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

Kanturk Remembers the Famine

Upper Church Street in December 2024

In Ballincollig

Castlewest shopping centre, Ballincollig

Remembering Hard Times

When I was in Kanturk I went to see the Famine Pot in St. Patrick’s Place.

This pot was still intact when a local farmer dug it up. Kanturk Tidy Town committee have placed it at the entrance to the site that once housed the Kanturk Union workhouse.

Six acres were donated by the Earl of Egmont, the local landlord, to the Board of Guardians to erect a workhouse and fever hospital.

The workhouse was built to accommodate 800 people but during the tragic period of the famine almost 1,800 people lived there. North Cork was thought to have suffered some of the worst effects of famine during this catastrophic period of history.

Many of these large cauldrons were donated to the Irish People by the Quaker community during the height of the famine in 1846.

They were used to make soup or stirabout, a kind of porridge made from the cheap meal that was imported to feed the starving hordes who converged on the workhouses.

This is still a health centre. It used to be a dispensary.

It’s worth enlarging this to read about the full horror of those awful years. The pot is a timely reminder of what our ancestors came through.

A Poem

Ushering

As essay by Mick O’Callaghan

 Ushering in and out

I was reading in the papers that the election of Donald Trump in America would usher in a new era in American/China relations as Donald was proposing the introduction of a 60% surcharge on all goods entering America from China.

I also saw that all our own political parties were promising that if elected to government that they were going to usher in new priorities in Housing, Education, Health and many more areas of government. This word usher was an ‘in’ word which I just had to explore.

The word usher has been around a long time with God being the very first usher – as he ushered in day and light (Gen. 1:3-4). God ushered man into the Garden of Eden (Gen 2:15). Ushers or forerunners are depicted throughout the Bible.

In the New Testament, Temple ushers were given unusual authority as uniformed guards. In Acts the “captain of the temple” is referred to in connection with arrests and general handling of crowds. It was these ushers who carried out the orders of the high priests to persecute the apostles.

The word comes  from the Latin ostiarius (“porter”, “doorman”) or the French word huissier. Ushers were servants or courtiers who showed or ushered visitors in and out of meetings in large houses or palaces.

My first encounter with usher was in the 60’s when we went to the Picturedrome Cinema in Tralee to see a film or a movie as they call them nowadays. We bought our tickets at the little box office in the hall and waited to be admitted. Sam from Ireland ushered everyone to their seats guiding them down the steps with his long torch. If there was any play acting or noise during the film, he shone the torch on the person involved. Any couples who were getting too close, as they said in those days, got similar treatment.

In those pre-equality days, the usherette sold the tubs of ice cream from her usherette tray during the intermission.

Then of course there were the church ceremonies, particularly at Christmas when the big crowds turned up for midnight mass. There were quite a few people who went straight from the pub to church. The church ushers went around trying to get a seat for everyone. They also had a role at the front door discouraging those whom they adjudged to be carrying a sup too much on board to go home rather than heading up the aisle. This became a problem and mass time was changed to 9 o clock. I don’t think they have that same overcrowding situation today with less people attending services.

I was recently at a funeral of a relative in Kinnitty, County Offaly. The church was in a small rural area named Cadamstown and I just loved it when the parish priest and the usher went around getting people a seat .It was a fine day and there was a reluctance of locals and others, including myself, to be ushered up the church and so there was a sizeable group in the church grounds discussing local topics and the state of Offaly hurling and football. It was a nice social occasion despite the circumstances.

Later when the funeral was over, we were all invited back to the community hall where 140 people were served a beautiful meal. Local people acted as ushers, finding seats, serving desserts and making everyone welcome. It was all so nice, friendly, sociable and a relaxed civilised occasion.

I noticed ushers at a few weddings I was at recently and their names were noted in the wedding booklet. They were all young men who were family members or close friends of the groom who were showing people to their seats but were not members of the inner bride and groom party.

I just love those scenes in films when in a courtroom a male attendant leads in the judge. I looked up the dictionary for a fuller meaning of court usher and found this” Court ushers ensure that everyone involved with a court case is present, that they know what they must do during the hearing, as well as providing personal assistance for the judges to whom they are assigned”.

