Dublin, Ireland's English Heritage
How Ship Street Illustrates The Irish Capital City's English Heart
Dublin, now the capital of an independent and thriving Irish state, owes its existence and character to that same state's long-time enemy, the English.
Every Irish schoolchild learns two things about Dublin. It was founded by Vikings and it was for centuries the seat of English authority in the island of Ireland. The former fact is one that the Irish tourist industry is now proud to promote. The latter fact however is still, at least in terms of entertaining passing visitors, very underplayed - if it is even mentioned at all. Yet for nearly eight centuries the city's Englishness defined not only its character and indeed the primary purpose of its existence, but it was also the driving force behind its gradual development into the town that has now grown to house over a million inhabitants and stands proudly as the capital of an independent Irish republic. The evidence for this can lie in the most unlikely venues.
The history of Ship Street
Take Ship Street, for example. Nowadays the street, lying innocuously to the rear of the castle, has little to commend it. Once a bustling commercial and residential thoroughfare it is now home to some warehouses, a few dilapidated rear entrances to properties facing Werburgh Street (another interesting, and very English nomination), and the occasional modern office block. But why on earth is it called Ship Street? Even many Dubliners are perplexed over how such an inland location could have been identified with nautical affairs. A conundrum, until you examine old maps.
Ship Street is simply a 19th century misspelling of its earlier name - Sheep Street - and it acquired that name through centuries of housing a market devoted to the selling and buying of livestock raised by Wicklow and South County Dublin farmers, an area in which sheep still represent the primary agricultural product. Extending as it did between the castle's ramparts, from where business transacted could be overseen by watchful eyes, and Fool Gate, where the city's walls marked the boundary with St Stephen's Parish and the 'wild Irish' beyond, it was for centuries a kind of no-man's land - carefully monitored but essential to the main purpose of the city itself, extracting commercial wealth from the untamed hinterlands beyond.
But that is not even the whole story.
Before Cromwell
In fact, prior to Cromwell's invasion in the mid 17th century the street, while still fulfilling the same role, had quite another name entirely - Shit Street. Indeed it was Cromwell's son-in-law Henry Ireton who, as governor of the island and based in the castle within earshot (and presumably nose shot) of its activities, had insisted that the name be changed. Yet to Dubliners the original name made complete sense. The old Norse word for 'dirt' was one that had been traditionally assigned to streets wherein livestock trade was transacted, for obvious reasons. Moreover it was one that the original English overlords of Dublin, the Normans who had forcibly taken the town from its largely Danish owners, understood implicitly and had retained. Indeed it was a word they used for just that purpose, they being themselves descendants of Scandinavians.
A typical tale of linguistic development and historical deduction then, but - and here is my point - a typical English tale. At no point did the Irish influence its course (though the official Irish name is still Sraid na Caoire - Sheep Street), and the result is an enigma - just as with Exchange and Parliament Street (neither of which are named for the obvious reasons). But in one sense the names are not enigmatic at all. Rather they encapsulate something else entirely - the Englishness of who we Dubliners really are.
