Ringsend, the Great South Wall and the Pigeonhouse.

THE NEIGHBOURHOOD

OF DUBLIN

(Above) O’Connell Bridge, Dublin, around the turn of the century. From an original glass plate negative.

CHAPTER I

Ringsend, the Great South Wall and the Pigeonhouse.

Ringsend, though now presenting a decayed and unattractive appearance, was formerly a place of considerable importance, having been for nearly 200 years, in conjunction wit the Pigeonhouse harbour, the principal packet station in Ireland for communication with Great Britain. The transfer of the packet service, however, to Howth and Kingstown in the early part of last century, deprived Ringsend of its principal source of revenue, and consigned it thenceforth to poverty and obscurity.

In its halcyon days it was a pretty watering-place, much frequented in the summer for sea-bathing by Dublin folk who wished to be within easy reach of town, and in the middle of the 18th century it was described as being “very clean, healthy and beautiful, with vines trained up against the walls of the houses.” In after years it became the seat of several flourishing industries, long since extinct. It is difficult now to realise that such a grimy and dingy-looking place could ever have been a really pretty and pleasant suburb of the city, but such it was 150 years ago, when it contained a number of Picturesque high-gabled houses, with well-stocked gardens and orchards, a few of which remain, even at the present day.

Ringsend must have sadly deteriorated by 1816, if we are to believe Lord Blayney’s description in his *Sequel to a Narrative. *- “On approaching the town [Dublin] you pass through a vile, filthy and disgraceful-looking village called Ringsend.” Other travellers who landed there about the same period, speak of it in similar terms.

*The Dublin Weekly Chronicle *of 15th October, 1748, contains the following quaint notice: - “Poolbeg Oyster Fishery being taken this year by Messrs. Bunit & Simpson, of Ringsend, they may be had fresh and in their purity at Mrs. L’Sware’s at the Sign of the Good Woman in Ringsend aforesaid.”

Various explanations have been given of the origin of this paradoxical name - one of the most plausible being that before the construction of Sir John Rogerson’s Quay, a number of piles of wood were driven into the sand along the sides of the river, to many of which rings were attached for the convenience of vessels mooring there, and that the furthest point to which these piles extended became, in consequence, known as “The Rings end.” It is much more probable, however, that it is a hybrid word - i.e., “Rinn’s end,” *rinn *meaning in Irish a point of land projecting in to the water, so that the whole name would thus mean “the end of the spur of land,” and this etymology is borne out by the position of Ringsend in former times, as will be seen by reference to the accompanying plan showing the coastline of the Port in 1673.

Before the Dodder was confined between artificial banks, it flowed at its own sweet will in numerous streams over a considerable tract of marsh and slobland at Ringsend, and in time of flood caused much perturbation among the inhabitants - the waters of the river and the waves of the sea rolling without let or hindrance over land now covered by terraces and dwellinghouses. Gerard Boate, who wrote in 1652, after referring to the havoc wrought by the floods of this river, states: - “Since that time a stone bridge hath been built over that brook upon the way betwixt Dublin and Ringsend; which was hardly accomplished when the brook in one of its furious risings, quite altered its channel for a good way, so as it did not pass under the bridge as before, but just before the foot of it, letting the same stand upon the dry land, and consequently making it altogether useless. In which perverse course it continued until perforce it was constrained to return to its old channel and to keep within the same.”

The stone bridge referred to ‘by Boate (built between 1629 and 1637) was where Ballsbridge now stands - the only route at that time between Dublin and Ringsend, except for those who hired what was known as a “Ringsend Car,” to cross the shallows then intervening between that place and the city. All the tract lying east of City Quay, Sandwith Street, Grand Canal Street, and north of Lansdowne Road was then washed by the mingled waters of the Dodder and the sea, and could be traversed only with danger and difficulty by pedestrians. (See Prendergast’s *Life of Charles Haliday, *prefixed to the latter’s *Scandinavian Kingdom of Dublin, *p. cxx.)

The difficulty of access to Ringsend is alluded to as follows in *The Dublin Scuffle *(1699), by John Dunton, the eccentric Dublin bookseller, italics being introduced into the quotation for the purpose of emphasising the allusion: - “I had very agreeable company to Ringsend, and was nobly treated at the King’s Head at this dear place (as all Post Towns generally are). I took my leave of … and two or three more friends, and now looked towards Dublin; *but how to get at it we no more knew than the Fox at the Grapes, for though we saw a large strand, yet ‘twas not to be walked over, *because of a pretty rapid stream [the Dodder] which must be crossed; we enquired for a coach, and found no such thing was to be had here, unless by accident, but were informed we might have a Rings-end carr, which upon my desire was called, and we got upon it, not into it … I pay’d 4d. for one fair of a mile’s riding.”

