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

Category: Listowel Page 135 of 177

Tinteán

Easter altar in Ballylongford photographed by Helen Lane

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John Molyneaux R.I.P.

This photograph was shared by Martin Moore. A young John Molyneaux is on the right in front. Martin’s Dad, Michael Moore R.I.P. is in the centre at the back.

David Kissane’s Tribute to his former teacher, John Molyneaux continued;

We take up the story here at David’s first days in St. Michael’s.

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The teachers strode in in turn as the classes revealed themselves. In strode Mr John Molyneaux through the door on our left for our Latin class. Head down, full stride, total silence and up to put his back to the blackboard. He exuded authority. The type of authority that God had in the Old Testament. Lists of books and accoutrements were delivered and warnings about homework and dedication as Mr Molyneaux scanned the class for possible trouble. Or worse. Laziness. Yes sir, we understood what was required. The weight of the college began to be felt. We felt a funeral in our brains as Emily Dickinson had written to the west in the US.

And for the five years that most of our class of ’72 spent in the two upstairs rooms in St Michael’s College, John Molyneaux was a teacher. First and foremost as our Latin teacher, a subject he imparted with the timorem dei (fear of god) that the Roman emperors whom he taught us about had possessed. The amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant that was drilled into us, by both Mr Molyneaux and ourselves, frightened and excited us all at once as he word amo means “I love” and encouraged all sorts of possibilities in our hungry minds. He had an ice of character when teaching in those early days. Roman history was more interesting and the perusing of our text “The Story of the Roman People” by Tappan was immediately a hit with boys interested in war and fighting. We grew into the Latin and the other subjects by hook and by crook. Vercingetorix, Hannibal, Cato, Pompey, Crassus, Romulus and Remus, Lucullus, Cicero, Augustus, the Carthaginians and the Vandals. They became part of our psyche and brought us into a world of battles and wars of the past as the Vietnam war was part of our present in the late 1960s and early 1970s. 

Mr Molyneaux also grew as a character and had his bridging nuances when required. One phrase of his became legendary: “Oh ho!” It was often uttered when a student had made a slip-up in an answer and could have unfortunate consequences but was also used in humorous tales that he would refer to in the course of an aside to the regular routine. When Julius Caesar was faced by daggers, and Brutus (his so-called friend) was among them, the emperor was heard to say “Oh ho!” before the eternal “Et tu, Brute!” According to Mr Molyneaux.

And then there were the English derivatives of Latin words that he usually found a funny angle to explain. When clarifying that the word bullet came from the Latin word for a locket, “bulla” he would have us know that a locket was a shell-like object with a charm inside, ie the gunpowder! Smiles and nods all round. A question about the Latin word “mappa” was answered by one student (from Lisselton) by stating that the word “nappy” derived from it, rather than napkin! Not far away though and Mr Molyneaux smiled at the verbal typo. One all.

Old Latin sayings are a treasure trove of knowledge and he provided the key more more than once. There was the “quis costodiet custodes?” one…who watches the watchers? He related a story about a meeting he was at the week before to appoint river wardens for the Feale and had used the saying to remind the meeting of the necessity to keep an eye on the wardens as well! It reminded us that Mr Molyneaux had another life outside teaching and revealed that in fact he was active in numerous committees. A multi-dimensional human being who contributed to the community that he was born into.

We discovered the further versatility of our Latin teacher when he became our English teacher for Inter Cert. He was immersed in the English language and we were amazed that there was another dimension to his classroom self. Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice is especially remembered as the play he shared with us. He enunciated the central theme of the play with incredible expertise and for many of us that was our way into the genius that was Shakespeare: “How many things by season season’d are?” and “the quality of mercy is not strained” still taste to the memory lollipop.

 I can see Mr Molyneaux now sitting on top of a desk at the head of our thick-walled classroom in St Michael’s on an April day with the world waking up outside and inner worlds waking up in all of us. The red-covered Merchant book in his hand and his gifts as a storyteller casting a spell over the hushed room. All teachers are storytellers and John Molyneaux was a gifted one. No videos or opportunities to see the actual play in those days. It was happening on the classroom stage and in the words of the teacher. The climax of the play had arrived. Shylock had demanded his pound of flesh for a loan not returned by Gratiano and the judge Portia had asked the shivering Gratiano to lay bare his chest for the knife of Shylock. We feasted on John Molyneaux’s words as Portia dramatically adds “But in the cutting, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods are confiscate unto the state of Venice”. We were showered with the magic of the words. And the world beyond time and place. Our new world.

