URBUS

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In my previous post, on Local History Day 2018, I wrote the following:

We'll say nothing about the doors being a wee bit late opening on a frozen morning or the automatic doors then getting stuck. This is outside our brief, but my own view is that it is a manifestation of the recently discovered CURSE OF URBUS, a more than century old anomaly.

Well, it's finally time to speak openly about URBUS. If you look carefully at the crest above you will see that the motto is a slight variation on the one in the crest of the City of Dublin. Where this one has URBUS the city crest has URBIS.

URBUS adorns the pediment over the building that houses the Dublin City Library and Archive in Pearse Street.

As far as I know, this anomaly has only come to notice in the last decade or so.

Since then it has been assumed that this was a typo by the original sculptor in 1909. It was also assumed that the error made a nonsense of the Latin motto.

Before I go on to discuss this I would like to touch on a dilemma which this error gave rise to in recent times.

When new glass sliding doors were being installed at the main entrance it was decided to incorporate the crest into the glass. But which crest? Should the typo be corrected, leading to the anomaly of two different versions of the crest appearing at the front of the building? Or, should the bespoke version, error and all, be used?

I know what I'd have done, and that is just what was done. The bespoke version is now proclaiming its individuality at ground as well as pediment level. As Sir Humphrey would say, "a brave decision, Minister". Needless to say, his remark was aimed at scaring the bejasus out of the Minister. But our crowd are made of sterner stuff and a brave decision was one to be taken and not ducked.

So is there now really a curse resulting from this multiple "folly", or is there a deeper meaning to it all?

For the avoidance of doubt, let me state quite categorically that the motto as it stands is wrong. It is supposed to be the city motto and it is not.

Nevertheless, it is no harm speculating what it might signify in its present form, and, even at the risk of stretching a point, whether the "error" might have been intentional.

These things do happen. I mean, we have a memorial to the 77 executed by the Free State Government hiding in plain sight on the wall of Rathmines Roman Catholic Church. And we have a bust of Kevin Barry taking its place among the saints in St. Catherine's church in Meath Street. These things do happen.

So let us look at URBUS. It has been known to signify a city in Latin, but I don't think it is fourth declension so in classical grammatical terms it wouldn't fit.

However there is such a thing as colloquial (or bog) Latin, and such even in written form as I know from my school Caesar. So where would this leave us. I offer a phrase from Caesar himself to show that URBUS may not always be declined:

Pompeius ex urbus profectus iter ...

Source

If this is accepted then we must proceed to examine the sculptor's motive for deviating from the actual motto.

Source

Having Googled my Latin head off I came up with an interesting entry in this Latin dictionary from 1711.

Source

Apparently URBUS as an adjective means crooked or bent. .

It is clearly not used here in its pure adjectival sense as it does not accord with any of the remaining three words in the phrase.

But if we take it that the form URBUS, denoting city, is used in preference to the URBIS in the motto, and that this choice was influenced by the adjectival meaning of URBUS (crooked), then we actually have a prophetic crest whose meaning is a CAVEAT EMPTOR to gullible citizens who do not take the trouble to sufficiently enquire into the trustworthiness of some of those in charge.

And lest anyone doubt my credentials in this matter (i) I took Latin for six years at secondary school level, (ii) I took Baby Latin at University level, and (iii) I have been an altar boy.

I passed all these tests successfully and unscathed.

I rest my case.

Memo item: the true crest

LOCAL HISTORY DAY 2017

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One of the great annual outings for amateur local historians is the local history day at the Dublin City Library and Archive in Pearse St. (DCLA). It has not only provided us with an outlet for our research but has stimulated us to dig deeper and longer.

In particular the link up between DCLA and Maynooth University (NUIM) has stimulated local research and has given graduates in this relatively new academic discipline an outlet for their work.

Equally, people like myself, who are not connected with any institution and have probably come late in life to this area, are not only given an outlet but they can find themselves in some very exalted company.

If you add in DCLA events outside of this one day, it is clear that this institution is a jewel in the City's crown.

We'll say nothing about the doors being a wee bit late opening on a frozen morning or the automatic doors then getting stuck. This is outside our brief, but my own view is that it is a manifestation of the recently discovered CURSE OF URBUS, a more than century old anomaly.

