I gave walking tours of Dublin for years. Not fancy ones — the kind where you start outside a coffee chain and end up next to a bin explaining to someone from Utah why James Joyce is on the ten euro note.
The Liffey always came up. You had to talk about the river. It cuts the city in half and gives the weather something to bounce off. And the bridges, of course. I had a routine. Point to the Ha’penny, give them a fact, keep them moving. But somewhere along the way, I’d always leave one out.
Not on purpose. Just one of those things. I’d get home, empty my pockets, put the kettle on, and realise — left out Butt Bridge again.
Everyone Knows Ha’penny
It’s the white one. Arched. Foot traffic only. If it’s not on a postcard, it’s in a proposal photo or someone’s blog about “hidden gems” even though it’s about as hidden as the airport.
I always started with Ha’penny. Even when I was fed up, I gave it its moment. It’s one of the few things in the city centre that hasn’t been knocked down or made worse. Crowded most days, but decent.
O’Connell Bridge is the other one people know — big, flat, wider than it is long. Once had a lad ask me if it was broken. No, I said, that’s just the shape.
The Others Come and Go
There’s the Millennium Bridge, which no one’s ever been excited about, but it’s there. Fine if you’re in a rush and don’t want to deal with the crowds on Ha’penny.
Rosie Hackett Bridge — newer, quiet, mostly unnoticed. I liked it more than most, if only because it didn’t try too hard.
Beckett Bridge — the harp-shaped one down the docks. People take photos. I don’t have much else to say about it.
Sean O’Casey Bridge moves when it opens. Not fun if you’re halfway across with a sandwich and a sore knee.
Then there’s James Joyce Bridge, which I included on tours now and then, if the group looked the literary type. If not, we skipped it. No one ever asked.
And the One I Forgot
Butt Bridge. Yep. That’s what it’s called. After a politician — Thomas Butt. I don’t know much about him. I probably should’ve looked it up properly, but it was always at the edge of the map in my head. It connects Custom House Quay to the train lines near Tara Street. Not hidden. Not small. Just… forgettable.
I didn’t even notice I was forgetting it until someone asked. A woman from Berlin. She said, “What’s that one called?” and I just stared at it like I’d never seen it before.
You can walk across it in under a minute. There’s traffic most of the day, people rushing to work or dragging suitcases or just trying to get through town without thinking too hard.
There’s no view. No performance. No Instagram. It doesn’t try to be anything. It’s just a bridge. And that’s probably why I missed it so often.
Why It Matters (Sort Of)
I stopped giving tours a while ago. Knees. Back. General wear and tear. But I still walk the city, most days. Slower now. Less talking.
And I notice things more. Like Butt Bridge. I cross it sometimes just to do it. No reason. No audience. It’s always there. Never blocked off. Never busy. Just a bit of city that keeps going.
You don’t appreciate that sort of thing until you’re no longer being paid to pretend you’re impressed by everything.
If You’re Visiting
You’ll get told where to go — Trinity, Temple Bar, Grafton Street. They’ll show you the shiny bits. You’ll take photos and buy something shaped like a sheep.
But at some point, you’ll need to get across the river. And you’ll probably end up on a bridge you weren’t aiming for. If it happens to be Butt Bridge, fair play. Don’t look for a plaque. Don’t wait for a moment. Just cross it.
Most people won’t remember it. That doesn’t mean it’s not doing its job.
Which, now I think of it, is a fairly Dublin thing altogether.
