Personal Recollections of a Dublin long since gone

[Pat Reid]

Thank you so much Bridget for that lovely story! Those "characters" were so much part of the fabric of smaller towns and villages, perhaps more so than in Dublin. So to make an impact like Bang Bang did in Dublin is even more testimony to his enduring and endearing charm.
Don't you just love those old nicknames and the stories behind them?
And thanks for your earlier John Wayne story. I loved it!

Pat

[Taidquest]

hi bridget,
"bang bangs" real name is thomas dudley.
I know there is a story online somewhere which
gives more details.there is one I found today but
it does'nt add much to the story,I seem to remember he
was going blind in later years and was cared for .
by the way,have enjoyed your stories too and was given
a book on dublin cinemas by my son that I know you'd love,
lots of big photos too,bet you remember the'maro'
                                                   
                                                    once shot by 'bang bang'

[Bridget x]

Hi Pat, Thanks for your kind comment. I often think if some clever person researched and wrote a book on our Dublin characters they would make a fortune! I hang my head in shame as I recall how, as children on the way to school we would make fun of " Johnny 40 coats" and he would attempt to run after us. Because of the bulk of his clothing plus, all the rubbish he carried, thankfully he never caught us!!  Do you remember a character called Paddy Riley? So called I believe because he stood busking in Henry St and always sang that song.  I have written a story (again true) about Paddy which I will try and  put on tonight. I feel a bit embarrassed saying "written a story" I really just doodle !!!  The "John Wayne " story was a true account which my sisters and I still laugh about.
Anne, Thomas Dudley, well thank you so much for that ,clever girl!  For years I wondered about the true name of "Bang=Bang, a character that was part of my childhood. I will go and search out his story on line.  I don't exaggerate when I say we could stand at our old hall door and reach out and almost touch the Maro. I wish I had a penny for every visit I made there. The head usher was a man named Paddy Hoy (sp) who lived in our St. It was his mother who sold the fruit in front of the cinema. Happy days!  Bridget x P.S. I'm still laughing at "Once shot by Bang Bang"

[Bridget x]

To this day, I still miss my adored mum. This little 5ft bundle of energy who had such a hard life and yet, never failed to see some good in people no matter how bad they were. What little we had she shared amongst those of our neighbours who had even less. Large pots of soup bubbled away on our cooker most days and as the angelus chimed out from our local church three of us children were dispatched with the old fashioned white enamel jugs with hot soup to various people. This always ensued into an argument as to who was going to deliver to one particular lady. She would be waiting by her hall door watching for us coming and without fail up would go the cry, “Your late young H-------y, the angelus has stopped ringing” or “Tell your mother she put too much salt/herbs in yesterdays soup!! At this time mum did not go to work as there were seven of us young children and mum’s parents also lived with us. It was said then that nana had “Gone childish” but I suspect that today it would be called senile dementia, a term not used way back then. Sometimes nana would wonder off and poor mum would search the streets looking for her with two small children by her side. In reality it was like having an extra child to look after as nana had to be washed, dressed and hair braided amongst other things. Still mourning the loss of her 16year old son Michael, her favourite child, she was heartbroken  when nana died, followed two years later by her father. Mum went to 6oclock Mass every morning at Domnic St church and would be back home by 7oclock. One bitterly cold winter’s day as she made her way back home she came across a well known Dublin tramp huddled in a shop doorway and almost frozen to death. Although he was known by all as Paddy Riley, I am not sure if this was really his name, he sang this song while begging for coppers until he got enough to buy the cider he was addicted to, hence the name. A big man, my little mother struggled to lift and help him back to the shelter of the hall of our tenement house. Putting fingers to pursed lips, and pointing to the upper room where dad slept, she indicated to him he must keep very quiet as dad, unlike mum, lacked compassion and would have turned him out! He sat on the stairs while mum made him a large plate of toast and a big mug of tea. Talk about fast food!! In at seven and out by half past before dad came down those stairs!! How mum giggled that first morning when dad came down the stairs and complained about the terrible smell in the hall! I must mention the words “personal hygiene” did not come into Paddy’s vocabulary. And thus started mum’s relationship with “The other man in her life” as we girls laughingly referred to Paddy. Mum would arrive home from church and Paddy would be waiting every morning for his tea and toast while mum sweated, not from the heat of the cooker but from fear of dad finding him and throwing him out into the street! I can’t remember how long she got away with her good deeds but vividly remember the morning Paddy blotted his copy book and the shutters of the fast food shop (LOL) were pulled down. On that memorable morning, mum rushed home to feed Paddy only to find he had also invited “guests” to breakfast! One, a well known “lady of the night” who’s enthusiasm towards the American sailors who visited our ports did more to further Irish American relations than had the efforts of our own President or Government!! The other “guest” filthy in appearance, (she made Paddy look clean) could have come straight from the production of Macbeth, She would have required no make up! Alas poor mum! Not only beaten but outnumbered. Part 2 below.