That, however, is a story for another day.

Enda Leaney

Regular readers of this blog will know that Máire Kennedy who ran this event for many years has retired and I was interested in who might be in charge of this year's event as I don't think Máire's post has yet been filled.

That task fell to Enda Leaney whose line up for the day and whose enthusiasm for the speakers and their subjects reassured us that Máire's baby is in good hands.

I chased up Enda on the internet and had to stop at page n+. He is a serious academic whose qualifications and interests range far and wide.

For the purpose of today's event he is Senior Librarian at DCLA but you could call him by many other academic names and you probably wouldn't go far wrong.

James Scannell

Anyway Enda introduced the day (25/11/2017) and the line-up and we got off to a great start with a puff of steam and a complicated cover-up.

James Scannell seems to be accident prone. I first heard him talk about a ship that ran aground in a storm leading to complicated rescue efforts by the Bray and Dunleary lifeboat crews. On a subsequent outing he entertained us with the story of the 1957 Dundrum Railcar Collision and the blame game that ensued.

Today he was back to Bray but this time it was on the other side of the Head.

In 1867 a train heading north towards Bray came off the rails at the approach to the tunnel and half of it fell thirty feet while the rest of it stayed on the rails more or less.

There were only two fatalities and both inquests found the event to have been an accident. They were both unaware that the "crime scene" had been tampered with immediately after the accident.

It took a later inquiry by a railroad inspector to discover the original negligence which led to the accident and reveal the cover-up which ensued. Because the inquest verdicts were already in at that stage, they could not be changed and the event remained in the State's books as an accident.

Frank Whearity

Earlier this year, at family history day, Frank Whearity recounted the history of the Soho Engineering works in Bridgefoot Street. He kept us enthralled with the history of the Watt family who owned the works. He was able to illustrate much of the history with personal anecdotes as he had spent much of his own life working there himself.

Today he was on a different tack altogether. He was giving us a centenary perspective on Thomas Ashe. Now if you're like me you'll put Ashe into a list of revolutionaries associated with the 1916 Rising. And you'd be right. But Ashe was a Commandant in the Dublin Brigade and the only one still winning the war when Pearse called the surrender. His immediate fate was to see the inside of a number of English jails before his release in 1917.

At that stage he embarked on a tour of the country making speeches. The authorities deemed at least one of these seditious and back to prison he went. He then went on hunger strike and was subjected to a botched forced feeding which landed him in the Mater where he died.

Frank then recounted the standoff with the British Army over plans for Ashe to lie in state in City Hall. At the end of the day the laying in state went ahead and the funeral was huge.

That's just the bones of it and, as usual, Frank spiced it with many anecdotes.

John Dorney

John Dorney is a historian who has been paying particular attention to the revolutionary period for the last ten years. He is the man behind The Irish Story website. He has authored a number of books, his latest and probably most ambitious being The Civil War in Dublin - The Fight for the Irish Capital 1922-1924.

Today he was bringing us the Civil War in Dublin, the bones of his book in 45 minutes. It was a fascinating talk and at the end of it we were in no doubt why nobody wanted to talk about the Civil War. It reflected no credit on anybody and the atrocities committed by both sides were beyond belief.

It is very difficult to see how this period can be commemorated in a way that is not viciously divisive. Not John's fault, to be sure. He has gone out of his way to attempt an objective or neutral account of the war but at the same time leaving nothing out. You can get a flavour from his interview with Cathal Brennan on the Irish History Show, broadcast on NearFM.

Liz Gillis

I first met Liz in Howth when, with Mícheál Ó Doibhilín, she gave a presentation to the Howth Peninsula Heritage Society on the 1921 Custom House Raid. That has since turned into a marvellous book which Enda was recommending to all present.

But that is not what she was at today. Her talk was on her beloved Liberties and her angle The Rebel Liberties. She didn't quite go back into pre-history, though God knows what those folk were up to then. Rather, she started in 1798 and stitched in a load of Liberties-connected United Irishmen.

Skip ahead a few years and we have Robert Emmet hanged, drawn and quartered outside St. Catherine's (Protestant) church in Thomas St. in 1803. There is a well known painting of the scene with the hangman holding Emmet's head aloft.

