For today’s ramble, I will walk along the old road between Lucan and Leixlip. In days past, many of the roads in the area were turnpikes – toll roads – that required a tool to be paid. Those collecting the tolls were, apparently, in the 1790s, not seen in the best light with a complaint appearing in the October 20th, 1794 Freeman’s Journal complaining about their ‘ruffianly conduct’, comparing them to pirates, or ‘free-booters’. My ramble today, however, begins with the gentle drama of an easy Sunday morning.
I walk along the ramp exit up to the N4. Unfortunately, for a small portion of my walk, I will have to endure the loud and tumultuous traffic noises of what is a surprising number of cars driving towards Dublin – perhaps an onslaught of Mayo inhabitants on their way to finish off what their footballers have started and take the Capital once and for all?
The N4 has long been the gateway to the west, following the line of the Esker Riada pathways that have linked Dublin to Galway for millenia. Indeed, this is the route that Daniel O’Connell took on his much heralded procession from Dublin to Galway in July 1845. The newspapers of the day include descriptions of Lucan and Leixlip crowds cheering his carriage along the way.
The stretch of road between Lucan and Leixlip has, however, a surprisingly dark history. There are more than a few recorded instances of highway robberies that took place on this road:
Between eight and nine o’ clock on Saturday night last, a gentleman coming to town on horseback, was stopped between Leixlip and Lucan by two stout-made fellows, dressed in short jackets; but the gentleman being capitally mounted, clapt spurs to his horse and got off. They had no pistols, but one of them had a … bludgeon in his hand.. (Freeman’s Journal, 8 Jan 1791)
I think about this as I near the place where the footpath leaves the N4 and moves down into the old Leixlip road. At one point, the footpath is narrowed by foliage to a point that it matches the image I have in my head of how the road must have looked two hundred years ago. There would have been ample opportunity for highway thieves (or ‘footpads’, as those on foot were often referred to) to rob travellers.
Just before today;s walk, I had read about the story of one such thief, Peter Murphy, who was apprehended on this road in 1818:
Peter Murphy for various highway robberies, was taken into custody by Peter Eager, a patrol-constable, and brought to the Pembroke-quay Office. The prisoner and another fellow had robbed different carriers between Lucan and Leixlip, within the last fortnight, and the patrol were consequently on the alert to detect them. On Wednesday night, Eager saw two men lurking behind a hedge on that road, and getting into the field, they perceived his design and ran away – he pursued them, and succeeded in taking Murphy; the other fellow he discharged his carbine after but he got off unhurt for the present. Two of the carriers, who had been more recently robbed, appeared at the office, who fully identified Murphy as one of the fellows who robbed them. Informations were laid against him and he was committed to Kilmainham gaol for trial at the ensuing commission (Freeman’s Journal, 28 November 1818).
It turns out that this road wasn’t unique. Most of the roads had gangs attached to them. The road between Lucan and Chapelizod, the low road from Lucan to the Phoenix Park, the roads to Celbridge all have similar stories recorded.
Indeed, there is even a story about the inn frequented by carriage drivers on this road being held up in 1809. The watchmen were bound and the inn lodgers robbed. A few days later, the house of Mr Turner, the owner of the Inn, was burgled by the same gang. On this occasion, a bullet narrowly missed his head and shattered a window instead.
Today, it is a much quieter and safer affair and crime is soon the furthest thing from my mind as I look over the ivy crested walls into the fields to my right. THese fields were ponce part of Lucan Demesne. Indeed, there is an ancient ringditch recorded here – an echo of the ancient past of our town.
I walk past the Springfield, where quite a number of years ago I had a small family gathering to mark the fact that I had eloped while on holidays in America and thus robbed the family of a good night out!
Not far from the springfield, just past Cooldrinagh lane, stands a tangible link to the past – a mile marker marking the distance to both Leixlip and Maynooth. It dates to around 1750. Instantly, I am back to thinking about highwaymen and robberies for it was somewhere along this stretch of road that arguably one of the most noteworthy events in local history took place. In May 1798, the Connaught mail coach was stopped, the driver beaten and the mail destroyed. It happened too in some other towns surrounding Dublin; this was the nationwide signal to begin the uprising that we remember as the 1798 rebellion.
The connaught mail was also stopped between Lucan and Leixlop, and broken to pieces, and the letters destroyed. The guard was very severely beaten.
The consequence of this system, if continued, will be of the most alarming and destructive nature to the country, from the incalcuable injury which must result to public credit, and must be seriously lamented by every person feeling a real interest in the public welfare.
May 24th (reported in Freeman’s Journal, 2 june 1798.
Soon, I reach the Salmon Leap Inn, just before the road swings out onto the Liffey bridge and crosses into County Kildare. This is my endpoint for this week – a walk along a road that for many years I had considered unremarkable, but a road that played a part in a major national story. I guess it was more than simply the road back from Rockerfeller’s Nightclub in the 1990s