Listowel Connection

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

Year: 2024 Page 2 of 48

Country Folk Come to Town

By

On December 16, 2024

In Listowel, Personal, Poem

Charles Street on a frosty morning in December 2024

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John O’Connell’s Christmas Memories

( as related to his wife, Noreen)

“In our house in Curraghatoosane ( Botharín Dubh), Christmas preparations started with white washing. Lime was mixed with water and a little bluestone added and this was painted on with a wide brush or sometimes the sweeping brush.

Red berried holly was picked up in the Hickeys and a few red or white candles were stuck in a turnip or a 2 pound jam crock filled with sand and decorated with a piece of red crepe paper if we had it.

The crib was set up on the wide window sill and decorated with holly or laurel.

On Christmas Eve I went off shopping with my mother on  our ass and cart. My job was to hold the ass  as mother leisurely shopped, in all the shops where she left her  loyal custom throughout the year. Here she got a “Christmas box” as a present. This was usually a fruit cake wrapped in festive parchment with a lovely little shiny garland around it or a small box of biscuits.

There was no rush on mam, or no great worry about poor me in my  short pants, patiently awaiting by his docile ass. Throughout the long shopping  trek, I got   a bottle of Nash’s red lemonade and a few thick  ha’penny biscuits.

It was up  Church street to Barretts  shop and bar, Lena Mullalys,  O Grady’s Arch store, to Guerins in Market Street, John Joe Kenny’s in the Square and many more smaller shops in town,  for flour and meal, tea and sugar, jam, biscuits, jelly  a cut of beef, lemonade,  and lots of stout and a bottle or two of sherry.

Eventually with our cart laden with the provisions and the bottles rattling away  in long wooden boxes ( which would be returned with the empties after Christmas), we set off home, poor Neddy and me, tired and cold but mother content and fulfilled and warmed by perhaps the drop of sherry or perhaps a  little  hot toddy she might have shared in a Snug  with a friend she met on her shopping expedition!!

The last stop was at Jack Thornton’s for a few black jacks, and slab toffee which revived my drooping spirits. As we travelled home the homes were ablaze with lighted  candles . It was a sight to behold, which I can still see as plain today as it was 70 years ago. There was very little traffic back then but I lit the way home  with the torchlight for mam, me and Neddy . The “ Flight to Curraghatoosane”!

Next it was to  untackle and feed and water our gentle, compliant ass, unload the messages and join my father and 3 brothers for a welcome bite. I was the 2nd eldest of four boys and felt high and mighty to be chosen to chaperone my mother. “Mother’s pet,” says Noreen!!

 Next morning we were awake at cock crow to open our purties. (These were sometimes hidden in the meal bin and one year we were informed of this by an older neighbouring boyo and when the coast was clear one day, we searched and found the hidden cache.We were smart enough to remain  silent  so nobody  spilled the beans. ) We  walked, fasting, down to 7 a.m Convent Mass.  Then home to play with and maybe dismantle a purty to investigate its workings.

The stuffed goose was roasting in the bastible. What a glorious smell . I loved the delightful brown gravy, carrots, turnips  and pandy, all from our own garden. As well as supplying milk in town, we had a fine market garden and so we had plenty of fresh vegetables. The trifle dessert was such a treat. 

Next day –St Stephens day was gambling day in our house, when the neighbours congregated to play 110 which could last for days, even into weeks. Plenty porter was gratefully accepted and savoured as well as  tea and cake.

As I got older St Stephen’s day was the day for the wran (wren). We started getting ready early in the day and it was the day that the fancy cake garland that came around the  “Christmas box” cakes, were recycled and transformed into part of the” wran “head dress. We had a fantastic wrenboy group, known as the Dirrha wrenboys, captained by the well -known Sonny Canavan. A wren dance followed in a few weeks, hosted often in our  home and was the event of the year with music, song and dance and 2  half tierces, and attended by locals and visitors and denounced from the pulpit  by the parish priest, if he came to hear of it.”

