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

McKennas, Donoghues in Glenderry and Australia and a look back at St. Patrick’s Day

By

On March 15, 2017

In Uncategorized



Beautiful Kerry



Chris Grayson snapped this robin in The National Park in Killarney last week.

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McKennas






Photo: Mike Hannon

Do you remember when it looked like this?

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From a Land Down Under


All over the world there are Listowel people searching for their roots. I am always delighted when someone makes contact to say that Listowel Connection has helped in that search. Here is an email I received from Nan Bailey in Queensland.

“I found your blog Listowel Connection this evening when I googled Glanderry, Ireland to see just where it was. I still don’t know, but presume it must be in the Listowel district.

My Fathers Mother, Mary Donoghue was born in Listowel area as were several of her siblings and tonight, for the first time I saw a baptism record for one of them in Family Search, that had Glanderry named as the Fathers place of birth.

This is the first time I have ever seen where my Great Grandfather John Donoghue was from and I was stoked. They were supposed to have lived at some stage above a post office, but I only have that 3rd hand, so don’t know exactly where

I have subscribed to your blog and am looking forward to reading more about Listowel and the surrounding area and learning about where some of my Irish ancestors come from.”

I know I have lots of Donoghue and O’Donoghue followers who might just be able to help Nan in her search for her Listowel connection.

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Two More Sleeps to St. Patrick’s Day 2017




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Shenanigans at a Hooley in Listowel in 1839


Kerry Evening
Post Wednesday, November 13, 1839; 

TO THE EDITOR
OF THE KERRY EVENING POST

Listowel. 9th November, 1839. 

Dear Mr. Editor.—A
series of political dinners have been given, during the past and present week,
in our town and neighbourhood; But the grand coalition festival of that exotic
and eccentric Maurice Mac O’Connor to Morgan O Connell, M.P.; Pierce Mahony,
ex-M.P.; John Cronin of park; Rev Mr Harrington, C.C.; Rev Mr Simple, C.C.; Mr
Marshall, Auctioneer and many others.

 The letter goes on to explain the
expensive and lavish preparations, items from Limerick and ornaments, wreaths
and greens from Ballinruddery , used in decorations. Their motto was “Céad
Míle Failte.  Being market day many came to admire the show. 

Pierce Mahony
spoke in very dull and prosy language. Morgan O’C admitted that Tories had
political interests to support and rights to contend for, as well as the
Radicals. Third Toast was The National Board of Education and Fr Mahony who had
recently erected a school, but later on in the letter, it noted that the school
was, not finished yet and badly needed to educate the children who had bad
habits wandering around the Market place. 
Mr Marshall speaking under the influence of spirits, it was alleged, mentioned Mr Mc O’Connor being good at feeding pigs and jack asses. Ned Cain
gave an explanation the following day about the exaggerated speeches….

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Listowel Cyclists




Early one Saturday morning I snapped these cyclists pedalling through town on their weekly training spin.

Something old , Something new and somethings that never change

By

On March 14, 2017

In Uncategorized

Beautiful Kerry

Chris Grayson took this in Killarney National Park last week

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Snooker Players


This is another of Mike Hannon’s old photos I found online. I’m presuming it was taken in the bands room/ St. Patrick’s Hall

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 ‘Twas Rough in These Parts in August 1825

“A barbarous
outrage was committed on Sunday last, on the person of an elderly man, of the
name of Neligan, near Listowel, at one of those gaol(sic) matches which usually disgrace
the Sabbath. He was a spectator on this occasion, when some of the contending
party struck him with hurlies on the head; he fell and was trampled on, while
repeated blows put an end to his existence. The only pretence that can be
assigned for this murder is that he was connected with a party against whom
his assailants cherished a hostile feeling from some old recontre.”—Limerick
Chronicle.

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St. Patrick’s Day


Not long to wait now until our patron saint’s day and a big parade is planned.

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Fr. Daniel O’Sullivan of Listowel and California and World Book Day 2017

By

On March 13, 2017

In Uncategorized

Going Over the Cork and Kerry Mountains




Catherine Moylan took this on the Cork/ Kerry border in January 2017

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A U.S. Priest with a Strong Listowel Connection


I wonder if this illustrious pastor still has family locally.


FATHER   DANIEL  O’SULLIVAN



1846-1928



The Founding Pastor of Our Lady of Mount Carmel was born in Listowel,

Co Kerry, Ireland on March 19,1846, the fourth child of Eugene (Owen)

O’Sullivan and Margaret Nolan.  He was one of nine children, two girls

and seven boys.





He received his first education at Mr Leahy’s School in Listowel and

studied theology at All Hallows Major Seminary in Dublin.  Fr

O’Sullivan was ordained on June 24, 1871, in All Hallows Chapel by

Bishop William Whelan, O.C.D., retired  Vicar Apostolic of Bombay,

India.  Being ordained for the Diocese of Grass Valley, he left for

California in August of 1871.



1871-1872    Pastor of St Joseph, Crescent City.

1872-1878     Founding Pastor of Immaculate Conception, Smartsville, California.

1878-1881     Assistant at St Mary’s in the Mountains, Virginia City, Navada.

