10 things you might not know about Irish pubs

1. Ancient Irish law decreed 24-hour opening

Under Brehon Law – first codified in the sixth and seventh centuries – each local king was required to have his own bruigu (also sometimes spelled brughaid), or brewer. A bruigu was obliged to have “a never-dry cauldron, a dwelling on a public road and a welcome to every face”. He had to provide hospitality to all comers in his bruidean (usually translated as “hostel”). The bruidean had to be located at a crossroads; have four doors, one on each of the approaching routes; have torch-bearing greeters on a lawn outside so nobody would pass by unwelcomed; and stay open 24 hours a day. There were strict rules on provisions: the bruigu had to stock three uncooked red meats, butchered and ready to cook; three stewed meats, cooked and kept heated; and three types of live animals, ready to slaughter at short notice. Three different cheering sounds had to be heard in the bruidean simultaneously: the cheers of the ale-makers going happily about their work, the cheers of the servers bringing alcohol from the cauldron, and the cheers of young men playing chess.

2. The oldest pub and the oldest graffiti in Ireland
After a dispute had rumbled on for many years, the owners of Sean’s Bar in Athlone, Co Westmeath, and The Brazen Head in Dublin agreed to go on national radio to decide which of their establishments should be recognised as the oldest pub in Ireland. The late DJ Gerry Ryan hosted the debate. The owner of Sean’s Bar provided evidence – verified by archaeologists and historians from the National Museum – that strongly suggested the presence of a retail premises on the site dating back to AD900. During renovations in 1970, the walls, part of which are now on display at the National Museum, were found to be made of wattle and daub. The builders also found coins dating from the period, minted by local landlords and probably used as beer tokens. The owners highlighted written evidence of a rest stop for pilgrims on their way to nearby Clonmacnoise. The Brazen Head had no answers and graciously admitted defeat. They may have taken some small consolation when a signature etched on one of their windows was confirmed to be from 1726 and was awarded the title of the oldest piece of graffiti in the country. The writing – in a whorl on a bottle-glass pane – is so small it cannot be read with the naked eye, but with the aid of a magnifying glass it is possible to decipher the spidery writing: “John Langan halted here 7th August 1726”.

3. The Normans brought wine bars and the term “vintners” to Ireland
The word tavern – originally from the Latin taberna, meaning hut – was first used when the Normans occupied parts of Ireland in the twelfth century. The Normans were wine lovers and imported the best wines from their homeland. At first, the alcohol was managed by wine merchants, or vintners, and delivered to the cellars of the castles of the Norman lords, who largely resided inside the Pale. Occasionally, they held wine-tasting events when new stock was imported, and over time began to sell the surplus at the point of storage. These taverns became meeting places for important members of society where alcohol and food were served and issues of the day discussed. Dublin’s Winetavern Street, referred to as vicus tabernariorum vini in Latin – “the street of the wine taverners’” – was the main centre of distribution and retail. In 1979, while excavating the controversial Wood Quay site nearby, archaeologists found over 2,000 pewter tavern tokens dumped in a refuse pit.

4. Pubs were once allowed to store dead bodies
The Coroners Act of 1846 decreed a dead body had to be brought to the nearest public house for storage until further arrangements were made. The beer cellars were cool and slowed decomposition, and it became common for publicans to have marble tables in their cellars for autopsies. This legislation was not removed from the statute books until 1962, and the dual role of publican and undertaker is still common in Ireland. The Freeman’s Journal of April 9th, 1869 carried a story of a bus crash in Dublin. The injured were brought to Lawler’s pub to be treated, instead of to the nearby St Mary’s Asylum where nurses and doctors were in attendance. The editor complained the choice was inappropriate because the publican had no beds. Patrick Lawler saw fit to write to the paper to defend his actions:
“I beg to say that the body of Mrs Byrne was brought into my house by the direction of Dr Monks, and laid on the table of the taproom, where a large fire was burning. Blankets were at once brought down from the bed of my own family and wrapped round the body. Every possible effort was made to resuscitate her. My house was closed and business suspended while she remained there; everything required by the doctor and those in attendance were supplied by me.”

