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  • Dublin's Hidden History

    In the 19th century Broadstone was one of the most well known areas of Dublin, however very few people even know where it is today. From 1817 this area was home to one of the major transport hubs in 19th century Dublin, containing a major railway station and a canal harbour. This area rose and fell in prominence among Dubliners as new forms of transport came and went.

    The aqueduct and canal that once linked the site to the Royal canal are gone almost without a trace and what was a glorious Neo-Egyptian railway station (left) is now a bus depot and garage badly in need of repair. After digging around I found some sketches and photo’s illustrating what the area was like in its heyday over a century ago.

    Broadstone

    Broadstone is located north west of Dublin between the city centre and Phibsboro. It is known today from buildings like the Kings Inns or streets like Constitution hill and Western Way but in the 19th and early 20th century it was best known as one of the major rail stations and canal docks in Dublin. Its architecture was impressive from the aqueduct spanning Constitution Hill to the train station itself.

    Origins

    As late as the 1780’s it was just green fields at the edge of Dublin but revolutionary changes in transport saw Broadstone transformed. In the 19th century it became a key location in Dublin only to fall out of use a century and half later as a new revolution in transport made it redundant. The start of Broadstone’s rise began with the first major revolution in technology in the 18th century – canals.

    In 1789 a royal charter constituted a new company – the Royal Canal Company which was to construct a canal between Dublin and the upper Shannon (the Shannon river is Ireland’s largest river and the major waterway in the west of the country). In its charter Broadstone was identified as a location for one of the major canal harbours in Dublin. In 1790 construction of the canal began on a route that ran east-west about 500 metres north of Broadstone.

    As stipulated in the 1789 charter a dock had to be constructed at Broadstone but this was not an easy task. The company cut a smaller canal – The Broadstone canal towards the site of the proposed harbour but quickly came up against the newly constructed North Circular Road. Here they built a humpbacked bridge to carry the road over the canal – Blacquiere Bridge named after the one of the directors of the Royal Canal Company. However the greatest challenge still lay ahead of them.



    Aqueduct

    Five hundred metres south of the Blacquiere Bridge the Broadstone canal met Constitution hill – a road which was substantially lower than the level canal. This road could not be arched over the canal so instead the canal would have to cross over the road on an aqueduct. The Royal Canal Engineers constructed what became known as Fosters Aqueduct (left) named after the last speaker of the Irish house of Commons John Foster.Once the canal crossed the Constitution Hill a large harbour was dug to serve as a terminus.

    In 1802 the Broadstone section of the canal opened starting with a limited service to Newcastle near Enfield, 30 km south west of Dublin. By 1817 the Royal Canal, which was constructed from east to west, reached the Shannon River and Broadstone was then the major harbour for connections between the city and the midlands.

    Very quickly it faced competition of sorts as the 1820’s saw the development of Ireland’s first regular transport service by road – Bianconi Stage Coaches. These threatened the market for the canal boat passengers. The Royal canal company countered this through the development of what were known as fly boat services – a daily barge that trevelled from Dublin as far west as Mullingar.

    While canal was massively costly and labour intensive to construct it quickly became outdated as a form of public transport. In 1845 a new railway company The Midland and Great Western Railway Company purchased the entire royal canal and its harbours. They had little interest in the canal itself – they wanted to use the harbours and flat land beside the canal to construct a railway to the west of Ireland. The Midland and Great Western Railway Company identified the harbour site at Broadstone as a major station site.

    What remains of the railway track

    In 1848 they had carved a new train line (left) from the harbour running north along the western edge of Phibsboro running under the North Circular road. Once this line opened in 1848 carrying a train service from Broadstone to Mullingar and the canal could not compete for passenger traffic. With a maximum speed of only ten miles an hour the demand for canal passenger boats collapsed over night.

    Statistics from the other major canal in Ireland – the Grand Canal show just how much the railway affected passenger traffic on the canal in this period. Between 1845 and 1851 traffic, first class fell by 90% from 32,008 to 3,194 while second class fell from 79,217 to 18,328. (Hart , H.W. (1968) The Passage Boats of the Grand Canal Dublin Historical Record, Vol. 22, No. 1 pp. 176-186 Old Dublin Society.)

    The demise of the canal traffic did not harm Broadstone – it was becoming the major rail station in Dublin servicing the west and in 1850 a major train station was opened at Broadstone. Architects designing the railway station in these early days of rail were not constrained by a design regarded as a typical railway station and at Broadstone The Midlands and Great Western Company built a Neo- Egpytian station over looking Constitution Hill.

    Holidays

    By the 1860’s railways completely dominated public transport. As Dublin’s middle class grew

    An advert for a train trip to a hunt meeting in Meath

    the demand for leisure trips grew amongst this section of the population who had more leisure time and expendable income, the train company tapped this market by offering trips to various events such as races or fairs in the west of the Ireland. This was a completely new phenomenon as previously it was impossible to go to an event like the Ballinasloe horse fair and return in the same day.

    The Canal is filled in

    By 1870’s it was clear the canal was just an obstacle to the Rail station at Broadstone. Canal traffic at Broadstone had continued to decline particularly after the opening of a new dock where The Royal Canal met the Liffey – Spencer dock. The harbour was more of a hindrance to the train station. Its awkward location meant that the station could only be accessed by a pontoon bridge which could be removed when necessary but given the ever increasing traffic on the railway this was intolerable.

    Picture of unknown date showing the harbour now filled in. The acquduct is a road visible of the right. There is still a small section of the canal visible in foreground

    The company drew up plans to completely change the layout of the entire area around Broadstone and it was began to take the shape we know today. In 1878 they partially filled in the canal dock at the railway station. They also constructed a then private road – Western Way (this only became a public road in 1930’s). This new road Western Way accessed the train station across the Aqueduct, which after the canal harbour was filled in, was converted into a road bridge. With the closure of the docks at Broadstone the entire Broadstone section of the canal fell out of use as it served no purpose.

    The train station however went from strength to strength. The site was expanded with large workshops opening in 1878. All the Midland and Great Western Railway Company trains were built at Broadstone from this date. The station was not just known as a major public station in Dublin, it was also a workplace for many living in the area. The census returns for 1901 and 1911 showed a significant section of people in the Phibsboro area were employed at the station or in the workshops.

    Decline

    The early 20th century witnessed massive change political, economic and technologically change and this spelled the beginning of the end of Broadstone as a major public station. In 1911 railways saw the arrival of its major rival – road transport, that year The Midland and Great Western Railway Company opened its first bus service. While increasing road transport saw rail passenger numbers decline the declaration of independence spelled the end for Broadstone.

