'Cubs' and when we weren't engaged in activities in the Parochial Hall we would be off hiking up the Wicklow mountains. Well, the foot of the Sugar Loaf mountain, with our haversacks containing enough grub to last a week even though we were only going for the day. We visited places like Powerscourt with it's lovely waterfall where we would light our fire, make our tea and fry our sausages before getting down to the serious business of playing games.
All this time I was attending St. Joseph's in Convent Road Dun Laoghaire. There was a teacher there who must have loved children more than anybody else I have ever come across. Her name was Mrs. Gibbons and she was a big lady with white hair and a few whiskers, so unfortunately, we called her 'The Hairy Elephant'. She seemed to spend her time inquiring off each pupil "Have you got a brother"? And if the answer was yes, this was followed up by "How old is he"? If the answer to that was "Three" then her stock reply was "Bring him tomorrow". I remember bringing my younger brother, but after continuously trying to climb up the wall and out the window, Mrs Gibbons thought it better that I bring him home and leave it for a few months or so.
When I was nine we moved back to Dun Laoghaire, just around the corner from where I was born. To say we moved back is misleading as I never left it, always going down to the pictures or swimming. But now it was much easier as I did not have to make my way back up 'The Noggin Hill' again. Now I could spend more time 'bunking' in to The Adelphi or The Pavilion cinemas. This was only done when I could not lay my hands on the 4d (2p) for The Adelphi or 8d (4p) for The 'Pav'. The 'Pav' was the best. Although the dearest, the grounds in which it was set were fantastic. You could have a game of Pitch and Putt if you had the money or just play in the rest of the grounds. It was like a little forest where you could go and re-enact scenes from the film you had just seen, be it a War film or Cowboys and Indians. All the materials were there to build your own fort or hideaway and you could be Hopalong Cassidy, Audie Murphy or Davy Crockett and stay there for hours.
Because there was always at least one of my older sisters away in England, myself and my younger brother were the first kids in Dun Laoghaire to get a Davy Crockett coonskin hat. Davy Crockett being all the rage at the time.. I had left the Cubs by this time as it was not exiting enough for me anymore. To earn money, you either sold 'papers for 'Scoop' Johnston or you did what I mostly did and carried cases. This meant having to get up early and head for The Mailboat Pier. If the boat was on time which was either the 'Princess Maude', the 'Hibernia' or the 'Cambria', it docked at 6.40am and you stood there looking for someone who appeared to be struggling with their suitcase and asked "Want a hand up there boss/ lady"? They would either be going to the railway station or the bus stop, both of which were about 70 or 80 yards away. If you were lucky, you got at least 6d (3p) but sometimes all you got was a "Thank you". It was for the latter reason that Priests and Nuns were best avoided. Any money you got you usually worked hard for. Then once you had finished you would go to the restaurant that sat on top of the railway station and have a cup of tea or a nice warm bowl of soup.
Living near the Mailboat Pier had other benefits, for example, when Hopalong Cassidy and his horse Topper were going to Butlin's in Mosney all the kids in the neighbourhood were down at the crack of dawn to see a real live cowboy. I also remember going into The Theatre Royal in Dublin to see Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and his horse Trigger. Every kid and his brother was there, all dressed up in their cowboy outfits and I was no exception. When it came to Christmas time it was into The Queen's Theatre for the pantomime. Because of the closeness to Ardmore Film Studios, Dun Laoghaire was often used as a location for movies. I remember in particular seeing Robert Mitchum and Anne Heywood filming a scene at the Mailboat Pier for a film called 'A Terrible Beauty'. A local chap (who happened to work on the Pier) Tommy Cowep, was paid £10.00 to act as a stand-in for Mitchum and dive off The Princess Maude fully clothed. Alas, that scene never appeared in the finished film. Then there was the story of Robert Mitchum getting a black eye up in The Noggin Inn. The story was that a girl asked him for his autograph and he insulted her, whereupon her boyfriend gave him the eye. Rod Steiger, Maria Schell and Stuart Whitman were some of the other movie stars to be seen shooting scenes in Dun Laoghaire at around the same time.
When the Russians put Sputnik1 into space in the late '50s, not many people know that there was a bunch of kids in Dun Laoghaire who tried to put Ireland on the world map by emulating them. So we built go-carts out of old pram wheels and axles and any wood which could be found and the best one, suitably named Sputnik 2, was put to the test. Unfortunately, the highest we got off the ground was when Sputnik 2 hit the lamppost at the bottom of the street and travelled halfway up the pole before breaking up. The test pilot survived.
We weren't just adept at building spacecraft, I built my own bike. After collecting an old rusty bike frame with racing handlebars and a couple of old bike wheels the job was done. Of course, there was no such thing as mudguards or brakes, they were luxuries that could not be afforded. Brakes were applied by putting the sole of your shoe on the front wheel to slow down. Then one Saturday my mother took me to Tom Whelans to buy me some new shoes. The new shoes had crepe soles and the next day after mass, a few of us set off for Killiney Beach. In order to get there, you had to go down the Vico Road which was steep and winding. Having built up a frightening speed, I applied 'The Breaks'. A few seconds later my left foot started to get very hot so I applied my right foot. The same thing happened, I had managed to burn right through the soles of my shoes and socks. For the next two weeks, I went to school with holes in my shoes before my mother discovered the holes. As you can imagine, she was very pleased.
