Knitwits Christmas Party in Scribes
Una Hayes and Maureen Connolly
Patricia Borley and Mary Boyer
Katie Heaton and Anne Moloney
Helen O'Connor and Pat Barry
Peggy Brick, Kathleen McCarthy and Una Hayes
Jane Anne Sheehy, Eileen O'Sullivan and Eileen Fitzgerald
Maria Leahy, Anne Moloney and Joan Carey
New Kids on The Block
This business has opened at the corner of William Street and Charles Street in the premises that used to be Jerome Murphy's
Sunday December 11 2016 at the Unveiling of the Tidy Towns' Sculpture
At 5.00 p.m.we turned our backs on the Coca Cola truck and headed across the Square to the island outside The Listowel Arms for the unveiling of the sculpture to celebrate the work of Listowel Tidy Towns Committee in bringing glory to town. Readers of Listowel Connection already knew what the piece looked like but the committee covered it up again for the big reveal.
Kerry County Council and the Enterprise office had a hand in funding so Aoife Thornton gave the first speech on their behalf.
Canon Declan O'Connor, P.P. Listowel blessed the piece and blessed the work of the Tidy Town committee.
The artist, Darren Enright stood proudly among the onlookers as his work was praised.
That was then; this is now
When another sculpture was unveiled in The Square in December 2010 we had snow on the ground
This year the sun shone and we had temperatures of 13 and 14.
A Few More People I photographed on November 25
North Kerry Wren Boys by Wm. Molyneaux in Shannonside Annuals
We had great times with the same Wren, so we did. One St Stephen's Day I was out with Coolkeragh. They were a good crowd. We were travelling on, whatever. I don't know that anyone of us knew the names of the people where we were at all. But still is was a good place. Well, any torn down house or anything, we’d say to ourselves that we wouldn't go in there at all.
So this house, anyway, we crossed it. It was a small little pokeen of a house. Myself and the player were talking. We said to ourselves we wouldn't go in there at all-you know. There would hardly be no one there at all- poor looking. “Cripes,” says I (as if I had the knowledge) “ "I imagine," says I, "but I see an old woman walking around the house, and now that old woman might only get insulted. We want nothing from her," says I, "but she might get insulted if we didn't go into with the Wren." "Well, by God, that's right, Williameen. "We go in then."
In we went. This poor little woman was inside. A very small little house entirely. She had a few coals down. I went up to the fire, myself and the player. He was Willie Mahoney over in Coolkeragh and a good player he was. The Dickens, I went up. I was inclined to "hate" the tambourine over the coals. There wasn't as much fire there as would heat it. Stay, I told him play away. He played away. He played, I think, a hornpipe. God he was a good player! We were at it for a bit, and with that, whatever look I gave, there was the poor woman and the tears rolling down her face. "Stop, let ye," says I to the crowd. "Stop, let ye, there must be something wrong here. Will ye stop!" I turned around to the old woman: "well, poor woman," says I "there must be something wrong with you or with someone belonging to you. And if we knew anything like that," says I, "we were not going to come in at all" says I "if we knew what we know now.... When we see the tears in your eyes we wouldn't have come in at all….
At that she started, at the top of your voice: “Yerra,Wisha, Weenach!oh!oh!OH!..It isn’t any dohall I have at all about the Wran Boys!....Yerra, Wisha…..my husband, Tom….he’s inside in the Listowel ‘ospital with a sore leg. And, and if Tom was here today, wouldn't he be delighted to see the fine crowd of fine respectable Wren boys that made so much of me as to come in here! Wait a fwhile ‘til Tom ‘ll come home and if I don’t be telling him that…..oh!oh!oh! and she went on at the top of her voice.
I turned around to the crowd: "lads," says I, "have ye much money around ye? “agor, we have” says the captain, we could have up to about five pounds, (it was early in the day) "Are ye all satisfied to give this poor woman," says I, "half of what ye have? The day is long" says I, "and we will make enough to maintain us through the night." And they said they were agreeable. The cashier was just starting to pull out his purse and off she started again: "oh! No! No! Wait awhile now and I must turn around and give ye something. She had long stockings on her, and she stuck down her hand in one of them-down, down, and then she got hold of something and she started pulling and pulling til she pulled up a big cloth purse-as sure as I'm telling you there would a quarter sack of male fit inside it! And I couldn't tell you what money was inside it. Up she pulled the bag anyway and reached a shilling to myself. "No, ma’am," says I, “put that in your own pocket." Then she started again: "oh! No! No! No! If you don't take that now, decent boy! Oh,Yerra Wisha after what ye had done for me! Yerra, Wisha, the best friend I ever had in all my life would not do what ye’re after doing for me. That the Almighty God and the Blessed Virgin Mary may save and guard ye! Bless and protect ye! And that you and yer crowd might be going around on the Wran,” says she, “ for the next 100 years without a feather ou of ye.”
That happened, for a God’s honest fact.
A Christmas poem from Mary McElligott
‘What will I do Mrs Claus?”
Santa rubbed his head.
He really was exhausted.
His legs felt like lead.
His head was pounding, throbbing.
He was frozen to the bone.
Mrs Claus was too busy cleaning,
To listen to him moan.
He was like this every year,
I suppose you’d say, stressed.
She’d listen, support and encourage,
Take out his long sleeved vest.
Christmas Eve was looming,
Three more sleeps to go.
Was it his age? She wondered,
Gosh, t’was hard to know.
Mrs Claus was high dusting,
Changing sheets and beds.
Five hundred elves was no joke,
The last time she counted heads.
One hundred stayed all year
But in October that count went up,
Hard work for Mrs. Claus,
To get it all set up.
She cooked and cleaned their dorms.
She worked out their Rota,
24/7 their job,
Hard, juggling that quota.
She loved it though, being busy,
Loved caring for the elves,
They were like their children,
When they didn’t have any themselves.
Some poor elves were homesick,
In the North Pole for a whole twelve weeks.
She often saw tears flowing,
Down their little cheeks.
She had one big job to sort.
She did it through the year.
It was she who got the elves their gifts,
Brought them their Christmas cheer.
She made several trips down south.
There was a great service from The Pole
But her favorite place to go,
Was a place called Listowel.
It was so tidy and clean,
So pretty, down by the park
And even more beautiful at night,
What with all those blue lights in the dark.
She’d buy all their gifts,
Hats, scarves and gloves for the elves.
She’d pack them in huge cases,
Leaving a bit of space for a few bits for themselves.
She loved Christmas Eve,
Santa gone, the elves in bed.
She’d open up her cases,
Deliver gifts as she’d quietly thread,
Up and down, between the beds,
One hundred in each dorm,
Over and back until the cases were empty,
Finishing up near dawn.
They all get a Christmas bonus,
50 Euros and of course, some sweets,
After all it was Christmas
And you’d have to give them treats.
She’d only just be gone to bed,
When Santa would land in, FROZEN..
She’d leave out coke and cake,
Waiting for him, dozing.
‘How was it Santa?’ she’d ask,
‘Everything go all right with the reindeer?’
"Absolutely perfect Mrs Claus,
Thanks to you. Merry Christmas, my dear."
I had a lovely morning meeting with some old friends recently. Some I met by arrangement and some by chance. It was delightful to renew old acquaintance at the end of 2016
I first met these ladies when we were all teenagers. Heres to the next time, Jill, Assumpta, Eileen and Peggy.
Little did we think back in the 1970s that we would sit in The Malton, Killarney in 2016 discussing the merits of free travel.