1881-1883     Second Pastor of St Mary’s in the Mountains and Vicar

General for Northern Nevada after the first pastor of St. Mary’s,

Father Patrick Manogue, was named Bishop of Grass Valley.

1883-1887     Pastor of St. Anthony, Mendocino, California.





The month of May, 1886, was to have a great influence in his life.  On

May 7 he became a United States citizen in ceremonies in Ukiah

Superior Court, Mendocino County.  On May 28 the Diocese of Grass

Valley was transferred to Sacramento, and all the parishes along the

coast as far north as Fort Bragg became part of the Archdiocese of San

Francisco.  Father O’Sullivan thus found himself a priest of this

archdiocese.



1887-1896     Founding Pastor of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish in

Redwood City.





Father O’Sullivan was appointed Pastor of the Mission San Jose on June

15, 1896.  However, he never served as pastor and there is a gap in

our knowledge of his life until the beginning of 1898.



1898-1928 Pastor of All Hallows Parish in San Francisco.



Father Daniel O’Sullivan died on February 3, 1928 and was buried in

Holy Cross Cemetery, Colma, where a large monument stands in his

memory.

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The Big Fair



A while back I published Delia O’Sullivan’s great account of the big fair in town and then I came across a great poem which brought the fair to life before our eyes.

The poem was written by a man called Tom Mulvihill.  I knew nothing of him.

On World Book Day, March 2 2017 I was in The Seanchaí for a lovely shared reading over a cuppa.

I could hardly believe my ears when I heard Donal O’Connor of Tarbert stand up and recite Tom Mulvihill’s poem from memory.

I enquired of Donal afterwards what he knew of Tom Mulvihill and he told me that he knew him long ago in Ballylongford. He was the son of the parish clerk.

His more famous brother, Roger, wrote Ballyheigue Bay and went on to run The White Sands hotel.

After Tom’s death his family gathered his writings into a little book. Donal has a copy “somewhere”. He’ll share it when he finds it.

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 Some of The Writers in The Seanchaí on World Book Day


Susan Hitching, artist and writer

Donal O’Connor, writer and historian

Michael Gallagher

Above are just three of the writers who shared their work with us on World Book Day 2017

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Listowel’s Own Outlet Store




You know the way many famous shops in America have outlets where they sell off stock that has been on the shelves a while at reduced prices. Well, Listowel has an outlet too. It’s Coco in The Square.

Listowel Boy Scouts, Happy Visits to Athea Remembered and Kissane Candles

By

On March 10, 2017

In Uncategorized

Scouts at the Convent

photo: Mike Hannon

I posted this photo last week with the thought that it might have been taken during the big scout jamboree in the 1940s.

Vincent Carmody tells me that it was more likely taken to celebrate the centenary of the the convent in 1944. The bunting would seen to support that.

Anyone know any of the scouts or remember the occasion?

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My First Visit to Ireland Winning essay


Irish Central is a website very popular with Irish American people. Recently the site ran a writing competition. The task was to write an account of your first visit to Ireland. The competition was won by Rosemary Griffin and her visit was to her father’s family in Athea, Co. Limerick.

Here are the photographs Rosemary sent to Irish Central to accompany her story and below is the winning essay.

My First Trip to Ireland by Rosemary
Griffin

These are some of my earliest
memories.  The smell of the turf fire, the sound of the stream, the
overwhelming warmth and familiarity of people I had never met…  

It was the summer of 1968 and my Irish-born father and
Irish-American mother packed up my 6 year-old brother, my two-year old sister
and my three-year old self to spend the summer with my Dad’s family in Athea,
County Limerick.  He hadn’t been home in seven years, and this was the
first time his family would meet us.  My mom changed us into pajamas as we
crossed the Atlantic, and I woke up to the most glorious view of Galway Bay.

It is hard now to wrap my head around what a different
place the Ireland of 1968 was.  We took our baths in a steel tub by the
fire.  We watched my uncle herd cows and milk them by hand.  We took
turns riding the donkey in the front yard.  And we ate chicken for the
dinner that had laid the eggs we ate for breakfast!

The very first day we arrived my sister bolted out of the
car and, as she ran excitedly, fell into the well at the bottom of the stream
that ran alongside my father’s home house.  Later we learned that the milk
(and other adult beverages!) would be floated in the stream to keep them cold
with the lack of indoor electricity.  The day my sister fell into the
“refrigerator” is a highlight of family lore to this day.

 Later that first week we went
into town to buy the Wellingtons that everyone told us would be necessary to
truly enjoy the fields for the summer.  I had seen the big, black rubber
boots and was not impressed.  But the moment I laid eyes on that bright
blue pair in just my size I was hooked!  My brother and sister and I ran
and splashed and jumped and climbed with our cousins for six weeks.  They had
to pry those blue wellies off my feet to get me back on the plane to New York.
 

But what I remember most is the constant flow of family,
friends and neighbors.  I remember the sound of the music and the taste of
the Taytos as we all went to the pub on a Sunday afternoon.  I remember my
grandmother making fresh bread each and every day.  I remember the burlap
bag that my grandfather filled with turf and let me pretend to carry.  And
I remember the joy of seeing my father with those he had left.

