When I was growing up, there were two separate shops there. One was a combination drapery/hardware, owned by my grandfather. The other was a grocery and pub owned by a pair of grand-aunts, his sisters Peg and Nora.
To a small boy growing up in the early 50s, both had enormous attractions.
The most important to me, in those very early memories, was the glass-walled office near the front, providing full views of both the drapery and the hardware shop for Grandad's book-keeper Miss Young. The real boss.
Every purchase in either part of the premises had a handwritten docket, presented to Miss Young with payment made before the customer left the shop, unless they had the credit status to have their purchase 'put in the book'.
There were many attractions there for me, not least of which Miss Young apparently had a soft spot for me. Every day after school, she would slip me half a Milk Flake, twisted back into its original wrapper. I never wondered what happened to the other half, but in retrospect can only assume she ate it herself, because my piece had all the wrapper ...
It was a place of many textures and smells. On the hardware side — overseen by the late Tom Keegan — there were wonderful things. Such as the shining copper wire rabbit snares, hung from a nail on one of the posts that held up the mezzanine balcony. Stocks of all kinds were stored on that balcony, accessed by a stairs that even today I remember as being exceptionally steep.
Those snares were a little stake of wood with a loop of copper wire noose. Set along a 'run' by those who knew how rabbits fed at night, the hapless animal was likely to catch a leg in the copper loop. When the noose tightened, there was no way they could get free. The next morning, the setter of the snares would come armed with a stick to kill any which hadn't already died of fright.
That may seem cruel today, but I know families whose parents and grandparents were absolutely dependent on the snared rabbits to feed their families. Tough times of scarce work and no social welfare safety net are not such a long time back.
Clay pipes were also strung together on a pole. For us children they were great for blowing bubbles with a soapy water mixture. The amount of soap was important, too much or too little didn't work. This was before detergents which later made bubbles much easier to achieve.
An aluminium 'cap' available for the pipe, with holes in it, was to increase the smoking time. But with some practice on our part it also allowed the blowing of multiple joined bubbles.
The hardware smells were myriad. Cardboard boxes of nails and screws behind the counter had their own particular aroma. Towards the back of the shop the taint of the iron oxide coating on slightly rusting 'loose' nails in boxes in the 'back store' was metallically acrid. You got to that store by stepping up through an arch beyond the end of the counter. I have already written about the smells in there of the battery acid and paraffin.
A large lever-balance scales just inside the archway was primarily used for weighing out sacks of seed and other stuff. We youngsters used to delight in weighing ourselves from time to time, in the process upsetting the calibration and Tom Keegan. But we were 'the old Boss's' grandchildren, and fairly untouchable.
The store opened onto the 'back lane'. Across that were two open shed areas, for storage of more bulky stuff. Long lengths of steel and angle-iron. A coal locker. A closed in place where coffins were stored. My great-grandfather had been a carpenter who made coffins as well as buildings, which activity was the start of the family's involvement in funeral undertaking. A business that only ceased with the untimely death of my younger brother Des in 2005.
The drapery side of the business was operated by the Misses Mayne and Duffy. There wasn't that much there of interest to us youngsters. Except at Christmas, when the toys came out for sale.
Travelling even to Dublin then was a big consideration for most local people, a journey only by bus for many. There were no shopping centres, no specialist toy shops, so several shops in town did the Christmas toys thing. The main one was Byrne’s drapery, and to local children the shop was a magical place. I still have vivid memories of the big display in the drapery-side window, and an even bigger one in the shop itself.
For us Byrne children it was even more magical, because we would play with many of the toys, to the regular consternation of the Misses Mayne and Duffy, lovely people who had to tidy things up afterwards.
Otherwise, a drapery business in a town like Kilcullen was important for shirts, jumpers, shoes, jackets and coats, and work clothes. Everybody shopped locally. That the town supported so many draperies — Byrnes, Kennys, Bardons, Maloneys come immediately to mind — is a reflection of that.
I particularly recall a wide selection of Wellington boots. How many people wear wellies today? Back then they were all black, all made by Dunlop.
Accessories were important stock. Ribbons came in rolls of many widths and colours. I remember rooting through drawers filled with buttons on cards, and carded hair slides. Not because I needed them, just because they were there. There were also shelves of caps and berets, in various colours and sizes.
The shoes section had none of the designer stuff we're familiar with today. No Adidas or Nike trainers. Just strong brogue shoes for men and women and children, and, in summer, sandals for children. All stacked in cardboard boxes with a picture of the contents on the end.
Not everyone could afford them. When I started in school, the barefoot pupil was no longer an issue, but I do remember friends with holes in the soles of their shoes. I got holes in mine too, but I was lucky that my parents could afford to get them repaired.
I started this piece with a small observation. As I wrote it, forgotten memories came flooding back. Not surprising — as a writer I know that every word written generates another, or two or three. And from them, sentences and chapters and books. Words are the vehicles on which memories are maintained.
I've only dealt with one of the shops that were on the site of the current supermarket. I'll come back to the other one, owned by the aforementioned grand-aunts Peg and Nora, and before them by my great-grandfather. But here’s a note from my beloved cousin Marella Fyffe (Uncle Tom's daughter), with a copy of the old Byrne & Co letter heading and the following memories of her own:
"One thing I remember about Tom Keegan as a little girl, that he could make the most wonderful brown paper packages, containing exciting things, tied up carefully with brown string that hung from the roof of the hardware, and that he was actually able to break it without using a scissors. No matter how I practised the technique I was never able to do it.
"Do you remember the long white candles, and the pile of potatoes in the back store that had to be weighed, or the way they were able to cut glass, like magic to a five-year-old. Do you remember the squeak of the wooden boards and the heavy black folding iron gate that had to be pushed open everyday? Do you remember? Do you remember?"
I had forgotten. But now I do.
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