Tuesday 30 June 2020

Farran Wood, a Listowel man in the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 and new social distancing spaces




Photo: Róisín Darby

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Farran Wood

Last week I had to make a necessary journey to Cork. I took the opportunity to reconnect, socially distanced and outdoors with my Cork family.  We went to Farran Wood. It doesn't compare to  Killarney National Park  and one of their favourite activities, the zip line, was closed  but it was lovely ro be outdoors and feeding ducks and deer again.






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Sign in a hairdressers in Ballincollig, Co. Cork


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Earthquakes and Fire in San Francisco in 1906- A Listowel Connection

Kerry Sentinel  Saturday, 19 May, 1906


San Francisco LETTER FROM A KERRYMAN.


Mr Michael Davitt has received the following letter from Mr Richard C O’Connor, Manager of the Hibernian Bank, San Francisco, one of the best known and most respected Irishmen in that city. Mr O’Connor, who is a native of Listowel, Co Kerry, where many of his relatives still live, has always been a strenuous and generous supporter of the Irish cause:—
San Francisco, April 27th, 1906.


MY DEAR MR DAVITT, 

San Francisco you know is practically gone. From Van Ness Avenue to the Bay, and out Market. Mission, and parallel streets to 20th street, is a heap of ruins; nothing left but a few broken walls that, like grim sentinels of the desert, look down upon nothing but desolation. A few buildings are left standing in this vast district, but their contents are destroyed, except the vaults  Among those left standing are the Palace Hotel, the Crocker Buildings, across the street, and the Union Trust Building The Mutual Bank, the Call Building, the St Francis Hotel, the Flood Building, the Post Office, the Hibernian Bank were destroyed. Only the walls of this latter building stand, but the vaults are intact
It will give you an idea of the fierceness of the fire when I tell you that the granite broke and apparently melted in our bank. All the Catholic churches are destroyed except a few very few in the outlying districts. And so the great, rich, proud city of San Francisco, through whose ‘”Golden Gate” the commerce of America passed out to the awakening Orient, is nothing but a heap of broken brick and stone, and the richest city, perhaps, in the world, in proportion to its population, is now living on the charity of the rest of the United States. And it is only just to say that their generosity has amply provided everything necessary except shelter, and that is coming in fast, as tents are poured into the city from every direction.
All this ruin was the result of an earthquake lasting just 47 seconds; but those who lived through those few seconds will carry the memory of them with them to the end.
I had been awake, perhaps, a minute or two, when suddenly the house shook as if struck by some mighty force, and the timbers creaked as if they were being ground into pieces. I jumped out of bed with the exclamation : “May God Almighty have mercy on us and save us,” on my lips. I was thrown across the room, staggering like one intoxicated, but I kept my feet and reached the door, got to the room where my youngest daughter sleeps, and pulling her out of bed, as she seemed dazed, I shouted to run into the street before the house would crush us in its ruins.
I must have jumped downstairs in my wild terror, for the earthquake was growing in intensity, and I held the street door open. All around was the crash of falling chimneys, breaking windows, and the terrifying shrieks of the women and children. My eldest daughter was hysterical, and her husband and brothers stood by her to assure her. At last, with one fierce shake, the earthquake bade us good-bye, but left ruin in its path.
The Dominican Church in front of my house, two blocks away, was broken to pieces, the roof falling in, and large portions of the walls thrown into the street—the finest church in the State of California. Three blocks away, the Girls’ High School was a wreck, and here and there in my immediate neighbourhood several houses had tumbled against their neighbours, which fortunately prevented their collapsing. The Post Office built by the United States Government at a cost of over 2.000,000 dollars, was cracked and seamed, the immense blocks of granite, some of which weighed several tons, were broken apart as if they were straws, while the streets in front were torn and broken.
Stanford University, the most magnificent gift to educational purposes ever given by a private individual, was very badly damaged, and the school is closed. Berkeley University has suffered but very little, but there also a vacation has been declared until next August. The City Hall, that imposing mass of buildings, with its splendid dome, is a complete wreck. The steel structure of the dome, however, still stands, and the figure of Liberty perched on top still stands, a most imposing figure amid the ruins, one hand lifted high, looking now like an angel pointing to Heaven, as if saying: “Earth and its glories may perish but There is everlasting peace.” The splendid Public Library is gone. I have given you but a faint idea of the ruin wrought by the earthquake, indeed I would be unable under any circumstances to convey to you an adequate idea of its extent, but the real work of destruction began when the fire broke out, and not a drop of water to quench the thirst of the angry flames, as the great water mains leading to the city were mostly broken for miles, and, of course, the fire had its own sweet will. The most destructive fire began in the poorer section of the city, behind the Palace Hotel, where the workingmen were already beginning to get breakfast ready. Several blocks of wooden houses, hastily and imperfectly constructed in the ” early days” of San Francisco, were aflame and fiercely burning, the fire spreading with alarming rapidity. I was on the scene early, but even with my recollection of Chicago’s great fire of 1872, I did not dream that the flames would eat up every building counted ” fireproof” in the city. For three days the fire raged, nothing to stop it but the soldiers blowing up with dynamite whole blocks of buildings that lay in its path, in the vain hope to stop it.
You may remember Van Ness Avenue, a street about as wide us your O’Connell Street, running across the city from Market street to the Bay on the north. Along this avenue and the adjacent streets the wealthy people had their palatial homes. And here I based my hopes of stopping the fire. It crossed, however, in one spot for a block or two, but after a desperate fight was driven back, and the district of the city in which my house is situated, known as the Western Addition, was saved from the flames.
About 10 o’clock on the night of the third day’s fire a policeman, accompanied by a crier, drove swiftly through the streets announcing that the fire had been turned back, and there was now no danger of its advancing further. How welcome the news! How glad I was to learn that the house endeared to me by so many tender associations was spared you may imagine.

