TD 1
10am – Molloys In the front entrance to Molloy’s
on Talbot Street, around the corner from Connolly Station, a poster was taped to the window promising “James Brown Live Tonight.” The James Brown in question was not the Godfather of Soul, dead now for seventeen years. But rather, the King of Karaoke, and sporting bleach blonde hair and a pink suit. Inside, the men at the tables tended to be engaged in lively conversations over pints of lager, while those at the counter drank Guinness, most in silence. Above a door leading from the main to the back bar was a picture of John Skelton’s painting “Aran Pintmen, Inis Mor,” depicting six stoic men, smiling modestly with pints of stout in their hands. The punters at the counter were like their urban equivalents. They were as motionless as they stared into the distance, past the taps and into a space beyond the shelves on the backwall, stocked with spirits. Above the shelf was a clockface. Its maker was credited as Molloys and Co. Its hands never left 5.03. A taxi driver, who was just off his regular shift, put down his copy of Tad Williams’ 800-page fantasy novel, The War of the Flowers. “That clock works,” he said. “The barman who was here did it up. But when he left, nobody else could do it.” In the back bar, owner Ken Mulvaney sat beneath a framed and autographed poster for 1988 European Championships football match between the Republic of Ireland-England in Stuttgart. A resident of Orlando, Florida since 1981, Mulvaney bought the building in 2017, he said, while The Pogues’ raucous second single, Sally MacLennane played in the background. “But it’s always been called Molloys.” “Each early house catered to someone different,” he says. “And we catered to the people on the docks.” Like The Wind Jammer, Molloy’s was built to represent that heritage. The three-storey protected structure is narrow at its entrance and widens towards the back, Mulvaney says. “It’s supposed to be the front of a ship.” Protruding from the wine-coloured ground floor walls on the outside are a series of golden figureheads, which also make an appearance on the legs of its tables in the main bar too. The building was constructed circa 1890. But 20 Above the shelf was a clockface. Its maker was credited as Molloys and Co. Its hands never left 5.03. Mulvaney said his daughter Ciara has been researching the history and found evidence that it may have been a teahouse back in the 1750s. Mulvaney picked up the phone to call his daughter, Ciara, and five minutes later, she came down to join him. “The building is a mishmash of Georgian and Victorian,” she said. Ciara Mulvaney, who was born and raised in Florida, explained that she has looked into its backstory because this is a spot that attracts a good deal of tourists now, especially from the States. An early house like this is often a tourist’s first and last chance to grab a Guinness in a spot that is genuinely a part of the city. She points out that Dublin Airport launched a Guinness Bar early in 2022. “Last time I was in the airport, I was laughing, because they were saying to get your last pint in Ireland here,” she said. Ken Mulvaney said he’s flying back to Florida in the morning. “My flight tomorrow is at 11 tomorrow to New York, and I mean, if leave your hotel at 8, and want one last proper pint, it’s better to go here or to a place like the Wind Jammer.” “I just can’t imagine sitting in a terminal with your last pint seems like that nice an experience,” Ciara said. This page: Molloys 10.30am - Padraig Pearse Council stewards had been lugging steel fences across Pearse Street all morning. At around 10.30am, hundreds had gathered along the footpaths, their heads turned east towards Ringsend. In the distance was the clatter of snare drums rolling, heralding the westward march of the Artane Boys Band in their blue and red uniforms. The inside of the Padraig Pearse pub had cleared out. Its punters stood outside the front entrance as the band slowly passed by, followed by the horse-drawn carriage carrying Shane MacGowan’s body. His coffin was draped in a tricolour, with a black and white portrait of the late Pogues singer by its side. Once MacGowan vanished from sight, trailed by black limousines and a hoard of mourners, the pub-goers went back into the only pub open on Pearse Street. “Let’s head in,” said one man with a pint of Smithwicks. “Hope I’m not on the One O’Clock News with a bleedin’ pint glass in my hand.”