The Life Of ‘Oul Zoz

He was named in memory of a pious Palestinian, according to WB Yeats “the last gleeman . . . being alike poet, jester, and newsman of the people” winning not only praise from the pen of that Nobel Prize winner but immortalized by the paintbrush of his brother Jack, just one among several great Irish artists to commit his likeness to the canvas.

A bar, an art gallery, and a couple of humorous journals have been named after him, while two plays have chronicled his life. The Wolfe Tones featured in the most recent of these shows, while the Dublin City Ramblers sang about his exploits and were moved to pay for a headstone for his grave close to the tomb of his hero, Daniel O’Connell.

Centuries after his death although the name of Michael Moran is long forgotten memories of his alter ego “Zozimus” continue to live on. But who was the Liberties man who inspired such devotion?

Gather round me, and stop yer noise,
Gather round me till my tale is told;
Gather round me, ye girls and ye boys,
Till I tell yez stories of the days of old;”

Born into grinding poverty at Faddle Alley, now known as Clanbrassil Terrace, a 70-metre road linking Blackpitts to Lower Clanbrassil Street around 1794 Michael’s future was bleak at a time when infant and child mortality rates were sky high.

His prospects were dealt a further blow when he was struck blind at just two weeks old, but the boy somehow survived and was soon sent out to work on the streets as a balladeer by his desperate parents, becoming a familiar face, and voice, across the capital.

As the historian and musician Patrick McCall notes in a long article on Moran published in 1945 in the Dublin Historical Record, but written decades earlier:

“If he had not the poetical faculty fully developed, or musical strings to his bow to play on, he had a stentorian, deep, guttural voice, and a peculiar squeak and lisp of great power. The shrug of his shoulders and the heavy tramp of his feet showed he had a muscular strength beyond his compeers.”

By then this remarkable young man was known to all as “Zozimus”, or more commonly just “Zoz”. Perhaps it’s appropriate in a city where support for Palestine is so common that his nickname comes from that troubled land.

“Pious Zozimus” was a Palestinian saint immortalised in the Life of St Mary of Egypt written by Dr Anthony Coyle, the 18th-century Bishop of Raphoe, and a verse adapted from the story soon became one of Moran’s most popular requests, earning him the moniker.

‘Oul Zoz played lead eccentric to a supporting cast of colourful characters from the Liberties in the early-1800’s, boasting “sobriquets (that) would make even a cat laugh” according to Patrick McCall. There was Mack and Rock, the two fiddlers of Meath Street; Kearney, Kane and Stewart, singers; Shalvey Doyle, Reilly and Hoey, song and ballad writers; and Dandyorum who went everywhere in a long mackintosh coat. Stoney Pockets was another Meath Street resident, who along with Peg the Man, Peggy Baxter, Fat Mary, Owny the Fool, and Canthering Jack were all members of what McCall recalled as the “Liberty Birds”.
“Stoney Pockets was a poor half-cracked fellow who tramped the country from Howth to the Tower of Hook. He carried stones in his pockets to steady himself, for, he said, ‘His head was flying away with him!'”

Like all street performers, Zozimus knew that public recognition was important.

McCall writes of “A long, coarse, dark description of frieze-coat with a cape, the lower parts of the skirts having the appearance of being mitred or scalloped, an old, soft, greasy, brown beaver hat, corduroy trousers and strong Francis Street brogues” the look completed by a long blackthorn stick with a heavy iron ferrule at the end, secured to his wrist by a leather strap.

Zoz was so successful that other performers even began to imitate him, something he would exploit in set-ups to encourage a shilling into the hat with both men accusing each other of being the imposter , but there was only ever really one Zozimus, the crowds happy to tip him a bob or two for a recitation of Mary of Egypt, or The Finding of Moses, which ended with the line “Old Ireland shall be free!” in support of O’Connell. If that didn’t tickle yer fancy, perhaps a poem in praise of poitín?

