Then and Now

[goldenlaner]

biddy slickers was between dockrells on the corner and birds....on golden lane......

i travelled many time on that bus, my brother was in dangean.....you must know my brother better than me....

i will start a golden lane thread.....get off here..,.

Yeah Joe I knew your bro willie Quinn well I used to have his son Paul as a helper with me fitting flooring..

[archangel]

This is not a picture of then and now but is a lovely story of a day trip to Dublin in 1949

MY FIRST VISIT TO DUBLIN
Story ID: 8027
Written by: Veronica Breen Hogle (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization: Irish Cultural Events
Story type: Biography
Location: Graiguenamanagh Co. Kilkenny Ireland
Year: 1949
Person: Vonnie
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This is chapter four of 24 chapters from a memoir I'm writing titled "In Amber Lights," about the time I lived in a remote soldier's cottage with my grandmother in Graiguenamanagh. She had no electricity, running water or radio. There were no other children around. In this chapter, we are waiting for my birth certificate to so I can get into a new school. My grandmother takes me to Dublin for the first time. I'm wondering what readers think of this chapter.

MY FIRST VISIT TO DUBLIN
Chapter Four

“It’ll be ‘bout a week before your school papers will be here. So tomorrow we’ll go up to Dublin an' visit my daughter Greta,” Gran says. I’ve never been to Dublin so my heart starts to beat like a drum. I polish my shoes and hang my new clothes on the end of my bed.

We get up early and have our breakfast of porridge, bread and tea. Gran dresses in her black clothes and splashes herself with lavender water. She wraps her braids around her head, and ties a rose-pink satin scarf around her neck and pins it with a cameo brooch. I hold her black wool coat while she puts her arms in the sleeves. Then she pulls on her Napolean-style back hat. We walk down the incline and get into the car that is waiting to take us down to the bus. In no time we pass the Abbey and turn left into the narrow crooked Main Street. We get into the bus and sit in the front seats. Gran tells me the driver’s name is Charlie Piggot and the conductor is Johnny Hickey. They climb up and down a ladder that is attached to the back of the bus and put bikes, baby carriages, large boxes and big suit cases on the roof that has a railing around it. Inside the bus, there are crates of live baby chicks and they cheerp, cheerp, cheerp non stop. The bus stops often to let passengers on and off. Johnny walks up and down the bus taking the fares and ringing up the passenger tickets. He puts the money he collects in a black leather pouch that is draped across his shoulder. Women wave from doorways and farmers in fields tip their caps at us as we speed along the narrow winding road.
The bus stops at Bagenalstown railway station. I look over at the goods department where Daddy Jim works. I don’t say anything to Gran, but a wave of sadness comes over me, remembering he’s still in hospital.

As we get on wider roads, Charlie drives the bus faster and circles the steering wheel around narrow corners. I look out at the green fields that race by the window. They are full of sheep, cows and their calves, and race horses with foals. When we arrive in Dublin, we have to get on two double-decker buses to get to Aunt Greta’s house. Armies of people are riding bicycles in front of the kelly-green double-decker buses that belch out strong fumes into the air. More armies of men and women are walking shoulder-to-shoulder up and down the wide sidewalks. There are huge signs with blinking lights on the tall buildings advertising Guinness, Power’s Whiskey, Bovril, Donnelly’s sausages, and cheese. In the second double-decker, we cross O’Connell Bridge and the Liffey River. Gran points back to a giant-sized statue of a man.

“That’s Daniel O’Connell, this bridge was named after him,” She tells me. She then points to building that’s inside black iron railings and tells me it’s Trinity College. I see dark-skinned men who until now I’ve only seen in books. I want them to stand still so I can sink my fingers into their black, tight curly hair. I see lovely looking women, wrapped in beautiful silk fabrics with red dots on their foreheads. Gran tells me not to stare at them. She says they are students from African and Indian countries attending Trinity College and the Royal College of Surgeons. When we get off the second bus, we stop at a bakery and Gran buys sticky buns and a Swiss jam-roll.

Aunt Greta lives in a big old house on Harrington Street before the South Circular Road. She runs a boarding house and has eight children. When we get to her house, Gran gives her the bag of baked goods and in no time we are having our morning tea.

At noon, several of Aunt Greta’s children come charging down the steps. They are home from school for their lunch. She sends the oldest son, Louis, across the street to get fish and chips. He brings them back wrapped in newspaper. My aunt opens them up and the aroma of the brown crispy chips and the batter-coated fish rushes into every corner of the kitchen. She sprinkles malt vinegar on them and we gorge ourselves. I had heard of the fish and chips, but I had never eaten them until today. They are so delicious, I will love them forever. Aunt Greta holds up a big bottle of milk that has inches of cream at the top and says, Baine?” which is the Irish word for milk. All the children put up their hands and she fills their cups with milk. After lunch, Gran tells me to go and play with the children who are too young to be in school. We run up and down the many sets of stairs playing hide-an-go-seek. Sometimes, when I come back close to the kitchen, I hear Gran telling Aunt Greta the situation about the Fitzpatrick’s. My cousin Frances, six months older than me also comes home for lunch. She lets me play with her doll’s tea set. She tells me to be careful with it because it belonged to her Mammy when she was small. When the children go back to school, Aunt Greta says she’s going to Moore Street to get some meat and vegetables.

“Would you like to come with me Vonnie?” she asks me.