5. Why Irish pubs have family names over the doors
It became a legal requirement to display the proprietor’s name over the front door of the premises after legislation passed in 1872. The legacy of this law is often cited as one of the unique features of the Irish pub. Often, a public house operates under a long-obsolete family name – a signature feature in the boom of “Irish pubs” outside Ireland. This change in legislation limited the previous inventive array of names: in Dublin, The Sots Hole in Essex Street, The Wandering Jew in Castle Street, Three Candlesticks in King Street, House of Blazes in Aston Quay, The Blue Leg in High Street, The Holy Lamb in Cornmarket and The Golden Sugar Loaf in Abbey Street are all long since defunct. Some pubs, such as The Bleeding Horse and The Brazen Head, kept both a family name and original title.

6. Travellers used to be legally entitled to a drink
Bona fide houses utilised a legal loophole – a hangover from the days of coach travel – that allowed a genuine traveller three miles from his place of residence to partake of alcohol outside normal hours. If you lived in Dublin city, the limit extended to five miles from your habitual residence. According to the law, the customer had to have “travelled in good faith”, not for the purposes of taking refreshment; travellers could go into an inn for “refreshment in the course of a journey, whether of business or pleasure”. It was a legally fraught area. In order to prove a public house was taking advantage of it, the court had to prove the publican did not believe his customer was a bona fide traveller when serving outside normal hours. Famous Dublin bona fides included Lamb Doyle’s in the foothills of the Dublin Mountains, Walsh’s Sandyford House – then known as the Widow Flavin’s – and the Dropping Well in Dartry. The law was finally changed in 1943. Bona fide travellers could no longer be served between midnight and 6am, and the pubs were eventually abolished in 1963. The widespread use of cars brought the curtains down on a unique phase of the Irish pub.

7. A computer algorithm solved James Joyce’s Dublin pub puzzle
Leopold Bloom, the central character in James Joyce’s modernist masterpiece Ulysses, famously said it would be a good puzzle to walk across Dublin without passing a pub. The problem was only solved in 2011 by software developer Rory McCann, using a computer algorithm. There are fewer pubs now than on Bloomsday, June 16th, 1904. On his first attempt, McCann could not find a route that did not pass a hotel. He did, however, rule out restaurants with licences to serve alcohol. McCann’s route runs from Blackhorse Avenue to Baggot Street. It goes through Stoneybatter, past St James’s Gate – the home of Guinness – down Bride Street, across York Street, past St Stephen’s Green, detouring through the Iveagh Gardens, and down Adelaide Road. He modified this route in 2014 to avoid passing any hotels. Fittingly, it now crosses the James Joyce Bridge.

8. Cocktail bars are nothing new
In 1932, The Irish Times denounced the cocktail, warning readers: “It is supposed by the many to induce an appetite and to stimulate intelligent conversation; in fact, it absorbs the pancreatic juices and encourages cheap wit.” At the annual meeting of the Irish Association for the Prevention of Intemperance in 1936, it was noted that “appalling revelations have been made in the press lately about cocktail and sherry parties even among business girls in their own apartments”. At the meeting, held in Bewley’s on Grafton Street in Dublin, calls were made for “the discontinuance of cocktails and the elimination of drinking clubs’, as well as ‘the elimination of drinking at public dances”. Later in 1937, The Irish Times reported the belief of a doctor from Clare Mental Hospital that “now that women have taken with avidity to tobacco and cocktails, one can visualise the most appalling results for the human race at a not far distant date”.

9. Until 1973, the only way to get a drink on St Patrick’s Day was to go to the dogs
St Patrick’s Day, falling as it does in the middle of Lent, was once a day of abstinence. The only place alcohol was sold was in the members’ lounge at the Royal Dublin Dog Show. High attendance figures were guaranteed. Patrick Kavanagh reputedly once rented a dog to get in, while his arch-nemesis Brendan Behan stole a poodle on another occasion. The law did not change until 1973. The celebrations now associated with the national holiday were born in the United States. The first parade took place in 1762, when Irish soldiers serving in the British Army marched through Manhattan to a tavern. It was 1931 before a parade took place in Ireland. There was a major change in 1995 when the Government introduced the St Patrick’s Day festival. According to Diageo, St Patrick’s Day now sees over 13 million pints of Guinness being sold around the world – nearly four times the amount sold on an average day.

