LOCATED ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE BOTANIC GARDENS
![FORTY SHILLINGS FOR AN OPEN GATE [THE MYSTERY OF A DUBLIN SIGN]-256831-1](https://excellentstreetimages.com/TheFujiflimGFX100RFStreetPhotographer/wp-content/uploads/2025/09/FORTY-SHILLINGS-FOR-AN-OPEN-GATE-THE-MYSTERY-OF-A-DUBLIN-SIGN-256831-1.jpg "FORTY SHILLINGS FOR AN OPEN GATE [THE MYSTERY OF A DUBLIN SIGN]-256831-1")
FORTY SHILLINGS FOR AN OPEN GATE [THE MYSTERY OF A DUBLIN SIGN]
Spotted on a gate in Glasnevin, just a stone’s throw from Dublin’s National Botanic Gardens, is a weathered cast iron sign. Its message is stark and formal: “ANY PERSON LEAVING THIS GATE OPEN IS LIABLE TO A PENALTY OF FORTY SHILLINGS.” Stamped with the initials “E.B. & S.R.,” the sign presents a fascinating historical puzzle. Where did it come from? And who were the mysterious E.B. & S.R.? At first glance, one might assume it’s a piece of English salvage, perhaps an old military sign. But the real story is far more interesting.
Debunking a Military Myth
An initial theory suggested the initials could stand for an “Engineer Boat and Shore Regiment” (EBSR). It’s a clever deduction, as such units did exist. However, a closer look reveals this theory doesn’t hold up.
Firstly, the EBSRs were units of the United States Army, established in 1942 to conduct amphibious landings during World War II. While some trained in the UK, their origins were American. This leads to the most significant contradiction: the penalty. The fine is listed in “forty shillings,” a pre-decimal British currency. An official US Army notice would have levied fines in US dollars.
Furthermore, the sign itself tells a different story. It’s a heavy, permanent fixture made of vitreous enamel on cast iron, designed to last for decades outdoors. In contrast, military units on the move, like the EBSRs, used temporary, functional signage like stencilled wooden boards. The formal style, with its ampersand and full stops (E.B. & S.R.), is also characteristic of 19th and early 20th-century British corporations, not a mid-20th-century American military unit. The military connection, while plausible at first, is a dead end.
On the Right Track: A Railway Connection
With the military theory ruled out, the evidence points overwhelmingly in another direction: a British railway company. The sign is a classic piece of railwayana — a historical artifact related to railways.
These heavy, durable notices were once a common sight across the railway network, typically placed at level crossings or entrances to goods yards. Leaving a gate open could allow livestock to wander onto the tracks or grant unauthorised access, posing a serious danger. The threat of a hefty fine was the primary way of ensuring public compliance.
This provenance is confirmed by an identical “E.B. & S.R.” sign that was sold at a UK auction in 2020, described by the auctioneers as a “Notice railway sign.” This proves the Glasnevin sign wasn’t a one-off but part of a standardised production run, and that it is recognised within the antiques trade as being of railway origin.
The challenge, however, is identifying the exact company. A deep dive into historical railway records from the pre-1923 era (before over 120 companies were merged into the “Big Four”) reveals no perfect match. Possibilities like the Ely, Haddenham & Sutton Railway (EH&SR) are close but don’t quite match the initials. This archival silence suggests that the “E.B. & S.R.” was not a major passenger line, but more likely a smaller, localised entity—perhaps a private industrial line serving a quarry or factory, or a “joint railway” operated by two parent companies. The sign may be one of the few surviving relics of a company otherwise lost to history.
Decoding the Sign: A Window into the Past
Beyond its text, the sign is a document of its time, revealing much about the industrial and social context of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
The Penalty of Forty Shillings
The fine of “forty shillings”— equivalent to two pounds sterling (£2) — was a huge deterrent. To understand its impact, we have to consider the wages of the era. For an agricultural labourer earning around 10 shillings a week in the late 1800s, a forty-shilling fine represented an entire month’s income. For a railway porter or a junior clerk, it would have been at least two weeks’ wages. This wasn’t a slap on the wrist; it was a potentially ruinous penalty designed to enforce a rule critical to operational safety. The power for railway companies to set such byelaws was established by Parliament’s Railway Regulation Act of 1840, making forty shillings a standard maximum fine for many railway offences.
Material and Manufacture
The sign is made of vitreous enamel, a layer of powdered glass fused onto a heavy cast iron base. This technique was prized for its incredible durability and resistance to weathering, making it perfect for permanent outdoor notices. The bold, no-nonsense sans-serif typeface is also typical of the formal, authoritative style of Victorian and Edwardian officialdom.
From Siding to Suburbia: The Sign’s Final Journey
So how did a relic from a forgotten English railway end up on a gate in Dublin? The answer lies in the architectural salvage trade.
Following the “Beeching Axe” in the 1960s, which led to the closure of thousands of miles of Britain’s railway network, a vast quantity of railway infrastructure—from station clocks to trackside notices like this one—flooded the salvage market. There has long been a thriving trade in such items between the UK and Ireland, with dealers sourcing materials for resale.
The sign’s journey is a story of transformation. It began as a functional, regulatory object. When its railway line closed, it became obsolete scrap. Rescued by the salvage trade, it was reborn as a collectible, fuelled by nostalgia for the age of steam. Its final placement on a gate in Glasnevin completes this journey. Here, it serves a new purpose: partly functional, but primarily aesthetic—a tangible piece of a bygone industrial era, repurposed as a decorative piece of history.