The labels of Jew and Christian would be worked out later when our understanding of religion would be challenged in the years ahead, but something magical had happened that day in our English class. In fact, something magical happened in every class most days.

Gradually his influence came to bear in many other ways. His artistic style of hand-writing was emulated by some of us…a not-joined-up style with the peculiar three-pronged independent letter that was copied and used by this student for the rest of his life. The mention of hand-writing may be a mystery to modern students but in the heady days of 1967-1972 it as a status symbol in many ways. It was also the messaging system to girlfriends and pen pals and family.

One of the abiding memories of Mr Molyneaux’s classes is the Saturday morning westerns’ lends. What? Saturday morning? Yeah, we went to St Michael’s for a half day on Saturday for a few years! Westerns? Yeah! Every Saturday at the end of the Latin class, he would bring in a box of Westerns to lend to us for the week. The genre was very popular at the time with boys and men and authors like Zane Grey and Oliver Strange (the Sudden series) were among the most read. In my case my father always read the borrowed Westerns, and the father of my friend Gerard Neville from Inch likewise fed on the books. 

(More tomorrow)

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A New Chapter for Ballybunion’s Tinteán

This huge theatre, 517 seats, has been beset by problems for a long time. It is brave and enterprising of the new committee to take it on and attempt to revive it and fulfill the dream of its founder, Micheál Carr.

The first concert at Easter 2022 was a great success.

Liam O’Connor, Brian Kennedy and Jimmy Deenihan

There is an ambitious programme planned for the coming months. Let’s hope it is a huge success.

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Meanwhile back in 1968

Once upon a time in Listowel, the highlight of the social calendar was McKenna’s Staff annual Social. You did not have to work in McKenna’s to get a ticket.

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Ah lads, what’s going on here ?

I hope the further notice is coming shortly.

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John Molyneaux R.I.P.

Resurrection altar in St. Mary’s

This annual display on the side altar, as well as all the symbols of Easter includes animals. flowers, water and light.

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Commemorative Manhole Covers

These permanent memorials of 1916 are literally under our feet in town. I photographed this one on Church Street. Try to notice them next time you are out and about.

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Memories of an Influential Teacher

“And still they gazed and still the wonder grew

That one small head could carry all he knew.”

Oliver Goldsmith’s The Village Schoolmaster

The late John Molyneaux had a wealth of knowledge and he imparted it to cohorts of pupils in St. Michael’s. He had a prodigious knowledge of football, running and later golfing strategy.

One of his past pupils, David Kissane, published an obituary to his former teacher on line. I am including it here. As it is very long, I will give it to you in instalments.

Semper Invictus

 A tribute to Mr John Molyneaux, St Michael’s College, Listowel

                                                By David Kissane, Class of ’72

It is fifty years ago since a group of about thirty young fellas headed out the gates of St Michael’s College, Listowel and into the wide, wild and wonderful world of the 1970s. As a member of the class of ’72, there is a compulsion to remember the year and its hinterland. Its place in our layered lives. What contributed to what we are cannot go uncelebrated. It just keeps on keeping on.

But how can one capture the colours and contours, the shapes and shadows of half a century ago when the world had a very different texture to what we perceive now in the bóithríns of age? The ships we sailed out in may be wrecked or dismembered. The ports we set sail from are hidden in the mists of time and memory, and our fellow sailors are scattered.

So where does one begin? 

The writer Colm Tóibín once asked the artist Barrie Cooke how he began his paintings. Cooke answered “I make a random mark on the canvas and see what happens”.

Just as I follow Cooke’s suggestion and type a random “J” on the screen, the phone rings. It is Jim Finnerty from Glouria. I look at my J and wonder if Cooke was right! “There’s a man you knew well after passing away in Listowel” Jim announced. Listowel, I thought out loud as Jim let the news simmer in the wok of my memories. A number of names came to mind before Jim said “John Molyneaux”.

