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
Delighted Paul O’Donovan and Fintan McCarthy on the podium at Paris 2024 holding aloft their prizes and wearing their hard earned gold medals.
But what is in those long boxes that everyone is being presented with along with their medals.?
Answer; A map of Paris
Look at the happy smiles on those two Cork faces. Observe the gaunt, spare frames. They haven’t eaten a solid meal in months. They have put in hours and hours af gruelling training. They have sacrificed everything to their sport. The jokes and banter hide a steely determination coupled with talent and perseverance second to none.
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John J. Foley of Tralee
Maeve Heneghan sent us this photo of her great grandfather. Let me remind you of his Listowel connection from 1901.
Foley was a local performer, singer and reciter of humorous verses, some of which he wrote himself.
In 1901 when he was aged 34 Foley performed at a grand concert in Listowel. So popular was his act that the audience called for an encore and in that slot Foley recited his own poem, Thade Kelly’s Hen.
There was once in Ireland a taste for long humorous ballads, usually recited in a rhythm that made the words easy to remember for the performer. The poem told a story, often far fetched and ludicrous. I’m thinking here of the likes of The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God or Dangerous Dan McGrew, which were favourite dramatic monologues in musicals and concerts at the time.
There was then, as there is now, a certain kind of literary snob who looked down on this type of literature and, failing to live and let live, insisted that this “inferior” entertainment be purged from public performances.
Here is the ballad of Thade Kelly’s Hen, discovered during her research by a U.S. scholar, Christan Bush. The poem is from a newspaper archive and so of poor quality.
A local literary snob, who was at the concert took exception to Foley’s performance and his murdering, as he saw it, of the English language. This man wrote anonymously to the paper decrying the performance.
Back and forth the trolling and defence went on in the Kerry newspapers. Eventually the anonymous critic was unveiled as no other than Thomas F. O’Sullivan, a Listowel journalist and author. So self righteous and incensed was O’Sullivan that he descended to expressing himself in language so defamatory that the paper refused to print any more of his ranting.
This O’Sullivan was very well respected in Listowel and in 1993 a movement was started to erect a monument to him. His ill tempered spat with Foley was not his finest hour.
Now to John J. Foley who was Maeve’s great grandfather. Maybe he is the one who should have the memorial erected to him.
John lived with his family in Moyderwell, Tralee from where he conducted a thriving business as a painter and signwriter.
He was a member of the choir of St. John’s church and the Tralee Philharmonic Society. He was in demand as a performer in local concerts and shows.
He was a talented man of refinement and taste. Maeve sent us this photograph of his magnificent work on the ceiling of the chapel at Balloonagh convent.
The convent is now closed and serves as a nursing home. According to the internet, concerts have been held in the chapel. The chapel is a listed building.
I think John J. Foley’s work on the ceiling is magnificent. Remember it was done in 1901 when equipment for accessing places like this was not as readily available as it is today.
Well done John J. Foley, an ancestor to be proud of.
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+ Mary Stack R.I.P.+
Last week we said goodbye to one of the most glamorous of Listowel grannies. I only knew Mary through her involvement with the local chapter of the St. Vincent de Paul Society. She was a lovely lady.
Barbara is following in her mother’s footsteps with her dedication to charitable works. I took this photo of Barbara and Mary in Main Street on M.S. Busking Day 2018.
Here is Jennifer Scanlon’s lovely tribute to her beloved grandmother. I copied this from Facebook.
Mary, Mag, Mam,Mamie, Nana, Gan. Mary Stack had many titles and she relished every role that she fulfilled. She was our matriarch, an incredible woman of dignity, integrity strength and resilience. She led the way by her example. She reached the wonderful age of 91, her quick wit and humour with her until the very end. She loved to travel and possessed a spirit of adventure and independence to be admired and emulated. I am eternally grateful for her love, guidance, friendship, encouragement and support. She was my cheerleader and encouraged me to keep going and “mind that shop”. Nana was integral to my life when I had my babies, she minded Robbie, Lila and Ogie in her kitchen when they were tiny babies and I was straight back to work. She allowed me that time. I would be behind the counter and she would appear at the door with a baby and say you’ll have to come in to feed! We would swap positions and she would serve my customers while I fed the baby. We made a great team. She got her hip done when Lila was 9 months old and she was delighted to have the buggy to do her walking because there was no way she’d be seen with a walking frame in public. Gan wanted to be at home, her home in the shop where she has lived for over 70 years. She got her wish. Her loving family wrapped themselves around her and cared for her in her final days, where she was and always wanted to be. We knew she was declining the last few days, but she insisted I press on with my sale. The show goes on. Ever the professional. My shop is right beside her kitchen and I’d pop my head in to see her throughout the day. She would look at me from her blue chair and wink at me and ask “are you busy?” I’d answer and she would say, “go back out now and mind your shop” and I did, I kept the shop face on as best I could. We will miss her so much. Her kitchen; always warm and cosy (too hot for me) will not be the same with the empty blue chair in the corner. I am the 6th generation of Stacks to trade at The Arcade and I will endeavour to make my nana proud and guide a thriving business into the future. I am beyond grateful for the opportunities she gave to me .