    In 1924 the newly formed free state of Ireland consolidated several existing railway company’s including The Midland and Great Western Railway Company into a conglomerate The Great Southern Railway company. As part of the Great Southern restructuring several train stations were to be closed. Broadstone was not part of the long-term plans with preference been given to Connolly station on Amien street. The station was handed over to the bus section of the Great Southern in 1934 and the rail traffic was gradually wound down with the last train pulling into Broadstone at midnight on the 16th January 1937 .

    With the closure of the station Broadstone was no longer frequented by the public and began to fade on the city map. As transport needs moved from rail to road the last reminders of the areas days as a canal harbour were removed. First Blacquiere bridge in Phibsboro was taken down in the 1930’s and then in 1951 the aqueduct which was a bottle neck for traffic was demolished.

    The canal itself was filled in the 1930’s and transformed into a public park containing Phibsboro library and a playground. Its history was preserved in its name – Royal Canal Park. Ironically Broadstone demise was down to the same reason it had been developed in the 1790’s – because of the demands of new forms of transport.

    ( Source Findwyer feb 2011)

  • #2
    St Audoen’s Church is one of the most overlooked gems on the Dublin tourist route. It is Dublin’s oldest medieval church, still in use, and given that it has such a colourful history, with links to ‘lucky’ stones, ghosts, the Hellfire Club and the tale of a boar’s head replacing the steeple, one would think it would be far more frequented than it currently is.

    St Audoen’s was erected in 1190 by the Anglo-Normans who had arrived in Dublin twenty years earlier, it was named after a 7th century French saint named St.Ouen (or Audoen). The ‘Lucky Stone’ which is now housed in the porch of the Church is a 9th century grave-slab which indicates that the Church was erected on the site of an earlier 7th century structure which is believed to have been dedicated to St Columcille.

    Being located on the north side of High Street (one of Dublin’s earliest streets) it is undeniable that St Audoen’s would have played an important role in the daily life of medieval Dublin. On one side of the church steps lead down to the only remaining gatehouse of the original Dublin City Wall. The church became quite wealthy during the 14th century and was extended over the next 100 years. As with many medieval churches throughout Europe the rich were willing to pay for the privilege of a safe passage through the afterlife and many charities endowed the Church with altars.

    In 1430 the Guild of St Anne was established on the site alongside guilds of smiths, butchers, bakers, bricklayers and feltmakers, each of whom erected altars at the site. One of the leading politicians of the time Sir Roland FitzEustance (Lord Portlester) founded the private ‘Chapel of the Blessed Virgin Mary’ beside St. Audoens as a show of gratitude for surviving a shipwreck near the site. Lord Portlester was Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, then Lord Chancellor before finally being made Lord High Treasurer of Ireland. In 1482 Lord Portlester erected a cenotaph commemorating both himself and his wife Margaret, depicting their effigies etched in stone, this is now housed in the tower but would have stood as the focal point of the chapel.The tower itself was badly damaged on the 11th of March 1597 when a massive gunpowder explosion happened on the nearby quays.

    It seems much of the Churches money was swallowed up by St Anne’s Guild and the structure fell into a sorry state during the 17th century. The number of Protestants in the area had declined and they were unable or unwilling to fund its restoration. In 1671 the Church of Ireland Primate, Michael Boyle, ordered the church to be closed, however it remained in use intermittently over the next 100 years.

    In 1755 Reverend Cobbe who was then rector of St Audoens removed the cross from the church steeple and had it replaced with a boar’s head wearing a crown! This led to the following verse, believed to have been written by Jonathan Swift,
    ‘Christ’s Cross from Christ’s church cursed Cobbe hath plucked down,
    And placed in its stead what he worships – the Crown.
    Avenging the cause of the Gadarene People,
    The miscreant hath placed a swine’s head on the steeple;
    By this intimating to all who pass by,
    That his hearers are swine, and his church but a stye.’

    By 1773 the congregation numbered few, many of the local Protestant families had moved out to the suburbs of Dublin, and the decision was made to remove the roof from the eastern end of the church. In the early 19th century the roof of St Anne’s Chapel was also removed, however this was restored and re-roofed by the OPW and now houses an exhibition on St Audoens. The old church was reduced in size during the middle of the 19th century when the current eastern wall and window was built, the parishioners then accessed the church through the tower. The tower at St Audoen’s is home to six bells, three of which date from the 15 century. The tower was heavily restored in the 17th and 19th century.

    As mentioned earlier ‘The Lucky Stone’ was a 9th century grave-slab from an earlier church, during medieval times it was believed the stone had magical properties, people queued to touch or kiss the stone in the hope of gaining a cure from illness or good fortune. The Lucky Stone was moved from the church during the early part of the 14th century by John Le Decer, Lord Mayor of Dublin. He erected a drinking fountain at the Cornmarket nearby and had the stone placed beside it. The stone disappeared on many occasions over the years, turning up in Glasnevin Cemetery and Whitefriar Street Church. One of the strangest stories connected to it happened in 1826, the stone had gone missing but was found on a building site in Kilmainham, it was spotted by a watchman who reported that he had seen the stone glow and assume human form after nightfall. Workmen on the site also alleged that the stone cried, moaned and rocked from side to side when they tried to break it with a sledgehammer! It was eventually re-interred in its current position in 1888 and fixed into place to prevent any more disappearances.

    Another story that has been linked to the church is the apparition of a ghost named ‘The Green Lady’. Many believe that this is the ghost of Darkey Kelly who lived in the area during the 18th century. Depending on which story is to be believed she was either an innkeeper, a prostitute, or a madam who ran her own brothel. The area was frequented by many members of the notorious Hellfire Club (a group of wealthy men interested in debauchery and the occult) and perhaps this is how she came in contact with Simon Luttrell, the Sheriff of Dublin and a member of the Hellfire Club. The story goes that she fell pregnant to the Sheriff and he accused her of either witchcraft or of killing her unborn child, she was sentenced to death and publicly burned at St Stephen’s Green in 1746. A green ghost has been reportedly seen at the bottom of the forty steps that lead to the church. Another tale says that Darkey had a relationship with a local bishop and after becoming pregnant either committed suicide or was murdered.

    Other beautiful items erected in the church are the Seagrave, Sparke and Duff family monuments erected in the 16th and 17th century. A 12th century Romanesque baptismal font sits beside the main isle of the in use Church of Ireland. Standing against the wall in the tower is one of the finest examples of early Graveslab ever seen, which is also believed to predate 1190.https://visionsofthepastblog.com/201...rch-co-dublin/
    Last edited by bojangles; 24-07-2016, 10:52 AM.

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    • #3
      James Street Basin

      Dublin was the first modern city to produce a public water supply, in the 13th century. The River Poddle provided a source of water for the early settlers of the city. About 1670 the reservoir known as the city basin was established. Because of the construction of earth and stone works to facilitate the water supply, the surrounding area became affectionately known as the “Back of the Pipes”. Between 1682 and 1721 the population of Dublin City almost doubled, from 60,000 to 120,000 people.

