More of John B's Cloumacon memories a love story and some Listowel kids 1987

John B. Keane remembers Clounmacon (continued)

If Meen is the lowest part of Clounmacon then Dromin is the highest. For most of his life my father ascended and descended this formidable height as he walked to and from school. There was a time when he was driven by Mrs. Griffin in her famous Baby Ford. She hailed from Dingle and was a first cousin to the patriot Thomas Ashe. Dan Daly, the other teacher, hailed from Dunquin, west of Dingle and spoke the most beautiful Irish. Michael Keane, later principal of Listowel Boys’ School, also taught in Clounmacon in my father’s time for a while. Michael Foley and Bernie Long were the last principals to teach there. Mrs. Griffin was a doughty woman. Short in patience perhaps, but magnanimous of heart, she nearly always drove at the wrong side of the road. In those days it didn’t matter since there was no other motor car regularly transversing the Listowel to Clounmacon road.

We always knew at home when there would be a station in Clounmacon. My father would arrive late in the evening, maith go leor, reciting poetry and singing songs.

If I was asked to furnish one distinguishing trait in the Clounmacon people as a whole I would plump for generosity. Always during Listowel Race Week the younger members of the Keane household would accidentally contrive to meet up with Clounmacon men who had remained on in town after the races. We always scored. They used let us mind their cattle too, even when they didn’t need minding, during the great fair when Church Street, from Cotters’s corner to Ballygoloughue Cross, would be chock-o-block with cattle. Black pollies, Shorthorns and Whiteheads were the bovine fashions of the time with the odd Dexter and Kerry too.

An abiding memory of Clounmacon spirit and heart their great win over Tarbert in the North Kerry football final of  1954, beautifully captured in verse by the inimitable Dan Keane. I also remember when Clounmacon didn’t have a team of their own. Thady Scanlon and myself were selected at midfield for Listowel in a North Kerry quarter-final against Ballyduff, a powerful force in those days. The man that was marking Thady stood at six feet whereas Thady hadn’t a great deal with five. Thady annihilated him with sheer courage although we only managed to draw. What Thady lacked in height he more than made up in spirit. He was a wise man who said “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog”. This applies especially to Clounmacon and the fighting spirit of its footballers.

Let me conclude by saying how thankful I am to the editors for inviting me to contribute to this most praiseworthy venture and let me assure them that it is indeed, a labour of love.

(This article was published in Scéal Cluain Mheacain, a publication brought out to celebrate the opening of Clounmacon Sportsfield in 1992.)

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This photo was taken in Bray in the 1980s

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A Love story to lift even the hardest heart

Inaugural Love

When President Dwight D. Eisenhower and Vice President Richard Nixon were inaugurated in 1957, photographers captured an image of them on the Inaugural Parade viewing stand with the President’s grandchildren, Anne and David Eisenhower, and the VP’s daughters, Julie and Tricia Nixon.

David Eisenhower and Julie Nixon Eisenhower are now married, and in the most recent book that they co-authored, they recall that the event may have been the start of their lifelong romance. 

David Eisenhower writes in “Going Home to Glory” that in one version of “the resulting photograph, I am staring intently at Julie and she is looking at me.”

-from the Eisenhower Library

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Remember this photo from the 1940s sheet found by Maurice MacMahon?

This is an extract from the email Martin Stack wrote me about it

"Last week was my first time to go on and have a look at your blog that I have heard so much about. I think it was a case of Murphy's Law as you put out a question as to who was the man standing at the door of McKennas. In fact that man was my uncle John Stack, (form Cahirdown) he would have been in his 20's at that time and worked for a number of years there before moving to Tralee for a short time (working in Latchfords) before finally moving to Limerick (working for Boyd's) getting married to Ita who is still alive and well, they have two boys Ger and Billy. John died about 12 years ago."

Martin's father, Tom Stack, is still alive and well and living in William St. He was thrilled to see the photograph of his late brother and Dick Kiely whom he also knew very well.

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A group of children in Cherrytree Drive in 1987.  Seems like yesterday!

