Knitwits, Expletives and Remembering The Master in 2009

A Man Sent us This

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Bryan MacMahon Commemorative Weekend 2009

The four surviving MacMahon brothers at the statue off their father during a Bryan MacMahon Commemorative event in Kerry Writers' Museum in 2009.

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When Tae Lane Boutique was located in Tae Lane

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It was once the Las Vegas Ballroom

 Photo: John Hannon Archive

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Knitting in Scribes on November 4 2017

We were happy that day. This was a typical Saturday with my knitting group gathered in Scribes to knit and natter and forget the troubles of the world for a while. We are, clockwise from gap at front, Mary Boyer, Patricia Borley, Joan Carey, Brigitta(Scribes owner) Mairead Sharry, Maureen Connolly, Ruth O'Quigley, Mary Cogan, Una Hayes, Mary Sobieralski who called in for a chat on her way to Brenda Woulfe's Bookshop, Peggy Brick, Anne Moloney R.I.P. and Carmel Hartnett

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Learning and Teaching New Words and Old

Nicholas Leonard wrote to us

Never knew the difference between a graveyard and a cemetery, Mary. Not the most appealing topic, but nice to learn some 'old news'. Only priests seem to be buried in church grounds nowadays; usually apart from their flock. Now, the word 'gob' is interesting. Such a high-flying 'authority' as the Irish Times published in 1999: "gob", the shortened form of "begob", (itself a corruption of "by God")... I have known a chap with nickname 'Begobs' from his characteristic use of that epithet. Another man, long since with the God he adored, regularly used 'Jaybus' for ‘Jazes.' Of course, he himself was universally known as 'Jaybus!' Another refined friend used 'Jeekers.' There are myriad such terms in the English speaking world- the cowboy films turn to Jumping Jehosophat; the British uppity class favoured 'By Jove.' Jove, of course was the Devil. The Irish language had ‘Dar magairlí an Diabhail! (By ‘orchids’ of the Devil).  A man I knew whilst living in the Laois/Kilkenny border area, when 'rizz' as they say there, would roar his battle-cry, (usually in a 'rizzen' pub), 'Be the Jawsus, Min! if yirr not wud me yirr agin me!' More irreverent was my Meath neighbour's, 'Be the crass a Christ.' He also used 'Be the Holy Smoke'- I am not sure what that referred to, maybe incense’; another of his was 'Be the Holy Saint Paatrick,' and also 'Be the Holy Moses,' and 'I declare ta Moses.' Betrothal was also referred to in the Meath utterance 'By my troth' or 'I troth you won't' - both used as a crude form of a pledge of the truth of what was said. Such pledges usually pointed up the fact that anything but the truth was being 'betrothed!' Something similar in Meath was the ubiquitous 'Dam' the lie in it,' indicating a cast-iron lie! When questioned, the reply was, 'I was never found out in a lie yet!' A more authoritative utterance was my Mother's saying, when laying down the law (usually to an argumentative me): 'I'll go bail you won't!'  There must be hundreds of such phrases still remembered, if not still in use.

 

To finish with 'Gob' and to add to your phrase for the fellow talking through sh**e- you most likely have heard it given to someone -other than yourself, of course - the advice to 'Shut your a*se and give your gob a chance!'

You may have heard the story of the distinguished Vet leaving Mass in Kanturk long ago, happy in the most genteel and refined female company and engaged in a high-toned, polite conversation, when they were approached at speed by an old woman who roared as she drew near, 'Come Quick, Mister XXX- the pig's boondoon is out!' (i.e. Búndún, a prolapse of the fundament). The Vet's high status was levelled instantly when the 'fundamentally' distasteful nature of his next Sunday duty was proclaimed to all! N.L. 

Mangan's Garage, River Walk Remembered in a Poem

Cork street photography during Covid by John Tangney

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Mangan's Then and Now

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River Walk Remembered

By John Fitzgerald

From Back the Bank at Latchford’s Mill

To pass the trout filled waters still

Above the cliff the market deals

Where farmers grip and purchase seal

See how Tae Lane can pierce the flow

A spear into its middle goes

An ugly wound to spread the bile

Murk the bank on the Island side

See the footbridge taking shape

Through  buttresses the waters break

Below the castle’s long shadow

A fearsome hold of years ago

Memory takes the journey back

To wriggling pools where eel fry pack

Where every fistful feels alive

In some electric pulse to thrive

To silver pools where with curved hands

To cage white trout between our palms

Beneath that bridge break waters flow

Salmon circle in wait to go

Past Poilin deep a place to swim

To Corporals a race to win

Along green banks in shine or rain

Where children once played children’s games

Among the tree lined banks to walk

Hear silence now where once was talk

To mix memory and desire

And see the Big Bridge come alive

Giant centipede on stone cut feet

Arching ‘til the keystones meet

Along the river to feel free

Be happy as happy can be

Between the banks, along the flow

The teaming waters, the silver glow.

