Welcome To The Long Valley.
You have entered the hallowed portals of one of the most famous landmark pubs in Cork. That the bar is merely uncommon would be to understate the point. Sit down fair stranger and feast upon the riches of this unique establishment. Its clientele, some unusual, many quite normal, and others downright eccentric.
The fare is as good as the company. Look around and cast your eyes upon everything this bar has to offer. -You can drink here as well!- So, Failte = Welcome.
The Long Valley is also known in Irish earmarked by the sign above the entrance as An Gleann Fada. Gleann meaning ‘valley’. Fada meaning ‘long’. So, An Gleann Fada
or, The Long Valley. ‘An’ means ‘the’.
We’ll begin the chat with a nice well poured pint. Ah, here it comes now, the lady in the black dress with the blonde head. And cheap in here at the price. Here’s me first sip of a uniquely poured Long Valley pint. Like nectar from the gods. It leaves a taste on the lips that savours all the good you will do today.
So, the Long Valley…well, it was established as far back as 1842…Another sip of the lovely pint…the bar was bought by the present owners, the Moynihan family, back in 1927….three generations….another sip…of these three generations the first owner was Peadar’s grandfather John Moynihan. The bar was originally believed to be a firing range prior to the British occupation back in the early 20’s.
When parts of Cork city was extensively burned by the unwelcome Black & Tans (many of them convicts conscripted into the British Army) the Long Valley, at the time a favourite haunt for British soldiers, remained untouched. Going right back in time the building was used as a stable for horses used by the General Post Office which still stands to this day just across Oliver Plunkett Street.
Present owner, Peadar’s father Humphrey, a true Corkonian and eccentric enjoyed a propensity for playing gramophone records behind the counter of German marching songs, especially the popular march ‘Horst Wessel Lied’ (pronounced Leet)…
Humphrey, who died in 1994, was a very well educated man and knew my father, Sean Lyons. Humphrey was the son of of a Savile Row tailor and had a master’s degree in economics. Born in 1921 in Antonia Villas, Southern Road on the south side of the city, he had an extremely lucky escape whilst being taken to the South Chapel in Dunbar Street to be baptised.
The Moynihan family were stopped in nearby Douglas Street during a British army curfew and threatened with being shot. Miraculously they were saved by the prompt action of Humphrey’s godfather Captain O’ Brien, who produced his naval papers and saved the day.
The Author (local Jack Lyons) Gets Up Off The Stool And Pays A Visit To The Jacks.
Look Up And You Will See …
The Most Unusual Outdoor Gents Toilet In Cork and In The Corner Is An Old Dog Trough. He Returns To The Stool…sometimes these stools can be seats of knowledge one learns so much about the world in here…stuff you never knew existed…from the classics like Homer and Socrates to the price of a bag of coal in the forties…that’s the kind of bar this place is…
Sip …
Peadar’s mother, Mrs. Moynihan (Rita), started working in the bar in 1960..The one dominant feature of the bar which has fascinated me since I can first recall coming in since the earliest days is the 50s style unique stucco-styled glass panel partition…it’s almost green from age now and no doubt copious amounts of tobacco smoke has enhanced the withered look but no other bar in Cork seems to have anything like it …
Sip …
It’s there on the right in the hallway as you enter the bar and appears again halfways up on the left where the bar counter breaks…Sip…the old counter is actually the same since 1842 and there used to be sawdust on the floor during the 60s to mop up the slops…The Author Puts In An Order For A Salad Sandwich…Lettuce, Tomato, and Onions…With Mayonnaise …
If The Long Valley is famous for anything, it’s the deliciously tasty sandwiches, cut doorsteps they are, rich in the naturalised mouth watering dough of Jack CUTHBERTS Bakery.
CUTHBERTS … the very name melts on your tongue. A mystical shrine to handmade bread deep in the heart of Knockgriffin in Midleton, County Cork.
(And as one- time student and 70’s customer, writer Theo Dorgan, once said of the very same Long Valley sandwich…”the Long Valley, where it would take a strong man in the full of his health with the help of three small children to munch through their mouth-watering sandwiches..”)
