THE TENTERS REMEMBERED 2024
TENTERS COMMUNICATIONS
COLLECTION OF ESSAYS AND POETRY
We would like to convey our sincere thanks to everyone who donated to our Dublin City Council/SpaceHive fundraising appeal. Without your help and support, we could not have achieved our goal of raising the funds needed to print one thousand copies of this booklet.
Thanks also to Tenters resident, Henritta McKervey for help with editing these pieces.
Members of the Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group will deliver copies to homes within the immediate Tenters area and will have a small number of hard copies available for those outside of the area. This booklet will also be freely available in a digitized format on the ISSUU.COM website.
Members of The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group from left to right: Ger Harkness, Pádraig Turley, Peter Bodie, Ciarán Black, Jean Fitzpatrick, John Fitzsimons, Tony Corcoran, Peter Walsh, Maria O’Reilly. One member missing from image is Leonora Lowe.
Welcome and Introduction.
Foreword by Cathy Scuffil.
Summary Explanation of Fairbrother’s Fields Road Naming, What’s in a Name? Compiled
It’s not Funny, We Don’t Talk Anymore by John Fitzsimons.
The Communications Hub by Ciarán Black.
The Fumbally Cat by Helen Dredge.
My First Visit To The Tenters by Noel Clarke.
Tenters: 19th May 1957 by Pádraig Turley.
Games We Played by Celine Bolger (Fitzpatrick) and Kay Kelly.
Wintertime: A poem by Eddie Harkness.
WELCOME AND INTRODUCTION
On behalf of The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group, I would like to welcome you to this, our second Tenters Booklet. The idea to publish a series of written pieces relating to the Tenters area, came about in 2023 and it is our intention to help share our community’s stories and experiences which may otherwise be left untold.
This current booklet contains a collection which all have a common thread, ‘Communication’. While not always apparent or upfront, communication within a community can take on many forms. Be it making time for a chat, a kind gesture to another, a shared memory or simply a wave from a neighbour, communication is vital to how successful the longevity of a community can be.
The Tenters community has been in existence for over one hundred years. This year, 2024 marks the centenary of the last brick to be laid in the Fairbrother’s Fields Housing Scheme. In 1924, all of the families had moved into their brand new homes and thus began another construction, only this time it was the construction of a brand new community. This new community had then to integrate into the already existing one of the surrounding area, and it was the art of communication which enabled this to happen as successfully as it has done.
Today, the ‘Tenters’ area encompasses the area formerly known as, the Fairbrother’s Field’s Housing Scheme along with the surrounding streets which stretch as far as the South Circular Road, Donore Avenue, Cork Street and Blackpitts.
As one of our members says, “being from the ‘Tenters’ is more a state of mind than an exact address!”
John Fitzsimons, one of our members, gives a summary explanation for the men who are commemorated by way of the naming of the various roads within the Fairbrother’s Fields housing scheme which makes up part of the Tenters area. Research relating to the rest of the area is a work in progress, which we hope to share in future publications.
Incidentally, since our last booklet was published, the specially commissioned short film ‘Fairbrothers Fields –The Tenters’ is now available to view freely on the Dublin City Council YouTube channel via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ArYjg1nS1tY
The publication of this second booklet was made possible by the Dublin City Council/Space-Hive fundraising platform. This fundraiser covered the printing of one thousand copies which will now be made available free of charge and delivered to homes in the local area. We are actively looking for sponsorship towards future publications, albeit in the corporate or private sector, and would appreciate your help in spreading the word in this regard.
Looking towards the future, within this series of Tenters booklets, we are hoping to publish a ‘Young Person’s’ edition, which will give us their perspective and experience of life here in the Tenters. We would also encourage those who may be among the ‘newer’ neighbours or have recently moved into the Tenters area, to share their experience and stories of life here. Everyone has a story and we would love to hear from you.
The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group meet locally once a week and always welcome new members. The only criteria to being a member, is that you must have some connection to the Tenters area. If you have a story to share, would like to know more about the booklets or The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group, please email or phone 087 690 8003 (Tues-Thurs mornings 9.30am till 11am).
We hope you enjoy this short-stories booklet, Maria
O’Reilly
Chairperson of The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group. Our email address is:
tenters.tales@gmail.com
FOREWORD
by Cathy Scuffil, Dublin City Council Historian in Residence, Dublin South Central
Our Dublin communities live, work and play, they develop together within a common culture and strong historical heritage. This local history, memory sharing and storytelling are part of what we are. However, the basic foundation of good communities is good communication, the two words are similar, they are also closely related. Gathering information and stories, and sharing these with each other is the basis of us all appreciating our sense and pride of, and in, our homeplace. This also heightens our awareness of the layer of history we honour and have personally created or indeed were created by family members who have gone before us and friends who may be still with us.
This beautiful collection of essays and poems reflecting on different aspects of life in The Tenters and the nearby neighbourhoods over the years is, quite simply, a memory treasure trove. It captures a range of small events and precious memories in a very special way. We are reminded of our own childhood, and of family members who have passed, but whose impact remains with us today.
The stories themselves show us the different ways we communicate in the world in which we live. We see children playing games, drawing on their imagination in making up scenarios. Child’s play transcends words, children interacting with those around them goes beyond any language. We observe the kindness of neighbours to each other and those they meet and interact with. We see the efforts of those who have worked in our community, such as school teachers. We sense the achievement of a simple goal of going to the cinema in Rialto or Dolphin’s Barn with the ticket paid for with your first weeks’ earned pay!
