Throwback Thursday: A city of steps... but which are steepest?

So where are the steepest steps of all in Cork city? The longest? And who re coming home upriver on the Innisfallen and ing Blackrock Castle?

Tim Cagney, born a Northsider but now alas an expat in far-off Dublin, wrote to enquire about something he had read about a flight of steps by Kent Railway Station.

“Just reading a (brief) article on the opening of the steps near the railway station on the Lower Road. On EchoLive.ie, of course – never read anything else!” says Tim.

“Are those the same long flight of steps which climbed all the way up the north side of the road, went on to a bridge, and finally reached Clifton Terrace, from where you could go up a lane to Summerhill? They provided a very handy link from the St Luke’s area to the station.

“I crossed that bridge many, many times in younger days. I seem to someone used to own a bevy of Alsatians underneath, and you could hear them baying as you crossed. I was never aware those steps had been closed to the public.”

No, it wasn’t those, Tim. The steps featured in De Echo were the steep flight angling down to the flat ground behind the quayside. What were they used for? By anybody, one would imagine, wanting a quick access after arriving at the station, down to river level, and onward to homes or businesses there, or for reaching ‘the flat of the city’ without having to toil all the way along to the Coliseum first.

They are clearly still of use, since the hoarding erected by the council soon bore the blunt graffiti ‘Open The Steps!’ Well, they’re open again now, and can be used as before.

Those steps on the opposite side, though, leading up to Clifton Terrace and on to Summerhill, were a hefty climb, even holding on to those wrought iron railings. I must go walk them once more, and count the actual steps (good exercise anyway!).

And yes, Tim, we well those Alsatians below, on the ground which once carried the railway line to Summerhill station, where the Boy Scouts hall now stands. It was a Mr Minta who bred those canines, which were much in demand as guard dogs.

Weren’t there steps everywhere in the Cork of our youth? Mostly, of course, on the Northside, where the endless and varied hills necessitated some sort of assistance in the way of constructed graduated lifting.

Where there weren’t steps, laneways often had to be gridded with rough lines, to stop people, and indeed horses, from slipping.

They are still there, most of them, although usually tidied up with concrete, which hides the original limestone or chunks of red sandstone which gave Cork its colours. (Blood ’n Bandages, they say, while UCC, incorporating a stripe of black, went for Blood, Mud, ’n Bandages. Which, when you consider the amount of earth enthusiastically and forcibly applied to its rugby players in any game, is understandable.)

Where, we wonder, are the longest, the steepest sets of steps in our city?

How about the famously endless sequence and dizzyingly steep incline on Patrick’s Hill? Back in the day, all Cork’s most noted doctors had their surgeries here, with loyal maids assiduously polishing the brass plates outside every morning, while reluctant schoolgirls toiled even further up to the threatening gates of St Angela’s College.

Beyond the convent, the hill, impossible though it may seem, became even steeper, challenging those who lived in Audley Place at the top with a positive marathon before they could get home with the shopping.

Even today, an unwary stranger setting his modern BMW or Merc’ at Patrick’s Hill must baulk as he realises the task he is asking of his engine.

Many a former messenger boy will recall the terrifying yet supremely exciting decision to freewheel down the entire hill on his heavy black delivery bike, trusting to fate not to impose a double-decker bus in his way as he whizzed into Bridge Street and across Patrick’s Bridge.

Does anybody have memories of climbing up and down those positively dangerous limestone steps from Summerhill to St Patrick’s Church below on Sunday mornings? They’re closed off now, after a few unhappy accidents, and not before time.

We knew one elderly lady back then who used to bribe her grandchildren to come down after 10am Mass and push her up the steps. She simply could not have made the ascent otherwise.

Narrow and viciously steep, they were yet another example of how Cork’s unrelenting, rocky landscape demanded some sort of solution at every turn. And it was usually steps.

Rock Villas, off Blarney Street, are mentioned in architectural reports as being of considerable interest, built of paving stones in the mid-19th century.

“Though now concreted, these steps form part of an interesting group with similar 19th-century paving schemes. Stepped routes such as these are found throughout the city, and contribute to its unique character.

These paving schemes utilised cut limestone, which, in many cases, has been replaced or covered with concrete.

Next time you are wandering up Blarney Street, take a look, and listen for all the sounds of the city floating up to these heights, as they have done for generations.

Then there were ‘The Confession-ahs’ off Lover’s Walk. A steep, gridded lane led in the end to steps down to the Lower Road. If you were foolhardy enough to take a car down, you had to stop pretty quick, and hope the reverse gear and tyres were up to the retreat. (The ancient, boarded-up doorways on the way down gave the place its traditional name, much resorted to by young lovers in stricter, more controlled days).