Then there was the times spent down at Salthill. No matter that I could not swim, I still spent six and seven hours a day in the water there. Having no swimming costume made no difference either, as I had plenty of sisters, and they had knickers which could be borrowed. Later, when I learned to swim, one of my older sisters gave me 2/6d (12p) to teach her to swim. That was a lot of money, but she was going to America as a child minder and the family she was going to had a swimming pool and told her to be sure and bring her costume with her.
The best swimming was to be had around the wreck at the Coal Quay. You could swim either inside the wreck or outside it. There were the rowing boats and the yachts which you could swim to and climb aboard and be a pirate for the day. These activities were not without danger however, and more than once I fell into the water, before I could swim, and had to be fished out. Then it was over to the 'Bouysers' to dry off before going home with my parents being none the wiser.
The 'Buoysers' were the buoys that The Irish Lights kept in their complex which ran between The Green and the Fish Quay. The Irish Lights were responsible for the upkeep of all the Buoys, Light Houses and Light Ships around the coast which they supplied from their tenders 'The Granuaile' and 'The Irene'. Some of these buoys were huge and you could fit five or six people inside and nobody would know you were there. Once the sun got at them they were like ovens and you would dry off in no time. They also afforded shelter from the rain and a place where you could play cards. You could stay hidden in there for days and not be found.
In the summertime there was lots to do. Toft's Carnival would come to The Jetty ( St. Michael's Wharf) and I would help erect the rides and in return would get free goes on the Bumpers, Swish Cars and all the other attractions. It was also a great source of income, finding money that had dropped out of peoples' pockets as they whirled round on the rides.
But my real favourite was The Fish Quay. This was where the trawlers would dock every night and unload their catch. On one end of the quay a dilapidated old trawler was tied up, hardly ever moving. This boat was owned by 'Dirty Dick' or Captain Cobham to give him his correct title. Dirty Dick was so-called because he never seemed to wash. His boat had a concrete floor and he had no crew. The only time Dirty Dick put to sea was when the innocents from the private schools would come down and before you knew it, Dick was asking them would they like to go fishing. Us local boys were too wise for him and he would never ask us. One day I had a frightening experience whilst leaning over the side of his boat fishing for pollack. As I already explained his boat hardly ever moved and I was leaning over the side with a piece of string trying to catch pollack between the boat and the quay wall. Because my string was short, I had to lean over in order for my hook to go under the water. Unbeknown to me, one of the other boys decided to get off the boat and pulled on the rope to bring the boat back to the quay, trapping my neck between the boat and the wall in the process. I thought I was going to die. No sooner had I extricated myself from this predicament, than one of the lads shouted "Come quick, your Peter is drowning" I rushed round the other side of the jetty to see my brother soaking wet, but otherwise OK. A boat had been coming to a narrow part of the jetty and Peter had shouted for them to throw the rope to him. Whereupon he walked backwards and off the other side of the jetty. There was nothing to be done except go into the Buoys and dry him off.
By now I was attending the Christian Brothers' School in Elba Avenue (now a hostel). But I was more interested in the trawlers than anything else and during the summer holidays would go out on them two or three times a week.
There must have been at least twenty trawlers fishing out of Dun Laoghaire at this time, most of them Arklow boats. But I was mainly interested in just two of them, The Ross Bride and The Ross Almhing. The first one was owned by Jimmy Cranny and the latter by Johnny Hickey and it was on these boats that I really enjoyed myself.
In order to go out fishing, I had to be down at the quay by 4.30 or 5 am and would not get back until about 9 or 10 that evening. Although I loved going out, I did not feel it easy as I suffered violently from seasickness. Anyone who has endured seasickness will tell you that all you want to do is be left alone to die. But the old fishermen would not leave you alone, telling you to drink a cup of sea water or eat a nice big lump of greasy bacon. And then walk away laughing as you continued to retch and pray for death to come. Nonetheless, despite swearing never to go fishing again, I would be up the next morning and down to the quay, having forgotten the day before.
When I left the house to go fishing, my eldest sister would give me a pile of songbooks to take with me. I was to use these to sing songs to her over the radio. Back home in the kitchen we had a wireless that was capable of picking up the radio transmissions from the trawlers. I would happily sing my heart out just to say I had sang on the radio.
It was 1959 by now and I had just completed my Primary Examination and got the only academic qualification of my life to date. I was finished school, but because of the way system worked, I was not allowed to leave until I was 14 years old. As I was not 14 till the following January, I enrolled in The Technical College for one term until I could legally leave full time education.
There followed a couple of jobs as a 'Van Boy' for Blonde's Bakery and a 'Messenger Boy' for Gorton's hardware store before I too took the walk to the boat that I had seen countless thousands do before me.
I read somewhere that 'Sir' Bob Geldof (a native of Dun Laoghaire) said "Sad and weary, Dull and dreary. That is how you spell Dun Laoghaire". Bob went to private school and had his own pony, but perhaps he came from the wrong side of the tracks. Come to think of it, apart from maybe 20 or so families who lived down at the old coastguard station, we all lived on the same side of the tracks.
Tom Kavanagh
September 1998
