Do you want your old Molly washed down?

Dublin’s statue of Molly Malone is an ever-stoic victim of the impulse to spray-paint, tag and otherwise deface our surroundings

Dab hand: cleaning the graffiti off Molly Malone this week. Photograph: Eric Luke

Dab hand: cleaning the graffiti off Molly Malone this week. Photograph: Eric Luke

Sat, Jul 26, 2014, 01:00

It had to be the cleavage. It’s always the cleavage. You can bet that when they first pulled the sheet from Molly Malone, and unveiled her to the world, nobody’s eyes fell on the wheelbarrow first.

Since then the Dublin statue’s bosom must have been painted every shade under the Dulux colour chart, although variations on the tricolour have always seemed a particularly popular choice of patriotic vandals. During Euro 2012 she was so painted that she was only short of holding a Davy Keogh Says Hello flag.

This week the cleavage was red. (A witty take on “scarleh for her”? Not a chance.) She had been only a week at her temporary home outside the Discover Ireland tourist office on Suffolk Street when she was defaced. That time span was considered brief enough for it to make the news. (It seemed more newsworthy that she survived that long without having paint scrawled on her.)

So Molly will be cleaned down again. Vandalised again. Cleaned. Vandalised. And on it will go. Because Molly Malone stands as an ever-stoic victim of the impulse some people feel to spray-paint spaces, deface public art, tag statues, look at a piece of street furniture and wonder in just what way they can wreck it.

Vandalism isn’t inevitable. An early success of the Dublinbikes scheme was that its bicycles didn’t end up in the Liffey. Dubliners had steeled themselves for that, presumed half of them would be missing and the other half banjaxed before the first month was out. Instead the bikes became an epitome of civic pride and responsibility. Other cities learned from Dublin.

But the anticipation of vandalism had been understandable, because Ireland had a thick file on the subject.

Most obvious had been CowParade, in 2003, when 10 decorated model cattle were spread across the city, as had been done in cities across the world. Within a week every one had been vandalised. And not just with graffiti. One literally had its wings clipped. Another lost its head in an act that required serious hacking. “The awful thing is,” a spokeswoman said at the time, “we were kind of expecting it in Dublin.”

Not that it was particular to the capital. A week later a resin pig was taken from a floating sculpture in Galway. The city had previously seen Pádraic Ó Conaire’s beheading in Eyre Square. Drink had been taken, just as it was when Phil Lynott’s Dublin statue was damaged last year.

Sign In

Forgot Password?

Sign Up

The name that will appear beside your comments.

Have an account? Sign In

Forgot Password?

Please enter your email address so we can send you a link to reset your password.

Sign In or Sign Up

Thank you

You should receive instructions for resetting your password. When you have reset your password, you can Sign In.

Hello, .

Please choose a screen name. This name will appear beside any comments you post. Your screen name should follow the standards set out in our community standards.

Thank you for registering. Please check your email to verify your account.

We reserve the right to remove any content at any time from this Community, including without limitation if it violates the Community Standards. We ask that you report content that you in good faith believe violates the above rules by clicking the Flag link next to the offending comment or by filling out this form. New comments are only accepted for 3 days from the date of publication.