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Small Taste of the Marvellous Tractor Run

John B. Keane Road on Sunday December 8 2024

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A Poem and a Memory

Johnny Joy shared this lovely memory on Facebook.

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Woodford Pottery

Pat has been so busy this year that he didn’t have enough stock to do the Christmas craft fairs. So the mountain had to come to Mohammed. Woodford pottery pots are absolutely beautiful. His lovely shop is well worth a visit for a hand crafted special present. He sells online now too, if you can’t make it to Woodford or to one of the many shops he supplies.

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A Lovely Door deserves a Lovely wreath

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A Timely Poem for Christmas 2024

SILENT NIGHT

by Mary McElligott

Please Santa, will you help us,

Wake the world for all to see 

What has happened to my home

And all the ones here ‘round me?

I search the sky with my stinging eyes

Hoping to see your sleigh

But bombs and rockets just keep falling

And will frighten ye away.

Our new house has just 3 walls 

And carpet for the door.

There’s loads of us which keeps us warm

As we’re squashed down on the floor.

I miss my nan and mom I do

As we all here just moved on.

I don’t believe my dad no more,

I’m worried that they’re gone.

I don’t want toys at all this year,

Just bring lots of food like bread

And rice and flour and coats and shoes,

Just stuff like that instead.

When you’re up around the stars

Can bombs be turned around?

Maybe you can stop them 

Before they hit the ground. 

Why are we here like this?

What did we all do wrong?

I hate to go to sleep at night.

I hope you won’t be long

‘Cause Santa can you bring us peace

And oil too for our light?

I’m tired now, I hope I sleep.

I’d love a silent night.

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A Fact

Ice age people used human skulls as cups

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A Christmas Story and a Christmas Poem

By

On December 13, 2024

In Listowel

In Listowel Town Square in December 2024

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Christmas Windows

Detail on Jumbo’s windows in keeping with this year’s theme, Fairytale of New York.

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A Christmas Read

I post this story year in, year out at this time of year. I always read it again and marvel at the late Seán MacCarthy’s skill as a writer.

The Christmas Coat   

Seán McCarthy  1986

Oh fleeting time, oh, fleeting time

You raced my youth away;

You took from me the boyhood dreams

That started each new day.

My father, Ned McCarthy found the blanket in the Market Place in Listowel two months before Christmas. The blanket was spanking new of a rich kelly green hue with fancy white stitching round the edges. Ned, as honest a man as hard times would allow, did the right thing. He bundled this exotic looking comforter inside his overcoat and brought it home to our manse on the edge of Sandes bog.

The excitement was fierce to behold that night when all the McCarthy clan sat round the table. Pandy, flour dip and yolla meal pointers, washed down with buttermilk disappeared down hungry throats. All eyes were on the green blanket airing in front of the turf fire. Where would the blanket rest?

The winter was creeping in fast and the cold winds were starting to whisper round Healy’s Wood; a time for the robin to shelter in the barn. I was excited about the blanket too but the cold nights never bothered me. By the time I had stepped over my four brothers to get to my own place against the wall, no puff of wind, no matter however fierce could find me.

After much arguing and a few fist fights (for we were a very democratic family) it was my sister, Anna who came up with the right and proper solution. That lovely blanket, she said was too fancy,  too new and too beautiful to be wasted on any bed. Wasn’t she going to England, in a year’s time and the blanket would make her a lovely coat!. Brains to burn that girl has. Didn’t she prove it years later when she married an engineer and him a pillar of the church and a teetotaler? Well maybe a slight correction here. He used to be a pillar of the pub and a total abstainer from church but she changed all that. Brains to burn!

The tailor Roche lived in a little house on the Greenville Road with his brother Paddy and a dog with no tail and only one eye. Rumours abounded around the locality about the tailor’s magic stitching fingers and his work for the English royal family.  Every man, woman and child in our locality went in awe of the Tailor Roche. Hadn’t he made a coat for the Queen of England when he was domiciled in London, a smoking jacket for the Prince of Wales and several pairs of pyjamas for Princess Flavia?