However, there was more to it than the relatively standard story depicted in the painting. In the first place the hangman didn't bring all his tools and a butcher's cleaver and saw had to be sourced locally for the decapitation.

Liz is not prepared to endorse the popular rumour that the head was dropped and rolled all the way down into the Liffey. Apparently we have a death mask and you need a head for that. However, the remainder of the body parts disappeared, whether to far flung points of the colonies or not is unknown.

Fast forward to 1916 and The Liberties is alive with the sound of gunfire - the South Dublin Union, Marrowbone Lane and so on. Then there is the John's Lane church connection with Patrick Pearse (his daddy sculpted the angels on the steeple, and, no doubt, more besides).

There is no-one more passionately committed to their subject, whatever it may happen to be at the moment, than Liz. She carries you along on a great big wave complete with gesticulations and expressions that would put Marcel Marceau to shame.

I visualise her in the photo above as a sean nós singer with not a pin dropping in the house.

Liam O'Meara

Liam's talk was entitled "Who remembers Keogh Square?" but you can't keep a good historian down and before you can blink we're back in Richmond Barracks which played a significant role in the 1916 Rising. After independence it housed some of the city's poor, and not very adequately we heard.

The Duke of Richmond ceded to Tom Keogh after whom the Barracks was named by the Free State. Tom was a member of Michael Collins's Squad and has a massive warrior's memorial for a headstone in Knockananna in Co. Wicklow. Been there, seen that.

Liam was really giving us the social history of the site with particular reference to its period as Keogh Square when the people were housed in the original barracks buildings. Apparently there was great community spirit but little else, though former inhabitants remember it fondly.

Most of the barracks buildings were eventually demolished and replaced by St. Michael's estate, but that eventually went downhill and, with the exception of a few barracks buildings. the place is now a vast green space.

Liam has written the history of Richmond Barracks and he has now published a book on Keogh Square.

My grandfather worked in the barracks prior to his untimely death by drowning in the Liffey in 1918, but that too is another story.

Taking Liberties - Liz & meself

BONJOUR !

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Another book launch at the Alliance Française in Dublin town. This time it's The Bonjour Effect by Julie Barlow and hubby Jean-Benôit Nadeau.

Its thesis is that conversation is an art form in France, guided by a complex set of rules, codes, conventions and taboos. In exploring these the book is a primer in the psychology of the French and it gives you pointers on how to cope with this very strange race of people.

It lets us in on the secret that talking to the French is not about communicating or being nice, its about being interesting. With this as a starting point the exalted state of "se démerder" becomes attainable to even the rankest amateur.

Director

The evening was introduced by the Institute's new Director Thierry Lagnau who succeeds former Director Philippe Milloux, who has now returned to Paris HQ.

Jean-Philippe Imbert

The evening was structured as an interview by Jean-Philippe Imbert with of one of the book's co-authors, Jean-Benoît Nadeau. Jean-Philippe is from DCU where he bears the intriguing title of Lecturer in Comparative Literature and Sexuality Studies in the School of Applied Language and Intercultural Studies (SALIS).

Jean-Philippe has appeared on this blog before, interviewing Olivier Litvine on the launch of his book Musique de Chambre.

Jean-Benoît Nadeau

So, let's get one thing out of the way first, the book's title. What's all this Bonjour stuff?

Well, believe it or not, this one little word is the key to the pearly gates of French conversation, and, as we learn, cooperation. Omit this simple greeting on meeting a French person and you're in the doghouse from that point on. A foreigner might just be given some latitude on a fine day but for the French it is de rigueur.

So maybe you think that's a bit thick. Well, believe you me, even in Ireland, there can be more to a simple greeting than meets the eye. Consider this little incident from the Mayo Gaeltacht early in the twentieth century.

Colm O'Gaora was a young teacher and a timire for Conradh na Gaeilge. He was new to the Irish speaking Bangor Erris disrict in Co. Mayo when he met a man along the road. "Dia dhuit" (God be with you) says he, in the traditional Irish equivalent of Bonjour. The immediate and vehement reply took him aback: "May God and Mary bless you and may bad luck strike you down you dirty old Protestant".

It really does matter how you greet people and if you want to understand Colm's faux pas check out this incident in more detail in my review of his book.