And then my canvas began to fill in. I write the name of Mr John Molyneaux, my Latin and English teacher, my athletics and football coach, and the dam opens. For the five years I spent in St Michael’s College, Listowel, he was an enduring presence, a multi-dimensional man who had a huge influence in our lives for those budding years. An icon.

Of course the first question that challenged my memory was “when did I last see John Molyneaux?”

About three years ago I parked my van down by the Feale off the Square in Listowel. Near Carroll’s Yard. Near the entrance bridge to Listowel Racecourse where you’d hear “Throw me down something!” on race days in sepia Septembers. As I returned to the van with a brand new chimney cowl, I saw him coming along the bank of the river. Lively as always, thoughtful, loaded with intention, energised quietly by the magic of the Feale walk, eyes down. I knew immediately if was him although I hadn’t met him in thirty years or more. 

I almost said “Sir”. There is something un-shielding about meeting our old teachers. For us teachers, there is often a similar feeling when we meet former students.

“Hallo”, I said. He looked up and at me and it was that same look that I had forgotten with the passing of the years. Stored in the subconscious though. A moment of silence. I heard myself say my name. “I know” he said and a pathway opened up between the two of us and five minutes of reacquaintance. The older face transformed itself back through the years and the voice reframed its undeniable Mr Molyneaux-ness. 

“We might have a chat about athletics sometime?” I broached timidly and he nodded. I was talking to the man who helped discover Jerry Kiernan and a host of other athletes. We parted and my day was enriched and changed.

Time and Covid played their cruel games and the chat never took place.

I will regret that for as long as memory is my colleague. 

A group of raw first year students entered St Michael’s College in September 1967 having done an entrance exam the previous May. From the hinterland of Listowel and the town itself. There were only two from Lisselton NS some eight miles away off the Ballybunion-Listowel road. Francis Kennelly and myself, coincidentally from the same townland of Lacca. And distantly related as well. 

The novices of 1967 were the first beneficiaries of Donagh O’Malley’s free education bill with free transport and no fees. Up to then second-level education was the premise of the wealthy. Now we were part of a historical educational development which would change the face of Ireland forever. Educate that you may be free, Pádraig Pearse had said long before he was executed in 1916. 

In we went to the famed, and sometimes feared St Michael’s College, imposing and immobile. Two storeys of history and education above the ground and one storey below looking out on our little minds. Long walk in like an estate house with manicured lawns and apple trees. We were told by those in the know that if we picked the apples that were growing on those trees that autumn that it would have worse repercussions than when Adam was persuaded by Eve to prove his manhood by picking the Granny Smiths in the Garden of Paradise. The principal, Fr Danny Long would punish the picker with impunity. We were herded up the spotted clackety marble stairs and looked down on the trees to our right and pondered the decree of ne tangere. Do not touch.

(more tomorrow)

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Turf

Photo by Caroline O’Sullivan taken near Listowel

CUTTING THE TURF.

A poem by Martin O’Hara

Ah god be with the

Good auld days. 

And the times, of long ago.

For to get the peat, 

for our household heat, 

To the bog, we had to go.

No modern ways, back

In those days.

All in life, you would require. 

Was a fine turf spade, 

That the blacksmith made. 

To secure, yourself a fire. 

With Patrick’s day, 

out of the way. 

It was time, to make a start. 

With the bike and dog, 

Off to the bog. 

And some, by ass and cart.

From countrywide, to

The mountainside. 

The journeys, would begin. 

To replace once more, the

Old turf store. 

For the wintertime again.

Now the cutting of a

Bank of turf, 

This job was done, with pride. 

The cleaning first, was

Taken off, 

And placed down at the side. 

The peat exposed for 

Cutting now, 

Was cut out, with the spade.

And the sods of turf

Upon the bank, 

In rows, were neatly laid.

With the turf now dry,

 As time went by. 

The footing, would begin. 

From countrywide, to

The mountainside. 

The people came again. 

With pains, and aches, 

And many breaks. 

We stood them, row by row. 

And to season then, they

Would begin. 

Where the mountain breezes

Blow. 

In harvest time, with

Weather fine, 

Once more, we would return. 

