This blog is a personal take on Listowel, Co. Kerry. I am writing for anyone anywhere with a Listowel connection but especially for sons and daughters of Listowel who find themselves far from home. Contact me at listowelconnection@gmail.com

Month: July 2024 Page 3 of 5

Experiencing The Greenway

in Listowel Town Square

My Visitors on The Greenway

Photos: Carine Schweitzer

Bobby Cogan

These roadside rapid repair stands were a feature Bobby and Carine had not encountered before. A great idea.

Lovely to be out in the thick of unspoilt Nature

Carine and Bobby love the outdoors, walking, hiking or cycling. These lovely pitstops were a welcome respite.

Irish Travellers in the Old Days

This photograph from The National Gallery’s collection was taken by a famous travel photographer, Inge Morath.

In the photograph is a Traveller family, in a convoy of barrel top caravans on their way to Puck Fair in Killorglin in 1954.

The following essay is taken from a website called Tinteán

The article was written in 2021.

By Frank O’Shea.

In Ireland today there are about 30 000 people referred to as Travellers. Just over two years ago, the Irish parliament recognised Travellers as a distinct ethnic group within the Irish population. This was a hugely significant decision for Irish people who always regarded ourselves as homogeneous. It was also of course significant for the Travellers, because it went a long way to restoring their self esteem and pride in their heritage. Interestingly, the decision does not create new rights and has no implications for public expenditure.

So who are these people we call Travellers? They used to live mostly in caravans or mobile homes in which they travelled all over the country or into England. They have Irish surnames – Ward, Connors, Carty, O’Brien, Cash, Coffey, Furey, MacDonagh, Mohan. In recent times, some have moved into the settled community; the town of Rathkeale in Co Limerick, population about 2000, has about 45% Travellers.

en.wikipedia.org 

That the Travellers are a distinct ethnic sub-group within Ireland has been recognised as a result of recent research. To summarise that research:

  • The Travellers are not part of the Indo-European Romani groups found in Europe and the Americas.
  • Genetic studies have shown that
    • The Travellers are genetically Irish
    • There are subgroups within them
    • There is a suggestion of strong origins from the midland counties
  • It used to be thought that the Travellers owed their origins to the Irish Famine or to the Huguenots who came to Ireland from persecution in France and were able to buy out small farms, but the new studies suggest that they go back much farther, as much as 1000 years.
  • The most reliable evidence shows that this distinctiveness from the local Irish population goes back between eight and 14 generations. Taking 11 generations as a reasonable median, this has given a possible origin as following the Cromwellian era.
  • Another set of researches has shown that a particular allele (a variation of a gene) is found in 100% of Travellers, but in only 89% of the settled Irish population. This may be due to the long tradition of intermarriage within the community, but could also be interpreted as a sign of a possible ‘Abraham’ of all Travellers.

There is a unique Traveller language, variously known as Cant or Shelta or Gammon. This is quite distinct and has echoes in their spoken English. It contains words from Italian and Latin but its vocabulary is mainly Irish, sometimes in a clever anagram. For instance in Gammon the word for whiskey is scaihaab = scai + haab = anagramatically isca baha = phonetically uisce beatha, the Irish for whiskey. Likewise, the Shelta word for door is sarod, which is the Irish word doras backwards. For the Irish Travellers, Shelta or Gammon is usually regarded as a kind of code used deliberately to maintain privacy from settled people.

As well as their own language, travellers have a kind of semaphore for communication. For example, the rags which they leave attached to bushes when they move from a particular halting-place are significant. Red and white rags indicate that it was a good place; black or dark-coloured cloths tell of sickness or trouble with locals. In their folklore, as in that of many gypsies, the colour red has an important part to play as a protection against the Evil Eye.

In the middle of the last century Bryan MacMahon, the Listowel playwright and novelist, became friendly with the Travellers, learning their language and moving easily among them. He has written extensively about them, both as fact and in fiction. 

One paper which MacMahon wrote for the American Museum of Natural History attracted great attention. He received dozens of requests for transcripts of the article and for further information. Most of these requests were from university research schools, but some were from organisations with military or secret service connections. Intrigued by this, MacMahon enquired why his work should create such interest. He was told that in modelling the behaviour of people in a post-holocaust situation, useful guides were provided by marginal tribes like the Lapps, the Inuit or the Irish Travellers. All have survived harsh social and climatic treatment and have learnt to adapt to the most inhospitable of conditions. 

There can be great poverty among Travellers, especially those who move into the big urban areas. In campsites on the fringe of Dublin, conditions are primitive and unhygienic. Yet most caravans have a television and many have a satellite dish.

