Most people are aware that the emblem of Dublin city, and coincidentally the name of a great podcast about the city’s history, includes the depiction of “three burning castles”. But why exactly is this the case? That’s a question even the local government hasn’t been able to accurately answer. It’s not clear if the symbol represents actual castles or some other structure, like watchtowers or wall-gates, nor why there ought to be three, aflame or otherwise.
One proposed explanation posits that the edifice in question is indeed Dublin Castle, repeated thrice due to the magical connotations of triadic figures. But why are they depicted as ablaze? That remains to be seen. A common hypothesis is that the castles aren’t literally on fire; instead, the flames are symbolic, portraying the passion and preparedness of Dubliners to guard their metropolis.
However, this interpretation may be neither conceivable nor prudent, given the current times. Now, more than ever, it might send the wrong message, considering that some self-proclaimed patriots view vandalism as an acceptable means of expressing dissent over immigration policies.
Could Canadian musician Neil Young provide any insight? In his 1970 song, he wrote, “Don’t let it bring you down/It’s only castles burning”. Though the rest of the song is fairly obscured, it perhaps calls for bravery amidst a chaotic world, promoting acceptance of unchangeable circumstances, and maintaining a positive attitude.
When Young performed at Slane in 1993, a couple years following the castle’s destruction by fire, he prudently chose not to include Don’t Let it Bring You Down on the evening’s repertoire.
I recently was documenting how Drury Street has evolved into Dublin’s most sophisticated boulevard, especially during pleasant summer nights. However, during an architectural walk earlier this week, I was reminded again that it once used to be, at least a portion of it, the most fiery spot in town.
On the 27th of August, 1892, a major fire badly daamaged the South City Markets that bordered Drury Street to the east. The damage could have been exponentially worse as the large carpark at the northern end of Drury Street used to be a massive whiskey storage facility. The inflammable nature of whiskey was still a vivid memory due to the Dublin Whisky Fire of 1875 that originated from a similar storage building nearby in the Liberties.
Thankfully, the brave firefighters averted a disaster by preventing the underground store at Drury from adding fuel to the blaze. Regardless, significant reconstruction work was necessary for the markets. Amidst all of this, the curious absence of flames from the city logo, as pointed out by our guide Arran Henderson, at the market entrance on Fade Street, is notable. The logo simply portrays the usual trio of castles.
Unexpectedly, I found myself amidst a public demonstration at a Dublin Castle gateway. While there were no literal fires, the protest was marked by outbursts of passionate speech from protestors demanding safer urban spaces for cyclists and pedestrians.
In this passionate crowd, the most inflamed individual was ironically a counter-protestor on a bicycle, who proceeded to berate presenters and audience members as “environmental extremists” wanting to bring down businesses. Clearly, the castle gate was not the crux of the matter. The focal point of this protest was the neighbouring City Hall where a council meeting was being held. The critical trigger was the perceived backstep made by the newly appointed CEO of Dublin, Richard Shakespeare, on the City Centre Traffic Plan, a decision he has since stated will proceed with minor adjustments.
Shakespeare’s tenure is likely to be filled with unexpected turns, as anticipated. The ultimate narrative could be akin to ‘Much Fuss Over Bicycling’ or ‘The Domestication of the Car park Lobby’; that’s yet to be determined. Regardless, it’s to be desired that the chief executive experiences greater fortune than prior Shakespearian Richards.
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Earlier this week, while reviewing the 1961 RTÉ national anthem footage (Diary, Thursday), which paid tribute to the hardworking patriotism of Sean Lemass’s Ireland with scenes featuring trains, planes, and combined harvesters, it appears that I might have overstated some points. That epoch undeniably saw significant strides being made in Ireland, although there were restrictions as to what the economic initiatives of Lemass and Whitaker could realise.
According to some readers, the depiction of the aircraft blasting off in the film’s concluding scenes couldn’t possibly be an “Aer Lingus DC10”. At first, and quite importantly, the DC10 wasn’t in existence until 1971. Secondly, Aer Lingus never possessed a DC10, even post its inception.