10. There are strange things in Dublin pubs
Some of Dublin’s hostelries harbour strange things. One such is The Clock on Thomas Street, which has an aviary in the beer garden. In Toner’s pub of Baggot Street, the beer garden utilises predator bird noises to keep away seagulls. It goes off every 18 minutes or so. In Fallon’s in The Coombe, there is a photo of a couple on their wedding day on the ceiling. A local punter given to excessive drinking sometimes fell from his chair. He would see his wife looking down at him, feel suitably admonished, and make his way home. Billy Brooks Carter from Texas loved Mulligan’s of Poolbeg Street so much he requested some of his ashes be kept in the grandfather clock. Every eight days, the staff ‘wind up Billy’.


The bar in Leinster House, home of the Irish Government (Dail Bar)

The Dail Bar stayed open until 5.30 am on 10 July 2013 to cater to deputies discussing the Bill for the Protection of Life during Pregnancy. In an incident which subsequently came to be called ‘lapgate’ Cork TD Tom Barry pulled his Fine Gael colleague Aine Collins onto his lap during the course of the evening. In his defence he said he was not ‘drunk’ but ‘had drink taken’. On the night over €7,000 was spent in the two bars in the building. The Oireachtas members bar took in a total of €3,326.85, €2,507.90 of which was spent on alcohol. The Oireachtas visitors’ bar took in a total of €3,572.20. In 2013, Oireachtas Bars made a turnover of €285,564, with a profit of €104,129.
When the Water Services Bill was debated on 16 November 2014 the bar took in €7,461.19. This included the sale of 301 pints of Guinness and 139 pints of Heineken, Budweiser and Carlsberg. The next night, 18 December, the beginning of the Christmas recess for TDs, was the next busiest night of the year for the bar, clocking up sales of €7, 055.94. Over 193 pints of Guinness were drank that night and 184 pints of lager. The third busiest night was on 14 October 2014, where new members for Roscommon-south Leitrim, Michael Fitzmaurice, and Dublin South-West’s Paul Murphy, were introduced. That day the Dáil bar took in €6,710. 12.
In early July the Houses of the Oireachtas Commission announced it would hire a private debt collection company to chase down unpaid bills from the Dail bar. In the end this never happened but the result was dramatic. At the end of August 2014 a total of €11,175 was owed to the bar facilities in the House of the Oireachtas. This had dropped from the previous available figure of €72,000 at the end of 2012. When the 31st Dail was dissolved there was an outstanding tab of €5,405. By 10 March 2016 the outstanding amount due to the bar was down to €4,010. The largest single amount was for €802.
There are two bars in Leinster House, one reserved exclusively for members and one for the public, who are usually guests of TDs and Senators, and staff in Leinster House. TDs and Senators also socialise in this bar. In addition, alcohol is also served in the members’ restaurant. The two bars can remain open for as long as the Dáil is in session, which means they can sometimes be serving alcohol in the early hours of the morning, outside normal licensing hours. The bars are exempt from holding any licence and are operated on the basis of parliamentary privilege. In a letter to Gerry Adams TD dated 4 December 2013 the Oireachtas Joint sub-Committee on Administration stated: ‘In relation to the bar licence issue the sub-Committee was informed that the Oireachtas is exempt from the requirement to hold a bar licence and is operated on the basis of parliamentary privilege. They had discussed the issue and agreed ‘the status quo should remain in respect of the Dáil bar’. Gerry Adams was not happy. He said:
Most people would find it odd that a bar can serve alcohol until all hours in a place of work. For this to the case in the Dáil, where important legislation affecting the lives of citizens is being debated, is unacceptable. It is a further example of the cosy, insider political culture that has existed in this state for many decades one where politics is all about special privileges, cronyism and where standards observed by average citizens don’t apply. It’s time this culture was rooted out. The Dáil Bar should be regulated the same way as any other bar and I intend to continue to pursue this issue.
