A corner of town that doesn’t have a name. It’s on Charles Street with Kay’s Children’s Shop on one side and The Manly Barber on the other.


William Street


A Poem

Thank you very much to everyone who has sent stuff to help me keep going. Today’s poem comes from Anne Mulcahy

hello Mary

I am attaching my poem – Plassey – this is a poem about a 10 year old boy who has fond memories of his mother and of Plassey –  a place in Limerick that locals frequented during Summer months – Plassey has a river and a black bridge that people jumped from into the river – unfortunately the boy drowns, – the poem continues to explain that the boy is reincarnated and has vivid memories of his old life, he spends his time trying to make contact with his mother – all in vain.

I would appreciate it if you could publish my poem for me

kind regards

Anne Mulcahy



Spring smelled of Summers brink

 – dew grass, mist lying close to ditches, 

covering with whispers.  

Plassey was my mothers retreat,

 filled her lungs like air, salvation, ecstasy –

An addictive helium balloon. 

The smooth river winding down the canal 

would beckon, and from Spring to Autumn 

she was its slave, fallen yellow leaves tangled 

her sandaled feet in October, 

while we, bumbled behind her

Ducklings behind a swan


Summer was her Byzantium, 

long bright days ate her heaviness.

We stretched on coloured towels 

on thick green bank-hills –

among its natives,

the butterflies and the bees.

then sizzled under sun’s rays,

 like our frying sausages

smoking on the campfire 

or twirled on the rope 

looped over the trees arm.




Firewood flames flicker the summer breeze

mingling with scents of meadow spray, 

Swans nests, cut grass, cow dung –

The scent of food 

bid us to rise from the river floor 

where in earnest we explore

the treasure the swans guard near the rocks.

Star spread swimmers splash from the black bridge

the unorthodox diving board –

where oft a rescue is needed  –

I jumped – Laughing when I bobbed back 


Ark my last jump failed me –

 the river with her whithery branch

clasped my ankle in her iron grip

–air left my tight held lips.

The sun glittered above the waters head –

I sank – a stone cradled in the arms of the river.

I left this world –  

I left Plassey and my mother, 

As she sat on the river bank.

Alas, my story does not end –

Again I am reborn 

air bellowed through me like a storm

 – I blinked, my world had changed ,

no longer I the young boy 

Of my mothers heart

Who dared a dare  – who lived without care

Who at 10 still followed her everywhere.

No – I am a baby again

I cannot smell the riverbed,

 the meadow or the swans, 

I cried for my mother – I cried loud

Knowing she would be calling too.

But the rivers magic had done its trick and here I am anew –

Stuck in this alien place  – while Plassey is my home 


Through years I’ve trawled, and still explore 

for the treasure beneath the worlds floor, 

the re-born me has a memory

so sharp it cannot fade.

The scent of spring on Summers brink

The long hot days we played,

they call me night and day

possess my every breath –

are the source of my every pain

I am not alive in my past world

Nor in this world am I yet dead!


I’ve exhausted all there is to exhaust

and all to no avail –

A lunacy the Doctors diagnose

While Priests and Visionaries are vague.

I’ve tried retrospective Hypnosis,

Even the seven son of a seven son, 

I told him my disarray.

He read my palm and slumbered deep

woke with a piercing scream –

you are a dead man alive again

His yellow teeth screamed at me!


I waste my life in chase of the other

travel sea and air, to be with my mother ,

to scratch this memory from my head

If you go to Plassey – tell her the door home has closed.

She waits by the big rocks where the swans guard,

 watches the black bridge through frowned eyes,

 scoures the river bed for our bobbing crowns,

while the suns glare glistens in her eyes.

Alas, I am doomed -a man between two worlds

Considered a lunatic or a fool –

No one believes my words

No one believes my memories are not dreams

No one believes the dead are alive!


A Seal

Photo: Sukhi Kaur

Ballincollig is a town I know well. I have family there. They are blessed in Ballincollig with a lovely Regional Park where the whole town walks and plays. Recently locals have been delighted to see a seal frolicking in the river by the weir. He has obviously come a long way in search of food.


Back in 1959

Cathleen Mulvihill shared this great  old picture on Facebook with the following caption 

15 May 1959
Gael Linn Competition at Listowel
, Co. Kerry. Picture shows dancing in the streets outside J.P. Kennelly’s and Kerin’s shop. Fiddler is possibly Sean Maguire.

Kerin’s, I’m told, was a bakery. Kennelly’s  was a hardware shop.


A Covid Launch

Because of Level 5 restrictions it was not possible for Kay Caball to launch her book as she would have liked. Jimmy Deenihan, on behalf of Kerry Literary Trust, who published the book, invited a small few people to a very spare socially distant 5 minute peek at the book. Listowel Castle is closely associated with the Fitzmaurices so I took the opportunity to place the cover star, Francis, in a setting that would have been familiar to him.

Kay’s nephew, Cllr. Jimmy Moloney posed for a photo.

Family of the author, the publisher, the printer, the designer and book seller were all that came to  set the saga of Francis and his family on its way.

The story is a great, if sad one. So little of the wealth of this dynasty remains today that we are lucky that Kay took the trouble to dig out the story behind this spectacular fall from fortune.