The only sour note I ever heard against the tailor’s achievements came from The Whisper Hogan, an itinerant ploughman who came from the west of Kerry.

“ If he’s such a famous  tailor,” said Whisper, “why is it that his arse is always peeping out through a hole in his trousers?”

Hogan was an awful begrudger. We didn’t pay him any heed. Tailor Roche was the man chosen to make the coat from the green blanket. Even though it was a “God spare you the health” job, a lot of thought went into the final choice of a tailor.

The first fitting took place of a Sunday afternoon on the mud floor of the McCarthy manse. The blanket was spread out evenly and Anna was ordered to lie very still on top of it. Even I, who had never seen a tailor at work thought this a little strange. But my father soon put me to rights when he said, “Stop fidgeting, Seáinín, you are watching a genius at work.” Chalk, scissors, green thread and plenty of sweet tea with a little bit of bacon and cabbage when we had it. A tailor can’t work on an empty stomach.

The conversion went apace through Christmas and into the New Year. Snip snip, stitch, stich, sweet tea and fat bacon, floury spuds. I couldn’t see much shape in the coat but there was one thing for sure – it no longer looked like a blanket. Spring raced into summer and summer rained its way into autumn. Hitler invaded Poland and the British army fled Dunkirk, the men of Sandes Bog and Greenville gathered together shoulder to shoulder to defend the Ballybunion coastline and to bring home the turf.

Then six weeks before Christmas disaster struck the McCarthy clan and to hell with Hitler, the British Army, and Herman Goering. We got the news at convent mass on Sunday morning the Tailor Roche had broken his stitching hand when he fell over his dog, the one with the one eye and no tail. Fourteen months of stitching, cutting, tea drinking and bacon eating down the drain. Even a genius cannot work with one hand.

Anna looked very nice in her thirty shilling coat from Carroll Heneghan’s in Listowel as we walked to the train. Coming home alone in the January twilight I tried hard to hold back the tears. She would be missed.  The Tailor was sitting by the fire, a mug of sweet tea in his left hand and a large white sling holding his right-hand. I didn’t feel like talking so I made my way across the bed to my place by the wall. It was beginning to turn cold so I drew the shapeless green bindle up around my shoulders. It was awkward enough to get it settled with the two sleeves sticking out sideways and a long split up the middle. Still, it helped keep out the frost. Every bed needs a good green blanket and every boyhood needs a time to rest.

The ghosts of night will vanish soon

When winter fades away

The lark will taste the buds of June

Mid the scent of new mown hay.

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It’s in The Shops !

Bigger and better than ever, Ballydonoghue Parish Magazine is a great read for the holiday season.

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A Christmas poem

From my New/old ICA Christmas miscellany

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in Killarney

The Great Southern puts on a great Christmas display.

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In Tralee

I was in Tralee yesterday in the studio with David recording some Reflections for future Thoughts for the Day.

Then this happened.

I was passing by the Garda Station. Could that be Santa being escorted off the premises by Garda Mary Gardiner?

No, he wasn’t under arrest. He was on a different mission.

In the spirit of the season, Santa posed with me and the Garda took the selfie.

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A Fact

The earliest film version of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol was made in England in 1901.

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Old Times in Ballyduff and Kentish town

By

On December 12, 2024

In Listowel, Poem

Listowel Town Square at Christmas 2024

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Ballyduff Reminiscence from Facebook

Ballyduff in Times Past

Padraig OSuilleabháin

Now long gone only fond memories remain of Ballyduff Creamery and the hardware store seen behind the milk lorry .

The creamery was an integral part of the agricultural community in the parishes of Ballyduff shopkeepers, butcher shop, post office ect all benefited every morning from the Milk suppliers 

Butter was made each day I can remember when local man John McCarthy was the butter maker, taking in the milk I can remember Tommy Sullivan Kilmore, Jer Kearney I remember a young Michael Godley from the Cashen before he became a Creamery Manager himself in West Cork 

The hardware store where Do Do Tracey worked was much much more than a hardware store ,you could buy your groceries, drapery, tools etc 

Every one bought the daily newspaper at Brendan O Neills and of course the Kerryman paper and on the way home you could buy your petrol and diesel as there was several fuel pumps in the village that time 

.The creamery was also a meeting place for people where good news and bad news was relayed to each other if a neighbor was unwell or if someone had passed away that was how news reached rural communities that time , a time when mobile phones weren’t even heard of.

