Hidden Dublin

by Frank Hopkins

  Theatre Royal

  For several hundreds of years now, theatre-going and dramatic performances in general have been a major feature of Dublin’s social scene. Medieval records show that performances were being put on by the guilds and churches of Dublin from as early as the fifteenth century on holy days and at festivals such as St George’s Day and at the Feast of Corpus Christi.

  Bands of strolling players were plying their trade in Dublin during the sixteenth century and in 1589 an entry in the Ancient Treasury Book of Dublin reveals that an amount of four pounds was paid to troupes called The Queen’s Players and The Queen and Earl of Essex Players ‘for showing their sports’.

  In 1636 an attempt was made to regulate the numbers of wandering bands of actors and other ‘rogues and vagabonds’ who inhabited the streets of Dublin. During that year, an act of parliament passed in Dublin proclaimed that along with beggars, scam-artists, quacks and all other types of chancers, ‘common players of interludes … jugglers and minstrels’ were to be banned. Curiously, the act also allowed for the banning of those pretending ‘to bee Egyptians, or wander in the habite, forme, or attire of counterfeit Egyptians’.

  Dublin’s first purpose-built theatre, known as The New Theatre, was erected at Werburgh Street in 1637 by a Scottish dancing master named John Ogilby, who later held the rather grandiose-sounding titles of ‘Historiographer to his Majesty’ and ‘Master of the Revels in the Kingdom of Ireland’. The theatre was built just outside the walls of Dublin Castle and it was mainly patronised by members of the British nobility.

  There are very few descriptions of the theatre in existence today, but one brief account furnished by a Thomas Wilkes states that it contained ‘a gallery and pit, but no boxes, except one on the stage for the then lord deputy, the earl of Strafford, who was Ogilby’s patron’. Another brief account contained in Robert Hitchcock’s An Historical View of the Irish Stage says that the theatre was ‘tolerably large and commodious’.

  The theatre’s first acting company and musicians were brought over from England at great expense by Ogilby and they produced many tragedies and comedies written by an English playwright named James Shirley, who was a friend of Ogilby’s.

  During the theatre’s brief existence it never managed to attract spectators in sufficient numbers. In a desperate attempt to attract more punters Ogilby occasionally put on boxing matches, cudgelling, bear-baiting and cock-fighting contests at the theatre and these evenings seem to have been the only times that the theatre managed to attract capacity audiences. Bear and bull-baiting were very popular sports in Dublin at that time and there are many references in the Dublin newspapers to these practices. In 1639 the theatre was able to dispense with the bear-baiting when it had a great run of success with a play written by Henry Burnell called Landgartha.

  Werburgh Street Theatre only lasted until 1641 when it was closed down during the Great Rebellion of that year. The theatre was closed by order of the puritanic lords justices and Ogilby – a royalist – fled to London, after having been almost killed in a gunpowder explosion at Rathfarnham Castle.

  Ogilby returned to Dublin twenty years later and he built the famous Smock Alley Theatre in 1662. His second foray into the world of theatre was infinitely more successful than the first as Smock Alley remained open to theatre-goers for another 130 years.

  Holy Wells

  The practice of visiting holy wells or springs in some cases extends back to pre-Christian times and nearly 200 of these have been recorded in the greater Dublin area. A great many of these wells have long since disappeared from public view.

  The annual feast day of St John the Baptist on 24 June was an important festival for many years in Dublin. Bonfires were lit and maintained throughout the entire night. These bonfires were very popular in Dublin and they were often banned because of the danger caused to the wooden houses of the city.

  Thousands gathered annually at St John’s Well to partake of the waters, which were said to cure all manner of diseases. This well was located near Islandbridge in the vicinity of what is now St John’s Terrace near Kilmainham. This well was famous for its curative powers and over the course of many centuries it attracted pilgrims in their thousands. As the years went by, the annual festival became bigger and more unruly and, like so many other festivals in the city, drinking and rioting became its main focus.

