THEIR sight and sound have been an integral part of Cork city’s streetscape for so long, that they are indelibly ingrained in the culture of Cork city.
And now the famous Echo Boy has hit centre stage again, in a new play that opened in Cork Arts Theatre this week.
Called The Echo Boys, its co-writer and director, Marion Wyatt, has also put on plays about the Sunbeam girls, Cork dockers, the Shawlies, and Katty Barry - a veritable smorgasbord of the city’s cultural icons!
Her latest play, a drama set around the newspaper sellers with some musical interludes, runs until April 27 - and anyone who has developed a grá for these loveable scamps down the decades is bound to enjoy the trip down memory lane. The fact the show is a sell-out only underlines their reputation as cultural icons.
To tell the story of the Echo Boys, you have to go all the way back to 1892, when this newspaper was launched. The Crosbie family, who already owned the Cork Examiner, realised speed was of the essence in selling their new product, and they couldn’t rely on shops alone.
As soon as the Echo rolled off the presses at Academy Street in the afternoon, they employed groups of boys, who lined up to take a bundle and sell them in the city.
In the ensuing 132 years, hundreds of boys cut their teeth in the world of work by becoming street sellers, yelling the cry that became the sound of the city: “Echoooooooo!”
By 1902, they had already become so embedded in the fabric of the city that a Government Committee of Inquiry looking into work practices of children on the streets in Britain and Ireland hailed the Echo Boys as a model line of employment.
The Committee visited London, Liverpool, and Dublin, and on May 13, 1902, held a session to collect evidence at the Courthouse in Cork, asking local upstanding members of society to report to them about the situation on the ground.
Their “overall impression was that the Echo Boys were the most healthy, honest, and fortunate of their deprived contemporaries”.
David Barry, of the Catholic Boys Brigade, even felt their wage of 3-8 shillings per week was “too much, it destroys their taste for becoming messengers”.
At the time, three editions of the Echo were printed, at 4pm, 6pm, and 7pm, and boys began selling at 4pm. Sergeant Coen, of the Royal Irish Constabulary, told the Inquiry: “I sometimes think they are better off in the streets than at home. Their homes are very miserable.”
He said the sellers were “a better type of lad and did not become street loafers. I believe the very fact of them earning a few shillings for themselves gives them a bit of self-respect. As a rule, newsboys do not drift into crime.”
There was also praise from magistrate Stephen Perry, although he feared the boys spent their earnings on smoking and gambling.
Rev Fr Bernard, of the Capuchin Community, told the inquiry: “We have absolutely no employment for the young. If these boys are taken away from the streets, they are taken from earning money that may be of service to the parents.”
None of this was to gloss over the abject poverty of the day. Fr Bernard saw boys playing pitch and toss up to 11pm under a gas lamp “then the young fellows who lost their money would be afraid to go home without it”.
Proprietor George Crosbie told the Inquiry Echo Boys were “very honest - as far as I can learn, there has only been one prosecution for larceny against any of them for a considerable time”.
That wasn’t quite the experience shared by his grandson and later successor as proprietor, Ted Crosbie, a few decades later, however.
“At Christmas, 1952, we increased the price of the paper from a penny to twopence, and the boys felt they were being short-changed,” Ted recalled. “My co-director Pat Crosbie and I were pursued down South Mall by a group of Echo Boys shouting ‘Tuppence for nothing!’ Luckily, I was a little quicker on my feet in those days!”
Ted said of the early sellers: “Most were barefoot and delighted to earn a wage. The company set up a club for them at Lavitts Quay along with Christian Brothers College and gave them an annual holiday at Ringabella.”
As the decades wore on, conditions improved. In 1975, respected Cork historian and UCC lecturer Dr Sean Pettit, writing about that 1902 Inquiry, said: “Today’s Echo boys are few in number and seem to live a relatively comfortable life. Certainly, compared to the predecessors of 1902 they now have the life of a lord. They still cry ‘Echo!’ at 4pm, but the gas lamps are gone, and instead of playing pitch and toss, they now watch television or go to the pictures.”
Writing about the Echo Boy in 1970, Padraic O Dalaich said: “He may never have done a course in sales psychology, but he knows the three essentials of good salesmanship - having the right thing to sell in the right place at the right time.
“When school is over, these young, energetic salesmen report for duty, and for two or three hours the air is filled with their crisp, melodious call.
“There are well-established sales centres, such as the entrances to the Post Office and cinemas, the Statue, important bus stops, railway and bus terminals. The established, senior vendors have a traditional right to these centres, which is sacrosanct, and nobody would entertain the idea of infringing the age-old code.
“For the average newsboy, the lure of the street is fairly irresistible, especially when the weather is fine, the crowds are big, the news is sensational, and he feels the most important person in the world.
“The Cork newsboy is characteristic of Ireland, and adds colour and animation to the life of the city. Other nations may have their automatic machines which drop out the newspaper on the insertion of a coin, but give me the cheerful newsboy any time, and let these far-away places keep their soulless automats.
“The Cork Echo Boy is usually a lively, good-humoured piece of organism, quick with Cork wit and quick with the change.”
In 1987, John Scannell reflected on when he was 12: “It was my ambition to be an Echo Boy, because they were selling papers at a penny each and I was getting a penny a week pocket money! So they were millionaires!”
So revered are the Echo Boys that a statue of one in mid-cry by sculptor Barry Moloney, then Principal of the Crawford School of Art, was unveiled in Cook Street in 1991, then re-located to Patrick Street in 2004.
Some Echo Boys have slipped into city legend and lore. Johnny Kelleher, of Glasheen, sold it for a remarkable 76 years, starting at eight. At his pitch at Coliseum Corner on MacCurtain Street, he sold an Echo to Taoiseach Jack Lynch in 1979, breaking the news that Christy Ring had died.
Michael O’Mahony, of Gurranabraher, was still selling the Echo in 1991, having begun in 1921 outside the Victoria Hotel, while Jimmy O’Sullivan racked up more than 60 years on the streets. He died in 2001, while sat in his car waiting to collect the paper in Academy Street.
Many readers today will recall the presence of Michael O’Regan in the city for half a century, beginning in August, 1969. He died in 2022 and is thought to have sold a million Echos.
“When I began selling papers there were nine Echo Boys on Patrick Street alone,” Michael once said.
An Echo Boy for 70 years, Jeremiah Cronin, began selling papers at 11 and worked until March, 2020, when only a pandemic could force him to retire.
There is now one left standing, Dave Hogan, of Farranree, a familiar sight - and sound - outside the GPO in Oliver Plunkett Street. Dowtcha Davey - and all the Echo Boys!
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