Online news and current affairs website The Journal.ie reported the story. The overwhelming majority of those who commented were irate. Mark Meehan had this to say: ‘In no other place of work would the consumption of alcohol be allowed. It really is the biggest example of how the political class feel themselves to be separate from the rest of the population. One set of rules for them, another for the ordinary person. It’s an insult to any pretence of democracy that we might have in this country to have a bar open anywhere in Leinster House. Those TDs/Senators who use it or defend it show open contempt for democracy and every constituent who elected them to their position.’ Martin Smith was equally trenchant: ‘And they have the brass neck to inform s there is a drinking culture that needs to be stamped out in society and below cost selling of booze to be stamped out and all the while they get to drink at work in a bar without a licence…try opening up a bar tomorrow without a licence…do as I say not as i do and what’s the bet they claim the money spent in the bar on expenses’. Donal Reynolds commented: ‘So these all night sittings they hit the boozer?! Aren’t they usually the country’s most important issues that are debated late into the night and these clowns get pissed up? If I drank during work hours I would be sacked and find it hard to get a Job again! It’s f**kin laughable what goes on in there and I’ve worked in Leinster house , dept of finance and government buildings as a contractor the stuff we got paid to do would make ya laugh ! It is pitiful that this discussion even needs to be had. It should be common sense that a clear head is needed to carry out the business of running the country. Obviously common sense is lacking.’
Labour chief whip Emmet Stagg told TV3′s Midweek programme November 13 2013. ‘If a TD has a pint or two I don’t think that’s a problem for me and I don’t think it’s a problem for the citizens of the country either. ‘The programme surveyed TDs and found that 60 of the 79 deputies who responded to the survey thought the Dáil bar should not be allowed to serve alcohol past regular licensing hours. 17 TDs admitted to having taken a drink before returning to the Dail chamber. The programme contacted all 166 TDs and got 79 responses. 72 of those surveyed said that alcohol should not be banned from Leinster House, while 67 of the 79 surveyed said they did not agree with the statement that there is a drinking culture in the Oireachtas.
Emmet Stagg claimed ‘there’s loads of places’ where people go at lunchtime to have a pint, saying this does not affect their ability to carry out their job: ‘In quite a lot of jobs that happens and people go to pubs and people have a pint and a sandwich for their lunch. Irish people have a pint regularly with their lunch, they have a pint after their work time, they have a pint sometimes at night time. So do I and I enjoy them.’
Once again Gerry Adams was not happy: ’For Emmet Stagg to say that there is no problem if TDs drink alcohol before engaging in Dail debates shows how seriously out of touch with public feeling some members of this Government now are’, he said. He told The Journal that there were at least two TDs in his vicinity who were intoxicated on the night the former Anglo Irish Bank was liquidated as part of the promissory note deal. Adams spoke to Hugh O’ Donnell of The Sunday Business Post: My preference would be that there should be no bar here. That’s my preference, and I’m not against drinking, I take a drink myself. Even though I take a drink, I never drink when I’m working. But let me just say something else. This is a place of work. If you wandered into work intoxicated it wouldn’t be tolerated too long. This is a legislature. We all know that serious matters were voted upon here.’ He also spoke of the role of the ushers in the Dail:
‘We’re very dependent on the ushers, all of us, the politicians, our support staff, the journalists – and they’re a wonderful group of people, they’re very friendly, they’re very professional. “They wouldn’t mind, I’m sure, being here until all hours if there is some serious or emergency debate or some matter being dealt with. But why should they be stuck here because I want to go and have a pint in the bar till 2 or 3 in the morning? “They’re given no notice, they’re given no explanation, but they have to stay. As long as I want to go in with my mates and have a few pints or invite in people, they have to stay there. I don’t think it’s fair, I don’t think it’s fair on them, I don’t think it’s fair on their families.’
Political journalist John Drennan wrote entertainingly of the Dail bar in his book Paddy Machiavelli: How to Get Ahead in Irish Politics. He is aware, he wrote, of the myths perpetuated in the public imagination of the public: ‘In the peasantry’s imagination (the Dail bar) consists of a palace of Berlusconi type excess where half naked showgirls, dressed in togas feed grapes to the reclining forms of portly TDs.’ Apart from the corpulence of some of the nation’s politicians the reality is far less intriguing, according to Drennan. ‘The reality approximates more closely a well appointed midlands hotel bar with a declining passing trade.’ It wasn’t always thus. Former Taoiseach Brian Cowen was an enthusiastic supporter of the bar.
Over the last five years the bars racked up losses totalling €587, 547 in the past five years — the equivalent of €118, 000 per annum. What does this say about Ireland?