On the 14th of November, 1646, the Parliamentary forces were landed at Ringsend, and on the 14th of August, 1649, Oliver Cromwell, who had been appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland by unanimous vote of Parliament, landed here with an army of 12,000 men, a formidable train of artillery, and a large quantity of munitions of war.

In 1670, during a great storm from the East, the tide overflowed here, and flooding the country as far as Trinity College, invaded the low-lying parts of the city and carried away a number of houses.

In 1672, the English Government, apprehensive of an attack on Dublin by the Dutch, who a few years previously had done great damage in the Thames, sent over Sir Bernard de Gomme, an eminent engineer, to report as to what works were necessary for the defence of the Port. After a survey, he submitted a plan and estimates, now deposited in the British Museum, for the construction of a great pentagonal fortress, to occupy a space of about thirty acres, immediately south-east of the site now occupied by Merrion Square, at a cost of £131,277. It was indispensable to the utility of this stronghold that it should be capable of relief by sea, which then flowed in to where now are Wentworth Place and Grand Canal Street.

Nothing, however, was done towards providing defences .for the Port of Dublin until the erection of the Pigeonhouse Fort nearly 150 years afterwards.

In April, 1690, on Good Friday, an engagement took place in the Bay, near where the Poolbeg Lighthouse now stands, between the *Monmouth *yacht with some smaller vessels in command of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, and a frigate anchored in the Bay laden with goods for France. King James, attracted by the firing, rode out to Ringsend accompanied by a great crowd of people and witnessed the engagement. The crew of the frigate were obliged to abandon it after a loss of six or seven in the action. - (Dean Story’s *Impartial History, *p.58.)

In 1703, Ringsend having become populous owing to the presence of many officers of the Port and seafaring men, and being so far from the Protestant parish church of Donnybrook, which was often inaccessible owing to the overflowing of tides and floods on the highway, an Act was passed by Parliament authorising the erection of the church now known as St. Matthew’s at Irishtown.

In 1711 the Liffey between the city and Ringsend was embanked, thereby reclaiming the North and South Lotts.

In 1782 the bridge across the Dodder at Ringsend was swept away by a flood, and communication was not restored for seven years. Ferrar in his *View of Dublin *(1796), writing of this incident, says: - “Ringsend was in a very melancholy situation in the year 1787. It resembled a town which had experienced all the calamities of war, that had been sacked by an enemy, or that had felt the hand of all-devouring time. The unfortunate inhabitants were in a manner excluded from all intercourse with Dublin. They were attacked by the overbearing floods which issued from the mountains in irresistible torrents and completely demolished the bridge. The new bridge is a very handsome one, and cost only £815.” The folly of this economy is shown by the fact that the new bridge lasted only until 1802 - thirteen years - when it, like its predecessor, was carried away by floods. At their wits’ end, the authorities thereupon constructed the massive bridge which survives to the present day, no longer indeed exposed to the fury of the floods, the once turbulent Dodder having been sadly tamed in recent years by the diversion of its waters into the reservoirs of the Rathmines Township at Glennasmole.

The South Wall, one of the most remarkable and best constructed breakwaters of its kind in the world, extends from Ringsend into the Bay, a distance of 17,754 feet, or nearly three and a half miles. It was commenced in 1717 by a frame-work of wooden piles carried along the course of the river, for a distance of 7,938 feet, to the position now occupied by the Pigeonhouse, where the Ballast Board in 1735, placed a floating lightship; and in 1735 this wooden piling was replaced by a double stone wall, the intervening space being filled with rocks and gravel, forming a wide roadway, flanked on either side by a massive parapet. Prior to this time all vessels approaching the harbour of Dublin after nightfall were obliged to remain outside the bar until the following morning, on account of the dangerous shoals off the shore known as the North and South Bulls, and even when vessels had entered the Port, there was no place of anchorage until they reached Ringsend.’

It was soon discovered that the wall, although affording some shelter to shipping, did not extend far enough to protect the harbour adequately during storms and high tides, and accordingly it was decided to supplement the work by an extension of the original wooden piles and framework to the deep pool known as Poolbeg, near the eastern extremity of the South Bull, and about two miles further out in the bay. This further portion is not quite in line with the rest, but is deflected slightly to the northward so as to follow the course of the river.