The Post Man Jimmy Pearse would lessen his bag of mail each morning and save himself a long cycle around the by roads and boreens of North Kerry.

These are just my memories of a time when life was simple and people helped each other when everyone’s door was open to one  and all, I just mentioned a few people that i remember but there were loads and loads of beautiful people too numerous to mention and who have passed away now that we will always remember 

May the green sod of Rahela and other resting places rest lightly on their souls.

Norma O’Carroll added these names to the list

Other shops in the village were Murt O Sullivans food store & petrol, Guerins, Brendan Carroll’s, Sheehy’s, Neilans, Quilters, Mossie Neilan’s, Kit Mac Ellistrim’s, Nora Lynch’s, Bridie O Leary’s Chemist. Hennessy’s Butchers & dancehall,

Liam Supple’s butchers, Florrie Connor’s Chemist, Will Joe Ross’s food store & drapery, Liam Kearneys hardware and petrol, Buckley’s chipper, cinema, garden centre and antique shop,

May Leahy’s drapery,

Quilter’s shop- later to become Seán oOConnor’s,

Boland’s garage & petrol,

Johnny Lyons watchmaker, TomJoe Carroll’s garage, Miss Brosnan’s which was like Aladdin’s Cave with all the gifts etc there. Not forgetting the hair dressers, seamstresses, Garda station, 2 travelling banks and 5 public houses. Forgive me if I’ve forgotten any place but Ballyduff was and still is a thriving place with fantastic people.

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A Charity Shop Treasure

When I was in Kildare I popped into the Vincent de Paul shop. They were having a Black Friday sale. I bought this treasure at the rock botton price of €2.

It is a great anthology of recipes, stories, pictures and poetry from members of ICA guilds around the country

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A Christmas Essay

Christmas in an Irish house in Kentish Town in the 1960s

Maurice Brick  Irish Central December 2021

I was wiping the mud from a 20-foot length of half-inch steel reinforcing bar with a wire brush and cursing the frost from the night before, which made it harder. I had, by then, passed the “barra liobar” (frozen fingers) part and the blood was circulating well despite the freezing cold. Steel is about the coldest thing you can handle in freezing weather.

It just didn’t seem like Christmas at all. I received a card from home the day before and Mam said how they were looking forward to Christmas and going to Dingle for the day with Dad. The lads were fine, she said, and they were wondering why I wasn’t coming home and she told them work was tight in England and maybe I wanted to put a bit of money away. Poor Mam, she always thought the better of me.

Today was payday; at least there was something good about it. Tomorrow, Friday, was Christmas Eve, so we had money for a good booze-up if nothing else for the weekend. There were six of us staying in a boarding house in Kentish Town and since we were all from the other side, the mood, to say the least, was somber.

There were two from Donegal and they worked in the tunnels and made tons of money. The work was hard but, I’ll tell you, they were harder. There were three of us from West Kerry and we worked straight construction – buildings, shuttering (concrete formwork) and the like. That was hard work, too, but not as tough as the tunnels with the compressed air. The other fellow was from Clare, a more respectable sort of chap and he worked for British Rail as a porter.

I tried the tunnels myself once. I persuaded one of the Donegal fellows to get me a start and to tell the truth it was the money that enticed me outright. But my venture was a disaster. I started and descended into the tunnel and while there the compressed air hit me like a shot after an hour and my ears screamed with pain.

They were worse again when I entered the decompression chamber and I couldn’t wait to get out. I gained a great deal of respect for the Donegal fellows after that. They both wore a medal-type apparatus around their necks that gave the address of the decompression chamber of their tunnel.