      To meet the increasing demands, in 1721, a new City Basin was built off James’s Street, capable of supplying 25 million gallons of water, a three month supply, and of supplying water to 90 streets. The corporation raised and reconstructed the level of the Basin, in the final development of the Poddle water supply to the city. By 1735, the Poddle could no longer meet the water needs of the City. As the Grand Canal passed just south of the City Basin, it was decided that water from this source would be passed to the Basin by means of sluice gates.
      basin 3

      We have a very interesting account from a tourist named Richard Twiss, touring Ireland in 1775 of the Basin. “The city basin is a reservoir, capable of holding water to supply the city for some weeks, when the springs from whence it is filled are dry; both the springs and the reservoir were dry whilst I was in Dublin. In 1765 a canal was begun to be cut from this place, and intended to be continued to Athlone, which is about 70 English miles off, in order to open a communication with the Shannon; at the rate work is at present carried on it bids fair for being completed in three or four centuries.”


      In the 18th century the Basin was a fashionable resort for the citizens, the rich and famous went to take the air there. The approach to the Basin was an ornamental arch at the end of Basin Lane. Coaches and sedans set down ladies and their escorts in the finery of the time. They passed under the arch and saw before them a long stretch of water, with pleasant walks and garden seats and music being played by a band. Concerts and fireworks displays were part of the scene.

      basin 4
      We have a description from the History of the City of Dublin Volume 2.
      The description of the harbour as occupying nearly five and one quarter English acres and commanding uninterrupted views of richly ornamental country.


      ” Its distinction as a reservoir to supply an extensive city with water rendered it necessary to give its surface as great an elevation as was consistent with moderate expense; for this purpose it is supported by a firm embankment of earth several feet higher than the adjacent fields, on the summit of which is a walk, bounded on both sides by quick-set hedges, judiciously kept low not to interrupt the view, while the outer fence is planted with elms, still in a good state of preservation, with their branches expanded so as to entwine with each other and form graceful arches; and these, from the moisture of the soil, are clothed in spring and summer with luxuriant verdure, they add much to the beauty of this charming scene. The form of the basin is a parallelogram, 1210 feet in length and 225 to 250 feet in breadth. The entrance is by a neat iron gate from Basin Lane and Pig Town, the latter appropriately so called, from being perpetually infested with those animals, and forming by its filth a strong contrast to the salubrious air and cheerful tranquillity of the scene within.”

      Eventually, the supply of water from the canal was inadequate and unsafe and this supply to the City Basin ceased in 1869, paving the way for a new water supply from the Vartry River.
      The proximity to the Grand Canal and the Liffey was essential to the growth of the Guinness brewing industry. The use by the brewery of the canal resulted in the survival of the Grand Canal Harbour as a transport hub, into the 20th century. Canal boats bearing barrels of Guinness started their journey through the length of Ireland, from Grand Canal Harbour (incidentally the reason behind the present name of the “Harbour Bar”). However on the 27th of May 1960, a barge loaded a large cargo of Guinness to go to Limerick. Around teatime the barge left James’s Harbour and this would never happen again. It was the last trade boat to leave Dublin.

      ( Fountain resource group )

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      • #4
        The Liberties

        Dublin grew from two small settlements at the confluence of the Rivers Liffey and Poddle: Áth Cliath (The Ford of Hurdles) and Dubh Linn (The Black Pool). In medieval times, the city was walled for protection and administered by a Corporation, which controlled trade and commerce within the city, administered justice, and levied tariffs and taxes to run and protect the city. You can still see remnants of the old City Wall of Dublin today at Cornmarket and in St Audoen’s Park, and Cornmarket was once the location of the New Gate, the main westerly approach to the city.


        The core city was a settlement centred on Wood Quay established by the Viking Norse in the 800s. It was then known as Dyflin from the Irish Duiblinn, the ‘Black Pool’ at the mouth of the Poddle River where it met the Liffey River. The area now known as The Liberties developed to the west of this settlement along the main western approach to Dyflin, known as the Sligh Mor.

        In the 12th century, King Henry II of England ordered an Abbey of St Thomas the Martyr to be established at a site close to the modern church of St Catherine. The Augustinian monks of the Abbey were given extensive lands to the west of the city, as well as in Dublin and Meath, and certain privileges and powers to control trade within their ‘liberty’ and as a result the Liberty of St Thomas Court & Donore became extremely wealthy. The abbey in turn gave its name to St Thomas Street, the main street of the area, which itself ran along the alignment of the ancient western route into the city of Dublin. It quickly became a bustling market place and trading street lined with mills, hostelries and providers serving the growing city.

        With the dissolution of monasteries by King Henry VIII in the 16th century, the ecclesiastical lands passed into the ownership of William Brabazon, an ambitious courtier of the king. The Brabazons, who later became Earls of Meath, dominated the area as landowners for the next 300 years and different generations of the family were responsible for many of the urban developments we recognise today. The great market space at Newmarket was laid out in the 1620s by the second Earl of Meath and his townhouse was located closeby. A later earl supported some of the pioneering Victorian-era housing developments for the working class. Street names such as Meath Street, Brabazon Street and Ardee Street evoke the family connection.


        The mercantile character of the area attracted generations of tradesmen and crafts. This is the original industrial suburb of Dublin, with an extensive tradition of brewing, distilling, tanning, weaving and trade in agricultural produce.

        In the 16th and 17th centuries the area had a notable Huguenot population and became a centre of excellence in silverwork, wool production and silk weaving. European tradesmen brought their own distinctive architectural styles to the city, such as gable-fronted houses or’Dutch Billys’ as they were known, and these houses became a feature of areas such as Pimlico, Spittalfields and The Tenters. The area’s growing craft industries drew resistance from English merchants and a series of laws and trade restrictions imposed on Irish produce after the Act of Union in 1801 gradually destroyed a number of key industries. The area began to decline.

        During 19th century, The Liberties was dominated by great brewing and distilling families, most notably the Guinness family, who from 1759 built and developed the world’s largest brewery at St James Gate. Renowned distillers Powers, Jameson, Millar and Roe were all located here, creating a Victorian cityscape of chimneystacks, mills and bustling streets. The area even had its own harbour linking it to the Grand Canal, and a mini-railway through the St James Gate brewery.

        However this industrial wealth and prowess often went hand in hand with dire poverty and living conditions. The 19th century area had notorious slums which in turn spurred a number of enlightening housing developments by the Earls of Meath and the Guinness and Power families in the latter years of the century. The charming enclaves about Gray Street and John Dillon Street are examples of modern new homes built for workers by the Dublin Artisan Dwelling Company, while the Iveagh Trust Buildings on Patrick Street remain beautiful examples of the first ‘flats’ built for Dubliners.