Julie Barlow

Before I go any further, do remember that the book is co-authored by Jean-Benoît and his wife Julie.

Clearly then, they are both responsible in equal measure for its content. However, when it comes to describing an incident to illustrate a particular point, it is described by whichever of them was involved in it. This is both a constant reminder throughout the book of its dual authorship and it makes for more interesting reading..

As Julie was not involved in the actual launch in the Alliance, I'm giving her a look in here.

It is important to know that the French put a lot of pass on what I'd call polish: speaking with supreme confidence, wit and loads of grammar. In fact the ideal is to speak written French. Bearing this in mind will enhance your understanding of the incident below which I have reproduced from my website.

Learning French was no less bizarre. I arrived in France, in 1963, with very good Leaving Cert written French (there were no orals in those days). The family were, sort of, nobility. There had been a general in the family on the mother/granny's side and all the adults spoke proper. The granny was very concerned with the deterioration in the quality of French spoken by the youth of the country in general and her own daughter's children in particular.

Meanwhile I was trying to converse in French, my ultimate ambition being to effortlessly speak the same colloquial brand of French spoken by the children and of which the granny was so critical. I had to think in English, translate into French in my head, mentally repeat the result three times and then deliver it before it evaporated.

Clearly in granny's view I was speaking prose, as had de Gaulle before me, and the house resounded to her loud exhortations to the children "Écoutez Paul", listen to Paul (ie speak prose). The irony of it.

And the wit bit.

Well, let's take Jacques Attali, economic consigliere to François Mitterand and subsequently President of the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD).

Now there was a frenchman of sublime refinement who had trained his wit to a fine edge. He also had an abnormally large ego, the largest I ever met in fact, and clearly could never afford to let himself be outwitted, so to speak.

This incident, from the Board of the EBRD, on which I served briefly, will give you a flavour.

On one occasion, Tony Faint, the UK Director, who was from DIFID, had a mild go at him, when he suggested that the Bank should give some consideration to what niche might be appropriate for its operations. This was red rag to a bull as far as Attali was concerned and he responded that in French a niche was a kennel where you kept a dog. Tony replied that where he came from a niche was a space that housed the statue of a saint. "Yes, but they're all dead" was Attali's quick retort and that killed that intervention stone dead, so to speak.

Clearly Attali had fully absorbed this desideratum of the French education system. However, he didn't always have it his own way.

One of the Board's concerns was a feeling that the economic analysis underpinning some of the projects was a bit thin. A result, no doubt, of the speed at which matters were being pushed along. The cudgel here was taken up by the Spanish Director, José Luis Ugarte . He was a nice man with a slightly dry sense of humour. He had a background in economics, in academia and in the OECD, so he was well qualified for this encounter. "Mr President" says he "I think we might take this project a little more slowly and deepen the economic analyis underpinning it". "Not at all." says Attali "Economics is dead. I know. I taught it for years". "Ah yes, Mr President, but that was socialist economics". The Board collapsed with laughter. A beautiful rapier of a sentence. Attali had been socialist President Mitterand's economic mentor over the previous 15 years, even before he came to power. And the Bank was set up to supplant the failed "socialist" economics of the Soviet era. Even Attali had to muster a conceding smile.

That was one of only two occasions I have seen Attali bettered in repartee, a skill in which he prided himself.

The french education system lays great stress on philosophy as a subject, even in the early stages. By this is meant teaching pupils how to think. This doesn't mean that rote learning is absent. It isn't and there is a lot of it. But it does lead to the French having respect for public intellectuals.

Attali frequently boasted that he was a member of two minorities: he was a Jew and an intellectual. But that in my view was not the whole story.

The French have a binary view of the answer to the question: "where are you from?" which makes the question problematic. We Irish have no great problem asking the question, often followed by "who are your people?". Though I have to admit I once met a man who was ashamed to be from Mayo (God help him).

Posing that question to a Frenchman, however, can be very insulting. The binary is French or not French and asking the question could be seen as questioning the respondent's frenchness.

In listing his membership of minorities, Attali was careful to avoid mention of his membership of the third minority. He was born in Algiers. Clearly the less said the better.

The book comments on Madame de Staël who was known for running top class salons of conversation. She had interesting views on various national characteristics having herself lived all over the place.