Gerard Nugent, Kieran Croghan, Michael Nugent, Gavin Buckley, Miriam Croghan, Bobby Cogan, Ciara O'Regan holding her sister, Mairead, Mary Salmon, Denise Clifford, Anne Cogan behind Clíona, Charlene Clifford behind Laura Nugent, Sarah (friend of Mary Salmon) and.....

John B.'s Clounmacon and town criers

In 1992 to celebrate the opening of the sports field, the people of Clounmacon brought out a journal called Scéal Cluain Mheacáin. One of the local people they asked to contribute an article was John B. Keane.

This is what he wrote

Meen Bog, the summer of nineteen forty two. As we endeavoured to foot the huge black sods which had been consigned to the deep adjacent cutaway we were asked a million times by other turf footers, "Do those who spread the sods ever think of those who will have to foot them?"

Let those who cut it foot it, we thought, as we vainly tried to erect stoolins with sods which just wouldn’t stand up, which slipped from the hands, which broke in two as we dragged them from one morass to another, sods which seemed to have been specially designed to frustrate the mightiest efforts of amateur stoolin-makers like myself.

Later on in life at St.Michael’s I heard a terrified scholar once describe the College President, Fr. David O ‘Connor, as follows: “He’s coming”, said he, “with a face on him as black as the seventh sod”. I knew what he meant. There was nothing in the whole wide world as black as the seventh sod in the vast bogland of Meen. Even coal was not as black because the blackness of coal is relieved by its glint. Not so the seventh sods of those daunting turfbanks.

Meanwhile, in North Africa, the Germans were mounting their fiercest offensive in a campaign they were destined to lose. Montgomery was appointed Commander of the eight army in Egypt. The battle of Stalingrad was about to commence as was the battle of El Alamein and, in Meen Bog, Anthony Doyle, Tom Halpin and myself fought our own battle with the most inconsiderate chunks ever to leave the shining helve of a slean. Now and again we would look at each other in despair as we contemplated the countless sods stretched out before us.

“Time to eat”, said Tom Halpin, “there goes the bell”,

“What bell?” , we asked.

“Oh” , said Tom, “that’s the twelve o’clock Angelus bell of the church in Listowel. You can hear it no bother of a fine day”.

Anthony Doyle and myself strained out ears and directed them towards the town, three miles away. We had no trouble convincing ourselves that faint peals were issuing from the belfry of St. Mary’s. A fire of cadhrawns was already alight in the lee of a turfbank. The water was in the kettle and in jig time it came to the boil. There were sandwiches go leor and there was milk, tea, sugar and cups in the canvas bag my mother had stocked up earlier that morning. “Buns!”, the exclamation came from Tom Halpin. Sure enough, there were currant buns in a brown paper bag. As in the way with all gorsoons we did the unprecedented thing and ate the buns first. We then tackled the sandwiches, saving a few for the four o’ clock tay- although this, more often than not, took place at two.

After the meal we decided to have a session of sporting activities. We began with the hundred yards which Anthony Doyle won hands down. Then came a middle distance race which was won by Tom Halpin. Then came the long jump and hop step and what have you. An observer was later heard to remark that if we worked half as hard as we played we’d have the footing finished in a half day.Reluctantly we returned to it. The hours dragged by and every so often we would straighten ourselves to take the kinks out of our backs. The four ‘clock tay came and went and the sun began to sink in the west. At least it seemed to us that it was sinking.

“There goes the bell” said Tom Halpin. We strained our ears a second time and there it was, ever so faintly discernible in the distance. There is no sound like the sound of the Angelus bell in the evening, especially if the evening in question is free of wind and rain. We stood motionless and made the sign of the cross before reciting the Angelus. This was said with a piety and reverence that would put a reverend mother to shame. At the conclusion we blessed ourselves again and surveyed our handiwork. We had not fared too badly although it must be said that no records were broken and unless fine weather was maintained the Keanes would have very wet turf for the winter.

We bade farewell to the boglands and took the narrow road which would bring us to Clounmacon School where my late father reigned for so long, thirty one years if memory served me correctly.

