October is coming to an end which means one thing: Halloween. While the excitement for the holiday is not quite what it is in the States, Ireland has it’s own sort of vibe and spookiness to offer up to those Halloween enthusiasts (like myself). However, living the TV-less existence that my roommates and I suffer through, neither myself or my haunt-loving flatmate Annie, had been able to get into the spirit with classics such as Halloweentown (1 or 2, the rest are shit tbh), Scream or Hocus Pocus.
Deprived of our normal frightful entertainment to put us in the holiday mood, we decided to go on a ghostly walking tour of Dublin. After searching the internet, Annie found a group called Hidden Dublin that featured a Northside Ghost Walk. We booked our tickets and forced ourselves out of our cozy Netflix-laden beds to pursue the unknown (we really had to will ourselves to leave the house, so we tried to make it sound extra adventurous).
We started the tour outside the Church Bar, which, unsurprisingly, was a bar that had once been a church (very creative). Outside of it, what is seemingly a normal cement courtyard we learned was actually a graveyard at one point. Dublin, in a move of pure class, had taken the grave stones, piled them against the far wall of the park, and left them there, paving over the grassy area and never even removing the bodies.
Making our way to the next stop, Annie and I were excited at the thought of what was to come next after being sufficiently spooked.
What followed was indeed a scary night, but not in the way expected….
Stopping in front of a slightly decrepit building near Four Courts, our tour guide started to tell us the story of the location. However, I couldn’t tell you a word he said, because at that point I was much more interested with the group of threatening looking teenagers viciously trying to rip bikes off their locks just feet away. Four or five of them were clustered around, while one tugged violently at a nice black street bike. Myself and a few of the people in the tour group took to our phones to call the police.
The scene grew even more absurd when a man from the pub next door came out to get his bike (not the one being stolen, but still) and saw the teen ripping at the one next to his. He yelled at the boy, asking what he thought he was doing, and the kid just yelled “I’m stealing this fucking bike!” and continued on. At this point we were all flummoxed at what to do next, as none of us particularly wanted to get in a fight with a group of Irish teenagers. It was just then that the flashing lights of the police came round the corner. The boy had freed the bike seconds before and tried desperately to escape, but he was caught once he rounded the next corner (sweet, sweet justice).
Unfortunately for our tour guide, no one had listened to a word he’d said, so we continued on, more fascinated by the heist we’d witnessed than the story of the supposed ghost in the building behind us.
Next we were led to Smithfield to hear about the famous bandit who had had a series of tunnels beneath Dublin to escape capture. Obviously that hadn’t worked out quite as he’d planned when they hung him for his crimes (a common theme among many of the stories we heard that night, being a rope salesman must have been a very lucrative business in Dublin). Everything was going as planned, the group settled after the bike incident, when we noticed another group of teens (those damn Youths) clustering around the road, looking mischievous.
Seconds later, a car whipped around the corner, skidding and sliding, doing donuts around the tiny square, coming close to hitting the other teenagers as they darted out of the way laughing. When it started making it’s way towards us and the kids were running away, however, it became much less entertaining. Right as I was readying myself to book it into one of the alleys, it took a sharp turn into the luas lane and sped off. I have no idea what happened after that, as a luas came from that direction about a minute later, but it must’ve involved some creative driving and a lot of swearing from the luas driver.
At this point we were all sufficiently distracted again, so our tour guide tried desperately to capture our attention back and led us towards the next location. We stopped down a back alley in a relatively residential area. It was quite spooky, with little lighting and unkempt buildings. Our guide began the story of a witch who had lived in the house behind him, but by then the next distraction had reared it’s head (literally).
Parked parallel to our “haunted house” was a car that had obviously thought this deserted street would be suitable for some alone time. What they certainly did not expect I imagine, wass a group of 20 people coming up and standing next to them while they tried to have said alone time. I will hand it to them, they made a solid effort to pretend like they were just resting, that she was just laying her head on his lap and he just petting her hair casually, but they knew the jig was up when we were all roaring with laughter. Soon they sped off in their car, eager to escape our group and their growing embarrassment.
By now our tour guide was at the end of his rope and didn’t even care that we weren’t paying attention anymore. He told us the inspirational words that the faster he spoke and we listened, the faster we would get to the last stop: the Brazen Head pub. It was clear that we all, including him, needed a pint after all the excitement. We stopped one more time at a supposed mass grave and then speed-walked towards our final destination and beer.
All in all, it wasn’t exactly the scary tour we’d been expecting, but it did leave us with a good story. We sipped our well-deserved pints in the warmth of the old Brazen Head and listened to some good live music, and while we didn’t get our spooky ghost experience, we were still pretty content.
UNTIL A GHOST CAME OUT AND KIDNAPPED ANNIE… just kidding, we went to bed after that, can’t blame a girl for trying though *shrugs*.
Emily in Earnest Blog 