I don’t tell this one on tours. Not because it’s embarrassing — though it is — but because it doesn’t fit neatly between the statues and the shopping tips. You can’t go from explaining Daniel O’Connell to “by the way, I once spent a night locked in the park.”
But it happened. And yes, it was my fault.
It Was October. I Remember Because of the Jacket.
I’d finished a mid-afternoon tour — one of those small groups where everyone was polite and no one tipped. I was tired, feet wrecked, and figured I’d cut through the Green on the way to the bus.
I do this thing sometimes where I stop at the pond and sit for ten minutes. Doesn’t matter how many times I’ve passed it. Something about the ducks and the traffic noise just far enough away — you get a moment of peace before heading back into the usual nonsense.
So I sat down. Ate the last of a Twix from my coat pocket. Closed my eyes for what felt like two minutes.
It Was Not Two Minutes
When I opened my eyes, it was darker. Colder. And too quiet.
I looked around — no prams, no joggers, no tourists standing under trees pretending they’re in a film. Just me, a few pigeons, and that echo you only get when a place is empty in a way it’s not supposed to be.
Then I saw the gates. Shut. Locked. Proper padlocked. Every single one.
You’d Think There’d Be a Way Out
There isn’t. Not unless you’re good at climbing or fancy crawling under hedges in a public park with CCTV. I walked the full inside perimeter. Twice. Nothing. I even tried knocking on the inside of the gate like a lost child. No one around.
I didn’t have much on me. Phone battery was low. I texted a mate — “locked in the Green, not joking” — and his reply was “lol”. That was the end of that.
The People Watching Were No Help
I did get one woman’s attention through the gate. She was walking a dog. I asked if she knew who to ring.
She said, “Try the OPW?”
I said, “Have you got the number?”
She said, “No,” and walked on. The dog looked sorry for me. She didn’t.
I sat back down on the bench. This time the ducks ignored me.
Eventually, I Was Let Out
After about 45 minutes, I heard keys. Real ones, jangling like music. A security lad doing a last sweep.
He saw me, sighed, and said, “Another one?”
Apparently it happens all the time. People doze off. Couples get… distracted. One fella a few weeks earlier had climbed a tree and refused to come down until they brought him a sandwich. I wasn’t even the weirdest that month.
He unlocked the gate, didn’t ask for ID, and told me to “go on, quick now.” I said thanks like I’d just come out of prison. Went home and didn’t tell anyone. Until now.
Lessons Learned
- Don’t trust your internal clock after a Twix.
- St Stephen’s Green closes earlier than you think, especially in winter.
- There are no emergency buttons, secret exits, or ladders. You’re stuck.
- Pigeons are no help.
- Security will eventually show up, and they’ve seen worse.
It’s funny now. At the time, it wasn’t. Not scary exactly — just that weird sense of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, while everyone else goes about their day.
The Green’s lovely. Quiet, clean, central. But I’ve never sat there since without keeping one eye on the sun and the other on the nearest gate.
