It is a Saturday morning in the middle of March. As I lift the blinds, the sun pours into the bedroom in a manner so cartoonish that I look like I’m in the middle of an ad for washing powder or one of those life-improving mops that are always on TV. The sunlight washes the last vestiges of winter away; spring is well and truly here.
Time for my weekly ramble. Today’s walk will be very simple. I’m going to visit the sites of the old schoolhouses dotted around the village and link some of the old stories I’ve found with their places.
I begin by rambling down the Lock Road towards the village. As I pass the hollow, now Vesey Park, I look inside the wall. On the inaccessible side of the river once stood a national school. Long since demolished, it was referred to in the 1902 book ‘Lucania’ as being the childhood home of John Lynch, who, in the 19th century, would be appointed Archbishop of Toronto. The book takes some time to describe the schoolhouse itself.
The “old schoolhouse,” as it is now called, is perfectly preserved, but divided into three neat tenement cottages. The small window of his bedroom, looking out on the Adamstown-road, is reverently pointed out, and with pardonable pride it is often said: “There is the bedroom of Archbishop Lynch.”
I move on. Recently, I had been telling my children about some of the ghost stories associated with this road. I had told them about my new favourite Lucan legend, written by a schoolchild as part of the national folklore collection in the 1930s. Until recent decades, at night time, this road had no lighting. Darkness and shadows can do much to fuel a mind. The legend tells of mysterious creatures seen roaming on this road.
“Nobody knows what is the meaning of the two black animals often seen on the road. They were seen by a woman eight years ago and before that three men saw them at different times. One man tried to shoot them. They are somewhat like a cow, but even longer. They have very thin tails until they come to the end and then they form a very large knob. They were once seen walking through a closed gate each other time they walked by the persons side, but could not be heard.”
I reach the village and turn right. I make my way up the Newlands Road hill (or ‘Jet’ hill if you’re my age). Soon, the next school comes into view: the DDLETB education centre that was once the home to the school that became Lucan Community College. This building is noteworthy as it was here that Jack Harte introduced the concept of a ‘Writer in Residence’ scheme when he was principal. In 1986, Joe Jackson was appointed to the position – the first of its kind in Ireland and a part of our local history worthy of celebration. It seems, however, that this building’s relationship with the written word continues to this very day as I have never, in my life, seen so many information signs attached to a building.
I rejoin the road and begin walking towards my next destination: the Presentation Convent. This school has a long history in the village and dates back to 1867. Last night, I had taken some time to read through the Dúchas schools collection for Lucan. This was one of the two local schools that participated in the project back in 1938. The entries cover a myriad of local stories, cures, foods and customs. I particularly enjoyed reading through a section in which the children collected the rules of the different playground games they played. Some of them I played myself. Indeed, some of them my own children play in their schools. There are a couple that I’ve never heard of though, such as ‘Frog in the Middle’:
“One player is chosen for the frog and sits in the center on the floor. Where there are more than twenty players it is better to have two frogs. The other players stand in a circle around the frog repeating “Frog in the sea can’t catch me”. They dance forward towards the unfortunate one in the center tormenting him and risking been caught. And sometimes they risk too much and he touches them and they are obliged to change places with him. The hardest part for the frog is that he must stay in a sitting position until released by touching another player.”
Life’s hard when you’re a frog. I ramble on to my next destination, which happens to be right next door. Inside the gate of St. Mary’s Church once stood St. Mary’s Boys National School, now located on Chapel Hill nearer to the village. St. Mary’s was originally founded in 1833. I’m not quite sure when the old building was demolished, but I do have a vague memory of being in it once – a false memory maybe? About a hundred years ago, the school received commendations for the strength of its Irish language programme – something that wasn’t commonly taught in many Dublin schools. It’s link to the gaelic revival movements intrigued me. I remember years ago reading a reference to Lucan in Tim Pat Coogan’s ‘1916’ book. It said that James Connolly was ‘persuaded’ to bring his Irish Citizen’s Army into the plans for the 1916 rising after being kidnapped by the other ringleaders and held in a schoolhouse in Lucan until he agreed to join. Was this the schoolhouse? The fact that it was active in the cultural revival efforts of the early 20th century would certainly seem to fit with it.
For my final schoolhouse, I walk down Chapel Hill and through the village. I try my best to ignore the smell of bread wafting out from the Artisan Pantry as I walk past. However, I fail and buy far too many good things. I continue walking through the village until I reach the last building on the right. St. Andrew’s Hall was the original St. Andrew’s School in Lucan. It dates from 1827 and serves as a perfect bookend for this part of the village. I sit on the bench across from it for a while eating a pastry and enjoying every moment of the sunshine.