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: Poem Page 27 of 53

Lyre, Ballyseedy and Ballylongford

Scully’s Corner

From the Capuchin Annual Archive

Horse-Drawn Ploughing, 1945 

This is an image of a farmer with a traditional horse-drawn plough in rural Ireland. The image dates to about 1945. Attracting an annual attendance of nearly 300,000 people, the National Ploughing Championships is the flagship event for Irish agriculture and is one of the largest outdoor exhibition and agricultural trade shows in Europe. The event runs for three days.

The photograph forms part of a bound volume containing a collection titled ‘Views of Irish life’ intended for publication in ‘The Capuchin Annual’. 

What I’m Reading

The Lyreacrompane and District Journal is full of interesting little stories.

I was happily reading these when I spied a photograph of my postman.

Pat Hickey’s story is on page 12.

In 1979 Pat’s grandfather made a find in a bog in Banemore…a casket of bog butter that could be 2,000 years old.

This is just one of the great and extraordinary tales in this marvellous journal. The best value in town at only €15.

In Ballylongford

I was in Ballylongford last Sunday for the annual craft fair. The community centre where the fair was held shares a carpark with St. Michael’s church.

I arrived at mass time. Big mistake! Cars parked and some more abandoned everywhere. I’ll know better next year.

When Your Granny Played a Role in History

The Ballyseedy massacre has to be one of the the worst atrocities of a very bitter civil war in Kerry.

Here is Mick O’Callaghan’s story;

Granny Curran and The Civil War

Granny Curran said her rosary nightly and prayed for people who died in wars. We were always very aware of the significance of her home place and civil war politics. My granny played a role in saving a man’s life. On March 7th, 1923, nine republican prisoners, six from the jail in Tralee and three from the workhouse, were taken from Ballymullen army barracks in Tralee. They were taken in a lorry, lying down, to Ballyseedy, on the Killarney Road. They were secured by the hands and legs and to each other and arranged in a circle around a landmine at Ballyseedy and they were blown up.

This barbaric event was in reprisal for the killing of Capt. Michael Dunne, Capt. Edward Stapleton from Dublin, Lieut Patrick O Connor from Castleisland, Private Laurence O Connor from Causeway, and private Michael Galvin from Killarney. They were killed in a booby trap bomb set off by anti-treaty forces at Talbot Bridge near Knocknagoshel on March 6th1923.

     One of the men at Ballyseedy, Stephen Fuller, was blown clear. He landed in a ditch, suffering burns and scars. He crossed the little river Lee and hid in Ballyseedy Woods. He followed the stream until he came to the gable of a house owned by Mike and Hannah Curran, my grandparents.

They took him in and hid him in the hayshed and tended to his wounds. The following day they took him to the home of Charlie Daly. His injuries were treated by a local doctor, Edmond Shanahan who found him in a dugout. He moved often in the coming months including to the Boyle and Burke families in the locality. Then he stayed in a dugout prepared by the Herlihy family for seven months until they were able to contact people who could get him to safety and back to health. The Dublin Guards scoured the country for Fuller but failed to find him.

He joined Fianna Fail led by Eamon De Valera in 1926 after a split with Sinn Fein. He returned to full time farming. Later he became a TD for North Kerry and won elections in 1937,1938, 1943.

My grandparents were not actively involved in any movement but just did the Christian thing in saving a man’s life. They were shocked at the barbaric act that had been committed so close to them at Ballyseedy Cross.

This was a time when brutality was everywhere with pro and anti- treaty sides involved in terrible atrocities with brother fighting against brother and families split over civil war loyalties.