 We all encounter occasions when people are ushered into meetings or concerts because the event is just about to start. The ushering is usually preceded by an announcement over the P.A. 

In newspaper accounts we regularly read that officials and security personnel have quickly ushered the protesters out of the hall after a protest or interruption at a public meeting.

 We have of course got Usher’s Quay in Dublin which reputably is named after a prominent Dublin family named Usher/Ussher who were supposed to be descended from Gilbert de Neville, admiral of William the Conqueror’s fleet in 1066.

In Ashford in County Wicklow, the garden of Ireland, we have the lovely Mount Usher Gardens.

In literature many of us will have encountered that tragic short story by Edgar Allan Poe entitled “The Fall of the House of Usher” and first published in 1839.It was serialized for TV last year by Netflix.

Finally, I refer to the ushers in Dail Eireann who are always immaculately dressed in their state uniform.

I am now happier that I am a trifle more educated about the lovely word usher so whether you are ushering in or out or being ushered in or out there is an absolute certainty that we will all usher in the new year of 2025 at the end of December 2024 with the usual ushering aplomb. Nollaig Shona.

Mick O Callaghan 03/12/2024

Some Listowel Christmas Windows

DIY Christmas Crafts

From the Schools’ Folklore Collection

Candles; “My grandmother used make candles out of the fat of cows.”
My grandmother used make candles out of the fat of cows. She used buy the fat from the butcher and after they killed a cow for their own use. First of all she used put it into a mould and put a cord in the hole at the end of it and knot it. Then she used pull the cord through the mould and pour in the fat and leave it so for a day or two. The candles are about as wide as Christmas candles now.
Patrick Fitzgerald used make baskets out of twigs. The twigs grew near his own house. He used pick them in the month of October and leave them so for a week or two.
My grandmother used spin and weave. The flax used be sown in Spring and pull it in August. They used take it to the bog and put it into a bog hole and leave it so for a couple of weeks. Then they used pound it with a mallet.


Collector- Nora Shine, Address, Derreen, Co. Limerick (Kilbaha School)
Informant, Patrick W. Shine. parent, Address, Derreen, Co. Limerick.

Killarney at Christmas

Their bauble is bigger than ours. I was in this corner of Killarney yesterday dropping off copies of Moments of Reflection to the The Priory Bookshop.

On Nana Duty

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.

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Memories and Prayers

Chrismas carol singers ornament

My recent Train Trip

During my recent sojourn in Kildare I attended a production of Calendar Girls in Kilcullen.

It was a sensitive, fast paced, at times funny and at times gut- wrenching staging of this play.

The ensemble cast was in top form…all in all a great night of theatre in this unusual and super comfy auditorium.

Ballybunion for the Holidays

Cork deaf peoples outing to Ballybunion 27/6/1954

This photo is from The Cork Examiner Archive

It accompanied this article…

Stephen Twohig, born in Kanturk but now living in Maine, USA, has great memories of quite a different holiday location.

“For those of us growing up in North Cork, Ballybunion was our choice of summer resort instead of the Cork beaches those in the city favoured. Indeed, Ballybunion was our Disney!”

On day trips, Stephen explains, one could take the bus from the Square in Kanturk on a Saturday or Sunday, with all your gear packed in bags.

“You were laden down with shovels, buckets, fishnets and armbands, blankets and picnic baskets.

“The long road through Newmarket, Rockchapel, and Listowel seemed to take forever, but when we reached Listowel, we knew we were on the home stretch. Finally cresting the last hill and long stretches of these last nine miles, we would call out ‘Ballybunion here we come’ when we saw the gable end of the first row of houses in the town.

Stephen adds: “Ballybunion really was our Disney. It had a magic and mystique about it. It was circus, carnival, sun and fun all in one place.

“Even the harsh winter Atlantic couldn’t erode all the warm memories we have from this seaside town. There are two long beaches split in the middle by a long outcrop into the ocean. On the tip are the remains of a castle, still standing guard.

“In the olden days, the women went to one beach and the men the other and one still called them by those names. God forbid one saw the other in their long, drab flax burlap costumes!