  Throughout the eighteenth century many festivals were banned because of the public nuisance caused and the annual visit to St John’s Well was no different. In 1710 the Irish House of Commons passed an act which allowed for punishment by fines, floggings or imprisonment for those engaged in ‘dangerous, tumultuous and unlawful assemblies’. The act led to the cancellation of the festival for a few years, although it does appear that the religious aspect of the day was still observed by many. Twenty-five years later the owners of the nearby Royal Hospital in Kilmainham complained about damage caused to their property by the large numbers of visitors to the well who used the grounds of the Royal Hospital as a shortcut.

  One famous well still in existence is Lady’s Well at Mulhuddart. This well is reputed to aid in the healing of cuts, sprains and bruises. This well attracted the attention of the authorities during the eighteenth century for all the wrong reasons and the local Catholic church tried to bring a halt to the drink-fuelled revelry that took place there every September.

  Some weeks before the festivities were due to take place in 1754 a report in Faulkner’s Dublin Journal warned publicans not to turn up on the day:

  We are assured that the Roman Catholic clergy, to prevent as far as in them lieth, the enormities and scandalous excesses that are annually committed at the Well near Mulahedard, commonly called Lady’s Well, have prevailed on the landholders contigious thereto not to permit any tents or booths to be erected hereafter on their lands; of which it is judged proper to give notice in this publick manner, to prevent a disappointment to such publicans as usually erected tents or booths near said Well.

  Another famous well was St Brigid’s Well at St Margaret’s in north county Dublin. This well was said to be particularly cool in summer and was reputed never to freeze over in winter. There was another well dedicated to St Patrick near Finglas village. This well was popular with people suffering from blindness and other eye problems and it was claimed that drinking the water was a good cure for ulcers.

  The Spa Well beside the Spa Hotel in Lucan also had a great reputation for its restorative properties and was believed to cure, amongst other ailments: ringworm, cold-sores, rheumatism, loose teeth, leprosy and even paralysis. During the eighteenth century, the water was even bottled and brought to Dr Stevens’ Hospital where it was used to treat ulcers. Dr John Rutty, in his Natural History of Ireland said that the water ‘tasted of a boiled egg … and smelt like a solution of sulphur’.

  Old Newgate Prison

  Its not known exactly when the old Newgate gaol which stood on the corner of Cut Purse Row and Lamb Alley was built but it is first mentioned as a place of confinement in 1285. The prison was called Newgate because it was built on the site of the western gate of the old city walls. The prison was described as consisting of a round tower at each corner, an iron gate and portcullis. It also contained an iron balcony that was used for public hangings.

  According to Gilbert’s History of Dublin the building became the main city prison in 1485 after Richard III had authorised the mayor and sheriffs of Dublin to maintain a gaol in the city. However, this doesn’t mean that Newgate was the first gaol in the city as there had previously been one near the city wall between Dublin Castle and Werburgh Street.

  According to an entry in the Chain Book of Dublin in 1486 (so called because it was chained to a wall in the Tholsel to stop citizens from running away with it), the mayor of Dublin, Janico Marks, and his two bailiffs, Thomas Bennet and Robert Blanchville, took delivery of the following iron instruments to be used in the prison: three shears, two keys, two bolts with three collars, one three-pointed bolt for men’
s hands, shackles for men’s legs, one great chain weighing eight and a half stone, yokes with collars, one pair of manacles weighing one stone, stock-locks, two hanging-locks and a variety of other collars and shackles.

  Another inventory drawn up in 1526 lists the following: four bolts for men’s legs with their shackles, one bolt for children with two shackles, collars for men’s necks, keys for both dungeons beneath and a tool called a clinching hammer.

  The inventory also reveals that there were seven prisoners incarcerated in Newgate at that time. Four were in for non-payment of debts, two of the prisoners – Leonard Cantwell and Richard Kelly – were being held for felony while one, Bell Brysse, was there for trespass.

