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When My Love Was Square
Since coming to France to live I have often been asked
what I miss most about Ireland. Well, lots of things really, although
of course I love where I am now. But on thinking it through, quite a lot
of the things that I loved are now memories; things that make me laugh
just remembering them. By the time I left Dublin I really had seen such
changes that I seem now to be looking back on a different city, although
I realise of course every single generation says that. Unlike some people,
I loved an awful lot of the changes. Thinking of just food for starters,
I loved the explosion of food availability, the fantastic ethnic shops,
and of course the incredible variety of restaurants. I remember Captain
America's opening; it was like a little bit of heaven had arrived in Grafton
Street. So what do I miss? I really miss places, funny enough. Parts of
the city.
There are a few bits of Dublin that hold truly happy memories for me.
Two of these are actually corners, where great characters hang out. One
is the corner, the Oscar Wilde corner, of Merrion Square. Just opposite
Wilde's mother's house is where the amazing artist Brid Finnegan has her
spot among the pavement artists on Sundays. I have been visiting and gazing
in awe at Brid's work for years, ever since she gave up selling hats in
Brown Thomas bravely chucking the commercial world to concentrate on her
painting. These ethereal paintings bring us right back to fairy-tale land.
Full of moonlight, dark men in cloaks, ghostlike women in white, deep
woods and castles. When I was working full time and constantly exhausted,
I often went in see Brid on Sunday afternoons. She and I used to have
chats about living the artist's life, and I envied her more that I can
say. She encouraged me to go my own way and told me to take a chance;
it would all work out. I have no way to thank her from the bottom of my
heart for her words of wisdom over the years I have known and admired
her, as we always discussed her paintings and living an artists life,
never where we lived.
The other corner of Dublin, and this one holds hilarious memories, is
the one that used to be known as the Ballast Office. This is where Westmoreland
Street joins with the quays. Here, that most unlikely named Dubliner,
Jimmy Genocky, has stood for nearly forty years, selling papers. He has
also been happily, and no one more wittily, verbally abusing his customers,
who love him for his wit. He knows everybody, everybody knows him and
the rumour used to be that he owns most of Westmoreland Street, but as
he loves people, he stays outside. He once told us an incident that occurred
during a golf game when some little jumped up johnnie asked him if he
had never wanted to do anything with his life. When Jimmy asked him what
he meant, our little golfer laughed and said 'well you know, selling papers,
I mean. Didn't you ever want to be a pilot, like most little boys?' 'Oh
yes' said Jimmy, 'of course I did, but I couldn't afford to take such
a big drop in my income.' The story buzzed up and down the street for
days as we passed it on with glee.
I came to know Jimmy when I worked in Westmoreland Street in happy days.
Happy days meaning that the people who worked there in those days were
not totally stressed out of their minds all the time, as they are now.
People who worked around the area actually left their offices and went
to Bewleys each morning for coffee break, lasting up to half an hour.
Can anyone imagine such a thing now? The place seemed to be full of characters.
Brendan Kennelly would often be there, Trinity College being just at the
end of the street. I used to love watching him, his easy way with the
ladies who looked after us all in those days. Almost the whole place then
was service. And absolutely terrific after a night on the town.
The ladies would take one look at your eyes and suggest 'you should have
a breakfast, love, set you up for the day'.
Jimmy Keaveny and some of the chaps from the Dublin Football team of the
time used to be there. That particular team were like superstars, but
stars you might see in the pub, or in my case, in Bewleys. People from
the Irish Times used to come in. An old man I got to know, called, I think,
Charles Rosignol, used to sit sometimes with one of the women journalists,
and was inclined to bellow across the restaurant to me, 'Ah Jane, the
stars, the stars; they shine from your eyes.' Well, since I was about
19 at the time, maybe they did. Anyway so impressed did I become with
this celebrity packed morning gathering, that I once saw an advertisement
in the Irish Times looking for staff for it's own office, and I positively
ran around the corner to D'Olier Street with my CV.
Two lovely people interviewed me, Caroline and Paul, as far as I can remember.
It seems like a hundred years ago now. I, being over excited, had not
really read the job description in detail, and of course I was most unsuited
to the tough world of telesales. It took Caroline and Paul no time at
all figure this out, and we ended up having a hilarious conversation with
me telling them that I would willingly make the tea in the Irish Times
if I thought I would get to talk to Maeve Binchy, Nuala O'Faolain and
Nell McCafferty every now and then. They tried their best, being kind,
to tell me that in the tele sales department you only got to talk to prospective
clients, and that targets that were not met went on to the next days figure.
I scurried back around to my job in the tourism business, thrilled that
the customers came in to me of their own free will, wanting me to use
my expertise, such as it was, to send them somewhere.
My favourite part of the city is probably Merrion Square. For starters
it sort of leads everywhere. Well, it leads to everywhere I like. Before
the wretched parking metres, which limited us to two or three measly hours,
it used to be the greatest place to park your car when heading to the
hairdressers, Paul in Molesworth Place, the Shelbourne Hotel, Grafton
Street for shopping, the National Gallery, indeed any amount of galleries,
and the Museums. It is also a great place to walk from. Go south and you
can be in Ballsbridge in no time. Go in the opposite direction and you
are in the thick of the shops in five minutes. Head west, nipping around
by Pembroke Street and Harcourt Street and you come to the Bretzel, the
most wonderful bread shop in the city, in the oldest Jewish quarter. A
little stroll to the east and you will reach the River Liffey, passing
by the incredible amount of new apartment blocks and hotels.
I once had a serious romance in Merrion Square that the other person never
knew about. My old doctor, Maire MacCormac used to have her rooms in the
square. At one stage, Homan Potterton, who was in charge of the National
Gallery had rooms at the top of that magnificent old house. I made lots
of appointments to see Dr. MacCormac during the time the great one lived
upstairs, hoping to see him, and indeed we used to pass in the huge hall.
I made all these appointments because I was in love with Mr Potterton
at that time, although naturally he never knew this. Since I had been
attending Dr Maire for years, and knew the house well, I didn't just sit
in the waiting room and wait. No. I wandered about a bit. That gave me
a better chance of spotting the love of my life. The fact that the house
had beautiful pictures on the walls meant I could always be thought to
be studying them, and not lurking with intent. The love remained unrequited
of course, which makes it still a most wonderful memory. I enjoyed especially
the visit where I tried to convince Dr. MacCormac that I just knew I needed
glasses, when I had absolutely no problem with my eyes, in the wild hope
that HE would go in or out while I was there. She began to be suspicious,
as now at each consultation I had begun to talk about the gallery, and
dragged in the hero's name at every opportunity. I had been going to her
for far too long toÊfool that wise lady. I have a muddled memory of her
ticking me off, saying something about people's privacy being respected,
after I am almost sure I suggested to her that she might possiblyÊintroduce
the two of us! I think I had visions of what I truly imagined would be
1920's Paris type afternoon trysts on a scarlet chaise longue with this
dark headed gorgeous man who knew all about art. What a thing is a lively
imagination. So, corners and all, Merrion Square, to me had everything.Ê
by
Jane Shortall
19th January 2004
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