The “three sieges of Dublin” theory, as the actual explanation behind Dublin’s burning castles emblem, has a notable flaw as Des Gunning highlights: a fourth siege occurred within the stated timeframe. This was an exceptionally fiery siege, led by Robert and Edward the Bruce in February 1317.
Faced with this imminent peril, the city’s defenders adopted a scorched earth approach, mirroring a strategy Moscow would employ against Napoleon half a millennium later. They set alight not just their city but also the suburbs of that era, including St Thomas, the present location of Thomas Street.
Materials from the dismantled Dominican priory on the Liffey’s northern side and St Mary’s del Dam church (the latter lending its name to modern-day Dame Street, albeit with a different pronunciation), were used to fortify the city’s ramparts.
The drastic measures achieved their purpose. Encamped at Castleknock, the Bruces didn’t have any closer stronghold to seize. Dublin’s own self-imposed siege thwarted their incursion plans.
Hence, the city’s emblem ought to feature a fourth castle aflame, as Des suggests, to mark the Bruces’ historical role. However, this contradicts the metaphysical rule of threes, unless the third siege from Senan Molony’s original list, which occurred in 1649, is replaced by the 1317 siege, aligning with 1171 and 1534 respectively. This alternative could work.
In another digression, seemingly ancient parts of Dublin, specifically 12 and 13 Fitzwilliam Place, are on the market for €4.4 million. But the sale advertisements don’t mention the buildings’ historic value. The property, which is described as “an expansive, light-filled office area retaining numerous original period features like intricate cornicing, ornate fireplaces, and ceiling roses,” is being sold by the Colliers.
The briefing notes indicate that the primary structures “exist in their own scope except for the underground levels that interconnect,” and one among them (number 12) is home to “the respected legal team, Reddy Charlton.” There might also be a handful of phantom individuals from the worlds of art and literature sharing the space.
In the latter part of the 1940s, this place was the famed “Catacombs,” a venue known for late-night drinks and parties. It was depicted by an erstwhile regular as a modern interpretation of “the Hellfire Club.” The 1955 novel, The Gingerman by JP Donleavy provides an alternate depiction of the residence: “They forced their way through an iron boundary and down the dark, steep steps. Their host, Tony Malarkey, with the wide grin of a satisfied bull scenting an eager cow in oestrus, tallied the packages of dark beer. Watched the bottle caps. There was an expansive kitchen through a pantry…
“The atmosphere echoed with the sound of popping bottle caps. The scent of humidity-laden walls and recesses filled the room. The sense of extensive hallways and concealed spaces, subterranean tunnels, gloomy pits and musty, mattress-filled wine cellars. A solitary bulb illuminated the middle of the kitchen. The floor, discoloured, consisted of red tiles. The white painted walls were underpinned by crossed struts along the ceiling. And a crowd of individuals poured in through the door, shouldering bags of stout.”
Donleavy later in his novel, describes the bustling crowd in full swing: “The room was hazy with smoke. Skulls flickering… Barney, pouring with sweat, was crooning, staggering on the tiles. Clocklan had abandoned the blonde and was currently manhandling the diminutive jeweler towards the gloomy depths of the catacombs for continued punishment. Pummeling him in the face with his clenched hand. It’s a sight, simply a sight, I tell you. Malarkey bellowing he was goddamn king and if they didn’t perk up, he would bash their skulls in. Clocklan’s lady mounted the table to dance. Thrusting her hips seductively, she termed it. Percy returned, beaming, which swiftly faded when he spotted his lady dancing on the table. Declaring her a disgraceful hussy, he questioned her sense of self-respect to be performing in such a manner in a room full of people.”
The previous home of the Catacombs is currently on the market, whilst the spirit of its history is being transformed into a stage play due this autumn. This play, which is the latest endeavour from the Dublin Shakespeare Society, aims to illustrate the history of the venue through the eyes of its initial owner, Dickie Wyman. Wyman had moved to Dublin from England during World War II, after the death of his partner on the battlefield and to save himself from conscription.
The Dublin Shakespeare Society, which was established in 1907, holds the title of the longest-running amateur theatrical group in Ireland. Despite being named after the famed playwright, its performances span a wide spectrum beyond Shakespeare’s works. Interestingly, despite the coincidental name, the society doesn’t claim any influence over the fact that a man with the surname Shakespeare – that being Richard, the city council CEO – is presently administrating Dublin.
The play is set to debut in October. However, since the original location is currently occupied, the Catacombs as envisioned by the Dublin Shakespeare Society will appear at a new venue: the society’s central location at 36 Parnell Square, also known as the Teachers Club.