Listowel Connection

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

Ballybunion Oasis, A Frog on TV, Ancestors, Writers’ Week 2019 and Bridal Dress Hire in 2021

By

On May 31, 2021

In Ballybunion, Festivals, History, Listowel, Listowel Writers Week, Personal

Road from Athea in Springtime 2021

Photo: Athea Tidy Towns

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A Lovely Corner in Ballybunion

This lovely little spot by the playground is set out with tables and benches complete with chess or draughts grid. It is a godsend in these times of outdoor living.

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Headstone on my maternal ancestors grave in Knawhill in North Cork.

The author of the poem is unknown but it speaks to anyone who dabbles in genealogy

BTW I asked Kay Caball about the symbol over the names on the stone and here is the meaning of it.

The Christogram IHS is a monogram symbolizing Jesus Christ. From Greek it is an abbreviation of the name ΙΗΣΟΥΣ (Jesus). In Eastern Orthodox Church the Christogram is composed with letters X, P, I and X arranged into the cross. They are the first letters of one from two words in Greek language: Christ and Jesus Christ
Kay

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Listowel Writers Week 2019

Back when we could do things in a gang, this crowd of us congregated on the steps of Kerry Literary Museum to show off some award LWW had won. I’ll credit Maire Logue with the photo simply because she is not in it and I can’t imagine who else would have taken it.

This year’s programme is here; https://writersweek.ie/

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The Champion Frog…a sequel

In response to enquiries, here is David Kissane’s account of what happened to Mossie Walsh and the famous leaping frog when they got to RTE.

Off went Mossie, wife Nodie, a number of friends and relations, and the champion frog in a biscuit tin with holes and a leaves, to Limerick by cars to catch the train to Dublin. Introduced to Gay Byrne and then lights, camera, action. The frog jumped higher and further than ever and became the first and only frog to jump on the Late Late Show. Fame forever for Guhard Man and Mossie.After that, the frog retired from jumping to a river hole in Guhard and Mossie retired from frog-coaching with a European title in his CV.

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North Kerry’s Sarah Fitzgerald’s New Business Featured in Saturday’s Irish Independent

What a surprise to open the newspaper and see an account of a brave new business in these parts.

The photoshoot for the launch took place in the Listowel Arms Photo: Rubistyle

If a preowned vintage dress is your dream wedding attire, be sure to check out Sarah’s rent and return option at https://thesustainablebride.ie

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When I was a Muse

Very briefly on a happy morning last week I felt like a muse.

Cyril Kelly, formerly of this parish, wrote Listowel Connection (me) a little stanza of greeting on my return to blogging.

Waiting

’twas like waiting for swallows and swifts in April,

’twas like waiting  for Brent geese in September, 

’twas like  the fisherman waiting for  Mayfly,

’twas like the gardener waiting for the January snowdrop,

’twas like woodlands waiting for the call of the cuckoo in April,

’twas like the children waiting on the conker-plop in September,

natives in distant domiciles waiting on listowelonnection’s return.

Cyril

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Kanturk, A Champion Frog and A Plea from Ard Chúram

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On May 28, 2021

In History, Listowel, Schools' Folklore

Listowel Pitch and Putt Course

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An Accident in Kanturk

This is the ancient inscription on the Bridge over the River Dallow in my native Kanturk. My Latin is very rusty but as far as I can make out the bridge was erected by the worthies of North Cork in the 18th century. Clearly it was never intended for today’s heavy traffic.

On Friday, May 14 2021, a lorry carrying a load of pouring concrete, broke through the parapet and ended up in the river. Miraculously no one was seriously injured. The County Council and emergency services had restored the road to a functional condition when I visited on the Saturday after the excitement.

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A Cairn in Lixnaw

(From The Schools’ Folklore Collection)

In Gurthenare also in the farm of Mr. Quilter there are still to be seen the remains of a monastery called Kilcara, built by St. Carthage. One of the monks (Franciscans) belonging to that monastery was murdered by Cromwell’s soldiers and tradition has it that he was buried in “Mickey’s Field” in the farm of Wm. Dowling of Kiltomey bounding Gurthenare and Kilcara. A pile of stones was raised over the grave and up to forty years ago everyone, old and young, threw a stone on the pile when passing so strong was the tradition then. Three people, two of whom are still living heard stones rattling there late one night as they were going home from a friend’s house. The noise was such as would be made when emptying a load of stones out of a car.