WB Yeats believed the balladeer’s blindness gave him a unique insight into the city and its people. He wrote that: “free from the interruption of sight, his mind became a perfect echoing chamber, where every movement of the day and every change of public passion whispered itself into rhyme or quaint saying.”

Zoz’s satirical performances earned him a few bob but also the regular attention of the Bobbies, so called because the Home Secretary Sir Robert Peel had founded London’s Metropolitan Police, who would order him to move on from his popular spots which he changed daily from at Carlisle (now O’Connell) Bridge and other crossings over the Liffey, to Smithfield, Church Street, Dame Street, Capel Street, Sackville (now O’Connell) Street, Grafton Street, Henry Street, and Conciliation Hall where Daniel O’Connell held Repeal meetings and would later be renamed the Tivoli Theatre.

Certainly, Zoz’s ditty T. B. C. – the story of the attorney general T. B. C. Smith and his feud with O’Connell – drew frowns from the powers-that-be, and Zoz’s court appearances, peppered with long rambling replies to questions (including recitations of his verses) drove judges to despair. This was all to the great amusement of journalists covering proceedings for the newspapers.

This rebelliousness inspired his friend and fellow balladeer James Kearney to write a song mocking one Bobbie, known to us today only by his number – 184 B – who had arrested both himself and Zozimus.

The zealous officer compounded his mistake when he also turned his attention to two Dublin journalists named Sullivan and Dunphy – “Mr D” – who were watching and reporting on Zoz’s performance. Dunphy worked for the respected Freeman’s Journal and used the power of the press to make the officer’s life a misery, gleefully aided by performances by Zozimus and Kearney.

The unfortunate constable soon became a figure of fun on the streets he patrolled, and according to Patrick McCall was unable to even blow his nose without comments from the wags of Dublin. He was also sought out by visitors to the city, making an already difficult job nearly impossible. The unwanted celebrity forced not only his retirement from the police but also that of his badge since for years afterwards no other DMP officer could be expected to carry the now-cursed 184 numeral serving in B Division.

Zozimus was married twice, the second time to a widow named Mary Curran, with whom he had a son, who emigrated to New York after his death. At that time grave robbing by “sack-’em-ups” was a profitable trade, with medical colleges, desperate for corpses for students to practice on willing to pay hard cash to such Resurectionists for the mortal remains of the recently deceased, with few questions asked.

Having seen the bodies of friends stolen in such circumstances Zoz was determined it should not happen to him. In one song he appealed to his pal from Meath Street, Stony Pockets to raise the price of a grave plot in the new Glasnevin Cemetary, which was guarded day and night by armed men.

Michael Moran, the blind baby from the Liberties who defied the odds and found fame, if not fortune on unforgiving streets which had taken many stronger, and wealthier down the decades, finally fell ill in 1845 and all but lost the power of speech. Unable to perform, feeble and bedridden he shuffled off this mortal coil at his lodgings in 14½ Patrick Street (appropriately eccentric even in his address) aged about 52, surrounded by his fellow Liberties Birds.

Stony Pockets and his friends, many of them who ran small businesses in the city, did indeed pass around the hat and he was buried two days later on a wet and cold Palm Sunday in the pauper’s section of Glasnevin Cemetary but within sight of the tower marking the burial place of Daniel O’Connell.

“I wish he held out another month until the weather got dacent!” grumbled Joseph Doherty the butcher of Bull Alley, who then proceeded to drink a toast in his honour, though the whiskey bottle broke before all present could take a dram, adding to the drama.

And so Zoz lay in Glasnevin, through good weather and bad, for almost 150 years, as the city he knew so well but had never laid eyes on changed beyond all recognition.

In 1988 Dublin celebrated the Millenium and thanks to support from the Smith Brothers of the Submarine Bar in Crumlin, and the Dublin City Ramblers a headstone was placed over the final resting place of the people’s poet who despite poverty and the odds stacked against him questioned authority while fearlessly entertaining his fellow Dubliners. The epitaph sums it up well.