Phibsborough Memories

Here is a collection of photos where I revisit scenes mentioned in my "Poor Little Francie" blog, and other  blogs with a biographical flavour.

The lane "at the far end of St Peter's School," i.e., at the far end from the boys' entrance lane. The Victorian yellow-brick school-building is still intact, but you can see the substantial red-brick extension behind, and behind that again, the grey buildings of Bohemians' Football Club.

A closer view showing the extension more clearly, as well as the Bohemian Football Club buildings behind. The rubbish in the lane-way is a new phenomenon, arising from EU regulations. Some brain-dead European bureaucrat devised the motto "The polluter pays," from which regulations were devised that oblige member states to charge householders for waste collection. Previously, all domestic rubbish was collected from households for free (i.e., charged on the Rates or local property tax), but now a charge is placed on waste collected. Ninety five percent of the population complies, not only in Dublin, but all over the EU, but a small percentage avoid the charge by illegal dumping. You might call this an unforeseen consequence of the regulation, were it not for the fact that any normal person could foresee it. 

The shed, on the Dalymoiunt Lane, which was Neville's shop

The Dalymount stand from the lane. Street Art is a new phenomenon since my school days. This is clearly the real art movement of our generation, visible in all the European cities.

Bohemian Football Club notice and street art

Well, the street art makes it quite clear where you are

Phoenix Bar, a club associated with Bohemian Football Club

More Street Art and entrances to the stadium

How to gain access to the stands of Dalymount Park from North Circular Road

The house where James Joyce lived, on St Peter's Road, facing St Peter's School. Be warned by the experience of this property-owner never to let your property to a tenant you can't trust. Joyce's father, John, was improvident. His mother, Mary Jane, had to keep chickens in the back garden to provide eggs for the family. The Joyces moved here from more salubrious premises in Rathgar, and had to move again when they were unable to keep up the rent. John Joyce demolished the banisters in order to provide fuel for the fire, before the large family moved out. John Joyce drank a lot and probably abused his wife, while cossetting his precious son, James, but not the other nine, less precious, offspring.

This row of houses was previously called "St Peter's Terrace" and the old name-plate remains. I had occasion to call the attention of Google Maps to their error in continuing to name the street "St Peter's Terrace." (Click for larger view).

St Peter's Road. Joyce's house is several doors up on the left and St Peter's School on the right

Cabra Park has not changed much since half my class went across the road from the school, one day, for a game of Cowboys and Indians (in my "Big Boys School" blog).

When I was playing Cowboys and Indians, there was open access to the square behind the houses; now it is blocked off. This square was a design error. The squares of Mountjoy and Merrion, in Dublin, provided an attractive common park area, shared by the surrounding houses, which faced onto the square. Here, in Cabra Park, the houses sharing the square backed  onto the square, rather than facing it, and the square, instead of being an attractive park became a bit of a dump. Now it seems to be an area for parking vans.

The Cabra Park Lane leading to the corner of St Peter's Road and Cabra Road. The Street Art is a new phenomenon since my time.

As well as the Street Art, the dumping is a new phenomenon.

More of Cabra Park Lane

I blame the EU waste charges regulations for the prevalent illegal dumping - not limited to Cabra Park Lane, but everywhere across Europe.

Shit

Yes, shit

The formerly disused railway track behind Cabra Park (and Norfolk Road) is now part of the LUAS tram-line. Phibsborough Station is at the other side of this wall, and some physical works are planned at this point.

The house in Cabra Park where Paddy Monahan, my classmate, lampooned as "Paddy Baloney" in my first poem, lived.

The Turf Depot (referred to in my "Big Boys School" blog) has been converted into a small housing development, "Cabra Park Mews."

You can see St Peter's School and the lights of Dalymount Park from this point in Cabra Park

This is the square in front of the main gates of Dalymount Park. We used to play street soccer in this square. The gates would normally be closed and the ball could bounce off the gates as well as off the walls of the houses. There were no cars on the square in those days.