John Fitzgerald

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When Money was Money

Do you remember £sd? Our pre decimal currency was made up of pounds, shillings and pence There were 12 pence in a shilling and 20 shillings in a pound. Our children dont know how lucky they are. Computing with decimal coins is so much easier. God be with the bad old days.

" A Stunner" a poem, a soft shelled egg and a book recommendation

A Time for Reflection

Cork street photography during Covid by John Tangney

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Faces in The Crowd

Blog followers are still puzzling over this old photo. Billy McSweeney sheds some light on people he recognised and he tells us a bit about them.

 I believe the man in the glasses on the right, beside Michael Kennelly, 
is my uncle T.J. (Timmy) Gleeson of William Street; 'Jumbos' Take-away 
today, Gleeson's Bar at that time.  At the time of the photograph he was 
a pharmacist in Kimmage in Dublin and would have been on a break in 
Listowel.

Owning a Chemist shop business at that time meant that he and his wife, 
Eileen, could not both be away on a break at the same time. This also 
explains why he would not be wearing his Dress Suit. Incidentally, 
Eileen (nee Murphy) his wife, was a cousin of the famous singer Delia 
Murphy and her's was the first photograph used on the Irish Hospital's 
Sweepstake Tickets. She was a 'stunner' in every way, a beautiful and 
kindly lady.

Billy McSweeney

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A Bogán

If you have ever kept hens you will probably have seen this. It is a soft shelled or shell less egg. In Irish it's a bogán as in a softie. I don't think we have any word for it in English.  It happens to young immature hens when their egg laying apparatus is not fully developed. Sometimes it happens to older hens was well when that same apparatus is in decline.

In my youth there was  a lady called a poultry instructress whose job it was to know all about such phenomena and to help out the hen owner. If I remember rightly, the recommendation for this was to put more grit and sand at the hen's disposal.

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A Poem to Set You Thinking

Misfit: A Poem by Tito Mukhopadhyay (2010)

 

There was the earth, turning and turning.

The stars receded, as if

Finding no wrong with anything.

 

Birds flew by all morning—

The sky lit

From the earth’s turning and turning.

 

My hands, as usual, were flapping.

The birds knew I was Autistic;

They found no wrong with anything.

 

Men and women stared at my nodding;

They labeled me a Misfit

(A Misfit turning and turning).

 

And then I was the wind, blowing.

Did anyone see my trick?

I found no wrong with anything.

 

Somewhere a wish was rising,

Perhaps from between my laughing lips.

Why stop turning and turning

When right can be found with everything?

Poem retrieved from Disability Studies Quarterly

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A Gripping Read

If you like crime fiction, you'll love this...and it's set in Cork

Youth Club

 John Paul 11 Cemetery in February 2021

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Listowel Youth Club in Memory Lane Section of The Kerryman

Photo; John Cleary

O'Connell's Avenue, an old custom, Marmalade and a New Listowel Writer

Love for Sale

Cork Street Photography during Covid by John Tangney

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Neighbours in O'Connell's Ave

When Maria Sham sent this photo in 2016 here is what she wrote to accompany it.

"A little added history to the O'Connell's Ave photos. 

Tadhg and Mary Murphy came from Brosna. They lived in the house next door to my home in Clieveragh when I was a teenager.(where the Grimes family lived after that). They had four girls: Bridie, Kitty, Mary (known as Babe) and Eileen. They moved to O'Connell's Ave in the late 50"s. Somewhere in the sixties, they moved to England. Mary spent some time in Alberta, Canada but I believe moved back to England. Bridie married a Mulvihill man from Tarbert and passed away a few years ago. Don't have an update on the others.

Molly Coppinger was married and living in England. After her husband died she moved to NY and was a housekeeper for a very prominent English movie producer/director called John Hayman (not sure of the spelling) for many years. I remember visiting there for dinner on 5th Ave in that luxurious apartment. She met all of Hollywood in that capacity. Elizabeth Taylor, Ingrid Bergman,
Richard Harris etc.

Jackie Hurley was in some way related to my father. I believe it was through the Reidy family since my grandmother was a Mary Reidy.
Just a little additional background on those whom I remember."

Thank you Maria. Your old photo has brought back happy memories to so many people. 

Again can I make my appeal. If  anyone else has old photos or stories, will you please share them. They mean very much to a very scattered Listowel diaspora.

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Funeral in Dún Chaoin

A child called Mary Casey of Leithead, Co. Chiarraí submitted this story that she heard from her mother to the Schools' Folklore collection. The image of Dunquin church is from the Dúchas collection.