The turf by now, in perfect shape. 

Was good enough to burn. 

With the ass and cart, we

Made a start. 

To take them to the road. 

And a stack did rise, 

Before our eyes. 

Growing bigger, with each load. 

Now to take them home, 

For wintertime. 

To the bog, we came

Once more. 

With a fine big stack, built

Out the back. 

We renewed, our winter store. 

That was our way, and

Still today. 

This tradition, carries on, 

but In time they say. 

It will pass away, and

Forever will be gone. 

No bog, no more, for

The winter store. 

Only memories, that

Live on. 

Of our working ways, back

In the days. 

That are now, long past and gone. 

Martin O’Hara   3 /3/2020. ©

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Just a Thought

My reflections from Radio Kerry which were broadcast last week April 18 to April 22 2022

Just a Thought

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Kiskeam and Tarbert

Kieran Cogan, Mallow Camera Club

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Ballybunion in 1914

This photograph from the National Library was shared online by Cathleen Mulvihill.

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Aspects of Tarbert in April 2022

There is a lot about Tarbert that is old fashioned in an endearing way. One of the old fashioned features is this grotto which dominates the main street.

I dont know any other town that has a functioning public water hydrant. We used to call these fountains back in my day. Many is the refreshing drink I took from one on my way home from school.

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Bernard Casey, Comedian

I’m getting better at grabbing a selfie when I encounter a star. Cora took this one. Of course she had no idea who Bernard Casey was but I filled her in and she is now a fan.

Bernard is involved in a fundraising effort for Ukraine that sees him team up with Kiskeam GAA to promote the Dynamo Duhallow jersey.

Dynamo Duhallow

The link is to instagram. In case you dont have Instagram, here is the craic in Bernard’s words.

DYNAMO DUHALLOW BY KEOHANE ATHLETIC CLUB.

I am proud to support those involved in Kiskeam GAA and the wider Duhallow GAA community in this design initiative to raise funds for the people of Ukraine.

Dynamo Duhallow was inspired by an old Kiskeam GAA jersey from the 1940s which shared similar colours to Ukraine’s iconic football team, Dynamo Kiev. 

In the jersey designed by Paul Galvin To further unite two disparate communities, the border of the Duhallow region in North Cork is placed alongside the border of Ukraine, where a club crest would normally sit, as a symbol of solidarity, protection and community. 

The sash carries the Ukrainian word for SOLIDARITY across the front and back as translated by a Ukrainian national living in Ireland, as well as a Ukrainian symbol for memory. 

Design and sport come together to make a stand. The Duhallow division puts aside local club rivalries, wearing these jerseys in solidarity with Ukrainians suffering the pain of war.

Kiskeam is a place where if you don’t have three names you’re a blow in.

I’m told by my North Cork connections, some of them with three names, that the jerseys are selling well.

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Beware of NFTs

Remember I told you last week about crypto currency.

By now we are well used to trading with virtual money, with digital fund transfers and credit and debit card transactions but NFT’s are a whole new level of weird and require a whole new level of trust.

I read this cautionary tale in the weekend paper. I’m sharing it as a warning.

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I Met a Fan in Town

I love to meet a follower of Listowel Connection who really appreciates what I do. Such a fan is Marion Walsh, who stopped to praise and encourage me, when I met her last week.

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Our new Eating and Performance Space

I took these photo on Friday April 22 2022 as the foundations for the canopies were being laid. I can’t wait to see the finished Square. Listowel will never look the same again.

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Mr. Regan of Church Street

People remembered this man alright. He was a hackney driver and a publican. His pub was in Church Street where Flanagan’s is now. This was a new car he took to show to his relatives in Tanavalla.

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Tarbert

Photo: Jim MacSweeney, Mallow Camera Club

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Tarbert

I spent a very pleasant time exploring Tarbert on Saturday last.

I met Kim Heffernan who recognised a fellow Listowel woman and came to welcome me to Tarbert. Kim is a great supporter of Listowel Connection.

Coolahan is a Tarbert family name and Tarbert people are justifiably proud of their town’s long association with this family.