        The ancient ‘liberties’ were finally abolished and subsumed into the city in the 1840s, however the name ‘The Liberties’ remained and became primarily to mean the Earl of Meath’s Liberty.


        Guinness makes up a vital part of Liberties history
        The Guinness Brewery at St. James’s Gate was the largest brewery in the world, covering sixty acres on the south bank of the Liffey. Consignments for export were placed in barges owned by Guinness at the company’s own wharf at Victoria Quay, beside Kingsbridge Railway Station. The barges (ten in total) could carry up to sixty-eight tons each.

        While the fortunes of the area declined in the 20th century, Thomas Street and Meath Street remained the quintessential heart of Auld Dublin, renowned in song and story. The area has produced its fair share of storytellers, master musicians, street characters and thespians.


        Liberties were a feature of many medieval walled cities under Norman English control, and there were liberties in Cork and London. In Dublin, a number of liberties were granted, each with different rulers. So the Liberty of St Thomas Court & Donore was attached to the Abbey of St Thomas the Martyr (and later the Earls of Meath), while the Liberty of St Sepulchure was attached to St Sepulchure’s Palace, once the home of Dublin’s Archbishops and now Kevin Street Garda Station.

        The Camino de Santiago has a long history in The Liberties
        Buen Camino!

        For many pilgrims James Street and Thomas Street forms part of a well-worn route that leads all the way to the north of Spain! The famous Camino de Santiago (St James) de Compostella has been attracting pilgrims for hundreds of years. The Church of St James on James’s Street retains its connections to Compostella to this day, and even offers modern pilgrims a stamp for their Camino passport as they take the pilgrim way.


        John’s Lane Church, or Ss Augustine & John’s Church as it is properly called, is one of the most identifiable landmarks of The Liberties, helped by its soaring steeple. In fact, the steeple is the tallest on Dublin and one of the city’s most ornate. The sculptures that adorn the steeple were the work of William Pearse, father to Padraig Pearse, one of the seven leaders of the 1916 Easter Rising. The church itself was designed by E W Pugin, among the greatest Victorian church builders.





        The Oldest House in Dublin
        The oldest house in Dublin has been discovered in The Liberties. In an exciting discovery at 130 Thomas Street, conservation works uncovered an ancient staircase from 1639, and wooden beams which were carbon-tested dated right back to 15th century. Interestingly the building does not appear special from the outside – its facade typical of the 19th century. The building, which forms an important footnote in the history of The Liberties, can be seen opposite St Catherine’s Church.

        Placenames

        As you wander The Liberties, keep your eyes out for some of the more curious placenames. Walk along Oliver Bond Street and you’d almost miss Mullinahack and Wormwood Gate. Strolling to The Guinness Storehouse you stop on Sugar House Lane and Bellevue. While down off Meath Street lies Engine Alley and Cross Stick Alley. Many of the area’s placenames refer to the former trades that took place here over the centuries.

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        • #5
          Billy in the bowl

          DUBLIN in the eighteenth century was noted for two things - the architectural beauty of its public buildings and the large number of beggars who begged for money in its streets and lanes. The name Stoneybatter derives from the Gaelic Bothar-na-gCloch and in the mid eighteenth century that’s all it was; a stoney country road outside the city of Dublin but still the main thoroughfare by which people came into the city from the northwest. Around this time travellers on the rocky road might have come across a very unusual character.

          This was "Billy In The Bowl"

          Billy Davis had been born without any legs, but he didn’t let this, or anything else, slow him down. The strange nickname was derived from the fact that Billy's sole means of transport was a large bowl-shaped car with wheels fashioned for him by a local blacksmith. With his upper body lodged in this he would propel himself along by his arms. was also said to have been an unusually handsome man with dark curly hair and, possibly by dint of exercise, particularly powerful arms. Arms he would use to his advantage in more ways than one.


          Billy's unusual means of conveyance was vitally necessary, as he had been born without legs. Nature, however, had compensated for this by endowing him with powerful arms and shoulders and, what was most important, an unusually handsome face. This was Billy's greatest asset in his daily routine of separating sympathetic passers-by from their small change.

          The cunning young beggar would wait at a convenient spot on one of the many lonely streets or lanes which were a feature of eighteenth century Grangegorman and Stoneybatter, until a servant girl or an old lady would come along. He would then put on his most attractive smile which, together with his black curly hair, never failed to halt the females. The fact that such a handsome young man was so terribly handicapped always evoked pity.

          Billy in the bowl, however, wasn't satisfied with becoming the daily owner of a generous number of small coins; what his greed demanded were substantial sums of money. The more he managed to get the more he could indulge in his pet vices - gambling and drinking.

          As a result the beggar evolved a plan to rob unsuspecting sympathisers. The first time he put his plan into operation was on a cold March evening as dusk, was falling. The victim was a middle aged woman who was passing through Grangegorman Lane on her way to visit friends in Queen Street - on Dublin's North Quays.

          When Billy heard the woman's footsteps, he hid behind some bushes in a ditch which skirted the lane. As his unsuspecting victim drew close, the beggar moaned and shouted, and cried out for help. Trembling with excitement, the woman dashed to the spot where Billy lay concealed. She bent down to help the beggar out of the ditch, when two powerful arms closed around her throat and pulled her into the bushes.

          In a few minutes it was all over. The woman lay in a dead faint, and Billy was travelling at a fast rate down the lane in his “bowl ", his victim's purse snug in his coat pocket. An hour after the robbery the woman was found in a distressed condition, but failed to give a description of her assailant. Again and again the beggar carried out his robbery plan, always shifting the place of attack to a different part of Grangegorman or Stoneybatter. By this time I suspect he must have killed his victims. However, as Billy in the bowl had predicted, nobody suspected a deformed beggar.

          On one occasion Billy in the bowl tried his tactics on a sturdy servant girl who put up such a vigorous resistance that he was forced to strangle her. This must have been a particularly awful crime for the incident became known as the 11 Grangegorman Lane Murder and caused a great stir. Hundred’s flocked to the scene of the crime and for a couple of months Billy in the bowl was forced to desert his usual haunts. Around this period (1786) Dublin's first-ever police force was being mobilised, and the first case they were confronted with was the Grangegorman lane murder.

          Months passed and Billy in the bowl reverted once again to his old pastime. A number of young servant girls were lured into ditches and robbed, and the police were inundated with so many complaints that a nightly patrol was placed on the district. However, the beggar still rolled along in his bowl pitied and unsuspected. Then came the night that finished Billy's career of crime.