In gathering these stories, we get a great sense of determination from the authors to share their memories and in doing so, inspire others also to do so. Thus, we get a range of tales covering diverse topics such as old traditions, death, local shops and how they served the area, neighbours and friends. The well-known Dublin character, Bang Bang even makes a very special cameo appearance!
Two poems complete the collection, one reflecting on the winter season and a nostalgic look at times gone by, noting the ‘magic in the air’ in the build-up to Christmas. The other poem centres on the observations of a cat in his many lives, hiding in a nearby lane, who sees the changes in life and pace in the area, watching as a school changes into apartments. The cat is still watching and witnessing.
Congratulations to all involved in pulling together this delightful collection of stories and poems. A credit to the strong ‘communicating’ community that is The Tenters of Dublin.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
compiled by John Fitzsimons
There can be a great deal in a name when you delve into its origins. The area in Dublin 8 which is bordered by the South Circular Road, Donore Avenue, Cork Street and Blackpitts has been known for generations as the Tenters. Around this area some of the Huguenots settled as far back as the 17th century and their principal trade was cloth weaving. A process in cloth weaving was tenting. The newly woven cloth was stretched on tenter frames using poles with hooks to keep the cloth taut from the ground in order to dry and bleach it. The expression “to be on tenter hooks” comes from this process and means to be anxious or in a stressed state.
Within an area of the tenterfields, a new housing development was established by Dublin Corporation in 1922. This particular area was, at one time, owned by a family called Fairbrother and the name “Fairbrother’s Fields” was part of the postal address for many years. The new housing project was completed by 1924 at which time names were given to the various roads within this new estate. It was Alderman Thomas Kelly who suggested the use of the names of Irish Poets, Writers and Antiquarians and this was approved by the Corporation. As this was the first major housing development since the establishment of the new Irish Free State, the honouring of these prominent Irish writers in this way was well received by all levels of society.
There were some exceptions in the naming of the roads, for example the main thoroughfare through the estate was originally named ‘Main Avenue’ and later changed to St. Thomas Road. This was in recognition of the fact a 12th century Augustinian Abbey by the name of St Thomas Abbey was located near this area and would have owned these lands. Another exception is Oscar Square which is named after “Oscar, son of Ossian, a leader of Na Fianna” ( from Irish Mythology)
The Irish literary luminaries which the other roads and avenues are called after are worth noting in detail starting with Clarence Mangan Road. James Clarence Mangan was born in 1803 in Fishamble St. He was educated at a Jesuit school in Sauls Court and several other places of learning in Dublin. He gained a knowledge of some foreign languages which included French, Italian and Spanish. Mangan was a prolific writer of poetry and a competent translator. His death in Dublin in 1849 at the age of 46 years was caused by cholera.
O’Curry Road and Avenue are named after Eugene O’Curry. This Irish scholar was born near Kilkee, Co. Clare in 1794. O’Curry researched and translated many manuscripts on Irish history. He was a member of the Royal Irish Academy and in 1854 was appointed professor of Irish history in the Catholic University in Dublin (now UCD) Eugene O’Curry died at his home in Dublin in 1862.
Petrie Road is named after George Petrie. This man of many talents was born in Dame St. Dublin in 1790. Petrie was a very competent artist and an antiquarian. He was a collector of traditional Irish music and was at one time president of the Royal Irish Academy, George Petrie died in1866.
O’Donovan Road is named after John O’Donovan who was born in county Kilkenny in 1806. O’Donovan became a renowned Irish scholar having researched and translated thousands of Irish place names. His greatest achievement was the translation to English and the transcription of the works of the Four Masters. John O’Donovan died in Dublin in 1861.
It is of interest to note that Mangan, O’Curry, Petrie and O’Donovan all worked, for a time, in the Office of the Ordinance Survey of Ireland.
O’Carolan Road is named after Turlough Carolan who was born in Nobber, Co. Meath in1670. At the age of eighteen, Carolan became blind due to smallpox. He learned to play the harp, and this became his lifelong profession. He journeyed all over Ireland for almost 40 years playing and composing music. Carolan eventually settled In Mohill Co. Leitrim where he died in 1738.
Geoffrey Keating Road named after this catholic priest, scholar and historian who was born in Co. Tipperary in1569. Keating was educated in the University of Bordeaux in France. During his lifetime he completed a history of Ireland in the Irish language. Geoffrey Keating died in 1644.
Madden Road is named after Richard Madden who was born in Dublin in 1798. He studied medicine but only spent a couple of years practising as a doctor. Madden travelled widely to such places as Turkey, Egypt, and Cuba and became a great advocate of the antislavery movement. When Madden eventually settled back in Ireland he involved himself in nationalist affairs and his writings are acknowledged as historical documents of the revolutionary activities of the period. Richard Madden died at his home in Booterstown, Co. Dublin in 1886 at the age of 88 years.
Gilbert Road is named after John Gilbert who was born in Jervis St, Dublin in 1829. The Gilbert family ran a very successful wine and cider import business. Gilbert studied the history of Ireland and that of Dublin in particular. He collected a copious amount of books and historic documents throughout his life. Following the death of John Gilbert in 1898 the bulk of his library was purchased by Dublin Corporation. These important items of Irish history were placed in a special section of the Pearse Street Public Library building which is now known as The Gilbert Library.
