-----------------------------------------------

Poetry

 

Remember

 

 

 

A poem by Donna Ashworth

 

If you haven’t sent cards this year, or forgotten someone’s gift.

 

If you don’t have matching pyjamas or a festive family photograph.

 

It’s okay.

 

If you can’t find the energy to be merry and bright,

 

or your tree isn’t even decorated yet.

 

That’s really just fine.

 

If you don’t feel like watching your favourite Christmas movies, or honouring the traditions that you normally always do.

 

Don’t sweat it, my friend.

 

This year has been hard, for many.

 

Really hard.

 

If you can’t see a way to celebrating like you have in the past, don’t worry.

 

Just hang on in there, finding any joy you can in any little way.

 

Just make it through till next year.

 

One day at a time.

 

We need you.

 

Hang on in there.

 

You are loved.

 

Donna Ashworth

 

Author of ‘wild hope’

 

--------------------------------------------------

 

MY CHRISTMAS WISH

 

 

 

by Junior Griffin

 

 

 

Oh Lord, when we give this Christmas time,

 

 

 

Do teach us how to share

 

 

 

The gifts that you have given us

 

 

 

With those who need our care,

 

 

 

For the gift of Time is sacred~

 

 

 

The greatest gift of all,

 

 

 

And to share our time with others

 

 

 

Is the answer to your call,

 

 

 

For the Sick, the Old and Lonely

 

 

 

Need a word, a kindly cheer

 

 

 

For every precious minute

 

 

 

Of each day throughout the Year,

 

 

 

So, in this Special Season

 

 

 

Do share Your Time and Love

 

 

 

And your Happy, Holy Christmas

 

 

 

Will be Blessed by Him above

 

 

 

Junior Griffin

 

================================

Poetry

 

The Craftsmen of Abbeyfeale

 

 

 

I’m taking a stroll down Memory Lane

 

Would you care to come with me?

 

We’ll ramble along and I’ll sing you a song

 

That will teach you the history

 

Of a fine old town, of fame and renown

 

With the Feale down by its side

 

Where the Cistercians came, built an Abbey they claim

 

That was famous both far and wide.

 

 

 

The ruins now stand on that hallowed land

 

And the say ‘tis a fact of life,

 

That all things must pass & alack & alas,

 

I’m inclined to think that they’re right.

 

Like the old handcrafts & the town had it’s share

 

Quite a few could be found in the Square

 

Look around you today & I’m sorry to say

 

You’ll be lucky to find one there.

 

 

 

From Mount Mahon down to the heart of the town

 

There dwelt many a man of trade.

 

There were shoemakers fine, Curtin, B

 

A poem written by Margaret O'Connor - O'Shea

 

========================

 

ARTS: Kerry County Arts Newsletter August 17th 2023

 

View this email in your browser (https://mailchi.mp/c4b9db1a71f6/arts-events-and-opportunities-in-kerry-and-nationwide-13654777?e=57e387efec)

Kerry County Arts website (https://kerrycoco.us10.list-manage.com/track/click?u=b3755ab5575cb711eac9566f8&id=c662805834&e=57e387efec

 

========================

https://writersweek.ie/news/

 

info@writersweek.ie

==============================

Poem by Danny of Lisselton

THE FALL

 

One Summers Day in hot July

We gathered to celebrate

The wedding of Cathal and Angela

If they were any longer, they’d be late

 

 

 

As the crowds milled around outside

Wilting in the heat

I was struggling to deal with

The whiskey I’d just drank neat

 

 

 

The style and colour of the crowd

Was something to behold

But the whiskey and the searing heat

Was making me look old

 

 

 

Into the Church we ambled

And took our respective seats

We soon concluded formalities

The photos, the meets, the greets

 

 

 

As the ceremony proceeded

The heat, it took its toll

A cold pint bottle of cider

Was my one and only goal

 

 

 

Soon the party was summoned

To sign the sacred book

I was mesmerised by the bridesmaid

I was trying not to look

 

 

 

Alighting from the altar

Heading for the door

Two by two we made our way

We couldn’t take much more

 

 

 

Doreen linking Mossie

Everything looked so fine

But little did they realise

That Doreen had had some wine

 

 

 

 

 

Moving across the marble

Approaching the first step

Doreen looked so elegant

You could see she’d done some prep

 

 

 

But she’d made one fatal error

Nobody had she told

She’d left her glasses in the house

The drama was about to unfold

 

 

 

The step she missed, she was aghast

A car crash in slow motion

The knee did bend and down she went

Oh lord there was some commotion

 

 

 

Poor Moss was ambling so serene

Gesturing to the crowd

When suddenly he was hauled to earth

The bang it was so loud

 

 

 

 

 

The reaction of the crowd was swift

They quickly pulled her up

Twas like Tim Kennelly lifting

The Sam Maguire Cup

 

 

 

Nobody seemed to care about

The danger she had faced

They quickly fixed her hat and bag

Not a second was left to waste

 

 

 

She could have been paraplegic

For all that anyone knew

The only question I heard asked

Was “Can anyone find her shoe”

 

 

 

This saga will go down in lore

The video has gone viral

Twas the will of God she didn’t end up

In A&E arrivals

 

 

 

 

 

But brave as ever she laughed it off

“Tis nathin”, she exclaimed

But no one there will ever forget

How Doreen was almost brained

 

 

 

I’ve watched the video countless times

I’m sick and sore from giggling

At the sorry scene in Listowel Church

Doreens legs in the air wiggling

 

 

 

But as long as I do grace this Earth

I always will recall

That hot hot day in Listowel Church

The legend of the Fall

================================

Matt Mooney – A Stark Cross Jan 7, 2022

 

Matt Mooney. A native of Galway, he lives in Listowel. His six collections of poems are: Droving, Falling Apples, Earth to Earth, The Singing Woods, Steering by the Stars, Éalú. Winner of The Pádraig Liath Ó Conchubhair Award 2019. Deputy Editor of The Galway Review and its Poetry Reviewer.

 

His poems have been published in a number of literary publications which include The Blue Nib, Feasta, Vox Galvia, and in anthologies at home and abroad. He continues to feature in many live and virtual poetry reading events.

A Stark Cross

 

The only thing I wrote

that end of March

to mark your burial

were six simple lines,

grief laden and finite:

 

‘The rain fell gently

on your grave

the day they buried

you in Lucan,

a victim of the Virus,

a stark cross above you’.

 

Out the door of life

alone in isolation,

the rest of us

in lock-down far away;

consolation later

in the loyalty of friends

’round your estate

on a grief-filled day

in their applause

as you passed by

and they sang

our Galway song

that says,

‘It’s faraway I am today

from scenes

I roamed a boy’

in your funeral film,

their last farewell,

their hymn from home

for you.

I have hesitated long,

maybe in denial,

to open up the book,

the story of your life,

its good times

and the bad as well

bettered bravely,

for maybe I’m afraid

I’d find myself

inside there with you

living it to the full,

listening to you Pat,

my own big brother;

taking it all in, then,

seeing the funny side,

laughing in the end.

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/40745830/posts/13801

 

Maurice Walsh was an Irish nationalist and made one of his main characters, Hugh Forbes, an active fighter against the Black and Tans in the Irish War of Independence. President Éamon de Valera attended Maurice’s funeral Mass.

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/58539435/posts/120588

 

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/141344593/posts/3

==========================

 

Listowel News June 2022; https://listowelconnection.com/2022/06/

=================================

 

Clara Townsend Hudson was born on January 14, 1899, to William J. Hudson (1861-1946), and Grace Alma Wright Hudson (1864-1950) and was the 5th of the Hudson’s six

 

best in a poem she wrote later in life:

 

 

 

I know it may be just a fad,

 

In fact, I may be hobby mad;

 

But deepest pleasure I confess

 

Comes from these dolls I possess,

 

They represent so much to me;

 

In looking at them I can see

 

A picture built into my mind

 

Of olden times, and I can find

 

Myself entranced by Jennie Lind,

 

Or Dolly Madison’s highland fling,

 

Or Mary Todd and Frances See;

 

And many other dolls I see,

 

With [good] pictures let me roam

 

And dress my dolls right here at home.

 

The waxen pattern dolls have untold charm,

 

Their very beauty would disarm

 

The prejudice of anyone

 

Who didn’t love this hobby fun,

 

So just like going to a show

 

To run across a doll or so;

 

But for the interest friends have shown

 

My hobby would have been unknown,

 

So please if you are hobby mad,

 

Get friends to share this hobby fad.

 

 

 

https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/106314439/posts/3222110593

 

=======================

Plenty of local news at

 

https://listowelconnection.com/2022/02/

 

===============================

 

Poetry

 

I'll have to take a look at my great-grandmother's picture to see if it can be copied clearly. I know she was an old woman when it was taken outside the cottage she lived in at Dromin Beesom where my cousin Cissie still lives and where my mother lived as a child for a few years when her mother died. I wrote this poem about my visit to that cottage taking a few liberties:

 

 

 

Mom's Irish Home

 

 

 

I've been to the cottage with a roof of thatch

 

And a trellis on which roses grow wild

 

On an old country road by a blackberry patch

 

Where my mother lived as a child.

 

 

 

 'Twas her grandmother's house in Newcastle West

 

Rather modest with a greatroom and loft

 

But the riches I saw in the memory chest

 

Were of reveries silken and soft.

 

 

 

 

 

I divined I had lived there ages ago

 

My veins filled like a rill in a flood

 

And I swore I heard someone murmuring low,

 

"Sail on back on the tide of your blood."

 

 

 

 Rosemary Egan Zimmer

 

------------------------------------------------

 

BOOK: Survey of four local graveyards: Clounagh, Coolcappa, Kilscannell and Rathronan, is available  from Dooley’s Supervalu in Newcastle West or from Mary Kury at kurymary95@gmail.com or 0879282462.

 

BOOK: Lisa Fingleton is launching her book ‘The Last Hug For a While’ online Wednesday, December 8 at 8pm. Michael Harding will launch the book.

 

PRESIDENT Michael D. Higgins is pleased to announce the availability to the public of Machnamh 100 – Centenary Reflections, Volume 1. The book is available in eBook format free of charge and can be downloaded. The book brings together the speeches and discussions, chaired by Dr John Bowman, at the first three of the President’s series of six Machnamh 100 seminars looking at the events of a century ago.    https://president.ie/en

 

 

 

https://president.ie/en/media-library/news-releases/machnamh-100-president-of-ireland-centenary-reflections-volume-1

 

 

-------------------------------------

 

 

The Anglo-Irish Treaty signed in London – archive, 1921.

 

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/nov/24/anglo-irish-treaty-signed-in-london-archive-1921

 

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2011/jan/01/ireland-as-the-pivot-of-a-league-of-nations-archive-1921

 

 

 

--------------------------------------------------

 

SAINT Nicholas (c 270-343) – Feast Day 6 December

 

Saint Nicholas was the original Santa Claus!  He was noted for his holiness, kindness and generosity and lived in modern Turkey where he was born c270 into a wealthy family at Patara.  He became bishop of Myra in the south of the country early in the 4th century and was bishop of that area for about 30 years.  After his death in the year 343, Saint Nicholas was buried in Myra.  Over 700 years later in 1087 when Muslims invaded the area, some Christians brought his relics to Bari in the south of Italy to keep them safe.  Some relics are also believed to have been brought by some Normans the following century to Ireland to Jerpoint Abbey near Thomastown, Co Kilkenny.  As well as being patron saint of children, Saint Nicholas is also patron saint of sailors and fishermen.  

 

 

 

 

 

HISTORY & Heritage of the Limerick Diocese

 

https://limerickdiocese.org/history-heritage/

 

https://limerickdiocese.org/news/clericus-research-programme1/

 

 

 

SOUL CITY; Half a century ago, a multiracial new town envisioned by a leading Black activist was one of the most visible and ambitious projects to emerge from the civil rights era. Today it is almost entirely forgotten.

 

https://placesjournal.org/article/learning-from-soul-city/?utm_source=pocket-newtab-global-en-GB

 

------------------------------

 

 

 

 

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Historians Vincent & Tom artfully present Limerick’s story

 

 

 

FAMOUS Limerick son JP McManus recalls his own youth taking the family’s milk to the Lisnalty Creamery in his foreword to a new history on Limerick by Vincent Carmody and Tom Donovan

 

The new work on the modern history of Limerick City and County by historians Tom Donovan and Vincent Carmody.

 

The new work on the modern history of Limerick City and County by historians Tom Donovan and Vincent Carmody.

 

 

 

kerryman

 

 

 

December 01 2021 12:00 AM

 

 

 

SHORT of watching an accurate period drama on the box, you’ll be hard pressed to find a better method of time travelling than by opening the cover of this new work on modern Limerick’s rich past.

 

 

 

‘Limerick: Snapshots of the Treaty City and County, 1840 – 1960’ is the striking result of a joint venture by Listowel’s Vincent Carmody and Glin historian Tom Donovan.

 

 

 

It was launched last night (Tuesday) in the city to a great reception, and unfolds the very genesis of the modern-day conurbation across its bright glossy pages.

 

 

 

Photographs; facsimiles of elegant commercial bill and letter heads; engaging historic writing and much else come together to offer the reader one of the most accessible works on the period in Limerick in recent memory.

 

This is Kerry Newsletter

 

 

 

The top stories from the Kingdom in news and sport, direct to your inbox every week

 

 

 

Enter email address

 

 

 

Take it from none other than JP McManus, who provides the foreword for the tome, in which he fondly recalls his own family’s daily trips to the creamery – chiming with the emphasis on the dairy industry within the pages.

 

 

 

“Limerick has a proud and storied history, and I believe that this fine publication will be a wonderful addition that will shine a glowing light on the commercial life of many previous generations,” Mr McManus writes in the foreword.

 

 

 

Its value lies in the light it shines on the commercial history of the city and county; running the gamut of the old reliable commodities.

 

 

 

“The insights that one can gleam from reading through these pages reflect so well on the endeavours of countless businesses, big and small, who down through the ages provided some service for the people. From Blacksmith to Chemist from tea to whiskey, all are included,” Mr McManus added.

 

 

 

As are the creameries of old, of particular fond memory to the Limerick tycoon: “The extensive tour of the county with its many creameries brings back memories of my many trips delivering milk with the pony to Lisnalty Creamery, which was a subsidiary of Drombanna Creamery. Insights into the various creameries and the Co-operative movement reveal the rural life of the time.

 

 

 

“Great credit is due to the authors Vincent and Tom for this labour of love...Such a book is a depiction in word and in picture of bygone times that are superbly brought to life by the authors...This book stands as a fitting testimony to a long and vibrant period of business and trade in this great City and County of ours.”

 

 

 

Snapshots is prefaced, meanwhile, by Curator of Limerick Museum Dr Matthew Potter, who described the period falling under the scope of the book as a ‘golden age in Limerick’s commercial and industrial history’:

 

 

 

“In this wonderful new book, Tom Donovan and Vincent Carmody...bring us back to a bygone age, populated by a dazzling variety of commercial enterprises. It was the age of the family business, with the proprietor and his family literally living over the shop.”

 

Most of these august merchant names will resonate with all Limerick people and those well familiar with the city.

 

 

 

But some of the invoices and transactional documents relating to them might not have made it to print but for a trove Vincent secured access to in Listowel: at Dromin House, belonging to the Raymond family.

 

 

 

“Some of the material from the Raymond collection features in about 38 pages as they were getting so much stuff sent down from Limerick,” Vincent told The Kerryman.

 

 

 

“Much of the time, particularly in the middle of the 19th Century, Listowel-bound goods would have been transported via steamer from Limerick to Tarbert.

 

 

 

“There’s also a wealth of material from Johanna Buckley, the Listowel publican who was a grandmother of the Whitehouse cook Cathy Buckley. It was Tom who copped that in one of the pages from her collection, there was a receipt showing that the delivery was to have been collected in Tarbert by a Michael Carmody –my great-granduncle, as it turned out!”

 

 

 

Limerick Museum proved another rich source for the duo.

 

 

 

Snapshots is a successor of sorts to Vincent’s 2012 publication Listowel - Snapshots of an Irish Market Town and his 2017 work on Newcastle West.

 

 

 

Tom Donovan is, meanwhile, well-known as the author of the definitive book on the history of the Knights of Glin; and editor of the much-loved Old Limerick Journal, a position he inherited from the late Jim Kemmy. They struck up a friendship over the shared history of these counties back in 2010, and it wasn’t long before a proposal to collaborate was made. It was Vincent who approached Tom with the idea over four years ago as the pair set to work:

 

 

 

“Tom is a phenomenal historian and we get on perfectly. We never argue, I come up with stuff, he comes up with stuff and, as I say myself, if Tom was a credit card he’d be platinum. It’s very seldom you find someone so compatible with you.

 

 

 

“I was showing him material I had on Limerick one time and he said that if I ever wanted to do something on it that he’d go in with me on it.” The rest was, literally, history in a fine book for all lovers of the Treaty City and County that’s available now.

 

 

 

https://www.independent.ie/regionals/kerryman/news/historians-vincent-and-tom-artfully-present-limericks-story-41100064.html

 

=========================================

 

 

---------------------------------------

 

BOOK LAUNCH- Rhyming History: The Irish War of Independence and the Ballads of Atrocity in the Valley of Knockanure by Gabriel Fitzmaurice will be launched in Seanchaí, the Kerry Writers’ Museum, Listowel on Saturday, May 15 at 2 p.m. Everybody is welcome to this historic launch which commemorates the centenary of the tragic events in Knockanure in April and May 1921.

 

TALK: On May 12th 1921, a troop of Black and Tans were travelling out from Listowel towards Athea when they arrested four young unarmed men in Gortaglanna. Prior to this the barracks in Listowel had been burnt out. In this lecture, local historian Martin Moore, examines the background to this event, the profiles of those who lost their lives and looks at further dimensions of the Gortaglanna deaths. See writers museum on facebook for lecture. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHiwCO39U44

 

Sir Arthur Vicars, was killed by the IRA on April 14th, 1921 at Kilmorna and the Great House burned to the ground.