Anyway, what was I saying? I’ve actually been barred from the Long Valley twice…once during the early seventies when I got too big for my boots and called a pint using the name Humphrey…Mr. Moynihan peered down the bar towards me over his spectacles and approached…I was in the company of half a dozen cronies enjoying my spondulixed return to the backwater Cork after a successful exhibition in London…Mr. Moynihan came to where we stood and leaning across the counter enquired of me…”Did we go to school together?”
My friends have never let me forget that..as my ego sank into the same boots…the other time was when Mrs. Moynihan saw the need to cut off my Murphy supply when disorientated I began to sip from someone’s pint of Guinness…I remember Peadar’s brother Sean serving behind the bar…he’s retired now but still calls in for tea and sandwiches. His memory is remarkable the way he can recall customers from the old days and bits of history about the bar.
The large table halfways down on the right is from the Celtic ship, White Star Line…that went aground off Roches Point near Cork harbour on December 12th 1928…Peadar keeps a torch handy behind the bar and he can show you the inscription under the table… two etched glass doors leading to the snug also come from the Celtic…in the old days women would not be served in a bar full of men so they would go into the smaller room provided called a ‘snug’ …
I remember back in 1968 when I was jagging Maura (the wife !) going into Joe Kealys bar in Faulkner’s Lane across Patrick Street with her and they would not serve a female a full pint…a woman could only have a half pint… The huge mirror running along the side of the Long Valley bar depicting Pale Ale was bought some time in the 20s from the Bass & Company Brewery…next to where the long mirror hangs there used to be a stairwell back in the early seventies and I also remember a long novelty mirror inscribed with a row of drunken Keystone Cops (or English bobbies) sitting together…a friend, Dan O’Connell from Boreenmana Road remembers a bow and arrow hanging on the wall next to the mirror …
Sip …
The visitor’s book was started by Peadar’s father Humphrey in 1945, the book has grown to several volumes over the years but Peadar keeps the current one available just in case some rock star might pop in or perhaps a theologian from Trinity … there are many strange and interesting comments entered in the visitor’s book and every one is a genuine tribute to the eccentricities of the Long Valley …
Another Sip …
And Here Come The Sandwiches…Lettuce, Fresh Tomato And Onions Layed in Mayonnaize…And What A Staff ! exactly as I ordered – the flimsy order sheet rests on the bread, doorstep cut, mouth-watering Cuthberts at their most Imaginable …
As you enter the bar, on your immediate right there’s a frame showing a hand drawn outlay of the Great Cork International Exhibition of 1903 which was held along the parkland area stretching from Wellington Bridge to the cricket grounds on the Mardyke …
Sip …
I’m very proud of this frame because my grandfather Jonas Mansfield Wagner worked on this exhibition as an apprentice sign writer at the age of 17 (he was born in 1886) he spent every day of the exhibition’s duration painting up signs reading Cead Mile Failte (and) Ladies & Gentlemen’s Rest Rooms …
In my archives at home I have my grandfather’s original paint trade indenture papers signed by his parents and his first employer when he was 16…there’s a great story told that W.G. Grace the famous English cricketer upon the request of King George V visited Cork to play a match during the exhibition …
Two Sips From The Pint …
And A Huge Bite Of The Sandwich…I think it was the M.C.C versus Gentlemen of Ireland played at the Mardyke with the hills and trees of Sundays Well and Strawberry Hill glistening in the sunshine, Grace was well known for his arrogance and by some fluke he was bowled out first ball without even a run, when asked later for a press comment as to how this might have happened, he retorted : “My dear man, how could anyone bat in such beautiful surroundings !”
