Jun 23

John Moran – Photographer

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It was with great sadness that we learned of the passing of John Moran, resident of Island Quay, and a great friend of the East Wall History Group. John was a political activist, journalist and photographer. Here is a small selection of beautiful visions of our community, as captured by John. (All images reproduced with permission).

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 06 0709 10John Moran R.I.P


Jun 16

Pub Quiz

Pub Quiz

Jun 16

Dublin’s legal quarter – history walk


May 21

“Gotchie Lit” – By Brendan Laird, an original East Wall Poem.

This is a special event for our community website , as for the first time we publish a piece of original poetry , written specially for presentation here .It was written by Brendan Laird , and it beautifully captures a child’s eye view of an adventure filled world.(For those who don’t know their old Dublin slang , a ‘gotchie’ is a watchman ).  Enjoy -

01 watchmen hut

The Gotchie is about a specific-ish time and very specific place; about half way up/down Forth Rd depending on your perspective. The three ‘childer’ in the poem are myself and two others. The other boy knows who he is and has read the poem and the girl who finds herself in an imagined scenario shall remain un- named as she probably never saw the inside of a hut, but found herself there because she was real on/off presence on Forth Road all those years ago.

 The Gotchie got his name from the way Dubliners substitute the first letter sound with a G on some words, e.g.  Gaylah for Railway, Gooter for scooter and not as some commentators would have it , that when he apprehended you he would say ‘Got ye’ ! That’s my perspective anyway. The style of the poem is very course,  puns and turns of phrase are used to capture a time. Pop Moran and Leo Hallissey are to blame, two teachers who employed spoonerisms and all sorts of wordplay to get us and themselves through the day- I call it East Wall Gas Meter. The Gotchie knew everything it seemed and we as kids bestowed on him a status that was not in his job description. We loved it when the roads were being upgraded or when the street lamps were modernised.Cable television did away with bird laden TV aeriels as they prepared for long hall flights. It was a very different time when seasons were marked not by changes in weather but by passed on games that had bicycle hoops,scunchers , caps in bolts and ice pop sticks that became rafts in a deluge. I hope my poem re captures those times.

Brendan Laird

02 watchman hut figure

  Gotchie Lit




Three of us-


out playing.


We see smell feel, draped hession


festooned from barrell to barrell, plank to ground


like sacked sentinels or burlapp’d warders


of those in need of concrete engraving.


Hearts initialed, partially committed, not quite set, not yet stone.


Yellow sodium looking down on man-operated


oil burning lowly in crimson tin and glass.


Time cools on this evening before the clock steals a sacred hour from itself


and us-


He watches from a greeny tarp, warmed by pipe, book, baby power and brazier.


He senses players out seeking shelter.


Voices without, a voice within.


I hope yis are not lousy! Bellows He.


Three tentative inquisitors are paged .


Names in lieu of feed admission are pondered by the ad hoc census taker.


Plank for a seat.


Old Holburn vieing with toasty batch and


like us, he’s had his fill.


Great goalkeeper!


Saw him comin’ in from work on his bike.


Gave me the sports final.


We had a great chat.


Isn’t your Nanna great to be mindin’ you all the same?


Liberty House?


I know the names of course, 


Was Faithfull Place further back.


From good people yis are,


never forget that now, says he.


Delighted, glowing , inflated with recognition.


We are-


the latest hits of our generation, the pick of our pops


and every bar of our mothers.


Semi strange to each other in the flame warp, we seem.


He glorifies our names unlike sir, miss, sister, father .


Swelled heads are we with spokes and sayin’s


big enough to be served in the top lounge.


Trinity tongued we are so school’s


out for the likes of us!


You couldn’t hold a factory of candles to her, him or me.


Is the transistor not better than a book?


Are ye not ragin’ yer missin’ the Monkees?


Did you ever see the banshee?


Is it true the yanks are not the goodies anymore?


If you walk on the cracks will you marry the devil?


Tells of shells, cinders, bits of old fashioned jars beneath us.


Underground ghosts creep up through our soapy soles.


He affirms the who and the what of us.


Seeds bred, raised and read


like shards of cursive script needin’ joinin’ up.




Blue glass bottles. Load o’ molluscs!


All kinds o’ things o’ the past, troved and kept.




Nelson’s Pillar, bits of him, too rough for jacks.


Lustre lost now, taken for granite- a cut below.


We are fortified chisellers of tar and cement.


Seasoned players of spokeless hoops.


Sea breezy sulphur smells in summer


promise outdoor baths.