My first cousin Michael, who is now in his eighties and resides in Connecticut, lived with Granny Curran, and I asked him if he ever spoke to her about the Troubles and he wrote to me as follows: “She described the Stephen Fuller episode to me many times.  It struck me as a one-off event.  He came up along the river that runs behind our house and saw the gable in the distance and headed for it.  She said they put him up – I think in a loft, maybe in one of the outhouses overnight and passed the word to wherever they needed it to go that he was there.  I had the impression “they” came for him the next day in a pony and trap and took him away.  As I say I think it was a one-time event.  I don’t believe she ran a “safe house” although it was safe for Stephen Fuller that night.  She never impressed me as a fan of either side in the civil war.  I think she was too practical for that.  

She had a large family at home – my father was 14 at that time – and the civil war was an extension of what they went through with “the Tans”.  I think she just wanted to be left alone.  She was sympathetic to Fuller on a human level but was shocked by the atrocious brutality of what the Free State did on that night – the tying of the men (I’m told) to a landmine.  

But there was so much ambivalence.  I think she admired Michael Collins for his looks.  She talked about that.  

 I remember the crowning of Elizabeth II.  Our grandmother (and every other female I knew) was enthralled by the spectacle.  No resentment was shown about old issues.

Come to think of it, I teared up when the much older Elizabeth stood in Dublin, dressed in green, and gave a toast in Irish.  And when she got into the joking back and forth with the fishmonger in the English Market in Cork it was more than I could take. There’s so much more to all these relationships.

There was an RTE program presented by Pat Butler some years ago about Ballyseedy [a reprisal for an event in a field in Knocknagoshel]. My Auntie Kitty was interviewed for it and spoke about her mother’s role and her reluctance to speak about her role in it confirming my cousin’s story.

Our grandmother had a great interest in and knowledge of the family tree.  At one point in my teen years, realising that she would not be around forever, I asked her about the ancestors, one by one, going back through the generations.  She took me back three or four generations, I think.  I wrote it down, drawing it as a family tree or chart and kept it.  In fact, I was looking for it about six weeks ago to show to my granddaughter but couldn’t find it.  It was a pencil sketch of the tree as she described it to me.  We were raised as Catholics but there were Protestants in our background and people with German ancestry. The name was Poff, and they lived in Killorglin.   It may have been one of the Palatinate people”. 

Some five days after Ballyseedy another five republicans were chained to a landmine at Bahaghs near Cahirciveen, having their legs first being shot to prevent them from escaping. Five men were also chained to a mine in Countess Bridge in Killarney, but one Tadhg Coffey was blown clear. All this was done under the command of Major General Paddy O Daly, and all were exacting revenge for Knocknagoshel.

 It is interesting that during his life as a public representative Stephen Fuller never spoke about the Ballyseedy massacre. He spoke publicly about it for the first time in 1980 in an interview with Robert Kee’s ground-breaking BBC series Ireland: A television history. This happened a few years before his death.

 In this interview, as on many other occasions, he never mentioned my grandparent’s role in the rescue. They knew each other and respected their privacy.

He never wanted to influence his own family in their political beliefs. I remember reading that Stephen Fuller told his son that Civil War divisions should not be passed on to the next generation. He also stated that he bore no ill-will towards his captors or those who were involved in his extrajudicial attempted killing.

Granny Curran, like most women of her era, was a strong-willed person. She had her own strong religious and political beliefs, but they were not shared. She spoke about the five years she had spent in America at the turn of the century and how it had influenced her life and she in turn influenced us.  We heard a lot of stories about different cultures and beliefs. Her chats with us during our formative years had a very positive influence on our attitude to people during our lives especially in respecting difference. We had regular lessons in tolerance and inclusion, and this was very important to her since they lived in a mixed religion area.

She said her rosaries and had the Stations in the house which were held with due respect and reverence. She was progressive in her thinking, but she never crossed the line with politics. She never wanted her political beliefs passed on to the next generation. As she often said to me ‘You are too young for that information” or “somethings are best left unsaid and kept to yourself”.

The Ballyseedy monument was opened in 1959 and the Curran family was represented but no mention was made of their involvement in the 1923 explosion or incident as it was euphemistically called. Ballyseedy was a sad event which happened long before we were born but the story has been part of the folklore of our lives down the years and whenever we pass the Ballyseedy monument on the way into Tralee we recall Granny Curran and the many memories we have of her long life.