And the Fever Hospital steps? Steps everywhere! What ones do you ? Do tell us.

Now, do you the wonderful story of Gladys Leach’s life, related to us in recent Throwback Thursdays by her son, Rom Hyde?

One of her best-ed artistic achieve-ments was The Scenery And Character Of Cork, a beautiful, large-format book of drawings illustrating our city’s finest points. We have heard from Sean Feehan, who read that feature with much attention. Sean, it transpires, is the son of Captain Sean Feehan, ed as the founder of the Mercier Press.

“Your story about Gladys Leach was particularly interesting to me,” said Sean. “It was I who commissioned her to do the drawings for The Scenery And Character Of Cork, which I published in 1974.

“I was an antiquarian bookseller in Cork since 1964, and published under the name Fercor Press, short for Feehan, Cork. We launched it with the then Lord Mayor Pearce Wyse in Silversprings.

“We only produced 1,000 copies and the bulk of these were purchased by the Verolme Dockyard to send to their clients.

“Gay Byrne reviewed the book on his morning programme on RTÉ. Just to show you the influence of Gaybo, the entire edition sold out in a week so we published a reprint.”

Sean continues: “The first edition had a wine coloured cover, while the second had a blue cover. The first had a sepia-coloured dust jacket, and that proved really expensive.

“The dust jacket was printed by The Eagle printing works as it was the only printer with a large enough printing press. The book itself was printed by Litho Press in Midleton.

“Purely for interest, there was a copy went for auction about a year ago for €900 including fees, but I wouldn’t consider it as worth anything like that. I see it regularly at various sales at prices between €100 and €200.

“The original of The Savoy one you used in Throwback Thursday in fact had a mistake, spelling Roger (Moore) as Rodger on the cinema façade. It was I who fortunately spotted it before printing.”

What proud memories to have, Sean, and thank you for sharing it with Throwback Thursday readers!

I went back for another pleasant browse through The Scenery And Character Of Cork after that, and rediscovered so many lovely illustrations, and indeed accompanying text by Sean, which captured forever the beauties of this city we love.

The one of Blackrock Castle above is particularly poignant because it actually links to that other story above, of the steps leading down from above the railway station to the quayside level below.

How come? Hands go up from 100 readers! Because, of course, it was the last and most beautiful vision to appear to incoming engers on the great old Innisfallen as the boat moved confidently up its own river to its very own mooring on Horgan’s Quay.

Even when the newer Innisfallen came in, in the late 1960s, and tied up further down, at Silversprings, you still got to enjoy the welcome from the castle on the way.

Anyone fortunate enough to have a cabin on that side of the boat could open their eyes in the early morning, see Blackrock floating gently by, and know they were home.

Yes, it’s certainly a nice enough entrance into Cork Harbour these days on Brittany Ferries, and you do get to see the charm of Cobh with its multi-coloured houses climbing steeply up the streets beside the cathedral. You might even be lucky enough to hear the famous carillon ringing out over the water.

But it is emphatically not the same as catching our very own ship in Wales and coming into the Cork quays at morning. Is it now?

Can we give that Leeside shout once more? Bring back the Innisfallen!

And, by the way, can you see that nice little tug off there to the left in the Leach picture? It and its fellows were a feature of river life back in the day. One of them was definitely called The Killarney – who re the others? Bringing ships in, pulling them out, doing a heavy job every day, they were grand little terriers.

This gets me thinking of all of the old businesses still surviving in Cork. The City of Cork Steam Packet is, alas, gone, although its fine white building still stands determinedly, though dwarfed, amid huge new skyscraper hotels.

Roches Stores - we are not finished with talking about that yet, not by a long chalk. Dowdens, Grants, Queens Old Castle, Munster Arcade?

Then there were O’Flynn’s and O’Donovan’s butchers on Princes Street, with housewives so used to buying their daily needs there that even in summer they would cycle up from Crosshaven where they were living in one of the famous cottage-ised Ford boxes, to bring the good produce back down in their bicycle baskets.

Don’t let’s even get going on the great cafes of the past, the Green Door, the Tivoli, et al…

We have sparked some memories in your brain as you’ve been reading all this, we know we have.

Write and tell us what you recall of those long ago days when life was sunny and bright, and the local shop had an endless supply of ice lollies!

Did your family boast one of the rare Ford Box cottages at Crosser?

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