Ingram Road is named after John Kells Ingram who was born in Donegal in 1823. This mathematician and poet is best remembered for his poem, later set to music, ”The Memory of the Dead” of which the opening lines are “Who fears to speak of ’98, Who blushes at the name” Ingram died at his home in Dublin in 1907.
While the various thoroughfares which came into existence in the early 1920s were given the names of Irish Writers, Poets and Antiquarians, the general area of the ”Tenters” has a great tradition of weaving which dates back several centuries. Weaver Square, in name, is the most direct link to those times. The last weaving company in this area was Thomas Elliott’s who made poplin cloth. They were located at the Weaver Square end of Brown Street. This business closed down in 1974. The entire area which was once the Tenter Fields holds an incredible history of crafts, dwellings and people. Perhaps the friendly ghosts of the Weavers of bygone days hover over this historic place, which is now known as, the Tenters.
IT’S NOT FUNNY, WE DON’T TALK ANYMORE
by John Fitzsimons
There was a time when children played in the streets where they lived. Games such as Hop Scotch, Skipping and Beds, swinging from lampposts and football were the regular street pursuits of children. Of course that was a time when there was very little motor traffic, and local streets were safer to play in. We are now in a time heavy motorised traffic in our housing estates and general residential areas, which now includes electric bikes and scooters. Most of these ignore the 30-kilometre speed limit, which means crossing the streets can sometimes be a hazardous exercise. Children playing in these streets is, for the most part, a thing of the past.
Unless children go to the same school, other opportunities to meet up and get to know each other are limited. This situation can have a knock-on effect for the parents of these children. In past years, people knew all their neighbours as their children played together and all shopping tended to be done locally. Most people went to chapel or church on Sundays. All these situations gave ample opportunities for people to meet and greet!
Now it's difficult to get to know all your neighbours for various reasons. For example, most people have cars. When they leave their house they get in the car and drive away, which means they do little walking in the neighbourhood. Many houses
Image of John Fitzsimons taken on Cow Parlour in the Tenters, at this year’s Boulevard Bloom event.
are rented out, and in most cases the occupants don't feel that they are part of the community, they are just passing through! And there's the problem of children attending different schools, all contributing to we don't talk anymore.
We will never know all the people in our neighbourhood for various reasons including some of those mentioned above. However, we should make every effort to avail of all opportunities to communicate with those around us, because the benefits could be a more harmonious and safer neighbourhood for us all.
Perhaps the Resident’s Association, through its members and newsletters, could stress the importance and benefits of a closer-knit community which can be brought about by talking to each other. If you are new to the area - or it's your neighbour who is the newcomerthen perhaps it might be a good idea to just knock on their door and introduce yourself. That would surely break any ice that might have existed, and it may be the start of a new friendship.
THE COMMUNICATIONS HUB
by Ciarán Black
My parents owned and ran a small grocery/newsagent’s shop in the Tenters area for the duration of my childhood. Therefore, from an early age communication was a currency in our life. Every day, morning and evening newspapers along with magazines and books arrived which kept the local populace up to date, with events of the day.
The local shops were meeting places for the people of the area, and as such were great centres for the dissemination of local news. It was not uncommon for neighbours to arrive with the news of the death of
One of the last images taken of Black’s shop on Rutledge Terrace before it’s closure. Taken 1989.
an elderly family member and looking to obtain a death notice card to be attached to the front door of the family home. News spread fast, particularly when tragedies visited the area. I particularly recall the death of a local teenager in a motorbike accident, a local child killed by a McHenry’s truck, cot deaths, and a child killed in a house fire.
There was a public telephone in the shop in the early years. This was another mode of communications, and all sorts of official Ireland and unofficial Ireland business was done on this phone. I have vivid personal recollections of unnatural silences which signalled a finality that could never be fixed. This happened in relation to my mother’s youngest brother Oliver (the father of two very young children), who suffered a fatal heart attack after playing a game of squash. I had never heard of the sport of squash. The call our dad took to inform him that his sister-in-law Eileen had died in childbirth, leaving five young children.
The silence could however be golden also, like when my dad took a phone call one year exactly after Neil Armstrong had walked on the moon. The call came from Mount Carmel nursing home. At this stage our parents had three boys, and our mother was in hospital to give birth to the next of the brood. My children find it amusing that in those days, it was unheard of for the fathers to attend the birth of their children. When dad came off the phone, he could not speak, but the tears rolling down his face and the big smile told us all we had a baby sister Eimear in a way that made words redundant.
The shop was also a great haven for lonely people, most of whom lived alone. There was a succession of older people over the years who would arrive in the shop to while away an hour and catch up with the news. There was always a stool left out on the customer side of the counter so that these lovely people could have a place to sit.
THE FUMBALLY CAT
by Helen Dredge
The Fumbally Cat hides under a car, eyes staring, he purrs softly;
“I’ve seen her before, half a century ago, she tread these grey streets, where strangers abound, with treasure-filled bags to inspire young minds, a pedagogue unleashed of an idealistic kind.
She unlocked huge gates. swathes of boys followed, some of them with shiny shoes, ushered by loving folk. More of them with shaven heads and sockless, sandaled feet, urged in by big brothers charged with their needs.
Three male teachers followed, each with greying locks, paced up and down the schoolyard with a masterly plod. Bells signalled entry each to their own class, then silence fell on Blackpitts as teachers began their task.