Rest in Peace Gan
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A Fact
Early Olympians competed wearing only loincloths. In 2024 some athletes favour figure hugging bodysuits. I’m told the tightness of the costume is to compress the muscles and make the body more aerodynamic.
You’ll have to enlarge to read the history of this gorgeous pice of craftsmanship.
The beautiful detail is a lasting tribute to the work of these master craftsmen.
This piece on top is not explained but would seem to have associations with its previous religious owners.
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In Boherbue
My visitor, Phil, grew up in the little village of Boherbue on the Cork Kerry border. It’s in Co. Cork but in the diocese of Kerry.
Now a centre of activity in the village is this hub which has the local supermarket, the post office and a really lovely café.
Here we met up with some old friends and some family of old friends.
The range of ages in this photo is close to a century. Boherbue is a vibrant close knit community. Listening to some of these reminiscing was a pleasure. Three of the people in this picture once worked in the post office when everyone in town visited the post office for some errand or other. The telephone exchange was also housed there. In those days the telephonist knew all the numbers by heart. There is a story here for another day.
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Family Visit
My next visitors were Carine and Bobby and the lovely Reggie.
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From the Newspaper Archives
April 1930
A few good-steed salmon were amongst those landed within the past
few days, between Kilmorna and Abbeyfeale. John Creaghe Harnett got three, 10 to 15 lbs.; J. Kelly, Kilmorna, landed a 28.5 lb. salmon; J. Hickey, one 19 lbs.; W. R. Collins, two, 10 and 12 lbs.; M. Galvin, Duagh, one, 10 lbs.; J. Relihan. one, 11 lbs.; D. Downey, two, 9 and 10
lbs.; J. Clancy, one, 11 lbs.; W C. Harnett, one 9 lbs.
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Beautiful Paintwork
Isn’t this superb?
I managed to find signwriter, Martin Chute, nearby so he posed for me with another of his beautiful masterpieces. I think this just might be my new favourite shop front, not mad for the flags but I’ll allow that bow to modernity.
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Martin is now working on this shop next door. It’s much more minimalist and a contrast to the buildings on either side. It’s going to be an interiors shop I’m told, soft furnishings and homewares.
Great to see new life coming back to town.
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A Fact
Fred Bauer (1918 -2002), the designer of the Pringles can, had his ashes buried in one.
Helen and James Kenny of this parish pictured with Keir Starmer a few years ago.
I got the story from the horse’s mouth. (James Kenny, himself)
This photo was taken at the time of a family wedding when Helen’s niece married Chris Ward. Chris was then a member of Starmer’s backroom team. Since July 4 2024 the same Chris is an M.P.
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Casement Train Station
Did you know that Tralee train station is called Casement Station?
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With the John B. Statue
Every visitor to Listowel has to be photographed with this statue. Thank you very much to the kind man who took this one of Phil and me. He did a great job.
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A Bit of History from the Newspaper Archives
April 19 1930
New York NY Irish American Advocate 1930-1931
The returns of the Registrar-General for the year 1929, show that Kerry had the lowest death-rate in the Irish Free State during that period.
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From the Devil’s Dictionary
by Ambrose Bierce
belladonna, n. In Italian a beautiful lady; in English, a deadly poison. A striking example of the identity of the two tongues.
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A Fact
The acronym BFF (best friends forever) was first used by the character Phoebe Buffay in the TV show Friends.
The very best way to work up an appetite for the Christmas dinner.. The Goal Mile on Christmas morning.
The Cogan family did the GOAL Mile in Cork in 2016
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Remember
A poem by Donna Ashworth
If you haven’t sent cards this year, or forgotten someone’s gift.
If you don’t have matching pyjamas or a festive family photograph.
It’s okay.
If you can’t find the energy to be merry and bright,
or your tree isn’t even decorated yet.
That’s really just fine.
If you don’t feel like watching your favourite Christmas movies, or honouring the traditions that you normally always do.
Don’t sweat it, my friend.
This year has been hard, for many.
Really hard.