 

 

--------------------------

 

CON GREANEY programme broadcast on West Limerick 102 fm on Saint Patrick’s Day, you can still  hear it on podcast, on the West Limerick 102 fm radio Facebook platform.

 

THIS WEDNESDAY A LIGHT AND A PRAYER

 

The months of April and May, 1921 saw a lot of bloodshed in the Parish of Moyvane-Knockanure.  This was, of course, during the Irish War of Independence.  On Thursday, April 7, Mick Galvin, an IRA volunteer, was killed by British forces during an ambush at Kilmorna in Knockanure.  On Thursday, April 14, 1921, Kilmorna House was raided by the local IRA.  Kilmorna house was burned and Sir Arthur Vicars was shot.  Then on May 12, Crown forces shot dead three unarmed members of the Flying Column, Paddy Dalton, Paddy Walsh and Jerry Lyons at Gortaglanna.  Their comrade and fellow member of the Column, Con Dee made a miraculous escape from the scene.  On Thursday May 26, Jack Sheehan was shot in Moinvionlach bog as he attempted to escape capture by the Crown forces.  To commemorate these events, the North Kerry Republican Soldiers Memorial Committee are asking that each household light a candle on Wednesday, May 12, the centenary of the Gortaglanna tragedy, at 9pm.  Fr. Kevin has very generously sponsored commemorative candles which can be collected by parishioners at all Masses this weekend.                                        

 

GABRIEL’S BOOK LAUNCH- Gabriel Fitzmaurice

 

With freedom now to gather, maintaining social distancing and wearing masks, Gabriel Fitzmaurice will launch his latest book – ‘Rhyming History:  The Irish War of Independence and the Ballads of Atrocity in the Valley of Knockanure’ in the Seanchaí, the Kerry Writer’s Museum on Saturday 15th May at 2pm.  Feel free to join this historic launch which commemorates the centenary of the very tragic and sad events in Knockanure which occurred one hundred years ago this month. 

 

STORYTELLING;  Kerry Writers’ Museum storytelling workshops take place on May 7th, 14th and 21st from 10 am to 12 noon.  Each workshop is a standalone event. This Bealtaine Hero event is organised in partnership with Age & Opportunity as part of the nationwide Bealtaine festival – celebrating the arts and creativity as we age. To register for the workshops email: kerrywritersmuseum@gmail.com.

 

May 13th 2019 Gabriel Fitzmaurice was with the Sliabh Luachra Active retired Network Choir. Kerry Writers  Museum in Listowel had Bealtaine Writer’s Residency from May 1st to 24th.

 

POETRY: Matt Mooney latest collection of poetry, Steering by the Stars was launched online through the Limerick Writers Centre recently. It is Matt’s fifth collection of poetry.

 

=========================

2021

 

The Age + Opportunity inaugural Creative Ageing Writing Bursary aims to generate discussion, debate and knowledge about creative ageing in Ireland.

 

One award of €1000 will be made to the successful applicant.

 

Deadline: 12 PM, Friday 26th March

 

 

 

More details (https://kerrycoco.us10.list-manage.com/track/click?u=b3755ab5575cb711eac9566f8&id=e10be28833&e=57e387efec)

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Edna O'Brien Young Writers Bursary 2021

 

The Museum of Literature Ireland is offering a five-day, immersive, blended learning programme to students between 15 and 17 years old. The Edna O’Brien Young Writers Bursary will take place both online and onsite in MoLI from 19 to 23 July 2021 (subject to public health guidelines).

 

The closing date for applications is 10pm on 29 March 2021.

 

More details (https://kerrycoco.us10.list-manage.com/track/click?u=b3755ab5575cb711eac9566f8&id=40e2189f2e&e=57e387efec)

 

The Patricia Leggett Playwriting Scholarship is a fully paid scholarship for a place on the MFA in Playwriting degree at The Lir Academy.

 

=============================

 

ATHEA News Feb 2021

 

https://www.athea.ie/

 

A Prayer of Hope

 

 

 

Oh Lord, when we grow Weary –

 

 

 

especially in these difficult times – please help us to remember each aid every day to –

 

 

 

Count our Blessings and not our Crosses.

 

 

 

To Count our Gains and not our Losses.

 

 

 

To Count our Laughs and not our Tears

 

 

 

To Count our Joys and not our Fears.

 

 

 

To Count our Health and not our Wealth.

 

 

 

And most of all to Count on God

 

 

 

And not ourselves.

 

 

 

Musings

 

 

“A Tree’s Decades of Wisdom”

 

brown, red, orange and yellow leaves swirl and dance through the air

 

taunting me with lightness and freedom

 

I try to catch them

 

to prevent nakedness and vulnerability

 

but if I do

 

the brittle things fall apart in my hands

 

 

 

shedding and letting go may be the best thing I could hope for

 

this tree will grow back all the better for it

 

in the dead of winter it still holds out its branches

 

in hope that the water flowing in its veins

 

and the buds beneath the surface

 

will burst open in spring sunlight

 

 

 

I surrender too

 

trusting that by my little and continual earthly deaths will grow strong branches

 

a thicker trunk more securely anchored in the ground

 

wider limbs for shade

 

twigs that bear fruit

 

 

 

but first

 

I die with the maple

 

and wait.

 

 

 

https://grottonetwork.com/keep-the-faith/belief/poem-about-tree/?utm_campaign=Weekly-Newsletter&utm_medium=email&_hsmi=100008559&_hsenc=p2ANqtz-_RBIHJ7FidvXM9HXTe2KVMaKGDt0tc86AvMVFHNsHafJZHz9ML0LVm5miyYFdHbGHhSzTTT9ZdvntkHrgRszJo2MJ7Yg&utm_content=99836715&utm_source=hs_email

 

 

 

 

 

LOST SOULS

 

 

 

Kevin McManus

 

 

 

Sitting alone at the bar in Kilburn

 

Mid afternoon on a mid Summers day

 

Wearing a suit stained with blood, sweat and booze

 

Drinking the last of this months rent

 

 

 

He took the boat in 57

 

Leaving behind Mayo

 

Full of hope and fear

 

An address in his pocket

 

For a ganger and a start

 

Money for a week to tide him over

 

Sunday best on his back

 

New shoes squeezing his feet

 

 

 

No Irish need apply

 

Lodgings hard found

 

Working every hour god sent

 

Paid in the crown at the weekend

 

Missing home, laughs to hide the pain

 

Another from the top shelf

 

 

 

Saving for the summer holiday

 

Putting a little by

 

Back home for a week to the old sod

 

Buying pints for the lads

 

Bragging about the wages

 

Gold chains around the neck

 

Bought from a suitcase

 

When did you get home?

 

When are you going back?

 

 

 

Back to back breaking in blighty

 

Years passing on

 

Body getting tired

 

Drink taking hold

 

No money for the holidays

 

Or the funerals at home

 

 

 

Nights in the doss house

 

Sleeping on the rope

 

Days on the streets

 

Dreams of a long gone family

 

Passing away in the cold

 

 

 

(C) Kevin McManus

 

By Kathleen Mullane Oct 2020

 

I will start this Sunday evening with a lovely poem I recently came across which was written by an American lady – Kitty O’Meare and is so relevant in these unreal times.

 

‘And the people stayed home.

 

And read books and listened, and rested and exercised, and made art and played games, and learned new ways of being and we’re still,

 

And listened more deeply.

 

Some mediated, some prayed, some danced.

 

Some met their shadows.

 

 

 

And the people began to think differently.

 

And the people healed.

 

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant,

 

dangerous, mindless and heartless ways –

 

the earth began to Heal.

 

And when the danger passed

 

And the people joined together again,

 

 

 

They grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live, and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.

 

--=====================================

Thomas Keneally was granted the permission he sought and so began the novel titled Towards Asmara. He embarked on several weeks of research in Eritrea. Keneally always had a queue of books lined up to write, but at this time he was looking for a story large enough to follow Schindler’s List – much was expected of the winner of the Booker Prize (1982). After a couple of less impressive novels he hoped that the book about Eritrea would capture the critics’ approval. This was, in the words of the main character Darcy, ‘a rehabilitative journey’.

 

https://tintean.org.au/2020/10/10/keneallys-biographer-on-towards-asmara/

 

 

 

 

 

----------------------

MC AULIFFE Newtownsandes

 

PATRICK MCAULIFFE Moyvane.

 

https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/McAuliffe-410

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                New York NY Irish American Advocate 1937-1938 - 1309.pdf

 

SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  18,  1939 

https://fultonhistory.com/Fulton.html 

 

 

-----------------

 

 IRELAND   BEAUTIFUL" 

 

 (Copyright)

 

There  is beauty  in her  green  fields  and  her  fragrant   mossy  dells,

 

 There  is beauty  o'er the rich  soil   from   which  flow  her  pure  spring  wells,

 

  There  is beauty  on the mountain   side   where  sweet  the  heather  grows, 

 

And  there's  beauty  in the  music  of each rippling  stream  that   flows. 

 

 Chorus

 

There  is no place   like    Ireland     God's     country  and my sireland

 

If   there's  a  heaven  on  this   earth it's that  green  isle  I  know 

 

There  nature  paints  a  story  unveiled in flowery  glory

 

 You'll  find  all Ireland  beautiful   no  matter  where  you go.

 

 

 

 Oh  the hills  and  vales  are  verdant  and  for  miles  they  can  be seen

 

 Beautiful  are  all the   valleys     where     bloom  shamrocks  fresh  and  green

 

 There  the daisies  and  the    disk-rose    grow  in  colored   rays  of  white

 

 Where  the gorse   with   yellow   blossoms   hides  the  fairy  and  the  sprite. 

 

Copyright   1935—June 15.

 

 By  Patrick   McAuliffe.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------

 

TRIBUTE  TO  THE  KERRY  FOOTBALL  CHAMPIONS  Bonfires  are  burning   tonight   in the "Kingdom," The  great  football  team  they  are  champions   once  more;  Once  more  they  took  home  the  coveted  laurels which   they  proudly  exhibit  to admirers galore.

 

(see paper for long poem) by B O’Sullivan.

 

 

 

=====================

 

https://fultonhistory.com/Fulton.html

 

=================================

 

New York NY Irish American Advocate 1937-1938 - 1300.pdf

 

Nov 11 1939

 

Nellie Bray

 

Oft  I  hear  a  soft  voice  crooning  low

 

 It  brings  back  memories  of  long  ago. 

 

When  youth  was  mine  I  was  little  and  and  gay,

 

 While  I   roamed   the  wild  woods  with  Nellie  Bray.

 

 

 

 On  the  mossy  banks  of  old  Shronoun 

 

In  the  cool  of  E'en  when  the  sun  went  down

 

Where    the    primrose    bloom    in    the    month  of  May,

 

 There  I  first  cast  eyes  on  young  Nellie  Bray.

 

 

 

She  was  mild  and  modest  my  dark-eyed  dear,     

 

Oft  I  hear  her  voice  ringing  in  my  ear

 

 'Tis  always  sweet  to  behold  that  day 

 

When  I  first  made  love  to  young  Nellie  Bray,

 

 

 

  Now  she's  laid  to  rest  near   Shronoun   side,

 

Happy  days  are   gone  since  my  Nellie  died,

 

We  laid  her  down  on  her  native  Clay

 

  Then  I  bade  farewell  to  my  Nellie Bray.

 

Patrick    McAuliffe.    Copyright,  October  7,  1939. 

 

================================

 

New York NY Irish American Advocate 1932-1934 - 0853.pdf

 

21 Oct 1933

 

We regret   to   announce   the   death   of   William    McAuliffe   of   Newtownsandes,   Co.  Kerry,   Ireland,   aged  38  years;   a   most   devout   Catholic   and   a  great   favorite   amongst  the   Gaelic   football  players  in  this   country.    He    played  with  the  Newtownsandes  football  team  with  Captain  Con  Brosnan  until  he   came   to  this   country;   was   a   great   athlete;   did   22   feet   in   the   long  Jump;  also  a  great  concert  flute  player.    He  died  at  5:20  p.m.  Oct.  17.  Funeral  from  Hayes'  Funeral  Parlor,  101   Third   avenue,  this  Friday,   Oct.   20.    William  was  a  brother  of  Patrick  McAuliffe.

 

========================

 

https://fultonhistory.com/Fulton.html

 

=================================

 

                New York NY Irish American Advocate 1940-1942 - 0386.pdf

 

226 Oct 1940

 

Farewell to Moore’s Glen

 

--------------

 

Farewell old Hills and little rills

 

Today I sail away

 

I now must leave the place I’ve lov’d

 

Since I saw the light of day

 

While thinking of the days  spent

 

Upon your bonny dell.

 

Tis sad I take a last fond look at you

 

I love so well.

 

 

 

Those may be my last footprints on

 

the dew upon your brow,

 

And I promise while in foreign land

 

I'll love you then as now,

 

Your sweet primrose I wear today

 

those petals I'll preserve,

 

Just to recall old happy days I'll keep

 

them in reserve.

 

Farewell thou singing brownbird, my

 

old pal of bygone years,

 

Farewell thou whistling blackbirds,

 

for you note I now shed tears,

 

Lov'd beauty all along the hills the

 

castle  and the  dell

 

 It  breaks  my  heart  to leave  today   and 

 

 bid  you  all  farewell.

 

  Copyright,  Oct.  26,  1940.

 

 Patrick    McAuliffe

 

 

 

===================================================

 

New York NY Irish American Advocate 1940-1942 - 0606.pdf

 

26 April 1941

 

Patrick   McAuliffe  s  Songs  Four  Songs  set  to  music  by  me  are  now  ready  for  Publication.  All  original   copies   of   my   songs   are   copy-righted  and  registered  in  all  European   countries.     I   am   no  relation  of    Denis   McAuliffe    of   the   I.R.A.   Orchestra.

 

========================

 

                New York NY Irish American Advocate 1940-1942 - 0730.pdf

 

-------------------------------

 

In   a  very  flattering   letter,   our   pal   Pat   McAuliffe   tells  us  he'd     like     to     dedicate   the   following   poem   to   his   parents,  John  and  Mary   McAuliffe. 

 

 THE   ROAD  TO   NEWTOWNSANDES 

 

 Many  a  tree  gave  shelter  to  that  half-mile  road  to  town,

 

 Many   a  tree  has  withered   there,   and   many  a  new  one  grown;

 

  Twenty     years    have    vanished     and     swiftly  they  did  go

 

 Since   I   have  seen  that   gravel   road,   or  hit  it  heel  and  toe.

 

-----------------

 

Sometimes  I  hear  my  step  resound  beneath  the  old  stone  bridge,

 

  I  scent  the  fragrant  floral  bow'rs  that  grow  on  either  ridge;

 

 I   see  the  white  thern   trees  in   bloom   and   good-nuts  dropping   down

 

  All  these  are  visions  of   delight   while on  the  road  to  town.

 

 

 

 I  see  the  little  schoolhouse  where  culture  is  in  vogue, 

 

I   hear   the   scholars   singing   with    a    fluent   Kerry   brogue; 

 

 And   midst   the   scenes     of     grandeur     there,    while   clasping    old    friends    hands,

 

 'Tis  with  pleasure  I  review  again  the  ROAD  TO  NEWTOWNSANDES  .  .  .

 

 Patrick   McAuliffe

https://fultonhistory.com/Fulton.html 

 

 

==============================

 

                New York NY Irish American Advocate 1943-1945 - 0956.pdf

 

10 Feb 1945

 

GENERAL A. C.  McAULIFFE 

 

Runstedt  howl'd  surrender.  Then  Mc-Auliffe  sent  him  "Nuts" 

 

The  sort  he  cannot  chew  while  stumbling  o'er the  ruts

 

 What   McAuliffe   meant   by  "Nuts"  Is  Mr.  Kraut   you're   crazy 

 

 And  you  are  sinking  in  the  mud  in  a  fog   that's  mighty   hazy.

 

 

 

  And   before   the  fog   will   clear   you'll   be   swimming  in  the  mire

 

 And  your  brilliance  will  be  burned  in  McAuliffe's   raging   fire

 

  You'll  forget  the  word  Surrender  your  Ultimatum  won't  be  heard

 

 Mack   will   give   you  a   hair-cut   he'll   also  trim   your   beard.  

 

 

 

Here's  three  cheer's  for  General  Mack  from   Washington,  D.  C. 

 

We  send  him  three  cheers   from  New  York  for  making   history

 

  Fearless   and   courageous   at   Bastogne   McAuliffe  won

 

 Here's   three   cheer's   for   the   Nation   that reared  that  Manly  Son.

 

 (Copyright   Feb.  3,   1945

 

 by   Patrick   McAuliffe).

 

==================================

 

 

 

New York NY Irish American Advocate 1968 c - 0800.pdf

 

21 Sept 1968----------------

 

MOYVANE ANAMOY   STREAM 

 

 I'll   carry  many  a  branch  and I'll carry  many a berry

 

 While   splashing   on my way  round  the  bends  In  Kerry

 

  Fine  fish  will  travel  with  me thru the Irish  dale

 

  And  I'll  be crooning  gaily  'ere I join  the  Rive  Gale.

 

 

 

 Many  years  I've  dallied,  down by Sande's  Castle

 

  And there  with  many a gully I sputter and I rastle

 

 I'll   sprinkle   many  a  wild   flower   while  on my  way

 

  And for  generations  I  have done this night  and  day.

 

 

 

 Every   well-stream   in  the  valley  join  me  day  and  night

 

  And   fairies   nestle   near" me   with   leprecaun  and  sprite

 

 People  living  near  me  don't  really  know  how  old I am

 

 Nobody   knows  where  I  came  from  and I never  had  a dam.