  In 1534 the head gaoler of Newgate, Dick Stanton, is mentioned in Hollinshed’s Chronicles for defending Newgate during an attack by rebels loyal to Silken Thomas. According to the book, Stanton saw one of the rebels pointing his musket in the window of Newgate so he shot him ‘full in the forehead under the brim of his skull and withal turned up his heeles. Stanton, not satisfied with his death, issued out of the wicket, stript the varlet mother naked and brought in his piece and attire …’

  The gaolers at Newgate were appointed by the Dublin City Assembly and they received little or no remuneration from the authorities for the privilege. They were also expected to pay for the upkeep and maintenance of Newgate. The gaolers did manage to earn a substantial living by extorting money from the prisoners in their charge. The unfortunate inmates of the prison were forced to pay for everything including food, drink and even a dry mattress to sleep on. The gaoler could also boost his income by selling alcohol to the prisoners at grossly inflated prices.

  In 1729, the Irish House of Commons instigated an inquiry into the behaviour of John Hawkins who was gaoler of Newgate and the adjoining Black Dog Prison. Hawkins required every prisoner who came through the gates of the prisons to pay two shillings into a ‘penny pot’. Those who refused were stripped and beaten by Hawkins’ henchmen who would then sell the inmates’ clothes for the penny pot. Any prisoner unable to pay bed rent was thrown into a small, damp and windowless dungeon called ‘The Nunnery’ which could sometimes hold up to twenty prisoners.

  Hawkins even entered into an arrangement with the parish watch whereby they would arrest completely innocent people at their homes and take them to straight to Newgate where Hawkins would often detain them for days on end until they could come up with the required release fee. The committee investigating the abuses at the prison established that of the 160 prisoners in Newgate at the time, only forty of them were actually awaiting trial!

  Throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Newgate had to undergo several renovations and in 1773 a decision was taken to abandon the prison and build a new Newgate across the Liffey at Green Street. The new prison opened for business in 1780 but the old Newgate continued to be used until 1782 when the City Assembly ordered that ‘the old building at Cornmarket, commonly called Newgate, should be immediately pulled down, the same being a nuisance and that a message be sent to the Lord Mayor and Board of Aldermen requesting their concurrence therewith’.

  The mayor concurred and the old Newgate Prison was demolished in August 1782.

  Simpson’s Hospital

  During the 1770s a Jervis Street merchant named George Simpson – who was also a chronic gout sufferer – decided to set up an institution for poor Dublin men who were in a similar situation. Simpson died in 1778 leaving a small fortune and in his will he directed that after the death of his wife Catherine, his fortune was to be used ‘to erect and support and maintain, an hospital for the reception of such poor decayed, blind and gouty men as they shall think worthy of such a charity’.

  Catherine followed her husband to the grave soon afterwards and a committee of thirteen men – all friends of Simpson – was appointed to administer his last wishes. A large number of local charities and institutions benefited from Simpson’s generosity and in 1781, Simpson’s hospital for ‘blind and gouty old men’ eventually opened at Putland House on Parnell Street, then Great Britain Street close to where the Ilac Centre is now situated. This house was demolished a short time later and a new hospital was in place on the site by 1787.

  This building was described by Samuel Lewis’ Topo­graphical Dictionary of Ireland in 1837 as being ‘a large plain building, with a small plot of ground in the rear for the accommodation of the inmates: its interior is divided into twenty-four wards, containing about seventy beds, but the number supported is about fifty’.

  The inmates of Simpson’s hospital were a familiar and easily recognisable sight on the streets of Dublin with their distinctive uniforms, which consisted of a black felt top hat, a pilot-blue suit and walking cane.

  There were landscaped gardens at the back of the hospital where the residents could stroll along gravelled walkways or smoke their pipes on one of the wooden benches provided for their comfort. A contemporary visitor to the hospital described the garden as a peaceful haven from the bustle of the city saying: ‘ In the spring and summer the gay sound of the flute and violin is often heard from the benches of their little garden, and the whole institution has an air of cheerful content.’

