Sailortown pubs.


John Campbell


Morrison's was the Railway Bar at the corner of Canning street,

where folk from all round Ireland, would find a welcome seat.

The Edinburgh Castle with its nightly cabaret,

then came The Gibralter. It was next along the way.

Ye Old Castle set at Spencer street, I can hear its sing song still,

At Henry street the White Lion sat in he shadow of York street Mill.

Then my mind returned to Whitla street and made my tired eyes seek

The Waterloo and The Terminus where they both sat cheek to cheek.


Next I stopped at Fleet street and the well known Sportsmans' Arms,

where we supped our stout and sheltered from the pain of life's alarms.

At Dock street sat The White Hart Bar; Big Jack Mallon's place.

A coal fire burned in the first box where we sipped at a leisurely pace.

By Trafalgar street sat The Bowling Green, Paddy Murphy was Mine Host,

over quite a stretch to Little Patrick street, I floated like a ghost.


My final call was The City Arms, that the York street list complete,

so I made my way to Simon's bar, which is in Great Patrick street.

There the two M's ran a sing song to a packed lounge every night,

in days when life was peaceful and you'd seldom see a fight.

The King's Arms was in Nile street, two sisters handled things

in a wee bar by the playground everybody called ‘The Swings.'


Along Earl lane was The Regent bar, a recent change of name,

it used to be The Stalingrade, filled with ladies on the game.

I zoomed by Madgie Walshe's, past King Billy on the wall,

to where Galbraith's bar at Ship street was my next port of call.

Along the lane to Whitla street, right turn, then right again!

And there sat Barney Vallely's where we dulled our aches and pain.


Down Nelson street I wandered, past Jack Trainor's pub I sped.

At The Bear's Paw in Great George's street. I stopped with a sense of dread.

I knew something was missing and my head began to spin......

to my left was Oul Ma Carroll's, on my right The Toddle Inn.

Again into Great Patrick street my fleshless spirit flew.

Turning left, I almost stopped and signed on the Buroo.


I moved to Corporation street where The Sunflower used to bloom.

At Earl street sat The Bunch Of Grapes, how we loved its wee back room.

The London House at North Thomas street, with The Magic opposite,

From York House down to Benny Coyle's, my restless soul did flit.

Last one left was Cullens, also known as The Dufferin Arms,

it faced the gates to the Pollock Dock where men once toiled in swarms.


These house served a purpose, they quenched the daily thirst

of men who fought the system and always came off worst.

But now those hallowed buildings have vanished without trace,

along with other landmarks that gave the place its grace.

Of course, some pubs still cater for the worker and the tar.

The Dock worker's club is in Pilot street as is the Rotterdam bar.


At the bottom of Princes' Dock street, Pat's friendly light still glows,

The American Bar at Short street, used to be known as Joe's.

I couldn't leave O'Rourke's out, at the corner of Garmoyle street,

then I doubled back to add Muldoon's which made the list complete.

I spent some time in every house and knew each owner well,

and the anecdotes I've gathered would take a book to tell.