It is interesting that the Curran and Fuller families, in Ireland and America, are still in contact. Although all members of the family are fully au fait with the tragedy of Ballyseedy, they never speak about it. Is binn béal ina thost.

Let the past look after itself as my granny used to say.

A Poem

This poem by Robert Louis Stevenson was one of the first I learned by heart.

A Fact

A sleeping man’s snore can be as loud as 69 decibels, i.e. the same as a pneumatic drill.

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Stylish Things and Stylish People

Wildflower Meadow in Childers’ Park in Sept. 2023

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Memories, Memories

The hand of a master craftsman at work

Martin Chute’s mural is on my way to town so I stopped by often to document progress. One day as I observed Martin putting the finishing touches to his masterpiece, the lovely Anne Marie ORiordan passed by. She stopped to admire the artwork and she kindly posed for a photo with Martin. Anne Marie had fond memories of that back lane in the days before Listowel murals when she and her friends were caffling and having fun. She remembers the odd stolen kiss in the nearby carpark too.

Martin’s work will evoke memories for many.

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Mystery Solved

Joe Cahill did the research for us;

M.J. Reidy was a writer known as Mossien Tommy Reidy from Cordal. He passed away on 1988.

Joe found him on a site called Find a Grave where people are invited to share memories of the dead loved one.

Here is what a relative wrote about our poet.

From “The Claddagh” a family newsletter for the O’Flaherty Reunion in Fort Valley, VA, in May 2000.
Maurice J. Reidy, Poet and non-fiction storywriter.
Known as “Mossien Tommie” Reidy, this was a term of endearment to those around Castleisland, Co. Kerry, Ireland, where he grew up. He was a local sports hero while in the secondary school system and later his work was used in the school curriculum. He grew up near Cordal where both sets of his grandparents had lived. He was the son of Helen Flaherty Reidy and the grandson of Maurice Flaherty, the youngest brother of my great-grandfather, Daniel.
Declan Horgan, a retired school teacher from Tralee, some 25 miles away to the west, said that his writings were very good but his antics were just as meaningful to locals. He related two stories about “Moss” that we would find of interest. It seems when Mossien developed an interest in horse racing and began to trade and build his stables he had no “colours” for his jockey. Since this was more or less a “Landed Gentry” sport he was probably ridiculed. Since our cousin was a great athlete in his own right he had a friend on the All-Kerry Football (soccer) team. This friend loaned him the green and gold jersey and this allowed him to meet the “Rules of the sport”. Don’t believe Mr. Horgan said whether he won or lost that day but he won over 200 races in his shortened life.
Another story was: It seems in the medical system in Ireland, like England and Canada, one has to wait their turn for care, unless it is life threatening. It happened our cousin needed a hernia operation and while on a trip to Dublin, feigned a collapse on a downtown street where he was taken to the local hospital and they fixed his problem on the spot. Doesn’t that sound a great deal like Uncle D.C.? Later I ask his brother John if this was all true and he said, “It tis.”, as a big smile spread across his face.
M. J. Reidy was the author of the followingworks: Borders of Hope (1978), Borders of Joy (1975), First collection of stories (1978),
Mirror of Truth (1980), Rays of Cheer (1978),
(1979), Pleasant Holidays (1983), Shades of
Fancy, with Jacinta O’Manoney, (1981), The
Kerry Piper (1974).

From Mirror of Truth we include a small sample:
Ode to Poetry

Oh, you, the one true art from high
To mortal ever given,
Such sweet fond music from the sky
With jewelry of Heaven.
Your sacred light,
Keep blazing true,
When injured here below.
You tended, this life’s hospital,
With care, for pain and woe,
Your oil and wine will polish mind,
And brightly cheer alway.
And only refuge each one find,
To help all night and day.
Thy blush, one fond, true friend can find,
To speak the color of your mind.

