John R.s, part of Listowel Christmases for 3 generations.
<<<<<<<<
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.
<<<<<<<<<
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.
<<<<<<<<
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.
<<<<<<<<
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.
<<<<<<<
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.
<<<<<<<
A Fact
In 1951 10,000 turkeys were flown by Aer Lingus from Ireland to England.
<<<<<<<<