Further down on the right is a bust of the composer Freddie May by one of Ireland’s most famous sculptors Cork born Seamus Murphy…it was bought by Humphrey after seeing it at an exhibition …rumour has it that Seamus Murphy had a small fall out with Humphrey and the sculptor was for a period barred from the premises, but Humphrey was a knowledgable man and couldn’t ignore Murphy’s sculpting genius, so when the Freddie May bust was unveiled Humphrey invited Seamus Murphy to attend, Humphrey was the kind of man who was straight as a dye and he poured a free pint for Murphy out of respect for his work, Seamus Murphy knocked back the pint and gasped with a sigh of relief : “Jaysus, Humphrey that was a great pint, gimme another one there, will you?” Humphrey looked at one of Europe’s greatest sculptors over his glasses and said, “Oh, you’re still barred.” House rules prevailed. Murphy equal to Humphrey’s regimental way of operating understood and with the smile of a wise man departed the Long Valley until such time as his barring order was revoked.
There’s another long table in the snug…this belonged to the American embassy in Dublin…back in the 1930’s the embassy was going to open an American Consulate on nearby Wellington Road here in Cork but for some reason the plan was abandoned …
Sip …
The floor tiles in the snug are the originals and like the sandwiches are an inch thick…a gold sovereign was discovered under the tiles some years ago…there’s a frame in the snug with two large black and white photos of Humphrey flanked by two coalmen wearing caps like the Clancy Brothers …
Sip…
They’re the late Charlie Ring on the left and his brother John on the right…they were great friends of Humphrey and with Mrs. Moynihan and Peadar … they had been coming into the Long Valley since the early seventies … they worked hard all their lives for the coal merchants Sheehan & Sullivan carrying bags of coal on their backs in all weathers …
Sip …
In the old days coalmen, much like the messenger boys, were told to use the tradesmen’s entrance when delivering coal to the posh parts of Cork like Montenotte, Sundays Well and Tivoli, and there was no such thing as modern day protective clothing for these people, all they had were big top coats that weighed a ton when the rain got into them …
By a strange twist of fate Charlie worked as a messenger boy for Murphys Meat Suppliers which operated under the Metropole Hotel where Mrs. Moynihan worked…..when I think back to coming into the Long Valley during the early days of the seventies, you’d see Charlie and John sitting together on the side seat by the entrance with two pints held aloft and their faces black from coal…Sadly, John and Charlie died in recent years…when I asked Charlie what happened to John he said “He died from his legs!”…
Sip …
I said to Peadar once that if some emeritus professor of languages… and you do get some very talented artistic people in like the sculptor Michael Quane (who also worked as a young lad behind the bar) and well known installationist and design woodworker Dan O’Connell…that if some emeritus professor of languages came in to make a study of the purest Cork accent you could find, I would nominate Charlie Ring because he spoke Cork the way it should be spoken.
Sometimes if we were sitting together he’d be telling me something and I might be distracted, he’d lean across and say..”Fellah..” to regain my attention. Charlie would be in on the stroke, for his two pints of Smithwicks. You could set your watch by him. He’d sit on the third stool from the entrance. He’d be in after his usual 2 euro bet in Paddy Powers in the Coal Quay.
Another Sip Before A Second Trip To The Toilet …
Where There’s No Mirror And If You’re 5 Foot Seven You’re Too Short For The Small Mirror Panel Over The Towel Dispenser…I’d Better Get Back Before Someone Thinks I’m Done With The Sandwiches….Back On The Stool…I remember back in the early seventies when on a Friday and Saturday night the bar would be jammed with UCC and School of Art types wearing bell bottoms and jazzy black polo necked pullovers, men and women alike with hair down to the shoulders all trying to get drunk before the 11.15 bus to Shandon Boat Club for the dance…
Sip …
And around ten o’clock with the place pumping and Horst Wessel marching his boots off on the record player, Humphrey would appear at the entrance pushing a bicycle through the crowd, ‘S’cuse me, s’cuse me there, now.’ He’d be wearing bicycle clips, a long brown overcoat with wide lapels and a thick belt with a buckle the size that would fit on a horse’s mane, he’d push the bicycle through and the pedals would sometimes rip ladders in the girls’ nylons.