I was fortunate to have read most of his work at the Trinity College Library while my wife, sister and niece were out shopping all day. It left me feeling a small portion of the loss his family must have felt in his passing. His sisters, Julia and Kitty, along with a brother, John, still live in the old Reidy homestead at “High Trees”, Glenlaran, Cordal, Castleisland, Co. Kerry. He left a son, Dan, and a daughter, Helen, as well as, six grandchildren. May he have eternal peace with our Lord and Savior.

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Last few Races photos

Clíona met up with Mary Ellen and Aisling

Anne met Bridget and Carmel

In John Kelliher’s photo are Imelda, Joan, Julie, Helena and liz, just some of the local Tidy Town people who organise what was always my favourite event of Race Week. These people have no part in the judging. That is done by fashion experts and a representative from An Taisce.

I didn’t go on Saturday this year because the weather forecast was for very bad weather. I stayed home, child minding. I depended on Clíona, Breda and of course, John Kelliher, for news of the day.

Playing This little Piggy with Aoife

This event is all about reusing, up cycling and making fashion sustainable. Vintage has now become mainstream so it was no surprise to me that a professional upcycler took the prize.

These are some of the finalists. Cathy Troth, second from right, came first.

The very stylish John and Viveca both won prizes, John was the best dressed man and Viveca came second in the ladies’ section.

Here I must give a shout out to local girl, Maria Stack. Maria is a dedicated upcycler and reuser. She is a great supporter of this competiion. She has entered it every year since it first began. She not only wears the vintage outfit but she sources gloves, bag and other accessories. This year she wore a beautiful tara brooch which was a prize won by her mother. She always has the provenance of her attire and she has the best stories. Every year she makes the final but she just can’t win.

Another stylish lady who just can’t win is my friend, Anne Leneghan. This year she was too late to be considered.

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A Fact

Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.

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My Favourite Mural

Childers Park Wildflower Meadow, September 2023

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Contrasting Murals

Creative Walls is a marvellous project by Listowel Community and Business Alliance.

Here is what they have to say about the latest Listowel mural

~ Listowel Characters ~
The latest Listowel Characters mural has been commissioned by the Listowel Business & Community Alliance. With support from Kerry Co Arts and Creative Ireland.

The artist selected for the new typographic mural is the talented Master Signwriter – Martin Chute. As with our previous walls, the artist gets to choose an inspiring quote from a selection of Writers, Poets, Songwriters, and more.  Martin was keen to create a mural featuring John B. Keane.

“Where’er I go I’ll love you sweet Listowel and doff my distant cap each day to you” 
– Sweet Listowel. 

Martin lived and worked in the United States for many years. Now his exquisite lettering enriches the fascias of his native Listowel. The Chute family’s sign writing and artistic painting work are a prominent feature on Listowel’s shopfronts.

Since his return from America, Martin’s unique, handcrafted signs and shopfront designs have transformed the streetscape in Listowel. His work offers an identity and a sense of place that has contributed to the preservation of the town’s character.

Thank you Martin and all involved for this exquisite piece which has attracted massive attention and admiration already. An asset to the town of Listowel. A special thanks to Pat Nolan from Pat Nolan’s Furniture & Carpet Centre for kindly donating this wall space for this project.💙

#listowel #wherestoriesbegin #soundtown #followthegreenway #kingdomofkerrygreenways #discoverthekingdom #listowel4all 

Listowel Business and Community Alliance
Kerry County Arts 
Creative Ireland
John B. Keane’s Pub, Listowel, Co. Kerry

This is the other Charles Street mural. The contrast in styles is striking. Listowel Community and Business Alliance is catering for all tastes.

I particularly love the quotation Martin chose. Listowel is often described as lovely. Sweet is somehow to me more emotive, more tender, The colours, the shape and the timbre of Chute’s mural is reminiscent of an old sweet wrapper, a taste of childhood.