We know not yet the depth of our knowledge. Rapid we are in our thoughts.


Chaste kissers, loser gets a goozer.


Collocka one two three!


You’re on it!


No I’m not! Didn’t touch me!


Fire mocks with hisses at the piney kindling.


We hear-


a late oil truck growling by our camp. 


The Mex gate cranky in a corrugated accent ,like a night porter thinking of an early house.


Sounds already making memories of themselves for us.


He opens a place kept page.


A black and white dog eared snap .


A younger him, no cap, a woman, two girls an’ a boy.


We are the story here!


Page turners us. No need for pictures and


hard words to spell.


Can’t be put down, coming through a letter box near you, pressed and heralded, everything rhymes.


Can this be our club?.


Will you be here tomorrow night?


Stoney Road. Says he.


The downtrodden childer are fallin’ through the cracks and the divil is


riflin’ the gas meter for the grushie.


Not as brainy as this side o’ the tracks, not nearly as smart as youse. He says.


Sap happy are we and


triumphal thoughts arch our backs. Those new foundlings won’t be in our street league.


No way Danno!


He’s our Gotchie. Do you hear?


Listen here youse-


No cemented love hearts or


boot boys rule, okay!


He keeps ello him.


Keeps sketch for etchers, he does.


Coloured red lit our road, he did.


Gas funny by fire light, he was.


Unsolicited pearls shelled out for nothin’, we got.


Outside the tent, we are now.


Freezin’ speech puffs of see yis with


a quick barrel drum tattoo to remember an’ feel the sound.


Deep intake of lamp oil so I’ll never forget.


Cool one handed vault of the front gate with a


big boy spit in a privet. 


Taller now.


Crépe feet on the ground.


No tippiers needed now- level with ten in number and years.


Key turned, weather board an’ waggin’ tail of Captain tellin’ on me.


Gotchie lit road.


Gotchie hut, paged shut.


Gotchie lit lamp smell forever.




Brendan Laird


Feedback: eastwallforall@gmail.com




May 21

Rockin’ Road festival 2014 – 25th May


This Sunday is the 5th annual ‘Rockin’ Road’ festival, a fund raising event for Childvision. All monies raised go to benefit visually impaired children, and over the years this event has made a hugely significant contribution. It is also boasts a great music selection and is a real family event, well organised and well behaved. Don’t miss it!

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May 10

The Battle at Annesley Bridge – Walking tour videos now available

Annesley walking tour

The “1916 Rising: Battle at Annesley Bridge” walking tour organised by the East Wall History Group was a huge success. Led by guide Hugo McGuinness, it was estimated that almost 200 people took part. (Ironically, this was a greater number than the entire Republican garrison involved in 1916!)

The events at Annesley Bridge in 1916 generally receive only a small mention in the history of the Rising. In fact, there was fierce fighting at the time, not only at the bridge but throughout the surrounding areas. There were a great number of casualties, including civilians, though an exact figure has been difficult to compile. Our walking tour, for the first time, attempted to tell the whole story – from the radicalisation of the local residents in the years previous, to the events on Easter Week 1916 and how sporadic sniper battles continued after the Rising had ‘officially’ ended.

We hope you enjoy this video presentation, and we look forward to seeing you when we will no doubt repeat this event in the future.










Our research into this battle and other local stories from 1916 and the revolutionary period is ongoing – if you have anything to contribute (family stories , photos, memorabilia etc) please get in touch .




Thanks to Bas Ó Curraoin for his great work producing these videos.


May 06

Football triumph for East Wall in 1964 50th anniversary celebration

5oth anniversary football poster

Fifty years ago this weekend East Wall United became double cup winners , a major cause of pride and celebration in the community .



Come along and join an anniversary celebration this Friday evening  May 9th , at7.30pm in the Sean O’Casey Community Centre , St. Marys Road .We will not just recall this event , but will be celebrating the proud tradition and history of East Wall football .



Come along , all welcome. We will have a display of old football photos , and past players will be present , if you have any memorabilia, photos or just your memories please bring them along.
East Wall UTD 1964  (800x566)

40th celebration in 2004

40th celebration in 2004

Afterwards we will retire to the old watering hole , the Wharf Tavern (now: the Seabank House)The Wharf (800x668)


May 06

Famine Commemoration


Apr 29

Arsenic and Old Lace – Sean O’Casey Theatre 13 – 17 May


Apr 29

New play, Sean O’Casey Theatre 20 – 23rd May


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