The school was closed for the summer holidays. No sooner had we set ourselves on the Listowel road than we beheld a most uncommon sight. It was nothing less than a postman and he mounted on a bicycle with a bag slung across his back. I think it was the late Mick Enright but what would a postman be doing out so late and Christmas nowhere near. Tentatively we asked him if he had the right time. Mick alighted from his bike, thrust his fingers into the top pocket of his uniform and with drew a substantial timepiece.

“The time”, he said “is quarter past two”.

“Are you certain?”, we asked disbelievingly.

“See for yourselves”, he said and extended the watch for all to see. Dolefolly we returned to the bog. Before we left some three hours later the greater part of the turf was standing. There was no more mention of bells.

( to be continued tomorrow)

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Since I started writing this blog, many interesting people have written to me, none more so than my latest correspondent. His name is David Mitchell and he is the last British town crier. He rings his bell and he cries in the city of Chester. He wrote to me because he is researching a book on bellmen in The British Isles.  He had read my earlier post on town criers. I sent him to Vincent Carmody who has loads of stories about Listowel's bellmen.

According to Brendan MacWilliams it was part of the bellman's job to give notice of impending bad weather.
"At a meeting of  Dublin City Council in 1577, it was decreed, "that Mr. Mayor and his Brethren shall devise and appoint whereby a bell shall be tolled in time of great tempest and storms so that every well-disposed citizen may be remembered to pray for his neighbors who may be in danger upon the seas; and that Mr. Mayor and his aldermen shall decide what allowance or reward shall be given to him that shall take pain in the knolling of the said bell."
Barnaby Rathe got the job and kept it for over 30 years. His post also made him "master of the beggars" and as such he was required to "rid the city of vagabonds".

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 drainage job in the Boys School is still in progress. The yard is all dug up but the front of the school seems to be finished.

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This stylish lady is Mairead Sharry O'Connor. She is the most creative and inventive person I have ever met. This coat started life as a blanket. Mairead customized it with red carpet yarn and tweed hearts that she hand stitched herself. She also made her hat.

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Have you seen the Nike ad. ?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NCDYjHtEcU&feature=youtu.be

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On January 22 1972 Ned Broy passed away. He was agent for Michael Collins and afterwards Commissioner of the Garda Síochána. You can read more about him if you follow the below link.

http://www.garda.ie/Documents/User/Colonel%20Eamon%20Broy's%20Role%20in%20Irish%20Espionage.pdf

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Tralee approach to town, NeoData photos and Claddagh Design

This is the lovely new sign that bids you farewell as you leave Listowel on the road to Tralee.

The Kerry Group plant.

There used to be a hedge on this wall. It had suffered frost damage and was removed recently.

This says Fáilte go Lios Tuathail. You get a better view from a vehicle than on the ground.

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Lucky girls! When Santa brought me a pram just like those ones, he left a note telling me to share it with my sister!!!!!!

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This account of apprenticeship was first published in Seanchas DughEalla

Learning the Trade

by Donncadh Mac Curtáin

At the age of 16, I was apprenticed to a carpenter in  Rathmore County Kerry. This was a long three and half years in Inchabeg in Co. Kerry. I remember well my first day in the workshop. I was amazed to see all the tools of my future profession, augars, wood planes, chisels, saws and an array of other tools and instruments I had never seen before. The first lesson I was taught was how to make all wedges and dowels for cart wheels. At the time there were no motor cars or lorries and the only means of transport were horse-drawn carts, traps and side cars.  Some people will remember, the side car and trap were the principal means of passenger transport at the time. To make the wedges and dowels we used a long handled chisel and the first month was taken up doing this, I well remember my bruised and blistered shoulder from pushing and leaning on the chisel.

The next part of my training was to paint the carts and wheels with red lead mixed with boiled linseed oil. This job was always reserved the young apprentice. After a while I was shown how to plane the shafts for the cars and use the draw knife to shape them.

By this time I was familiar with most of the tools such as the hand lathe, for turning the wheel stocks. This was probably the hardest job I ever had to do. I used the adge for shaping the fellows and the draw knife and spoke shave for shaping the spokes. The trammel was used for defining the circle and height of the wheels. Apart from the steel band the wheel was made entirely from wood, oak and elm which was bought from Leaders Forest, Dromagh.

