The window of memory is slightly ajar and yet, I know were I to open it to its full width the memories will come pouring out, and so many I can afford to be selective! Should I choose a funny one, sad one? Perhaps neither. Might it not be better to write about something that affected our whole community? A place that was central to our lives in the Dublin of 1940s, the Pawnshop. Even now, I cannot bring myself to smile when I see funny picture postcards depicting the three brass balls. Admittedly, to the uninitiated they might raise a smile but for those who used them way back then the use of the pawnshop could dictate whether the rent was paid that week or if the family eat! Jobs were in short supply and the men would be lucky to get even one days work doing “casual” work, usually on the docks. I think I only ever remember four men in our street of twenty seven houses who were “tradesmen” Two carpenters, an electrician and a painter and decorator, they were the lucky ones. The women did not go out to work then, it just wasn’t done and apart from that they had large families to look after. If one walked to the top of our street and turned left into Parnell Street the first thing one would see would be John Brereton’s pawn shop straight ahead. The black painted shop had two wide steps leading up to a window between two doors. The door on the left was where my mum and all the neighbours entered with their pledges, those that were lucky enough to have something to pawn! As a child, I never took to much notice of the window or its contents. My little friends and I amused ourselves by rambling down Henry Street looking into Arnott’s great big windows and picking the beautiful dress/shoes we would buy when we were older and very rich! Cries of “I’m having that one, (pointing to a dress) would bring the reply, “You can’t have that one, I saw it first!” If we got bored doing this, only then would we go to gaze into the window of the Pawnbroker and “pick” our wedding rings and anything else that took our fancy for “when we are big girls” As an adult, I would never think about this (the pawnbrokers window) as anything but “The window of broken dreams” Black velvet pads holding dozens of wedding rings pledged temporally by the owners and sadly, never to be redeemed due to poverty.. How their owners must have started off their married life, young couples madly in love and full of hopes and plans for a future that never materialised. How desperate they must have been to part with this most precious gold band, a token of the love they shared and yet, driven to do so to feed hungry children or pay the rent on a room in a tenement house rather than face eviction! They had held on to them till the last and a sense of shame prevailed until they could dash down to Woolworths in Henry Street to replace it with a cheap brass imitation wedding band. The only time a woman from our street would enter the door on the right of the window was to pledge a wedding ring. War medals, the ribbons now faded were relegated to the back of the window. Had some young man come back from a far off battle field proudly showing them to his family? Did he dream of one day showing them to grown up sons, regaling them with heroic tales of valour and courage on the field of battle? Oh, so many dreams and plans, crushed and blown away like sand in a storm.. When there was nothing left to pledge, desperate women would make up bundles of assorted clothes, anything from a cherished christening robe to shabby work shirts. They silently prayed the pawnbroker would not open the bundle but take it “on trust” Sadly, the wily men behind the counter were well up to all the tricks pulled from sheer desperation and the bundle would be opened for examination!! “Ah missus, will you for Jaysus sake take it home that will be left on me hands, sure who’s going to buy that bundle of auld tat?” No amount of pleading and promises to redeem it next week softened the heart. and a dejected woman with drooping shoulders would leave the shop wondering where the next meal was to come from..
