Working in Paris and living on its close outskirts, I have plenty to occupy my mind. Yet, hardly a day goes by without me thinking about Dublin, the city I left when I was 21. I’m clinging to an outdated map of my hometown, reluctant to relinquish it.
Last week, on a perfect, blue-skied, freezing day that would make even the most weary feel alive, I was shopping on a Parisian market street. Unexpectedly, a market trader’s smile and rosy, weather-beaten cheeks, as she laughed good-naturedly with her fellow traders and customers, transported me back to a part-time job I had in secondary school.
I caught a whiff of the chip oil from the Italian chipper on Moore Street. I had a vision of ‘Maggie,’ sashaying her way behind the chipper counter to the sink, shoving the grumpy manager aside with her generous rear end, admonishing, “Would ya move over, I’m frozen," before plunging lined trader hands deeply into the hot dishwashing water.
The sound, vision, and whiff memory struck an unexpected cord - generous, gregarious street traders becoming the Lady Lavery and Mariannes of my insignificant, double-sided life coin.
The chipper was hard work, and after slapping on war paint in the toilet, I’d head straight to ‘The Blind,' the weekly Saturday night hop and the place to be on Dublin’s Northside when I was sweet sixteen. The lingering aroma of chip oil wreaked havoc on my confidence during otherwise deliciously smooth lurching and I hung up my chipper’s apron.
Dubliners, wherever we live, have stories of our Dirty Old Town (even though that song was written about Salford in Lancashire). One of my favourite Dublin anthems is Bagatelle’s 1980 hit "Summer in Dublin," guaranteed to induce yours truly’s tears after a couple of drinks, and when I see an inebriated person spouting advice on a Parisian bus, it’s those lyrics that dance in my head:
I was singing a song I heard somewhere, called Rock'n'Roll Never Forgets
When hummin' was smothered by a 46A and the scream of a low-flying jet
So I jumped on a bus to Dún Laoghaire, stoppin' off to pick up my guitar
And a drunk on the bus told me how to get rich
I was glad we weren't goin' too far ...
The legendary 46A bus route, from the Phoenix Park to Dún Laoghaire, takes a whopping one hour and 37 minutes. Spanning almost a century, so many have jumped on it.
Paddy Sherlock, a Dublin musician living in Paris for decades, re-immortalized the 46A in his own 2024 summer hit "Those Summers in Dublin." His song tells of his start in the music world on Dublin’s streets, his lyrics interacting with Liam Reilly’s, and Sherlock facetiously assuming the character of “the drunk on the bus,” providing a super glue between the 1980s, ‘Dublin Boomers' years, and 2024 Paris.
Recently, I learned the 46A will stop running in February 2025. I remember running, knee socks perpetually slipping down, hoping the lovely conductor would get the bus driver to allow me “jump on" in Phibsborough and drop me off not too far from Mount Carmel, King’s Inns Street, secondary school.
The end of the road for the 46A saddens me, but neither Dublin nor its buses will stand still to replicate my memories.
Dubliner John Buckley McQuaid, a singer/songwriter/fairy tale author and performer living in Denmark, whose lyrics are often inspired by Dublin, was heartbroken by the forthcoming demise of the 46A.
His lyric "46A – In Memoriam" says it all:
Whenever I grew weary and my soul was out of reach
You took me to Dun Laoghaire where me mother used to teach
Oh! I can still remember when we circled Stephen’s Green
And ran to catch the last one left at twenty-three fifteen
We drove around the city, you could hear the engine cough
And everything was pretty even when the girls got off
We saw the fiercest creatures that the world had ever seen
At weekend double features on Adelphi’s silver screen
Chorus : 46A, Oh! 46A
You’ll always be more than a bus
Just yesterday they took you away
They’re stealing the future from us
The chaos that you witnessed through the years at UCD
The madness of the Sixties that meant everything to me
We sat up on the top deck and we sang Goodnight Irene
And shared a stolen second daily dose of nicotine
It feels like we are losing something precious from the Ark
No longer I’ll go boozing by myself in Phoenix Park
The faceless are invested in remaining out of sight
While sanity is tested in the shadows as I write
Chorus…
Buckley McQuaid wrote those words when the 46A was originally meant to stop running at the end of November. Finally, it will continue until February 2025, so there’s time for returning diaspora to have a farewell ride.
The silver lining to the demise of the 46A is that it will be replaced by a 24-hour route. Dashing out the door to catch the last 46A will soon be a distant memory.
The late, great James Joyce (1882-1941) left Ireland in 1904 and only made three return visits, the final one in 1912. However, he would be upset if a shop front on O’Connell Street (then Sackville Street) or other city center facades had been changed and he wasn’t informed! He kept Dublin meticulously up to date in his mind, through correspondence, questioning Dubliners visiting Paris, reading the Irish newspapers, and turning into Iris radio daily.
I cherish my ole memories, but also want to jump aboard the present on an E2 all-nighter - pulling out in 2025!
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