Memories of an iconic Kildare pub 

TO jog your memory, the late 1970s was the time of Jack Lynch, Johnny Logan, the Pope, Hall’s Pictorial Weekly, Bunny Carr’s 5P questions, Sally O’Brien and the way she might look at you, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Planxty, Rasputin, Mary’s Boy Child, YMCA, Wanderly Wagon, Mork & Mindy, Grease, Midnight Express, Mad Max, Rocky “Who shot JR”, Hillman Avengers, Vauxhall Viva’s, Fiat Ritmo’s, Kiskadee & Coke and finally ‘We are living way beyond our means’.

I worked in Dowling’s of Prosperous from 1977 until 1980 on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights during my college days and around 40/50 hours per week during the summer holidays when Pat Dowling was the main man.

His brothers, Johnny (very small), Joe (very tall) and Jim (who only drank Bells Whiskey) worked there along with Jim’s son, Thomas. Others who worked there were Gerry Morris, Seamus Keely, Phil Keely, Sean Keely, Gerry Kelly, Tommy McNamee, John or Sean Cloghessy, Paul Kenny, Declan Landy and a few others whose names I just can’t remember the names of.

Sadly, some of these guys have now passed, may they RIP — these guys were pros. Some customers were creatures of habit and when you saw certain faces coming in the door, you could safely have their drinks poured and on the counter ready and waiting for them.

They earned their stripes because on a Saturday night, customers would be 10 deep at the bar and all were hungry for their pound of flesh.

There were 15 barmen in the big lounge alone and each had their section of bar to look after. Shouting didn’t get you anywhere because believe it or not, it was very organised from the barman’s point of view.

You started from the right, worked to the left and then back to the right (unless a good-looking young lady got in the way). Pints of Guinness were pulled in anticipation and never wasted.

There could be 20 pints settling at the same time. Since you couldn’t serve somebody a pint from a hot glass that came straight from the dishwasher, boxes of new glasses were always at hand.

Sometimes we would completely run out of glasses & had to borrow a few boxes of them from George Manzor’s pub across the road. George would do the same.

As strange as it may seem now, everyone smoked cigarettes in those days, the customers, the staff and the band.

The big lounge had the capacity to hold a few hundred people so that’s an awful lot of smoke.

Sometimes it got so bad that I had to go into the store area to rinse my eyes with water. Cigarettes were sold from behind the bar (no vending machines back then) & the brands of the day were Carrolls, Major, Gold Bond, Gold Flake, Gold Leaf & Players Number 6 etc.

You could buy a pack of 10 cigarettes for 22 pence and if you fancied a cigar, you could buy a single Hamlet from the box.

On Friday nights, we were paid 12 pounds from 7pm – 4am, there was a supper dance and supper was usually a chicken curry cooked by army chefs and served on a paper plate.

In those days, a pub could serve alcohol until 2am only if it served food. All the barmen worked like a well-oiled machine. After the last customer left, all the glasses had to be washed & dried, the bar had to be re-stocked for Saturday night, the tables were stacked in one corner so that the floor could be cleaned & allowed to dry.

We even had to clean the toilets & as some of you might remember, pints of Harp & chicken curry did not mix very well.

During all this organised madness, Pat would count the money in the five cash registers. Unlike today, cash registers were not digital.

During the supper dance, the older barmen did not want to work beside the new guy because he would only slow them down by continually asking, “how much everything cost”.

A good barman knew the price of everything. After the supper dance (4.30am), Johnny Dowling used to drive Seamus Keely and myself home to Coill Dubh in Pat’s green Mercedes.

We dreaded this because the normal 10-minute drive from Prosperous to Coill Dubh seemed like an eternity as Johnny never went over 20mph. On Saturday nights, I earned seven pounds as we finished serving at 11pm with the hopes of getting to see the Horslips playing in Lawlor’s ballroom in Naas.

Sunday night’s income was five pounds and we finished serving at 10pm.

At the end of every night Pat would very kindly let us help ourselves to a free drink or two.

We gratefully indulged, especially on a Sunday night because we could bring our drink in with us into the Kaedeen Nightclub.