 

 I  sparkle  with  the  sun  and I  sparkle  with  the  moon

 

 And  you,  I  often  hear  me murmur and  also  hear me  croon 

 

Sweethearts  romp  beside  me  while  singing  songs  of joy

 

And  ever  since  I  was  a  little    rill    they  call  me  Anamoy. 

 

By:  Patrick  McAuliffe

 

===========================

 

New York NY Irish American Advocate 1969 b - 0347.pdf

 

26 April 1969--------------

 

Brothers

 

Brothers in the North  loved brothers  of our race,

 

Partitioned  by  a  silk  thread  tyrants   mock   on  our  face, 

 

Partition   now  between  us is  the  English  tyrants'  blow

 

  Now   tongues   with   Irish   blood   should  say Partition must go

 

 

 

While  the  Irish  are  united North, South,  East  and West,

 

The  English  can't  divide diem, let them try their best; 

 

  A  partition line  between us is  just  a  weak  silk  thread,

 

 And It never  should be entertained in  any Irish  head. 

 

 

 

Tongues  of  fire  are saying  today,  we'll  not be England's slave

 

 And  they'll  not  grab Irish  money,  the  money  that  they crave.

 

 Partition   now  between  us is  the  English tyrant's  blow

 

 Now  that  silk  thread  must  be cut, the  ugly  partition  must go.

 

 

 

Brothers thou wert  born  of a race that loved  our native  land,

 

 Men   who   sacrificed   their  all,  'gainst  a foreign  grabbing  band

 

  Men who fought for Irish  freedom,  our historic  pages  show

 

  Men  who  fought  and  died  that  we  might live, Now  Partition  must go.

 

 Patrick   McAuliffe

https://fultonhistory.com/Fulton.html 

 

 

=================================

 

https://tintean.org.au/2020/06/10/from-the-papers-16/

 

 

 

 

 

    Nicholas O’Donnell’s Autobiography is a gem of family and social history. Born in 1862 at Bullengarook in central Victoria, O’Donnell graduated in medicine, married New Zealand-born Molly Bruen and for many years, based in West Melbourne, they were community leaders and prominent campaigners for Irish Home Rule. Nicholas was was a Gaelic scholar and one of the founders of the Celtic Club.

 

 

 

    Before the arrival of the internet, he researched his and his wife’s parents and scores of others who migrated from Ireland, especially Limerick. Although O’Donnell died in 1920 before publishing his findings, his descendants cared for his manuscript.

 

 

 

Val Noone has edited O’Donnell’s hand-written pages, adding an Introduction and an Epilogue. This is an attractively illustrated volume of 344 pages.

 

Jim’s Last Goodbye

 

(From Listowel Connection)

 

By Noel Roche

 

 

 

(Noel and Jim grew up in O'Connell's Avenue in a large and happy family. Noel finds comfort in poetry. He wrote this one after his brother's funeral.)

 

 

 

And so the family gathered

 

To partake in Jim’s last race,

 

Led off by the lone piper

 

Who played Amazing Grace.

 

 

 

He was flanked by Tom and me,

 

We stood proud and bold,

 

Followed by a guard of honour

 

Of the Gaels in green and gold.

 

 

 

Behind the hearse came brothers and sisters,

 

Nephews, nieces and the rest.

 

Dick Walsh controlled the traffic

 

He was like a man possessed.

 

 

 

And in the church that evening

 

There was not a dry eye,

 

As, in the back, on his accordion,

 

Jerry Walsh played Danny Boy.

 

 

 

Next morning at the funeral

 

I couldn’t believe my eyes

 

At least five hundred people

 

Came to say their last goodbyes.

 

 

 

Out comes the priest

 

His name was “Fr. Jack”.

 

I thought it was really cool

 

That Fr. Jack was black.

 

 

 

It seemed to me that everyone

 

Who knew Jim was there.

 

And I got to hear a new rendition

 

As Mike said his Lord’s Prayer.

 

 

 

As Tom gave his tribute,

 

It had us spellbound from the start.

 

You could see that every word he said

 

Came from deep inside his heart.

 

 

 

And then we gave Jim

 

His greatest last goodbye

 

As five hundred people raised the roof

 

Singing The Fields of Athenry.

 

 

 

I can see you up there now  Jim,

 

As you sit upon a cloud,

 

Telling all the angels

 

How your family did you proud.

 

Life in Covid time

 

 

 

Our days are quiet, not much to do

 

 

 

But stay inside, maybe cook a stew

 

 

 

No need to fuss, we have all day

 

 

 

We’re staying at home, it’s safe that way.

 

 

 

How did we ever get to this?

 

 

 

We thought ‘twould never come to us.

 

 

 

Twas fine in China, so far away

 

 

 

But it speeded up without delay.

 

 

 

And now it’s lurking all around

 

 

 

Businesses closed, we’re gone to ground

 

 

 

Talking to family through window pane

 

 

 

Not sure when we can touch again.

 

 

 

But we’re learning a fact which we had forgot

 

 

 

We’re all one together in the pot

 

 

 

No difference now tween black or white

 

 

 

All held up in the same light.

 

 

 

And that is how we’ll beat this virus

 

 

 

By facing head-on whatever arises

 

 

 

Giving each other a helping hand

 

 

 

One big family in this land.

 

 

 

And though we may have some pain to bear

 

 

 

We’ll all be the happier when we care

 

 

 

And ask for blessings on all mankind

 

 

 

And offer thanks … and love we’ll find.

 

 

 

By Peg Prendeville

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late in the sixth century, Pope Gregory the Great saw an opening to reassert Rome’s control of this far-off island, when the Christian daughter of King Charibert of Paris married the pagan King of Kent. To this end, he sent an obscure Benedictine monk called Augustine as a missionary. The mission was a shot in the dark, and nearly collapsed even before reaching Kent. Yet Augustine proved so adept on arrival that he converted the Kentish king, founded the English Church, built cathedrals at Canterbury and Rochester as well as St Augustine’s Abbey, and became the first Archbishop of Canterbury.

 

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/116961667/posts/127

 

 

 

 

 

Victoria Kennefick’s chapbook, White Whale, won the Munster Literature Fool for Poetry Competition 2014. It will be launched as part of the Cork Spring Poetry Festival 2015. A collection of her poems was shortlisted for the prestigious Melita Hume Poetry Prize 2014 judged by Forward Prize winner, Emily Berry. She has also been shortlisted for 2014 Over The Edge New Writer of the Year Award. In 2013 she won the Red Line Book Festival Poetry Prize and was shortlisted for the Bridport and Gregory O’Donoghue Prizes. She was selected to read as part of the Poetry Ireland Introductions Series 2013 and at the Cork Spring Poetry Festival Emerging Writers Reading in February 2014. Her work has been published in The Stinging Fly, Southword, Abridged,The Weary Blues, Malpais Review, The Irish Examiner and Wordlegs. She was a recipient of a Fulbright Scholarship in 2007 and completed her PhD in Literature at University College Cork in 2009. Originally from Shanagarry, Co. Cork, she now lives and works in Kerry. A member of the Listowel Writers’ Week committee and co-coordinator of its New Writers’ Salon, she also chairs the recently established Kerry Women Writers’ Network . She is the recipient of both a Cill Rialaig /Listowel Writers’ Week Residency Award and a Bursary from Kerry County Council this year.

 

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/3136025/posts/71444

 

 

 

Moya Cannon was born in 1956 in Dunfanaghy, County Donegal. She studied History and Politics at University College Dublin, and at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. She has taught in the Gaelscoil in Inchicore, in a school for adolescent travellers in Galway, and at the National University of Ireland in Galway. She served as editor of Poetry Ireland in 1995. Her work has appeared in a number of international anthologies and she has held writer-in-residence posts for Kerry County Council and Trent University Ontario (1994–95). Cannon became a member of Aosdána, the affiliation of creative artists in Ireland, in 2004. Her first book, Oar, (Salmon 1990, revised edition Gallery Press 2000) won the 1991 Brendan Behan Memorial Prize. It was followed by The Parchment Boat in 1997. Carrying the Songs: New and Selected Poems was published by Carcanet Press in 2007.

 

 

 

Eileen Sheehan is from Killarney, Co Kerry. Her collections are Song of the Midnight Fox and Down the Sunlit Hall (Doghouse Books). Anthology publications include The Watchful Heart: A New Generation of Irish Poets (ed Joan McBreen/Salmon Poetry) and TEXT: A Transition Year English Reader (ed Niall MacMonagle/ Celtic Press). She has worked as Poet in Residence with Limerick Co Council Arts Office and is on the organizing committee for Éigse Michael Hartnett Literary & Arts Festival. Her third collection, The Narrow Place of Souls, is forthcoming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SCHOOL Folklore; Local Poets

 

 

 

Collector Thomas Walsh- Informant    Maurice Stack Age  39 buried in Murhur.

 

 

 

 There are no stories told about how he got the gift of poetry. His father and Uncle were poets. One day a widow woman asked Rucard Drury and three other men to eat a meadow of hay. They had a piece of a boar for their dinner and he made a piece of poetry about it. "O God on high who rules the sky Look upon us forth and give us meat that we can eat and take away the boar."

 

 

 

 He made a song about the Listowel Races, Foley's donkey, Knockanure church. In English he composed those songs. He had an Uncle Mike who also had the gift of poetry but was not as good as Rucard. He was a labourer and he spent most of his time in Knockanure. He was a great scholar and the people liked him very much. He was working with a woman and in the evening she got short of tea and sugar. When drinking his tea she asked him if there was sugar in his tea. He said no because if there was he could see it in the bottom.

 

 

 

For much more visit https://www.duchas.ie/en/src?q=songs&t=CbesTranscript&p=2&ct=CI

 

September 2019

Peg’s Poem – An Cailín Bán 👩

 

By Peg Prendeville

 

Posted on 16/09/2019    by glinnews

 

 

 

The Cailin Bán – September 2019

 

In memory of Ellen Hanley who was murdered in 1819

 

 

 

It started with a rumour

 

That John Anthony had a dream

 

To bring the Cailin Bán to life

 

Down by the Shannon stream.

 

And to make it even grander

 

And ensure it was the best

 

He had the inspiration

 

To include Dominic West.

 

 

 

And so the rumour blossomed

 

And soon grew big and strong

 

When Vicar Joe and Eleanor

 

Brought a script along.

 

The next task was not so easy

 

To find people for each role

 

But they trusted in the talent found

 

From Loughill to Listowel.

 

 

 

And so the summer bore some fruit

 

As each one learned their part

 

And delivered lines with passion

 

Getting serious from the start.

 

Meanwhile some eager ladies

 

Were making strides backstage

 

Sourcing props and costumes

 

Not expecting any wage.

 

 

 

So when September came around

 

And the opening night in sight

 

Many people had bought tickets

 

So as not to miss this night.

 

And they were not disappointed

 

As this outstanding crew

 

Through singing, dancing, acting

 

Made John A’s dream came true.

 

 

 

Credit due to all the locals

 

And Glin Development committee

 

For making this a memorable event

 

Which will go down in history.

 

We look forward to the time when

 

Tourist will flock to see

 

The Knight of Glin Interpretative Centre

 

At the back of the Library.

 

 

 

Glin Development, the Abha Bhán and Glin Players and all the production team of the Cailín Bán play would like to extend their sincere thanks to everyone who came and supported this event. It was a resounding success, and one that will be remembered for years to come!

 

https://glin.info/2019/09/11/8774/

 

STORYTELLING CONCERT on Sat Sept.7th at 8.00 pm: Join our guest storytellers Lizzie McDougall, Randel McGee, Batt Burns, Frances Kennedy, Bryan Murphy and singer/songwriter Mickey McConnell for an evening of stories and music. MC – Gabriel Fitzmaurice Venue: Kerry Writers’ Museum.

 

RIVERS OF WORDS – MAURICE WALSH on Fri 6th Sept at 5.00 pm: A screening of the acclaimed documentary produced by the North Kerry Literary Trust in association with RTE.

 

Venue – Kerry Writers’ Museum, Admission – Free

 

LISTOWEL RAMBLING HOUSE Seanchai on Sunday 8th Sept. 3 to 6 pm:

 

To close our Festival weekend, join us for an informal afternoon of traditional Irish music, song, dance & storytelling. Light Refreshments served. Venue: Kerry Writers’ Museum.

 

Full programme at Seanchai Tel. 068 22212.

 

http://www.kerrywritersmuseum.com/2019-festival-programme/

 

What could I say about Peggy?

 

Nothing but the truth.

 

I loved her songs and her singing

 

I heard away back in my youth.

 

Her songs were food to my Soul

 

Her voice was a thrill to my ear.

 

I loved her then as a child,

 

It was mutual and sincere.

 

 

 

I love her today as a friend

 

And the memories shared together.

 

Her songs still lift my soul

 

Like the lark warbling o'er the heather.

 

What can I say about Peggy?

 

Thanks for the joy she has given.

 

Blest be the dawn of our friendship

 

When Peggy was only seven. ----

 

Dan Keane

 

 

 

By Domhnall de Barra

 

 

 

Looking back over the years, we have been blessed in this area by the amount of talented poets and writers that lived amongst us. Through their songs and verses they recorded for us all the happenings of the times. In earlier times it was the custom to make up songs in praise of  local landlords. This was a kind of two way street because the landlords often  gave financial support to ensure they got a good review. Wars and local battles were recorded as well as sporting successes and other notable events. Poets could be cruel as well and had no problem ridiculing those they didn’t like in verse. In later years emigration gave them plenty scope to highlight the loss and sorrow felt by those who had to stay behind while their families left for foreign shores to try and make a living. Unlike today, it took over 24 hours to get to England and weeks to get to America or Australia so some of those taking the ship were unlikely ever to be seen again.  That is why they had the “American Wake”.  Our parish was decimated during the first half of the last century due to the lack of  employment. Not a house in the local townlands was spared. The poets  and rhymers told us of those leaving their native homes and these songs were sung at rambling houses and gatherings and were especially popular with those who had emigrated. A song about home brought a tear to the eye of many a hardened navvy in the pubs of London, Birmingham and the likes. Love stories were also popular especially those about unrequited love. No occasion was spared and we now have a wealth of material that gives us a snap shot of life at a particular time in this area. There were poets in every townland. I could count five alone in Knocknaboul. Some were better than others but it is wrong to be critical of people who had only basic education and had the courage to take the pen in hand.  But, times change and  with the passing of Pat Brosnan, Paddy Faley and Dan Keane, in recent years we have seen the last of the poets. There aren’t any young people following in their footsteps, more’s the pity and we are the poorer for that. With the advent of social media, writing has changed completely. Pen and paper are gone and we communicate through facebook, Instagram etc. The art of writing is dying with abbreviations that are used in text messages. I was looking at a message on a youngster’s phone the other day and she had to explain much of the terminology to me. I suppose we can call it progress and it is just another way of communicating which is the really important thing but I miss the old writing that we learned at school. Each person had a distinctive style of handwriting, some more legible than others. My own writing was appalling. When I started in secondary school in Abbeyfeale, the head master, Jim Kelly, on looking at my first English essay said: “ I hope you have leanings towards the medical profession, Mr. Barry, because that is the only place your writing will make sense”  Even today I have problems reading my own writing never mind expecting any one else to do so. Some people though had beautiful hands. I have examples of handwriting by the late Maighreád McGrath and, even when she was in the latter part of her life, it was beautiful to behold. Although perfectly legible, it had a flourish that an artist would be proud of. She wasn’t the only one to possess such qualities but alas I fear we will see it no more. Much of what we learned about grammar is now also obsolete. Our language is now influenced mainly by television and the worst of American TV in particular. It drives me around the bend when I hear our own presenters referring to everyone as “guys”.  People say things like “I am so not going to do that”  I could go on with more examples but I fear that I am a bit like King Canute trying to keep back the tide. Our rural accents are in decline. You wouldn’t know now if a person came from Connemara or  Wexford, especially females. There is some light at the end of the tunnel however. Some young people are composing songs and while most of them are utter rubbish there are one or two who show great poetic ability. I am thinking of people like Ed Sheeran who have the ability to string a few verses together. We can only live in hope that the day of the poet is not gone completely and that they will develop through the modern media.

 

MY MOTHER

 

 

 

DEDICATED TO MOMS EVERYWHERE

 

 

 

 

 

WHILE WE’RE TOLD IN SONG AND STORY

 

 

 

OF PEOPLE OF RENOWN

 

 

 

BE THEY WRITERS, POETS OR CONGRESSMEN

 

 

 

OR KINGS WHO WEAR A CROWN

 

 

 

IT’S INSCRIBED THERE IN THE PAGES

 

 

 

THEIR NAMES AND WHERE THEY’RE FROM

 

 

 

BUT I BELIEVE THE UNSUNG HERO

 

 

 

IS THE PERSON KNOWN AS MOM

 

 

 

SHE’S THE ONE WE ALWAYS TURNED TO

 

 

 

WHENEVER THINGS WENT WRONG

 

 

 

THE GENTLE HAND THAT DRIED OUR TEARS

 

 

 

WHILE SHE HUMMED SOME SILLY SONG

 

 

 

SHE WAS ALWAYS THERE TO GREET US

 

 

 

AND HELP US ON OUR WAY

 

 

 

WITH THAT SPECIAL TOUCH

 

 

 

THAT MEANT SO MUCH

 

 

 

AND A GENTLE WORD TO SAY

 

 

 

AND THERE WERE TIMES WHEN

 

 

 

WE CAUSED YOU PAIN

 

 

 

AND TREATED YOU UNKIND

 

 

 

BUT ALL THE WHILE YOU’D SOFTLY SMILE

 

 

 

OH, HOW COULD WE BE SO BLIND

 

 

 

BUT YOU ARE THE ONE WE DO ADORE

 

 

 

AND LOVE LIKE WE COULD NO OTHER

 

 

 

WE THANK YOU GOD FOR GIVING US

 

 

 

SUCH A SPECIAL CARING MOTHER

 

 

 

 

 

Richard G. Moriarty

 

 

 

Poems Written by De Cantillon - A Bunch of Shamrocks

 

From, The Schools’ Collection Co. Kerry Killury .