We were also taught to make tables, chairs and dressers and coops in the workshop. I left home at six o'clock on Monday morning and walked the nine miles  to Inchabeg, returning home again on Saturday night after work. It was a long hard 6 day week. Rising at seven o'clock and finishing work at 7 PM there was no pay during my apprenticeship, except for a  half crown at Christmas. This corresponded to 12 1/2 pence in today's money.  In addition my father had to pay my master  £12 to cover my training. How things have changed! There were no holidays, apart from one week at Christmas.

During the week I stayed at the Mulcahy’s house. There were two other apprentices and the three of us shared the same room and the same bed. The other two were Denis Tucker, Ballydaly and Arthur Tarrantt, Ballydesmond, both of whom have now gone to their reward. We went through tough times together but the fact that the three of us were such great friends made life that bit easier.

We started the day by washing in the Abha na Sciortán, which flowed by the back of the workshop. There was no soap and our towel was a flour bag. Our breakfast consisted of home-made bread, butter and tea, and a mid day meal of potatoes, bacon and cabbage, or turnips, and a supper of home-made bread, butter and tea and sometimes an egg. After supper, we occasionally went roving to neighbours houses, to the  O’Donoghues or the Caseys, where we heard ghost stories and fairy stories and stories of haunted buildings. We had no money for pubs pictures or dances.

The first four months we spent in the workshop, then we moved on to housebuilding. This comprised of cutting and erecting roofs, making doorframes, doors window frames and sashes and stairs. All were made at the owner's premises. While doing this work, we frequently stayed with the owner of the house. We travelled in a pony and car, usually within a radius of 6 to 8 miles from Rathmore. I remember that at the time we never ceiled a kitchen. The joints were planed and meat hooks were attached to them to hang the home cured bacon. After three and a half years training in all aspects of woodwork and carpentry, the big day arrived when I received my indentures. This document confirmed I was now a fully qualified carpenter, free to work and earn my living. It was the beginning of a career which spanned over 50 years in the building industry and during this time I have witnessed many changes in the trade and in the country.

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Were you at the NeoData social in 1979?

http://www.clearyphotoarchive.com/p819013493/h47f9b5b2#h47fa7808


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http://thedailyedge.thejournal.ie/retro-irish-school-books-760321-Jan2013/?utm_source=facebook

For a trip back to your schooldays click the above link.

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My account yesterday of Eileen Moylan of Claddagh Design's award was missing this photo

 Eileen's jewellery was awarded best product here
https://www.facebook.com/showcaseireland

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While I made my slow progress to Tralee yesterday morning, I took a few photos while stuck in traffic.

Obituaries, first motor car ,Star wedding and snow

Two very well loved local men passed away late last week.

Mike Joe Stack of Lisselton, born January 12th 1910 died 15th January 2013. R.I.P.

Jer sent me this picture of Mike Joe Stack and his wife taken at Listowel Races a few years ago. He passed away peacefully, just a few days into his 104th year.


Mike Joe's 100th birthday party in The Cashen Bar, Ballybunion

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cdecI7OQ8Y

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 Jer also sent me this picture of Fr. Pat Scanlon who also passed away late last week.

Fr Pat Scanlan, from Lisselton, County Kerry died peacefully in hospital on 15th January 2013. Pat usually called Padraig by his local friends, was ordained in 1954 and was originally assigned to Nigeria. He subsequently moved to Kenya, where he continued to work in Eldoret and then Kitaled dioceses until his return to Ireland just over a year ago. In his retirement he enjoyed the visits of very large numbers of friends and family including large number of contacts from his Kenya days.

 Fr Scanlon, Fr Lucid, Fr Dillon and Fr. McMahon at Ahavoher Evening mass some years ago.

Guímid síochán Dé ar a n-anamnacha agus ar anamnacha ár mhairbh go léir.

( We pray God's blessing on their souls and on the souls of all of our dead)

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Now, as promised a nostalgic little account from Dick Carmody's book. It describes a red letter day in the life of a rural community.