He’d eventually reach the alcove room at the end where the wide table sits and he’d lean the bike against a table, take off his big overcoat to reveal underneath a white serving apron.
He’d step in behind the bar take one of the freshly washed glasses and say ‘Right. Who’s next?’ As if he had been there all night …
Sip …
A lot of these young School of Art and UCC students would know me from the Long Valley. They would pour out of the bar at ten past eleven to catch the 11.15pm last bus to Blackrock for the Boat Club dance.
Every second Friday I would be on the late shift as a bus conductor on the last bus to Blackrock and many of them jazzed up with drink would expect half fares. Occasional visitors to the Long Valley for tea and sandwiches during the day are people like ex-Cork hurling team manager Donal O’Grady; Cork’s free kick football specialist Colin Corkery; Munster’s rugby hooker Frankie Sheahan; one time Irish international fly half Ralph Keyes and Cork hurler from the early seventies Seamus Looney …
Sip …
Other luminaries known to have entered the hallowed portals of An Gleann Fada have been An Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern; actor Aidan Quinn; celebrity chef Keith Floyd; tv host Terry Wogan and Micheal Martin one time Lord Mayor of Cork and now leader of Fianna Fail. I had the pleasure of working as a CIE bus conductor with Micheal’s father the late Paddy “The Champ” Martin.
Dave Hogan the Echo boy who sells outside the GPO comes in with his trolley every afternoon for a slash and counts out a ton of change on the counter…permanent staff like Marguerette, Paul, Yana, Stephen and Emer pay him back in notes…two other daily visitors walk in and customers are usually mystified when they see Paul (Cashell) antique dealer and his jewellery-repair friend Steven (O’ Moore) walk behind the counter and pour hot water in their cups…
Sip …
Paddy Cashell who owns the antique shop across the street used to call in every afternoon, drink one pint in four minutes before charging over to the South Mall for the bus to Douglas…like the perfectionist he is, timing is of the essence…Neil the harmonica player who busks in Maylor Street calls in with change…Luis the Ecuadorian pan pipes busker with the long hair also comes in and gets Peadar to charge up his 20-watt Peavey amp…another regular caller is Hugh Murphy antiques seller and son of well known Professor John Murphy…
I have very fond memories of being served by two ladies behind the bar – Rose Mannion and Ann O’ Callaghan. They are still very good friends with Mrs. Moynihan.
Another regular who calls in is Jerry O’ Farrell who worked behind the bar for Humphrey when he was just 16 during Christmas 1970. He has a store of memories about the place.
Lunch time callers for pots of tea and the best sandwiches in Cork come from the Echo / Examinr newspaper like Vincent Kelly, Dan Linehan, Maurice Gubbins, Diarmuid O’Donovan…you get to know the faces in the suits as well from the South Mall with their brown folders, bowls of soup and mobiles…it’s not long before everyone says hello…there’s a strong feeling of community in the Long Valley…and then there’s the First Friday Men, stalwarts from the old days who used to sit at the round table in the back room, they’re called the First Friday Men because they’ve been coming into the bar at tea time for years on the first Friday of every month, an almost religious arrangement, they are Tony Creed a drummer with Shindig from Greenmount; Ted Kelly bassist from Ninety Eight Street and Tony Jones a little younger and local entrepeneur…just another example of the strange rituals of this eccentric bar…
Everyone remembers the late Terry O’Reilly from Blackrock, he used to come up to town on the bus on weekend nights with his old friend with the cap the late John McCarthy from Castle Road, they always sat on the seat beneath the Pale Ale mirror, Terry would have a stout shandy and although he never himself worked on the buses there wasn’t a bus driver or conductor who he didn’t know. Terry was an authority on CIE gossip and folklore, he had an amazing memory for detail and you could go back 30 years and he would have a quick think and then conjure up the name of the driver, conductor or inspector you were trying to think of. Years ago, he had a personal dream of one day visiting the Vatican. This he did manage to accomplish before his sad and unexpected passing two years ago. Peadar put his anniversary in the Echo and I got my long time friend and Long Valley drinking partner Malcolm Garrard, he of UCC German Dept., and Exeter College Oxford to translate to Latin a fitting tribute to Terry..’Visa civitate vaticana itineribus destitit’ which means ‘Once he saw the Vatican his journeys were over..’ Terry would’ve liked that. He was fond of the Latin mass.
