Remembering the 90s Rave Scene — AKA the Second Summer of Love
Snapshots from the legendary Sir Henry’s nightclub, Cork
I waited next to the Beamish brewery opposite Sir Henry’s nightclub in Cork late one night. It might have been spring or summer for I was wearing a light jacket, jeans, and trainers. A sweet smell, like a cross between malty hops and Weetabix, emanated from the stout factory behind the railings where I stood.
I was waiting for a friend to emerge from the club and we were to attend a house party together. It was an age before mobile phones would add specificity to logistics and arrangements.
A friendly Corkonian lad started with the chat, which wasn’t unusual. I can’t remember his name, or any distinctive features, just the impression he was cute, not much taller than me, and from the northside. Sure I was tipsy, though I can’t recall where I had been earlier that night.
He started to kiss me, which was fine. Again, nothing out of the ordinary for that era. Until. Until…
He was associated with a larger group. Some of the young women he was hanging out with came over. They seemed upset and generally angry with life. All of a sudden, I was being frogmarched away from my waiting point over Barrack Street bridge which crosses the River Lee.
