8 May Dublin

Having done the main touristy things in Dublin, and ready for interviews about what I saw, I was now free to explore the town a pied. I found the town gates and walked in and out of them a few times pretending to be a stranger to the town and wondering what it would feel like. I also found James Joyce’s house, and took a photo through the place you post the letters in the front door. Anna says this is a letter box, and although she is usually right, in this case, I am left wondering, as there is no box. Perhaps it is a letter drop thingie. We used to have one in Gibson Street in Timaru. Houses also had door knockers in those days. I remember my brother and I tying string to a door knocker in Deal Street, then hiding below the fence and pulling the string, which of course produced the day of the house at the door. But I digress.

I quite like James Joyce but I was becoming aware of a cash shortage, and was having to live on €10 a day plus credit card money, which presumably incurs a cost every time there is a transaction in foreign dosh. So to cut a longish story brilliantly short (phew), I didn’t pay to go to the James Joyce museum, but chose instead, to have dinner that night! I tracked down a William Yeats exhibition at the library, which showed his journals and notes and association with Mme Blavatsky, but nothing about Cyril Scott. Mme Blavatsky and I have something in common, as we both normally travel east, though as you know, on this occasion, I had to travel west first. I attach her photo so you can see what a formidable woman she is.

I also took a photo of a strangely clad roller blader for your enjoyment.

Then I came upon a revelation, right there in Dublin. I could use up my last day (because the last day, that is, tomorrow at the time I should have been writing this, but in reality some time last week, isn’t actually the last day, but a travelling day – oh never mind, you had to be there) finding my ancestors who lived in Dublin. So I went to the library to look up the publicly accessible records. Going to hte library entailed walking around in a large circle and going past the library three times until I found the relationship between the library on the street and the one on my map. So many stone buildings – so little time. Dublin is very stone buildingish. The nice lady at the library told me my ancestors were living in Dublin before people started counting properly, which in England was in 1837, but in Ireland, was in 1860. It’s not my fault I have old ancestors. She told me I would have to look up the parish records, which would mean a trip to the church library. Wahoo – a quest! I counted my daily Euro allocation and found that I had enough for dinner as well as a bus, having bought some wine yesterday. It’s a form of accrual, and I was going to benefit from it. So I took bus number 14a (no, I didn’t get on 14b) and paid my €1.60 exact (had to get off the bus, count the money out and then get on a pay it once I found out there was no change) and went to Braemor Park, which was plenty of fun, seeing suburban houses in trees and little shops and schools and stuff like that. I carefully locked my handbag in the locker as requested (they are very strict in these kind of places and make sure you can’t nick their records) and went upstairs to the nice man, who enquired why I was there, so I told him. I told him I want to know who the great grandfather of Selina Marian Graham was. Selina was my great great grandmother, born in Paris of a Dublin family. I felt good about visiting Paris and Dublin. He sweetly asked me what parish her father was from and I didn’t know, so I had to pick up my handbag and pay €1.60 and go back to town. But it was fun looking. Selina was quite famous in a funny kind of way – you can read all about in chapter seven of Deserter's Adventures: The Autobiography of Dom Felice Vaggioli. She was the one married to the Anglican minister that had to leave town. I hope you like her picture.