I now refer to my understanding of the Travellers from my growing up in Ireland. In the first place, we called them tinkers, a term that was not used pejoratively: this was a time when, if your kettle or cooking pot had a hole in it, you did not throw it out, you had it mended and if you were lucky, the tinkers were in the locality and they did it perfectly. They were tinsmiths and if we called them tinkers, we were not aware of any offence. It is possible also that the word is a version of tinklers, people who do lots of small jobs.

They would come to our part of Kerry for patterns and fairs or simply on a wide tour which covered our area at about the same time each year. Sometimes the children would come to school for a few weeks and we were always told to treat them with respect and kindness. There were occasional all-in fights between families but never with locals. Farmers might get angry about piebald horses grazing in their fields, while their wives became more alert in counting their chickens but in general there was a Christian tolerance for these people, ‘God’s gentry.’ 

Sometimes they would sell holy pictures or little statues and we would buy one or two. They were then and still are, strongly Catholic in their beliefs and practices. They had a strong moral code: teenage sex was a particular concern and it was common for girls to marry at 16-17 and men 18 or 19. They did not marry outside their own people, and marriages between first or second cousins were not unusual. 

When they were in the area, their women might come to our back door and ask my mother for a jug of milk or a cup of sugar, which would be given without hesitation. Sigerson Clifford, the Cahirciveen poet writes fondly of them. Many of the poems in his Ballads of a Bogman are devoted to them and to stories about them, always told with respect and great affection.

The tree-tied house of planter
Is colder than east wind.
The halldoor of the gombeen
Has no welcome for our kind.

The homestead of the grabber
Is hungry as a stone;
But the little homes of Kerry
Will give us half their own.

From The Ballad of the Tinker's Wife.

A Fact

James Naismith, a Canadian, invented basketball in Massachusetts in 1891. It was 21 years before it occurred to anyone to cut a hole in the bottom of the basket

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A Fashion Photoshoot

In Listowel Town Square in July 2024

My Summer Visitors

Early morning walk with Reggie

In Praise of a Modest Repast

The Tomato Sandwich

by Mick O’Callaghan

                                     This veggie discovered in the fifteen hundredths

Growing wild in the Andes Mountains

Brought to Mexico by the Spaniards

Then the early explorers brought seeds to Italy

And so, this ancient berry, fruit or vegetable

Has spread throughout the world

Today its 10000 plus varieties are globally grown

With varieties such as beef, cherry ,vine ,piccolo

As ornamental plants, for roasting and toasting

Widely used in salads or just plain slices on bread

For myself I just adore

lettuce, cheese, cucumber, scallion and tomato sandwiches

Made on fresh brown or white sliced bread

I Just love the sensation, the salivating

As I reach into the bread box for the fresh bread

Placing two slices on the breadboard

Spreading the soft butter on them

Gently adding the lettuce, cheese, tomatoes and cucumber

With a drizzle of finely chopped fresh garden scallions

Evenly spread across the top

Shaking a little salt for seasoning and flavour

Liberally spooning and spreading mayo

And placing my covering slice on top

Sprinkling some chopped parsley around for added colour

My sandwich making mission is now complete

And so, I place this attractive creation on my plate

Holding knife overhead and gently slice it in quarters

For easier handling and consuming my tantalising treat

I place it on the table to view my creation

I am happy that it is now ready to eat

Next, I pour a mug of tea and place it alongside my treat

Get my napkin, pour some milk into tea to cool the warm brew down

And then I sit down at table to enjoy my feast

Oh, it so yummy and succulent

As I sink my teeth into bread, tomatoe and cheese

The cucumber,scallions and mayo give it a mighty lift

Mayo softly squelching out the sides

Gently plopping on the plate

Napkin in in place to wipe around my mouth

And avoid any nasty spillage on clothes

As I ravenously devour my home-made sandwich special.

Washed down with real Barry’s brewed teapot drink.

I am satisfied, stuffed, happy, and contented

My appetite is sated

I am ready and energised for the rest of the day.

A Photo Shoot

This was the scene on William Street on Wednesday morning, July 10 2024.

An eagle eyed friend who was passing alerted me to the scoop.

The umbrellas were necessary to block out the sun which had been in hiding all summer but chose that morning to appear and ruin the winter fun.

If you enlarge this one, you’ll see that there is a man on a ladder at the right of the picture with a machine snowing fake snow on to the subjects. You will notice the “snow’ is about 3 inches deep at the pub door.

These two are the main players in this scene.

I made enquiries on your behalf. It was a Christmas photo shoot for a high end German fashion brand or so the man wearing some kind of recording equipment told me.

She is Painting us

This is the charming Jean Cauthen who is a regular visitor to Listowel. Jean is a plein air artist. Look out for her, painting scenes around town.

A Fact

Three of Fidel Castro’s sons, Alexis, Alexander and Alejandro were named after Alexander, The Great.