 

 

 

Tis a bunch of bright green shamrocks

 

From that far off land of mine.

 

They grew on Kerry's emerald hills

 

With a beauty all Divine

 

They come laden with

 

From my own bright sunny south

 

And I've greeted them with raptures

 

With love kisses from my mouth.

 

II

 

I've pressed them and caressed them

 

All the while the glistening tears

 

Start unbidden from their fountains

 

While I think of bygone years.

 

They bring me thoughts of happy days

 

While my youth was in its prime

 

While life's skies were ever golden

 

With a glowing summer time.

 

III

 

When I gathered all the Shamrocks,

 

With my young friends bright and gay

 

In honour of old Ireland's feast

 

Our own blessed Patrick's day.

 

They remind me of my Kerry hills

 

 

 

 

 

In honour of old Ireland's feast

 

Our own blessed Patrick's Day

 

They reminded me of my Kerry hills

 

By Shannon's royal wave

 

For they grew beside sweet Ballyheigue

 

That holds my mother's grave

 

IV

 

Mother an Irish grave is thine

 

With green shamrocks steeped in dew

 

God's Heaven be thine dear mother mine

 

Whom my young heart never knew

 

They remind me of old Causeway

 

With my hundreds of compeers

 

Of all their love and sterling aid

 

In the vanished by gone years.

 

V

 

Sister shamrock of my garland

 

Waft thy friend with triple tongue

 

All the greetings of an exile

 

All the love they leave unsung

 

Tell them where'ere their exiles roam

 

O'er hill or boundless prairie

 

They're to remain true to Irelands feast

 

To God and Mother Mary.

 

V1

 

Who sent me o'er the water

 

This triple leaf of bard and chief

 

Of Erin's sons and daughters.

 

May you never know an Exiles woe

 

May shamrocks proudle wave

 

Above your Irish heart good friend

 

You will fill an Irish grave.

 

VII

 

Bloom on my Irish shamrock

 

I've enhanced you in my song

 

Transplanted from old Shannon's side

 

To Hudson Bay along.

 

Your name and fame will never die

 

The Bard has done his part.

 

Bloom on my Irish Shamrocks

 

For you live in an Irish Heart.

 

Mangan  MEMORIAL.

 

 

 

James Clarance Mangan's Memorial

 

Oliver sheppard, 1909

 

 James Clarence Mangan (1803 - 1849) Poet

 

 Some regard Mangan as the greatest poet of the nineteenth centaury.

 

Mangan is a thread in the rich tapestry that is Dublin's literary history. His intemperance estranged him from human society and rendered him all but unemployable. There are many descriptions of his personal appearance, recording lean figure, blue cloak, witch’s hat and umbrella that he carried regardless of the weather.

 

 He died of cholera.

 

 The inset figure represents Róisín Dubh (The Black Rose), the last known work of Willie Pearse who was executed following the 1916 rising along with his brother Padraig Pearse.

 

 

 

beachcomber australia 7d

 

Oh dear! This article thinks it was May 22nd, a Saturday.

 

Read All About It ! ... trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/170908241

 

 

 

Here is what Dr Sigerson said (while this photo was taken!) -

 

""In the name of the National Literary Society of Ireland, I now unveil and confide to the custody of the Commissioners and to the care of the public this memorial of Clarence Mangan. Against the dark background of his life he raised a fabric of fair poetry, which shines bright as 'apples of gold amid foliage of silver'— the admiration of other lands, the glory of his country. In gratitude for his genius, in memory of his patriotism, in evidence that our generation is not forgetful of benefactors, and in the hope of inspiration to future times, we erect this monument. Here, in the city of his birth, in the land of his love, we erect it, bearing its beautiful symbol of our Ideal Erinn, whose desire and whose honour abide in the noble affection of an undivided nation. Thus, finally, do we faithfully carry out the injunction of 'The Preacher* of old: 'And now let us give praise to men of renown, our fathers in their generations.' " (Applause).

 

 

 

 

 

Mangan  MEMORIAL.

 

A RELATIVE’S RECOLLECTIONS OF THE POET.

 

Mr. Denis Plunkett, residing at Usher's Island, Dublin, as the nearest living relative of James Clarence Mangan, wrote correcting some statements with regard to the poet in a Dublin contemporary recently. Very few lovers of Mangan’s poetry were aware that he had relatives living in Dublin. Mr. Plunkett’ s mother was a first cousin of the poet. Mangan's mother was sister of a Co. Meath farmer named Smyth, who was Mr. Plunkett's maternal grandfather. Consequently the poet stood to Mr. Plunkett in the relationship of “first cousin once removed.” Mr. Plunkett was about sixteen, years of age at the poet's death, and consequently remembers Mangan well. At that time the Plunkett’s

 

resided in Copper Alley, and Mangan frequently visited the house. 'He had always a melancholy expression,' Mr. Plunkett told a press representative, 'and usually carried big bundles of paper;

 

under his coat. I remember him coming to our house one night, and almost with tears in his eyes, promising to reform and lead a new life, and then going out and shortly after becoming intoxicated. Just before his death he was lodging at a house in Bride-street. Father Meehan was curate of 'the- parish in which we lived, and I think that was –how we first came into touch with Mangan. My

 

father, mother, brother, and myself were at the funeral. Catherine Moore, one of his aunts, a married woman, is buried in the same grave- It was my father who buried him and put up the tombstone. Father Meehan requested my father to put no epitaph On the tombstone, saying that the name was 'enough for an ungrateful country.' Dr. Stokes came down to our house the day after

 

Mangan's death to get any papers he had left. The old woman Mangan lodged with in.

 

Bride-street told him that he burned all the papers he had. I remember as a small boy being at the wake of Mangan's mother, who died in- Peter-street. I think a 'good deal that

 

Mangan said about his sufferings was due to his morbid imagination; no doubt he was unhappy, but he made his misery for himself to a great extent.'

 

https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/108176932

 

 

 

JOURNEY TO CROKER:

 

 John Kiely is the manager

 

And some man is he

 

Without him Croke Park

 

We would not see

 

 

 

Many's the Quaid had

 

Number 1 on his back

 

With Nicky in goals

 

He launches the attack

 

 

 

Finn, Casey and English

 

Are young and they're bold

 

In the Full back line

 

They do untold

 

 

 

Richie the Rockie

 

Is powerful and strong

 

Throw him into full back

 

And he'll do no wrong

 

 

 

Declan Hannon is our

 

Tall centre back

 

He comes from Adare

 

He's the leader of the pack

 

 

 

So when distance is called for

 

Diarmuid Byrnes is your man

 

He'll throw them over the bar

 

Simply because he can

 

 

 

We've Tom and Dan

 

Brothers in arms

 

A great asset to the team

 

From the mighty Ahane

 

 

 

There's Cian and Darragh

 

In the centre of the park

 

Their work rate is immense

 

And their scoring is on the mark

 

 

 

With  Will and Dempsey

 

To come into the mix

 

That gives Kiely a headache

 

With the team that he picks

 

 

 

With Hegarty and Hayes

 

In the half forward line

 

They'll score when you need them

 

And their tackling is sublime

 

 

 

There's Gillane in the corner

 

A threat with ball in hand

 

He'll take the frees

 

And drive them into the Davin stand

 

 

 

Seamus Flanagan of Feohanagh

 

A club near my own

 

On the edge of the square

 

He's like a King on his Throne

 

 

 

Mulcahy from Killmallock

 

A man with some Gears

 

When he gets on the ball

 

The whole county cheers

 

 

 

For the Limerick Senior Hurlers

 

A journey it has been

 

Many achievements have been earned

 

By our Heroes in green!

 

 

 

By Naomi Ryan.  Tournafulla Gaa

 

https://www.ul.ie/library/sites/default/files/documents/Maurice%20Walsh%20Papers.pdf

 

 

 

Introduction

 

The papers of Maurice Walsh were purchased

 

by the University of Limerick in 2000. Maurice Walsh was born in the townland of Ballydonoghue, near Lisselton, in the north of county Kerry on 21 April 1879, the eldest son and one of the ten children of, John Walsh and Elizabeth Buckley.

 

It is notable that his home area is near Listowel, which has produced two other important writers – Bryan McMahon and John B. Keane. John

 

Walsh (Maurice’s father) was a farmer and a devoted reader, and both he and Michael Dillon, a teacher at the local national school,

 

cultivated Maurice’s interest in books from an early age. After primary school, Walsh attended St. Michael’s College in Listowel, and in 1901 he joined the civil service, becoming a customs and excise officer. After brief postings in Ireland (beginning in Limerick), he was sent to Scotland, followed by Derby, and in 1906, back to Scotland again. That country had a profound influence on him. He was inspired both by the landscape of the Highlands and the people, as some of his literary works testify. Among the lifelong friends he made there was the novelist Neil Gunn (1891-1973). It was in the town of Dufftown in the Highlands that Walsh met Caroline Isabel Thomson Begg – his beloved ‘Toshon’- whom he married on 8 August 1908. At that point, he was serving at Kirbymoorside in Yorkshire, but soon was transferred back to Ireland where he remained until 1913. The next nine years were spent at Forres in the Highlands, from where, after independence, Walsh secured a transfer to the customs service of the new Irish Free State. He was prominent in the newly–established customs officers’ association, Comhaltas Cana, and contributed to its journal, Irisleabhar. He retired in 1933 and writing became his career.

 

Paddy Drury

 

https://northkerry.wordpress.com/2017/12/07/paddy-drury/

 

 

 

Rambling house Knockanure

 

https://youtu.be/mqdiFYQ8aYQ

 

 

A Paddy Drury Story as remembered by Jerry Histon

 

 

When Paddy came home from his war work in Scotland after the 1914 1918 war, he had, of course, some money spared. After hitting Listowel he met two cronies and took them in for a few drinks. At the time drink was very scarce and it was suggested that certain publicans were not above eking out the supply of drink with materials that never saw the distillery. Anyway, Paddy asked the lady inside the bar for "three glasses of whiskey". When those were downed, Paddy called the woman again "Mrs, give us three more glasses of nearly!" The lady was puzzled"What nearly?" she asked. " nearly water, ma’am,"  Paddy shot at her, to her consternation.

 

A missioner, giving a retreat Moyvane, asked Paddy: "what is the difference between God's mother and your mother?" I don't know, but I do know there was an awful difference between their two sons!" Was Paddy's humble reply.

 

Paddy hired with a local farmer and one of the conditions was that he should be home for The rosary each night. The man of the house generally offered up the rosary for "myself and my four and no more!" One night the farmer asked Paddy to offer the rosary. Paddy had a few drinks on board and was, anyhow, getting tired of the farmer, So his offering was "I offered this rosary for  myself and no more!"

 

<<<<<<<< An Important Correction re Drury Knockanure Satire >>>>>>>>

 

This correction is provided by a Knockanure local.

 

 

"The Rhyme about Knockanure was written by John Sullivan, father in law of Eamon Kelly.

 

Drury wrote about him.

 

In Listowel Town, there lives a clown,

who would sell his soul for porter,

Sullivan John is the man,

 a dirty mean reporter."

 

 

More on Paddy Drury as remembered by Jerry Histon in the Shannonside Annual in the 1950s

 

Paddy was a great walker. I heard him say that he brought this from his mother who, he averred, once walked from Knockanure  to Limerick and returned with a stone of yellow meal balanced on her head. This was during “the bad times”.

 

As I have said, without hearing Paddy tell the story, a lot of its local humour is lost. For instance, one day Paddy was seated in the snug of the public house in Listowel. The snug country pubs is usually called the office. A crony of Paddy's passed in on the way to the bar. "Is it there you are, Paddy". It is so and if you had minded your books like me you’d be  in an office too.

 

 

Paddy and his friend Toss Aherna one-day making a grave for an old men from Knockanure who had all his long life been avaricious for land. Toss spaced out the site of the grave and said to Paddy "I suppose the usual 6' x 3, Paddy".  "Ah" was Paddy's retort "he was always very fond of the land. Suppose we give it another foot."

 

When working for a farmer who had killed a boar to which the workmen were treated day after day for dinner, Paddy at last got exasperated and one-day for Grace said

May the Lord on high who rules the sky

look down upon us four,

 and give this mate that we can ate,

and take away this boar!

 

Another Paddy Drury story as remembered by Jerry Histon in The Shannon Annual in the 1950s

 

 

Sometime before Christmas, Paddy dropped into Moyvane church and dropping on one knee ("rabbit shooting" as they call it) started his prayers. The local P.P. saw him, tapped him on the shoulder and said: "Get up, you fool and go and kneel properly." Paddy did so. Later, Paddy came to visit the Christmas crib. He suddenly jumped up, rushed out, found the parish priest and brought him to the crib. "Look! " Paddy cried, "you called me a fool for praying on one knee. Here's three more of them!" (Pointing to the three wise men, who are generally depicted in Cribs as kneeling on one knee).

 

At the election for county councillors, Paddy went into a Knockanure booth. There were five candidates. Paddy used to vote illiterate. When asked by the presiding officer for whom he wished to cast his number 1, 2 and so on, Paddy’s versified reply was:

A penny for Langan,

tuppence  for Quade,

a three penny bit from a old friend Thade;

Fourpence for Shaughnessy, as you plainly see,

 and fivepence for Woulfe, will make one and three.

 

During the 1914 1918 war, it was generally held that both Kaiser and King of England were relations (as they were). A local recruiting sergeant stopped Paddy and asked him to join the British Army and "do his bit". Paddy buttonholed the colour sergeant. "Listen," he said "my mother always told me that I should never interfere in family rows."

 

The parish priest and curate of Moyvane met Paddy one day as he was going to Moyvane, while they were walking along the road. The PP asked Paddy if he was going for "a small one". Paddy says he had hardly the price of it. The PP gave him half a crown. Paddy took it and said "God and Mary bless your reverence." The curate then handed Paddy a shilling. Pocketing it, Paddy said: "God bless your reverence." The PP was intrigued at the difference in the two salutations and asked him what was the difference. "One and six.” was Paddy's prompt reply.

 

Paddy died about 12 years ago, God rest him. He had a large and representative funeral. He was buried in the ruined church at Knockanure. So, though he did not "travel the nation" he found "the burying plantation that is the pride of them all" as he had himself written.

 

It is a sad commentary on the fickleness of human esteem to reflect that neither stick nor stone mark poor Paddy's last resting place.

 

 

By Jeremiah Histon

 

My name is Paddy Drury,

I come from the Bog Lane,

I work for Morgan Sheehy,

Drawing Porter from the train.

 

 

This is Paddy Drury's answer to the Black and Tans who accosted him in Listowel the end of 1920 to ask who he was. He escaped with nothing worse than a kick in the behind.

 

Paddy was a small stocky rubicund little man, with an old hat clamped on the back of his poll when I knew him. He was  not at all unlike the statue of Padraig O Conaire now in Galway, but while he had a native wit he did not have OConaire’s aptitude for writing.

 

Paddy was born about 90 years ago in the Bog Lane, Knockanure, Co Kerry. I believe that all of the family were rhymers. He had three brothers, Michael (always referred to by the family as Ruckard), Bill and Jack (who was lame), they had one sister Mary. When Mary left the district, Ruckard when asked where she had gone, always answered she went in the police. Paddy had little if any, schooling. From an early age he worked for farmers around Listowel, Knockanure and Athea. During the 1914-18 war he went to Scotland to work in a factory on war work.

 

The stories told of and by Paddy are legion. Many of them do not sound so well in cold print, but when told by Paddy in his own inimitable style, they had a drollery and humour that was infectious. He was also liable at any time to put his thoughts into rough verse, but unfortunately most of his verses are gone into the Limbo of forgotten things and a new generation did not know Paddy and care less about him.

 

One of Paddy's best known effusions is his diatribe on gaping neighbours in Knockanure, who are looking over at their half- doors at him one morning as he walked along, sick and sorry after a good night the night before. Paddy broke out:

Knockanur, both mean and poor,

with its church without a steeple,

With ignorant boors, lookin’ over half-doors

Criticisin’and dacent people! (Note was composed by John Sullivan of Listowel, not Drury)

 

Again one day when the North Kerry Volunteers were lined up in The Square Listowel, Paddy noticed the 2 bellmen  (or town criers) of Listowel looking at the parade. Paddy was moved to utter:

Brave Irish men you are lined up;

no doubt you are good Fenians;

you commanders too are out in view-

Mick Lane and Harry Sleeman !

Up The Kingdom

 

Written by Cormac O'Leary

 

 

 

Up the kingdom is the cry of every girl and boy,

 

To every Kerry heart both young and old;

 

To the kingdom we'll be true

 

and to dear old Ireland, too,

 

Up the kingdom, may God bless

 

the Green and Gold.

 

 

 

Sons and daughters of the Gael,

 

come and listen to my tale,

 

Of a kingdom that is held in high renown;

 

It's the place that they call Kerry,

 

Where there's not a care nor worry,

 

From the highest hilltop to the smallest town.

 

 

 

Up the kingdom is the cry of every girl and boy,

 

To every Kerry heart both young and old;

 

To the kingdom we'll be true

 

and to dear old Ireland, too,

 

Up the kingdom, may God bless

 

the Green and Gold.

 

 

 

There's a rumour up in heaven,

 

said a scholar of religion,

 

That a Kerry man composed

 

the great Lord's Prayer;

 

For when he wrote, Thy kingdom come,

 

His will has well been done,

 

There's Kerry men and women everywhere.

 

 

 

Up the kingdom is the cry of every girl and boy,

 

To every Kerry heart both young and old;

 

To the kingdom we'll be true

 

and to dear old Ireland, too,

 

Up the kingdom, may God bless

 

the Green and Gold.

 

 

 

Oh, they say that Sam Maguire

 

he is getting very tired,

 

Of his yearly trip from Dublin to Listowel;

 

If you're after football honour,

 

Well, the ones you have to conquer,

 

Will be fifteen men dressed up in Green and Gold.