It is the custom that when a person dies a friend or relation of the dead person will wear the clothes for three Sundays in order that the person that dies will have them in the next world. On saturday evening after the person is buried at sunset the woman of the house puts out the clothes on the back of a chair. The person that is going to wear them will come, and call the person that is dead and say, "Come and take your clothes for God's sake or else give them to me and I will wear them for you". After that the person will wear them three Sundays.

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It's Marmalade Time

It's that time of year when my kind neighbour makes marmalade for her family and friends. There is simply no comparison between the taste of home made marmalade and the shop bought stuff.

There was a time when everything was seasonal. Marmalade in January, fruit jam in the summer, blackberry and apple in the autumn and mincemeat in winter.

Vegetables too were eaten in season. My late mother-in-law who grew a great variety of vegetables often referred to this season as The Hungry Gap. This is the time when Winter vegetables are finished and the spring crop isn't in yet. Before freezers and dried vegetables, families ate tinned peas or cut and come and other dark green hardy vegetables.

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A Book Recommendation

Every house should have this book. It is an ideal book for dipping into for a quick read. I had been reading stories at random and telling everyone who would listen how great they were.

My favourite was a story called Darby's Daughter. I had cried and laughed over other stories but this was the one that stood out for me.

Serendipity is the finding by chance something good or valuable. Unknowingly I had chosen as my favourite story a tale written by a local man, Declan O'Connell.

I wont spoil the story for you but I'd highly recommend you read it. 

Declan is a born story teller.

A Stanley Range, and Some Doggy men and their stories

Cork Street Photography during Covid; Photo by John Tangney

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Lower Church Street 2007

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Home by the Range

This one is fairly shabby but it is still recognisable as a Stanley range.

We had one like this at home. When I was young there was no central heating and the kitchen which was our living room was the warmest room in the house. Most of the time it was the only warm room. Tending the range was hard work. It burned solid fuel, mostly wood and turf. The range doubled as a cooker and room heater. There was always a kettle on the boil and a big pot of water warming for animal feed. Clothes were often aired over the range. We had a shelf over ours and the cat slept there.

The ashes had to be cleared out every day and once a week the whole thing had to be thoroughly cleaned. Chimney fires were a great fear as the place would be burned down before the fire brigade got to us. There were no fire lighters and you had to learn the knack of lighting the fire with spills of newspaper and kippins/kindling.   Getting the fire to light was such a palaver that many people never let it go out. Instead they piled embers on  it overnight to damp it down until morning when they raked it into life. If you look at the range in the picture, that little wheel thing in the ash box is a damper. This was to be fully open to start the fire and could be closed once the fire had caught. There was a little trapdoor in the wall above the range. This gave access to the flue.

Keeping the oven temperature at a constant level was a feat of management only the most skilful mastered. It involved opening the damper, closing the damper, adding fuel and opening doors at critical times.

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Dainty Man

Nuala O'Connor posted this photo and the text below on Glin Historical page on Facebook

My Grandfather Michael Mulvihill trainer of Dainty Man who came in 1st and he and his family sat around the table all 11 of them and decided he would use his winnings to come to America! Many times I thought how lonely for him to leave his family and beautiful Moyvane to arrive to the concrete of New York ! God Bless you always Ikey Thank you always xoxo Rest in Eternal Peace and Love

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John O'Connell's Country Pursuits

(continued)

We played pranks on innocent road users  by parcelling up a box as neat as possible, dropping it by the side of the road, hiding behind the ditch until a car passed, the  driver suddenly braked, got out, looked around him, picked up the empty box and happily continued on his journey. Another fellow on a High Nelly stopped another day, lit his fag, opened the parcel, cursed all around him and flung it in the ditch. 

Having long jumps was another game we played, when the hay shed was empty we tied a rope between two pillars. I was once tripped by a laddo and crashed right into the pillar. The scar on my forehead is still a reminder of my first stitches.

I must mention hunting, it was very much part of life then. As a young lad I loobed rabbits and sold them in town for 1s 6d if I was lucky to catch one  I loved a boiled rabbit. A lúb (loop) was a round loop of soft wire  and this was attached to an old boot lace and there was a running knot in it, so while the rabbit’s head was caught in it, he could not choke. As I got older I hunted with a group of neighbours every Sunday after Mass. We all had our own dogs, fox terriers, sheepdogs and odd greyhound and we travelled the countryside to try and rise a fox or a hare to get a hunt. Over wild countryside the prey had great cover so seldom there were casualties. We returned starving around 5 o’ clock unless we came on an orchard in our travels. Of course I raided orchards for a pocket-full of juicy Beauty Batts (This was the local name for Beauty of Bath apples). Hunting  was a fore-runner to  my life-long  love , training and success with  greyhounds  

Old Days and Old Ways, some Prodigals and Darkness into Light

Going Nowhere

Cork bus shelter during Covid 19 pandemic.

