For the past couple of years I have lived in Fingal Street, Dublin. It's not one of those addresses that people locate intuitively - often there's a moment of surprise when I tell them it's in Dublin 8, not off on the distant northside, writes Harry Browne.
Sometimes "Cork Street cottages" is a helpful clue, but generally not. There's only one poetical piece of local landmarking that works for sure: "On a summer evening the Coombe hospital casts its shadow down the cul-de-sac." That will usually elicit a vague "Ahhh".
If I'm trying harder to impress someone with my inner-city chops, I might mention the winter-evening shadow of St Teresa's Gardens. But to be honest, even people who can place the major local landmarks might not find their way easily to the tidy old housing-association cottages of Fingal Street, Maxwell Street and Eugene Street. I'm sure the rat-running commuters who regularly endanger the lives of the local children (and continue to do so, despite the changes described below) could scarcely name the narrow lanes through which they rush.
Occupying a largely forgotten corner of the urban jungle is not always something to complain about. A certain twitching-curtain neighbourliness survives here, even as the "character" (i.e. social-class profile) of the street changes, house by house, car by car. These are first-rung-on-the-property-ladder homes nowadays, with a fair share of lone yuppies among the old Dubs. There are plenty of "investment properties" too, and that means more than a sprinkling of renting immigrants. My place still gets inscrutable piles of post for Chinese former residents; I have no forwarding addresses.
Bulldozers and barricades
Sometimes, though, being forgotten really stinks. This year, as the first freezing days of spring were sprung upon us, the residents of Cork Street cottages, and the other people who dwell near the main southwest-bound artery of Dublin 8, have learned exactly where they stand in the hearts and minds of Dublin City Council planners: nowhere. The diggers, bulldozers and barricades on Cork Street and the new Coombe bypass have finally gone, and what's left of this physically battered community is now divided by an unspeakably ugly, huge, intimidating road that shouts out loud to anyone not in a vehicle: "You don't exist!"
To appreciate the scale of this final insult you have to go back decades. It is about 30 years since the plans for this road were unveiled and property lines were adjusted by compulsory purchase to ensure a wide berth. Ever since, dereliction has been the norm along Cork Street; and the additional waste ground between the old Coombe and Newmarket, that had been bought in readiness for the bypass to come was for many years both an eyesore and a centre for "anti-social behaviour". (The same can be said, unfortunately, for the miserable, desolate stretch of bypass that has now filled in the blank space with an even blanker space.)
At long last, the pockmarked surface of Cork Street, long regarded by taxi-drivers as the city's most potholed thoroughfare, has been replaced by a smoothly macadamed, carefully graded road. For that, at least, we who have axes to grind can be grateful.
Bottlenecks at both ends
But that improvement is part of the problem. Including its ample space for buses, the new road offers four lanes of temptation - a chance to speed through an area that remains bereft of visual attractions, where once drivers had to crawl. The urge to up a gear is only enhanced by the bottlenecks that remain at both ends - where Dolphin's Barn turns into Crumlin, and back towards town on Dean Street, near St Patrick's Cathedral.
The latter location is what makes the Cork Street/Coombe bypass a particularly sick joke. The original master plan envisaged a single, massive new intersection adjacent to the cathedral. It couldn't be done, largely because of resistance from property owners, including a primary school. The traffic crush that therefore remains at Dean Street means there is no flow of outbound traffic on to the new road, only a trickling drip-feed.
Already it's apparent that many drivers, given a daily-delayed chance to enjoy this stretch of lovely new road in relative privacy, are in no mood to stick below 30 m.p.h. (Don't talk to me of penalty points - drivers are already deducing that increased penalties don't necessarily mean increased enforcement, and the slim chances of being caught speeding in most places have scarcely changed.)
Missing street sign
Which brings us back to Cork Street cottages. The little road that leads down into the midst of our streets, our houses, our hundreds of residents, is called Cameron Street, though you might not know that since the building that bore the sign at the junction with Cork Street was torn down more than a year ago and the City Council has never bothered to erect a new sign.
Now, if you walk out of Cameron Street and want to cross four terrifying new lanes of Cork Street to the hairdresser's, to the shop, to the pub, to the bookies, there's nothing there to assist you - no lights, no zebra crossing, no warning sign, nothing. You can walk 60 or 70 yards right to the lights at Marrowbone Lane; or a couple of hundred yards left, around a sweeping curve, to a crossing near the hospital.
Or, child or pensioner, Dub or yuppie, native or immigrant, you can take your life in your hands, knowing that as far as the authorities are concerned, it has already been forgotten.