Throwback Thursday: The Cork gate-crashers who tried to con Pioneers

We got a great response to Declan Groeger’s story in last week’s Throwback Thursday about him and his family growing up in Moore’s Hotel in Cork city.

Frank Roche has provided us with some of its former history too, by searching old street directories and available censuses. Here are some of his results:

“Guy’s 1875 directory lists 13, Morrison’s Quay, as the residence of Edward R Townsend senior,” said Frank.

“William Henry Moore, of 3, Great George’s Street, and Catherine Harriett Charles, of 46, South Mall, married in St Fin Barre’s Cathedral in 1876; William’s occupation was recorded as ‘Grocers Manager’.

“In the next available directories (1884 and 1891), 13, Morrison’s Island is listed as the home/property of William H Moore, but it is not described as a hotel; in 1893, it is recorded as ‘Moore’s Hotel (private)’.”

In the 1901 census, those resident at 12, Morrison’s Quay included ‘Catherine H Moore, head of family, hotel proprietress, born England’ and ‘William H Moore, husband, no occupation, born Cork City’.

Less than a year later, in January, 1902, ‘William H Moore, hotel proprietor, aged 61,’ died.

Frank continues: “In 1903 and 1907, ‘Moore’s Hotel (private), Mrs Moore,’ occupies 12 & 13 Morrison’s Island.

“By 1910, Moore’s Hotel is included in the listing of the Principal Hotels in Cork. (At this time there were separate listings for Principal, Private and Licensed hotels.)

“Catherine H Moore is in the 1911 census as ‘hotel proprietress’ and also appears in Guy’s 1913 directory. Catherine Moore died in 1914, aged 71.”

The story continues.

Frank adds: “In 1916 and 1921, Miss F Fallwood is in charge of Moore’s Hotel. By 1925, as Declan said, the Civic Guard were based in #13; a Mrs Dalton and Joseph B Dalton, MB, were occupying #12, with the AOH at #11.”

Well thank-you for all that hard work, Frank. It is a timely reminder to everyone else that the information is often out there, ready to be found, if you just make a small effort. (One historian I know keeps a small notice by his computer reading ‘Have You Really Tried?’)

Meanwhile, another reader, John Feehan, wrote to identify the building on the corner beside the former Moore’s Hotel as the distribution centre for Mercier Press.

“I got my first job from my father there in 1960, packing books and making chess sets,” said John.

“The manager of the chess set side of the business was a George Bush who later became a boatbuilder in Crosshaven.”

John has a query of his own: “Do you or any Throwback Thursday readers know anything about 2, Bridge Street, which I bought in 1964, and ran a rare bookshop and antique shop until 1978. (I still do the books, but nowadays only by appointment.)

“I was always curious about the basement whose ceiling was covered with hooks, which made me wonder what its original purpose might have been.”

That’s an interesting one, John, and perhaps readers can give some opinions?

Speaking of Bridge Street, do you remember all the discussion here about the tunnels underneath it? This writer was in Vibes & Scribes the other day and, seeing the storeroom in the knitting wool basement was open, decided to take a peek. There was certainly a lovely arched ceiling of what must once have been a tunnel alright, but it was firmly closed off after a few feet.

A very helpful lady called Susan told me she didn’t know anything about a tunnel there, but had been told of one running from the Shelbourne Bar on MacCurtain Street right down to St Patrick’s Quay, which was used in olden days for rolling barrels up and down to and from ships berthed at the quayside.

Now that is fascinating.

But back to Moore’s. We have received a marvellous story from Brian Cronin, former hotelier himself, who remembers that place vividly:

“I much enjoyed reading your article of last Thursday re Moore’s Hotel,” he said.

“We knew the former owners of the hotel - Henry and Josie Heas - very well, as we were all members of the Skal Club of Cork. In fact, one of their sons worked for me as a night porter during my time at Actons Hotel in Kinsale.”

Skal Clubs, he explains, are an international grouping whose members are made up of people associated with the tourism industry: hotel managers, airline executives, travel agents, etc.

“Ireland has eight of them, but there are 294 clubs in the international body,” explained Brian.

“Anne and I were at different stages members of four different Irish clubs - depending on where I was working at the time - Dublin, Kilkenny, Galway, and of course Cork.

“Other notables with whom we enjoyed many memorable Skal events included Francis Brennan of the Park Hotel, Kenmare, the late Frank O’Shea of the Commodore in Cobh, and many others who would be known to you.

“Each club would have either lunches or dinners monthly and each year delegates have the opportunity of attending an international gathering in different parts of the world.

“We were on four of those international visits: Israel-Egypt, Brazil, Thailand, and South Africa. Airline tickets and hotel accommodation for these visits are always heavily discounted, which makes attending them relatively inexpensive and a great opportunity to visit different parts of the world.”

Brian adds: “As you can imagine, we have many fantastic memories and stories, and one visit to Singapore is particularly memorable for a hilarious story concerning Henry Heas - late of Moore’s Hotel.