Apparently she was stunned to learn that German conversation did not tolerate interruptions. The authors point out this was probably because, in German, the verb invariably comes at the end of the sentence.

I have included this random observation because it made me smile. Sort of a German joke.

Did you know that French is not a language? Seriously. At least that is the French view. It is simply an aspect of their culture.

For example we would describe French learned by a former monoglot English speaker as their second language, Turn this around to a former monoglot French speaker learning English. The English is described as their first language.

I sort of knew about all of this from my days in Mlle Giudicelli's class in the Alliance in the sixties - Langue et Civilisation Française and all that.

I also knew that in France political leaders are allowed a certain level of gilded luxury. It also applies to very senior civil servants. This whole group are seen as leaders in cultural discernment. It is actually a part of what brought down Attali in the end - his Carrara Marble (another story).

I learned some new things from this book about what I'd call permanent French attitudes, but also about how meanings had in some cases shaded from my time.

For instance I read that Copain now has acquired sexual connotations. In my day, the newly published pop magazine, Salut les Copains, could be translated as a sort of Hi Guys among young people. God knows how you'd have to translate it now.

So lets end on a good sexist note - a book called La Femme Parfaite est une CONNASSE, The Perfect Woman is a Bitch (putting it politely - Larousse gives you Stupid Cow as an alternative!).

Gotcha there, maybe. It is actually a pro-woman book written by two women. So there.

The main man spoke French to me afterwards and I have to say the Canadian version is different and I'd have needed more time to tune in. Must brush up on my Céline Dion.

Anyway, the book is a most enjoyable, and sometimes hilarious, read.

It will firm up your prejudices and explain why you don't have to feel guilty about them any more.

It will also arm you for any future ventures into that cockpit of cultural conflict which is the French language.

Buy it

THE EBLANA ARCHIVE

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Part of the Irish Theatre Archive, reposing in the Dublin City Archive, concerns the Eblana Theatre. This small (?) theatre with a capacity for an audience of about 200 was not untypical of a number of smaller theatres around Dublin city in the sixties and early seventies.

It did, however, have a number of features which distinguised it from the others. It was in the lower level of a central bus station, beside the toilets. It had originally been designed as a newsreel cinema and so lacked a backstage area so vital in a theatre. There was apparently a series of phone booths at that level in which the country people were alleged to have peed.

The Eblana put on a lot of experimental, and some daring, plays and there was an element of experiment and initiative called into play to produce a functioning stage space on the night.

Ellen Murphy

The theatre's archive is now with the Dublin City Archive and it is expected to grow as further research is undertaken into the history of this relatively neglected and now abandoned theatre.

Which brings me to the archivist.

Ellen Murphy is a Senior Archivist with the Dublin City Archive. I have met Ellen on numerous occasions. Either when she was taking custody of the gift of yet another archive donated to the institution for safekeeping, restoring, preserving, cataloguing and finally being made available to the public either in hardcopy on the premises or through the internet. Or when she was launching an exhibition of the final product. Each of these new archives is a major project in itself but, like the iceberg, the public only ever see the tip of it.

So I thought I'd mention Ellen at the outset as she is unlikely to have her name up in lights despite the sterling work she is putting into saving the city's history for the rest of us.

Cormac Moore

Cormac Moore is one of a new breed at Dublin City Library and Archive. Dublin City Library has appointed a team of resident historians with the aim of developing their analytical capacity on the history side and bringing their rich store of material to the attention of an even wider public.

Gavin Murphy

And so to the content of today's (18/11/2007) session. Gavin Murphy is an artist with an interest in matters architectural. In the present project he has researched the history of the Eblana in terms of the personnel and the plays they put on. But he also has an interest in the building itself, and we'll come to this.

Des Nealon

Des Nealon is an actor who not only acted in the Eblana. In many ways he is the personification of the theatre having been involved in the running of it with Amalgamated Artists who sub-leased it from Phyllis Ryan in the 1969-71 period.

Gavin, whose Eblana exhibition in Temple Bar was on its last day, gave us a run down on the Busáras building which houses the theatre. It was originally built as a central bus station and office HQ by CIE, the national transport company. It was taken over by the Government to house the Department of Social Welfare and the ground floor and basement were leased back to CIE.