At the point then known as “the pile ends,” where the original line of wooden piles ended, and the Pigeonhouse now stands, the port authorities erected a massive wooden house, strongly clamped with iron, to serve as a watch house, store house and place of refuge for such as were forced to land there by stress of weather; and between this place and Ringsend, a number of boats used to ply in summer, conveying pleasure-seeking citizens of that day to what had grown to be a favourite rendezvous while the works were in progress. A man named Pidgeon who lived in the wooden house and acted as caretaker of the works and tools, finding the place become such a public resort, fitted out his quarters as neatly as possible, and, assisted by his wife and family, made arrangements for supplying meals and refreshments to visitors. He also purchased a boat to hire to his guests, had it painted and finished in an attractive manner, and as he dealt with only the best class of visitors, his rude hostelry soon grew to be a noted resort of distinguished citizens and wits, while the owner found himself on the fair road to fortune. His house came to be known to all the Dublin folk as “Pidgeon’s House,” or the Pigeonhouse, and even after he and his family had gone the way of all flesh, and the old building, having served its purpose, had fallen into decay, the name was perpetuated in the title of the stronghold that in after years rose over its ruins.

When the Packet station was established here, it was found necessary to build the Pigeonhouse harbour, where the packets landed and embarked passengers, for whose accommodation a hotel was erected in 1790. After the transfer of the regular service to Howth, the Pigeonhouse harbour continued in use as an occasional landing place, especially for the Liverpool packets.

The Pigeonhouse Packet station in time becoming superseded by that at Howth, the Government in 1813, purchased the hotel and other buildings, and commenced the construction of the Pigeonhouse Fort, which ultimately cost over £100,000.

The hotel formed the nucleus of the structure, and the submarine mining establishment, batteries and other additions were erected by the War Department. In its later years the Fort gradually lapsed into disuse, and was finally dismantled and sold to the Dublin Corporation in 1897 for £65,000.

The Pigeonhouse fort appears to have been built partly for the purpose of a repository for State papers, bullion, and other valuables in time of disturbance, and partly for defence of the Port; and in its earlier form, the construction of formidable batteries commanding the passage of the wall from the city, indicated that its designers were more apprehensive of an attack from land than by sea. In anticipation of a prolonged siege, efforts were made to obtain an independent supply of water for the garrison by the usual process of sinking tubes, but notwithstanding the assistance of eminent experts who were brought over from England for the purpose, and the expenditure of immense sums of money on the operations, the influx of salt water through the sandy soil baffled all attempts and obliged the Government to abandon the project.

In *The Dublin Chronicle *of 3rd August, 1790, we read: - “On Friday morning 27 poor haymakers attending at the pigeonhouse in order to be put on board ship for England, were seized by a press-gang and put on board a tender - the commander of the press-gang telling them at the same time that if they were able to mow hay, they could have no objection to mow the enemies of their country, and they should have passage, diet, &c., gratis.” It is therefore not surprising that in another issue we learn: - “Yesterday morning, at an early hour, a coach, in which some recruits were being conveyed to the Pigeonhouse in order to be embarked for England, was attacked at Ringsend by desperate banditti armed with swords and pistols, who after wounding the soldiers that accompanied the coach, rescued three of the men from them.”

*The Dublin Chronicle *of 28th January, 1792, referring to a breach which had been made by a storm in the South Wall, says: - “Yesterday, his Grace the Duke of Leinster went on a sea party, and, after shooting the breach in the South Wall, sailed over the Low Ground and the South Lotts, and landed safely at Merrion Square … Boats ply with passengers to Merrion Square.”

Although the original account of this occurrence mentions the South Wall, it doubtless means the wall or embankment on the south side of the river along Sir John Rogerson’s Quay, where a breach would have caused an inundation of the South Lotts, enabling boats to ply as far as what is now the lower end of Holles Street, near Merrion Square.

Sir Charles Hoare in his *Tour in Ireland *relates some interesting experiences of his visit to Dublin: - “Monday, 23rd June, 1806. Sailed from Holyhead in the *Union Packet, *Captain Skinner, and after a rough and tedious passage of 23 hours, landed at the Pigeonhouse, from where a vehicle, very appropriately called ‘the Long Coach’ (holding 16 inside passengers and as many outside, with all their luggage) conveyed us to Dublin, distant about two miles from the place of landing.” He states that in addition to the duty which was exacted after a troublesome examination at the Custom House on the South Wall, he had to pay no less than twelve different officers of Customs. After leaving the Custom House, he had to dismount from the vehicle and cross the bridge on foot, as it was considered to be in too dangerous a condition to drive over with a full vehicle. “There is nothing commanding in this approach to Dublin; a number of narrow passes and bridges barricadoed, still remind the traveller of the late rebellion.” He adds that a most daring attack upon the long coach above alluded to, was made a short time previously by a gang of armed banditti, who obliged the passengers to dismount, and then plundered them one by one, while on another occasion the officer carrying the mails was fired at. Sir Charles Hoare suggests that “a horse patrole” should be furnished by the Government to escort the coach from the General Post Office to the Packet station.