“I would doubt there was any big run on sun block back then. We always went to the men’s or right hand beach. 

You would scoot down the hill, trying not to fall through the coarse, sandy grass and finally plop down on the dry white sand.

“We would stay on the beach from morning until near sundown. More often than not, we would be the last few stragglers left behind, all huddled around each other in goosebumps from the cold. We would erect a windbreaker for a wall and drape a blanket over it if the showers came. When others ran for cover we were staunch and held our ground.

“To give mother her credit, she stayed with us from morning until dusk and never complained of getting bored. Dad, on the other hand, would last about an hour on the sand, on a good day. He would wait for us above on the grass and wave down and wonder when these kids were going to get fed up of the beach and want to go home. He would have a long wait.

“I like to imagine that he still watches over us, and still waits.”

Stephen recalls: “When the tide went out, it left warm pools to bathe in over by the cliffs, and in some cases small caves that you dared not venture in, in fear.”

He and his brother Mike would pull plastic boats or ships behind them.

“When with us, Dad would hold us high on his shoulders as he waded out into the tall waves, scaring the daylights out of us on purpose. 

You could hear the screams and yells of children as they jumped the incoming waves, played ball, held on to flapping kites, or just made castles in the sand.

“And there sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the blanket, looking out of place in his heavy tweeds, shirt and tie and cap, is your man from the front of Roches, waiting. Out of place again, on the edge of more the blanket. He will spend the required time then hoof it up for tea in the shade of a hotel. Or head to the pub to wait it out.”

There were forays away from the beach on those summer days too, recalls Stephen.

“Every few hours, we would hop from foot to foot on the hot tar up the steep hill to the two shops near the bathrooms. These shops had all you ever wanted as a child. Little plastic windmills spun in the wind like propellers, balloons, kites, boats, bright buckets and shovels stuck out from every possible place.

“There, laid out, was an array of sweets and delights that would leave your mouth watering if not so already in the sweltering heat. The smells of cotton candy, cones, periwinkles and sun lotions filled the sea air.

“We would each buy a ninety-nine cone with a chocolate crumbling ‘flake’ stuck in the top. Then, before it melted, you would climb up the coarse grass to the hill on top and look down on the beach far below, trying to see your own blanket.

“When we’d finished, we’d scoot down the hill again with a runny and melting cone for the mother.

“In the late afternoon, we would be left to ourselves as the parents went over and had tea at the far end of the beach. If feeling indulgent, they would treat themselves to a warm seaweed bath. All we could think about was the slimy. shiny fronds of the bubbled seaweed and we couldn’t believe they would willingly bathe in it!

“If it was wet or rainy, we would go for tea and Club Milks at Dana’s. There you would pick out postcards from the revolving racks and write and send them, though we probably would be home before they got there.

There were always treats in the front window of Beasleys that would catch your eye, and we wouldn’t be happy until we had emptied our pockets and had it in our hands.

“There were toy cars, diaries, seashells, boats, storybooks and the ever favourite candy rock. This was a long piece of hard candy, the outside pink and inside white which cleverly had the word Ballybunion ingrained in the white centre. You would bring them home as gifts or ruin many a good appetite or tooth.

Two Hours Free

More Asdee prayers from the Schools Folklore collection

“God bless the break down” is said of a horse broke his leg.

“The light of heaven to the poor souls” is said when the lamp is lighted in the evening.

“Praise be to God” is said when some wonder occurs.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph” is said when some bad story is heard.

“God help us” is said to a person in trouble.

“God increase you” is said when a person gets some food in another house.

“That God may help you” is said when giving alms to the poor.

“God guard us” is said if you saw something terrible.

Dia linn agus Muire Máthair agus Rí na Domhnaigh agus Naomh Eóghain baiste linn”. If this prayer is said when a person sneezes that person will never get a toothache.

“God be with him” is said when a person emigrates to a foreign country.

“God direct you” if a person is going on a journey or doing some work.

“If my Guardian Angel be truly fond of me, the darkest night I shall have light from your lantern, to have me conveyed to the gates of Paradise. Oh heavenly Father Thy pardon I crave”.