 In the fierce fight to stem the advancing tide of flame, I cannot omit mentioning the heroic deed of a gallant son of Tipperary , the Rev Philip O’Ryan, The Cathedral, to which he is attached, stands facing Van Ness Avenue, on the western side, the golden cross surmounting the high tower glinting in the morning sunlight. The tower took fire, and the church was apparently doomed, And with it the entire Western Addition. This was the only part of the city supplied by water from a system independent of the rest of the city. father O Ryan trained in the athletics of the Gaelic Athletic Association, climbed up the tower inside, had a hose tied to the bell-rope which he hauled up and crawling out turned the hose on the burning tower, aided by Father Rouan ?, who shared his peril, succeeded in extinguishing the flames, despite the intense heat, which it seemed Impossible to with-stand.
Notwithstanding the ruin wrought; and the fortunes that were, lost, but one spirit seemed to pervade the people—gratitude that they had survived the fearful catastrophe and a determination to build up a more beautiful San Francisco on the ruins of the old. Already the work has begun, and hundreds of men are at work clearing away the debris. Our bank will be ready for business in about two weeks, and I very much mistake if the good old Hibernian, under its careful conservative management, does not rise again as it rose before in a time of great financial disaster, a bulwark against panic and despair. We have available in cash, and bonds which are readily convertible into cash, about 27,000,000 dollars in round numbers. So you see we have nothing to fear.
I will communicate with you from time to time about the trend of things here; in the meantime you need have no concern about the state of affairs.
With bent wishes for yourself, Mrs Davitt and family.—Believe me, yours very sincerely. 

 

R C O’CONNOR.

 

I got your cablegram. Many thanks. Judge Tobin feels the disaster to the city very keenly. His nephews lost their splendid home on ” Nob Hill.” 

 

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The New Normal



I was in town on Saturday and I spotted men at work on this structure outside Allos in Church Street. Could it be an outdoor dining area?

I asked one of the workmen, the joker of the pack as it turned out.

"Hold on a minute and I'll give you the first dance." says he.


On Monday when I went to town, these cordoned off areas of roadway were all over town. The one outside Allos is the only one I saw with a platform. They are kind of lay-bys for pedestrian overtaking and queueing it would appear. 

Social distancing gone mad?



Church Street definitely seems to have the biggest allocation of these. This one is just a skip and a jump from the one at Allos.


I'll make enquiries as to what the meaning of this is.




You can see the one across the road is almost directly opposite.




This one is on William Street. It is right next to an area where you can step out or queue for Jumbos.
 