St Kevin’s is now transformed into luxury upmarket flats, that yard where boys laughed and cried is now a place to park.
That once young sprightly teacher wanders down my little lane, her hair is greying, her face is lined and there’s a list in her gait.
She chats and laughs with her friend, reminiscing of times long passed, recalling names of boys she taught as I listen to her, aghast. Unaware that I know her, maybe its best that way, in my nine lives in Blackpitts her face will always stay.”
Image of St Kevin’s National Boy’s School building, captured by Helen.
MY FIRST VISIT TO THE TENTERS
by Noel Clarke
My first visit to the Tenters was in 1934, when as a four-day old baby boy I was introduced to my maternal grandparents who lived in Merton Park. Shortly afterwords the same procedure followed when I was introduced to my paternal grandmother who lived in Sandford Gardens. Oblivious to all the fuss I was creating I probably slept through it all.
Fast forward to 1938, and we moved from our one room in a tenement house in Camden Street to a two-roomed house with a tiny scullery in Fingal Street, which is in an area that was known as Cork Street Buildings as it was owned by the Dublin Suburban Workman’s Dwelling Company. Shortly after arriving in our new house, I became a very reluctant pupil at the age of three and half years old in Saint Kevin’s School, Blackpitts where I stayed until 1949. During this time I became a regular visitor to my grandparent’s house in Merton Park, and was very aware of how spacious it was in comparison to our home in Fingal Street.
At fourteen years of age I entered the world of work, and for the first time enjoyed the comfortable feeling of having a few shillings (bob) in my pocket and being able to afford a trip to the Leinster, Rialto Tivoli cinemas with my pals. This was followed later on by graduating
Image taken c. 1938 showing from left to right, Noel’s Granny Byrne, his Mother, Teresa, his older brother Dick with Noel himself aged about four, sitting in front of his Granddad John Byrne.
to the dance halls, meeting the girls, courtship, marriage and house hunting. Because of my lifelong connection with the area I desperately wanted a house in the Tenters which would have two reception rooms, a kitchen, three bedrooms, and a side entrance with front and rear gardens.
We had an ongoing advertisement in the Houses Wanted section of the Evening Mail and Herald newpapers. These were eagerly scanned each evening in the hope that there would be a house for sale in the Tenters that would meet our desires. After months of hoping and praying and beginning to lose heart, I was surprised one evening to see Kay reading the Deaths column. When I ask her why not the Houses For Sale column, she said that someone might have died in the area and the house would be for sale. A week later we read of a death of a resident on Clarence Managan Road. We waited a few days to allow the funeral to take place before we nervously approached to enquire to know if the house was for sale. There was no response to our knocking but a few days later we got a reply to our House Wanted advertisement: to our surprise it was the house that we had knocked at which was for sale! Having contacted the owner, we viewed the house. To our delight it was exactly as we had hoped for. It had two receptions rooms, a kitchen, three bedrooms, a combined bathroom and toilet, and the added bonus of a side entrance.
Having agreed a sale price, our next objective was to get a loan. In order to qualify for a loan, my annual wage would have to reach the threshold set by the building society. As my basic annual salary was below that threshold, I had to appeal to my employer to include my overtime earnings in their statement of my earnings to the building society. They agreed to my request, and I was granted a loan repayable over twenty-five years. After completing a lot of work we moved in on Christmas Eve 1962. As we look back over the years, we thank our families, friends and neighbours who have contributed so much to the joy and happiness that Kay and I have experienced in our ‘little castle’, which is on Clarence Mangan Road.
TENTERS: 19 TH MAY 1957
by Pádraig Turley
Recently, while scrolling Facebook, an entry popped up announcing the death of Irish soccer legend Charlie Hurley. This prompted a memory of great significance to me, which occurred on 19th May 1957. That was the day the name Charlie Hurley landed with a bang on Irish soccer consciousness. It was during the qualifying stage of the 1958 World Cup due to take place in Sweden, which of course would herald the arrival of the Brazilian superstar Pelé.
Ireland were due to play England in a must-win game in Dalymount Park, having lost 5-1 in Wembley on the 8th May. There was great interest in this game, and tickets were like hen’s teeth. Despite the erection of an extra temporary stand, tickets for the game were impossible to obtain. Just over 47,000 thousand attended the game, health and safety a low priority back then.
My father and I, after many efforts, accepted the fact that we would not get a ticket. In those pre-Radió Teilifís Éireann days, there was no television coverage.
On the same day in Croke Park the National football league final was scheduled. Both games started at the same time, so there was no concern about the clashing of the fixtures. At that time the GAA would never have entertained the idea of switching a fixture to oblige a soccer game, it being a foreign game. My father and I decided we would head over to Croke Park to see the League final between Galway and Kerry.
We lived on Clarence Mangan Road, and we picked up our cousin Mary Turley who lived in a flat in 21 Wolseley Street. My father’s mum being from Galway we were all supporting Galway, who were the reigning All-Ireland champions. We got the 20 bus from the South Circular Road, after my usual argument with my dad over which bus to take - I being of the opinion the 54 was more direct route. Sixty-seven years later, I still hold that opinion. We took the 20 bus, alighted at Newcomen Bridge, and headed off to the game, taking our place on Hill 16. We were early, so much so we were in place before the earlier game. The GAA always had a curtain-raiser.
