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One bright, sunny day back in the late 1940s, when I was all of eight years old, Dad came to me and said: “I am going to bring you to the top of Nelson’s Pillar today. You will enjoy it.”
Well, I did enjoy it. In fact, I enjoy it even more now because of the history of that famous monument and its dramatic demise. It made world headlines in 1966.
I remember huffing and puffing my way up the almost unending 166 circular steps inside the old grey granite walls. I then staggered out on to the big square viewing platform beside the great man himself, Admiral Horatio Nelson.
To little me, it was like being on top of Mount Everest.
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Dad stretched out his arm and proudly pointed out all the big neighbourhoods of Dublin as far as the eye could see. It was as though he owned the place.
His pride was immense and his knowledge of the city impressive. Of course, he knew in the years ahead, when I became a man, that I would remember him and that day with affection.
There are very few people around today who can boast that they stood on top of that famous monument.
Looking across the city, it was like we were viewing Dublin from a plane, we were so high up. It was a stunning experience.
Neither of us , nor the vast majority of people in Dublin, or Ireland for that matter, had ever been up in a plane at that time. Air travel was a long way off in the 1940s. That’s what made my day all so special.
The Pillar, the GPO and the Metropole Cinema were the usual meeting places for people coming up from the country . They were the landmarks where you met your friends or relations. Only the GPO is still standing. They couldn’t knock it in 1916, so it should last another few centuries.
Yes, I saw and enjoyed the Pillar in its full glory. Then, as a young journalist 20 years later, I reported on its abrupt demise in 1966, the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising.
I got a telephone call in the middle of the night. It was from the news editor and he shouted down the line “the Pillar is gone, it’s been blown up”, and to get into the office as quickly as my little second-hand Mini car could carry me.
It was all hands to the pumps. Just about every single member of the staff was busy working on the story. It was hectic, but we all knew this was big-time journalism, this was one of the stories that don’t come around too often. It was exciting. There was a definite sense of history being made.
I was dispatched to Dún Laoghaire to interview the caretaker of the Pillar. He was sad and upset at the shocking news and was now unemployed.
He told me he had loved his time there and had many happy memories of meeting the hundreds of tourists from all over the world who used visit the monument.
I can’t remember much of the interview but he was a very shocked individual and I felt very sorry for him.
The story raged on for weeks and there was no angle that wasn’t covered in minute detail.
Dubliners lapped up every new story. The Dubs went on a frenzy of souvenir hunting. It was important to get a piece of granite from the shattered monument and place it on top of your mantelpiece.
A few uncomplimentary songs about Nelson were composed and sung in the pubs.
During the excavation for The Spire, the foundation stone for the Pillar was recovered. There had been press stories that there was a time capsule containing valuable coins down there, but this proved to be just another Dublin myth. Not a dickie bird was found.
After the explosion, so the apocryphal and unlikely story goes, Eamon de Valera was supposed to have rung his paper, the Irish Press, and dictated the heading for the front page: “ British admiral leaves Dublin by air.”
One Dublin wag remarked: “It was the first time we realised Dev had a sense of humour.”