Television Advertising and the Irish Pub: Guinness comes to the Island

Number 3: Kevin Martin

Author Of Have Ye No Homes To Go To?: The History of the Irish Pub
Release Date: May 15th
The 1977 ‘Island’ advertisement for Guinness is perhaps the most iconic singular piece of footage in the entire history of Irish television advertising. More commonly remembered to as the ‘Ta siad ag teacht’ ad—translated from Irish as ‘they are coming’—it occupies a singular place in the visual cultural history and public imagination of Ireland. In a time when most Irish people only had access to domestic television it’s acquired the patina of a collective popular myth and invariably makes any list of most remembered advertisements. In the establishing shot a thatched pub on an island gradually comes into focus from an aerial view. The visuals are stunning; the weather incandescent; redolent of a timeless Ireland of which the Gaelic revivalists would have been proud. A mute group of people are waiting inside the pub accompanied by nothing only the ticking of a clock, the metronomic beat of which dominates the ad. The time is five past six in the evening. The patrons look uneasy and nervous and glance up at the clock. There is a palpable feeling of suspense and worry. Even a dog on the floor looks anxious. The ad cuts to an aerial shot of a traditional currach boat rowing swiftly across a wide expanse of sun kissed ocean. It cuts back and over twice from the pub. The clock shows it is just after half past six. The passive and hopeful waiting is the opposite of the active rowing. Then suddenly we see men rush to the door and exclaim ‘Ta siad ag teacht’ in Connemara Irish. We see the boat once more, this time being hauled ashore; a keg of alcohol is lifted from it by the cheerful men. The final shot shows the barman placing two full pint glasses of Guinness on the counter. With appreciative noises emanating from everybody the camera zooms in on a man taking his first sip of Guinness with a delighted expression on his face. The delivery has arrived and the world is perfect again. In the island paradise the only thing missing was Guinness. We are left with a sign on the screen in Celtic script; ‘Bionn tu suna sasta le Guinness’; you will be completely happy with Guinness. As idyllic images of Irish life go it has rarely been bettered. It is the sheer elemental nature of the visuals and the aboriginal soundtrack which make the advertisement so memorable. While it’s not made explicit this must be one of the Aran Islands, the last great repository of Irish culture for writers like Synge and Yeats. Drinking a pint of Guinness in a thatched pub on an Island off the west coast of Ireland is the apogee of genuine Irish experiences. It won a Silver Lion at the Cannes film festival and a Clio award in New York. In a poll organised by Marketing Magazine in 1999 it was voted the greatest Irish advertisement of the twentieth century. Unfortunately there was no lift in sales of Guinness. Critics argued it reinforced every possible cliché about the Irish and alcohol and bore no relation to a modern thrusting continually urbanising Ireland. It was out of time with the cultural consensus. Ireland had only been in the European Economic Community for four years and was trying to become more centrist and less backward. The image was in-congruent for many opinion shapers.