Gradually the crowd began to fill up, resulting in an attendance of 37,980. I noticed my father looking around, in an absent-minded fashion. My cousin mentioned this to me, but we left him alone. Suddenly, he seemed to slip and fell onto the ground. People gathered around him. He was clearly unable to get up. St John Ambulance men were called, and there was this huddle around him. A priest was called and he seemed to be giving him some attention. The fuss continued, the priest stood up near my cousin and I. She asked the priest if he was ok. The priest said, “He’s had it!”
My father was dead. Those words are as clear today as the first day I heard them.
My world collapsed. Total strangers gathered around me. I recall mumbling out the words, “Welcome be the will of God.” Sounds so quaint in this secular age. The Gardaí took down all our details, and put in train the means of getting word to my mother who was down in west Offaly looking after her aged parents.
On return to Clarence Mangan Road, after announcing our dreadful news, Willie McLoughlin who was so sympathetic, was able to deliver the rather trifling news that Ireland and England drew in Dalymount Park. Though in another universe it was huge, as the draw effectively eliminated Ireland from the 1958 World Cup. Galway won the league final in Croke Park.
Image of Pádraig and his Father taken March 1956, a short fourteen months before their visit to Croke Park.
Recently I met a cousin who lives in county Wexford. My father came up in conversation, she recalled the day he died, a telegram arrived, and that evening while saying the family rosary, her father said, “We shall say a special prayer for that young boy who has lost his father!”
GAMES WE PLAYED
by Celine Bolger (Fitzpatrick) and Kay Kelly
As children growing up in the Tenters in the fifties, we played games in a big garden. What we considered to be our garden was in reality the junction of O’Curry and Geoffrey Keating Road. In that garden games developed, nothing was ever planned - or so it seemed to us eight to 12-year-olds. Someone suggested a game and most of us were happy enough to fall in with the plan. A popular game was Rounders, a game ideally suited to the street junction. We played for hours. I never once remember having to halt the games because of through traffic. Motor cars were a rare sight in the Tenters in the fifties, so the games were played uninterrupted. Sheer bliss! In those days, children seemed to have a natural sense of what was fair. Nobody was ever left out. The teams were picked, sometimes by self-appointed captains, or by general consent, or by both. The captains picked the teams. The most able were always picked first, which seemed fair to the rest of us.
So the games began!
Some enterprising kid produced a bat and ball. Sometimes we batted so strongly that the ball flew into someone’s garden - invariably a prized garden. Nothing deterred the opposition from retrieving the ball even if it meant a tongue-lashing from the owner. However, most of our neighbours didn’t seem to mind the endless batting. We learned to stand on our own two feet and became very adept at assessing risks long before the term ‘risk assessment’ was coined!. Yes, we had painful knocks; sore knuckles, sore shins, sore knees, sore heads...but we learned to cope with such injuries. Rarely did any of us cry all the way home to complain. And if we did, we knew our complaints would go unheeded. We were quickly sent back out to fight our own battles, thus beginning our first lesson on self-reliance - which has stood the test of time.
There was usually a craze where some specific game became almost totally consuming for a few weeks. For girls it could be skipping. With a long piece of rope some of us became adept at cross skipping, reverse skipping and other manoeuvres we thought up. Bouncing a ball was
another favourite. We could bounce the ball under and over our legs, in the air, against a wall, sometimes juggling one, two or three balls at a time, all the while chanting rhymes to the skipping and bouncing.
For boys, marbles sometimes became almost obsessive when the marble season came round. Although some of the boys were continually losing and winning marbles, the size of their collection remained static. If this was not to be, some boys unfortunately ‘lost their marbles’ and fisty-cuffs ended what could otherwise have been a good game!
There were so many games to play, to share, to enjoy. I know many readers will have their favourites. One game outclassed them all; swingin’ on the lamp post. Some planning was needed for this game - a strong rope, an aspiring engineer who could secure the rope to the lamp post so that we could happily swing round and round before our bums became numb! The more astute of us overcame the numb bum problem by folding our overcoats (a cushion was out of the question) on the rope before being lifted off the ground and swung round and round and round and... finishing body-cuffed to the lamp post! We then extricated ourselves from the rope so that the next swinger could have their chance. The shouts and laughter as we were swingin’ on the lamp post will stay with us forever.
Our memories of our childhood in the Tenters are of great happiness and enjoyment, and an even greater sense of fun and camaraderie playing outdoor games in the long summer evenings in our gardens.
Two images taken on the same day showing lifelong pals, Celine and Kay. Celine wearing the headband sitting on the pillar while Kay is looking all glamorous, wearing sunglasses.
I SHOT ‘THE CHAP’
by Seán Lennon
In the fifties, Western movies ruled the plains of south inner city Dublin. We watched, played, and sometimes even thought like cowboys. For us on Darley's Terrace, the Tenters could have been the 1954 Western, The Far Country. Almost every one of these great movies centred around a single hero. We even had our own name for such heroes: the chap. The Leinster and Rialto cinemas transported us to the wanton Wild West every weekend. We re-enacted our favourite scenes, playing the chaps from movies like Rio Bravo, The Alamo, The Magnificent Seven. We gave no quarter, relying heavily on the elements of surprise, weight of numbers, and our mammies not calling us in for our dinner or tea.