The process of exacting fees and payments on various pretexts, from the passengers at the Pigeonhouse, was known to the initiated as “Plucking the Pigeons.”

The statement as to the duration of the passage from Holyhead - twenty-three hours - may perhaps be considered an exaggeration, but a perusal of the newspapers of the period will show that this was not by any means an extravagantly long time for crossing; indeed, our forefathers thought themselves rather lucky if the voyage was accomplished in that time, instances not having been at all uncommon in stormy weather or with contrary winds where it extended to a week or ten days. When we consider the limited accommodation in these frail vessels, and the prolonged miseries of sea-sick passengers, can we wonder that none but the most enthusiastic travellers cared to leave their own shores in those days? Perhaps, indeed, the vigour of the language with which Ringsend has been assailed by successive writers who landed there, may to some extent be accounted for, by the condition of these unfortunate travellers’ nerves and stomachs after the miseries of sea-sickness during a voyage of from eighteen to thirty hours duration in the packet boats of that period.

According to a diary kept by a Welsh gentleman in 1735, during a visit to Dublin, the passage from Holyhead took nineteen hours, and on the return journey when the packet had got within a few miles of Holyhead, a contrary wind sprung up which obliged the officers to abandon all hope of reaching land on that side, and forced them to turn back to Dublin where they had to wait several days before the wind was favourable. It is interesting to learn that the voyage cost 10s. 6d. - pretty much the same as at present - but when forced to turn back by stress of weather and make an extra voyage, as in this case, the cost of provisions only was charged. The passengers landed at Ringsend and paid is. a head to the boatman who took them ashore in his boat, and two of them hired a coach to drive them to the city, for which they paid 2s. 10d. The passengers complained of being kept four hours waiting before being landed.

Nathaniel Jefferys in *An Englishman’s Descriptive Account of Dublin *(1810), gives the following amusing description of the proceedings at the Pigeonhouse landing stage, about a hundred years ago: - “Upon the arrival of the packets at the Pigeonhouse, the passengers are conducted to the customhouse; and it would be a great injustice not to acknowledge that the manner in which the examination of the luggage is done (by giving as little trouble as possible to persons frequently fatigued by a tedious passage and sea-sickness) is very gratifying to strangers. As soon, however, as this ceremony is over, one of a less accommodating description takes place, which is the mode of conveying passengers to Dublin in the Long Coach. This carriage is upon the plan of those elegant vehicles upon low wheels, which are used on the road between Hyde Park Corner and Hammersmith in the neighbourhood of London; and from the state of its repair and external appearance, it bears every mark of having retired on the superannuated list from that active duty, previous to its being employed upon its present service. This coach is usually very crowded, from the anxiety of the passengers to proceed to Dublin; and from the manner in which some of the company may easily be supposed to have been passing their time on board the packet - from the effect of sea-sickness, the effluvia arising from twelve or fourteen persons so circumstanced, crammed together in a very small space, like the inmates of Noah’s Ark, the clean and the unclean, is not of that description which can at all entitle the Long Coach to be considered as a bed of roses. Three shillings for each passenger is the price of conveyance, and this is exacted beforehand . . The inconveniencies of this ride are, however, of short duration, for in about half an hour the passengers are released from this earthly purgatory by their arrival in Dublin.”

The average duration of the passage from the Pigeonhouse to Holyhead was 18 hours, and from Howth only 12 hours, which was reduced to seven hours when steam packets were introduced.

The Pigeonhouse has undergone considerable alterations in recent years since it has become the generating station for the city supply of electricity, and the tall red-brick chimney which has been added is now a conspicuous feature in the Bay. Most of the old buildings still remain, but the Pigeonhouse of our boyhood days is gone - the sentries no longer guard its portals, its deserted courtyards and dismantled batteries echo no more to the tramp of armed men or resound with salvoes of artillery. The monotonous hum of the dynamos has succeeded, and the whole place, though doubtless fulfilling a more useful purpose than during its military occupation, possesses much less interest than it did as a link with old-time Dublin.

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