Told by Michael O’Connell, aged 65

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Ard Churam Needs Your Help

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Guhard Man and Frog

David Kissane has penned a lovely essay about a living legendary Guhard man, Mossie Walsh and his exploits. He posted the essay on Facebook. Here is an extract.

…But Mossie became nationally famous as a coach also. He coached a frog to European championship glory in 1970. Where did this happen? Well, it happened in Listowel where anything creative can happen! At the Listowel Harvest Festival of that year, Noel Driscoll from Milltown Malbay in Clare brought a European champion jumping frog to challenge all-comers. Just picture this. Market Street in Listowel during race week. Around 9pm on the second night of the Festival and the street thronged with men, women and children. The ancient autumnal celebratory atmosphere and the smell of chips, crubeens and porter (lots of porter) circulating. Music and steam rising from the amusements in the marketplace nearby and that “heaven-is-here” feeling in the hearts of all. A big Kerryness all round. A big stage and a throaty announcement “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we invite all comers to challenge the European champion frog jumper…Who can produce a frog that will jump higher or longer than this fabulous creature from Clare?” and the announcer pointed to the green gungy throbbing muscular amphibian proudly sitting in the arms of Noel Driscoll from the Banner. Big cheeeeeeeer!

Mossie was among the crowd and watched five or six people appear with various sizes of frogs. Five or six shades of green. Some with wide froggy eyes and wondering what all the excitement was about. As the excitement grew, a friend came up to Mossie with a box and said shyly “Mossie, I have a good frog here but I have a sore leg and can’t climb up and I was wondering if you would go on stage and let him jump in the challenge?”Mossie looked at the frog. The frog looked at Mossie. Mossie saw the potential in his geáits. He was tidy and dark green in colour. The frog looked at Mossie and smelled the porter from him. His aura was good.

Man and frog went up onstage, the new coach giving the frog a short rub on the way and a whisper in his ear. Up lined seven frogs. European title at stake. Nobody queried the facts or figures or records of the Clare jumper. The procedure was that the frogs were put on a line drawn on a sheet of plywood. The coaches stamped the board behind the frogs and the frogs jumped. One, two, three. Stamp. Huge roars from the crowd and frogs jump. Which they did. Except the European champion from Clare. His frogginess departed him in the Listowel headiness. Stage fright. The more his coach stamped, the less he jumped. Wild cheers as Mossie’s adopted frog leaped like Bob Beamon to the winning line. The Ballydonoghue Hare had coached a winning frog! Listowel went wild. Mossie had the winning touch. The stamp of a winning coach.

A bit of commotion as the frog jumped off the stage and hid under a woman’s skirt and a do-gooder got a left uppercut from the same woman as he tried to retrieve the frog! “What’s the new champion’s name?” John B Keane asked from the centre of the crowd?”“Guhard Man!” Mossie answered with the confidence of a Dubbie Holt, as he was presented with a prize by the winner of “The Darling Girl from Clare”.

And further glory was to follow. One evening a few weeks later, a posh car drove in to Mossie’s yard. Out came a posh-looking man. “My name is Oliver Donohoe from RTE” he said. “We would like your European champion frog to jump on the Late Late Show on Saturday night!”

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Pitch and Putt, The Old Court and a request for Help

By

On May 27, 2021

In History, Listowel, Schools' Folklore

Listowel Pitch and Putt Course in May 2021

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Spine Chilling Tale from Clandouglas School

From School’s Folklore Collection

When the Fitzmaurices were Earls of Lixnaw and in their hey-day, some of them were very cruel. One time it happened that a poor widow woman lived in the vicinity. She had one son whom she sent picking “brosna” firewood in a field called the “Big Orchard” belonging to the Court. The Earl came out and found the boy gathering the sticks. There and then he ordered the servants to hang him from the nearest tree, and they did. When the poor mother heard it she came and stood in front of the Chapel in the Court and cursed the Earl and wished that before long the Rooks and Jackdaws would build their nests in the Court of the Fitzmaurices.
It is said that from that time on a decline came.

Whenever the Earls expected an attack or invasion in Elizabethan and Cromwellian times they hid their gold and treasure in the bottom of Casks which they then filled up with tallow. The Casks were then passed over as unimportant and when quietness reigned again the Earls knew where to find their treasures.

Told by Mr. Michael O’Connell aged 65

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Returning to Normal

I was delighted to meet my old friend, Peter McGrath in the Park last week

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1921 in Listowel to be the Subject of a radio Documentary

I received this email seeking our help from John Murphy of BBC Radio.