          Two sturdy built female cooks, trudging back to their places of employment after a night out in the city, were surprised and not a little shocked to hear shouts for help. Rushing over, they came upon a huddled figure in the ditch. Billy, thinking there was only one woman, grabbed one of the cooks and tried to pull her into the ditch. She proved much too strong for him however and while resisting tore at his face with her sharp finger-nails. Meanwhile, her companion acted with speed and daring. Pulling out her large hatpin she made for the beggar and plunged the pin into his right eye.

          The screams and howls of the wounded beggar reverberated throughout the district and brought people dashing to the scene. Among them was a member of the nightly police patrol who promptly arrested the groaning Billy. Most of the valuables were picked up on the ground where the attack had taken place, and some of the party procured a strong hand-barrow, on which Billy was conveyed in triumph to prison.

          Although it was suspected it could not be proved that he murdered his victims but he was convicted of robbery with violence and confined in the jail in Green Street. Even though he was severely disabled he was employed in hard labour for the remainder of his days. His notoriety caused him to be viewed as an object of curiosity and because of this certain members of high society visited the prison in order to titillate their senses.

          Although it was never proven that it was he who had committed the murders in the Grangegorman-Stoneybatter district the area once more settled back into some sort of normality. A quiet suburb where old ladies and young girls could walk the streets safely as they went about their business.

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          • #6
            Huguenots and Palatines in Ireland

            Huguenot Family Names in Ireland

            In the 17th and 18th centuries French Calvinist Protestants were persecuted and alienated by a Catholic monarchy, causing as many as 500,000 of them to flee the country.
            French Church, Portarlington

            The French Church, Portarlington

            A small number of them, almost all from around the French city of La Rochelle, ended up in Ireland, settling in small communities in Portarlington, Youghal, Waterford, Cork, Lisburn, Dublin and perhaps most famously in Portarlington in Co Laois.

            By 1700 there were more than 500 French people living in Portarlington on land which had been granted to the Marquis de Ruvigny by King William.

            Several places in Ireland bear the trace of the Huguenot presence still in street names, such as D’Olier St in Dublin, and buildings, such as the French Church (left) in Portarlington. The cemetery adjoining the church has many headstone bearing French names and the Hugenot names Blanc, Champ and Cobbe are still quite common in the area.

            Many of those who fled France returned when things became safer, but others stayed and they are the original bearers of other Hugenot names still found today in Ireland such as Guerin, Millet, Trench and Deverell. These names are mostly still found in the areas in which their ancestors settled hundreds of years ago.
            The Influence of the Huguenots on Ireland

            While the Huguenots were not great in number, they were very important in the history of Ireland, and in particular in the development of the textile industry here. It was they who brought knowledge of linen manufacture and established the production of linen, silk and poplin here for the first time. The world renowned Irish Linen owes its existance to these long ago immigrants from France.

            Others were involved in wine and brandy imports, presumably using their contacts in France to set up trading links. Milling was also associated with the Hugenot communities. They were very successful business people, with their Calvinist work ethic and relatively high levels of education equipping them well to prosper at a time when Dublin was growing rapidly and becoming a wealthy city.

            Perhaps the most famous Irish Hugenot was Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, a writer of Gothic mysteries which were bestsellers in Victorian times.

            His most remembered books are “Uncle Silas” and “Through a Glass Darkly”, which still attract some readers to-day though in general time has not been kind to his reputation.
            Palatine Family Names in Ireland

            Around the same time the French also invaded the Palatinate area of Germany, and drove its Lutheran population out.

            In the early 1700’s about 3,000 of them ended up in Ireland, essentially as refugees under the protection of English landlords, and each of them was allocated eight acres of land at a nominal rent of five shillings per acre and leases of “three lives”. They were also given a not inconsiderable grant of 40 shillings a year for their first seven years in residence.

            At the time Irish tenants were paying rents of thirty five shillings per acre and had little or no right of tenure, so the newcomers were not sympathetically received by all of the local population. In fact many of them left within a couple of years, hounded out by hostile neighbours, and returned to Germany.

            Palatine, Co CarlowMost of the Palatine families settled in Co Limerick, notably around Rathkeale and Adare, with smaller numbers in Kerry and Clare and other counties.

            A small village in Co Carlow is still to-day called Palatine, often a source of bemusement to those who come across it. It was previously known as Palatinetown and it is thought that the pretty cottages at the edge of the village date to the time of the Palatines. There are no Palatine surnames now found in the area.

            It is estimated that to-day only around 500 or so people living in Ireland can claim a Palatine origin, but some names which survive from this time include Fizelle, Fyffe (of banana fame), Ruttle, Glazier, Shouldice and Switzer. Benner is one that many visitors to Ireland will have seen – Benner’s is a long established and popular Dingle hotel.

            Unlike the Hugenots, the Palatine settlers were farming people, they mostly stayed on the land and for the most part their descendents living in Ireland to-day are still farmers.

            The Irish Palatine Association are very active in researching and preserving the history of Ireland’s Palatine families.
            huguenot-2-1024x724.jpg
            Hugeunot Cemetery in Dublin

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            • #7
              Great stuff bo.........
              Here Rex!!!...Here Rex!!!.....Wuff!!!....... Wuff!!!

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              • #8
                Originally posted by quinner View Post
                Great stuff bo.........
                Thank you Joe .

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                • #9
                  Excellent Bo...thanks..

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                  • #10
                    Very interesting reading and throws light on some of the names that I often wondered about when I was growing up.
                    I google because I'm not young enough to know everything.
                    Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

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                    • #11
                      History of Jews in Dublin

                      In the 1870s, a small number of German Jews pitched up in Dublin. By 1881, the community numbered about 450.

                      The first age of globalisation washed a small Jewish community up on Ireland’s shores

                      They were followed from the 1890s by another, larger wave of Jews from what were then the Baltic provinces of the Tsar’s Empire – modern Latvia and Lithuania. By 1901 the Jewish population of Ireland was about 4,800, of whom most lived in Dublin.

                      The largest Jewish community in the world from the middle ages until the 1940s was in the lands controlled by the Russian Empire, where they were subject of various kinds of discrimination. In 1882, for instance the Tsar passed laws forbidding Jews from living outside towns, buying land or entering the professions.

                      As soon as it became practicable, many Jews in the Tsar’s Empire packed up and headed west. Most went to places such as France, England, and most of all North America, but also, in small numbers, to Ireland. The Levitas family, for example made their way to Dublin from Lithuania and Latvia fleeing the anti-Semitic pogroms of Tsarist Russia in 1912



                      By 1911 some 90% of Dublin’s 4,000 Jews had been born in the Russian Empire

                      The South Circular Road area, located just south of the old city centre, was at the time , a relatively new area and much of the housing there was cheap and affordable. It may also have helped that the neighbourhood was already religiously mixed. A survey of the neighbourhood in the 1911 census shows that of 1,185 households, 329 were Jewish, 558 Catholic, 219 Church of Ireland and the remaining 79 belonged to other Christian denominations.

