I asked her how the pub was faring, it was on a main road so I thought it must be o.k. Not so, unfortunately. She has had 3 punters in in the last few days. The pub, she said would have sunk if it was not also her home. Her husband passed away recently and word quickly went round that she was selling up. She had no intention, but word went round and she has been approached several times. The last time, two indian gentlemen offered her a large sum of cash and told her they wanted to start an Indian restaraunt, possibly knocking the pub to do so.

Carmel is not confident of the pub’s future, in fact she is utterly bleak “pubs are dead’ she said and proceeded to reel of a list of local bars that had shut. ‘No money in it’ ‘Nobody has time for a drink anymore’ ‘Drink driving laws have everyone scared’ and her kids don’t want to take it on. Thus ending the 7 generations. That’s pretty sad isn’t it? Carmel shared some fond memories of the bar and the characters that had frequented it, that are all now gone. I have her on video. It makes me wonder, is there any point at all? The country will change, nothing will stop that. People will drink in super pubs and eat in Indians. They will be happy with that and oblivious to what went before. Am I completely wrong in thinking that there should be a preservation order on a 250 year old pub?

When I got to Kilcrohan there was 2 pubs and outside the main one there was a man playing Elton John coversongs with a synthisizer. This was quite funny, in an ironic kind of way. Then I wondered where the trad. music was and bumped into a very nice man who hails from Connemara in Galway. Marcus Naughtan was his name and he tells me he his family line is directly descended from a Pharoh in Egypt (Connected with Scotia, daughter of an Egyptian king who came to Ireland with the Milesians many years ago.Don’t you know?) Anyway, Marcus tells me that If I want to see real trad I should walk out a mile to an old pub called the White house.

I give him a spin to it, and to be sure there is a good session on the go. However, I soon realised that nearly everyone in the bar was English. They all live in the surrounds. It dawns on me that the Irish are all up listening to Elton John covers and the English (hippy types) are enjoying the Irish music. Quite bizarre. Marcus tells me that the English hippies actually have more interest which is oddly disturbing. But good on them I suppose. (One of the only genuine Irish old locals had cycled seven miles for his one glass of wine before cycling back.)

The pub is now leased to a Welsh woman who hasn’t changed a thing. All the old photos of the (long gone) locals are still on the walls and there is a fine pint of Murphy’s (She keeps the keg right under the counter.) Well worth checking out.

[ youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejbkpeYSubc ]

There once were 30 ring teams on Barrack street, now there is one. ‘Don’ a game of cards specific to the area is played less and less. ‘It’s the Government!’ one said ‘The smoking ban for God’s sake!’ said another, another fella concisely explained that the older generation of Barrack street denizens are simply passing on and the new generation are not interested in staying local. The same man asked me straightforwardly what our kids were going to do for a bit of real culture when they reach the age.

a Czech man in his forties sat at the bar and told me that this bar was where he made his first Cork friends, he was melancholic at the thought of it closing and explained that he had wanted to see some real Ireland and is amazed to see how quickly it is dissapearing. He made the effort to be interested in the local community and was immediatly accepted. That’s real integration. Not this equality authority shite they feed us constantly. Bye the bye, the same Czech man told me that it was strange for him to see how well the 37 Irish bars were doing in Prague and how badly they are doing in Ireland. This country, he went on to say, would become less attractive to tourists if the trend continued. Makes sense.

The Quinn Ryan raises money for Chernobyl every year, amongst other good deeds. It organises outings on Sundays for it’s patrons. Thats culture, thats real society. I wonder what charity the Rebel bar group involves itself with?

We had heard that Peigs bar, a pub a few of us used to drink in was due to be sold and the intention was to knock it to build apartments. The area where Peigs is located, in Carrigaloe, used to be a very quite spot even though it is beside a station for the Cork to Cobh train route. In the last 5 years, houses and apartmets have been built all the way along the river front. At least 1000 residential dwellings. Peigs was the only bar in the area and the thought of it too being knocked to make way for yet more residences was grotesque in the extreme. How can you knock the only public facility in an area that has seen huge population growth? Quite easily it seems, just approach the retiring proprieter with a wad of cash.

This is what a certain individual, who goes by the Name of Mr. S***** (who incedentaly also played a role in the destruction of the Tower bar in the city) had done. The proprietor, an elderly gent who inherited the pub from his aunt (Peig, who died recently aged 94 and remembered hiding members of the I.R.A. in the pub during the troubles) had very nearly agreed to sell the place.

The menbers of P.I.N.T. decided to do some investigation, as this was a severely pressing cause, it being our own local. We intended to picket the pub, to highlight it’s looming destruction and also as a platform to formerly launch our organisation. We decided, however that it would be wise to have a chat with the owner before such a public demonstration to avoid unnecessary embarrasment. Crossing the Glenbrook to Carrigaloe ferry I first met local songwriting legend John Spillane, who whole-heartedly agreed with the cause of P.I.N.T. he said he was going off to write a song about getting the ferry over to Peigs bar (I wonder if he has?)

At the other end of the ferry i spotted the owner of Peigs who was delivering the Evening Echo to the ferryman. I approached him, announced myself and told him of the organisation I belonged to. He must have been fascinated because he gave me a spin to the pub and bought me a pint of Murphys.

I asked him was it true that the bar was to be knocked and he told me that it had been the case indeed, but within the last two days he had had a change of heart. he had been upset by the aggression that the prospective buyer was employing, apparently putting down the deposit (of rather a large sum of money) before the deal had properly discussed. Also he had sufferred from pangs of guilt. The locals had actually begged him not to deprive them of the only pub in the area. Billy Love proceeded to buy me two more Murphys while I told him how great he was for turning down Mr. S’s greasy dosh.

He told me the fascinating history of the place, how one of the windows still has a bullet hole in it from abullet that came from Passage west across the river during the troubles and how one of the serving girls was shot in the ass, also by a stray bullet. Billy congratulated P.I.N.T. for ‘giving a shit’ enough to want to picket the place and gave me a spin back to the Ferry. GOOD ON YOU BILLY LOVE!!!

It wasn’t too long though before I spotted the planning notice up on another old local in our area. The Monkstown inn is to be knocked to make way for five houses! For Fuck’s sake.

HANDS OFF OUR PUBS!!!