“God guard us” it is said when a person saw something terrible happened.

“That God may help you” it is said if you gave a piece of bread to a poor person.

“Matthew Michael Luke and John God bless the bed that I lie on if I die before I wake I pray to God have my soul to take”.

“God have mercy on us” is said when a person is troubled

“Welcome be the holy will of God” is said when a misfortune happens.

“The light of heaven to all the poor souls in Purgatory and our own souls at the last day” is said when the candles are lighted on Christmas Eve.

“That we may be all alive to see them lighted again” is said also when the candles are lit Christmas Eve.

“God save the hearers” is said when the thing happens but very seldom.

“O Divine Jesus lonely to night in so many tabernacles I offer thee my lonely heart may its every beating be a prayer of love to thee thou art always present. –

The sacramental veils in thy love thou never sleepest thou art never weary of thy vigil for poor sinner. O Loving Jesus, O lonely Jesus may my heart be a lamp of light of which shall burn and beem for thee alone watch Sacramental sentinel. Watch for the weary world for thy erring soul for thy poor and lonely child”. is said to wish good night to our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.

“God love you” is said to a young person who does something for an old person.

“Snuachan maith chugat” is also said to a young person who does something for an old person.

“Hail and blessed be thy hour and moment in which the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary at midnight in the piercing cold in the stable of Bethlehem. At that same moment and hour vouchsafe my God to hear my prayer and grant my request through the merits of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ”. This prayer is said fifteen times every night from the 30th. of November to Christmas Eve.

“I wish you a happy Christmas” is said to a person on Christmas morning.

“God grant you all happiness in the New Year” is said to aperson on New Year’s morning.

“A long life to you” is said to a person who gives something to the poor.

“Bad luck from you” is said to a person who does some good act for another person.

“More luck to you” is said to a person who wins something playing cards.

“Lord save us from all dangers” is said in time of thunder.

“Salvation to you mam. Amen a Thíghearna Íosa Críost” is said by an old woman who gets a pinch of snuff from another woman.

“The Lord have mercy on all the poor souls who left you and that you may meet them the last day” is said by a beggar who gets a grain of flour.

“Welcome be the holy will of God” is said when a misfortune happens.

“Go bhfóiridh Dia orainn” is said when a person is in trouble.

COLLECTOR

Eddie Murphy

Gender

Male

Age

14

Address

Tullahennel North, Co. Kerry

School; Astee

New Businesses

While I was away the town went into overdrive, with a new business opening up every day. Here are a few.

A New florist on Church Street

A new barber’s on Church Street

CB Aesthetics, a skincare specialist in Tae Lane

A Fact

Close on one million turkeys are sold in Ireland in the run up to Christmas Day.

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Grandchildren

Christmas scene in Ballincollig

Continuing my Nana tour

Carine, Bobby and me supporting Sean in his Winter League tennis match. His team, Lakewood, won.

You know you’re old when your grandson joins you in a Christmas drink.

Ever played Rummikub? It’s a great game. Cora is the family champ.

If you know the game, you’ll have sympathy for me here. I had 28 tiles and was being accused of holding up the whole show. I still couldn’t meld (i.e. start to play). You can only start by putting down 3 tiles adding up to 30 or more.

A Creative Writer helping Ard Chúram

I missed the launch of this one but I’m enjoying reading the book. Some of Dick’s writing has appeared on Listowel Connection before. The title of his latest book might give the impression that it is a scholarly work. It is a very accessible book with something for everyone.

A Robin photographed by Chris Grayson

The First Christmas essay of 2024

Christmas is a time when it’s nice to wallow in the familiar. I make a point of reposting the same Christmas stuff year after year. You’ve read this before but it’s worth another read.

MY BEST CHRISTMAS  SO FAR.

   By Mattie Lennon.

   It was mid-December in the third decade of the twenty-first century. I was at a Toastmasters Table Topics session. Because of my dubious ability to read upside down, I could make out the Topic master’s list of questions at the top table. One jumped out at me. “What was your best Christmas ever?”   I hoped I’d get that one. I had an answer.

