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

Tag: Athea Page 6 of 11

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

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?

<<<<<<<<

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.

<<<<<<


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.


The Gallant Greenville team, Namir Karim and Blackbirds

Zebra in Fota



Photo by Chris Grayson




<<<<<<<<

There is nothing like a bit of local rivalry to inspire a poet.

The Gallant Greenville Team 

by John B. Keane

Come all ye true born
Irishmen

From here to Healy’s Gate

And I’ll sing for you a verse
or two

As I my tale relate.

You may speak about
Cuchulainn bold

Or the mighty men from Sneem,

But they wouldn’t hold a candle

To that Greenville team.

“Ha-ha!’ says Billeen
Sweeney,

“Sure I’ll tackle up my ass

And I’ll put on my brown suit

That I wear goin’ to mass.

I’ll hit the road to Listowel
town

By the morning’s airy beam,

And I’ll bring home Berkie’s
mutton

For the gallant Greenville
team!

“The dry ball won’t suit
’em”,

Said the pundits from the
town,

But they pulverized the Ashes

and they mesmerised the
Gleann.

Next came the famous Boro,

Their fortunes to redeem,

But they shriveled up like
autumn leaves

Before the Greenville team.

“’Twas the white trout that
done the trick,”

John L was heard to say.

“We ate them morning, noon
and night

In the run-up to the fray.

They hardened up the muscles

And they built up the steam

Until no power on earth could
beat

The gallant Greenville team.”

<<<<<<<

Dear Old Athea

From; Born in West Limerick on Facebook

<<<<<



This is Namir Karim with his friend and work colleague, Brigitta pictured in Scribes of Church St. Listowel



From Iraq to Listowel


(a love story)

There is nothing ordinary
about Namir. Just one of the extraordinary things about him, is that he is an
Iraqi Christian. Above and beyond that he is a Christian, a living example of
Faith Hope and Charity. His latest Christian act is to start a Friendship Club
in his restaurant in Ballybunion. Twice a week he  hosts a kind of men’s
shed for everyone. He  provides the venue and people can come and sit and
talk and just enjoy a bit of company. Everyone is welcome and if people would
love to come but have no way of getting there , Namir will do what he can to
solve that problem too.

So who is Namir Karim and how
did he find his way to North Kerry?

Namir met his wife who was
then his girlfriend in Iraq. Namir’s mother was very seriously ill and she was
being cared for in a hospital which was run by an Irish organization on behalf
of the Iraqi government. Kay Carr was nursing in this hospital and she grew
fond of her very ill patient and maybe a little fond of her son as well. Kay
advised the Karim family to take their mother home to die. She told Namir that
his mother would go straight to heaven. She had done her suffering on earth.
Namir remembers that as his mother left the hospital, Kay had tears in her
eyes. “ I wondered if the tears were for my mother or for me. Either way it
made me feel good.”

Namir contrived an excuse to
return to the hospital to see Kay. He said that he was having trouble with some
of his mother’s equipment. Kay offered to come to help the family sort it out.
Kay took a big risk in visiting an Iraqi home. Fraternising with the local
people was forbidden for the staff at the hospital. Kay stayed for dinner at
the Karim home that evening . Both she and Namir knew that this was more than
good friendship.

When Kay returned from a
short visit home to Ireland, Namir asked her out. They began seeing each other in
secret and they pledged their love to one another. All students in Iraq at the
time had to spend at least two years in the army. Namir was doing his
compulsort service in the army. He was in his final years of training to be a
civil engineer. A fellow soldier told a superior officer that he had seen Namir
with a ‘foreign’ girl. He got five days
in jail for the offence.

When Iraq invaded Kuwait
Namir’s national service was extended by a year. Initially Kay and the other
Irish citizens were not allowed to leave. Saddam Hussein’s regime was at its
height and it was very dangerous to flout any of his laws. Eventually Kay and
the others were allowed to leave. She bad a tearful farewell to Namir and they
promised they would find a way to be together once the war was over.

When the Gulf war started in
January 1990 all communication with Baghdad was stopped. Namir wanted no part
of the war and he devised a plan to escape active service. There was a rule
that if a soldier donated blood, he was given a week off. During this week,
Namir escaped with his family to a Christian area in northern Iraq. Due to a
very happy coincidence, his disappearance went unnoticed as the office building
based in Baghdad was bombed and destroyed and all records of who should or
should not have been present were destroyed.

When the war ended, Namir
returned to the city and gave a Red Cross worker he met a letter to get to Kay,
who he knew would be worried sick about him. Namir began to plot his escape. He
planned to get over the border into Jordan and if Kay still wanted him he would
sell up what he had in Iraq and fly to her.

Easier said than done. Iraq
did not want skilled engineers leaving at a time when it was trying to rebuild
the country after the devastations of war. Kay still loved him but getting to
her proved very tricky and involved a lot of lying. Love found a way and Namir
and Kay were reunited at Dublin airport on November 5 1992, a day before Kay’s
birthday. They married in a registry office when Namir’s visitor’s visa ran
out. They had their proper church wedding in Kerry in June 1992 with lots of
music, dancing and celebration.

