To ease loneliness, Fingal considers piloting “chatty” benches for making connections

Malahide Park was lively on Monday afternoon. It was t-shirt and Aperol spritz weather. Running along the shore weather.

But on a hill in the park, looking out over the sea, Carolina Rosa sat on the grass alone. 

She had a thick long braid and around her neck was a lanyard, from her job caring for the elderly. 

It hasn’t been easy to make and keep friends since she moved to Dublin from Brazil three years ago, Rosa says, candidly. 

She had made friends through her English language course, but many returned home. She made some friends while doing bar work too, she says.

“But still, it's different," says Rosa. She said that in Brazil she had her family, and that was a lot: dependable.

Here, she said, sometimes she’ll meet people and want to stay in touch. “But if the other person, it's not the same vibe as you, it's difficult.” 

Many people can feel lonely in Malahide, says Fianna Fáil Councillor Cathal Haughey.

It’s one of the oldest large towns in Ireland, according to census data from 2022. Many older residents spend long stretches alone, Haughey said. 

People seem to have retreated from each other since the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, he said. 

Phones and social media mean people can be glued to their screens, said Haughey. “I’m definitely guilty of that.”

That’s why he wants to pilot a “chatty bench” in the seaside town, he says. 

At the council’s Howth-Malahide Area Committee meeting on 1 October, he put forward a motion calling for the council’s chief executive to consider the installation of “chatty” benches around the area, with a bench on Malahide marina green as a pilot.

Malahide Lions Club, a local community group, had asked for one, he says. There are some in Northern Ireland, to encourage connection and help combat loneliness.

The council will get in touch with the club, with “a view to installing one of these benches as a pilot”, according to a response to Haughey from Therese Casey, an executive parks and landscape officer at the council.

“That's a very positive response,” Haughey said at the council meeting. “Hopefully we can get this up and running soon.”

“If we could put the phone away and have a chat with the person who happens to be sitting next to us on the bench, I think it would bring a sense of community to the area and make us not all be strangers,” said Haughey.

Kinds of connections

Moving abroad was Rosa’s dream, she says, sat on the grass on the hill. 

She just wasn’t satisfied with her life near São Paulo, she says. She wanted to grow. She felt deeply understood for the first time when she told her family she wanted to leave, she said. 

But while she likes living in Ireland, it can be isolating, says Rosa. "I feel sadness all the time because my family is not here. But yeah, I choose to be here by myself."

"Sometimes I'm always, always by myself. Like alone,” she says. “My husband works too much. And sometimes we can't see each other."

Standing by the water, across the plaza, Hubert George said he’s also introverted, and he moved here three years ago.

He moved from Mumbai, he said, and he has his partner, he said, and good friends – and his colleagues are welcoming.

But he hasn’t joined any clubs or groups, he says. “I prefer like, to drive, travel around Ireland. That's basically what I do.” 

“Cliffs of Moher, that was breathtaking. It was amazing. Downpatrick Head had quite a lot of places which was immensely beautiful,” he said.

Both Rosa and George called themselves introverted. 

Rosa hasn't joined clubs because big groups tire her out, she says. She’s up for real conversations, not small talk.

But if there were to be a “chatty bench” installed here at Malahide, that would be good, they say. They would sit, they said.

Said George: "I feel very shy to speak to strangers. So probably this can … you know, there are many more like me. So I'm pretty sure that this can give a good opportunity to interact.”

A quiet invitation

On a bench in Malahide’s seaside plaza, a half hour earlier, Haughey contemplated what the bench would look like, what it could become. 

It needs to be advertised, he said. Maybe it should be painted a striking colour, he said. Maybe not, maybe just a plaque.

But “some sort of sign that says this is a chatty bench. Sit here if you wish to talk to a stranger," he says.

It should be subtle, he said. “Because people may feel that there's a stigma around feeling lonely, and may not want to draw attention to the fact that they do want to have a conversation with someone."

Haughey, the local councillor, doesn’t often feel lonely himself, he said. “I have a wife and a one-year-old daughter, so, you know, the house is always, always busy.”

But parenthood can sometimes make people feel unseen, he says.

“Some people might lose their identity when they become a parent, particularly mothers, who might feel the pressure is on them to leave the workforce,” he said.

“You need to have conversations with other people,” he added. “If you’re sitting inside four walls every day, that can be very tough on anyone’s mental health.”

Always a choice 

Closer to evening, J.J. O’Hara was sitting on a stone bench alone on the west side of the plaza, watching passersby.

His hair is grey curls. His bright eyes were taking in the autumn atmosphere. No headphones, no book, no phone. He doesn’t use social media, he says. 

At first he said he didn’t want to be interviewed at first. But he started talking. 

About the year he lived in upper Manhattan at 17 years old, and how he left the US before he got drafted for Vietnam. 

He kept going. Fascinating, juicy stories. Off the record.

Maybe after all, a chatty bench is a good idea, he said. “For different people, for different reasons.” 

“When two people start talking, if they connect, that's great. And the conversation can go on and on and on, you know,” O’Hara said.  

“And if they don't connect, well, then it could be the quickest conversation ever. Hello, goodbye.”

He didn’t mind sharing with a stranger on a bench after all, he said.

“Like, I didn't intend on talking. I've kind of poured out my heart,” he said. “I don't talk about that to anybody.”

Funded by the Local Democracy Reporting Scheme.