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An Old Library and a New Shop

Reggie and Bobby at the John B. Keane statue

St. Swithin’s Day

Today, July 15th 2024 is a day weighted with anxiety for superstitious believers in the old wives tale of St. Swithin’s power over the weather, particularly over rainfall.

I read one version of the origin of this belief in Kevin Danaher’s marvellous A Year in Ireland.

St Swithin was an abbot and really really holy man, hugely respected and loved by his fellow monks. When he died they decided that an ordinary grave was not a fitting resting place for the remains of this venerable man so they sent about building a big mausoleum to house his coffin.

The saint was having none of it. On the day that he was to be reinterred, the heavens opened and flooded the whole countryside to the consternation of the monks and indeed everyone else. The rain continued relentlessly for 40 days.

St. Swithin appeared in a vision to a monk and revealed that he was the cause of the deluge. He believed that it was wrong to spend time and money on an ostentatious mausoleum instead of concentrating on prayer and good works for the relief of suffering in the world.

Now, if it rains today and if you believe St. Swithin is displeased, expect more of the same for the next 40 days.

Nice story but bunkum, I’m afraid.

A Poem about a Souvenir

New Shoe Shop in Main Street

Old Carnegie Library

Jer Kennelly’s dive into the newspaper archives found this from the N Y Irish American Advocate of 1930

The old Carnegie Library on the Bridge Road, Listowel. one of the few remaining traces of the stormy period of 1920-1921, has been purchased by R. Moloney, who intends converting it into a concert and picture hall.

I knew that Kay Caball’s Moloney family had an association with this library so I asked her about it.

Here is Kay’s reply;

Hello Mary, No that wasn’t my father.  I think that might have been Robert Moloney. They had a shop at the Gurtinard gate and it was called ‘Bobeen Moloneys’. No relation – I think they originally came to Listowel from Derrindaffe. There is a beauty shop there now.

Bobeen’s  son was Vincent who had the pub at the corner of the Square and Robert who had the sweet shop & Newsagents in the Square also until Covid time.  It must have been that he sold it to my father … but I think that a bit strange myself. ‘Bobeen’ was very wealthy and not a man for selling stuff.

Whatever way, my father would have bought it in the 1950s I imagine and he signed it over to me in the early 1960s.  There was nothing left when I first saw it as a child coming up the Bridge Rd- just completely burnt but the concrete pillars etc standing.  I wouldn’t think any books survived.  It was a forbidden looking ruin with trees and bushes growing inside it.  I’d say Bobeen got a bargain there!

Kay

It’s That Time of Year

From the neighbour’s garden

A Fact

The opening line of Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat is;

There were four of us in it.

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Boherbue

Áras an Phiarsaigh

In The Rose Hotel, Tralee

A magnificent bookcase

You’ll have to enlarge to read the history of this gorgeous pice of craftsmanship.

The beautiful detail is a lasting tribute to the work of these master craftsmen.

This piece on top is not explained but would seem to have associations with its previous religious owners.

In Boherbue

My visitor, Phil, grew up in the little village of Boherbue on the Cork Kerry border. It’s in Co. Cork but in the diocese of Kerry.

Now a centre of activity in the village is this hub which has the local supermarket, the post office and a really lovely café.

Here we met up with some old friends and some family of old friends.

The range of ages in this photo is close to a century. Boherbue is a vibrant close knit community. Listening to some of these reminiscing was a pleasure. Three of the people in this picture once worked in the post office when everyone in town visited the post office for some errand or other. The telephone exchange was also housed there. In those days the telephonist knew all the numbers by heart. There is a story here for another day.

Family Visit

My next visitors were Carine and Bobby and the lovely Reggie.

From the Newspaper Archives

April 1930

A few good-steed salmon were amongst those landed within the past

few days, between Kilmorna and Abbeyfeale. John Creaghe Harnett got three, 10 to 15 lbs.; J. Kelly, Kilmorna, landed a 28.5 lb. salmon; J. Hickey, one 19 lbs.; W. R. Collins, two, 10 and 12 lbs.; M. Galvin, Duagh, one, 10 lbs.; J. Relihan. one, 11 lbs.; D. Downey, two, 9 and 10

lbs.; J. Clancy, one, 11 lbs.; W C. Harnett, one 9 lbs.

Beautiful Paintwork

Isn’t this superb?

I managed to find signwriter, Martin Chute, nearby so he posed for me with another of his beautiful masterpieces. I think this just might be my new favourite shop front, not mad for the flags but I’ll allow that bow to modernity.

Martin is now working on this shop next door. It’s much more minimalist and a contrast to the buildings on either side. It’s going to be an interiors shop I’m told, soft furnishings and homewares.

Great to see new life coming back to town.

A Fact

Fred Bauer (1918 -2002), the designer of the Pringles can, had his ashes buried in one.