“Oh, yes! I say and run to get my coat.
“While you’re there, could you get me three lamb chops?” Gran asks and gives her some money. “I’ll stay here an’ take care of the little ones,” she says.
Aunt Greta takes two shopping bags from the back of the kitchen door and we get a bus back to O’Connell Street. Moore Street is right in the center of Dublin. The street is crowded with women selling vegetables, fruits and flowers out of baby prams. They hold up bunches of bananas.
“Get yer bananas here! Five for a shillin’ the bananas!” a chubby lady shouts.
“Four for a shillin’ the oranges.,” sings another woman who is holding a baby. “All the way from sunny Seville, the oranges! Get yer oranges here!” There are all kinds of beautiful fresh roses, gladiolas, dahalia, and other flowers I don’t know the names of.

“Here luv, buy yerself a bunch a red roses! No need ta wait for himself ta bring ya roses. Ye can get a bunch a twelve just for a half-crown, missus!” That’s just two an’ a half pence a
piece ” shouts a woman with carrot-red hair to Aunt Greta. She laughs and shouts back.

“Ah… after eight children, I’m beyond roses!”

We go to another vendor and buy potatoes, onions, parsnips and carrots. On both sides of the street, there are shops for butchers, bakers and fish mongers to sell their items. We stop outside a butcher’s shop that has pigs’ heads, pigs’ feet, liver, kidneys, brown hen eggs and long links of sausages displayed in the window. We go inside and like all butcher’s shops, it has sawdust on the floor. There is beef, lamb and pork hanging on big hooks. My aunt orders the lamb chops. The butcher lifts down half a lamb from a hook and puts it in front of her.
“Would you like ‘em cut from here missus?” he asks. My aunt says yes and tells him to give her three and then six more in a separate package for herself. We then follow the smell of bread baking into a bakery. Aunt Greta buys scones, bread and an apple tart.

When we are back in O’Connell Street, I see young boys selling newspapers.

“Ireland soon ta be free! Read all about it!” shouts a skinny boy selling The Evening Herald.
“Ireland Ta kiss the Commonwealth goodby! Read about it in The Press!” shouts another boy.

next page

[archangel]

Continuation,

We get the bus back to the house and we have more tea, scones and the apple tart. The rest of the children come home from school and the whole house is noisy and happy while we play. Around four in the afternoon, my aunt, who is the only one in the family to have a phone, rings for a Taxi to take Gran and me back to the bus station. Because it will be late when we get home, she makes ham sandwiches for us to have on the bus or when we get to Graiguenamanagh. It’s my first time to be in a taxi and it zig zags fast in and out of the traffic to get us back to the bus station in time and get the bus home. My cousins give me last week’s Beano and Dandy comic books to take home.

On the way back, Gran and I eat our sandwiches. I think about the great day I had going to Dublin for the first time, riding in four double-deckers, seeing live dark-skinned people from far-a-way places, eating fish and chips, going to Moore Street, and being in a taxi. I had children to play with. But when the bus stops in Bagenalstown, it’s dark outside. I have a huge urge to get out and run to the Fitzpatrick’s house. I don’t want Gran to see my sad face and think I’m ungrateful. So she doesn’t see the tears that have welled up in my eyes, I turn and stare out the window.

When we get back to Graiguenamanagh, Uncle Eric is waiting for us at the bus. He has arranged for a man to drive Gran and me to our house. He says he’s fed the hens and locked them up for the night, and he also brought home the water from the well. When we enter the house, Gran says she’s tired and goes up to bed right away. I sit in her chair and poke the fire. In a minute it becomes lively again. I hear Gran’s leather shoe drop onto the wood floor in our bedroom upstairs. The only other sounds are the ticking of the clock and the sap spitting out of the wood blazing in the fire place. I hear her second shoe hit the wood. I lean back in her chair and read the comic books again. After awhile my eyelids feel heavy. I take the clock and go up the stairs. I miss Gran’s prayer ritual and being sprinkled with holy water. After such a great day in Dublin, this is the happiest I’ve been since I was left with her. I sink into the hollow of my feather bed and look out at the full moon shining in through the window. I close my eyes and dream that I’m back in the taxi, zig-zagging around Dublin.

End of chapter four.

[maire]

Beautiful story Raphael, very well told. More please !

[archangel]

Nice story I agree, but not written by me.

There's plenty more on this link. http://www.ourecho.com/story-3548-ME...S-CIRCUS.shtml

[maire]

Great stuff, I will enjoy reading that! Thank you!

[pegasus]

Bridgefoot Street Dublin 8. As it was many years ago and as it is to-day.

[mai]

great pictures pegasus

[pegasus]

Middle Gardiner Street 50/60 years ago and to-day.

[nansson]

another good one Peg

[Rashers]

Great one, I used to live down near the traffic lights.

[rosebud]

nice photos peg.

[pegasus]

Bridge Street, Dublin 8 many years ago and to-day.

[Auld Decency]

Great pictures Pegasus. Some family members lived there, Bridge St and Bridgefoot St, long time ago.

[DAMNTHEWEATHER]

Bridgefoot Street Dublin 8. As it was many years ago and as it is to-day.

Great shots P...Bang Bang Dudley lived in the Bridghefoot St Flats after he had to leave his Mill Lane condemned tenement....Our member TOMMY in here lived in the same house...Bangs room was on the ground floor looking onto the street....passed it 100's of times. PS; I'll do a pic on old pix of your old neck of the woods, Eccles Street.......then hope you can then do an update on here.
Keep up the good work.