To most Dubliners it is just the central terminus for long-distance buses. In fact, is was a ground-breaking piece of architecture in its day. This was true of its design and the materials used in its construction which were at the cutting edge in the Europe of the time. Many of its engineering features, including a sealed ventilation system, were also new. This feature eventually led to the building being included in a list of Dublin's "sick buildings". Apparently even Le Corbusier, whose work strongly influenced the design of Busáras, also had a problem with his sealed buildings.

Busáras was principally the work of Irish architect, Michael Scott. Scott's career spanned both acting and architecture so it was fitting that this innovative building got to house a theatre.

The Eblana began its life as a theatre in 1959 with Phyllis Ryan's Gemini Productions and it continued into the 1980s, after which there were sporadic performances up to 1995 when it finally closed. It is currently abandoned. This is a shame. Plans to turn it into a left luggage office were fortunately shelved but bringing it back into use as a theatre would be costly. Apart from changes which were considered desirable at the time, such as a separate bespoke entrance from the outside, modern health and safety considerations would add significantly to the cost.

You can see a list of the new Irish plays put on in the Eblana during its lifetime at
Playography Ireland. Many foreign plays were also put on, such as John Osborne's Look Back in Anger.

Des gave us a bucketful of reminiscences from those days, citing some of the more significant productions and throwing out a string of names that probably don't mean much to today's audiences, or to myself, not having been a theatre goer.

I don't know if I'm allowed to say this but he confided that he was the first actor to use the F word on the Irish stage. He expected a backlash, particularly given the repressively conservative tenor of the times, but it apparently went unremarked.

On another occasion, he brought his mother to see Peter Schaffer's Equus. Des was playing the father of a disturbed boy. The boy (played by Derek Chapman) and his girlfriend (played by Maria McDermottroe) appeared nude in one of the scenes and Des was worried about what his mother's reaction might be. And she did give out stink - but only about the bad language.

In the course of his contribution, Des did a marvellous take-off of Micheál MacLiammór. Had I closed my eyes I'd have expected to see Micheál sitting in Des's chair.

During the session we saw an extract from the video that Gavin had made for his exhibition. This included a look over some of the Eblana theatre programmes which were in the building upstairs. Des had done the voice-over commentary for that section of the video.

The whole session was most interesting and it reminded me of my intention to check out the Eblana archive upstairs at the next available opportunity.

Personal

I'd just like to finish with a brief reference to my own connections with the Eblana.

Bríd Ní Shúilleabháin

Bríd Ní Shúilleabháin was stage manager for Amalgamated Artists and through her I ended up doing some sound work for them which now allows me to drop some serious names. The productions I was involved in were: The Ginger Man (director Alan Simpson); The Singular Man (director Alan Simpson); Little Red Riding Would (director Chris O’Neill); Look Back in Anger (director Louis Lentin). The photo above was actually taken in the Eblana.

Dearbhla Molloy

Through Bríd I also met Dearbhla Molloy, who is a friend of hers to this day. Bríd asked me to take some photos of Dearbhla for a portfolio and the shot above is one of those.

Dearbhla also appeared in the Eblana, and in many other theatres in town. A list of plays by Irish playwrights in which she appeared is at Playography She eventually emigrated to London where she has had a very successful career.

Dearbhla appeared in one Irish play in the Eblana, The Saturday Night Women by Michael Judge. Bríd is also listed as stage manager in this Playography entry.

I see also that a play by one of my school classmates, Brian Lynch, was put on in the Eblana in 1979.

OUR TOWN - THE FINAL

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A last minute review of the winners in the Michael Edwards photo competition. I have reported on the various phases of this year's competition including on the line-up for the final.

The moment of truth arrived on 16 November as the prizewinners and overall winners were selected from among some fifty images from clubs and eleven from individuals.

Dermot Edwards

Dermot Edwards, who with his father Michael, runs the photographic shop (I nearly said Photoshop) in the Donaghmede Shopping Centre, looks a happy man.

In kicking off the final adjudication he thanked all who had been involved in supporting the competition during the year through sponsorship or simply by entering photos. Even this blog got a mention.

Eamon O'Daly

Eamon O'Daly, from The Outdoor Studio and Skerries Photography, was this year's adjudicator for the final.