The Simpsons and the Irish pub

The Simpsons and the Irish Pub

Number 2:Kevin Martin

The animated American sitcom ‘The Simpsons’ is a cultural phenomenon. Created by the now deceased Matt Groening it debuted on 17 December 1989. It has satirised every conceivable aspect of the lives of a middle class nuclear family American society. Like other programmess in the genre it often uses national stereotypes for comedic effect and the Irish haven’t been spared. If it wasn’t animation would people take offence?
In an episode called ‘In the name of the Grampa’—a play on movie title ‘In the name of the father’—Abe, the grandfather in the show, expressed a wish to return to Ireland to see the country before he died. Homer, his son and lover of Duff beer, was happy to accompany him. The plane is piloted by leprechauns who welcome the passengers to Ireland ‘otherwise known as the Emerald Isle, East Boston, Potatoville, Freckle Bog, the land of poetry and the land of bad poetry.’ As the plane begins to land Grampa enters a reverie recalling his earlier days in Ireland. He remembers dancing in a pub and singing; ‘we drink all day/ we puddle our guilt/ we know we’re not Scots because we don’t wear kilts/ we toss our darts with beer in our hands/ we boil our food till it tastes really bland.’ Cabbage and watery corned beef are dispensed from beer taps. Grampa remembers dancing on a bar, on the back of sheep and on top of a gravestone. When they finally arrive at Tom O Flanagan’s pub in the town of Dunklederry nobody except the owner is present. He’s watching thirty year old horse racing on VHS. It’s nothing like the pub of Grandpa’s time in Ireland. O’ Flanagan tells them the pub trade has been destroyed because of the vibrant economy and the recently introduced smoking ban. Everyone now has a job. People jog by and rush to work outside the empty pub. Two leprechauns—called ‘yupprechauns’ by Grampa—stroll by discussing plasma television screens and the merits of holidays in Southern Tuscany. The old man wonders where the world of ‘tweed caps, cheerful sheep and unending trouble’ has gone. It’s like ‘Danish people stopped loving modern sleek design.’ The publican has had so little demand for his services he pronounces pub as ‘pube’ and pint as ‘pent’. Grampa asks for a drink and is offered an Australian Shiraz. When he states he wants an Irish drink he’s presented with a pint of Guinness with a potato floating in it and a glass of Bushmill’s whiskey inserted in the potato. He’s still unhappy and stresses he wants a real Irish drink. The owner spits in the drink and Abe is finally content. During a drunken evening Homer and his father unwittingly buy the pub. After some consternation they bring Moe, the corrupt tavern keeper from Springfield, over to Ireland to advise them. He tells them the best thing they could do is provide services no other establishment would dare too. They decide to open a ‘smoke easy’. This proves a great success and they are thanked by the natives for bringing a bit of the ‘Old Ireland’ back to the village. Eventually they’re closed down by the police, taken to court and deported after standing trial on front of a judge with a potato shaped head. The judge tells him they must go back to America where ‘all the stupid Irish men are sent to join the police force.’ If it were a soap opera would there be uproar? What’s the difference? It’s a crude vision of a modern Ireland.

Good Friday and The Irish Pub

Number 1: Good Friday and the Irish pub
Kevin Martin

In 2010 a Limerick court case threw an international spotlight on Irish Good Friday alcohol legislation. The Celtic League Rugby Union scheduled a match between Munster and Leinster at Thomond Park in Limerick for 2 April;Good Friday. Vintners were up in arms. They estimated €10 million would go a begging. After a court case appealing for a lifting of the law,widely dubbed ‘The Good Friday Disagreement’, the publicans were successful and for the first time since 1927 people were allowed to consume alcohol on ordinary licensed premises in Ireland. Surprisingly this temporary legislation didn’t result in a relaxation of the law and thus far was a once off derogation. The case highlighted divergent viewpoints. Brother Sean O’ Connor, head of the Franciscan Friary in Moyross, a group lauded for their work in a severely disadvantaged community, took a dim view of the legal decision: ‘I heard someone quoted this week who said that rugby is more important than religion – that’s just ridiculous and it’s a shame. If you identify yourself as a Catholic then you should be nowhere near Thomond Park or a pub on that day…this is like something out of the Old Testament. If you’re going against God and making a public stand about it then you are serving Mammon over God. I don’t care how much money you pull in, it will backfire on you on a spiritual level.’ Politicians of various hues exercised their verbal dexterity. Senator Joe O’ Toole wanted the law changed: ‘Everyone’s a winner. Free will prevails; the Church-State separation is maintained. We render to Munster the things that are Munster’s and to God the things that are God’s. We save jobs. The economy gains.’ Ivana Bacik Independent Senator for the National University of Ireland agreed: ‘Let those of us who don’t believe that Good Friday is a particularly special day choose to do what we want to do in pubs and clubs.’ Senator Donie Cassidy, Fianna Fail stalwart, regretted the lack of respect for ‘the crucifixion of the Good Lord.’ On 25 March 2010, Judge Tom O’Donnell,while recognising the potential for ‘controversy in several quarters’, granted Limerick publicans an exemption from the state ban on opening on Good Friday. Because the stadium was allowed serve alcohol it would have been absurd, he contended, not to let pubs in the vicinity trade. Publicans in Limerick were granted legal permission to trade between 18:00 and 23:30 on Good Friday 2010. It was the only derogation given and since then the Irish have had dry Good Fridays.