 

 

 

Up the kingdom is the cry of every girl and boy,

 

To every Kerry heart both young and old;

 

To the kingdom we'll be true

 

and to dear old Ireland, too,

 

Up the kingdom, may God bless

 

the Green and Gold.

 

Up the kingdom is the cry of every girl and boy,

 

To every Kerry heart both young and old;

 

To the kingdom we'll be true

 

and to dear old Ireland, too,

 

Up the kingdom, may God bless

 

the Green and Gold.

 

Up the kingdom, may God bless

 

the Green and Gold.

 

POETRY: ” As Fr Daly read from his several collections, and his most recent one, God in Winter, it became obvious that the poet’s role, as one who stays on the disappearing tracks of God, maintains in view ‘this shimmering now’, this ‘unacknowledged loveliness’, this ‘upswell of Benevolence’ that surrounds us daily. Fr Daly is also a poet of angst, who penetrates the depth of personal grief and loneliness and the awful isolation of a child in the grips of autism. He captures ‘the rustle of divinity’ in instances bereft of any life-giving aura, at a time when our opinion formers in the media offer nothing but ‘our own emptiness’. Birds and animals, as much as people, young and old, grandparents, as much as grandnieces and nephews, all are subjects of his poetry. When Ann Concannon thanked him, she drew attention to his reference to ‘the cycles of our evolving’ luminously present in the simplest human being

 

https://dedaluspress.com/product/god-in-winter/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dearest Home On The Banks Of The Feale was written by local balladeer, Tade Gowran, and is performed here by Deirdre Scanlon and Muirean Nic Amhlaoibh on the TG4 programme "Port".

 

 

 

DEAREST HOME ON THE BANKS OF THE FEALE

 

 

 

Dearest home of my youth, oh how painful, it is to be parted from thee.

 

There are others who loved you as I do, and do seek for a home o`er the sea.

 

But no matter where e`er I may wander, my thoughts I will never conceal.

 

I will always think of you the fonder, dearest home on the Banks of the Feale.

 

 

 

On the cliff by the side of that river, a hundred feet over the strand,

 

They erected a number of tombstones, where the ruins of the Old Abbey stand.

 

Where oft our departed forefathers, from the Sassanach Foe had to steal,

 

To hear Holy Mass on a Sunday, in the churchyard at sweet Abbeyfeale.

 

 

 

And when I`m in the land of the stranger, away far away o`er the foam.

 

If in safety I wander, or danger, my thoughts will fly back to my home.

 

And when life`s weary journey is ended, I know that contented I`ll feel,

 

To be laid in the ruins of that Abbey, in the churchyard in sweet Abbeyfeale.

 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pXEQ3AHqJE

 

Funeral of Fr. Pat Moore in St. Mary’s, Asdee. (From Kerry Diocese site)

 

This morning three realities have converged to gather us together here in St. Mary’s Church, Asdee and they did so also yesterday evening at Fr. Pat’s wake; and those realities  are faith, friendship and death.  We are celebrating his Requiem Mass; that is a matter of faith.  Our coming together from near and far is rooted in friendship.  And the reason for our presence is because our friend has died.  Of course one definite way of integrating Pat’s personality into proceedings, both sacred and profane, is by incorporating an element of mischief or intrigue or by creating some confusion!    What other logical explanation could there possibly be for printing one Gospel text in the funeral booklet, and then proceeding to use an entirely different one!   But there were in fact two very good reasons for choosing that Gospel passage:  firstly, because it was the Gospel text for last Sunday, which turned out to be Fr. Pat’s last Sunday on this earth; had he been well enough to celebrate the Eucharist on that day, then it is the Gospel he would have used. Sunday – the day of resurrection, An Domhnach – the Lord’s day, the most important day of the entire week for a Christian.  The 2nd reason for using the text from St. Luke that recounts the seven mile walk of the two disciples from Jerusalem to Emmaus, is precisely because the account of their experience along the way has echoes of the three realities that have brought us together: faith, friendship and death.

 

 

 

At many funerals there’s probably one question that’s often asked – it may not necessarily be expressed aloud, but it is certainly a thought in somebody’s mind on seeing another whose presence arouses curiosity; and the question is: How’s your man here? Or: What’s your wan’s connection?   There are many connections here today.  In my own case it dates back almost 44 years to September 1973 when, after the Intercert, Pat transferred from St. Michael’s College, Listowel to continue with his secondary education in St. Brendan’s, Killarney; then it was on to Maynooth for three years; and from there we went to the Irish College in Rome for four years. And I wish to acknowledge the presence of colleagues from other dioceses, along with contemporaries from our days in the St. Brendan’s, Maynooth and Rome.  Whoever and whatever it was that created the connection and forged the friendship, that’s who we all are – friends who are connected by and through a friend; friends who recall the life of a friend – be it through school or college, or from the stage, be it through parish, or poetry or film or radio.  It reminds me of an occasion when WB Yeats is reputed to have visited the Municipal Gallery in Dublin, wherein he found himself surrounded by the portraits of the great and the good of Irish social, cultural and political life; as was his want, he penned a poem for the occasion, which concluded with the words: “think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends”.

 

 

 

As friends we come to offer sympathy and the support of our prayers to Fr. Pat’s family: to his brothers Michael & Diarmuid, and their wives Jacintha & Geraldine, to his niece and nephews, to his cousins in various generations, to his neighbours and to all who supported

 

 

 

him and cared for him during his illness.  In our prayers we remember also his parents Mick and Peg – Mick’s 20th anniversary is this year, and Peg’s 3rd anniversary will be in September.  We’re here therefore not to be mere spectators, as one might be at a football match or at a concert; we’re here to participate in the prayer of the Church, to pray for his forgiveness and healing, to pray for his happiness, and to pray for his eternal repose and his peace.  We’re here because we believe that through the resurrection of our Divine Saviour, resurrection is also possible for us.  Resurrection is not resuscitation; rather it is transfiguration.  Words of the apostle Paul to the Philippians(3:21) seem apt: “from heaven comes the saviour we are awaiting for, the Lord Jesus Christ, and he will transfigure these wretched bodies of our into copies of his own glorious body”.  That’s the faith of the Church, that’s the faith that gathers us together and that’s the faith from which and through which we derive consolation.  But lest we forget, wherever there is faith, then frailty is never too far away; there will always be an angel of Satan to wrestle with.  In this regard the inscription on the souvenir card of Fr. Pat’s ordination is instructive:  “Lord, look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is grief and heartbreak at the death of our friend and colleague.  Like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus who had lost their friend, our faces are also downcast.  But now that Fr. Pat is dead, is that the end of everything?  At this time of grief, let’s not lose sight of what priesthood is, and the purpose of Fr. Pat’s ministry and the ministry of all who serve the Church, in whatever capacity.  The Gospel text gives us an insight into ministry when, walking with the one they supposed to be a stranger, it tells us that the two disciples “pressed him to stay with them”.  Why?  Because the conversation along the road had been riveting; because “the stranger” had opened the eyes of their minds and, as it were, had peeled away their blindness to help them understand who God is; thereby he had nourished them with his wisdom and he had nourished them in their search and in their emptiness and he had awakened in them a desire to seek more.  But for that to happen, there had to be and there has to be an openness; otherwise the conversation would be as fruitless as ploughing a desert.  Openness to God is a risk, as it may mean we will be disturbed in our comfort zone and we may be taken to places we would rather not go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Easter issue of the catholic weekly, The Tablet, there was an article about the Jesuit Philosopher Frederick Copleston, with whose work Pat would have been acquainted.  And when reflecting on the great minds of Copleston’s era, the author of the article concludes as follows: “The lesson of history … is that while change overtakes us, equally nothing is lost.  The task for laity and Religious, therefore, is not to take comfort in nostalgic reverie or lament a lost age, but to re-engage, be it in different circumstances, in the intellectual and cultural work to which those earlier figures were committed and to which they contributed so much ad maiorem dei gloriam – (for the greater glory of God)”.  That, in essence, captures what it means to be a priest, but not just to be a priest, but to be a Christian, and it sums up also the purpose of the Church in its many manifestations.  Let everything be done for the greater glory of God.

 

 

 

When Fr. Pat visited your house, quite often he would not arrive alone but in the company of another, perhaps a complete stranger. If there were an advance telephone call, which was most unlikely, it would replicate the introduction at the kitchen door: “I’m calling in for a minute because there’s a wonderful person you must meet”.  He could have done that not alone in Kerry, but just as easily in Dublin or Belfast or Galway or elsewhere, from where people have travelled today to be with us.  And that’s why he could be enthralling and frustrating in equal in measure – and never more so than when you had enough food for one or two at suppertime and out of the blue, there are four – or more!   He loved conversation and he revelled in company, perhaps even craved company.  And God rest his mother Peg, he must have broken her heart arriving unannounced with yet another unexpected mouth to be fed.  But since this latest episode of his illness emerged in February 2015, many have said it was a blessing that she was gone before him, because she had been through a lot of stress when Fr. Pat was ill 22 years ago.  Prior to Peg’s death, he had been her carer for a considerable number of years; but in recent times the kindness of many to him, in several different ways, had been, in turn, Peg for him.

 

 

 

As we bid him farewell, we cherish the memories and the conversations.  And the arguments!  And as we reflect on his journey, in its many strands and complexities, one of the lessons we can learn is this: perhaps the less we are able to do – as distinct from the less we do, which is laziness – perhaps the less we are able to do, the more we are able to accomplish.  And this gathering bears eloquent testimony to that truth.  But above all we must not abandon or forget the purpose of his ministry and the ministry of all priests, but endeavour instead to keep that ministry alive.  In many respects that will be the true measure and the true depth both of our friendship and of our faith, because it was the mutual search for Jesus Christ that was the source of our friendship, that gave meaning to our friendship and that is it’s ultimate conclusion.  Otherwise, Fr. Pat will not just be gone, but he will also be forgotten, and his living and his suffering will have been in vain.

 

 

 

A Phadraig, a chara, tá súil agam go shroicfidh tú an Ríocht bheannaithe, agus ‘s mo dhócas go mbeimídne, agus gach éinne atá bailithe anseo inniu, araon le chéile arís in oileán na bParthas.  Slán abhaile, agus suimhneas síoraí i gcomhluadar na hEaghlaise neamhaí.  Amen.

 

 

 

Fr Gearoid Walsh Funeral of Fr. Pat Moore in St. Mary’s, Asdee – 4/05/’17

 

 

 

Pat Moore, priest, educator, author and friend was born in Asdee in Kerry in 1957. He was ordained a priest in 1982 and  ministered for 33 years, till being diagnosed with oesophageal cancer in January 2015.  Pat told his own story in his book Weathering A Storm which was published last year. The special connections Pat has made with so many people was demonstrated at the launch in Listowel.  From St. Michael College Listowel, to St. Brendan’s College Killarney, to St Patrick’s College Maynooth to the Irish College in Rome, Pat made great friends and connected in a wonderful way with people. His first parish was Listowel and then following training in Mount Oliver he became Director of Primary Religious Ed. and Assistant Director (Diocesan) of Adult Religious Education in our diocese. In 1994 he became curate of Rathmore (Gneeveguilla) then Lixnaw (Irremore)1998 then 2004 parish priest of Duagh. Everywhere Pat ministered he gathered people and friends. Pat was central to the Horizons Radio Kerry programme and he worked on several sets of Just A Thought. Pat approached everything he did with creativity, a contagious energy and enthusiasm. He is sadly missed but we are all better for having known him.

 

The final poem in Pat’s Weathering A Storm 2016

 

 

 

AN OFFERING TO ALL

 

 

 

Because Illness brought me to a place where I spend much time alone I now feel myself getting more mindful.

 

 

 

I realise:

 

 

 

I am doing something when I think I am doing nothing

 

 

 

As the mind empties of worries I listen and feel

 

 

 

I am in the moment

 

 

 

I accept what is – a creaking door

 

 

 

Watch a field of grass in the wind or rain

 

 

 

A friend, a stranger, a situation that comes to mind

 

 

 

I can hold it in love

 

 

 

I don’t have to rush to or towards

 

 

 

Time stands still though seconds tick

 

 

 

I don’t have to be anyone else, anywhere else.

 

 

 

Everywhere is:

 

 

 

Calmness, newness awe fills the mind

 

 

 

I am moving to the place of simplicity

 

 

 

Less is more

 

 

 

Gestures are equal to words

 

 

 

Strangers in my head are becoming familiar

 

 

 

Daft things I feel and think find a place

 

 

 

They are less obtrusive.

 

 

 

Prayer is the full stop at the end of the paragraph not only the first word.

 

 

 

From Listowel Connection

JOAN KENNELLY, Tralee.

 

On Sunday April 23 2017 Jerry Kennelly came to Ballybunion for WiM 2017 to talk about his extraordinary mother, Joan. His parents were very much a team, so talking about Joan meant also  talking about Padraig. In fact the whole family from the moment they could walk and talk were drafted into the team and they all played a role in the success of Kerry's Eye and the family's photography business.

 

 

 

Joan came from fairly humble beginnings and she suffered the loss of both her parents early in life. She was a hard working resourceful lady and when she set her mind to a task, it got done.

 

 

 

After a spell in London and Spain she returned to her native Tralee and married Padraig Kennelly. Tragedy still dogged her with the loss of several babies through miscarriage but she soldiered on helping her husband build an empire.

 

In the days before internet and mobile phones, the Kennellys had an international business supplying photographs and stories to the world's media.

 

 

 

My favourite of Jerry's stories was the one about deGaulle's visit to Kerry.

 

 

 

Charles de Gaulle, the French president was a frequent visitor to Sneem, Co. Kerry a fact that is commemorated in a statue in the village.

 

 

 

When he resigned as president in 1969, de Gaulle decided to take a quiet holiday in Kerry. Security was tight and when he went to mass on Sunday journalists were forbidden to bring cameras into the church. Joan Kennelly always carried a little camera in her bag and  when Charles deGaulle rose to pray in the European fashion at a point in the ceremony when the Irish congregation remained kneeling, she grabbed her chance and photographed him head and shoulders over all the other worshippers. The fuzzy image  was like gold dust. It made its way into all the major European publications.

 

 

 

There were many more stories like this told on Sunday morning. The story of the Kennelly's of Ash Street deserves a documentary or even a full length film.

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

Mothers Letter.

 

On your 40th Birthday 1999.

Dear Daughter.

 

In September 1953, with no portfolios of interviews but with Gods grace and blessing, Dad and I together procured the most rewarding prestigious profession, that of starting with the first step up of the fourteen step ladder of life, eight female and six male steps. There is a saying “Life is not a bed of roses” there were a few thorns but don’t we all need a little pinch sometimes to urge us on.

While climbing that ladder, there was always joy, merriment, happiness and love galore.

We found you on the 7th step with the same joy as the previous and following ones. Each finding was a miracle, to stay awake at night waiting and listening for every breath was like watching the stars.

On the 13th step God decide that that little one was not for this world and in his mercy took him back again, that was around my 40th birthday. In March 1975 we reached the top step.

At the summet now for quite a few years we feel like shouting to the world with jubilation. Every one of you have made us proud, if we had to relive our lives we would have fourteen more if they were all like you lot.

The pinch of the thorn in your case was the Dad and I took you by the little 4 year old hands; you dressed in a little check suit and hat to match and walked you into hospital, Dad and I having tuberculosis and you having contacted it too. That sting didn’t last long because on our first visit you were so full of fun, jumping on the bed, almost hitting the ceiling with your newfound first boyfriend, we knew you were cured already and so cured us.

When household chores were a must you always played your part. Your favourite chore was keeping a blazing welcoming fire, how you managed it back ways I still can’t figure out. Of course you had a fascination for heat, you managed to get the Renault radiator to boil at Moll’s Gap and got your siblings to draw the water with their shoes. On a boat trip to England you did some stoking too or so I’m told. We could write a library full of books in praise our family, but who would read them. Everybody knows we are cute movers when it comes to choosing partners too.

 

Mom

Xxxxxxxx

WRITERS

 

By Pat Brosnan

 

ATHEA

 

Peaceful Athea of the fast flowing streams

 

Beautiful land of the exile’s dreams

 

Proud Athea of the ancient glories

 

Music, dances, songs and  stories

 

Lovely Athea of field and fen

 

Mountain passes and hazel glen

 

Gentle Athea of the summer mist

 

And Autumn meadows with sunlight kissed

 

Scenic Athea of the woodland dell

 

With echo’s of bird-song and chapel bell

 

Rugged Athea of the heath-clad bogs

 

Home of the hare and the croaking frogs

 

Storied Athea with each verdant vale

 

Historic churchyard and river Gale

 

Homely Athea is the place we love

 

Its people, homesteads and skies above.

 

 

LAUNCH of Kay Caball book at Writers Week; Jimmy Moloney would officiate at this last event which just happened to be the launch of his aunt's book. Minister Deenihan then spoke and spoke on his work with the National Famine Commemoration Committee and in particular he mentioned his visit to Hyde Park Barracks in Sydney last August for the International Famine Commemoration, where the Earl Grey Girls were honoured and where he met a number of their descendants.