On Christmas Eve, we worked half a day. The foreman was a sly bastard. He was as Irish as we were, but when the “big knobs” from the Contractor’s office appeared on site he affected such a cockney accent that you’d swear he was born as close to “Petticoat Lane” as the hawkers plying their trade there on Sunday.

Anyway, we all chipped in and gave him a pound each for Christmas. This gesture did not emanate from generosity but rather preservation. Our erstwhile foreman could be vindictive and on payday, he would come by and ask for a light and you would hand him the box of matches with a pound note tightly squeezed in there and all would be well with the world.  Not a bad day’s take as there were twenty in our gang. But the job paid well and no one complained.

When I got to the house on Christmas Eve, I paid the landlady and took a bath and dressed in my Sunday best. I waited for the others and we all sat down to dinner. It had some meat and lashings of mashed potatoes, “Paddy Food” they called it. It didn’t bother us much for we knew we would have steak in a late-night café after the pubs closed anyway. The six of us were dressed and ready to go at half six and we headed straight for the “Shakespeare” near the Archway.

After a few pints, there we went to the “Nag’s Head” on Holloway Road. However, we encountered a group from Connemara there and rather than wait for the customary confrontation – for some reason there was animosity between those from the Kerry Gaeltacht area and those from Connemara, which was also a Gaelic speaking area in Galway – we decided to forego it on Christmas Eve. But we assured each other that the matter would be taken care of in the very near future. Just as I was leaving one of the Connemara chaps said, “láithreach a mhac” (soon, my son) and I responded, “is fada liom é a mhac” (I can’t wait, my son).

We ended up in the “Sir Walter Scott” in Tollington Park and I barely remember seeing a row of pints lined up on the bar to tide us over the period between “time” called and when we actually had to leave. This period could last an hour depending on the pub governor’s mood.

We ambled, or rather staggered, into the late-night café sometime after midnight and the waitress gave us a knowing glance and said, “Steak and mash Pat, OK” and we all said “yes.” Some of us said it a few times just to make sure we had said it. It was then I thought, Jesus, I never went to Midnight Mass. That bothered me. I had always gone to Midnight Mass, but it was only last year I started drinking and it went completely out of my head.

We had our feed of steak and left and we decided to walk to the “Tube” at Finsbury Park and that would bring us to Kentish Town Station. Somehow, we made it and truthfully I don’t remember a moment on that train.

We arrived home at two and as quietly as possible reached our rooms. One of the Donegal fellows pulled out a bottle of Scotch and passed it around and we just sat on the beds and took turns taking swigs descending deeper and deeper into the realm of the absence of coherence of any sort.

I remember thinking again about missing Midnight Mass and I must have voiced my disgust a number of times to the annoyance of the others and one of them asked me to “shut the hell up.” I approached him and hit him right between the eyes and he crumpled to the floor and fell asleep.

The others struggled and lifted me onto the bed and everything just blanked out and I remember awakening on Christmas Day and the fellow I hit was nursing a bruised cheek by the window. I asked him what happened and he said he didn’t know and that he thought he bumped into something in his drunken state. I told him that I thought I hit him and that I was sorry.

He came by my side and sat there and I thought I detected a tear or two in his eyes. He looked at me and said, “You know, this is no friggin’ way to spend a Christmas, is it?” And I said, “You’re right” and I shook his hand for I thought he was a better man than I. 

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Christmas Windows 2024

This window display at Sweet Times is absolutely beautiful.

The Lingerie Room

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A Fact

Mary Poppins is the only Walt Disney movie to get a best picture nomination in Walt Disney’s lifetime. It didn’t win.

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Kanturk Remembers the Famine

By

On December 11, 2024

In Listowel, Listowel Writers Week, Personal, Poem, Schools' Folklore

Upper Church Street in December 2024

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In Ballincollig

Castlewest shopping centre, Ballincollig

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Remembering Hard Times

When I was in Kanturk I went to see the Famine Pot in St. Patrick’s Place.