The doffing of the cap suggests to me respect and reverence, an acknowledgement of all that Listowel has given. It’s a gesture of gratitude and loyalty.

My blog has brought me into contact with many Listowel emigrants. This mural speaks to them and for them. I find among the Listowel diaspora, a massive loyalty to the town. I haven’t met a Listowel person yet who was not proud of where he came from.

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Kilbrin

Kilbrin is a very small village in North Cork. It has no shop and no pub now. It has a primary school and preschool and a thriving GAA club.

My family are buried in Kilbrin.

Over the graveyard wall a flock of sheep were investigating a mound of earth. Kilbrin is in the heart of the countryside.

Kilbrin is a very very old burial ground, still in use today . A wonderful restoration job has been done here by the local graveyard committee. All of the graves’ inscriptions which can be read are also online;

Kilbrin Graveyard inscriptions

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My Family

For the first time in years we were all together for race week.

We took walks and they discovered new things about the place where they grew up.

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Death of an Irishwoman

(Michael Hartnett wrote this about his grandmother who was a link to another era in Irish social history.)

Ignorant, in the sense she ate monotonous food 

and thought the world was flat, and pagan, 

in the sense she knew the things that moved at night 

were neither dogs nor cats 

but púcas and darkfaced men 

she nevertheless had fierce pride.

But sentenced in the end to eat thin diminishing porridge 

in a stone-cold kitchen 

she clinched her brittle hands around a world 

she could not understand.

I loved her from the day she died.

She was a summer dance at the crossroads.

She was a cardgame where a nose was broken.

She was a song that nobody sings.

She was a house ransacked by soldiers.

She was a language seldom spoken.

She was a child’s purse, full of useless things.

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Great Idea… but you must book

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A Fact

Be warned: You can overdose on coffee!!!

Ten grammes of coffee or about 100 cups over 4 hours can kill the average human being

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After the Races

Courthouse Road Sept 2023

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The Kerry Piper

My friend, Margaret came across this when she was looking for something else. Has anyone any idea who this Kerry Piper is?

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Listowel Races 2023

The weather was not the best for this year’s race week and I’m afraid I’m a fair weather race goer. I only made it to The Island on one day, Friday, Ladies Day.

My three children, Clíona, Anne and Bobby at Friday’s Races.

All of my grandchildren had school, except Aoife who is only 2. She was enjoying her first Harvest Festival of racing.

Clíona and Aoife posed for me outside the box where Clíona sold racecards many moons ago.

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Murals, New and Old

My visitors beside the newest mural and the oldest

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A Sobering Fact

The period 1347 to 1351 was a dreadful time in Europe. The pandemic known as The Black Death killed one third of the population. Physicians at the time had no clue what caused the pandemic but they recognised that it was highly contagious. To protect themselves against the disease they wore an elaborate beaked headpiece. This protective mask had a large beaklike container which sat between their mouths and their noses. The “beak” was filled with vinegar, sweet oils and other strong smelling compounds. It’s purpose was to counteract the stench of putrid flesh from the dead and dying plague victims, whom they were helpless to cure.

Folklore has it that this is the origin of the title quack as applied to a doctor.

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A Heroine, A Horse and a Hen

Áras an Phiarsaigh

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Dublin Kerry Honours

There I am at Women in Media in Ballybunion in 2019. On my right is Duagh native, Katie Hannon who is now being honoured by the Kerry association in Dublin. She is to be their Kerry Person on the Year 2023.

Photo: Radio Kerry

These two national treasures, Ambrose O’Donovan and Tim Moynihan, the voices that bring GAA matches to Kerry people all over the world, are also to be honoured. Their match day commentaries are the stuff of legend. They are to be dubbed Laochra Chiarraí (Kerry Heroes).

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A Local Spat

in the letters page in 1901

THE LISTOWEL CONCERT—MR JOHN J FOLEY’S LAMENT.