 

Congratulations and best wishes to Paul Collins, son of Pius and Margaret, and Audrey Galvin, daughter of Aiden and Kay, on their recent wedding at Our Lady of Fatima Church, Irremore, Listowel. Mass was celebrated by Fr. Maurice Brick. Bridesmaids were Ciara Cullen, Fiona Kitchen and Louise Galvin. Best man was Jamie Collins, Groomsmen were Tom Collins and Denis Collins. Flowergirls, Niamh Kitchen and Sarah Collins. First Reading: Sarah Moriarty, Second Reading: Amanda Harnett. Prayer of the Faithful readers: Jerry Hannon, Siobhán Naughton, Lizzy Turbinski, Paudie Galvin, Lorraine O’Mahony, Michael Hannon, Philip Collins. Offertory Gifts: Kay Galvin and Margaret Collins. Reflection: Helena Walsh. Music: The O’Neill sisters. A great day in glorious sunshine was had by all and celebrations began at The Malton Hotel in Killarney

Archdeacon Rowan lived at Belmont, in Ballyard, now a suburb of Tralee. Few of his papers survive, but his antiquarian pursuits immersed him in researches about the O’Connors of Iraghticonnor in North Kerry (Kerry Magazine, October 1855) and the MacCarthy Mór of Killarney, about whom he wrote extensively in Lake Lore and The Kerry Magazine. In politics Rowan was inextricably associated with Tralee’s old Corporation, becoming its last Provost before that body was abolished in 1840. But his Denny ancestry (his mother was a Denny, of Tralee Castle) conceals the fact that one of his ancestors was Jane O’Connor. She was the wife of Rev. Barry Denny, and they became the parents of Sir Barry Denny, created first Baronet in 1782. Sir Barry’s daughter married Rowan. Here is A. B. Rowan’s address to the RIA, Monday, November 8, 1858, PRIA vol. 7, 1858-1861.

http://historytralee.wordpress.com/category/05th-century-and-before-pre-historyorigin-mythology/

 

TOUR GUIDE TALKS in TRALEE.

Wednesday 9 November, 2011. Dr Robert (Bob) FitzSimons’s talk was on Dr Francis Crumpe and the Infirmary of Tralee. Francis Crumpe served from 1820 to 1870 as Doctor of the Infirmary (the new Infirmary was built 1810-14 on the site of the old Infirmary, dating from 1763). His fifty year career succeeded that of his father Dr William Crumpe who served in the old and new Infirmaries.

 

The prison/hospital reformer John Howard visited in 1788 and found the old Infirmary in a “ruinous state”, and Judge Day in 1812 wrote: “pull down that disgraceful ruin”.

 

Francis Crumpe lived at 16 Denny Street. He performed many experiments: saline drip in the vein of a patient during the cholera (patient made immediate recovery but died); pioneering use of ether to perform surgeries; there were others. At the jail conditions were terrible in the decades before the discoveries of Pasteur about infection.

 

“Staggering Bob” was a piece of pork which the butchers at Tralee Shambles would suspend in the running water of the Big River until it was bleached white – before sale for cooking; they little knew during the cholera epidemic of 1848-9 what a perfect conductor of the disease the meat was.

 

Wednesday 2 November 2011. John Donnelly spoke on the Barracks at Ballymullen, which was constructed around 1812; the Barracks ended the system of billeting of soldiers on the town population, at the same time providing a ready force for the current and infamous insurrection among the farmers of North Kerry.

 

Wednesday 26 October 2011. Gerald O’Carroll spoke on the Dennys of Tralee Castle. The Castle was finally demolished in 1826 and Denny Street constructed. The ruins of the Dominican Abbey were removed at the same time. The date of the Abbey’s foundation is given as 1243, though it may have been later. The first Denny is associated with the events at Dun an Oir, November 1580, where many of the Spanish-Italian force were massacred and the leaders sent as prisoners to London and later ransomed.

 

 

 

Reflection

You have travelled too fast over false ground;

Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up

To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain

When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,

Taking time to open the well of colour

That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone

Until its calmness can claim you.

John O’Donohue

 

 

The Sacred Heart Review > 16 February 1918

 

ACTIVE IN ALL SPHERES.

 

Catholic Irish and English Writers Winning Laurels.

 

May Bateman, novelist, journalist and war correspondent, contributes t". a recent number of "Catholic Monthly Letters," a publication is- < sued by the Catholic British Information Society and of which the editor is Father C. C Martindale, S. J., of London, an interesting article entitled "British Catholic Writers and Artists."

http://newspapers.bc.edu/cgi-bin/bostonsh?a=d&d=BOSTONSH19180216-01.2.4&srpos=8&e=-------en-20--1--txt-IN-kerry+born+bishop----#

 

 

 

CATHOLIC SUMMER SCHOOL.

The Sacred Heart Review > 23 July 1898

On Tuesday, July 12,1898 the second day of the Summer School, under the head of " Round Table Talks," the Rev. Thomas P. McLoughlin gave an entertaining and instructive address on"The folk songs of Italy."

http://newspapers.bc.edu/cgi-bin/bostonsh?a=d&d=BOSTONSH18980723-01.2.46&srpos=25&e=-------en-20--21--txt-IN-kerry+born+bishop----

 

The Hurler’s Prayer

(courtesy of Shannon parish)

 

Grant me, O Lord, a Hurler’s skill

With strength of arm and speed of limb,

A cunning eye for the flying ball,

And luck to catch it where ‘ere it fall,

May my stroke be steady, my aim be true,

My actions manly, my misses few,

And no matter what way the game may go,

May I rest in friendship with every foe,

When the final whistle for me is blown,

And I stand at last at God’s judgement throne,

May the Great Referee when He calls my name,

Say: “ You hurled like a man, and you

played the game!”

 

 

Dan Keane Poem

 

Reflections on a Poetry Reading Event 1988

 

When beauty’s soul breeds beauty’s thought

Then beauty’s words by deeds are wrought,

And thus is beauty’s mind relieved

Of gifts that beauty’s soul conceived.

We witness here no vain pretence

Here we find youth and innocence

Expressing in each natural sound

The beauties they perceived all round.

 

Just as the youth of year the spring

Wakes songs that fall from feathered wing

And sleeping buds their robed unfold

In hues of blue, green, pink and gold

Let all take courage from their birth,

They spring from darkness of the earth.

In times of trial then have no fear

In youth and age God still is near.

 

 

 

MOTHERLAND

25th 6th 1983

Dan Keane

 

Ireland my Motherland; Centuries have seen

The green robe of they glory

Freckled as if fuschia flowers

Fell freely on thy fair fields,

It was the red blood of fair children

Your children; cherishing your holy cause

And forfeiting fair young lives,

That you – their Motherland might live.

 

Ireland my Motherland; Centuries of pain

Have seen thy green grow greener

As the magic mysticism of thy music

Re-animated the slumbering soul

Clasping the cherished culture

And harbouring the holy heritage

That font and fair and fierce flows on

In sweet silver streems of swelling song.

 

Ireland my Motherland; Centuries to come

Shall see your children still

Proud of your great inheritance

From the clouded sunlit past

And in the rich rivers of rolling rhythm

Behold the bright beauty and bless the brave hearts

That sheltered every soul stirring strand

For love of you my Motherland.

 

 

 

By

Thomas Moore

 

ERIN! THE TEAR AND SMILE IN THINE EYES

Erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes

Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies,

Shining through sorrow's stream,

Saddening through pleasure's beam,

Thy suns with doubtful gleam,

Weep while they rise.

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease,

Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,

Till, like the rainbow's light,

Thy various tints unite,

And form in heaven's sight

One arch of peace!

 

 

Tribute from Pat Brosnan

Death of Dan Keane

The death of Dan (Monie) Keane of Coilagurteen, Moyvane which occurred during the week at age 92 has brought to an end the long and colourful life of this unique North Kerry man. It is no exaggeration to state that Dan Keane was a legend in his lifetime. He was a versatile writer, a people’s poet in the best sense of the word and just like his great friend late Paddy Faley of Glenbawn who lived to be around the same age a brilliant and humorous storyteller who very often composed his own great yarns which brought such a lot of laughs and humour to his many audiences down through the years, not alone in his native North Kerry and nearby West Limerick but all over the country where Dan had friends and admirers wherever he visited. As well as all these talents he was also a ballad maker of high renown, the holder of several County, Munster and All-Ireland titles in newly composed ballads.

My own acquaintance with Dan Keane goes back to the ‘40’s and ‘50’s at one time we both worked as stokers with Kerry County Council machinery stone crushers and steamrollers and he also worked on farms in Knocknagoshel area in his younger days. It was around this time that he had a talent for composing verses. Then of course we both worked with the New Ireland Assurance Company and the Irish National Insurance, Dan continued in the insurance business all during his working life until his retirement, while more of us launched into other fields. During all these many years Dan and myself remained good friends as we had so many shared interests and this friendship extended as well to the many times we were in competition with each other in poetry and new ballads. It was also Dan who introduced me to adjudicate in various competitions, Féile Cheoil, Readorí , Community Games talent competitions, Listowel Harvest Festival talent competition, Wrenboy and other poetry and Ballad competitions. For several years we adjudicated the Listowel Writers week’s Children’s poetry competition together which had been submitted those many years ago by various schools in North Kerry and West Limerick. This always meant for me a day with Dan at his home in Coilagurteen going through the children’s poems and passing our judgement on them, sometimes a difficult task enough but always a pleasant one. On one occasion Dan came to our house to do the adjudications. We travelled to several different parts of the country together through the years whether it was a Fleadh Cheoil, a poetry recital, a bus tour guide with visitors from another country or other events. In all of these travels and outings with Dan Keane he was always great company and his wit and humour shone out through every phase of his life. He was associated with so many organisations in the life of North Kerry from Listowel Writers Week , Pioneer activities of which he was a lifelong member, to local and national radio and so many other things that were so many that it would be difficult to recount. He also wrote a number of books. One of his own poems “The healthier People” and two others “The Place names of North Kerry Town lands” and another “The Town lands of West Limerick”. It was only a short time before Christmas that his final book was launched at the Heritage Centre, Listowel “A Kerryman’s Book of Limericks” which was Dan’s final contribution to the literature of North Kerry. There have been many great writers, poets, ballad makers and storytellers throughout North Kerry and West Limerick in our time and even long before our time but Dan Keane will certainly be remembered as one of the greatest of them all – a man who had a mind of his own and was not carried away or influenced by modern trends. A man who was a true patriot in every best sense of the word, a man who never compromised on his basic nationalist and republican ideas of a new and better Ireland which was brought to light so well in his poems and ballads. Even in his room in the local Nursing Home where he was cared for in his final years Dan still kept up his writing until the end. Dan Keane was a person whom it was good to know and whom some of us were proud to call our friend.

There was a huge attendance at the removal from Lyons Funeral Home, Derry, Listowel on Friday evening to Moyvane Parish Church and a big congregation at the Requiem Mass on Saturday at which many tributes were paid to Dan. As well as the beautiful Mass and religious ceremony a selection of Dan’s own composed ballads were sung during the Mass and some of his poetry also recited. A total of nine priests from various parts of North Kerry celebrated the Mass. Again at Ardnavoher Cemetery Gale Bridge six musicians played a selection of traditional music and other songs of Dan’s composition were sung as he was laid to rest.

Sympathy is extended to his sons, daughters-in-law, grandsons, granddaughters, nephews, nieces and his other relatives. ‘Ar dheis Dé go raibh a Anam Dilis’.

 

Dan Keane was working with Jim Browne of Knocknagoshel in the 1940s when by accident he found that he was able to rhyme, one of his first poem was about a dance at Doneen Jack Brosnan’s in Knocknagohel. It was called Sean Donal’s Neat Abode. Another poem he wrote in praise of tea, was called Inse Ban Tae and went like this, Don’t talk about Porter or whisky or beer , they are bad for your health and entirely two dear. Dan was Chairman of Writers Week from 1988 to 1990.

 

Poem by Dan Keane

 

 

INSE BÁN TAÉ - Don't talk about Porter or whiskey or beer, They are bad for your health and entirely too dear,

But if you want a drink, that will cheer you all day, Get a fine wholesome mug of Inse Bán taé

It is made in the houses and made in the Hall, I know from experience it's the finest of all,

What's more there's no charge, it's a pure give away, It's a life saving gift, the Inse Bán Taé.

You get sugar and milk, you can add to your taste, And buns that would make you bulge out at the waist, They serve it in china, that you don't throw away, You'll be treated in style to the Inse Bán

Tae. A man from the Pound went to Heaven long 'go, Met a yank, asking Peter if he'd have a throw, Peter roared out, 'throw that whiskey away, And let in the man with the Inse Bán Táe.

Now the man was let in, and the Angles they sang, And all around heaven, the good news it rang, They danced and they sang, all night and all day, There's a corner of Heaven, called Inse Bán Táe.

 

 

The justice of God is an issue sublime,

And He'll weigh by the measure He gave.

The trouble, the trials and the crosses of life,

Are, but jewels on the hearts of the brave.

There's a sunbeam to steal through each cloud overhead,

There was never a storm to last,

There are gems of remembrance to garland the soul,

Shining out of the days that are past.

There's a flower for each weed, there's a smile for each tear,

There is rapture for grief to atone.

So pour me the joy that I drank as a boy,

From your hornpipe, Mickey Malone.

By

Dan Keane

 

 

 

 

What could I say about Peggy?

Nothing but the truth.

I loved her songs and her singing

I heard away back in my youth.

Her songs were food to my Soul

Her voice was a thrill to my ear.

I loved her then as a child,

It was mutual and sincere.

 

I love her today as a friend

And the memories shared together.

Her songs still lift my soul

Like the lark warbling o'er the heather.

What can I say about Peggy?

Thanks for the joy she has given.

Blest be the dawn of our friendship

When Peggy was only seven. ----

 

Dan Keane

 

When Georgie Sandes went down to hell the Devil got the thongs,

Saying a long time I have waited to roast this tyrant Sandes.

The poor he hunted from their beds, the rich he robbed and broke,

And now he'll be tormented with plenty of fire and smoke

.

Dan Keane

 

Willie's Car

by Dan Keane

No more he'll drive his motor car in country or in town,

They dug a grave in Murhur Church and laid poor Willie down.

He trod the earth for eighty years till called to Heaven's bar

And no more we'll hear the hooter of Willie's motor car.

 

This car it was a model ingeniously designed,

Its mechanism perfect and controlled by Willie's mind.

In every modern aspect it was car complete

And its travelling speed was governed by the power on Willie's feet.

 

If perchance the gears would stick, then Willie's sheer delight

Was a gentle push from rearward to get the gear stick right.

But when delivering telegrams he was not slow to state

That for motor car manoeuvring he'd need a wider gate.

 

The car was ever free from rust, the paint was always new

And the steering kept responding to Willie's point of view.

Its parking rights were legalised immune to all offence

And its lamplight was a beacon from the soul of innocence.

 

A mechanical chameleon that changed to suit the scene,

It was a hearse, a hackney car or a private limousine;

Poor Willie he was likewise in professional regard -

An undertaker, parish clerk or at times a civic guard.

 

Still the zenith of his pleasure was before a crowd to stand

To perform his parish duties with bell rope in his hand.

His spirit stirred to beating bronze as solemn swells would rise

And his mirth was manifested in his wild expressive eyes.

 

He never new hire purchase, no tax was ever owed,

It was insured by statute of every traffic code;

It was a very special car that none could comprehend

For 'twas shaped in Willie's garage in the land of let's pretend.

 

So Willie drove for many a day on country road and street

With his own peculiar friendship for all that he would meet;

His stainless soul and happy heart kept Heaven's gates ajar -

I feel I hear from Paradise the sound of Willie's car.

 

 

 

The Raid on Knockanure

by Willie Finucane, Knockanure

Have you ever been to a pub me lads or have you felt that way?

'Tis nice to have a pint or two to pass the time of day.

Oh if at night 'tis sure delight you bid your thirst to cure,

But watch the clock or you'll see the dock like the night in Knockanure.

 

Now the last few hours of sixty-seven were fleeing mighty fast,

As we did join in Auld Lang Syne though we hadn't that much cash.

Our heads were light, our spirits high, the fun was fresh and pure,

Oh little we thought that we were sought at Flynn's in Knockanure.

 

Now the alarm went at 10 o'clock, a warning time you see,

The barman shouted at the door "Ten minutes more of glee".

But as the clock ticked on me boys 'twas twenty past for sure,

When through some lane came Garda Kane to Flynn's of Knockanure.

 

"Account for those men, the time is past," his voice came through the door

We stood like ghosts beside our host our feet stuck to the floor.

Then nice and mute Flynn spoke the truth, of that you can be sure,

"But for the song they would be gone and left old Knockanure".

 

But 'twas all in vain, this mighty Kane was having the last word,

With pencil and with notebook out he started chewing the curd,

We gave our names quite willingly as we "had no other cure,

And if song is crime we'll pay the fine in the Valley of Knockanure.

 

Oh a Happy New Year to all the police from here to Templemore,

To your Sergeants and inspectors and all ranks of your Peaceful Corps;

May you banish all crime to the end of time and keep us well secure,

But we'll never forget being caught in the net at Flynn's of Knockanure.

 

Oh here's to all Kanes a long living name from the very beginning of time,

You are linked with the death of Abel, you started that capital crime.

If that Guard gets a stripe I hope 'tis no gripe and the doctor may him cure,

As he wont be paid till a Sergeant he's made for his raid on Knockanure.

 

And should he return again to the Cross and we meet him face to face,

As man to man we'll sing this song as it is no disgrace,

With a Cead Mile Failte we'll welcome him and we hope he don't act poor,

For if he'd not come no song would be sung of his raid on Knockanure.

 

May he rise in bars and stripes, may he wed a charming wife,

All Heaven's blessings sure may he endure,

Now there's peace talks with Saigon, they're still bombing Vietnam,

But we're hoping for a truce in Knockanure.

 

Now in Tarbert Court a nice resort Maguire threw in the ball,

Guard Kane was first to break away he kicked it with the fall.

But Flavin Mick he done the trick with a daring save for sure,

And when Reilly caught he drove it back, 'twas cheers for Knockanure,

 

His clearance went to Flynn me lads, the Cordal man is tall,

He fielded high above their heads and soloed with the ball,

From thirty five 'twas a mighty drive, it ripped the net for sure,

Oh 'twas pot luck as the cobwebs shook in the Valleys of Knockanure.

 

Now Garda Kane will have to train to get to senior file,

He hasn't the dash of Mick Dwyer nor Sergeant Sheehy's style.

Nor Acton's swerve nor Truhy's nerve that touched the rich and poor,

Oh the like's of that team will never be seen in the Valleys of Knockanure.