If you can’t see a way to celebrating like you have in the past, don’t worry.
Just hang on in there, finding any joy you can in any little way.
Just make it through till next year.
One day at a time.
We need you.
Hang on in there.
You are loved.
Donna Ashworth
Author of ‘wild hope’
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Christmas in The Black Valley
by Dan Doyle
Photo and caption from MV Eanna on Facebook
Idir bhád agus rothar.
Seo grianghraf de Patsy Lydon (RIP) i mí na Nollag 1991 ag iompar a chrann Nollag ó Eannach Mheáin chuig a theach ar Inis Treabhair, in aice le Litir Mór.
This is a photo of Patsy Lydon (RIP) taking his Christmas tree from Annaghvaan to his home on Inis Treabhair Island near Lettermore in December 1991. Patsy was the last person to live on Inis Treabhair before his passing. God Rest his soul.
This was one of the photographs from an exhibition of cyclists in Galway City and County from over the years on display in city centre shop front windows as part of Galway Bike Week which was some 12 years ago or so now.
Now Dan’s essay prompted by the photo…
The memories of Ireland come to us at Christmas more than at any other time of the year those of us who went away young. This man with his Christmas tree on his bike it kind of speaks to me. He is alone on the wet road probably going to his home where he might be alone also.
I have visited old men on the mountains of Kerry before I went away and as I walked up to the house I heard conversation and when I went in there was nobody there, just the old man talking to himself, as the wind moaned in the chimney. The night breeze in the hills made a ghostly sound sometimes as it gusted through the cliffs and the heather. As we can look back at the bleak road he has come with his tree, we wonder why is he even bothering if there is nobody at home to even say “Nice tree” or “God, it smells so fresh. Nothing like the smell of pine needles. Will you be having a drop of tea after you put it up ”
The photo in black and white takes me away back. We walked to midnight mass. It was usually frosty walking through the bog. At the cross roads more would fall in with us and walk to the town. Something special about midnight mass, something special about the Latin, something special about walking with our brothers. I knew I was counting the years we would be together. I knew I was going at an early age. I had to go because I knew somewhere there was warmth and a warm bed and maybe a girl to tell me ” I was waiting for you. Let me hold your hand as you already have my heart ” so I walked the roads like this man and he is me if I didnt go away,
Coming home from midnight mass we waited till we could see the big Christmas candle lit in the window. It seemed to flicker its welcome across the bog. On my last Christmas at home I asked Timmy to stand a moment by the little bridge coming home from Midnight mass. I wanted to soak it in one more time. I wanted to feel the magic of it forever. There was no electricity in our parts for a long time. It was a cold damp night and even after all the years I still feel how it was. So the man and his tree speaks to me. I will be saying a prayer for him tonight. He traveled that wet road to get the tree and I feel his loneliness. He might be heading for a little boat to row across to an Island, a place that further isolates him, so like the Druids of old maybe he will sit and talk to the tree, after he has a nice fire going.
I went at 18 and i took time to adjust. That first Christmas I was able to send a fist full of dollars home to mom so she could actually pay for everything the day she got her supplies, even a bottle of the cratur for the neighbors who were sure to come in. We had them in Kerry too living back in the hills just like the man with the bike, lonely men who walked in at night just to sit by the fire ,just to see other human beings, so mom could take down a few cups and spill a drop in and pass them around and look towards America ,
” This is from Danny , I hope he is looking at the same moon as we are tonight ”
I was far away but a girl was waiting for me. She was going to take my hand and never let it go again . This is for Lily, and Maureen and now I go to say a few prayers for the man on that wet road with his Christmas tree , 3 Hail Marys is all I’ll say. I have been saying them since midnight mass long long ago and the Blessed Mother has kept her eye on me. Sometimes I went astray but she frowned and pulled me back.
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Some Listowel Windows
Danny’s Hairdresser’s and Wig Clinic
Doran’s Pharmacy, Upper Church Street
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Mass Times
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Tralee Christmas Remembered
by Michael O’Callaghan
Memories of Christmas Past and Present
I can remember my grandparents’ O Callaghan’s house and their Christmas preparations. There was a big emphasis on baking and having all the ingredients ready in their house long before Christmas to bake the cakes and plum puddings.
Around the end of September my grandma, clad in her wrap around shawl, and granddad would yoke up the pony and trap. Their destination was Madden’s shop in Tralee to buy the sack of white flour, currants, raisins, and whatever other ingredients were necessary for baking cakes and bread. At this time all bread and cakes were home baked in the range. Rural electrification had not fully hit the area.