Good morning,

My name’s John Murphy. I make radio documentary programmes for the BBC (usually BBC Radio 4 and BBC World Service). I will be working on a project with Fergal Keane sometime later this summer. It’s focused on events in 1921 in and around Listowel (where Fergal’s family comes from), including the killing of James Kane in June 1921, by the IRA.

I am keen to track down any of his relatives or descendants. Might you have any suggestions of anyone who might be able to help me with that?

Many thanks,

John

John Murphy

BBC Radio Current Affairs

New Broadcasting House

Portland Place

London W1A 1AA

M +44 7740 818 135

John.murphy@bbc.co.uk

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Believe it or Not

Dolphins can stay awake for 15 hours at a time

(From 1339 Facts to Make your Jaw Drop)

Omar Khayyam and The TV Licence Inspector

By

On May 26, 2021

In Listowel

In Tralee Town Park…photo; Bridget O’Connor

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The dreaded TV licence detector van

Once upon a time the sight of this in your neighbourhood struck fear into your heart. This was particularly so if you were renting accomodation and it had a big fat giveaway aerial from a previous tenant on the chimney. You see having the telly wasn’t the crime. It was having a device to receive the signal. People were fined for having an unlicensed TV. There were stories of people hiding TV sets in ovens and hot presses when an unexpected knock was heard at the door.

People have told me since that it was all a big hoax and there was no sophisticated detection materials in the van, just a guy with good eyesight who could see a TV aerial from a mile away.

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Omar Khayam reimagined

This is my friend’s treasured copy the Rubaiyat. When purchased, it cost fifty eight and a half old pence.

You would never know what you might encounter on Listowel Connection. This next must be the most unusual item I’ve yet posted. It is a Listowel sequel to a Victorian translation of a poem by an 11th century Persian poet.

This is how Paddy Fitzgibbon introduced his poem to us;

“Attached is a sequel to Edward Fitzgerald’s 1859 translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Kayam. It is written by the entirely fictitious North Kerry poet Tomaisin Og McDoodle, a son of the equally fictitious North Kerry statesman Tom Doodle.”

First of all let me fill you in on the original. In case you were wondering, no, I didnt know this stuff. I looked it up.

Omar Kayam was a Persian poet and astronomer who lived from 1048 to 1131. During his lifetime he was most famous as a scientist and mathematician. His poetry might never have gained its worldwide acclaim were it not for the English translation by Edward Fitzgerald in 1859. 

Apparently the translation was not over faithful to the original.

A rubaiyat is a poem of four lined stanzas. Fitzgerald translated hundreds of them. These translations are widely available and very popular.

The theme of the Rubaiyat of Omar Kayam is Carpe Diem. It chimes well with mindfulness and other philosophies that are currently having a moment. 

Here is an example

26.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise To talk; 

one thing is certain, that Life flies;

One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;

The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

Now to our modern day Kerry Rubaiyat. Like the original, it is very long so I’m only giving you a taste.

One evening, when the Sun began to sink,

Greatrakes  FitzGodward calmly deigned to think,

Then gulped his wine, to celebrate and wake, 

His sixty- ninth sincere farewell to drink.

The evening of his own wild days grew late,

The storm curls of his brain grew limp and straight;

So, should he hurl invectives at the gods,

Or kneel, and pray, and tintinnabulate ?

FitzGodward  filled another glass; bombast

And blighted folly then combined to  cast

One marching, flashing, laughing glance, that left

The cavalries of misery aghast.

           ……………..

          The solstices of good and evil came 

And went; no one can bridge with praise or blame,

The endless chasm between Is and Ought,

The raftless river between Pride and Shame.

…………………….

He took to sportsmanship in Cork and Clare,

( His winters shortened by a well – turned hare );

He once fell off a horse, near here or there,

And licked the lattice work of life, but  where?

( Our reformed hero took Holy Orders and soon rose through the ranks to become pope)

Then at theology he made a start,

And tore both schisms and heresies apart;

He thrived, and soon became an expert in

Aortic aspects of the Sacred Heart.

( His conversion was short-lived, He returned to his old ways)

Old Earth still calmly went around the Sun,

And soon Greatrakes returned to sin and fun,

He drained a barrel then, to eulogise

The obsequies of piety undone.

(When we all come to the end this is how Tomaisín sees it.)