 

Oh to all you young Guards I give my regards, may I coach you with this rhyme

If you learn to sell the dummy your scores will come in time;

If the going is rough just play it tough and take things mighty cool,

And we'll call it a draw within the law in the valleys of Knockanure.

 

Oh to all who were fined I can't leave behind, may you get a lifelong span,

Till your whiskers and beard grow down to your heels and be tied with a Black Velvet Band,

May a Bill in the fall be rushed through the Dail ending the clocks for sure,

And we'll sing this score when time is no more in the Valleys of Knockanure.

 

 

THE BOYS OF CLOUNMACON

Here's to the boys of Clounmacon,

The boys from the hilltop and vale,

The boys from the crag and the lowlands,

The boys from the banks of the Gale.

They followed the footsteps of their fathers,

Their slogans would never give up,

And on the banks of Shannon near Tarbert,

They won the North Kerry Cup.

Now this team is composed of all workers,

And roughing they all can withstand,

There's no students or bankers amongst them,

They all work on the skin of the land.

By their deeds on the field they are known by,

If you forget them, ill bring to your mind,

When they won the jerseys in Bally,

Clounmacon they came from behind.

They came from behind with a vengeance,

Brave Ballydonoghue had to yield,

There was nothing to stop that fierce onslaught,

As Clounmacon they swept up the field.

By two goals of six points they were led by,

Which the scoreboard at half time did show,

But when the three quarter marker was reached by,

Clounmacon were out on their own.

ON the sandhills we defeated brave Faha,

You could hear all the sideliners roar,

We're on for the final in Tarbert,

Way down by the Shannon's green shore.

We had brave captain Joe from old Dromin,

And O'Connell from Ballygalogue,

Though the dice it was loaded against him,

He kept Coleman right out in the cold.

Monty Leahy he dumbfounded Tarbert,

While Mike Donal his frees were a treat,

Not forgetting the Garda Siochana,

And Pat Kerins who sealed their defeat.

Bobby Buckley was there from Lower Derry,

Mikie Lyons was as fleet as a hound,

And Son Halpin that nippy young forward,

Used to leap on the ball with a bound.

The three brother Scanlons were there, sir,

That's Anthony, Martin and Joe,

You could send Martin right out to Korea, sir,

And he'd ne'er turned his back on the foe.

Not a ball went through O'Mahony,

Which the scoreboard at the finish did show,

While the two brother Egans were brilliant,

And Tom Costello stood out on his own.

The cup it was filled down in Tarbert,

And victor and vanquished were there,

And they all got a swig from her bosom,

Where they came from the boys didn't care.

'Twas brought to Listowel in procession,

And filled there again and again,

Now is rests with captain Joe Shanahan,

At the top of old Dromin Hill.

Gerry Histon

 

 

 

SEAN Lynch of Moyvane

 

born 1978, County Kerry, Ireland

Education:

Study of Fine Art, HfBK Stadelschule, Frankfurt am Main, 2005-2007

MA History of Art and Design, University of Limerick, 2002-2004

BA Sculpture, Limerick School of Art and Design, 1997-2001

Solo exhibitions and projects (selection)

2012 Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin

Catalyst Arts, Belfast

2011 The Dock, Carrick-on-Shannon, Leitrim

Me Jewel and Darlin', Dublin

2010 Crawford Art Gallery, Cork

Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin

Project Space, Frankfurter Kunstverein, Frankfurt

2008 Context Gallery, Derry

Gallery of Photography, Dublin

Process Room, Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin

Heaven's Full, London

National Sculpture Factory, Cork

Galerie Von Doering, Schwabisch Hall

2007 Limerick City Gallery of Art, Limerick

Galway Arts Centre, Galway

2006 Ritter & Staiff, Frankfurt am Main

 

Group exhibitions (selection)

2012 The Hellfire Club, Askeaton Contemporary Arts, Limerick

2011 Twenty, Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin

When Flanders Failed, Royal Hibernian Academy, Dublin

Wake Amusements, Ben Maltz Gallery, Los Angeles

Volta 7, Basel, w/Kevin Kavanagh Gallery

The Second Act, de Brakke Grond, Amsterdam

Microstoria, Talbot Rice Gallery, Edinburgh

Convergences: Literary Art Exhibitions, Golden Thread Gallery, Belfast / Limerick City Gallery of Art

Room Outside, Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin

Human / Nature, Farmleigh Gallery, Dublin

 

2010 Never The Same River (Possible Futures, Probable Pasts), Camden Arts Centre, London

Lost and Found, neugerriemschneider, Berlin

It Happened That, St Paul St Gallery, Auckland

Invisible, Original Print Gallery, Dublin

Sinopale 3, Third Sinop Biennial, Sinop, Turkey

The Swimming Naked Prophecy, Mermaid Arts Centre, Bray, and touring

Surplus Value, Occupy Space, Limerick

Irish Pavilion, Expo 2010 Shanghai

Shop If You Can, Look If You Want, Temple Bar, Dublin

e-flux video rental, Fondazione Giuliani per l'arte contemporanea, Rome

2009 Autre Measures, Centre Photographique d’Ile-de-France, Paris

ev+a, Limerick City Gallery of Art

House Warming, Rua, South Dublin Arts Centre, Dublin

Above the Fold, Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin

It's not for reading. It's for making, FormContent, London

Point Ligne Plan (screening), La Femis, Paris

Noughties but Nice: 21st Century Irish Art, Touring exhibition: Limerick City Gallery of Art /

Letterkenny Regional Cultural Centre / Solstice Arts Centre, Navan / VISUAL, Carlow

2008 10,000 to 50, Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin

Ein Platz, Platz Der Vereinten Nationen, Berlin

30 Contemporary Collection, Gallery of Photography, Dublin

Gedanken zur Revolution, Universal Cube, Leipzig

Collection Rausch (screening), KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin

The State of Play (screening), Project Arts Centre, Dublin

2007 Dangling Man, Office Baroque, Antwerp

Dumbo Arts Festival, New York

Lucas Cronach Preis, Kronach, Germany

Overtake: Reinterpretation of Modern Art, Lewis Glucksman Gallery, Cork

Pilot, Venice Biennale / Chelsea College of Art and Design, London

Hillig / Horrigan / Lynch, Q Kunstakademiets Udstilingssted, Copenhagen

Art from a Rucksack, CAP, Kobe, Japan

Ok. Quoi?! Faucet Media Arts Centre, Brunswick, Canada

The Opening Show, Oeen Group, Copenhagen

2006 ev+a, Limerick

Festival Junge Talente, Messen Offenbach

Welcome to the Neighbourhood, Askeaton Contemporary Arts, Limerick

Premio Fondazione Arnaldo Pomodoro, Milan

2005 Kilkenny Arts Festival, Kilkenny

Damaged Collateral, Context Galleries, Derry

The Happiest Country in the World, Oireachtas Show, Dublin

Festival Interceltique de Lorient, Brittany

2004 Open Studios, Triangle Workshops, New York

Recent Works, Lademoen Kunstnerverksteder, Trondheim, Norway

The Suicide of Objects, Catalyst Arts / Ulster Museum, Belfast

On the First Clear Word, Basement Gallery, Dundalk

You Should Really Go There, Limerick City Gallery of Art

2003 Crawford Open, Crawford Municipal Gallery, Cork

Revealing Objects, Naughton Gallery, Queens University, Belfast

 

2002 Perspective, Ormeau Baths Gallery, Belfast

Intermedia, Triskel Arts Centre, Cork

Tracce di un seminario, Viafarini Gallery, Milan

2001 City Fabric, Firestation Artists Studios, Dublin

Quadrant Young Contemporaries, Belltable Arts Centre, Limerick

 

Awards and Grants

Cove Park Artist Residency 2012

Gasworks Residency, London, 2012

Arts Council Project Award 2012

Centre Culturel Irlandais Paris Residency Award 2010

Arts Council Banff Residency 2009

IMMA Artist Work Programme 2008

Lucas Cronach Preis, 2007

Lohr and Schach Preis, 2007

Arts Council Bursary 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007

Arts Council New Work Award, 2008, 2007, 2006

Landwirtschaftliche Rentenbank Art Award, 2006

Shortlisted Artist, AIB Art Prize, 2007, 2006

Culture Ireland Award, 2010, 2007, 2006

Tyrone Guthrie International Residency Award 2006

Fellowship, Triangle Artist Association, New York, 2004

Thomas Dammann Junior Memorial Trust Award, 2001

 

Selected teaching, lectures and talks

MA in Visual Arts Practices, IADT, Dublin, lecturer and member of programme team, 2010-

Lecturer in Sculpture and Combined Media Department, LSAD, Limerick, 2010-

Gradcam, Dublin

Carnegie Mellon College of Fine Arts, Pittsburgh

UCD, Dublin

Crawford College of Art, Cork

National College of Art and Design, Dublin

University of Limerick

AUT, Auckland

Massey University, Wellington

IMMA, Dublin

Irish Architectural Archive, Dublin

Royal Academy of Art, Copenhagen

Burren College of Art, Clare

Trondheim Academy of Fine Arts

 

 

Kennelly. Writer

 

ntrotic @comcast.net

A “birthday party” to celebrate the life of the late author Ardyth Kennelly Ullman, who grew up in Albany, will be held at 1:30 p.m. Sunday, April 15, at Ashwood Court II, 5331 Clay St. S.E., Mennonite Village, Albany.

Friends, family, and anyone who wishes to share personal memories of Ms. Ullman on what would be her 100th birthday are invited to attend. For further information, please contact Nancy Trotic at ntrotic @comcast.net or 503-775-9022; or call Jean Anderson at 541-704-4110.

Ardyth Kennelly Ullman was born April 15, 1912, in Glenada, Ore. (near Florence), on the night the Titanic went down. She died Jan. 19, 2005, in Vancouver, Washington. Her earliest years were spent in Salt Lake City.

 

Ullman had no children but was very close to her sister, Laura Marion Kennelly Brownell, who passed away Nov. 12, 2011.

 

I'm afraid I don't know really anything about her Irish roots. Her father was James Daniel Kennelly. I don't know if this helps, but here is a huge Website about the descendants of someone named Roger Billings that includes a lot of Kennellys, with links and sources. Scroll down until you find James Daniel Kennelly and then you can click on links from there.

 

http://www.ogsottawa.on.ca/billings/p141.htm#i78429

 

You could also try searching on Ancestry.com for information (if you don't have an account, you can try it free for 14 days). Search on James Daniel Kennelly, birth Jan. 16, 1880, death Apr. 21, 1921, both in Salt Lake City. There are a number of family trees you can see with information on the Kennellys, though I don't know how far back the family has been traced.

 

 

PAT BROSNAN, ATHEA

 

Donal says, Thanks Pat Brosnan for all you have done for the community since you came from Lyreacrompane to live in Knocknagorna. He got involved in the voluntary work of many organisations; the unselfish work that keeps our community alive. Let us take a look at some of the contributions he has made. He was a member of the G.A.A. an Community Games for many years and helped to raise much needed funds for the great work they do with our young people. A composer and singer of songs he is still involved with Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann and holds the position of chairman of the Athea branch. He joined the Civil Defence and brought his skills as a nurse to bear on that organisation being always available to give aid. He got to know everyone in the parish through his work on the census forms. In recent years he has been active in the Church, taking up the collection at Mass and, until recently, cleaning the Church on a Tuesday. He supported all the local (and not so local) rambling houses and set up the group “Ceol Luimnigh” who had their own monthly sessions and performed voluntarily in local hospitals and nursing homes. In the recent “TradFéile” festivals he took responsibility for the entertainment on stage in the street and kept the music, song and dance going for the weekend. These are but a few of his contributions to the welfare of our society but it is in his writings that he has really done us proud. His weekly column in the Limerick Leader has kept people up to date with all the news of the parish. Since he started writing for this newsletter, many years ago, he has commented on local and national issues and is never afraid to air his opinions. His many books of poems and songs give the reader an insight into his knowledge and love for Athea and its beautiful scenery. It is no wonder that he has won many County, Munster and All-Ireland titles down through the years. I think his greatest honour came this year when he was chosen as one of only 12 people in Munster to receive an award for services to Comhaltas.

 

 

Junior Griffin, Listowel

 

Memories of the ball alley in Listowel

 

When school was o’re, our hearts would soar,

At meals we would not dally,

With homework done, to seek our fun,

We’d wander to the alley.

 

To toss that ball against the wall,

And combat every rally,

With pouring sweat we’d play‘til death

Those games within our alley.

 

With left hand or right we’d try our might,

Until the grand finale,

But win or lose, how we’d enthuse

On those games played down the alley

 

Each game was fought, the prize was sought,

The marker counts his tally,

The match was won at twenty one,

‘Twas victory in the alley

 

But time moves on, the youth now gone,

No more do young men sally

To toss that ball against the wall

Of my beloved alley

 

Yet, memories hold of comrades old

Until the last reveille,

Of times gone by which brought such joy

Those days spent down the alley

By

Junior Griffin, Listowel.

 

 

Tony Kelly ssc died on April 12th 2011; Columban,

Tony Kelly was born in Ballyduff, Tralee, Co. Kerry on 11 April 1935.

He was educated at Holycross P.S., Thurles P.S., and C.B.S. Thurles.

He came to Dalgan in 1953 and was ordained priest on 21 December 1959.

 

Appointed to the Philippines in 1960, after language studies he was sent to work in the Archdiocese of Lingayen-Dagupan, in northern

Luzon. He spent the next forty years working in various parishes of that archdiocese and later in the newly-created Diocese of Alaminos.

He returned to Dalgan in 2002 and, in his typical quiet unobtrusive fashion, provided many small but essential services for his

fellow-Columbans in the Retirement Home.

Though a very private person, Tony was a kind and genial companion, easy to live and work with. He was a man of deep integrity and honesty. He was selfless in all that he did, and served the people of Pangasinan with total dedication. His whole life revolved around visting the people in their homes and barrios.

 

Tony was very interested in sport and loved to talk about Tipperary hurling. He was a keen and shrewd bridge player, and was always very willing to share his bridge skills with others. A man of deep prayer and an exemplary missionary, he will be sadly missed by his family, and his many friends in the Philippines and in Dalgan.

Tony celebrated his Golden Jubilee in 2009. He had not been feeling well in recent months, and, once diagnosed with cancer, his illness progressed rapidly. He accepted the diagnosis with the same quiet calm determination that had characterised his life and ministry. He died in St Vincent’s Hospital on 12 April 2011.

 

May he rest in peace.

Following a number of requests we hope in future to carry fuller reports on funerals in Dalgan along with these obituaries. We hope too that people may make use of the comment function below to add their own memories of deceased Columbans.

 

 

  ANCESTRY: Christine Kenneally journalist and author has written for The New Yorker, The New York Times, Slate, Time, New Scientist, The Monthly, and other publications. Her book, The First Word: The Search for the Origins of Language. She received a Ph.D. in linguistics from Cambridge University and a B.A. (Hons) in English and Linguistics from Melbourne University. Christine born and raised in Melbourne, Her great-grandfather, J.J. Kenneally, wrote the first pro Ned Kelly book. JJ wrote home to his cousins in Knockanure saying that his father Dan went to Australia and his mother nee Julia Dillon of Lyrecrompane with her four children -Johanna Matthew ,Honora ,and Daniel arrived at Melbourne on the 10th of August 1865 . Patrick died at Listowel he was between Matt and Hanora .These born in Australia were Julia Mrs Ryan ,Jeremiah who died on 31st of August 1884. James Jerome yours truly ,Elizabeth and Mary Mother Benedict at the Presentation Convent , Windsor ,Melbourne .Dan died 16th July 1933 .Hanora is an invalid and has lived with me for many years .Matt is a well to do farmer at Eleven Mile Creek ,Glenrowan West ,Victoria ,Australia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Famine Donors

A little known fact is that many people worldwide came to the aid of Ireland during The Great Hunger. A new book sheds some light on just who reached out the hand of friendship to us in our darkest hour.

 

Former US President Abraham Lincoln, a tribe of Choctaw Indians and a Turkish Sultan were among a group of 15,000 people worldwide to donate money to Ireland during the Great Famine.

That's according to a new book by the historian and lecturer Christine Kinealy, who is one of the world's most respected authorities on the Great Hunger, having studied it for over 20 years.

The Drew University Professor says Abraham Lincoln's donation, made when he was a newly-elected senator, came as part of a wider effort organised by the then-vice president George M Dallas.

In 1847, the vice president of the United States convened a massive meeting in Washington and he called on all senators and congressmen to go back to their states and do something for the Irish poor.

At that stage Abraham Lincoln, who was newly-elected, really wasn't very well known except for maybe in his home state. But he sent about ten dollars, about five pounds.

The president of the US sent a donation which was 50 dollars.

Christine says that that mass donation didn't pass without incident, however:

There was a whole controversy about the vice president Dallas, who was a slave owner.

So people in Ireland - most of whom were opposed the slavery - had a dilemma: should we take money from people who owned slaves?

In the end they decided that they would and he was happy with their decision.

She says one of the great myths of the Famine surrounds Queen Victoria's donation. It is widely believed that the British monarch only sent five pounds to help with the famine relief.

In reality, she sent much more than that:

People say that 'Queen Victoria gave five pounds, she gave a far higher amount to a local dogs' home'. In fact, this is is a myth.

Queen Victoria was the largest individual donor to famine relief – she gave two thousand pounds and she became involved in some other ways.

But I think people prefer to hold on to the fabled fiver myth. That fits into their image of [her].

Help came from further east too. A Turkish Sultan, who was the head of the Ottoman Empire and had an Irish doctor, offered to give ten thousand pounds to Ireland.

However, in the end gave a thousand pounds. It's believed that he tried to help out in other ways - the subject of which may be made into a movie - but Christine says that the story is difficult to verify:

One of the myths, it just hasn't been substantiated so maybe its just a myth waiting to become a fact, [is] that he sent three ships that the British government said couldn't land in Dublin so they made their way to Drogheda.