Norfolk Road faces the main gates of Dalymount Park. There were no trees in my day, and only one car, owned by the Taxi Madden.

Facing into the Keyhole at the top of Norfolk Road. The white gates are new since my day. The wall to the right of the white gates is the wall my brother, Jerry, fell off and cut his knee on a piece of  broken glass in the waste ground behind.

The steps leading from the Keyhole down to Tramway Cottages (Connaught Parade). The ugly steel railing is an addition. 

This is the waste ground behind the wall seen above. There was no gate there in my day.

The slope where we made the super slide in February of 1952, where my poor pregnant mother slipped and fell on her backside. (Various roadworks have messed up the surface since then).

The Tramway Cottages (officially Connaught Parade).

Connaught Street from the corner of the Tramway Cottages. The large building on the horizon was formerly a group of shops: grocery shops, newsagent and butcher.

Lane-way between Connaught Parade and Norfolk Road Keyhole. This used to be open, but was a location prohibited by parental order. Here I first heard one of the local unemployed youths reciting the slightly risky poem "Piddling Pete." This lane-way gave easy access to the almost abandoned railway line, for it was easy to hop over the wall at the end.

The Silver Lamp-post on the left (not as shiny as it used to be) and the sloped lane-way down which we careered in out trolleys. Steeper than it looks in the picture, it gave a fair acceleration, and we had to make a sharp left turn at the bottom of the slope.

The Keyhole, where we played street soccer, hurling, cricket, relieve-io and other games. There were no trees on the footpaths then nor parked cars.

The railings between Killeens and Breens. If you click on the picture to enlarge it, you will be able to make out the indentation in the (fifth section from the front of) the rail where Jimmy Murphy fell while walking on the railing, with one leg on each side of the rail.

Just in front of the house is the part of the railing off which I fell when tight-rope walking on the railing, and banged my head for a concussion.

The hedge still stands between our house and the neighbours. However, the garden used to be a lawn, carefully kept clear of weeds by my father, using his long-blade pen-knife. The tree was not there, but I kept a strip of flowers in front of the house and in the centre of the lawn.

The area at the bottom of Breens' garden, where the Norfolk Boys Association/ Army had our den, now converted to other use.

Looking up McCormack's path. Breen's hedge on the left has grown wider, but the path has been widened to compensate. A tinker woman coming up this path to beg, one day, was met by McCormack's mongrel barking dog. She claimed the dog nipped her in the ankle and she was feeling faint. Mrs McCormack brought out a chair and a jug of water and cossetted her. After that, the beggar-woman, whose name I forget, didn't bother to come to any of the other houses, but was a frequent visitor to McCormack's. Eventually, Mrs McCormack was so distressed, she came in to my father and told the story. The woman was blackmailing her over the alleged dog-bite. Next time the beggar-woman called, who answered the door, but my father, in his policeman's uniform? He told the woman that every dog is entitled to its first bite, so she had no case; and he sternly warned her never to call to this house again. So, the matter was resolved.

The view from my front door: changed, but not that much.

The line of houses: ours at the other side of the hedge, not so high in my day.

The wall that Jerry fell off. The foot-holds that the kids knocked into the wall for the purpose of climbing, over 70 years' ago, have been partially, but not very elegantly, repaired.

Duffy's (formerly) house on Connaught Street, where I did a bit of teenage, not very successful, gardening.

Connaught Street, where my pal, Rooney Galvin, lived - a bit lower down.

A lane between Connaught Street and Shandon Drive, where Rooney and I often played hoops

Shandon Drive (no cars in those days)

Looking into Shandon Park, and Shandon Park Mill in the distance (now a tasteful apartment block

A fresh new development on Leinster Street, as you come down from Shandon: Bang Bang, an atmospheric cafe called after a Dublin character of the 40s and 50s known as Bang Bang.

Leinster Street, which leads from Shandon back to Phibsborough Road