                      By the time of the 1911 census, 80-90% of Dublin Jews had been born in the Russian Empire. Relations between the generation of Jewish arrivals in Dublin was not always smooth. The more cosmopolitan German Jews were a little disdainful of the Yiddish-speaking religiously orthodox new arrivals. Melanie Brown, the curator at Dublin’s Jewish Museum, tucked away in Walworth Street, will tell you with a smile, when asked why a community of some 3,000 needed six places of worship, ‘because the Jews are a quarrelsome people’.

                      The richer Jews worshipped at a stately, bright building on Adelaide Road, while their more proletarian co-religionists built for themselves the grey, concrete structure that now faces the Dublin Mosque at the other end of the Road, the foundations for which were laid in 1916. In between were many small synagogues, some simply a single room in a terraced house to cater for various shades of religious observance.

                      As is typical of migrant minorities, Dublin’s Jews rapidly set themselves up in niche economic activities. A plaque on Camden Street commemorates a Jewish tailors’ and weavers union. The socialist James Connolly in 1902 campaigning for his new (and very unsuccessful) Irish Socialist Republican Party, was aware enough of the presence of a Jewish working class to have leaflets printed in Yiddish for their consumption.

                      Other Jewish Dubliners set themselves up in various small businesses, jewelers, pawn-brokers, bakers, butchers and money lenders. The Bretzel Bakery for instance which still stands on Lennox street was founded in 1870, baking fresh kosher bread. From then until the 1960s it remained in Jewish ownership, passing from the Grinspon family to the Elliman family in 1910.

                      What the arrivals from eastern Europe must have made of this damp, grey foreign city we can only guess but a poem written by one Myler Joel Wigoder of Lithuania, gives us some idea of the dislocation they must have experienced. In 1931, on his 75th birthday he wrote, “When first inDublin I arrived I shed hot bitter tears, penniless in a foreign land, I faced the coming years”.

                      In the turmoil of nationalist revolution from 1916 -1923, some Dublin Jews adopted the republican cause as their own but the violence also produced a small number of anti-Semitic incidents

                      By the turn of the 20th century, the Jewish community was well enough established for it to be used as a backdrop for James Joyce’s famous novel Ulysses – which follows the fortunes of a Dublin Jew – Leopold Bloom – around Edwardian Dublin. Joyce used Bloom as a foil for the nationalist bigot, ‘the citizen’ who angrily asserts that a Jew could never be a real Irishman.

                      Political anti-Semitism was never important in Ireland but it did, unfortunately, exist on the fringes of Irish nationalism. Around the turn of the century, Arthur Griffith’s Sinn Fein newspaper carried some anti-Semitic material and in the 1940s the Fine Gael TD Oliver Flanagan notoriously remarked that it was time to, ‘rout the Jews out of the country’. (See here for example)

                      Despite this, in the turmoil of nationalist revolution from 1916-23, Dublin’s Jewish population produced several prominent republican activists. The roll of honour of the Irish Citizen Army, complied after the Easter Rising, records, “A Jewish comrade, A. Weeks” among those who died in its ranks during the rebellion. Another Dublin-born Jew Robert Briscoe, joined the IRA and was heavily involved in smuggling arms for the guerrilla group into Ireland. He went on to be prominent member of Fianna Fail, the party that emerged in 1926 as the new Irish state’s party of government and later served as Lord Mayor of Dublin.

                      At the same time, the conflict over Irish independence brought weapons into daily Irish life in a way that occasionally threatened Dublin’s small Jewish community. In 1923, just after the civil war, several officers of the National Army, based in Wellington barracks – who had been part of assassination units first in the IRA and then in the Free State’s army, murdered two Jews and attempted to kill several more, apparently in a row over an alleged assault on a woman by a Jewish dentist.

                      Similarly in 1926, the IRA, flailing about for a new purpose in the wake of its defeat in the civil war, launched a campaign of intimidation in Dublin against money lenders – most of whom were Jewish. The campaign was short lived and the organization denied that it was anti-Semitic but there seems little doubt that it was in part fueled by resentment of the ‘Jew-man’ as moneylenders were unkindly called in working class Dublin.

                      There was, once the echoes of armed conflict had cleared away and guns removed from political disputes, no more organized anti-Semitism in Dublin. Regrettably, though like other western governments, the Irish one declined to admit more than a handful of Jewish refugees fleeing the Nazi regime in the 1930s and 40s, on the rather unconvincing logic that large scale Jewish immigration would give rise to anti-Semitism.

                      During the Second World War the Germans, probably mistakenly, bombed Dublin several times from the air. On one occasion, shrapnel from one of their bombs pockmarked the front of the synagogue on the South Circular Road. The damage is still there. No doubt it was simply a coincidence, but it is an eerie reminder of what happened to Jewish populations at German hands elsewhere inEurope.

                      The Jewish population of ‘Little Jerusalem’ peaked at just over 5,000 after the Second World War, but its numbers declined quite quickly thereafter. For one thing, the community had changed class. A new synagogue in middle class Terenure, far from the city centre and its slums, was opened in 1953. Later generations of Dublin Jews left their artisan roots largely behind them and joined the professions.

                      Some left Ireland for larger centres of Jewish population –London, the United States, Israel. A Dubliner, Chaim Herzog, once served as president of Israel– as a 7 year old I recall watching his motorcade, flanked by leatherclad motorbike police, whiz down my street on a state visit to the country of his birth.



                      After the 1950s, ‘Little Jerusalem’ slowly disappeared as Jews moved to suburbs and abroad.

                      The current Jewish population of the city is about 1,000.
                      jew cohen.jpg

                      A Jewish business in Capel Street early 20th Century
                      Last edited by bojangles; 29-07-2016, 09:52 AM.

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                      • #12
                        The story of James Annesley

                        ( from The Guardian }
                        The extraordinary story of James Annesley has inspired at least five novels,
                        So who was James – or Jemmy – Annesley? He was born at Dunmain, County Wexford, in the spring of 1715, into Ireland's privileged, powerful and often dissolute Protestant aristocracy. Even in such company, the Annesleys were a particularly unprincipled lot, says Ekirch: "I seriously doubt whether any family could rival them in venality or violence."

                        But they were wealthy. Jemmy, son of Arthur, Baron Altham, and Mary, illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Buckingham, was putative heir to a family fortune that included two English peerages – one of them the prized earldom of Anglesea – and lands whose rental income alone would be worth, by the time he came to claim them, £50,000 a year: maybe £5m today.