So there are all these debates about whether the Sultan of Turkey's ships came to Drogheda. It’s a myth that people like to think was true because it’s a heartwarming story.

 

 

 

Pat’s Corner Oct. 2012

Mental Health Week

This week has been designated mental Health Week and World Mental Health Day falls on this Wednesday October 10th. It is very important for all of us to remember that in any community the mental health of its residents is a top priority. If there are individuals who are in any way subject to the various forms of mental illness then it is obvious that the earlier the problem is tackled the better chance there is of making a full recovery. There are of course in some cases, even in children, early signs of mental instability some of which is caused by certain conditions some of which are genetic in origin and which can only be diagnosed by medical experts in this particular field. These would be in the category of mental deficiency, mental subnormality, mental retardation which were formerly used in relation to these affected people, children or adults, and which is now for the most part described as those with special needs. But what we are looking at here is children who were perfectly normal when they were born and who developed a mental health problem at a later age. Whether this would be due to an acquired phobia or to some physical illness when they were young or to some other factor in their early environment would have to be investigated individually as everybody is different.

Mental illness can take many different forms, those who become withdrawn and can no longer take part in ordinary social activities to some who become over energetic and take major risks with their lives, showing off for instance how fast they can drive a car or take part in other high risk adventures. There are others who sometime have developed an inferiority complex which puts them at a disadvantage in many ways. Then of course there is the major problem of depression which if neglected in the early stages can develop and thereby very often lead to very serious consequences. Mental illness and depression can strike a person at any age, but generally young people in their teens and early twenties can be affected as those in this age category often appear to be the most vulnerable. Persons of that age who show any symptoms of depression or unusual behaviour need close attention and treatment if that is necessary. There are also some young people and indeed older as well who because of their unstable mental condition are easily led into taking part in vandalism , anti-social behaviour and petty crime or even more serious instances of law breaking. which lands them in court. Unfortunately some Police Officers, Prosecuting Attorneys and even Judges do not always take the mental condition of a defendant into account when imposing a prison sentence on a defendant. A few years ago it was revealed that more than half the prisoners in a certain prison were afflicted with some form or another of mental sub normality or psychiatric illness. Quite obviously their place was in a psychiatric institution which would be far more beneficial to those concerned and their families and in the overall far less expensive to the State than having them incarcerated in an unsuitable prison. By all accounts, according to some media reports the ratio of prison officers in relation to the number of prisoners they are looking after is extremely high when compared to the ratio of staff to patients in psychiatric institutions where the figure is far lower. Even in my own time on the nursing staff of psychiatric hospitals in England it was not unusual for a nurse, student nurse or nursing assistant to be put in charge of a ward on night duty at the time in which there were 30, 50 or even more patients. Some new staff at Aston Hall Hospital including myself back in 1957 after working on day duty for a couple of months were then thrown in at the deep end and given charge of a ward on night duty with no worthwhile experience whatsoever and just a couple of visits from the night superintendent while we were having our tea and sandwiches. And yet we coped and the hospital kept functioning in spite of an acute shortage of qualified nurses in England at the time. But the point which one would like to make is why are there so many mentally ill patients 30%, 40% or even 50% of mentally ill patients being kept in prison when they ought to be accommodated in a psychiatric unit at a fraction of the cost. It does not even make economic sense and a prison anyway is no place for a mentally ill patient. When people develop a psychiatric condition of any kind or become depressed it is at this early stage that they need professional help and understanding by their families and relatives before the condition becomes chronic which if neglected first by the patients themselves and then by their families the risks can then become evident and tragic events can sometimes follow. But the worst part of this is that depression can sometimes go unnoticed until a tragedy of some kind happens. Another very important factor in the treatment of depression or any other form of mental illness is to consult the right professional people when undergoing treatment who have the experience to tackle the problem. Limerick Fine Gael TD Dan Neville drew attention to the risk of patients going to the wrong sources looking for a cure as under present legislation anybody can set themselves up as a mental health therapist or counsellor without any qualification whatsoever. As Dan Neville pointed out people who are concerned about their own or a relative’s mental health should stay clear of such bogus therapists, because this so called treatment is likely to do the person more harm than anything else. Such kind of chancers are often likely to charge a hefty fee for their so-called services which causes more stress and disappointment to patients and their families. There is no comparison however between these people and helpful friends and neighbours who often spend hours with mentally ill patients out of the goodness of their hearts trying to help and encourage them in any way they can. That is really what Mental Health Week and World Mental Day, Wednesday of this week, is all about, when everyone in their own way and as far as they are able will do their best to help all those who are distressed with an unfortunate mental condition, patients should be always encouraged to help themselves as far as possible in a kindly and gentle manner and not fobbed off by a dismissive casual unfeeling “pull yourself together” slogan. So let us celebrate World Mental Health Day in a true spirit of concern and consideration for those who are afflicted with mental illness of any kind and let us all hope and pray that they will find comfort and consolation in their lives.

 

 

To the Man After the Harrow

Now leave the check-reins slack,

The seed is flying far today -

The seed like stars against the black

Eternity of April clay.

 

This seed is potent as the seed

Of knowledge in the Hebrew Book,

So drive your horses in the creed

Of God the Father as a stook.

 

Forget the men on Brady's Hill.

Forget what Brady's boy may say.

For destiny will not fulfil

Unless you let the harrow play.

 

Forget the worm's opinion too

Of hooves and pointed harrow-pins,

For you are driving your horses through

The mist where Genesis begins.

Patrick Kavanagh

 

Brian Boru, from a lecture by Sean Duffy, 4/4/2014

by Gerald O'Carroll

At a lecture in the RIA, 4/3/2014, Sean Duffy, Associate Professor of Medieval History at TCD and author of a new book on the subject, took issue with the idea of the Battle of Clontarf as a Munster versus Leinster conflict. He says it was a battle for the sovereignty of Ireland. In the Book of Armagh, Brian is referred to as ‘Imperator Scotorum’ (‘Emperor of the Gaels’), and indeed he appears to have claimed kingship over the Gaels of Britain as well as Ireland. In the Irish Annals there is reference to the ‘Slaughter of the Foreigners of the Western World’. The clearest account of the Battle of Clontarf is in the Annals of Inisfallen.

It was preceded in 980 by the battle of Tara where Olaf made a grab for the high kingship of Ireland. In 999 Brian Boru confronted Olaf’s son, Silken Silkenbeard, King of Dublin, at the Battle of Glen Mamu. (Nobody knows where this place is.) Duffy situates the Battle of Clontarf against a background of events in England. There were Danish attacks on England in 1006. In July 1013 Sven Forkbeard attacked Aethelred ‘the Unready’, who fled to Norway. Aethelred returned and confronted Knut (Canute), the son of Forkbeard. Knut fled England in April 1014. The victory of Aethelred was very probably known at the time of the Battle of Clontarf, and it must have encouraged the Irish.

 

Billy Keane has written  poem for our friend Fr. Pat Moore.

 

LINES FOR FATHER PAT MOORE ON EASTER SUNDAY MORNING 2015

The morning’s light

Was cueing outside

The black -out blinds

And men with cows milked,

Broke bread for a second time.

The sad choir sang the song of despair

But Our Moore’s prayers

Are the daily resurrection.

“We must peel life back to the essential,”

Of love and hope, the love of our time”

And the hosts of the Easter light

Shine through

In wafer lines.

 

Soon enough, they’ll be spraying our friend again.

He’ll be tired then from the rays of the gun,

But Our Moore knows as surely as anyone,

Even among the thorns and weeds,

Small flowers sing a te deum.

Billy Keane.

 


Richard Barry O'Brien Dead.

The Sacred Heart Review, Number 13, 30 March 1918

Richard Barry O'Brien, of London, distinguished Irish author and lawyer, is dead. Mr. Barry was born in Kilrush, Clare County, Ireland, in 1847. He studied in the Catholic University, Dublin, and was called to the Irish bar in 1874 and in the following year to the English bar. He was one of the founders of the Irish Literary Society of London and served it as president. Mr. O'Brien was a prolific writer, particularly on Irish land and political questions. He was the author of" The Irish Land Question and English Public Opinion

 

," "The Parliamentary History of the Irish Land Question," "Fifty Years of Concessions to Ireland," "Irish Wrongs and English Remedies," "Thomas Drummond's Life and Letters,” The Life of Charles Stewart Parnell," "The Life of Lord Russell of Killowen," "A Hundred Years of Irish History," "Irish Memories," "The Children's Study: Ireland," "Dublin Castle and the Irish People," "John Bright," and "England's Title in Ireland." He edited "The Autobiography of Theobald Wolfe Tone."

 

 

Kerryman 1904-current, Saturday, 13 October, 1917; Page: 2

IRISH FOOTPRINTS IN THE TEMPLE.

 LISTOWEL LECTURE. On Monday night, Mr. T F O Sullivan, Journalist, Dublin, delivered an interesting lecture on "Irish Footprints in the Temple," under the auspices of the Listowel Carnegie Library Committee, which has arranged a series of addresses for the -winter and spring months. The lecture was effectively illustrated, by lantern slides, and was listened to with the closest attention by a large and appreciative audience. The attendance included the Very Rev. John Breen, S.T.L., President St. Michael’s College; Rev. John Dillon, C.C. : Rev. M O'Connor, Rev. D Hannan, M J Byrne, solr.; H J Marshall, do. ; D J Flavin, U.D.C: L Buckley. U.D.C: B Johnstone, J Kean, Chairman of Rural Council; R  O'Shaughnessy, W Keane. N.T; M Keane, N.T.  T Corridan. etc. Mr P Breen Who presided, said that it was unnecessary--to introduce Mr. O'Sullivan, a Listowel man, who he was certain, would _give them a delightful treat , as he had done so often before.

Mr O'Sullivan, in the course of his lecture said; I feel it indeed a great privilege to be permitted to inaugurate the series of lectures which have been arranged by the Carnegie Library Committee for the winter and spring months and earnestly hope the promoters will be rewarded by a generous measure of public support. A word or two of explanation with regard to my own address may not be out of place October last it has been my lot to reside almost permanently in London. During that period my work was entirely in the English House  of Commons, and in addition to the excitement which debates, questions to Ministers, and sometimes stirring scenes, in what is called the Mother of Parliaments offered. I had the advantage of enjoying quite a number of lively air raids in which, however, I did not interfere (laughter). Notwithstanding these diversions I must confess I found London not only foreign, which was natural in the case of any Irishman, but uninteresting until I commenced a series of investigations into the Irish historical associations   of the city. The English capital is, of course, teeming with such associations, and it has been my pride and pleasure, a pleasure which has often been tempered with sadness to follow in the footprints of gifted men of our race who have enriched English literature, sculpture and paintings. He stood in cells where Irishmen whose life ended at Tyburn and on the gibbet and said a silent prayer for them.

Full story in the paper

From the archives

 

Posted on 24/05/2016    by glinlib

 

 

 

The following article was  written by Paddy Faley 32 years ago this week in 1984, which turned out to be roasting summer.

 

The Shakey

 

 

 

I witnessed a phenomenal incident in the month of May. It was in the area of virgin bogland known as “The Shakey” east of Clounleharde along the Kerryline. It apparently did not get that name without a reason. It had been taken over by a company for planting and, as it happened, I was working with the Council on the roadway nearby when the first machine entered to prepare for the planting of the trees. It was a heavy machine on tracks.

 

 

 

The driver had travelled 60 yards or so when the machine started to sink. He jumped off and with great presence of mind attached a strong steel rope to it. Dumbfounded he stood whilst it sank deeper and deeper into the soft peat until eventually it had disappeared.

 

 

 

People in the neighbourhood, hearing of the event, gathered to look at this unusual happening. There it remained for a couple of days whilst the owners discussed, wracked their brains and consulted others about ways and means of rescuing the machine from the hidden depths.

 

 

 

A few days afterwards a rescue gang arrived with different types of very heavy machines which they attached together directly across the road from the sunken vehicle. A strong pulley rope was then attached to a pulley wheel and the tugging began. The rope cut itself into the bog when it took the strain but, after a while, we saw heaving on the surface as the machine began to be towed underneath the ground, which would swell up overhead, like a wave,  as it passed and fall back into place again. Thus the tugging went on until the machine started to appear like a submarine on reaching the sound ground near the roadway. Thus the machine was rescued.

 

 

 

As I said this bogland was not called “The Shakey” without earning the name. All the stories, which we thought were only myths, that we heard from the old folk about cattle disappearing without a trace – yes, human beings too – losing their lives in this area, has now been proved true. No man in his senses, hearing this incident would venture working on this fearsome ground.

 

 Paddy Faley

 

Man Lost in Hill

 

Neatly dressed man who died on the hill in Scotland, has the press speculating and the public were encouraged to help in identifying him which was welcome. As everybody have a right to be remembered? This put me thinking about the thousands of Irishmen who without any preparation were forced to go abroad and were effectively abandoned by the men who were following in the footsteps of the Proclamation.  Boys and girls who were in reality children had to fend for themselves and their only hope both before trouble and after it, was charitable people and the church. All had been educated by middle class teachers, most were forced to learn history, maths and other subjects through Irish, which the bright well to do could cope with. But what was the position of the half hungry poor who had no prospects in this country. They were early school leavers, by necessity to feed the rest of their family. It is easy to imagine the sadness and loneliness of youths torn from their roots, without any money and only the clothes in their backs, in an alien environment, which they were taught to despise at school. The man who died in the hill must have been a lucky person, who lived to 70 years and was well dressed and dignified looking.

 

Just imagine the squalor of hard working and drinking men, everything they had left after sending a few pounds home, was blown over the weekend. The chip vans provided feeding for them where they congregated, fighting, no toilets, mountains of discarded items under their feet, unwashed and no place to throw themselves but a dirty hovel, rented to them by a smart Irishman. Even their wages were often surcharged by Irish gangers. An accident on site they were only moved to next block, to be put on ambulance, so the authorities had no proof of builder negligence. We had all our politicians preaching nationalism, which was the only thing that they could agree on. They neglected to educate the poor which was a criminal act. Do we hear of any inquiry into how Nationalists under the guise of freedom, betrayed and mislead the nation and put a cruel burthen on the majority of the voiceless?. How many died broken and abandoned, forgotten and deserted, by their former pals.

 

Did the media give voice to their cry for help, in their abandoned and dejected condition?

 

Who in this country who knew very well the condition of the discarded Irish, campaigned to prevent the same thing happening to new emigrant’s, by preparing them for the road and returning those who could not cope back home.

 

I started off with the man who died in the hill, with no one to mourn him. But many Irishmen had many to mourn their early death. Wives struggling to cope, children and family members estranged, The deep pain was there, mostly unspoken, with thoughts of what might have been.

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday January 11 2012

 

 

 

 

 

'A man who wrote on people's hearts' - tributes to Dan Keane

 

 

 

Donal Nolan attended the funeral of a giant of north Kerry literature in Moyvane on Saturday, where the great Dan Keane's life was celebrated.

 

 

 

POET, songwriter, storyteller and a gentle, godly man of the people — the essence of one of the most celebrated artistic lives of north Kerry in modern times was captured beautifully at the Funeral Mass of Knockanure's Dan Keane in Moyvane on Saturday.

 

Hundreds packed out the Church of the Assumption in Moyvane on Saturday morning as his family and scores of Dan's close personal friends ensured his sendoff was attended by the traditional music, poetry and balladry he so loved in life.

 

Dan Keane is survived by sons Brendan, Paudie, Mike and Joe, sisters, grandchildren.

 

A one-time leading officer of Comhaltas in north Kerry, his many friends in the organisation performed beautifully throughout the ceremony with singers Peggy Sweeney, Karen Trench, Seán Ahern and Mary Mulvihill elevating the initially sombre mood into something else entirely; a joyful celebration of a life fully lived.

 

Dan's passions were remembered from the very start of the Mass, through the offertory of symbols of his life outlined by Joe Murphy.

 

The symbols included a Writers' Week anthology marking Dan's close relationship with the festival of which he was chairman from 1988 to 1990; Comhaltas memorabilia marking his time as officer of the group; a minute book from the Knockanure Community Centre Committee; a copy of Ireland's Own taken up by his granddaughter Katie Keane and a copy of Moore's Melodies, the national bard to whom the Coilagurteen native was related, brought to the altar by Sean Ahern.

 

It was through Fr Pat Moore's homily, however, that the character and personality of the man came to life in all its rich detail. "We have lost a man who was in touch with what we all ache for — that tranquility, wholeness and whole belonging that he had. It was through prayer and love that the Coilagurteen man went there," Fr Moore said.

 

"He could walk the same road twice and see something different there. He was anchored in himself and he knew that God is the deepest thing in all of us," Fr Moore said as a portrait of a deeply spiritual man in touch with his environment to the most acute degree emerged. Greatest of all Dan's gifts however was his ability to 'knit us together' — as Fr Moore put it — through his art.

 

He was also of an intrinsically humble and gentle nature: "Did anyone of us here feel judged or diminished or condemned by Dan Keane? Did anyone of us here ever hear a bad word from Dan Keane? The man who drove or cycled around our countryside selling insurance, he had the ultimate insurance policy of all."

 

He was there for all his neighbours in their darkest hours, Fr Moore added. "What consolation he brought to so many people who lost a loved one tragically. He wrote on people's hearts to say that we are more divine than human and that we can handle our faults and flaws... at age 93 God whispered to him 'come home Dan Keane'," Fr Moore concluded coining a Keane phrase.

 

Fellow writer, poet and local Gabriel Fitzmaurice's reciting of Dan's The Heather is Purple and Peggy Sweeney's rendition of his song The Green Field by the Quarry (a song inspired by the emigration of his sister and never before heard until Saturday) further enlivened everyone's memory of this singular individual as he was taken for burial; where Karen Trench's haunting version of The Hills Above Rathea sang Dan to his rest.