The coming of the motor car  by Dick Carmody

For a young boy growing up Clounmacon in the 1950s, travel was usually limited to journeys to Listowel town for  mass, confessions, fairs and shopping trips with parents or older siblings. As we grew older and braver, we looked forward to travelling out to matches and carnivals in Listowel, Moyvane or Ballylongford.

Transport was varied and sometimes improvised. Most family travel locally was by donkey or horse and cart. Traps were  the Rolls-Royce of travel, as motor cars were only beginning to make their appearance on country roads. Carts on cars as they were known, and traps were made locally by the Lyons family at Blakes Cross on the road between Listowel and Tarbert. Their construction  required considerable carpentry and mechanical skills to insure the finished product would serve the needs of families for years to follow.

My first memory of a motor car an our road was  when Canon O’Sullivan , his curate and Sacristan arrived at the station mass in our house. It was a large car with distinctive square body features. Even before we saw the tarring of local roads, cars began to replace the horse and trap. The Ford Prefect, Ford Anglia and Morris Minor would become the cars of choice for many. Sometime later the Volkswagen, with its innovative rear mounted engine was gaining popularity with the speed minded drivers. This was to be seen with the proliferation of white or cream coloured VW Beetles being driven by AI men or “bullmen” from their base in Castle Island. They always drove at excessive speed in responding to farmers concerns that their cows would produce the latest and best pedigree calves in the spring. As they travelled along the country roads, they left a cloud of dust in their wake, not to mention many scared onlookers and their dogs.

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A Language that the strangers do not know

Every day more and more colorful phrases, so familiar to our grandparents are disappearing from our vocabulary. Here are a few I would like to preserve.

to give someone the bum's rush...... to send someone on his way without giving him a hearing.

a bad article.........someone you might want to give the bum's rush

You'd think she was reared in a band box........she seems unaware of the cold facts of everyday life.

a battleaxe.....a formidable woman, also known in these parts as a brominger.

a blow-down.....this was a common problem in old big open fires. It referred to smoke blowing into the room, often blackening the faces of those by the fireside.

a drop down....a leaky roof

Coologueing........plotting or in cahoots.

to mollycoddle a child....to spoil him

( more of these as the mood takes me)

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Some well known Kerry faces at Kieran Donehy's wedding on Friday Jan 18th.

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Let it snow.....

The weather has taken a turn for the worst but we, in Listowel, have escaped the worst of it so far. Below is a link to a great site for hill walkers and the photo comes from their Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/IrelandWalking

"Looking across the Caragh Valley at Carrantuohill from the slopes of Seefin on the Kerry Way - the snow reached this far south last night. Great day for following the Little Yellow Man!"

Two from The Connor  Pass yesterday (photos by Suzanne Keane

@djsuzek. )

And from Jim Moloney in Arizona

This is Mount McKinley in Alaska where Jim went on a recent trip.

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Clíona Cogan was in Thomond Park yesterday with her friends, Jaimie and Darina and they got their photo taken with the Man of the Match, Munster's Zebo

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Award winning Listowel designer

Eileen Moylan, formerly of Listowel and now based in Macroom where she has located her Claddagh Design company won 2 awards at Showcase, the Irish craft expo now on in the RDS, Dublin.

She is on stand C77 and this is what they say about her

"Eileen Moylan is a silversmith who makes Irish motif-inspired jewellery. “The designs take their lead from Irish heritage but are given a modern twist,” she explains. The Claddagh ring collection features a stylised version of the classic ring and is very popular as a wedding band.

Her new collection is based on Bronze-Age craftsmanship. It is inspired by torcs and adornments such as the Gleninsheen Collar and the filigree work of the Tara brooch, pieces that sit in the National Museum of Ireland.

Thanks to influential TV shows like Mad Men and Boardwalk Empire, men are taking more pride in their appearance and wearing more jewellery, Moylan notes. She has reacted to the trend by designing a large men’s collection that includes tie bars and cufflinks featuring ogham writing details. She is also available for bespoke work and makes a lot of personalised cufflinks, working mostly in silver with nine carat gold accents."

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Visit her website here

http://www.claddaghdesign.com/