 

Monday 29 June 2020

Market Street Residents in Ballybunion, Laurel and Hardy in Dublin and agrarian unrest in Ballydonoghue




Photo: Róisín Darby

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Broderick's Pharmacy is being repainted



This was last week. I'll update you with the new look when I get down town again.

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Laurel and Hardy in Dublin in the 1950s





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Friends Day Out

Anne Malone who is a baby on her mother's lap in this photo sent us this photo of some Market Street friends in Ballybunion in the 1950s.

Gerard Leahy has helped us with the names. In the photo are

The young boy on the right is Anne's brother Frank, next is her mother, Mary Malone and Anne is the infant on her lap,  The next lady with a baby on her lap also is  Betty Leahy. The baby is probably Gerard.

We are less sure of the following names, Eleanor Scanlon, Peggy O'Sullivan and the children are most likely Whelans or possibly Ena Leahy. All of these Market Street neighbours were friends.

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"...old unhappy far off things
And battles long ago."

The following old newspaper story comes from the days of Moonlighters and Boycotting and rural unhappiness,

 Monday, 02 February, 1891


LISTOWEL QUARTER SESSIONS. CURIOUS ACTION FOR SLANDER


Listowel, Saturday.
At the Quarter Sessions, yesterday, before Mr. J. A. Curran and a special jury, John M’Namara, of Guhard, sued Richard Cantillon, of Ballydonoghue, for £500, for certain slanderous language made use of by the defendant on the 8th October last. The action, which was a remitted one, attracted considerable interest, and had its origin in some Moonlighting occurrences which took place in the neighbourhood of Ballydonoghue some time ago.
Mr.E.R.. Wade, B.L. (instructed by Mr. J. Moran), represented the complainant, and Mr F. Creagh was for the defendant.
From the evidence it appeared that the plaintiffs mother came into town on the 8th of October last and visited Miss Breen’s refreshment House, where she gave the proprietress some money to pay Cantillon for her as she was afraid of doing so herself, as she said that Cantillon was boycotted on account of evicting a man named Dennehy from his holding and which Cantillon had purchased from the Land Commission. On going into the room she met Cantillon inside and he asked her why she did not pay himself in person, and she said she was afraid, and then he said. “Wasn’t it your children that cut the tails off the horses that were working for me?” Mrs. M’Namara then called on two persons who were present at the time to witness what Cantillon had said. Cantillon stated that it was currently rumoured in the Ballydonoghue district that Mrs M’Namara’s children were implicated of the horse tails and when he made the observation he only repeated it as a rumour. He had been subjected to very severe boycotting, and the house from which Dennehy was evicted was, shortly after he got possession, burned to the ground, as well as other property of his down at the village.  He had also to withdraw his children from the local National School because other children left it in consequence of their attendance there and the M’Namara family had entered into the boycotting against him. When he made use of the observation at Miss Breen’s to Mrs. M’Namara he included the plaintiff.
Mr. Wade and Mr. Creagh both addressed the jury at considerable length, the latter commenting on the system of boycotting practised against Cantillon, which had rendered his life wretched and miserable in the highest degree, and which was a disgrace to any civilized country. Except for the few friends who had stood by him he might as well be living in the desert of Sahara as in Ballydonoghue, and he said they (the jury) would be. helping on the vile conspiracy if they gave as much as the one-tenth part of the smallest coin of the realm as damages to the plaintiff in that action.
His Honor, in summing up, said the whole case arose out of that cursed system of boycotting, and they had there evidence in that case where friends and the nearest of neighbours turned out the bitterest of foes as a result of the system of boycotting. It appeared that Mrs. M’Namara had a large family, and lived quite close to the farm which had been held by Dennehy and Cantillon, in which Mrs M’Namara had no concern. Those dealings resulted in Cantillon becoming the owner, by purchase and he was then boycotted, and the M’Namara family, who had, even up to that, been on friendly terms with the Cantillons, joined in the boycotting, and left him severely alone. They met at Miss Breen’s, and he Cantillon made use of an expression. There was not much difference between the two versions of the expression made use of by Cantillon, and when a man made use of an expression of that kind it was tantamount to saying he committed the thing. The issue was—Did the defendant use the words sworn to by Mrs M’Namara or did he use the words sworn to by himself?  The defendant was not afraid to say in court that he included the plaintiff in his observation to Mrs M’Namara, and the plaintiff asked them to give him damages for the words used.
Damages of a farthing was awarded to plaintiff.

