I can’t decide whether Oscar Wilde would be spinning in his grave or laughing with wry amusement.

Oscar Wilde inherited Elsinore, his parent’s property in Bray upon the death of his father, renowned surgeon, Sir William Wilde, in 1876.  Presumably not to his taste as a residence––or locality––in which to live, Oscar Wilde sold the property again in 1878.

The property is now The Strand Hotel, and I stayed there for a few days in 2024.

What traces of Oscar Wilde would survive I wondered?

Precious few that I could find.

Each room of the hotel is named after some element of Wilde’s writing.  I stayed in The Young King.  The room next to me was The Selfish Giant––well named, based on the sound of the loud slamming of the door, which occurred every time my neighbour left or returned to his room.

On the main staircase of the hotel was a framed photograph of Oscar Wilde, but it was given the same prominence as equivalent photographs of Domenico Vergnano, Italian coffee entrepreneur, and D. S. Yadav, Indian business magnate.

The exterior of the hotel was painted a dark, bottle green, which I somehow associate with Wilde––perhaps thinking about carnations here.  However, it is not the original colour of the property.  A rainbow flag, flying from the first-floor terrace, might have met with more approval from its former literary resident.

There was a sign for Wilde’s Bar and Restaurant but, as for original features, it appeared that authenticity had fallen at the altar of commodification.

But, then, isn’t that the story of Bray as a whole?  Dominated by the gaudy attractions of the funfair and amusement arcades at its northern end, it does not have either the boho chic of neighbouring Dalkey, the classy sophistication of nearby Dún Laoghaire, or the genuine literary associations of James Joyce’s Martello Tower in adjacent Sandycove.

Slightly tantalisingly, beside the reception desk of the hotel in a sealed glass case was an old, leather-bound guest book.  Wilde-vintage?  It was hard to say, but it remained out of bounds to me during my visit.

© Fergus Longfellow

Fergus Longfellow enjoyed his stay in Bray, but it was no literary pilgrimage.