This pot was still intact when a local farmer dug it up. Kanturk Tidy Town committee have placed it at the entrance to the site that once housed the Kanturk Union workhouse.

Six acres were donated by the Earl of Egmont, the local landlord, to the Board of Guardians to erect a workhouse and fever hospital.

The workhouse was built to accommodate 800 people but during the tragic period of the famine almost 1,800 people lived there. North Cork was thought to have suffered some of the worst effects of famine during this catastrophic period of history.

Many of these large cauldrons were donated to the Irish People by the Quaker community during the height of the famine in 1846.

They were used to make soup or stirabout, a kind of porridge made from the cheap meal that was imported to feed the starving hordes who converged on the workhouses.

This is still a health centre. It used to be a dispensary.

It’s worth enlarging this to read about the full horror of those awful years. The pot is a timely reminder of what our ancestors came through.

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A Poem

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Ushering

As essay by Mick O’Callaghan

 Ushering in and out

I was reading in the papers that the election of Donald Trump in America would usher in a new era in American/China relations as Donald was proposing the introduction of a 60% surcharge on all goods entering America from China.

I also saw that all our own political parties were promising that if elected to government that they were going to usher in new priorities in Housing, Education, Health and many more areas of government. This word usher was an ‘in’ word which I just had to explore.

The word usher has been around a long time with God being the very first usher – as he ushered in day and light (Gen. 1:3-4). God ushered man into the Garden of Eden (Gen 2:15). Ushers or forerunners are depicted throughout the Bible.

In the New Testament, Temple ushers were given unusual authority as uniformed guards. In Acts the “captain of the temple” is referred to in connection with arrests and general handling of crowds. It was these ushers who carried out the orders of the high priests to persecute the apostles.

The word comes  from the Latin ostiarius (“porter”, “doorman”) or the French word huissier. Ushers were servants or courtiers who showed or ushered visitors in and out of meetings in large houses or palaces.

My first encounter with usher was in the 60’s when we went to the Picturedrome Cinema in Tralee to see a film or a movie as they call them nowadays. We bought our tickets at the little box office in the hall and waited to be admitted. Sam from Ireland ushered everyone to their seats guiding them down the steps with his long torch. If there was any play acting or noise during the film, he shone the torch on the person involved. Any couples who were getting too close, as they said in those days, got similar treatment.

In those pre-equality days, the usherette sold the tubs of ice cream from her usherette tray during the intermission.

Then of course there were the church ceremonies, particularly at Christmas when the big crowds turned up for midnight mass. There were quite a few people who went straight from the pub to church. The church ushers went around trying to get a seat for everyone. They also had a role at the front door discouraging those whom they adjudged to be carrying a sup too much on board to go home rather than heading up the aisle. This became a problem and mass time was changed to 9 o clock. I don’t think they have that same overcrowding situation today with less people attending services.

I was recently at a funeral of a relative in Kinnitty, County Offaly. The church was in a small rural area named Cadamstown and I just loved it when the parish priest and the usher went around getting people a seat .It was a fine day and there was a reluctance of locals and others, including myself, to be ushered up the church and so there was a sizeable group in the church grounds discussing local topics and the state of Offaly hurling and football. It was a nice social occasion despite the circumstances.

Later when the funeral was over, we were all invited back to the community hall where 140 people were served a beautiful meal. Local people acted as ushers, finding seats, serving desserts and making everyone welcome. It was all so nice, friendly, sociable and a relaxed civilised occasion.

I noticed ushers at a few weddings I was at recently and their names were noted in the wedding booklet. They were all young men who were family members or close friends of the groom who were showing people to their seats but were not members of the inner bride and groom party.

I just love those scenes in films when in a courtroom a male attendant leads in the judge. I looked up the dictionary for a fuller meaning of court usher and found this” Court ushers ensure that everyone involved with a court case is present, that they know what they must do during the hearing, as well as providing personal assistance for the judges to whom they are assigned”.

 We all encounter occasions when people are ushered into meetings or concerts because the event is just about to start. The ushering is usually preceded by an announcement over the P.A. 