But our game-playing went seriously Crazy Horse with the advent of Irish TV in December 1961, and the arrival of the likes of Bat Masterson, Have Gun Will Travel, and Temple Houston.
From then on the world and his wife wanted to be the chap. The definite article. There could only ever be one The Cisco Kid. One The Rifleman. One The Lone Ranger. And we all had the same first name: The.
Then came the day a bonafide, undisputed chap strode purposefully on to the Terrace and we knew we were about to engage in a Mexican standoff, if not a shootout. But this was no cattle-herding horsebackriding Commanchero. Not even an interloping day-tripper from Kiltimagh!
He came on foot at walking-pace, pushing a battered old pram in which he'd collected glass bottles and jam jars. His name was Bang Bang and as he turned the corner off Donore Avenue even before he'd reached Mandrake's garage door the cries went up.
“It’s BangBang!”
“BangBang is here!”
He faced up Darley’s Terrace, pram-first. Looked around himself. Biding his time and with a grin, he gave a great push to the pram. We all watched it perambulate. And just as it began to slow down, Bang Bang called, ''Whooooaaa Silver''. Silver the pram obeyed his command and came to a standstill.
What happened then was instant uproar as kids came streaming down from Maxwell, Fingal, Eugene and Cameron Streets in scenes reminiscent of the annihilation of Custer and his 7th US Cavalry by the Sioux and Cheyenne in Montana on July 6, 1876. I recall shooting into his writhing shape at point blank range. Bang Bang shuddered and gave a fleeting expression of blunt force trauma.
But then, smiling, he shot back at me. I was hit! Somehow Bang Bang emerged unscathed. What a man this chap really was. So help me, but I was there. What's rare is wonderful and Bang Bang's visit was SPECIAL.
He was already famous and an equal opportunities employer. On arriving he'd shouted at a mixed group of boys and girls, “There's my men!”, and instantly we'd responded.
Bang Bang... And the gunfight was on. Without bullying, but not without kindness. I saw real Compassion At The OK Corral. It moves me still to recall how lovingly the women of Darley's Terrace treated him. I can still see the always elegant, kind-hearted widow Mrs O'Connor hand him a cup of tea and a chunky jam sandwich while addressing him as, “Bang Bang, love”.
Although he was of adult years, Bang Bang shared our alternate reality. Dublin could and did become our common ground. Our Kansas, Montana or Tombstone territory. We played for the love of it. Perhaps he did too. Or maybe he played to obscure the harsh facts of his life from himself.
Either way I am proud to have known Thomas Dudley.
The movie chaps of our youth have disappeared into the ether. We may never see their like again - nor hopefully their tedious B movies. Mostly they went out with a Whimper Whimper. Unlike the late great Thomas Dudley, who came and went out with a truly heroic, unforgettable Bang Bang!!
WINTERTIME: A POEM
by Eddie Harkness
Wintertime is coming, the trees are getting bare. The starlings are all singing, there's magic in the air.
The leaves from trees are falling, from dusk till dawn of day. The robins are all singing, there's magic in the air,
The daylight now is shorter, the good Lord's birth is near. Santa Claus is coming, there's magic in the air.
The children are all happy, for Christmas time is near, The Christmas bells are ringing out, there's magic in the air.
So, children send your letters, Santa's on his way, The reindeers are excited, there's magic in the air.
Image of long-time Tenters’ resident, Eddie Harkness. Always smiling, this is how those who were fortunate to have known Eddie, remember him.
TENTERS MEMORIES “LILAC TIMES”
by Tony Corcoran
While I was born, reared and attended schools in the Tenters area, I moved at just 28 years of age to get married and to move to the outer suburb of Rathfarnham.
Nonetheless, after moving out of the Tenters area, there was always an invisible but strong umbilical link keeping my soul balanced between Rathfarnham and the Tenters; like a see-saw ensuring that happiness and love existed at both ends of that ever-swinging bar.
Thus, it was that whenever I passed through the Tenters area over the years, going to work in the Guinness Brewery or visiting friends or, sadly, attending funerals in the Church of St Teresa, there was that sense of returning home. Home to base. While I may have blown away from the area, it was always nice to ‘blow-back’.
On a recent Sunday morning I decided to attend Mass in the church of St Teresa. As I drove my car along the South Circular Road, down Dufferin Avenue and onto Wolseley Street, a feeling of warmth came over me, despite it being a chilly morning. The sun had just come out of the cloud cover, and I felt compelled to stop the car.
Image taken from the back of Tony’s former home on Merton Avenue in April 2024, showing the Lilac Tree in full bloom.
There, in front of me was the back wall of my former family home of Merton Avenue. But what caught my attention was the huge lilac tree in the back garden which reached as high as the edge of the roof, the purple flowers smiling at me in the emerging sunlight.
Straight away, I was transported back almost 80 years ago, and into that same back garden. I was a young boy, playing there with my mother delighted with herself because the small, bush-like lilac tree had produced purple flowers for the first time after she had planted it from a slip from her family home in Cork Street. The generations had joined up.
Over the years, that lilac tree provided bunches of sweet-smelling flowers for the May altars in my classes in Scoil Treasa, and for the May altars in the classes of my two sisters and my brother. At the time it seemed that its sole purpose was to decorate May altars as it proudly held up its own bouquet to the sun and the sky.
As I reluctantly got back into the car I bade farewell – but not goodbye – to the purple, sweet-smelling sentinel of Merton Avenue which I had loved and which I now know loved me.
