FRANCIS STREET PHOTOGRAPHED USING A FUJI GFX100RF
FRANCIS STREET HAS CHANGED A LOT IN RECENT YEARS [PHOTOGRAPHED USING A FUJIFILM GFX100RF]
Francis Street: A Portrait of Dublin's Changing Heart
In the centre of Dublin's historic Liberties neighbourhood lies Francis Street, an urban quarter that offers a fascinating portrait of evolution. It presents a unique blend of historical craftsmanship and contemporary cultural resurgence. Rather than a conventional tourist destination, the street has cultivated a reputation as a more authentic, modern, and discerning alternative to the city's traditional visitor routes.
Its character is not a product of spontaneous growth but a deliberate effort by local traders to forge a new identity, transforming the area into Dublin's "Arts & Antiques Quarter".
The street's identity is deeply layered, linking its present to a past as a hub for skilled craftsmanship, particularly in fine furniture, dating back to the 18th century. This historical foundation was intentionally built upon in 2003 when a collective of established traders formally created the Arts & Antiques Quarter, launching the initiative with a "slick little guide".
This strategic approach to urban branding distinguishes Francis Street's rejuvenation from a mere organic development, positioning it as a curated experience for those seeking high-quality collectibles. Here, "Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian period furniture" sits alongside "Irish paintings and sculptures".
The street's appeal now extends far beyond antiques, encompassing an atmosphere described as "cool" and "trendy". "Chic retro pubs" serve local micro-brews, and restaurants draw influence from "interesting world flavours". This juxtaposition of old and new—from colourful graffiti-adorned facades to vintage jewellery shops—creates a dynamic destination that acts as a physical link between Dublin's "past, present and future".
The Iveagh Markets: A Century of Dereliction
The story of the Iveagh Markets is a prolonged narrative of philanthropic intent, urban decay, and a legal battle that has left the building derelict for decades. Constructed in 1907, the market was a significant gesture by Edward Cecil Guinness, the 1st Earl of Iveagh. The Guinness family, long known for civic contributions like funding slum clearance, built the market on the site of the old Sweetman's brewery. Its purpose was simple: to provide a dry, indoor space for street traders, with separate sections for a "dry market" (clothes) and a "wet market" (fish, fruit, and vegetables).
The building's fate was sealed by a "reverter clause" in its original deed, stipulating that ownership would revert to the Guinness family heirs if Dublin Corporation failed to run it as a public market. This clause became the centre of contention when the market fell into disuse by the 1990s.
In 1997, hotelier Martin Keane acquired a 500-year lease, tendering €2 million for redevelopment. Planning permission was granted twice, in 2007 and 2012, for a modern food market complex, hotel, and music venue. However, no development materialised. In 2018, Dublin City Council announced its intention to repossess the site. This move, in turn, prompted the 4th Earl of Iveagh, Edward Guinness, to forcibly repossess the property in 2020 by invoking the reverter clause, asserting his family's right to reclaim the building and fulfil his ancestor's original wish.
The result is a complex, three-way legal dispute between Dublin City Council, Martin Keane, and the Guinness family. This "torturous" stalemate has allowed the building to fall into an "advanced state of dereliction". The impasse underscores a fundamental conflict: a commercially driven hotel complex on one hand, and a return to the building's public market purpose on the other.
In a pragmatic attempt to halt the decay, Dublin City Council has now committed to a significant roof renovation project, estimated at €11 million, to secure the structure while the legal proceedings continue—a beacon of hope for a beloved Dublin landmark.
The Public Realm: Greening a Historic Street
Francis Street's physical transformation is a key part of a broader strategy to create a more pedestrian-centric and liveable Liberties. The Francis Street Environmental Improvement Scheme, completed in 2023 after receiving planning consent in 2017, represents a major investment in the public realm.
Led by Dublin City Council, the project widened footpaths, installed new granite paving, and introduced new street lighting and furniture. Critically, it added greenery, planting "20 new Gleditsia triacanthos (honey locust) trees" and other plants to improve the street's aesthetics and biodiversity.
The objective was to "reclaim unused areas, reduce traffic and create more pedestrian space". The street's carriageway was made a consistent width, and parking spaces were cut from 63 to 42. While initial plans for a segregated cycle lane were rejected due to space constraints, the overall scheme has been "broadly welcomed by businesses and residents".