In newspaper accounts we regularly read that officials and security personnel have quickly ushered the protesters out of the hall after a protest or interruption at a public meeting.

 We have of course got Usher’s Quay in Dublin which reputably is named after a prominent Dublin family named Usher/Ussher who were supposed to be descended from Gilbert de Neville, admiral of William the Conqueror’s fleet in 1066.

In Ashford in County Wicklow, the garden of Ireland, we have the lovely Mount Usher Gardens.

In literature many of us will have encountered that tragic short story by Edgar Allan Poe entitled “The Fall of the House of Usher” and first published in 1839.It was serialized for TV last year by Netflix.

Finally, I refer to the ushers in Dail Eireann who are always immaculately dressed in their state uniform.

I am now happier that I am a trifle more educated about the lovely word usher so whether you are ushering in or out or being ushered in or out there is an absolute certainty that we will all usher in the new year of 2025 at the end of December 2024 with the usual ushering aplomb. Nollaig Shona.

Mick O Callaghan 03/12/2024

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Some Listowel Christmas Windows

DIY Christmas Crafts

From the Schools’ Folklore Collection

Candles; “My grandmother used make candles out of the fat of cows.”
My grandmother used make candles out of the fat of cows. She used buy the fat from the butcher and after they killed a cow for their own use. First of all she used put it into a mould and put a cord in the hole at the end of it and knot it. Then she used pull the cord through the mould and pour in the fat and leave it so for a day or two. The candles are about as wide as Christmas candles now.
Patrick Fitzgerald used make baskets out of twigs. The twigs grew near his own house. He used pick them in the month of October and leave them so for a week or two.
My grandmother used spin and weave. The flax used be sown in Spring and pull it in August. They used take it to the bog and put it into a bog hole and leave it so for a couple of weeks. Then they used pound it with a mallet.


Collector- Nora Shine, Address, Derreen, Co. Limerick (Kilbaha School)
Informant, Patrick W. Shine. parent, Address, Derreen, Co. Limerick.

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Killarney at Christmas

Their bauble is bigger than ours. I was in this corner of Killarney yesterday dropping off copies of Moments of Reflection to the The Priory Bookshop.

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A Fact

Charles Dickens is believed to have popularised turkey as the centrepiece of the Christmas dinner. When the reformed Scrooge brings Christmas dinner to the Crachit family he brings them turkey.

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On Nana Duty

By

On December 10, 2024

In Listowel, Personal

John R.s, part of Listowel Christmases for 3 generations.

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Kildare Village

There are two places where I spend a bit of time when visiting my grandchildren. Both places are called a village and neither is a village. The places are Kildare Village and Ballincollig.

Kildare Village was looking festive when I visited.

Weather again this year was against us.

We went in The Head Plan shop because Mammy wanted to buy her journal for 2025. The lovely shop assistant spotted a bored child and invited Aoife to be her assistant in the personalisation section.

Aoife “assisted” by standing and looking bewildered. It seems that was enough for she was rewarded with stickers and praise.

Personalisation done, and Aoife was allowed to share the credit.

We tried the new place, new since my last visit anyway, for our elevenses.

Look at this and tell me is this is what a three year old finds inviting in a café.

The excellent service, passionate baristas, pretty pictures and good conversation failed to impress Aoife who found nothing to her liking except the posh overpriced crisps, which made her thirsty and they had no drink suitable for her either.

Come to think of it, it’s a bit rich to claim good conversation as one of the selling points of your coffee shop since the customer has to provide this himself.

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Christmases of Yore in West Kerry

Image and text from Facebook

This is St. Vincent’s Church in Boulteen, Ballyferriter in Kerry on a Christmas Night 

MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS IN GORTA DUBHA

by Maurice Brick

                            There was a touch of frost, enough to stiffen the grass but it limbered with the noonday sun. The grown ups were in good humor and we were very sensitive to that. The farm work was done and only the cows needed tending. There was an easiness. 