Photo: John Tangney 

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Please Know that you have Made a Difference

Recently Darkness into Light Listowel posted this image and the below text on their Facebook page.

Dear Reader, 
We the committee of Darkness into Light Listowel, wish to inform you that our committee has disbanded.
We have worked tirelessly for the past 8 years to raise much needed awareness & funds to help Pieta House in the prevention of suicide. We have done this from a heartfelt place as many of our members and community have lost loved ones to suicide.
We have raised a total of €180,559.00 over the past 8 years. For this we want to thank each and everyone of you for your generosity and support.
We have struggled for some time over making this decision. As we felt the walks and engagement through them opened up conversation in mental health. However our committee are unhappy with the top management of Pieta House. 
Our aim from the beginning was break the stigma and to be instrumental in saving lives as well as supporting those bereaved by suicide We hope that we have helped in some small way to achieve those aims. Again, our sincere gratitude to all of you who have volunteered over the past 8 years and to everyone who contributed in anyway to achieve this. 
It is with regret and great sadness that we are informing you of our decision. 

Here is my reply to that news;

It was never ever just about the money, folks. Your local committee and volunteers did so much more for our community than just raising money.

You galvanised the local community into enjoyable and engaging events. You brought us together with a common purpose. You brought us fun. You made us proud of ourselves and our combined efforts.

More, so much more than that, you raised awareness of the devastation of mental illnesses and particularly of suicide and self harm.  If you have saved even one life or brought consolation to even one family in your 8 years with us, you will have done a great job.

You gave us HOPE

I walked with families who have been left devastated and heartbroken by suicide. They saw a huge community outpouring of support and consolation. You gave us a way of saying "We are there for you." when we had no idea how to say it.

Darkness into Light Listowel has left us a legacy that will live forever. Be proud of yourselves and what you have done. Listowel is proud of you.

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 Lower Church Street 2017

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Ladies in Lourdes

Sometimes an old photograph brings memories flooding back for many people. That is how it was with this photo of a North Kerry pilgrimage to Lourdes in the 1950s. In addition to all the names we already have, Eileen Herman has written from the U.S. to tell us that she recognises some of the women. These are not Listowel women. They are from Brosna where Eileen grew up.

The Brosna ladies are Mrs Katie Moriarty and her two daughters, Josie and Elsie. Elsie Moriarty is at the end right hand side on the back row. Her sister Josie is fourth from right in the back row and her mother is next to her on the left.

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Oh, to be a Fly on the Wall

This old photo of John B. Keane, Eamon Kelly and Niall Tóibín appeared on Facebook recently.

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Prodigals

 https://roaringwaterjournal.com

Prodigal son detail in the Denny stained glass window in St. John's Tralee.

When I shared this image recently it prompted Frances Kennedy to send us this poem by Fr. Kevin McNamara of Moyvane

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Innocent Pastimes

John O'Connell's Memoir, continued

 John O'Connell, our storyteller and his beloved wife, Noreen, our scribe

We played Pitch and Toss on the road at Hickey’s gate. There would be a fine gang there on a Sunday evening.  

Searching for and finding birds nests was another great pastime. We each had our  own secret nests and kept an eye on the growing gearrcachs (nestlings) being fed by their mothers.  We always had a canary  or a finch fed on seeds, groundsel or a hard-boiled egg. Finches were sweet singers. There were plenty of linnets and yellow hammers and gold finches, bull finches  and a little bird with a red bit in the centre of his head that we called “Jackie the Cap” as there was plenty seeds from the hay. The corncrake could be heard running along the meadow. I caught one in a rabbit lúb ( loop) once. 

Kishanes or kissanes, (Noreen tells me the word is “Ciseáin” in Irish   as these little fish were scooped up in a little home-made  wicker  basket, a ciseán) were plentiful in the glaise, I often  had  one in a jam crock of water with a bit of moss in it. 

When the hay was cut you could find up to 5 bee hives in the meadow. They were black bees which died out. I put a hive into a biscuit tin and every day for a full month I enjoyed sucking honey from the golden comb. I told no one about it. One night it poured rain and my hive was flooded and my lovely bees drowned. 

I fished for brown trout in the Gale river with a make-shift rod, made from a long stick with a line attached and a piece of gut on that with the hook attached. The “black widow” was a great fly to lure a trout. Sometimes I used worms too.

( I asked Charlie Nolan, my local ornithologist, what a Jackie the Cap might be. He thinks maybe a redpoll. If the 'cap" had been black , Charlie says it could be a black cap. a bird with a black top on its head and kind of a two tone dark greyish body normally you would see it in the cold frosty winter days and it comes to bird feeders especially likes apples. )