It is still hard to believe that Clerys has gone. This was one of the first purpose-built department stores in the world, its Corinthian columns and sweeping staircases seemingly as much a part of O’Connell Street as the trees and statues outside.

Beneath the apparently timeless solidity of the Dublin building, of course, lay a roller-coaster retail history. Opened in 1853 as McSwiney Delaney & Co, the business went bankrupt in 1879, was almost totally destroyed in the 1916 Rising, and went bankrupt again in 1940.

Last summer Clerys closed its doors for the final time, to the shock of shoppers, staff and pretty much the whole of Ireland.

The above photograph presents a scene that is almost unimaginable now, when we have become accustomed to minimalist store decor, minimalist staffing levels and even more minimalist spending.

Department store sales were once the most important fixtures in the Dublin shopping calendar – eagerly anticipated events that drew customers from all over the country. Dermot Barry’s shot captures the bustle and jostle of a Clerys sale with breathtaking artistry.

First impressions are of a cornucopia of chaos. Clocks and fabric swatches; coats and travel rugs; towels and umbrellas. That’s without speculating on the contents of the boxes of various shapes and sizes piled, surely, up beyond the reach of human arms. Shoes? Handkerchiefs? Shirts? It must have taken considerable skill on the part of the staff to lay hands on anything in particular.

As for the customers, they’re not browsing: they’re hunting. They are women on a mission.

On the bottom right of the image, one shopper is having her bargain wrapped. Halfway up, to the left of the pillar, another ponders a potential purchase, hand to her chin in classic “what shall I do?” pose. To her left, observe the little girl, smiling up at the woman who is assessing some piece of clothing for size or quality.

A moment of magic, preserved for posterity. Unlike poor old Clerys.