The Guinness barges plied their trade on the river Liffey for many years taking stout in barrels from St. James' Gate to the city quays to be loaded on ships bound for Liverpool. The last barge sailed down the Liffey on 21 June 1961 and the fleet of barges were all sold off. Dad had a lovely story about the barges, the local women on Queen's Street Bridge and their influence as far away as Benghazi in Libya.

The Pike Theatre in Dublin’s Herbert Lane opened its doors in 1953. The theatre was a small venue which quickly gained a reputation for staging late night revues and the works of then modern playwrights. On staging the Tennessee William’s European premier of The Rose Tattoo, the producer and co-owner of the theatre was arrested.

Protest grew across the country and across Europe. Perhaps this was all kicked off by an impromptu tirade delivered from the bonnet of a car by a less than sober Brendan Behan. Perhaps. I would like to think that it was.

Our Dad loved his fishing expeditions to the west of Ireland. There were many stories too ribald to be included here. However, this lovely tale of a high achieving man gaining his life's ambition is a nice look into Ireland in simpler times. The hero, "Paul" of the story was the great Paul Murray, an almost "all round" sportsman. I don't know why Dad did not name him in the original story. Perhaps it was more fun to do it that way.

I remember our holidaying on Valentia Island. I was a young boy in short pants at that time. It was before the island was linked to the mainland by the Maurice O'Neill Memorial Bridge at Portmagee. I do remember visiting the lady mentioned in the tale who had her sow and bainbhs (Irish for piglets) in the kitchen. "Pigs in the kitchen" were a reality back in the day. Valentia is also famous as the place where the first transatlantic cable was laid becoming operational in 1866. The cable operated commercially for 100 years before being decommissioned in 1966. Less famous is the Valentia Duck, the subject of this tale.

Life was hard for a student back in the 1940's. Here, my Dad recounts the events of a particular day and gives insight into his life as a self funded student as well as a look into Dublin society at that time.

I don't believe that this story was ever recorded by my Dad. I suspect that back in the mid 1980s, it would have been too raw in the Irish national memory. It is still very raw today with those who lost loved ones so callously and needlessly in the Dublin bombings of May 1974.

I remain amazed at Dad's ability to find the positive personal story in the midst of the horror that surrounded the morgue on that night. The perpetrators of the bombings were never caught. Though, the involvement of Unionist forces and the British military intelligence (if that is not an oxymoron) has long been suspected. For most of us, the "troubles" are behind us as we progress as a people. That is no bad thing.

In the 1940's, my Dad, then a student, worked at various jobs to earn his keep. One such employment was a lowly position in the Gate Theatre Dublin. This episode recalls a telephone conversation with the most famous film producer of his day.

This is the second of the "Tales of a Dublin Doctor". It is series of tales written by my father, Patrick Bofin and re-discovered in a file at the back of a press, 30 years after his passing. I thought the tales were worth the retelling. I hope you enjoy them. The gillie of the title was a Mayo man who assisted my father on fishing expeditions in the west of Ireland.

This is the first podcast in my series  Tales of a Dublin Doctor.

Our late father Patrick Bofin died at 63 way back in 1990. Our Mum survived him by thirty years. Both Dad and Mum were medical doctors. Dad had been a professor of forensic medicine and for many years, the Dublin city coroner.

 As any student who attended his lectures in the Royal College of Surgeons would testify, dad wrote and presented very well. He made often gruesome topics from recognising types of gunshot wounds to the effects of immersion in the sea on a cadaver, both bearable and interesting.

One of the things he did for escape was to write and contribute stories to the Sunday Miscellany programme on Ireland’s national broadcaster, RTE.

Following her passing in January 2020, I was going through Mum’s papers and buried at the back of a press, I found a file of all Dad’s scripts and submissions, carefully typed on his trusted Remington portable typewriter. In this podcast series, I reread Dad’s stories. I hope I do them justice and I hope that you enjoy them.

A Meeting in the Green Bar is a brief tale of an encounter between the legendary Brendan Behan and Jack Doyle, the boxer, actor and opera singer in a pub on Dublin's Leeson Street.