[Bridget x]

Desperately (in whispers) trying to get them to be quiet while she tried to explain she was not in a position to feed these extra” guests”. Paddy, no doubt trying to impress his lady friends and wanting to appear manly while he towered over my little mum proceeded to berate his benefactress with cries of “Who do yya  think you’re talking to? You can’t talk to my financee (fiancée) and her mother like that; all we want is tea and toast” The “ladies” then joined in and of course the inevitable happened. Dad came rushing down the stairs to find out what all the commotion was about and all hell broke loose! When Paddy (swearing like mad) told dad to mind his own business, this had nothing to do with him, well, it was like a red rag to a bull! Trying to avoid trouble my now desperate mum offered to feed them just this once but dad was not having it. He took Paddy by his collar and coat and slung him out into the street followed by his “fan club” It did not end there! The bold Paddy, well lubricated by his favourite cider returned almost every night. He would stand outside our house and looking up towards the bedroom would challenge my dad to “Come out and fight like a man, you have a saint of a wife but you are nothing but a bowsie “ (blackguard) I should mention, ours was a very tough street housing a lot of “hard” men. Disturbing their sleep would not have gone down to kindly so. Paddy soon got the message after many windows were raised with threats of what would happen if he did not clear off!! Sadly, some years later Paddy’s body was found in the burnt out cellar of a derelict house. Apparently he had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette. On hearing the news, mum looked at dad and sadly remarked, “We should say a little prayer for poor Paddy,” Dad made no reply, and my wonderful compassionate mum just shook her head from side to side. Bridget x 

[Marie M]

I just want to say thank you, you really have a talent for storytelling, your tales really remind of the type of stories my nanny would tell me, " goin down memory lane" as I used to request. She had a similar upbringing to yours in Back Lane/Christchurch area, and it is like listening to her speak.  Thank you again, and keep them coming.

[Bridget x]

Thank's Marie, you are most kind.  I love scribbling down all these old memories of my childhood in Dublin.  I will try and dig out some more.   Bridget x

[Bridget x]

Recollections My Lovely Nana
As in the case of any small child I was unaware of the difference between rich and poor, good quality clothes or cheap practical apparel, the difference in speech and so many other things unconnected to the magic world of childhood. My world way back then was one of spinning tops, balls, dolls and playing with my friends in our street of tenement houses. The questions and “wondering” would come when I grew older. Mum would only have to say, “Go and ask your nana” and I would take the stairs two at a time to reach the landing above our ground floor rooms where my maternal grandparents lived. Stepping over the threshold of my grandparent’s rooms was like stepping into another world. Within a heartbeat I was transported back to a time of gentility, austere dressing and surroundings that I had only seen pictures of in books. It was hard to believe that this was the heart of the Dublin slums I grew up in. Years later I would devour books to learn more of the history of this street. It came as no surprise to learn; because of its location in central Dublin, that it had once housed lords and ladies, barristers and indeed members of parliament. These wealthy owners had long since gone and yet, a small part of their expensive indulgence could still be seen here and there, amongst the now crumbling ruins. With age and hindsight I look back and laugh at a small part of the legacy left behind by our houses past owners! The four story houses were now home to as many as ten families and each room was referred to as the front parlour, back parlour, drawing room, back drawing room and so forth! Our family lived in the front and back parlour while my grandparents occupied the front and back drawing rooms! I could not imagine anything more fitting for nana. It felt as though one of those grand ladies of long ago had just stepped out and my grandparents had moved in, sadly, not the case. The room was huge and high still retaining the beautiful moldings and cornices where the walls met the ceiling, in parts crumbling yet, not detracting from its beauty. As one entered the room the light from two long windows (opposite the door) reaching from ceiling to floor flooded the room with light. Long crisp cotton nets, again reaching from ceiling to floor were held in place by pairs of brass “tie backs” and to complete the look, in front of each window were two large brass flower pots holding my nana’s beloved geraniums. The pots stood on tall narrow tables with spindly legs, just wide enough to carry the pots. The long sash windows no longer worked, but they could be raised and some strong object placed beneath to hold them open. One day my nana showed me how they were supposed to work. Opening two long wooden doors just inside both windows she pointed out the weights (now rusted) which worked the windows and minus the ropes required to work them. I remember my excitement on being shown this “secret place” and made up my mind there and then never to disclose this magic hiding place to my siblings! I loved everything about my nana’s rooms but my favourite object was the fireplace. Even now, looking back, I shake my head and wonder at the cost! Only a very wealthy person could have afforded such opulence. In any other room in our street it would have looked so out of place, but not here! A cast iron fireplace taking up the space of almost one wall, it now shone and reflected years of loving care with the black leading brushes. What craftsmanship had gone into its making! Scrolls, grapes, and birds covered every inch of its surface, the grate itself set well back with several bars across its front. A large brass fender with a tall matching companion set completed the picture. Nana had a type of iron square plate with two rungs which hooked over the bars. I only learned many years later it was to “crisp up” a cooked joint of meat, however I guess nana cheated and made the most delicious toast on it! Above the fireplace was a large over mantle the full width of the fireplace. In it’s center, a large mirror edged with mahogany wood with small shelves leading off to both sides. The obligatory wooden clock took pride of place in the center of the mantle piece with a large white spotted dog on each side. Nana always had a dark green velvet mantle cloth, ruched at intervals with dozens of small pom-poms running along its edges. Imagine my joy, one day on discovering that if I pulled a tiny thread I could unravel these little balls one after the other!! I was sent down below to our rooms in disgrace! Jutting from the wall on each side of the fireplace two (once brass) tubular lengths held the old gas mantles in place. How I loved curling up in front of the glowing fire listening to the hissing sound they made. When they “dimmed” nana would put another penny in the meter and once again the room would be enveloped in a warm glow.