  The hospital was transferred to more suitable premises at Wyckham in Dundrum in 1925 and it is still in use as a home for the elderly. The old hospital building in Parnell Street was taken over by a company named Williams and Woods who built a factory on the site of the old gardens at the back of the premises. This was demolished in 1978.

  Also located in Parnell Street was St Mary’s or the Widows Alms House, which was established in 1724. This charitable institution was established to provide food and lodgings for thirty-two destitute widows of St Mary’s parish. The alms house initially catered for children too but the trustees decided that this was an unsuitable place to look after their welfare.

  The widows were given a room measuring fourteen feet by twelve with a fireplace and a weekly allowance of bread, coal and candles and in some cases, a small allowance.

  Warburton, Walsh and Whitelaw’s History of the City of Dublin written in 1818 painted a grim picture of the house in which a ‘general character of gloom and dirt pervades every room’. They described walls streaked with dirt and smoke, windows so filthy that no daylight could shine through them and a rotting roof that was just about ready to collapse on the unfortunate inmates below.

  The house was still in use during the 1950s and like Simpson’s hospital it was demolished during the 1970s.

  State Coach

  In recent years Dublin’s lord mayors have been reasonably well looked after in transport terms compared to their counterparts of 300 years ago. Most of today’s mayors are now provided with a set of wheels and a driver to ferry them around the city to carry out their duties, while some have even been known to resort to the bicycle on occasion.

  However, up until 1791 Dublin Corporation had no state coach and the lord mayor either had to provide his own transport or else walk to civic functions. For instance, can you imagine the embarrassment of the lord mayor in 1701 when he was forced to walk behind the carriages of the lords justice to the unveiling of a statue to King Billy (William of Orange) on College Green, because he had no coach of his own?

  Things were slightly better for Lord Mayor Humphrey French in 1732 who made what Pue’s Occurrences described as ‘the greatest appearance that was ever known on such an occasion’ at King George II’s birthday bash in October of that year. French’s coach was pulled by six horses and was manned by several elaborately dressed footmen. However, French was a man of independent means and he provided the coach himself.

  Nearly twenty years later Lord Mayor French was back on shanks mare again and the newspapers reported in July 1751 that he walked from the Tholsel in High Street to lay the foundation stone of the new Rotunda hospital in what was then Great Britain Street.

  The City Assembly did toy with the idea of buying a coach in 1763 but nothing further was done about it. Three yea
rs later the problem was solved by the duke of Leinster who donated a ‘Berlin’ coach to the city of Dublin. This coach was in use for twenty years but it became too costly to keep it in a decent state of repair. Just before it was scrapped altogether, a member of the Assembly, John ‘The Dog in Office’ Gifford, said that if £50 was spent on the carriage, it still wouldn’t be worth £15.

  In 1789 the corporation decided that a new coach should be built and William Whitton, a Dominick Street coach-builder, won the contract. There were at least thirty coach-building firms in the city at that time – mostly on the north side.

  Whitton began the building of the coach using the best artists and craftsmen available to him and it was ready for use by November 1790. However, just before the coach was due to be displayed to the public, the lord chancellor, Lord Clare’s London-built coach costing £7,000 appeared on the streets of Dublin. The corporation was determined to show that anything London could do, they could do better and they decided to redesign the state coach. The new improved Dublin coach appeared on the streets one year later just in time for the celebration of William of Orange’s birthday. Unlike ninety years earlier, the lord mayor didn’t have to walk to the party. King Billy would have been pleased too as on each corner of the roof of the coach was a carved figure of a child carrying bunches of orange lilies, which, said a contemporary description, ‘reminds us of William III who delivered these countries from a Popish tyrant.’ The Dublin coach cost a total of £2,690 to build, less than half the cost of its London rival.