This positive reception signals public endorsement of the wider "Liberties Greening Strategy", which includes similar initiatives on nearby Meath Street and major projects like the new Guinness Quarter. The changes on Francis Street are a key stepping stone in a much broader urban transformation.
The Tivoli: Echoes of a Lost Cultural Hub
The demolition of the Tivoli Theatre and its famed car park illustrates the friction between Dublin's cultural fabric and commercial development pressures. Opened in 1934, the Tivoli was revived in 1987 as a multi-purpose theatre, music venue, and nightclub. Its loss in 2019, to make way for a four-star aparthotel, was mourned as a "regrettable loss for the social and cultural life of the area and the wider city".
The case highlights a paradox of urban change. The new development's planning permission stipulated the inclusion of a "performance and exhibition space" to compensate for the loss. However, a 2023 media investigation reported this space was being used for "little more than storage", underscoring the struggle to enforce cultural preservation against commercial interests. The developer's argument—that the theatre was no longer financially viable—ultimately prevailed over public opposition.
Adding to the complexity was the disappearance of the Tivoli car park's street art. Its walls had become a renowned gallery for urban art, described by a planning inspector as "emblematic of 21st century European urban youth culture". In a novel condition, the planning board ordered the art be preserved "by photographic record," with a digital report submitted to public libraries.
This decision to archive a living art form rather than save the space reflects a common outcome where intangible cultural value is sacrificed for tangible economic gain. The photographic record serves as a static monument to what was lost—an echo of a once-vibrant cultural hub.
The Curious Case of 'Drop Dead Twice'
The history of the "Drop Dead Twice" pub is marked by fire, rumour, and a dark local story that challenges the street's polished image. In July, a fire broke out at the venue, causing "substantial damage". Co-founder Kelly O'Malley quickly initiated a crowdfunding campaign to "rebuild and reopen," but speculation naturally arose about its future, including potential new ownership or branding.
The most intriguing aspect of the pub remains its name. Given Dublin's deep literary connections, it’s a natural assumption to link the name to a quote from James Joyce. While Joyce made puns about "the drop" of a hanging and a "drop" of whiskey in Ulysses, and his iconic story The Dead concludes with snow falling "upon all the living and the dead," no direct source for the pub's name exists in his works.
A more compelling, and darkly macabre, explanation emerges from local pub history. The premises previously operated as "The Green Lizard". In 2005, a patron was murdered there, shot "three times in the head at point-blank range". The name "Drop Dead Twice" is explicitly noted as a "sinister reference" to this tragedy. This powerful connection links the pub not to high literature, but to a raw, local act of violence—a reminder that a place's identity is also forged by the immediate, traumatic events etched into its community memory.
St Nicholas of Myra: The Church "Without"
The Church of St Nicholas of Myra is a pivotal landmark whose very name reveals a crucial piece of medieval Dublin's geography. The site has hosted worship for centuries, with a timber chapel dating to the 12th century. The current Roman Catholic church was built in 1829, with its iconic ionic portico and bell tower added later, in 1860, by architect Patrick Byrne.
The distinctive feature is the word "Without." This inclusion serves as a vital historical distinction, used to differentiate it from a church dedicated to St Nicholas located "within the walls of the city". This seemingly simple marker reveals the historical boundary of fortified Dublin, identifying St Nicholas of Myra as the spiritual institution for those living outside the city walls. This linguistic remnant is a powerful testament to a past where a place's name was a literal map of its history.
A Street in Negotiation
Francis Street is a powerful microcosm of Dublin's ongoing urban narrative, a location where the city's past and future are in constant negotiation. The street's identity is a complex palimpsest, with layers of history—from medieval thoroughfare and 18th-century craft hub to a curated arts quarter—all visible in its present state.
The protracted dispute over the Iveagh Markets represents the difficulty of reconciling philanthropic heritage with commercial viability. The Tivoli's demolition illustrates how the city's unique character can be sacrificed for development, with symbolic gestures failing to capture the spirit of what was lost. And the dark folklore of the pub's name offers a potent counter-narrative, showing that history is not just grand architecture, but also the raw events etched into local memory.