(A farthing was a quarter of an old penny)

 

 


 

Friday 26 June 2020

Colm Horkan honoured in Listowel, The Atlantic Ballroom and a new look phone box


Our newest family photographer


This is my granddaughter, Róisín. She wants to be a photographer. Below is one of her first photos of her new career.



Róisín's pansy


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Remember The Atlantic



I don't know who took the photo. Patrick Godfrey shared it on Facebook.

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At Kielduff



David Kissane spotted this one and shared it.

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Listowel joins in a nationwide tribute to the late Det. Garda Colm Horkan.

Colm, sadly, was the fourth member of his Garda training class to lose his life in the line of duty. Due to the ongoing pandemic regulations Gardaí around the country were unable to attend his state funeral. In stations all over the country Gardaí and other frontline services paid tribute to a fallen colleague.

The photos from Listowel's ceremony were taken by John Kelliher.







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You Can't Beat Breeding


This is Tralee artist/muralist, Mike O'Donnell. In this photo he is posing beside a work in progress at The Spa Tavern. It is Brian Cooper winning The Cletenham Gold Cup on Don Cossack.

Look out for Mike's murals on the wall of University Hospital, Kerry. He tells us this wonderful story of what happened to him while he was painting at the hospital this week.

"Today in the hospital I was doing some mural work in the X-ray department. An old man who sat near me called my attention. He said kind things about my work and added (almost verbatim) : ‘I have to say to you that I knew a fella once who could do work just like yours. He’s long dead now. He could do anything with his hands. I used work with him. He was a very kind man. Once when everybody on the job got a pay rise I didn’t because I was a labourer. This man gave me a painting saying ‘Pat, you’re as important as the rest of us.’  I’ve treasured it for maybe 50 years. The work that you are doing, the way you hold yourself reminds me of him.’
‘What was his name?’ I asked.
‘Paddy O’Donnell from Powers Road’, he said.
‘He was my dad’, I said. 

During those moments today, 28 years after he left us, I felt my father alive again."

There are few people who deserve more to have something beautiful happen to them.
 Mike is a legend. His Covid cartoons which I shared with you here will be remembered long after this pandemic is over. His murals have become a trademark feature of his beloved Tralee

Thursday 25 June 2020

In Farran Wood, an unidentified nun and the Convent Primary Band and John B. on Bob Boland


Carrot and Click


In Farran Wood in Co. Cork, Aisling Darby lures a young deer with a carrot so that she can get a close up.

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At Listowel Convent


The photo was taken in the convent garden some years ago. The man who sent it doesn't know either of the subjects.

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Convent Primary School Band at Christmas


Tom Fitzgerald took this one but he didn't note the year

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John B. Keane on Bob Boland

John B. Keane wrote a regular column in The Limerick Leader. He wrote often of lesser known local writers. It is clear that John B. saw great merit in Boland's writing as you will see in the following essay from the Limerick Leader archive.

LAST week we dealt briefly with the life and works of the late George Fitzmaurice. This week we will look at the works and life of the late Robert Leslie Boland of Farnstack, Lisselton.

Before we do, however, I would like to clear up a misunderstanding concerning the religion of George Fitzmaurice. George was born into the Protestantism of the Church of Ireland, and was not a Catholic, as two of my readers would have me believe.

George’s father was a parson. His mother was a Winifred O’Connor who worked as a maid in the Fitzmaurice household at Kilcara, Duagh. The marriage took place before the Ne Temere decree which meant that the sons were brought up in the father’s faith and the daughters in the mother’s faith. Wiffred O’Connor, of course was a Catholic.

 

Robert Lee Boland, on the other hand, was a Catholic. He was born in the Farnstack farmhouse in 1888 where his son Daniel continues the tradition of farming. The Bolands of Farnstack distinguished themselves in almost every aspect of Irish life. Bob was educated at the local national school and at St Michael’s College, Listowel. He died a comparatively young man in 1955.

A few short years before he had the heart rending experience of seeing his youngest son Val, precede him to the grave. Val was probably the most promising of all the young Kerry writers of his time. From a young age he produced excellent poetry but it was not until he came to Saint Michael’s that his talents really started to take shape. He died a schoolboy. Anyone who ever knew him will remember him forever with affection and respect.