Sometimes I wonder whether my memories are real or
sparked by the small, square, date-stamped photos that were taken to describe
our summer to friends and family back home.  I’ve been back 18 times and
Ireland today is, of course, a very different place.  I am not one who
idealizes the past.  The Irish cousins who taught me to run through the
fields are grown-up friends who have all not only been to visit us in New York
but also have traveled the globe.  I don’t need the wellies or the turf
fire or the cows to remind me.  Although I no longer change into pajamas,
I know when I see Galway Bay that the memories are real.  I think I knew
then that Ireland was not just a place.  It was – and is – a part of me.

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Kissane Candles


We’re planning a wedding in our house and let me tell you that Listowel is one of the very best places to do this job. Absolutely everything can be sourced locally, everyone in the business is really professional and helpful and makes the whole experience a joy. I’m absolutely banned from revealing any details before the big day but I can give a sneak peak today at one little trip we took in the pre wedding trail.


We met Joe Kissane in his candle shop in Tarbert. He has met every kind of bride and bridezilla and he is infinitely patient. You can ask him to pull out every candle in the shop and he wouldn’t complain. Drawing on  his vast experience in the business,  he was full of helpful suggestions and advice.

I am documenting the whole process in photographs so look out for our experience of Finesse Bridal, Listowel Arms Hotel, St. Mary’s, Bailey and Co., MK Beauty, McAuliffe Flowers, Listowel Printing Works and more local people in due course.


Nuns, Childers’ Park and some funeral customs

By

On March 9, 2017

In Uncategorized

November 2016 in The Black Valley

Photos; Catherine Moylan

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Listowel Nuns

I’m posting this in the hope that someone will recognise the sisters or the priests with them. The photograph is Mike Hannon’s

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NEKD is Moving



Work is ongoing at the old post office in William Street. It is to be the new home of NEKD or so I’m told.

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They Stretched in Never-ending Line…..


 along the margin of the pitch and putt course. Though not quite as picturesque as Wordsworth’s daffodils, Listowel’s fluttering and dancing narcissi brighten up the town park these days.

There is a new line of trees along by  this path as well which will act as a shelter belt and a new defining line to the pitch and putt course.

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We do Death well in Ireland


I’m told that at one time in Ireland when a person died, the first person to be contacted was the priest and the sacristan. People usually died at home and, since the priest would have visited the sick person to administer Extreme Unction, he would be expecting the call. The sacristan would ring the church bell to spread the news, three tolls of the bell for a man and two for a woman. The news of the identity of the deceased would spread by word of mouth. The creamery was a place where many heard the news.

In every parish there was usually at least one woman who took on the task of washing and laying out the corpse. There was no embalming in those days. There is a very poignant chapter in Peig Sayers much maligned autobiography in which she describes having to wash and lay out the body of her young son who had fallen to his death from a rough ledge on The Great Blasket while trying to collect fuel for their meagre fire.

The dead man was usually dressed in a brown garment known as a “Habit”. This was purchased especially for the purpose. Women sometimes had a blue one if they were members of the Sodality of Our Lady. These women were known as Children of Mary and it was an honour to be allowed to join this sisterhood. They wore a blue cloak and a veil in the Corpus Christi procession. Rosary beads and scapulars were entwined through the fingers of the dead person. There was always at least one wax candle alight to light a path for the soul to Heaven.

In the house of the dead person mirrors were covered and the clock was stopped. A black crepe ribbon was attached to the henhouse door. This custom was called telling the hens.

As soon as the corpse was laid out the wake began. Neighbours, family and friends came and went from then until the burial. The family was never left alone. Drink had to be supplied to the mourners, port for the women, whiskey for the men and a mineral for the children or teetotallers. At one time clay pipes and snuff were also part of the ritual.

It was considered bad luck to open a grave on Monday so if the death occurred on Saturday or  Sunday, a sod would be turned on the grave on Sunday. The neighbours usually dug the grave. The hearse was horse drawn and the priests wore white sashes and a white ribbon round their hats.

I have heard of a custom that others don’t seem to know too much about so maybe I dreamed it. The clothes of the deceased were given to a close friend and he had to wear them to mass for three consecutive Sundays. It was an honour to be asked to wear the clothes.

Black was the colour of mourning. A widow wore black for a full year after the death of her husband. Some women never again wore coloured clothes.  The men of the family wore a black diamond on the sleeves of their jackets. Widows had a special place in the community and got a lot of help from neighbours. Some widows remarried as they were often bereaved while still young and needed the help and protection of a man. A wealthy widow was often a good catch.

All of this is changed now .

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At The Convent



I was back at school last week. Planting on the front lawn has come on well and the foundation stone is now surrounded by a beautiful halo of heather.

I pointed my camera over the wall towards the convent. The lower windows of the convent chapel are now completely covered in ivy. The once beautiful garden is overgrown and untidy and the railing is falling down.





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Smalltown nominated for an IFTA in Best Drama category 


Photo of Smalltown team from Facebook

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