Before getting down to the business of the evening he outlined his general approach to the adjudication.

Unlike Ray McManus, two years ago, who treated us to a diatribe against the use of Photoshop, Eamon had a more sensible approach. Post-processing was acceptable as long as it was simply enhancing the qualities of the original photograph and not creating a new artistic production.

He also mentioned the inadvisability of using glass frames when you don't know the precise lighting conditions under which your work will be displayed. It is important to avoid reflections which interfere with how people actually see your work.

I've been making this point myself till I'm blue in the face but nobody seems to be paying any attention.

He also made clear, in the context of this year's theme of OUR TOWN, that he preferred the location to be identifiable in the photo itself and, as our world was all about people, he would like to see people included in the photos. His choices very much reflected these considerations.

There was some muttering in the audience that it would have been good to know all this in advance. As it is, the existing rules are few and very general in nature. I know Dermot feels that this is to encourage the widest possible entry and while I have some sympathy with that point of view I think a little more specificity would be no harm. I'll leave it at that for now.

Overall winner in the Clubs category

As is customary, the results were announced in reverse order with the overall winners revealed at the end. As I'm not going to cover all the twenty or so prizewinners I'm doing it the other way round.

Top prize in the clubs category went to Dermot O'Flaherty from the Swords Viewfinders. This was for a black and white study of Bewley's Café in Grafton Street. A fine piece of work which, incidentally, took in both of the adjudicator's principal criteria. Personally, I'm always thrilled to see black and white holding its own.

As well as a fine trophy, courtesy of Dublin City Council, Dermot got a special gift from Michael. The Minox camera was standard spy equipment during WWII and the Cold War. Michael told Dermot he could use it but better not to.

My mother had a Minox but it was mainly me that used it. I must fish out the negs one of these days.

Dermot said that the photo had been inspired by one taken by a lady who was currently not well, so it was nice to see her inspiration get some recognition in the circumstances.

Winner in the Individual Category

The winner in the individual category was Vivion Mulcahy, a Northsider currently resident in Luxembourg which is where the winning photo was taken.

As Vivion is currently in Luxembourg his prize was accepted by his friend and photo-colleague, Barry Crowley from the Howth Club.

From the contented look on Barry's face you'd think it was him what took it.

The photo is a night shot of the River Alzette as it flows through the old low city (“Grund”) of Luxembourg.

It is a very crafted shot and worth your while to study it closely. I have seen other shots of this scene but not as subtle as this one.

The entire Grund is a UNESCO Heritage Site and so is protected from indiscriminate development. It is a warren of steep and narrow cobbled streets and includes a number of small restaurants and bars. In days gone by the lepers of Luxembourg were segregated in the Grund. Thankfully leprosy is no longer endemic in Luxembourg.

The best way to get there is via a lift which descends from the upper city (“Ville haute”) through hundreds of feet of solid rock and from which you emerge into a rock tunnel lined with artworks. From there it is a short walk to where the photo was taken.

The river is usually placid, but not always - as this photo of a riverside house graphically illustrates. The river's current level is some 12 feet below its flood level in 1756 (marked by the plaque at the top left of the photo). And this before climate change.

Other prizewinners

Just a quick take on a few other winning shots.

Another shot from Dermot O'Flaherty, this time a moment seized in St. Stephen's Green.

And yet another from Dermot, this time a night shot at the Spire in O'Connell St.

Michael wonders who took this one of fishermen on Howth pier.

And it's Pat Carey from the local St. Benedict's club and last year's winner. Another shot with strong people interest.

And yet another one from Pat. This time its buskers on the Clontarf prom with the two iconic chimneys in the background. The adjudicator particularly commented on this one as fulfilling both his main criteria with the people interest here being very strong. An unkind member of the audience drew attention to the smoke emanating from the chimneys.

Despite the intense individual rivalry in this competition there is a sense of club solidarity at the end of the day. Here the Sutton club pose for a family photo with their prize-winning photographer.

And I can't finish without mentioning Raheny. That club didn't get any prizes this year but I thought I'd show you Billy White's entry. Billy won the competition two years ago. I caught him sneaking out with his entry, as I did myself a few minutes later.

As the captions this year were restricted to "single word locations" I have taken the liberty of explaining the rationale behind my own entries here.