Robert Leslie was a poet of consequence. He preferred to be called Bob and that is how we shall refer to him from now on. He was a colourful character with a host of friends. He liked a drink and he liked good company. Some of his best poems were Rabelasian. Those that were not were often compared to the poems of Robert Burns for whom Bob held an enormous respect. Personally, I think he was more influenced by Matthew Arnold than any other.

Private

Only one collection of his works was published and this for private circulation. The work was entitled, “Thistles and Docks” being, according to the author, “a selection, grave, gay and Rabelaisian from the works of Robert Leslie Boland, Farnstack House, Lisselton, Co. Kerry.”

It contains many of his more popular pieces. There is “Sonnet to a Lavatory.”

Temple of seclusion! Aptly set apart

To house the toilet needs, Repository

Where bodily wants are eased and the heart

Feels restful, too, in thy sweet privacy.

Thou art the throne room of soliloquy

Where each lone patron with no special art,

Relaxes for expulsion, setting free

Imprisoned waste and the unmuffled fart.

Quiet citadel! Kings and Queens have sate

Within thee, glad to leave their votive gift

(So democratic for their Royal state)

And grateful for kind nature’s daily shift.

Who would not hail thee, backward edifice ?

Cloister for brief retirement and for peace

Sugar

I don’t think readers will be really offended by the foregoing. The great merit about Boland was that he was always marginally ahead of the censor. During the war years Bob applied to the Department of Commerce for sugar . He had six beehives and he needed sugar to keep the inmates alive. His application was naturally in verse:

Dear sir, I beg hereby to make application,


For sugar for bees whose plight is starvation .

Be generous you must for my (six in number),

Like Europe are feeling the pinch of the hunger.

You know how the weather down here militated

Against the good “workers” who waited and waited.

For fine sunny days to go out in the clover,

But vain were their longings and summer is now over.

This is a thought your Department should cherish

Tis urgent, tis needed or my colonies perish.

There follows an incredibly beautiful allegory in which the queen bees have their say. One describes her honeymoon with a drone who has just been stung to death:

I remember the morning of our wedding flight;

His vigour, his passion, his speed like a kite

When up towards the ether, with wings humming loud,

He gave me the razz right on top of the cloud.

Answer

Bob once participated in a Radio Eireann question time which was broadcast from Ballybunion. When asked his occupation by the question master, he replied immediately: “Philosopher, philanderer and farmer.”

His most oft-quoted poem, “Loneliness”, deserves to be quoted in full but alas there isn’t enough space It was compose, after midnight, whilst walking over a three mile stretch of moorland between Ballylongford and Farnstack. He was also very fond of walking from the Ballybunion strand to the mouth of the Cashen. Sometimes he would recognise and salute acquaintances. Other times he would be lost in his thoughts and heeded nothing but nature;

Lone as a climber on some Alpine peak.

Lone as the last kiss on a lover’s cheek

Lone as the Pole Star from its sky tower watching.

Lone as a gander when the geese are hatching.

Lone as a maiden weeping in distress.

Lone as a bullock when the cow says “yes.”

Lone as a skylark who has lost his song.

Lone as a eunuch for his gems are gone.

Lone as a petrel on the stormy wave.

Lone as a deadman in a nameless grave.

Lone as a lassie on the bathroom bowl,

When she finds no paper in the toilet roll.

Lone as the Artic when the Polar bear howls

In the blizzard from his 
frozen lair.

A shame

There is in the poetry of Bob Boland an underlying dismissal of himself. He builds beautifully with a series of perfectly disciplined couplets and then for what would seem like pure devilment he allows his theme to collapse by following up with a Rabelaisian climax. It is a conscious dismissal and it could be that he was uncertain about his ability to write poetry. This was a shame because in many ways he was unique particularly in his choice of themes which range from “Ode to a Po” to “Sonnet to a Spud” which was broadcast by the B.B.C.

There was the same self dismissal in George Fitzmaurice who was born less than three miles from the Boland home at Farnstack. Bob however, was outgoing and gregarious while George was pathologically shy.