Listowel, 27th March 1901.

Dear Sir,

In your last issue Mr John J Foley takes exception to the remarks made in my notice of the concert recently held in Listowel, in so far as his “comic” recitation “Thady Kelly’s Hen,” was concerned. It is only natural that Mr Foley should endeavour to prove that the item, so far from being objectionable, was entitled to the honour of a National anthem. If I were in his position it is more than probable I would also try to justify myself in the eyes of the public. Placed as I am, I am sure Mr Foley will have no objection to my defending my criticism, particularly as it was written in a spirit which commends itself to himself. Whether he does or not, I intend doing so, and if he regards my remarks in this and in future letters unpleasant he has no one to blame but himself.

I at once join issue! with Mr Foley on the question as to whether “Thady Kelly’s Hen” is an Irish poem of true racy humour, without any savour of the stage-Irishman or of the English music hall,” or a miserable, drivelling , idiotic caricature of the National character. It is a matter of indifference to me whether he rendered the item in Tralee or Timbuctoo without evoking hostile criticism. I am aware that there are some sterling Irishmen in Tralee, but at the same time I am not ignorant of the fact that it contains its due proportion of shoneens. The question at issue is not whether “Thady Kelly’s Hen’ was hall-marked in Tralee or elsewhere, but whether it should or should not be recited before a self-respecting Irish audience.

Now, let us see what the recitation was about. Thady Kelly, as impersonated by Mr Foley, was a besotted ignoramus who never drank porther until he was dhry.” ” While giving the recitation Mr Foley was continually scratching his head in the most silly fashion, under the delusion evidently that he was doing something particularly clever. This is the manner in which the Irishman is usually caricatured. He is represented as a drunken, improvident, “omadhaun,’ who is tolerated on account of the “bulls” he perpetrates. Mr Foley cut the most ridiculous figure he could assume as he murdered the English language in a style never heard in this country. I have no objection to the wholesale massacre of the English, language, but I have a decided objection to have my countrymen held up to ridicule. A sillier, more disgusting and humiliating performance, I never witnessed, than this so-called comic recitation, and Mr. Foley would be well advised if he never again attempted to perpetrate an atrocity which cannot fail to detract from his reputation.

Mr Foley tries to make a point out of my statement, that the people who applauded his recitation did not appear to grasp its insulting significance. I reiterate that statement, and the best proof that they did not grasp it is furnished by the fact that he was not hissed off the stage.

Mr Foley also makes some mild insinuation about “fanatics.” I do not think it is necessary to waste time dealing with the observation, particularly when I take into account the fact that Mr. Foley was not in the most amiable mood when his letter was being written, and that, under the circumstances an ebullition of feeling was only to be expected. Besides as a journalist, I am not over thin skinned, and I do not certainly expect Mr Foley to be over fastidious in his choice of epithets. I have some other observations to make, but will reserve them for my next letter. In the meantime let me express the hope that when Mr Foley comes to Listowel again, he will not be accompanied by “Thady Kelly’s Hen.”

I am, faithfully, YOUR CORRESPONDENT .

( I looked online but couldn’t find the “poem” anywhere)

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When you Meet Someone Deep in Grief

“Slip off your shoes
and set them by the door

Enter barefoot,
this darkened chapel

hollowed by loss,
hallowed by sorrow.

its grey stone walls
and floor

You, congregation
of one

Are here to listen,
not to sing.

Kneel in the back pew,
make no sound

Let the candles
speak.”

By Patricia Mckernon Runkle

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Home is Where the Horses are

This fellow, affectionately known as Johnny, loves to come to the fence for a nuzzle.

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Fact

Here is the answer to the horse related question you didn’t ask.

Why is a horse’s height measured in hands?

The term “hand” is traditionally used to measure the height of horses because it was originally the standard unit of measurement during the Middle Ages. One “hand” is equal to 4 inches, which is the approximate span between a human’s thumb and outstretched fingers.

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