                        His adventures began young. The boy was barely two when Altham threw Jemmy's mother out of *Dunmain on a pretext. Father and son embarked on a nomadic and *increasingly impecunious existence; at six, Jemmy was riding a small sorrel mare and sporting a scarlet silk coat with silver buttons, but the following year Altham, short of cash as long as his elder cousin, the current Earl of Anglesea, was alive, took up with a wealthy heiress "as much", says Ekirch, "out of self-*preservation as of passion".

                        Resented by his father's new mistress, Jemmy was beaten and eventually banished from the home. He became "a street urchin" in Dublin, says Ekirch. "For four years he worked as a shoeblack and ran errands for *Trinity College students." Often he slept rough, before landing up, in the *summer of 1727, at the home of a kindly butcher named John Purcell.

                        Enter – with suitably *menacing drum roll – Altham's younger brother and Jemmy's uncle, Richard. He saw only two obstacles between himself and the Earl of Anglesea's lands and title: Altham and Jemmy. "In 30 years of writing history," says Ekirch, "Uncle Dick is the most sinister person I've ever encountered. His chaplain said of him later that no man was more penitent at the time of his death. Frankly, few men had more to be penitent about."
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                        Indeed, Ekirch is now more or less sure that Richard, a serial bigamist, did Altham in. "I've become progressively convinced he poisoned his brother," the historian says. "He had the *motive. The symptoms Altham displayed strongly suggest poisoning. And from later court documents we know that Richard visited the butcher Purcell just three weeks before Altham's death – plainly to find out whether Jemmy was ever likely to claim his title. The butcher told him he hoped Jemmy would be reunited with his father: the last thing Richard wanted to hear."

                        Altham, in any event, died on 15 November 1727. Richard was at the funeral, as – in tattered breeches and a filthy coat – was a distraught Jemmy, still only 12. Soon after, strange men *began hanging around Purcell's yard. The butcher saw off one lot with his cudgel. But the following April, Jemmy was seized in Ormond Market, accused of "stealing a silver spoon", and led by Uncle Dick to George's Quay and a waiting longboat. He was rowed out to a ship (called, almost unbearably, the James), kidnapped and America-bound.

                        Wicked Uncle Dick had to wait 10 years before the redoubtable Earl of Anglesea finally expired. Nor did he enjoy the fruits of his plotting for long: after 12 miserable years as an indentured servant in the backwoods of Delaware, Jemmy regained his freedom in 1740. Now 25, he found passage on a merchant ship bound for London via Jamaica, and – war with Spain having broken out in the Caribbean – enlisted as an able seaman on arrival at Port Royal. There he also made his true identity known and, in one of this story's many stranger-than-fiction moments, was instantly recognised by several fellow sailors, including one who had been at school with him.

                        The news burst like a bomb in London and Dublin. Amid the back numbers of the London Daily Post, Ekirch found a breathless report dating from 12 February 1741, announcing that in Jamaica had been found a recently recruited seaman, "the only son of the late Lord Altham, who was heir to the title and estate of the Earl of Anglesea".
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                        In London by September of that year, James could now embark on the battle to reclaim his birthright. *Before it could even begin, however, he found himself accused of murder in a sensational trial at the Old Bailey that was manipulated from start to finish by his scheming uncle, who confided to a friend that if Annesley hanged he "should be easy in his titles and estates".

                        Safely acquitted by 1742, James had assembled enough witnesses in Ireland to bring a test case against his uncle. First he would need a pretext to prove his identity and stake his claim. A tenant for 1,800 acres of disputed land in County Meath was installed by James and, as expected, instantly evicted by Richard's agents. Dirty Dick was by now fighting mean: James faced two clear attempts on his life before the trial of the century came to court in November 1743.

                        Press and public interest on both sides of the Irish Sea was immense. At stake, after all, were five peerages, and the largest estate ever to be contested in a court of law. A string of witnesses swore Annesley was who he said he was, and that his story was true; his kidnappers made a full confession. But many more witnesses, often in Uncle Dick's pay, perjured themselves *shamelessly, declaring James the *bastard son of his wetnurse, the memorably named Juggy Landy.

                        "It was extraordinary," says Ekirch. "It shocked me, reading the documents. Seldom, if ever, can so many people have lied so brazenly and with such *apparent conviction in a court of law." Finally, at the end of what was at the time the longest trial ever heard in the British Isles, the jury found for the tenant, thus confirming Annesley's identity. Even that, though, wasn't the end. James, whose funds were limited, could now sue in Dublin and London to recover his full birthright – but Richard played every delaying tactic in the book.

                        The affair dragged on for 15 long years. In April 1759, James was reduced to petitioning for his case to be heard as a pauper. Before it could be, on 5 January 1760, he died, to be followed a year later by his nemesis Uncle Dick, and a year after that by Annesley's only son. The press, says Ekirch, went overboard: Annesley, a "most remarkable and unfortunate man" who had "engrossed the attentions of three kingdoms more than any private man ever did", had surely died "of a broken heart", "truly a victim of the avarice, inhumanity and injustice of others".
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                        The saga was finally concluded only in the 1770s, when, in a final flurry of lawsuits, Richard's bigamy (*"irregular and immoral way of life", it was called) was at last exposed. There was, the House of Lords' Committee of Privileges announced, no legitimate heir to his ill-gotten titles: the earldom of Anglesea was extinct. This was not the predictable, anti-climactic ending that Ekirch, when he set out on the story, says he most feared, but "a bittersweet one, full of poetic justice. It truly bears out that old French adage: Revenge is a dish best served cold".

                        There is no doubt, says Ekirch, that Stevenson's Kidnapped, published in 1886, was inspired by the Annesley story. "The setting is Scotland, and David Balfour never makes it to America," he says. "But it's the usurpation of an orphan's inheritance by a wicked uncle who conspires to send his nephew to the colonies as a servant. You couldn't get a much better dovetail than that. And we know for a fact that Stevenson read about the case." A number of other 19th-century novels, such as Charles Reade's The Wandering Heir, echo James's life even more closely.

                        No wonder. Here, says Ekirch, "was a real life drama that arguably no *novelist could imagine, and if they did, it would be so incredible that even as fiction no one could possibly take it seriously."

                        The historian's one regret is that so little of that story – apart from the testimony he gave at his murder trial – survives in Jemmy's own words. He left no diaries, few papers. The key details of James Annesley's life, nonetheless, are now known beyond reasonable doubt, and it remains "a quite extraordinary saga of betrayal and loss, but also of survival, resilience and redemption," Ekirch says. "This is not just a story about 18th-century England and Ireland, but about the iniquities and virtues of human nature."