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In Kiskeam

Áras an Phiarsaigh

In Kiskeam

Kiskeam is lovely rural village in North Cork. Its people are friendly and welcoming.

Kiskeam in the past was devastated by poverty and emigration.

This is the sign on the graveyard wall. I visited the graveyard last week.

The graves are beautifully kept.

Nestled among the flowers in this box I saw this lovely little message.

A Celtic Cross

Amanda Danzinger in the group “Dicussion on Celtic Art”

I found this big beautiful Celtic cross in Calvary Catholic Cemetery in Seattle. It was made around 1910. I looked it up and it belongs to M.J. Heney, aka “The Irish Prince of Alaska” who built the Alaskan railways during the Klondike gold rush.

I looked it up too, and

I found this from An Irishman’s Diary by Frank McNally, March 24 2017

Hiking in eastern Alaska some time ago, Dublin photographer Paul Scannell chanced upon a small town called McCarthy, where he was so charmed by the ambience that he skipped his flight home and stayed for five months.

The locals took him to heart during his visit. They even elected him “prom queen” at one point, which may sound a bit irregular. But bear in mind that while McCarthy is at the centre of America’s largest national park – two-thirds the size of Ireland – the township itself is not extensive. It has a population of 28.

Anyway, Scannell eventually abdicated his monarchical responsibilities to return home. And next week in Dublin, he opens an exhibition of pictures both from McCarthy itself and the Wrangell-St Elias national park that surrounds it. The show runs at the Powerscourt Gallery from March 29th.

Like many former mining towns, McCarthy used to be bigger than it is now.

Named after one Irishman, the philanthropist James McCarthy, it was made possible by another, a railroad contractor named Michael “Big Mike” Heney.

The Canadian-born son of immigrants, Heney made his fortune building the infrastructure required by the Klondike Gold Rush and other mining booms of the 1890s onwards, in the process of which he too earned a regal title, “The Irish Prince of Alaska”.

His boast was that, given enough dynamite, he could build “a road to hell”. And when a vast copper find at a place called Kennecott demanded a rail-link from the coast, his promise was sorely tested.

Begun in 1907, the 196-mile Copper River and Northwestern Railroad had to cross mountains, glaciers, and river rapids. That and its initials earned it the nickname “Can’t Run and Never Will”. But it did, within four years, and on its maiden journey there was already a quarter-million dollars worth of copper ore awaiting it.

Kennecott became a company town and, as such, was declared “dry”. Miners were not allowed to bring families on site, either, lest their monk-like existence be compromised. So what became McCarthy – the local railway junction – had to make up for Kennecott’s deficiencies.

During three rambunctious decades, it had bars, brothels, pool-halls and all the rest of the services required for a population that reached about 1,000 at its height. Then in 1938, $200 million worth of copper deposits later, reserves ran out.

Mining stopped, so did the trains, and the settlement was abandoned so abruptly that plates were left on tables.

Not much happened there again until the 1970s, when Kennecott and McCarthy were found to have the sort of deposits required by another industry, tourism. Intrepid visitors now come to see the old mining ruins and the wilderness around them. Kennecott houses the national park people. Minus the brothels, McCarthy still looks after the social side.

The place has had its darker episodes too. In 1983, a man went on gun rampage and massacred six residents, more than a quarter of the population. He was ostensibly protesting against the Alaska pipeline.

Then, further afield from McCarthy but in the same corner of the world, there was the sad case of Christopher McCandless, a wanderer who styled himself “Alexander Supertramp”. He is presumed to have starved to death, aged 24, while hiking along another of eastern Alaska’s trails.

His remains were found in the abandoned “Magic Bus”, an improvised shelter, in 1992.

And his life story has since spawned a book, film, and documentary. In fact, it was after hiking to the site of the Magic Bus that Paul Scannell found his way to McCarthy.

Scannell is not the first person from these parts to rediscover the latter town. For obvious reasons, it was also a sort of spiritual homeland to the late comedian and travel writer Pete McCarthy, born in Liverpool of a Cork mother.

After the success of his 1999 book, McCarthy’s Bar, set in Ireland, he wrote a follow-up called The Road to McCarthy.  That was an international affair, tracking the Irish diaspora to such places as Butte, Montana, and the Caribbean island of Monserrat.

But McCarthy, Alaska, featured too. As well it might, because not only does it have a road to McCarthy, it has the McCarthy Road, now as much a travel destination as the town at its terminus.

According to the local travel website (largestnationalpark.com), the drive takes about 2½ hours each way. But the surface can be weather-affected, severely. So those planning the journey are advised to bring “food, water, a spare tyre and jack and plenty of fuel”.

A Fact

Babies are born without kneecaps. They don’t develop until they are about 6 months of age.

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