After Maddens they headed for the tobacconist to buy the plug tobacco for my grandfather’s pipe. The final stop was Godley’s bar to buy the couple of bottles of whiskey. They then toddled away back home because the big bulk of the Christmas shopping was done and dusted.
The cakes and puddings had to be baked no later than” Halloween “so that they would have settled down and had absorbed all the flavours of fruit and drink by Christmas. They would have been given dosages of whiskey, porter, and rum to help their preservation.
My grandparent’s lives were simple and their big event was midnight Mass on Christmas Eve’. The Christmas goose was a big Xmas dinner item. There was little or no mention of Santa.
In my youth things had changed considerably. Christmas trees were becoming more popular. Putting up the crib was a big event and Santa Claus was big news in our house.
I do remember that if you wanted a bike or trike you had to order it months in advance, or it was no deal. Caballs shops in Tralee did a bumper trade. We had no Amazons or Smyths Toys, or Toy master. All the toys and bikes were bought in one of the three Caball’s shops in Tralee.
My father always insisted on sending Brian O Higgins Irish Christmas cards with the message as Gaeilge and each card had to have a religious and Celtic symbol. Many years later I am sending the same type of card.
I had a school mate, Father Stack, who was a member of the Kiltegan missionaries, and he came to the school where I worked each Christmas, and I bought their cards. That is many years ago, but I am reluctant to break the link even though he died some years ago. I still buy their cards.
At home in Tralee there was an annual list of family and friends in Ireland and abroad to whom cards had to be posted. This list was stored away by my father and withdrawn from a drawer in the first week of December. The cards were duly written with a letter enclosed in each one of them giving all the family news about births, marriages, and deaths. This exercise could go on for a week. Then they were all checked and posted together. I loved that ritual and still do exactly as he did.
Now the next great event was the shopping list. This was our online home delivery shopping. We had no supermarkets and were dependant on a few grocery shops. Our grocery shop of choice was Mikey Connors in Castle Street, Tralee. He was somehow related to my mother, but my father didn’t like his political affiliations. Anyway, Mikey’s was the shop of choice. He insisted that you had to have your Christmas shopping list in by the second week in December to ensure delivery for Christmas. Big Pat Sullivan was the van driver who delivered all the shopping. They were way ahead of today’s click and collect or home deliveries and online shopping. He arrived and put all the shopping on the table and then sat down and had a cuppa. Living was easy going enough and of course he got his Christmas gift. We also got our loyalty bonus in the form of a Christmas cake and a bottle of Sandeman port whether you liked it or not. So, the shopping was always delivered in good time for Christmas.
The Christmas post was another great event. We had relations in England and America and the cards and letters were eagerly awaited and read by all. They were the annual family census reporting births, marriages, and deaths in the greater family for the year.
There was fun too in the delivery of these letters. We had the same postman for many years. He was a great character, but his Christmas round was more arduous than necessary because he was a bit fond of the crature. Our house was the last on the line and all he wanted to do was sit down and rest which he often did. My father offered him a tipple which he duly scoffed off. Then he might shake out the bag on the table to make sure everything was delivered. I often ran around to deliver a few cards. No one minded because it was pre GDPR and was in the spirit of Christmas.
Then we had the Christmas turkey. My father always got a big bronze turkey from a friend, but it had to be cleaned and plucked. We had a local turkey plucker named Tandy Savage. Tandy was quite fond of the cratur as well and was always very busy around Christmas plucking turkeys. He had his clients and went from house to house plucking his trade. Tandy would take a break to have his half whiskey and bottle of porter. He would be nicely when he arrived at our house, and he told yarns or played the spoons. It was an annual Tandy show.
He moved on when he got his dosh for his endeavours. He was truly one of the great characters along with his neighbour and friend Ned Kelleher, who had a pony and trap to bring tourists around Tralee and Blennerville.
I must say I enjoyed the Christmas period. This started with the youngest member of the family lighting the big red Christmas candles in the windows on Christmas eve.
I was sad in a nice way when we bought our first electric candle in Quilters in Tralee. My father had cut a log early in the summer, left in the shed to dry, varnished it, bored a hole in the base and top and wired it up. We were very proud when we switched it on.
Then there was the magic of going to bed early on Christmas Eve full of expectation and joy hoping that Santa Claus was coming down the chimney with our presents that we asked him for.
I remember the joy on Christmas morning when we opened our presents. There was happiness unbounded that Santa had come and that in addition to our requested toys we always got a surprise.
Then there was the `Christmas dinner with the turkey and Brussel sprouts from the garden with carrot and parsnip mash with peas and roasties, all liberally smothered with rich turkey-based gravy. My mother’s turkey gravy was so yummy.