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Mystery Solved

By our very own sleuth, Jim Ryan

I’ll post in a minute the link to the site Jim found explaining the reason behind putting animal heads on gentlemen’s, often in military uniform, bodies in portraiture.

Distinguished men were often painted wearing their medals and the pictures displayed with pride in drawing rooms.

It was only a matter of time before some animal lovers thought it only fair that animals who had given distinguished service to their country should receive the same treatment. The Dickin medal was the distinguished service medal awarded to animals and in these portraits many of the animals are depicted wearing it.

The medal was awarded 54 times between 1943 and 1949 – to 32 pigeons, 18 dogs, 3 horses, and a ship’s cat – to acknowledge actions of gallantry or devotion during the Second World War and subsequent conflicts. It is often referred to as the animal’s Victoria Cross. (Wikipedia)

This trend caught on and family pets and others were immortalised in portraits. They were portrayed as other members of the family in their best clothes.

This makes fascinating reading;

Animal Heads on Human bodies

Here is an example;

Rip is a mixed Terrier who would help the air raid warden and his team sniff out people hidden under the debris during the Blitz. He saved over 100 people and received a medal for bravery in 1945.

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Ardfert at Easter

Here are some lovers of everything vintage at their annual get together in Ardfert on Easter Sunday.

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Listowel’s Reimagined Town Square

Work in the outdoor seating and performance area has resumed. I have it from the horse’s mouth that the canopies are due to be installed starting on Sunday.

Yesterday, April 21 2022 in Listowel Town Square

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A morning in Tarbert

Photo; Ann O’Mara Mallow Camera Club

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Scaraveen

A Cuckoo

Scaraveen is a period of very changeable weather which occurs between mid April and mid May.

The name scaraveen comes from the Irish Garbh Shíon na gCuach, literally the rough weather of the cuckoos. Once upon a time newspapers used to print letters from people who claimed to have heard the first cuckoo of the year. The cuckoo is a migratory bird, coming back to Ireland in early spring. He is usually heard rather than seen and his distinctive call was interpreted as a welcome to finer weather.

The old people in Kerry did not pull out the summer clothes or go bathe in the sea during the days of Scaraveen. This bringing with him of bad weather is only one of the bad traits that make the cuckoo a bit of a pariah.

The cuckoo doesn’t build her own nest but squats in someone’s else’s, turfs out the rightful inhabitants’ eggs and lays her eggs. When the eggs hatch the poor unsuspecting parents feed the young cuckoos.

So, forget the cuckoo and listen to the other old saying, “Don’t shed a clout ’til the may is out.” The may in this case is the may bush or whitethorn, a much better indicator of the approach of a settled spell of fine weather.

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Easter in Tarbert

I hadn’t been in Tarbert, or, indeed, anywhere else, for a while, so, when I saw that they were having a market at The Bridewell on Easter Saturday morning I decided to venture forth.

I didn’t go by ferry but this is the sight that greets people coming to town by ferry.

I like Tarbert Bridewell. It is a lovely visitor attraction. This morning the historical aspect was put aside and local crafters were on hand to sell their wares.

One of the lovely aspects of The Bridewell is its welcoming coffee shop. Many of the stall holders on Saturday were people who have their wares on sale in the coffee shop every day.

Take a tip from someone who knows these things. If you are in the market for a beautifully hand knit baby present, a tea cosy, a locally made card or picture you will find the best stuff at the best price here. Another feature of this little tea shop is a book case packed with pre loved books. These are free to take. They do ask but don’t insist on a donation to Listowel hospice .

I took a stroll around the town. This window caught my eye.

On the left was a picture of a puffin, an old medicine bottle and a few pot plants.

In the centre was a fish tank.

On the right was a display comprising a flower arrangement in an old sweet jar, another old bottle, a raffia rabbit and a lovely old photograph of an unidentified couple.

“Curioser and curioser, cried Alice”

This window display at the other side of the street combined much of what an Irish Easter is, a blessing, lots of chocolate eggs, a wild flower garden and a nod to 1916 and republicanism.

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New Car

Sorry readers, I cant find the caption for this one. It was posted on Facebook. I remember that the man is from Church Street and he took his new car to show relatives in Tannavalla. Some of you will know him or remember seeing this photo on Facebook.

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