The story
Welcome to Synge Street. Take a moment to look around this quiet, red-brick stretch of Dublin’s Portobello district. It feels tucked away from the frantic energy of the city center, yet it was here, behind the modest facade of number 33, that one of the most towering intellects of the twentieth century first opened his eyes.
This is the birthplace of George Bernard Shaw, the man who would become the only person in history to win both a Nobel Prize in Literature and an Academy Award. As you stand before the house, notice its clean, Victorian lines. It’s a classic example of what was once called shabby-genteel Dublin.
When Shaw was born here in 1856, his family was struggling to maintain an air of respectability while his father’s business as a corn merchant slowly crumbled. But the real treasure is found right there on the wall. Usually, these blue commemorative plaques are erected by historical societies or city councils long after a famous person has passed away.
But George Bernard Shaw was never one to leave his reputation in the hands of others. The plaque you see was actually written by Shaw himself while he was still very much alive. In an act of characteristic wit and confidence, he drafted the inscription to ensure the facts were exactly as he wanted them.
It simply reads: George Bernard Shaw, author of many plays, was born in this house. He resisted the flowery language and grand titles others might have chosen. To Shaw, being an author of many plays was the highest calling imaginable.
Inside these walls, young Shaw’s imagination was fueled by a strange and musical household. His mother was a talented singer who eventually left his father to follow her music teacher to London, taking Shaw’s sisters with her. George stayed behind for a time, wandering the halls of the National Gallery and absorbing the atmosphere of a Dublin he would eventually leave but never truly forget.
He once remarked that he didn't learn anything at school, but he learned everything from the streets and the galleries of this city. The house has been meticulously restored to look exactly as it did in the 1850s, from the cramped kitchen to the nursery. It’s a reminder that genius often starts in the most unassuming places.
As you continue your walk down Synge Street, think of the young boy who lived here, dreaming of the stage and the sharp, satirical words that would one day change the world. He knew his worth long before the rest of the world did, and that plaque stands as a permanent, cheeky reminder of the man who always insisted on having the last word.