In truth there are so many ways to communicate, and this was communication in its purest form.
THE OLD BISCUIT BOX
by Mark Darley
The box had no pictures on it. It was a plain tin box that probably had just a ribbon paper display of its contents, and would have been a Christmas present. Possibly produced by WR Jacobs, immortalised by the radio programme presented by Frankie Byrne. The people who bake better biscuits, better every day. Frankie Byrne was the nation’s agony aunt. The nation penned its problems to Frankie. She would dissect the problem, giving her advice on air in her distinctive husky voice, followed swiftly with by a Frank Sinatra record. If I remember rightly, was always a Sinatra number - befitting as a subliminal response to the pending problem.
Biscuit and chocolate boxes were always kept, and used as storage for something or other, but this tin box had a very special duty. It was to act as a receptacle for Bridget Darley's Extreme Unction set. Extreme Unction was the final sacrament of the Catholic Church. Today it is called The Anointment of the Sick. The blessed oils Viaticum (a Latin word meaning ‘provision for the journey’) and Catechumens were used, and the priest would anoint a sick or dying person. The box contained a crucifix, two candle holders, and a white linen cloth which was laid out on the table and used as an altar.
Bridget was nether sick nor dying. She was blind and over 70. As she could not attend Mass on Sundays, a priest from the parish would do a house call. This was always done on the First Friday of each Month, so any housebound parishioners could receive the Blessed Sacrament in the form of Holy Communion and go to Confession if needed.
These visits were very important, it was the link to her church, her salvation. Fr.Madden was the parish priest ,and he came to see Bridget
Image of the Crucifix which formed part of Bridget Darley's Extreme Unction set.
monthly. She had great time for Fr. Madden, and always slipped him a ten shilling note each First Friday after the formal duties were complete. “Get yourself a drink, Father.” Copper-fastening her redemption. Judas got thirty shillings, but Fr. Madden got ten. Bridget knew Madden from old, she knew he liked a pint, and always made sure to put by her humble offering to quench his manly thirst.
One of my jobs as an altar boy from St. Catherine's in Meath Street was to replace the spent candles in Bridget's altar set. I was sent down to see the sacristan Jimmy Comiskey for any old church candles. I didn't understand this, but Jimmy soon put me in the picture. Church candles were made from a high percentage of bee's wax, deemed more purified and befitting for church adoration services. Jimmy remarked as he repaired the old butts of candles that my granny was old stock-cutting a new wick in an old, spent candle that once were inserted into spring-loaded false candle cases that were nearly three foot long. They would be on the high altar and looked as if the never melted, but now the altar boy knew the secret of the sprung candle, and the contribution the humble bee made to Holy God’s church.
Twenty-five years ago, I found this old tin box in the attic of the family home. When I opened it smelt of must, the cross was slightly in twist, the two small, butt-sized candles still intact in their glass receptacles. When I went to lift the once white cloth, it disintegrated into dust, weightless. But this was like a heart-stopping moment - remembering back twenty years previously when the set was last used for Bridget's demise and anointing of Extreme Unction. This final duty fell to a curate as Fr. Madden, her old friend of many years, was not available that last house visit. A tall lanky priest arrived at the door, all ready with a purple stole adorning his neck in readiness for ecclesiastical duties. Fr. Costello was his name.
The cross now sits on my mantel piece, crocked and more worn by the years, with its decorative inlay of ivory beads worn and chipped. My own mother, God rest her, may be forgiven for once saying, “What do you want that old broken cross for?” Now siblings, nephews, nieces and friends after hearing this story of the old biscuit box, are informed of its past. Yet I wonder what will happen to the old broken Christ after my demise.
PARK LIFE
by Micheál McQuaid
Mary, my wife and me were married on the 27th March 1969. After our marriage we shared a house in Hollybrook Road in Clontarf with an elderly lady. We decided however that we needed our own house. With whatever little money we had saved, we got in touch with the Housing Aid Society, who at that time helped couples with low incomes to purchase their own house. They had contacts in the building societies as well as offering legal advice.
After a number of disappointments, we were successful in buying our house in Sandford Park. The asking price was initially £3,500, but because the house was in poor condition the auctioneer suggested to the owners that they would have to reduce the price somewhat. They reluctantly agreed on a price of £3,100, and so we paid the deposit. After our solicitor was satisfied with all the legalities, we finally moved in to our new home in November that year. Needless to say we had little money left after paying the deposit and legal fees etc. The few belongings that we possessed were our wedding gifts and a few second-hand bits and pieces given to us by friends. Gradually things improved, especially when we purchased a second-hand gas cooker and the gas supply was restored. We were later given an old television set, and have fond memories of Charles Mitchell reading the six o’clock news when the station came on the air at that time.
Life in the Park was good in those far-off days. Nobody had high expectations and therefore there was no competition. There were two young couples as well as ourselves in the Park; Ann and Gino Cafolla, and Angela and Noel O’Connor. They also had young families, and so our children had plenty of playmates. The Park of course was a cul de sac, so it was, one could say, a miniature playground, with no worries about traffic. We settled quickly into our new surroundings and we always had good relations with our neighbours. Mr and Mrs Hancock had a large family, I think eleven in all. The older ones were in their teens or late teens when we arrived. They were good neighbours and Mrs Hancock in particular was always willing to help if help was needed. God be good to them, it wasn't easy for them to raise and care for such a large family.