There are such diverse composition as “Ode to a load of Hay” and “Sonnet to a Cowdung”:

Cowdung all nature greets you with a smile,

Your blending essence made our Emerald Isle.

This article by the late and great John B Keane first appeared in the Limerick Leader on April 9, 1977

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

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Wednesday 24 June 2020

A wireless Concert in 1924, A Good Harvest in 1883 and a Red Squirrel



Photo credit: Poshey Ahern



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Wireless Concert in 1924



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1883 was a good year in Listowel


Pilot 25 August 1883

 

Kerry; Agricultural Prospects in North Kerry.— A correspondent writes from Kerry Aug. 4 The crops never looked more promising than at the present in this quarter. Ail round Listowel, Duagh. Newtown. Lixnaw, Ballybunion, and Abbeydorney, the cereal and potato crops wear a most flourishing appearance. Some of the finest potatoes ever eaten, now selling in the Listowel market at 6d. per stone. The weather has been very fine since the 26th ultimo, with the exception of last Sunday, when several showers kept people from being too confident. There is every prospect, should the weather keep fine, as at present, for the next three weeks of a most abundant harvest. This will be considered on all sides a special blessing, as another season of such scarcity as last year would most seriously affect the people.


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By the Feale









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Book Recommendation

Mattie Lennon says that this is a great read for anyone interested in stories associated with rural electrification


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Looking forward to Molly's Kerry holiday



Thankfully the groomers are back in business so Molly can have a trim before her visit to The Kingdom.


Tuesday 23 June 2020

Jim Cogan, Micheál Martin

The Men in My Life


My husband, Jim, passed away on June 23 2013, a few short months after this photo was taken by John Stack. The man with him in the photo is our son, Bobby.

Before he died, Jim was quadriplegic. The protectors you see on his hands were to prevent his nails digging into his palms as he could no longer straighten his fingers. The button to the right of his head in the photo he operated with his forehead to bring the chin control back in front of his face so he could drive the wheelchair independently. The screen mounted on his left hand side shows his environmental control. With it he could turn on the computer, the TV, the light or the heater.

Jim bore his illness (M.S.) with extraordinary forbearance and he harnessed  every piece of assistive technology he could find to give him the independence which disease had so cruelly denied him.

Today we remember him with love and admiration.

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When Micheál Martin came to town


Someone will surely tell us the date. probably before the 2016 election as I see John Brassil to the fore. Also in the photo are Eilish Wren, Liz Dunne, Jimmy Moloney, Máire Logue and Ned O'Sullivan

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Have you ever milked a cow?

I cant say that I was ever any good at it but I have tried. It is a very skilful job and requires the building up of a trusting relationship between cow and milker. Women are often good at it. It has been known for a cow to have a favourite milkmaid and to require to be spanceled if anyone other than her favourite approaches her, bucket in hand. An essential piece of equipment for milking is the stool.



This photo was posted on the Vanishing Ireland site by John Coffey. The ones I remember were round.

Monday 22 June 2020

Michael McFadden R.I.P., Moloneys and Flowers


Beautiful Kingfisher


Photo; Chris Grayson

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Moloney's


Moloneys was once one of the biggest employers in Listowel. The garage and car dealership was, at one time, located on Market Street where Spar is now.


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Flowers back on the streets



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A Convent Pantomine



Anyone any idea who these young ladies are?


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Do you Remember the fit ups?


I remember well the anticipation and excitement when McFadden’s travelling roadshow came  on its annual visit to Kanturk. The players set up their makeshift theatre and presented a different show every night for a week. I remember The Colleen Bawn was a staple. As well as the play there would be a talent show with local singers, dancers and musicians invited to take part. There would always be a raffle. It was my first introduction to live theatre and it was brilliant. We had Up Cork shows and local pantomines in The Edel Quinn Hall and, of course, the circus but the full week of entertainment was the highlight of my cultural calendar back then.

 

I didn’t know the Listowel connection until I read the following obituary in the Kildare Nationalist.


ATHY MOURNS PASSING OF MICHAEL MCFADDEN WHO HAD SHOW BUSINESS IN HIS BLOOD



 

 

The death has occurred in Athy of popular and highly respected former showman Michael McFadden.

  

Michael, who was a member of the well known show family, was a fantastic and talented musician who played with numerous groups during his life. He passed away peacefully surrounded by his loving family on Sunday last 14 June. 

