GREAT PHOTOS FROM 1990 DUNDALK NIGHT IN LONDON
A LOOK BACK AT A BIG NIGHT OUT IN LONDON
IT really seems like a lifetime ago, in actual fact it is 30 years since I ventured over to London to experience the second Dundalk Area Association night which took place in the Grosvenor Rooms in Willesden Green in late April 1990.
Such was the popularity of the initial meeting the previous year which was held in a function room just off Kings Cross station, there was no surprise that over 350 people originally from Dundalk, now living in London, had made their way to this rather nice function room in a quiet part of the city to meet up with old friends.
The idea was the brainchild of the D.A.A. in conjunction with Fr. Martin McVeigh from the Irish Chaplaincy in Holloway who provided a night out where people could exchange addresses, renew old friendships and provide a number of useful services and information for the novice and the seasoned campaigner on the streets of the British capital.
Ireland was just coming to the end of a seven year recession, with fewer jobs available, many of the younger generation realised their chances of a normal life was bleak and had crossed the Irish sea in their droves to find work and a half decent lifestyle, something they certainly weren’t going to get at home.
Given the freedom to do what they wanted, with huge job prospects and a cosmopolitan lifestyle there for the taking, huge numbers moved to London in search of an existence that was popular and trendy, the exact opposite to what they had experienced at home.
But you have to remember, this was an era before modern technology had made communication so easy. Before the mobile phone, before email, WhatsApp, Facebook, twitter and even sending an MSN, the only form of contact was through the good old landline or, god forbid, pen and paper, so to get together with all the mates you hadn’t seen in months or years, was an opportunity not to be missed.
You have to remember, in London most people relied on public phone boxes which were abundant, but timing was of the essence, you had to pick a time when you were able to receive or make a call and make sure no one was already in the phone box. And some people today lose the head when they can’t remember their password to get into their phones!
I had already covered the initial D.A.A. night and knew what to expect. It had turned into a rather obstreperous occasion at its finale.
It had ticked all the boxes regarding meeting up with old friends and gaining information for those new to the city, but by the time ‘ last orders’ was called, it seemed like a familiar rugby scrum which many had experienced as the shutters came down at the end of Club Tivoli on any weekend night.
Wanting to get there ‘in good time’ I hopped on a Ryanair Shuttle to Heathrow on the Thursday morning to aclimatise to the accents, money and weather. After bypassing some of the most beautiful hotels in the city, I obviously took a wrong turn and eventually ended up knocking on the door of a squat in Stockwell. Imagine my surprise when two of my best mates Flash Farrelly and Phil Tipping answered the door and brought me in to a lovely flat, tastefully decorated and full of ‘Dundalk heads’ who had obviously started the party without me.
The first night saw the sleeves rolled up and some major catching up as we swapped stories about events that had taken place since our last get together. The words ‘epic’ and ‘session’ were bandied about afterwards, but by midday on Friday it was total abstinence for me as I slipped into work mode.
With my best paisley shirt, topped with a golden waistcoat, off white baggy trousers, loafers and a haircut that was supposed to give any 7Up character a run for their money; we jumped on the tube and headed for Willesden Green tube station. All the boys and girls supping on their cans and me worrying about whether I’d taken enough pens to last me the night, it was a wild and crazy ride.
Once we had gained entry to the Grosvenor Rooms I disassociated myself from the rowdy rabble I had come up on the tube with, now it was time to get serious, time to actually do some bloody work. I headed over for a chat with organizers Catherine Logan from the DAA committee and Fr McVeigh from the Irish Chaplaincy who filled me in on the format for the night (which also included picking the London contestant for the up and coming Maytime Festival Queen).
Festival committee member Eamonn Flood and his wife Christina were over to pick a queen from thirteen contestants on the night and after some serious deliberation their final choice was Tara Mackin, (daughter of the late Jimmy Mackin of the legendary Paragon Seven), who won the all expenses paid trip home to take part in the Festival Queen competition at the end of the month.
With a live band an MC (the inimitable Willie Reilly) and a competition to pick a girl to represent the D.A.A. from London later on in the month, it didn’t take too long for the place to fill up and the atmosphere to start registering on the Richter scale.
I made my way from table to table, gleaning as much information as allowed and meeting up with familiar faces and some not so familiar. A bunch of girls from Blackrock whom I hadn’t seen in months certainly had me laughing and they proved to be just the winning ticket when I caught up with Joey Armstrong about an hour later.
Joey was born and bred in Old Sandy Lane in Blackrock. He left in 1965 and moved to London to find work in the building trade. This he did, bought a house in Tulse Hill, got married and had been working in the city ever since. It was only during our chat he remarked he had worked on so many building sites down through the years and had never met anyone working there who hailed from either Blackrock or Dundalk. He continued to look round to see if he could recognise anyone and asked me to assure him that everyone here was from ‘ the town’.
I told him I could do one better than ‘ the town’. I left my seat, went over to the Blackrock girls explained about Joey and his predicament. The girls graciously got up, took their drinks and went over to sit with Joey. I have vague recollections at the end of the night of Joey and the girls shouting and laughing together nearly louder than everyone else there!
The night passed off very successfully, people swopped addresses and phone numbers to keep in touch. I spent nearly every minute I could talking to anyone who even looked sideways at me. That was until the band struck up the National Anthem (ours, not theirs!) and the place ground to a standstill. With places to get to, night buses to chase, black cabs and hackneys swarming outside, it seemed that the main doors were opened and the crowds disappeared like dry ice after the pyro flash.
If only the night was over then, now I had to get the crew I arrived with back together, organise a number of hackney cabs and head for the Irish republic of Stockwell where the session continued through until the following morning. It was so because early the next morning myself and one of the lads headed for the local shops to top up on supplies. It was around six am and there weren’t that many on the street. The strange thing was that everyone we met as we went to the shops were from Dundalk which kinda frightened me.
So, as the hours went by until it was time to depart I caught up with loads of others who hadn’t made it to the night out and got even more information from them. But when I departed, I checked and double checked that I had the two most important things in my possession, an envelope packed with negatives (the result of which can be seen on these pages) and my trusty notebook packed full of doctor’s prescriptions, better known as my writing from the night before.
As I climbed aboard the Ryanair flight I thought I done my best for the paper and started to feel happy. This didn’t last too long though, all I could think about was what angle I was going to use on my boss Kevin Mulligan to get him to part with even more money to let me come back to next year’s get together?