When I first started writing this column about Lucan, it was from the point of view of a local using the excuse of the lockdown to get to know their 5km radius better. I had lived in Lucan most of my life and thought I had a fairly good grasp of its history and lore. I had not anticipated the existence of such a deep vein of stories.
A particular challenge has been in trying to navigate my way through the different narratives that have existed in history for the town. For example, from the 18th century, the narrative told about Lucan was that of an idyllic destination resort in easy reach of the capital where the beautiful people could come to restore their health and, most importantly, to simply be seen. Lucan, though, was also one of Dublin’s few industrial towns, with extensive milling operations making the most of their access to the local rivers. Although I had never really questioned it growing up, I realise now that there was a natural friction at the heart of Lucan’s story. How can a place presented as a playground of those with power coexist peacefully with the stories of working people and their lives?
Further to this, given Lucan’s place in the mind of the aristocracy, had it played any role in challenging foreign rule in Ireland? Now, this, for me, was a bit of a surprise. While I had known about Lucan’s Patrick Sarsfield and the wars of 1641, I hadn’t known that Lucan had played more than a small part in the rebellions of 1798 and 1803. For today’s ramble, I will go in search of some of the possible local sites associated with 1798.
A few weeks ago, I had noted that somewhere along the road between Lucan and Leixlip, the mail coach to the west was held up and robbed on 23th May 1798. This was part of a coordinated United Irishmen attack on mail coaches nationwide as a signal that, when the mail coaches don’t come in, let the rebellion begin. This was the first of three consecutive days of three of rebel activity in Lucan during 1798.
My walk today begins at St. Finian’s church. From here, I will walk down via the N4 footbridge to the site of my old school, St. Mary’s Boys National School. I begin here at Esker because it was in the lands surrounding it that two bands of rebels were discovered on the morning of 24th May 1798 by Lieutenant George Armstrong of the Angus Highlanders. The leader of one band of rebels – a man by the name of Geraghty – was taken prisoner. Many of the men of the second band, led by a man called Daly, were either killed or taken. I have not been able to find out where precisely these actions took place, but it is likely to be somewhere near this road.
The ancient Esker Riada road, a glacial ridge that has linked Clarinbridge with St Audeon’s church in Dublin since the end of the last ice age, was effectively the N4 of its day. It is not a surprise to learn that it was used by both armies during 1798. Indeed, the small, raised lane running back from the bottlebank at Moy Glass Green is possibly the best preserved piece of these ancient road networks and is a genuine geological treasure. I walk back behind it to get a sense of it. It seems … unloved. It is strewn with broken glass shards and, if you did not know of its significance, you’d be forgiven for assuming that it was simply a track along an old erased ditch rather than the last great crest of sand pushed up by a gigantic glacier ten thousand years ago.
From here, I walk past Finians, stopping to admire the fabulous show of wildflowers that are currently in bloom (full credit to the local council) on the green along the Griffeen – a stark contrast to the stories of battles and ambushes that I had come to this site to contemplate. I know that there are mixed views on planting these intense beds of wildflowers. Some claim that such flowers rarely occur naturally together and almost never with the density that is on show here today. While I understand the argument, I can’t help but notice that the insects are not complaining. I also notice the locals stopping to pose for pictures at the wildflower beds and more than a few people smiling.
The footbridge over the N4 follows the ancient roadway and continues, as it would have, uninterrupted down to the end of Canonbrook Hill, ending at Dispensary Lane. When you walk this route, you are quite literally following a path that has been forged for millennia.
As I walk down the hill, I look up at the old James Gandon residence of Canonbrook. What must it have felt like to live in Lucan at this time? Those who occupied houses such as this would, for the most part, have been considered an enemy by the rebels. What must those who lived in Canonbrook have thought going to bed on the night of the 24th May 1798?
Next week, I will continue my walk down into the village to search for Blair’s Ironworks –
the place where the third day of 1798 activity in Lucan took place. It does however seem likely that the rebel bands found at Esker were not connected with the activity on the third night. Although I am walking along what would have been the main route connecting old Lucan with old Esker, it is unlikely (though not impossible) that the rebels passed this way at night. To walk straight down this hill into Lucan would have meant exposing themselves instantly to what forces would have been on hand in the village.