Mrs Porter, one of the original residents had many interesting stories to tell about when she first moved in to the Park. She too had a large family. She related to us how she would often walk to the Phoenix Park with all her family at the weekend, and spend the whole day there with her children. She was such a lovely lady. She was from the northside, so when she moved into her new house in the Park she wasn't familiar with the area. One morning she decided to visit Thomas Street, as she heard a lot about the shops there. On her way home however she lost her way, and when she arrived in Dolphins Barn she was obliged to ask directions from two ladies. The told her there was no new houses beyond the Canal, and that she must turn back the way she came. She would smile to herself when she recalled those early days.
We love the Tenters, and never regretted for one moment moving here. Of course in recent years there has been huge changes in the area. In the early years, after we moved here, there were no shortage of services in the locality. We had a lovely confectionary shop owned by Johnson, Mooney and O’Brien at the corner of Sandford Gardens and Merton Avenue. There was a grocery shop, a ladies’ hairdressers, a vegetable shop, and of course, Harry's butcher’s shop in Sandford Gardens. In Rutledge Terrace there was McEvoy’s, where the handyman could find various items for his needs. Mr and Mrs Black had a grocery shop and newsagents in Rutledge Terrace. They were both very nice people, and very helpful. There was always a big rush there on Sunday mornings after church to buy the newspapers.
Image capturing Micheál and Mary with one of their grandchildren a number of years ago, in the front garden of their home in Sandford Park.
In recent years, big changes have taken place in the general area of the Tenters. Old familiar landmarks are no longer there, demolished and replaced with high rise apartment blocks and hotels. Long gone are the Sawmills in Ardee Street, McHenry’s Fuel Depot in Blackpitts, the Boys School in Blackpitts, and of course O’Keefe’s - ‘The Knacker's’ as it was called - in Mill Street which produced dog meat from the remains of animals who had died. I often came home via Mill Street in the early hours of the morning when I worked in the Telephone Exchange in Exchequer Street. At that time of the morning the plant was operating at peak capacity, and depending on the way the wind was blowing the smell could carry for quite a distance, which wasn't something one would be looking forward to - especially in the summer months when bedroom windows had to be left open at night.
In the meantime, many more small businesses have also disappeared in the name of progress as one might say. The old folks are also passing on, and making way for many young couples who are moving into the Tenters. Sandford Park is no different. It is nice to see young children playing games on the streets once again. We are in the old age bracket now ourselves, and as Pope John XXIII once said, “I have my bags packed”. We can say the same; we have our bags at the ready, but hopefully not just yet.
Our children are now scattered to the four winds, but they still look forward to coming home and reviving happy memories of their childhood days growing up in the Tenters.
N.B. According to Collins English Dictionary, Knacker is a countable noun: A ‘knacker’ is someone who buys up old horses and then kills them for their meat, bones, or leather.
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHORS
John Fitzsimons has been a resident of the St Thomas Road in the Tenters since he was a young boy in the early 1950’s. He is also a member of The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group.
Ciarán Black grew up in one of the most visited premises in the Tenters, Black’s Shop on Rutledge Terrace. He is also a member of The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group.
Helen Dredge lived on O'Curry Road until she was four years of age. She started her career as a teacher in 1977 at St Kevin’s National Boy’s School in Blackpitts and moved on to Scoil Treasa Naofa when St Kevin’s closed.
Noel Clarke has been living in the Tenters since the 1960’s but has been connected to the area since before he was born much earlier, through his Grandparents.
Pádraig Turley and his family moved into Clarence Mangan Road in the mid 1950’s. While he may have moved from the area some years ago, he is still very connected to the Tenters and is also a member of The Tenters Heritage Group.
Celine Bolger and Kay Kelly are lifelong friends who first met when they were both living on O’Curry Road in the 1950’s. While they have both moved from the area, they still like to keep in touch with what’s happening in their beloved Tenters.
Seán Lennon lived on the outskirts of the Tenters area in Darley’s Terrace and credits the Tenters as forming part of his stomping ground growing up. Seán’s aunt, Molly Lennon, had a shop on Chamber Street.
Eddie Harkness moved to St Thomas Road in 1962. He was an active member of the Tenters Residents Association committee and was also Manager of the LeinsterVille soccer team. Eddie sadly passed away ten years ago, in June 2014.
Tony Corcoran grew up on Merton Avenue in the 1940’s. While he may have moved out of the area some years ago, he is still a regular visitor to the Tenters and is a member of The Tenters Celebrated Heritage Group.
Mark Darley has lived in the Liberties area all of his life. Twenty five years ago, he made the decision to move to the Tenters and has been here ever since.
Micheál McQuaid is originally from County Galway and has been living in the Tenters since himself and his new bride, Mary came to live here nearly fifty five years ago.
MISSION STATEMENT
THE MISSION OF ‘The Tenters Celebrated’ group, is to preserve and maintain the various historical factors that have shaped the community of the area in south central Dublin within the Liberties, known as the Tenters.
Our aim is to reflect on the sense of place that our community has experienced since it was first established, so that future generations can appreciate the heritage of this area. We hope to achieve this by promoting an understanding of the past, present and future of the area and by collecting and communicating materials that foster historical knowledge.
Image of Oscar Square taken by Tenters resident, Billy Mooney in 1996. [Vital:29703]
Courtesy of Dublin City Library & Archive.