Lucan Demesne became famous in the late 18th century for the spa waters that were discovered there. At first, it would appear that the general public were free to come and drink the waters. However, unrestricted public access was revoked by the Vesey Family as, according to the 2007 book Treasures of Lucan, they were concerned by “vandalism by people whom Vesey said were ‘no water drinkers’”. From that point, access was controlled via a tunnel leading from the Spa Hotel under the road to the Demesne itself.
The tunnel was filled in as part of the dual carriage way construction in the late 1990s. Although I grew up in Lucan and would have lived here prior to the road construction, I do not ever recall visiting it and it is, for me, a treasure buried.
Nonetheless, for today’s ramble, I will set out to see if there is any remnant or footprint of the tunnel left to see and so, on a particularly warm January morning, I set off, greyhound in tow, in the direction of the grounds of the Spa Hotel.
I do not set out blind, I have studied some old maps that show the location of the tunnel and its proximity to other features in the Spa Hotel grounds. In particular, I am careful to note its location in relation to the County Bar (the original Spa Hotel building). The tunnel, it seems, would have run on a similar trajectory to the to the westernmost wall of the bar building before disappearing briefly beneath the road, emerging a little further onto a trail that ended in the Demesne roughly where, today, walkers encounter the first two benches in the park.
The Demesne lands were, and still are, one of Lucan’s jewels. For centuries, Lucan was considered a river resort, with the Demesne being a focal point for those taking the waters in addition to activities such as equestrian events. Thankfully, however, access to the park is no longer restricted to the general public. My interest in the right of access to the Demesne was piqued by an 1893 newspaper article detailing a court case involving a Lieutenant in the Scot’s Guards, Mr. Siegerson, and a Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy at Maynooth, Professor Thomas E. Judge. Siegerson had leased land from the Vesey Family and held the access rights. The access rules were pretty simple: Access via the hotel tunnel only and no horses with the exception of those who are passing quickly through and abstain from using the river path. Siegerson saw a man on horseback on the river path riding around the Demesne and not simply passing through. He approached him and asked what he was doing. The man used foul and abusive language back to Siegerson. Specifically, when asked if he had permission to be there, the man answered “What the hell is it to you?”, before continuing to call him a ‘cur’. ‘Hell’ and ‘cur’ were, apparently, the most abusive and egregious words used.
Siegerson would later learn that the man was Professor Judge. He learned this because the Professor, unable to let it lie, decided to write a letter to Siegerson, who was English, in which he describes a recent conversation in which he was “contrasting the native urbanity of Irishmen with the boorishness of parasitic foreigners. It would, indeed, be rash to expect tranquility in Ireland, while such a bilious deposit as you are reposes on the national stomach.” Siegerson took the case to the Lucan Petty Court Sessions and, after a lot of discussion, the Professor ‘expressed regret’.
I approach the Spa Hotel. I had planned to walk towards the back of the County Bar area to see if there was any remnant of the tunnel visible, but before I do that, I see something quite unexpected. I am facing the main entrance to the Spa Hotel Carpark. My eyes look over the low boundary wall to my right. In roughly the area where I would have expected the tunnel to stand I see … something! I see what appears to be two walls going underground behind an exterior rectangular part of the wall that was clearly constructed in a few different phases. Is this the old entrance to the tunnel? Is it still here? Given that I am no historian or archaeologist, I cannot say. However, I cannot think of why else this would be here in this exact spot. I walk the line of it back to the County Bar. It does fit. As I look out across the N4, I see a large overhead series of roadsigns affixed to a scaffolded structure above the road. This structure follows roughly the line that the old tunnel and trail would have taken. It lines up with the structure perfectly.
As my eye follows the roadsigns across to the treetops protruding from the Demesne, I notice that at precisely the area where the tunnel and trail would have been, there is an abrupt end to the tree line. I decide that I need to make my way down into the Demesne itself to see what there is to be seen.
As we enter the Demesne and reach the river path, a particularly large heron flies past us, coming to a stop on a tree overhanging the Liffey. It is so close I can hear the swoop of its wings. My greyhound, a breed of dog renowned for their sight, fails to notice. As we follow the path, I notice that the wall to my left is actually constructed from wire baskets of stones. They end abruptly at the first to park benches where a very large concrete retaining wall comes downhill from the road above. On closer inspection, I am quite surprised to see that the base three or four feet of the wall looks quite old. It is not modern, unlike the rest of it. Is this the remnant of the walls that marked the trail from the tunnel?
As I walk home, I think on what I have unexpectedly seen today. Is it possible that a vestige of Lucan’s past is still here? What must it have been like to have to enter the Demesne via the tunnel only? As I walk up the steps from the end of the flyover to the south of the N4, I look back and realise that, with the footpath beneath the flyover, the Demesne is still accessed via a tunnel. This one, however, isn’t designed to keep people out, a freedom matched only by the freedom of wordchoice that eluded the Demesne in 1893. Such freedoms, I must admit, reposes well on the national stomach.