His passing is deeply regretted by his loving wife Dinah, children Evelyn, Bernadette, Theresa, Frank, Ann and Malissa, brothers Frank and Marcus, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, extended family and friends.

A private funeral Mass will take place, due to government advice regarding public gatherings. The funeral Mass will be live-streamed on St. Michael’s Parish Church, Athy, website tofday Tuesday morning at 11am, see www.parishofathy.ie.

Here we reprint an extra t from an eye on the Past column by Frank Taaffe on Michael’s life published in the Kildare Nationalist  in 1995.

Michael’s grandparents operated the Belfast Hippodrome over 100 years ago. James McFadden, his grandfather, was a violinist and his grandmother Catherine the business woman who ran the Hippodrome for many years. Artists were brought to Belfast from abroad for the weekly shows produced on the Hippodrome stage and strange to relate one of those acts were John and James Duffy who were later to establish the famous Duffys Circus. The Hippodrome in time was to close and the McFaddens took to the road crossing and re-crossing the 32 counties with the McFadden Variety Roadshow.

Michael’s father married Catherine Hayes, daughter of the owner of Hayes Roadshow and both continued to travel with the McFaddens Road Show. With the usual mixture of variety acts followed by a second half film show road shows were popular in every town and village in Ireland. Travelling by caravan pulled by horses in the early years and later by motorised power the road shows generally stayed a week in each area. Michael’s Uncle, Jack McFadden, in keeping with the travelling show tradition married another show person and their sons were Jimmy, Henry, Teddy and George McFadden of the famous McFadden Shows of recent times.

Michael’s grandmother died in 1938 at a time when his father had temporarily retired from show business to live in Limerick City. Michael attended school in Limerick until 1942 by which time he had learned to play the violin. The McFadden family again took to the variety road show circuit by joining the Hayes Road Show owned by Mr. McFadden’s father-in-law. For a year young Michael followed the nomadic life, moving with his family and the travelling show from one venue to another. Every Monday it was a new town and a different school for Michael whose education continued while he was on the road. At the same time he played a violin solo at each nightly performance.

In 1943 the Hayes Road Show set up in Ballylinan, Co. Laois and when the tent stakes were pulled a week later the McFadden’s family caravan stayed behind. The time had come to settle down and Athy was the chosen town. There was no previous family link with Athy but a small house was rented in Blackparks on the Kilkenny Road and the caravan was sold off to Jimmy Lannigan in Ballybough.

Michael’s father was signed up by Paddy Gibbons of Barrack Street to work in England where workmen were scarce during the World War. After a few years the McFadden family moved to James’ Place which was nearer to town and just off the Kilkenny Road. While living in Blackparks the musically talented young Michael availed of the opportunity to play violin with the Hughes brothers of Rosebran. They were noted musicians in the traditional style and they imparted their enthusiasm for music and the playing of music to young Michael McFadden. In time Michael was to master in addition to the violin the guitar, trombone and piano accordion. He joined the Levitstown Ceile Band playing the piano accordion and sharing a platform with Jimmy and Paddy Hughes, Tom Fingleton and Mrs. Culley. It was to be the first of many musical combinations with which Michael was involved.

Later he joined the Sorrento Dance Band when it was reformed by Paudence Murphy in 1951. Paudence was Band Leader with Michael on piano accordion and vocals, Paudence and Andy Murphy on saxophone and Dinny Pender on drums. Michael ever the musical virtuoso went on to play the bass guitar when the emergence of Beatles and their music necessitated a shift in musical presentation.

For eleven years into the 1980’s Michael and Eamon Walsh played together under the name The Sapphires. It was the emergence of the sing along sessions in lounge bars, especially Malachy Corcorans in Leinster Street, now Kanes, which gave Michael the opportunity to develop as a solo artist. The piano accordion remains the main stay of the latter part of Michael’s musical career which is still going strong.

The show man’s son born outside Listowel Co. Kerry on 27 June, 1932 while the McFadden Show was on the road surely has show business in his blood. From the McFaddens of the Hippodrome of Belfast to Michael McFadden of Athy there are but three generations, all show business people entertaining others in the best show business tradition.

May he rest in peace.