AUGUST 6TH, 1956:MYLES NA Gopaleen, whose day job as Brian O'Nolan was in the Custom House headquarters of the Department of Local Government and had a serious drink problem, sailed close to the wind in several respects in this Cruiskeen Lawn column in 1956 in which he took several satirical swipes at Dublin Corporations contemporary plans to house itself in Wood Quay (which it finally did controversially more than 20 years later) and housing in general:
What is a town? That is a nice question. (You might even call it a Nice question!). And what is a city? Distinguish, please. In th’oul days a city was the environ wherein resided the seat of government, exempli gratia Roma. But that definition makes Washington a city and New York a town.
No, a city as the word is commonly understood seems to mean a very large collection of permanent dwellings, with concomitant services such as churches, theatres, slums, cinemas, banks, ward-heelers, etc., etc. It will be seen that this definition is wide enough to admit Dublin, Belfast, Cork, Galway and Limerick. I hope they will take heart of grace to theirselves.
But I must enter a Caveat, as the man said when he unexpectedly stepped into a flashy car. Houses are not Eire perennius, as Horace said, and must be renewed. Older readers will remember back in January, 1956, a lot of talk about the Dublin Corporation’s new Municipal Centre that was to be built on Wood Quay and most of the surrounding county.
Busybodies barked, nosey parkers gnattered and peeped, architects issued endless argol bargol urbi et orbi purporting to show cause why the mammoth Municipal Rest Rooms should be erected elsewhere. Corporation kept its head, was most polite and dignified, said it would build its offices where it liked, so there . . .
But it won’t. It hasn’t any money, no more than ourselves – and it won’t get any from the Custom House. (They’ve none).
Thirty-four years of self-government and Dublin £38m in the red! Hah? And all spent on “housing”! There’s sophistication for you. Everything done in the grandest style, carpets in the officials’ offices, streets throbbing under the municipal staff cars, the aldermen loaded with silver chains and the citizens groaning under the lash of the merciless rate collectors. (Who does the Corporation think it is – CIE or something?) Dublin Corporation now, in all its glory, is for all the world like one of our magnificent new post-war, stream-lined, up-to-date, limited companies that you read about. All it lacks is an official receiver. And isn’t that the answer? Liquidate Anna Liffey and start life anew on the Dodder!
Poor Phil May [19th century English caricaturist], the Lord be good to him, had a cartoon years ago of an old woman apologising to a censorious clergyman on her husband’s behalf with the words: “Ah, sure, your Reverence, the poor man’s a martyr to dhrink!” That is precisely the kind of plight the organisation on Cork Hill currently finds itself in – it’s a martyr to housing! It’s the same maudlin view as the drunkards, the same lack of shame. There was a time when no respectable man would use the words “housing” in public – certainly not in the presence of an unmarried lady! All that, alas, is changed.
Anything goes. The dogs in the street talk about housing now, and refer to it – Heaven help us! – as a problem! Whatever next? (“I don’t know where the next naggin is coming from!”) Solemn chat is exchanged on the rival merits of flats, maisonettes, terraces, as . . . a solution! It’s like asking: “Which is the best for drink - whiskey or brandy or gin?” Fair enough, any of them will solve the drunkard’s problem . . . by liquidating him, just as surely as the flats and maisonettes and terraces will put Dublin out of business, if the rot doesn’t stop soon. Ah no, there’s only one solution to Dublins present housing “problem” and that’s STOP HOUSING.
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