A great day was when Mam and Dad went to Dingle to bring home the Christmas. Dad had rails on the cart. We were bursting with excitement upon hearing the cart coming with its iron band wheels which could be heard for miles. They had a sack of flour, a sack of yellow meal, various foods, wellingtons, some clothes, decorations and most important, sweets and biscuits and icing clad Christmas Cakes. They also had several bottles of Sandiman Port which were presents from Dingle merchants in appreciation of their custom through the year. 

Searching for discarded jam jars which we would wash and fill with sand to hold the candle we put in each window of the house. Holding the ladder for Dad as he retrieved some ivy from the gable end of the house. Going to the Reen, a field on our land that was reputedly a Fairy Fortress and had some scattered Holly Bushes. The house would be spotless and there was a silent buzz as we went about our chores. The turf fire was blazing and added to the glow. 

On Christmas Eve for dinner we had Langa (Ling), a long stringy fish that had hung for weeks from the ceiling. It was salty and boney but Mam’s white sauce with onions, pandy (potatoes mashed with generous helping of butter) and spices made it palatable. After, there was lashings of Christmas Cake with inch thick icing and we made short work of that. 

Going to Midnight Mass to St. Vincent’s in Boulteen was a treat. We went up the Tóchar a Bohereen and pathway through the fields. Dad had a lantern and led the way. At one point we climbed a few steps to climb over a claí (an earthen stone fence that separated fields) and on top you could see all the houses in the Parish with candles in the windows and it was like a glimpse of Tír Na nÓg (Land Of Youth) if such a place ever existed. 

The Church was small and comfortable. It was full and the smell of molten wax permeated the air. And there was a quietness. My Dad sang in the Choir and his cousin Paddy Brick, Riasc played the violin. It was magical listening to them, performing for us a hauntingly soft rendition of Oíche Chiuin (Silent Night) in honor of the Birth of the Baby Jesus. I remember now, I will never forget, Dad singing his heart out & Paddy Brick his cousin on the violin, watching one another with sideway glances making sure each of them was putting out the best. 

After Mass all the people greeted one another and offered Christmas Blessings. All was done in hushed and calming voices and that has stayed with me down through the years. My friend Pad accompanied us once going home by the Tóchar and he was given to speeching all the way. When we passed by the Cemetery he proceeded to name everyone who died in Gorta Dubha for the past fifty years. I shifted closer to Mam and Dad for the rest of the journey. 

At home, we put up our stockings for Santí and reluctantly went to bed. Dad went to the haggard and pulled a gabháll (bunch) of hay which he spread at the front door to feed the Donkey that was bringing the Holy Family for a visit to our house on Christmas Night. 

After a fitful night’s sleep we arose with excitement and checked our Santí stockings. We compared what we got and though at times it wasn’t much we were happy. Off we went running to every house in the the village. We’d get a piece of sweet cake or a bun and sometimes, even a sip of lemonade. We joined the other children and traipsed about joyfully in and out of the houses. It was Gorta Dubha and all the houses were ours. NOLLAIG SHONA……..HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

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Continuing my supportive tour of Grandchildren

Róisín in pale green, fourth from right.

Billy Elliot was this year’s Coláiste and Gaelcholáiste Choilm TY musical. It was an excellent show, produced to professional standards.

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German Christmas Treats

I am a member of a bookclub in Ballincollig library. Our newest member is Rebecca, who is on a gap year from Germany.

She made us eiserhornchen, which her grandmother taught her to bake, for our last meeting.

They were delicious.

In case you were wondering, the book was The Stationery Shop of Tehran by Marjan Kamali. It got a lukewarm reception from our club.

Our next book is Politics on the Edge by Rory Stewart, which promises a look inside British politics by a disillusioned Tory. Wouldn’t be my first choice for Christmas reading.

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More New Businesses Opening in my Absence

I turn my back for one minute and the town is changed utterly.

Least said, soonest mended in regard to my opinion of this one

New tattoo shop opening soon on William Street.

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A Fact

In 1951 10,000 turkeys were flown by Aer Lingus from Ireland to England.

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