Ultimately, the story of Francis Street is that of a city in flux, where urban planning, contested heritage, and public perception collectively shape a future that is constantly being written on the foundations of its past.
Francis Street: A Portrait of Dublin's Changing Heart
In the centre of Dublin's historic Liberties neighbourhood lies Francis Street, an urban quarter that offers a fascinating portrait of evolution. It presents a unique blend of historical craftsmanship and contemporary cultural resurgence. Rather than a conventional tourist destination, the street has cultivated a reputation as a more authentic, modern, and discerning alternative to the city's traditional visitor routes.
Its character is not a product of spontaneous growth but a deliberate effort by local traders to forge a new identity, transforming the area into Dublin's "Arts & Antiques Quarter".
The street's identity is deeply layered, linking its present to a past as a hub for skilled craftsmanship, particularly in fine furniture, dating back to the 18th century. This historical foundation was intentionally built upon in 2003 when a collective of established traders formally created the Arts & Antiques Quarter, launching the initiative with a "slick little guide".
This strategic approach to urban branding distinguishes Francis Street's rejuvenation from a mere organic development, positioning it as a curated experience for those seeking high-quality collectibles. Here, "Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian period furniture" sits alongside "Irish paintings and sculptures".
The street's appeal now extends far beyond antiques, encompassing an atmosphere described as "cool" and "trendy". "Chic retro pubs" serve local micro-brews, and restaurants draw influence from "interesting world flavours". This juxtaposition of old and new—from colourful graffiti-adorned facades to vintage jewellery shops—creates a dynamic destination that acts as a physical link between Dublin's "past, present and future".
The Iveagh Markets: A Century of Dereliction
The story of the Iveagh Markets is a prolonged narrative of philanthropic intent, urban decay, and a legal battle that has left the building derelict for decades. Constructed in 1907, the market was a significant gesture by Edward Cecil Guinness, the 1st Earl of Iveagh. The Guinness family, long known for civic contributions like funding slum clearance, built the market on the site of the old Sweetman's brewery. Its purpose was simple: to provide a dry, indoor space for street traders, with separate sections for a "dry market" (clothes) and a "wet market" (fish, fruit, and vegetables).
The building's fate was sealed by a "reverter clause" in its original deed, stipulating that ownership would revert to the Guinness family heirs if Dublin Corporation failed to run it as a public market. This clause became the centre of contention when the market fell into disuse by the 1990s.
In 1997, hotelier Martin Keane acquired a 500-year lease, tendering €2 million for redevelopment. Planning permission was granted twice, in 2007 and 2012, for a modern food market complex, hotel, and music venue. However, no development materialised. In 2018, Dublin City Council announced its intention to repossess the site. This move, in turn, prompted the 4th Earl of Iveagh, Edward Guinness, to forcibly repossess the property in 2020 by invoking the reverter clause, asserting his family's right to reclaim the building and fulfil his ancestor's original wish.
The result is a complex, three-way legal dispute between Dublin City Council, Martin Keane, and the Guinness family. This "torturous" stalemate has allowed the building to fall into an "advanced state of dereliction". The impasse underscores a fundamental conflict: a commercially driven hotel complex on one hand, and a return to the building's public market purpose on the other.
In a pragmatic attempt to halt the decay, Dublin City Council has now committed to a significant roof renovation project, estimated at €11 million, to secure the structure while the legal proceedings continue—a beacon of hope for a beloved Dublin landmark.
The Public Realm: Greening a Historic Street
Francis Street's physical transformation is a key part of a broader strategy to create a more pedestrian-centric and liveable Liberties. The Francis Street Environmental Improvement Scheme, completed in 2023 after receiving planning consent in 2017, represents a major investment in the public realm.
Led by Dublin City Council, the project widened footpaths, installed new granite paving, and introduced new street lighting and furniture. Critically, it added greenery, planting "20 new Gleditsia triacanthos (honey locust) trees" and other plants to improve the street's aesthetics and biodiversity.
The objective was to "reclaim unused areas, reduce traffic and create more pedestrian space". The street's carriageway was made a consistent width, and parking spaces were cut from 63 to 42. While initial plans for a segregated cycle lane were rejected due to space constraints, the overall scheme has been "broadly welcomed by businesses and residents".