All these faces, and the faces of others not recounted here, and the stories in their lives told over a pint along the dream weaving tables are what makes the day worth getting through and the Long Valley what it is. Some time ago, when he was Minister for Art, Sports & Tourism John O’Donoghue came in on his own for a sandwich, he was sitting next to me and we got talking and he wanted to know all about my job as a postman …
Sip…
He bought me a pint and shook my hand, I found him very ordinary and down to earth.
Another annual event in the Long Valley is the appearance every year of the fantastic Lee Hedley Blues Band as part of the Cork International Jazz Festival. Lee from Newtownards and his friends have being playing the Jazz weekend in the Valley for over ten years. It is a bill of rights that as soon as the drums are packed away in the van after the long weekend Peadar writes ‘Lee Hedley’ into his events book for the following October.
A lot of people might not realise that the room upstairs used to be the Hayloft, it was opened by the Moynihans in 1945 and was Cork’s first cocktail bar. Peadar recently showed me an old photo taken some time in the 50s of some people drinking in the Hayloft and there’s a barman wearing the old style white apron over the traditional white jacket …
Two Sips …
And A Shake Of The Glass To Restir The Ucks…The Hayloft was managed by Peadar’s uncle, the late John who was better known as John Moynihan, tailor. His premises is a top room on the third floor of a typical tailor-like rickety stairs next to Fred Zeppelins on Parliament Street.
Before taking over the Hayloft the Moynihan brothers, John and Humphrey, went to Dublin for six weeks to learn about cocktails in bars like the Shelbourne and Dorans…
Sip …
When they returned to Cork the brothers made up their own unique cocktail concoction which they called The Gorilla. It was made of gin, orange, rum, lemon, lime, absinthe and ice …
Sip …
The mixture was phenomenal, enough to knock a horse. The Hayloft used to be packed with customers trying out the Moynihan cocktail. For a while The Gorilla was the talk of Cork.
My brother, Pat (Lyons) worked in the Hayloft as a boy with Con Dineen a security officer in the Post Office and brother of Ricky Dineen, he of punk band ‘5 Go Down To The Sea’
I remember being told once that my Auntie May who was a barmaid in the Hayloft had a small transistor radio behind the counter on the quiet nights. Humphrey knew about it but turned a blind eye. Apparently, one night May was listening to the transistor and next thing she bounded down the stairs to tell Humphrey something. This meant she had left her post unattended and he looked at her none too pleased..”Excuse me, Mr. Moynihan,” she said, nervously, “There was something on the radio about President Kennedy being shot in America…!!” It was Friday, November 22nd 1963.
The bar counter in the Hayloft is adorned by a fine sculpted horse’s head, a fabulous piece of work by Cork sculptor Michael Quane. It is made of Tipperary limestone and was commissioned by Humphrey some years before he died. There’s a great story about one night in the 50s when Erskine Childers, who at the time was the Minister for Posts & Telegraphs, attended a do at the Imperial Hotel. When it was over he still had a thirst so headed over to the Long Valley followed by an entourage of some thirty people. He got into the bar just before closing time but at some stage around three o’clock in the morning with everyone still being served there was a loud rap on the door. Two Guards walked in demanding to know why all these people were still drinking well after closing time. The note books came out with the customary lick of the shmall pencil as they proceeded to write down names of those ‘Found On’…. Humphrey saw what the Guards were about to do and walked over and said to the two of them …”Right. If you’re gonna take any names here bhoy you can start with the Minister for Posts & Telegraphs —— he’s over there !”
Final Sip From The Glass…
”Peadar, can I have two more pints here, please?”
“What do you mean we’ve had enough??”
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