“Come now old friend  Khayyám, and while we can

We will proclaim some sort of well laid plan,

Conceived in wine by Zeus or Proust or Faust,

Or someone’s cousin’s father’s Uncle Dan. 

When, towards our one last hideous latch we’re drawn,

We’ll greet its rusty  hinges with a yawn,

Then whistle a rattling randy tune beside

A wren wrung river, or a lark bossed lawn.

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Believe it or Not

Richard Nixon applied successfully to join the FBI

(from 1339 Facts to Maske your Jaw Drop)

A Round Tower, Nestlings in Dromin and Censorship

By

On May 25, 2021

In History, Listowel

Road to Rattoo in May 2021 Photo: Bridget O’Connor

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Mattie and the Censors

SENSLESS CENSORS.

By  Mattie Lennon

Flann O Brien had a burning ambition to have at least one of his books banned. When he invented the character Fr Kurt Fahrt he said, “  The name will cause holy bloody ructions. It will lead to wirepulling behind the scenes here to have the book banned as obscene.”           But the book wasn’t banned, which brings me to sensors.                                                              

It has been said that every editor should have a brother who is a pimp. To give him (the editor that is) somebody to look up to.  Should every censor have a similar sibling?  

There is a World Day Against Cyber censorship. It is celebrated every year on the twelfth of  March. Should there be a world Day against the other sort of censors?     My namesake,  the critic Michael Lennon wrote that Ulysses was,” . Not so much pornographic as physically unclean……” I am not in a position to agree with or contradict him. Because despite numerous attempts over the years I have not yet got to Molly Bloom’s “Yes I said yes I will yes.”   Of course contrary to popular belief  Ulysses wasn’t ever officially banned in Ireland   so  ninety-seven years after its publication I can’t blame the censor for my lack of erudition in that area.

  However, though I am reluctant to use the word “victim”,   for more than three score years I have 

been a soft touch for “censors” of various hues.  Although in most cases I took Sam Goldwyn’s advice to, “Don’t even ignore them.”

  As a bus inspector I once submitted a report on a complaint from an irate passenger.  I had transcribed, verbatim, his objection which included many expletives, known in polite society as “the vernacular of the soldier.”  My Divisional Manager asked me to change the wording,   explaining, “I can’t ask the girls to type that. “

   As   fifteen year old,  due to strict parental supervision, I was obliged to devour the exploits of The Ginger Man,  Sebastian Balfe Dangerfield , and his fantasies about Miss Frost,   in the semi-darkness of the cow-house in remote  west Wicklow.  While “the shelves of Patrick Kavanagh’s library” were the hedges of his small farm at Shankaduff my book collection  was kept on   the wall-plates of a thatched byre  which lacked diurnal illumination  By the time I got my hands on “Goodbye to the Hill” a neighbour had moved out, his cottage was empty and I could savour the carryings on of Paddy Maguire around Ranelagh and Rathmines  in relative comfort.

  A wise man once said that if you want something to last for ever you should either carve it in stone or write a song about it. Although I grew up within spitting distance of Ballyknockan granite quarries I am no stone-cutter.  But I did on  occasions make a feeble effort to record local happening in ill metred verse. Court cases were threatened more than once  but , sadly, didn’t materialise . And before you ask .  . . I haven’t ever been prosecuted under the Obscene Publications act.

  My verbosity didn’t escape censure either. My olfactory organ, you will have noticed,  has a Grecian bend. And what, you may well ask ,has that got to do with censors?  I didn’t acquire my nasal fracture through walking into a wall, falling down, or being hit accidently. No. It happened in Blessington  fifty-five  years ago when a civic-minded man, head-butted me on the grounds that I had been using un- parliamentary language in the company of females. The ultimate in censorship I think you will agree.

When my one-act Play,  “A Wolf by the Ears” was staged by an amateur drama group in Kildare the producer removed just one line. “In case there would be somebody sinsitive in the hall “, he said. 

   I have no way of knowing when I will be finished with censors but I know when it started. 

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The Supreme Court sits in Dromin

Photo and Caption credit: Paddy Fitzgibbon

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Remember this ?

I took this picture in 2007. No doubt this drinking trough had been there for hundreds of years, maybe even when it was a cows’ lawn. Health and safety concerns necessitated its removal.

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Believe it or Not

Switzerland only gave women the vote in 1971

(From: 1339 Facts to Make your Jaw Drop)

Page 197 of 679

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