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                        • #13
                          : ( Thanks to Ann Robinson 26th April 2016)

                          On calm sunny afternoons at Seapoint it’s hard to imagine the bay as anything other than a steady and benign body of water, welcoming bathers, waders and paddlers alike. This sense of peace is only enhanced by the crystal clear sea and vistas from Howth to Dalkey, Mediterranean-like in so many aspects. But on a cold stormy day in winter 1807, this part of the Bay was the focal point for a terrible tragedy. One that would see much loss of life but would ultimately precipitate a great positive for Dublin Bay.
                          seapoint-martello
                          seapoint-martello.jpg
                          Martello Tower at Seapoint

                          In the 19th century sailing Dublin Bay was a far more treacherous prospect. Dublin Port could only be entered at high tide, leaving ships in a perilous position waiting through the changing levels until they could access the port. The bay was subject to sudden storms, rough waves and the coastline was strewn with jagged rocks. Disaster would befall many of these ships, the wrecks of over 600 ships lie at the bottom of the bay. One such event involved the Rochdale and the Prince of Wales. But it was also a catalyst for the powers that be to finally do something to safeguard ships waiting to enter Dublin Port. The solution being the construction of Dun Laoghaire harbour.
                          view at seapoint



                          In the early 1800’s Napoleon was a threat and authorities feared invasion. Defensive Martello towers were built around the Irish coast for protection. On the 19th of November 1807 troops left Dublin on several ships bound to fight in the Napoleonic War. Both the Rochdale and the Prince of Wales were carrying troops and the next day after not getting very far south they got lost in a terrible snow storm. The wild wind blew east dragging the ships back towards the shore, the waves swelled and the snow came down thick making visibility difficult.

                          The Rochdale, the bigger of the two, was a 135 ton brig. She cast anchor but the chains snapped. The soldiers on board tried to attract the attention of the shore by firing their muskets. But it was all for nought and those that saw the fires could only look on in horror as the ship struck the rocks at Seapoint Martello tower. All 265 souls aboard including 42 women and 29 children were lost.
                          rochadale-plaque



                          The Prince of Wales sailed under Captain Robert Jones and it carried the 97th regiment. She too tried to cast anchor but it failed and wind whipped through the ship, ripping the sails to shreds and blowing her back towards Dun Laoghaire. She ended up on the rocks at Blackrock. Only the captain, nine seamen, two women with children and two soldiers managed to escape on the one lifeboat. 120 soldiers drowned and it was claimed that the captain locked the troops below deck, removing the ladder and battening down the hatch and in doing so sealing the faith of those trapped beneath. Captain Robert was brought before the court on murder charges but case was dismissed due to lack of evidence.
                          DSC_0049



                          There was already a campaign to build a harbour at Dun Laoghaire with Richard Toucher, a norwegian master mariner and shipbroker, at the helm of the campaign. He saw this as an asylum harbour, a safe refuge for ships in trouble in the treacherous Dublin Bay. After the double tragedy of the Rochdale and the Prince of Wales this campaign received it’s much deserved support.

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                          About the Author
                          Ann Robinson
                          Has a passion for coastal heritage and maritime history. Interested in exploring ways to strengthen coastal communities through online communication. Loves sharing the best of the Irish coast online. Contact me ann@coastmonkey.ie
                          Last edited by bojangles; 30-07-2016, 11:34 AM.

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                          • #14
                            Great thread bo ... Maybe i dont need to pull the house apart for the book!!!!

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                            • #15
                              Newgate Prison

                              There was a square tower located between Newgate and Gormond’s Gate, described as being four stories high, sixteen feet square and three feet thick. This tower belonged to a Richard Browne in the 17th century and was known as “Browne’s Castle”. Subsequently, it was converted into an inn known as the “Black Dog”, because of a sign with the image of a hound, suspended outside. In the early part of the 18th century, the Black Dog changed its use again and became Marshalsea prison.

                              In 1634, the House of Commons ordered that a donation of two shillings from every member, be given for the upkeep of the poor prisoners in Dublin gaols. The ninety two prisoners who were incarcerated in Newgate Prison sent a petition to the Barons of the Exchequer, stating they were not receiving anything but the charity of the people of the city who passed the prison gates. Because of the large amount of prisoners, this charity was totally inadequate and they said that they would perish unless adequate funding was provided.

                              Oliver Plunkett, Catholic Primate of all Ireland, was committed to Newgate Prison in 1679 and remained there until he was sent to London in October 1680, where he was subsequently executed.
                              Newgate .jpg
                              According to grants of Henry V, Richard 111 and Edward V1, the Mayor, Bailiffs and Recorder of Dublin and their successors, were constituted Justices of the Peace with special powers pertaining to this office. Charles 1 extended this position to six senior Aldermen of the city and other members of the Corporation. These individuals left the management of their office entirely to clerks, who paid their employees a percentage of all fees they received, thus this system was open to dishonesty and abuse. The clerks were in league with the constables, who were of a low grade, and continually arrested citizens on very flimsy pretext. These unfortunate victims were incarcerated in the Black Dog until they could pay the fees demanded of them. While they were awaiting bail, the corrupt constables tried to extort money from them by every means possible.

                              In both Newgate and the Black Dog, the gaolers carried on the business of selling liquor to the inmates on entering the Black Dog, even for only one night, the prisoner had to pay two shillings and two pence for a “penny pot”. If the prisoner refused to pay, he was stripped and violently beaten. Prisoners who did not have enough money had their clothes confiscated and sold, to make up the shortfall. There were twelve rooms in the Black Dog, for the reception of prisoners. Two of these rooms had five beds each, but the others were no better than closets and could only hold one bed. The general rent for lodgings in these rooms was one shilling per night for each man, but sometimes much higher prices were charged. Frequently, four or five men were put into one bed, but still had to pay the mandatory shilling, which was collected by the gaoler’s wife. Prisoners who could not pay the fee were thrown into a damp, dark dungeon, which was approximately twelve feet square and eight feet high and often 14 to 20 people were thrown into this dismal place.

                              Prisoners in Newgate prison were frequently held for several days, without being committed. The fee was four pence per night, for not being confined to the felon’s room, and one shilling and four pence was charged for the “penny pot”. In 1729, the number of prisoners in Newgate was one hundred and sixty. In 1750 the prison was improved and altered but in 1767, it was found to be in very poor condition and in a state of decay once again. At this time there were 120 prisoners in a gaol suitable for the accommodation of 70 prisoners. Parliament was informed of these inadequacies but no remedial steps were taken until 1773, when the foundation of a new prison was laid, on the north side of the city. The new prison in Green Street was opened in September 1780. The Black Dog continued for some years. In 1794, a new Sheriff’s Prison in Green Street commenced and the infamous Black Dog was finally abandoned.( Fountain Resource Group )
                              Last edited by bojangles; 01-08-2016, 11:01 AM.

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