There was no cultural problem driving with a few pints in you in those days. If you could put the key in the door of the car, then you were ok to drive.

On Sunday morning around 11am, the MIB would be waiting outside the doors looking for the cure after coming from the church across the road.

Most of these men worked in Bord Na Mona and Sunday was the only day that they got to wear a suit which was usually black, (hence the MIB).

Also on a Sunday the pub used to close in the afternoon between 2-4pm, which meant that everyone had to leave (except for the chosen few). The gardaí only ever called into the pub around closing time to stop the late drinking but no one was ever arrested.

Sometimes, “are ye right their ladies & gents” or “have yis no homes to go to” just did not work. Many customers had to finish their drink standing up because the stool was pulled from under them with frustration. P at was a collector of clocks so closing time would probably have been confusing for everyone because even though the pub had a huge amount of clocks, each one told a different time.

Speaking of the gardaí: on the rare occasion when there was trouble & they had to be called, Sergeant Gleeson usually responded. He was a giant of a man & his torch was the weapon of choice. He was the entire garda force rolled into one. The sight of this man walking in the front door would instantly calm the wildest of crowds. You could rest easy when Pat gave him a call.

At the time, the microwave was a new invention and it was only used for heating up hot whiskeys, making toasted ham or Calvita cheese sambos (which came in plastic bags) & Herterich’s steak & kidney pies. Pat made a fortune on these pies (no Frank’s chippers in those days). A pint of Guinness cost around 45 pence and a short was 35 pence.

The only beers on draught were Guinness, Harp & Smithwicks. Bottles were the same except Carling Black Label, which was the new kid on the block.

Women never drank from a pint glass because it was considered very unladylike.

A Babycham or Vodka & Bitter Lemon would be the order of the day. Also, women never went into the bar because that was the man’s domain.

The only woman who had an ‘Access All Areas’ pass was Ciss Brereton. Every weekend she would sell tickets for Pat’s legendary draws & when you saw her heading towards you, you had no choice but to put your hand into your pocket.

Many customers fitted out their homes with prizes that they had won in Dowling’s.

Dowling’s was famous for its Wednesday night traditional Irish music sessions.

I was lucky enough to witness Christy Moore, Donal Lunny, Liam O’Flynn, Andy Irvine, the Dubliners, the Fureys & many others working their magic from behind the bar. Another one of Pat’s favorites were the Grehan sisters from the West.

The musicians weren’t the only famous faces on a Wednesday night; Mike Murphy was a regular along with some of his friends from RTÉ. He had framed photos of all these people hanging on the walls of the pub.

The Dandies & the Isotopes were regular favorites in the big lounge but every now and then Pat would book the likes of Brendan Grace or Maura O’Connell.

I loved working on these nights because people were too busy laughing or listening & not drinking.

Pat McGuigan (father of Barry) would travel all the way from Clones in Monaghan to play there. One night he had Colm Wilkinson and his band. Colm came 5th in the 1978 Eurovision with ‘Born to Sing’ & it was around this time that he came to sing in Dowling’s.

Little did Pat know that he was the Simon Cowell of the music world in Co Kildare at the time. Colm Wilkinson went on to sing with Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera & perform in the Royal Albert Hall in London.

Pat had a mild comb-over & you could tell when he was in bad form because the longer strands of his hair would be hanging down at the back of his neck. At Christmas, all of his barmen got a really good watch (in a case) and if he knew it was your birthday during the year, he would give you a Parker pen & pencil set which was fairly expensive at the time.

In the late 70s, ‘Fanfare of the Common Man’ (Emerson, Lake & Palmer) & ‘All Right Now’ (Free) were blasting from Pat’s ‘Orange’ PA system in the small lounge during the day when there weren’t any or many customers around.

In case any of you didn’t know, I have played the drums for the past 40 years and working in Pat Dowling’s was partly responsible for this.

Pat helped me buy my first drum kit. It cost 140 pounds at the time, I gave Pat 40 pounds as a deposit and unknowingly to me, he paid the rest there & then.

Thank you Pat, a true gentleman.