Television had not come to Kerry in my youth, so we had more simple pursuits like a walk along the nearby canal banks or back to the strand to skim stones along the water if the weather permitted.
When we came home my father always insisted on reading Christmas stories and poems which sounded great to me.
They were simple Christmas times when we played with our new Christmas games. We also played cards, draughts, ludo, made jigsaws, collected stamps with not a trace of a television in sight.
They were in their own simple way very exciting times for us. We had super fun at Christmas time with just family and neighbours around us on Christmas Day.
The Christmas holiday period was always an important time for family visitation. We paid courtesy calls to the grannies and other relations around, but one visit was always special. We visited my uncle Daniel and his wife Julie, and they reciprocated. They had a passion for playing cards and their house was a base for Blennerville card games for the Christmas turkeys. That was serious stuff.
They came to our house for supper on St Stephens night. Once supper was over there was a visible restlessness until we started the card game of 31, playing in pairs. I knew very little about cards and there were often a few raised voices when I struck down my partner. This was my annual experience in the delicate art of card playing.
The Christmas season extended on till Nollaig na mBan on the sixth of January which was always celebrated in Kerry as Little Christmas or Women’s Christmas. The menfolk had to do all the work and cooking on that day. It is still a festival party event which is celebrated in sell out events in hotels in Kerry.
Christmas is far more commercialised now with the Christmas lights, alcoholic drinks, chocolates, and biscuits shamelessly appearing in supermarket shelves in the month of August.
Christmas decorations and all the other paraphernalia associated with the festive season now appear before Halloween masks, nuts and fruits disappear off the shelves. This is a ludicrous situation and a definite source of confusion for children and adults alike.
We still embrace Christmas here at home as a nice family time to give presents and to share some time together, while still trying to keep some perspective on what the season is all about and how we celebrate it.
Our satnavs have steered us a long way from Bethlehem. We are now following a very commercially driven star.
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A Kerry Christmas Card
Artist unknown
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A Sad Sean MacCarthy Poem
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Time to say Good Bye
It’s Slán libh from me for 2023.
If God spares us all we’ll meet here again in 2024. ‘Til then I wish you all a happy and peaceful Christmas.Thank you for all the positive feedback and support during the year. M.C.
Two views of Capuchin friars harvesting hay in the fields around Ard Mhuire Friary in County Donegal in about 1950.
Formerly the residence of the Stewart-Bam family, Ards House and its 2,000-acre estate, located near Creeslough, were taken over by the Irish Land Commission in 1926. The Commission assigned the northern portion of the estate to the Department of Lands for afforestation. This part of the estate, covering over 1,200 acres, is now managed by Coillte, the state-run forestry body, as Ards Forest Park, which is an important tourist site and publicly accessible amenity in the locality.
The remaining portion of the former Stewart-Bam estate was divided among tenants. Ards House and its adjoining farmland comprising about 100 acres was left unoccupied and gradually fell into disrepair. The house was acquired by the Capuchins in 1930. Ards House was renamed Ard Mhuire Friary which became a theological seminary. For many years afterwards, the friars continued to farm the land on the former estate.
The present-day Ard Mhuire Friary, situated on the shores of Sheephaven Bay, offers retreats, conferences, seminars, and periods of rest, relaxation and holidays.
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Paupers’ Burial Place
KNOWN ONLY TO GOD: The main burial ground for those who died in Tralee Workhouse (now Áras an Chontae) during The Famine was the small cemetery that was opened in 1846 in the north-east corner of the site; it’s still possible to visit it. In September of ‘Black ‘47’, as the dreaded Gorta Mór raged among our people and as deaths and burials increased, the Poor Law Commissioners ordered that the authorities in every workhouse in the country were to bury their dead paupers in separate locations at a distance from Tigh na mBocht! It has long been the belief in Tralee that it was then that God’s Acre in Ballybeggan was opened as the Workhouse Cemetery. For over 160 years, people have been regularly visiting that very special little burial ground and devoutly praying for the souls of the departed; they pray especially for those ‘known only to God.’ That wonderful tradition continues!
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Looking forward to Christmas
Christmas shop 2023 in Listowel Garden Centre
Below a lovely Christmas story from Ena Bunyan published in Hearthsong in 2009
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A Thought
Remember when the streets were silent
Remember when we spoke through glass
We could not touch or hold each other
To say we hoped ‘this too shall pass’
Lemn Sissay
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A Fact
The word Jeep entered the language during WW2. The vehicle it referred to was a general purposes vehicle often referred to as a GP. In the way words do, g.p. morphed into jeep.
