Sunday

BEWLEY’S OF GRAFTON STREET -MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY




Roasting coffee aromas fanned out onto the street,
Half intimidated by the waitress 'Tattens' we always seemed to get.- I recognised her voice immediately on Bowman; Sunday - when as children we were brought for a treat to Bewley’s; (I always asked for Shepherds Pie, followed by Rice Pudding, both were served in foil tins.)
Thawing out from freezing student living over almond buns and white coffee on Sundays,the four sections of the single paper shared out between us
High spirits at 6 a.m. after the Trinity Ball, everyone in high spirits, the whole cafe wearing black tie and ball gowns, the cafe open specially for the occasion.
Fascination with the boiled sweet rotating vats during a personal tour of the sweet factory upstairs, – I was researching at the time and had dreams for years after about getting lost in such meandering corridors.


Delight as my overseas visitors to the Bacon Studio and Harry Clarke windows in the Municipal Gallery sipped their tea and slowly realized they were seated under more art.

‘The Table’  - towards the back of the restaurant where breakups invariably happened - Not too public, but safely surrounded by people should things get out of hand.

Lunchtime Plays, served with a bowl of soup and brown bread,
Narrow balcony seats high over Grafton Street, the scene below felt like theatre
Inside wine high backed snugs, bentwood chairs, real coal fires
Authentic, original, cherished
Like a Phoenix Bewleys rose up from the ashes before.
Can this really ‘be the end’ for Bewley’s of Grafton Street?

©Sheena Meagher 

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