    My best Christmas was Christmas 1956 but I didn’t know it at the time.  About the eighth of December that year I developed a pain in my stomach which didn’t feel all that serious. .  Various stages of discomfort, ranging from relatively mild to severe pain, continued until the end of the month.  By this stage a hard lump could be felt in my stomach. All kinds of remedies from the relic of Blessed Martin de Porres to Lourdes water to many folk “cures” were applied. None of them did me any harm. Medical intervention hadn’t been sought. And because of the thinking of the time and the climate in which we lived I don’t blame anyone for that… On Sunday December 30th Doctor Clearkin from Blessington was called.    As the December light was fading he examined me. His work illuminated by lamplight as rural electrification was still in the future. He told my parents that if it was appendicitis then I was “a very strong boy.” He was puzzled and didn’t make a diagnosis. His best guess was that one of my testicles hadn’t descended and he insisted that I was too ill to be out of bed.

   He called the ambulance and on arrival I wanted to sit in the front but Mick Byrne, the driver, was adamant that I would be parallel with the horizontal in the back. I don’t know what time we arrived at Baltinglass Hospital but the doctor there was equally puzzled. 

   I was loaded up again and we hit the road for Mercer’s Hospital in Dublin. It was only my second visit to the Capital. The previous May my father brought me to Frawleys in Thomas Street to buy my Confirmation suit.

    Two years earlier I spent some days in hospital with a knocked-out elbow so I wasn’t all that perturbed by the clinical environment.

 My details were taken as well as the name of the local postmaster as the post office in Lacken was our nearest phone… I received a penicillin injection every four hours and I still remember the taste of liquid paraffin. Many doctors examined me and all were equally puzzled. . One of them described me as “intelligent” but very few people have agreed with him since.

. Whenever I hear the ballad “Sean South from Garryowen” I’m transported back to the radio of Patsy Cavanagh from Craanford County Wexford, who was in the corner of the ward. It was New Year’s Day 1953 and the main news item covered the shooting of Sean South and Fergal O’ Hanlon at Brookeborough, County Fermanagh the night before.

   I’m not sure if I turned off the immersion this morning or where I put the car keys but I’m amazed at how many names of my fellow patients I can remember after more than three score years. There was Seamus  Osborne also from Craanford, Tony Hand, from Arklow, who was younger than me and whose father was in the army. Pipe smoking Kerryman, Tim Toomey, who was a guard in Enniskerry. When he learned that his father had died he asked me to say a prayer for him. George McCullough, a farmer,  from Goresbridge, County Kilkenny who was a seanachai and didn’t know it.  

  On that  first day of the New Year, my father came  to visit me. He was able to tell me that one of the surgeons in Mercers had “his hands blessed by the Pope.”  When, not quite out of earshot, he asked a doctor about my condition, he was told. “Well, He’s an unusual case.” ( I was still a mystery to the medical profession.)  

   I didn’t ever ascertain how close to death I was. I meant to look for my medical records before Mercers Hospital closed in 1983  but procrastination got in the way.  So far I have lived through 77 Christmases, all of them good even if some of them resulted in severe hangovers. But the best one was in 1956. . .  because I was alive to see it.

    Oh, at the table topic session I was asked “If you had to cook for eight people on Christmas Day what would you do?”.  I wasn’t disappointed that I didn’t get the other question. How would I have fitted my prepared answer, to the other question, into two minutes?  

A Fact

From 1945 to 1966 the Abbey Theatre pantomime was in the Irish language.

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Old Days and Old Ways

McKenna’s Christmas Window

If you think you are beaten, you are

Recipes

A Celtic Brooch

The Hunterston Brooch, produced around 700A.D. and made from silver, gold and amber, is a fine example of early medieval Irish metalworking. The brooch was found in Scotland in 1830. An Old Norse inscription names its owner as Maél Brigda, meaning “devotee of Saint Brigid”.

In Kildare

In Newbridge there were giant reindeer everywhere.

In the Whitewater Shopping Centre

The Rabbit Industry

Thanks to John Bradley for the photos and story.

A Treat for a Sunday Evening

A Fact

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