“On a particular evening, a group of about 20 of us ‘Skaleagues’ were dining out in a lovely restaurant in Singapore. When it came to placing the order, the young waiter had his work cut out for him to take down the order for such a large number of people ordering different items from a large à la carte menu.

“Henry, who had been to Singapore on many previous occasions, recommended that everybody have the same starter as himself to make things a bit easier for the kitchen.”

The spare ribs of pork, he said, were always particularly good there.

“Well, they waited, and waited for almost an hour with no signs of the spare ribs arriving. Henry reassured everybody that it would be worth the wait, and diplomatically suggested that the wine waiter keep pouring...

“So, by the time the hour had passed, the wine waiter had reappeared numerous times, and of course the party were in great form.

“Suddenly, all the lights in the room went out for a few seconds. Then the kitchen doors flew open, the lights came back on, and a procession of 20 waiting staff reappeared - each of them bearing aloft a platter bearing an entire suckling pig!

“The other diners in the packed restaurant jumped to their feet and wildly applauded the bemused Irish party!

“I think the main courses had to be cancelled to enable the Skalleagues to consume an entire suckling pig each. It turned out to be a very long evening.”

Oh Brian, I can just visualise it! Your crowd must have gone down in Skal folklore – to say nothing of Singaporean hotel legends!

It reminds this writer for some reason of an old-fashioned Hotel de la Poste in the Pyrenees where we were dining a year or so ago. At a large table in the centre of the restaurant was a very jolly group of footballers from Northern Ireland, intent on having an extremely good time.

We couldn’t help but overhear them ordering, and naturally they all wanted big steaks. The waitress asked how they wanted these cooked, and they all chorused ‘Rare’.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have ordered steak in France, but believe me, medium is about as far as you dare go down that road. Rare to the French means it is effectively raw – has been given barely a glance at the pan and then popped on to the plate.

I thought I would give them a bit of a warning, and called over. “You do know what rare means in France, don’t you?” Quick as a flash the answer came back. “Ah sure – a good vet could bring it round!” Cut total collapse of entire restaurant in laughter.

Meanwhile, Micheál Kenefick recalls less sophisticated amusements of his younger days:

“All through the 1950s and early ’60s we, like most if not all the rural parishes in Ireland, were blessed to have access to wonderful entertainment,” he recalled.

“We had the Travelling Shows who would put on a different play nightly for the week of their visit. We had the pictures in Whitegate, Aghada and the field in Ballinrostig. Laurel and Hardy or Charlie Chaplin for the shorts. Ivanhoe for an episode of a serial to ensure we were back again next week, and the love of our lives, cowboys and Indians.

“Whitegate Annual Regatta and Dance attracted throngs from far and wide. The dance was the social highlight of the parish. The Bayview Hall would be packed to the rafters with young and not so young in their Sunday best dancing the night away.

“Giving it a serious run for its money though was the Pioneer Social, also an annual event, and held in the Parochial Hall in Aghada. I can still see that poster.”

PIONEERS & PROBATIONERS ONLY

Micheál says: “This was a different kettle of fish. No slipping out to Etties, Sheehans, or The Anchor Bar for a top up as the slightest hint of the demon drink guaranteed refusal.

“The door staff, with gleaming Pioneer pins, could detect the aroma of alcohol at a thousand paces. Silvermints only made them even more diligent.

“A good band and dancing were the main attractions, but excellent refreshments were also provided. Of course, beating the system, like getting a drink on Good Friday, was the real incentive. To this end, lads from neighbouring parishes would chance their arm.

“They would always have a Pioneer with them to vouch for the authenticity of those with the loan of the pin for the evening. Strangely, and maybe as they were outsiders, they were regularly successful and sneakingly admired by the few locals ‘in the know’.

“The intruders would start the evening quietly, just hanging around to check the lie of the land, but once a suitable time had passed, they warmed to the fun and the apple tarts.

“However, things didn’t always run completely smoothly. Johnty and a few of his buddies from Barryroe were itching to get to a Pioneer Social in another parish around 1960. Ceol, craic, sandwiches and buns of every hue awaited, and weren’t they Pioneers? But Pioneers without transport, and the access to that transport liked the occasional pint.

“But the pin again was borrowed, and they had no bother getting the ‘pilot’ admitted. So far so good. This time though the packed hall had a whistle-blower who knew yer man liked the odd pint. The lads broke into a cold sweat when the name was called off the stage to report to the box office.

“The plea of innocence wasn’t going too badly until one of the door staff demanded he recite ‘The Prayer’. All pioneers know that prayer off by heart as it has to be said morning and evening forever. Seventy years later, and not having had to say it for almost as long, I still remember some of it including the famous line ‘and for the conversion of all excessive drinkers.’.

“Of course, not only was my man gandered and got the door, the lads, either in solidarity or more likely having no spin home, got their five shillings returned and back to Barryroe without having had a dance, ham sandwich or a bun with coloured icing.”

Ah the poor lads, Micheál! Wouldn’t your heart bleed for them? Let’s hear similar memories from the rest of you. Email jokerrigan1@ gmail.com or leave a message on our Facebook page: www.facebook.com/echolivecork.