[Bridget x]

The center of the room was dominated by a huge round, polished table, supported by a large column with several claw like legs. A very tall lamp, its white glass globe showing a thick white wick, the middle a pink bulbous shape leading down into a brass stand stood center table. My next best favourite was the biggest photo album I have ever seen. The cover, a thick embossed material, had a very large clasp holding it closed. As a child, it took my two small hands to turn a page. Here again one would suspect the past grand ladies of this once fine house had gone and left it behind! Oh! Those wonderful old sepia pictures, such gowns, such splendor, and always the same question, “Nana, is this you? Is this your mummy?” and always the same answer, “That’s Auntie Katie” I never did learn who Aunt Katie was, not until I started researching my family when I was almost as old as my beloved nana! A huge sideboard stood in place on the wall opposite the fire place. It was so long I wondered how they had managed to get it up the lovely wooden spiral staircase of our old tenement house! As a child I could not imagine it coming apart in sections! The polished top, with lace runner held three glass shades or domes, one large one at each end with a smaller one in the middle. The taller ones housed religious statues while the center one held an array of stuffed birds. A customer of my granddad, (the shoemaker) was really eager to buy this piece of furniture but nana would never sell it. Mum would say it was made from mahogany, looking back now I think it was made from the redwood tree. Every year on Easter Sunday all twelve grandchildren would gather and nana would produce an array of Easter eggs, boxed ones for the boys and little baskets for the girls. Our eyes almost popped out of our heads when she showed us the “secret drawer” inside its cupboard! My vivid imagination knew no bounds, as the years passed I convinced myself my nana was really a lady who, despite family objections had married my poor granddad, a simple shoe/boot maker. How else could one explain her beautiful manner of speech, her exquisite taste in clothes, her impeccable manners? Even today, I can close my eyes and see this tiny doll like woman with finely chiselled features, even in old age, beautiful. I can’t recall how old I was but do vividly remember her dressed in a hip length black velvet cloak covered in a pattern made up of hundreds of tiny jet beads, on her head a black bonnet and lace up boots on her tiny feet. She only ever wore black, that is apart from the black crossover pinafore decorated with tiny lavender flowers. Some years later the beads of the cloak began to unravel and fall off. I was given the cloak and together with my two  little friends sat for hours on the back steps of our tenement house where  we unpicked all the tiny beads and spent endless happy hours threading them for necklaces and bracelets.  Some time ago I managed a trip to Dublin and quite by chance managed to get the phone number of one of my two little friends. We had not spoken for fifty five years! How we reminisced about the old street and our childhood. Out of the blue she said to me, “Oh, how I remember your nana, she was so beautiful and wore such lovely clothes,
Do you remember her lovely beaded cloak, the ones she gave you to play with? What fun and happy hours we had with it” I got to admit, I was oh, so proud . Bridget x