This positive reception signals public endorsement of the wider "Liberties Greening Strategy", which includes similar initiatives on nearby Meath Street and major projects like the new Guinness Quarter. The changes on Francis Street are a key stepping stone in a much broader urban transformation.
The Tivoli: Echoes of a Lost Cultural Hub
The demolition of the Tivoli Theatre and its famed car park illustrates the friction between Dublin's cultural fabric and commercial development pressures. Opened in 1934, the Tivoli was revived in 1987 as a multi-purpose theatre, music venue, and nightclub. Its loss in 2019, to make way for a four-star aparthotel, was mourned as a "regrettable loss for the social and cultural life of the area and the wider city".
The case highlights a paradox of urban change. The new development's planning permission stipulated the inclusion of a "performance and exhibition space" to compensate for the loss. However, a 2023 media investigation reported this space was being used for "little more than storage", underscoring the struggle to enforce cultural preservation against commercial interests. The developer's argument—that the theatre was no longer financially viable—ultimately prevailed over public opposition.
Adding to the complexity was the disappearance of the Tivoli car park's street art. Its walls had become a renowned gallery for urban art, described by a planning inspector as "emblematic of 21st century European urban youth culture". In a novel condition, the planning board ordered the art be preserved "by photographic record," with a digital report submitted to public libraries.
This decision to archive a living art form rather than save the space reflects a common outcome where intangible cultural value is sacrificed for tangible economic gain. The photographic record serves as a static monument to what was lost—an echo of a once-vibrant cultural hub.
The Curious Case of 'Drop Dead Twice'
The history of the "Drop Dead Twice" pub is marked by fire, rumour, and a dark local story that challenges the street's polished image. In July, a fire broke out at the venue, causing "substantial damage". Co-founder Kelly O'Malley quickly initiated a crowdfunding campaign to "rebuild and reopen," but speculation naturally arose about its future, including potential new ownership or branding.
The most intriguing aspect of the pub remains its name. Given Dublin's deep literary connections, it’s a natural assumption to link the name to a quote from James Joyce. While Joyce made puns about "the drop" of a hanging and a "drop" of whiskey in Ulysses, and his iconic story The Dead concludes with snow falling "upon all the living and the dead," no direct source for the pub's name exists in his works.
A more compelling, and darkly macabre, explanation emerges from local pub history. The premises previously operated as "The Green Lizard". In 2005, a patron was murdered there, shot "three times in the head at point-blank range". The name "Drop Dead Twice" is explicitly noted as a "sinister reference" to this tragedy. This powerful connection links the pub not to high literature, but to a raw, local act of violence—a reminder that a place's identity is also forged by the immediate, traumatic events etched into its community memory.
St Nicholas of Myra: The Church "Without"
The Church of St Nicholas of Myra is a pivotal landmark whose very name reveals a crucial piece of medieval Dublin's geography. The site has hosted worship for centuries, with a timber chapel dating to the 12th century. The current Roman Catholic church was built in 1829, with its iconic ionic portico and bell tower added later, in 1860, by architect Patrick Byrne.
The distinctive feature is the word "Without." This inclusion serves as a vital historical distinction, used to differentiate it from a church dedicated to St Nicholas located "within the walls of the city". This seemingly simple marker reveals the historical boundary of fortified Dublin, identifying St Nicholas of Myra as the spiritual institution for those living outside the city walls. This linguistic remnant is a powerful testament to a past where a place's name was a literal map of its history.
A Street in Negotiation
Francis Street is a powerful microcosm of Dublin's ongoing urban narrative, a location where the city's past and future are in constant negotiation. The street's identity is a complex palimpsest, with layers of history—from medieval thoroughfare and 18th-century craft hub to a curated arts quarter—all visible in its present state.
The protracted dispute over the Iveagh Markets represents the difficulty of reconciling philanthropic heritage with commercial viability. The Tivoli's demolition illustrates how the city's unique character can be sacrificed for development, with symbolic gestures failing to capture the spirit of what was lost. And the dark folklore of the pub's name offers a potent counter-narrative, showing that history is not just grand architecture, but also the raw events etched into local memory.
Ultimately, the story of Francis Street is that of a city in flux, where urban planning, contested heritage, and public perception collectively shape a future that is constantly being written on the foundations of its past.