I recently came across this brilliant photograph of Mother Redcaps, taken in June 1995 by Fraser Donachie. It instantly brought me back to childhood trips there with my mother. Tucked away in the heart of Dublin’s Liberties, Mother Redcaps was truly one of a kind, a hidden gem for collectors, antique lovers and anyone drawn to the quirky and nostalgic. Its blend of old world charm and unmistakable Dublin character made it a favourite with both locals and visitors alike. Although it closed its doors in the early 2000s, the place left a lasting impression on me that I still carry today.
The market took its name from a legendary 18th century Dublin pub landlady, an infamous, no nonsense woman known for her fiery temper and trademark red cap. The name suited the market perfectly... bold, eccentric and steeped in local folklore. Nestled between Thomas Street and Patrick Street, Mother Redcaps welcomed visitors into a maze of ever changing stalls, each bursting with personality. From vintage Guinness mirrors and enamel signs to pub memorabilia, bric-a-brac, rare Irish photographs, old posters and home decor...you never knew what treasure you might find.
What really set Mother Redcaps apart, though, was its atmosphere. It wasn’t just a market, it was a meeting place. A place where Dubliners with stories to tell gathered to trade, browse and talk. I still remember the chill of the concrete floor underfoot, the faint smell of old paper and damp timber, and the quiet hum of radios playing somewhere in the background. Every weekend the place had its own rhythm. One moment you’d be chatting about a battered biscuit tin from the 1920s, the next you’d be caught up in the story behind a weathered Irish enamel sign. For many, visiting Mother Redcaps wasn’t just a day out, it was a ritual. A Sunday well spent.
Today, the building sits closed and decaying. Another market in the Liberties left locked up and forgotten. The pub and market have now been closed for over twenty years, and it’s utterly tragic to see such a character filled place allowed to fall into such neglect. My great memories of coming here as a kid, makes its current state all the more frustrating.
In most European cities, spaces like this don’t simply disappear, they’re adapted. Old markets and former industrial buildings become hubs for food, creativity, arts and alternative culture. They support small traders and give neighbourhoods a sense of identity. In almost any other EU city, Mother Redcaps would have been brought back into use long ago. In Dublin, too often, buildings like this are left sitting idle.
We talk a lot about protecting historic and derelict structures, and the legislation looks strong on paper. In practice, it’s rarely enforced. Responsibility drifts, years pass, and places that once mattered quietly rot away behind locked doors. This is something that should never have been closed in the first place, and certainly never left to decay like this.
There are still clues to the building’s deeper history if you look closely. The carved keystone over the door bears the initials of James Winstanley, for whom the building was originally erected as a shoe factory in 1875. Long before it became a beloved market and pub, it was already part of the working fabric of the Liberties. That layered history only adds to the sense of loss.
Mother Redcaps was an amazing old market, pub and venue. Full of life, full of stories, full of possibility. Another place that deserved to be revived, not abandoned.
In a world of fast furniture and short lived trends, places like Mother Redcaps feel more relevant than ever. It stood for sustainability long before the word became fashionable, giving old things new life and celebrating character, craft and history. The market may be gone, but the spirit of it still lingers.
That spirit is something we try to hold onto at Rare Irish Stuff. What we do is built on the same love of the old, the unusual and the storied. We specialise in vintage Irish posters, authentic pub decor, quirky bric-a-brac, collectibles and antiques...pieces chosen not because they’re perfect, but because they have a story to tell.