Namir lost no time in assimilating into the Kerry community in which he now lived. He built on the skills he had learned from his mother who was a great cook and crafter. Namir started work in his brother’s restaurant, The Captain’s Table. Since leaving there he has gone on to own his own restaurants and  shops. Nowadays in 2017 Namir has two restaurants, Scribes in Listowel and Namirs in Ballybunion. He also has Craftshop na Méar in Listowel.  Namir has played badminton with the Listowel club and soccer with Lisselton Rovers.

Namir and Kay have two lovely adult children, Roza and Peter. Roza is named after Namir’s beloved mother who was the Cupid who brought Namir and Kay together.

Namir and Roza

More tomorrow


<<<<<<


 Blackbirds singing in the Garden of Europe


<<<<<<


Mea Culpa


Frozen River Feale 1963

Totally my fault that the link to this great video didn’t work previously.  I have now made the video public. I am grateful to  Charlie Nolan for alerting me to the problem.

This short video was shot by Jimmy Hickey and digitised by Charlie Nolan. It shows some local people walking and skating on the frozen river. Charlie has accompanied the track with the heavenly voice of Joan Mulvihill, who is far too young to remember the frozen river, singing My Silver River Feale.  It’s well worth a watch. Sorry again for messing it up the first time.

Con Colbert of Athea, Taur and when Moyvane won the Con Brosnan Cup

St. John’s Theatre and Arts Centre, Listowel Square, Early Morning




<<<<<<<



Con Colbert of Athea



Captain Con Colbert was 28 at the time of his execution in 1916. He was born into a republican family on a small farm in Athea. When his mother died, Con moved to Dublin to live with his sister. He is described as being full of fun but very serious about the cause of Ireland’s freedom.

He was in love with Lucy Smith whom he described as “the nicest girl in Dublin”. During the Rising he was involved in the takeover and occupation of Jameson’s Distillery. He was sentenced to death and he was shot by firing squad on May 8 1916. (Source; Simplified History 1916 by J. O’Reilly)

Athea remembers him in a street name, community centre and numerous organisations.

This recently erected bronze bust which was unveiled during a weekend of celebration is a fitting memorial to one of Athea’s most famous sons.

<<<<<<<<<



Coco pop up shop









I met the lovely Sharon in  Coco, a shop that has popped up in The Square recently.

<<<<<<<<<



Tour Roman Catholic Church



Dotted all over the countryside are beautiful churches which soon will be locked up and unused. Not so Taur, Co Cork. This little place a few miles outside Newmarket has a beautiful church perched on a hillside. Though a small and scattered parish they still have a priest. Will he be their last?


This is the view from the church door.



<<<<<<<<<


A Moyvane ballad



THE CON
BROWNIAN CUP 1982

By: Cormac O’Leary

Our
thoughts often hover to that day in October 

When footballing history was made

 When the boys from Ardfert thought that
Moyvane they’d best

 But their hopes very quickly did fade. 

In the
town of O’Dorney, we played them 

And the tale is quite easily told,

 For when the great game it was over ‘Twas a
win for the Green and the Gold.

Chorus.

I pledge you Moyvane men and the deeds they have
done,

The gallant Con Brosnan, Tom Stack on Red Rum:

Their memories we’ll cherish those good men and
true,

And here’s to the men Of Nineteen Eighty Two.

2. I’ll start with our goalie, The great-hearted
Jodie, 

He cleared balls, from near and afar,

 And great at
full-back was the young Ritchie Stack, 

In football he sure will go far.

On the right was the gritty Noel Sheehan, He
stemmed the on rushing tide,

And sound as the Rock of Gibraltar Mike Mulvihill
held the left side.

(Chorus)

3. And fit as a fiddle, Johnnie Stack in the
middle, 

His fetching was something to see;

Those two gallant triers With dash and with fire, 

Eamonn Fitz and the young Bobby Sheehy.

Sean Walsh had a great game at centre, 

 high in
the air he did soar,

And Hamish was never once beaten,

And two lovely points he did score.

(Chorus)

4. Now Thomas and Eamonn on the wings they were
flying,

 They played
with great dash and great flair.

Teddy Keane like a beaver Was ever so eager,

And Donal commanded the square. On the forty, sure
Johnny was brilliant,

And shone like the bright Polar Star

 And clever
in every endeavour, Paddy slipped a few over the bar.

(Chorus).

5. Our substitutes too, All good men and true,

 Ever ready
to answer the call

To our Chairman and Trainer, Selectors all four,
Great praise to them one and all.

Old timers like us too were happy And our glasses
we quickly filled up

And toasted the young generation, Who brought home
the Con Brosnan Cup.

(Chorus).

<<<<<<<<

A Great Month for Music in St. John’s


Be sure to check out the programme of events in St. John’s in October because it has music for all tastes. The great RTE Vanburg Quartet are coming, as is Johnny McEvoy and, if you love Irish music, Cormac Begley of the well known  West Kerry musical family is in concert with special guests on Thursday October 27 2016.

Murhur School, Corn Dollies and Organ Donation

Murhur School in the late Eighties


 Photo from Moyvane Village on Facebook

Teachers in Murhur NS in the late eighties. 

Marie O’Callaghan, Ena O’Leary, Patricia Houlihan, Gabriel Fitzmaurice.

Mary Madden, Nola Adams and Anne Prendiville

<<<<<<<<<<


Listowel Handball Alley as it looks nowadays

<<<<<<<



A Corn Dolly





The late Seamus Heaney knew these corn dollies well. In his childhood he saw them being made in his native Mossbawn. He captures the memories and associations of these ancient amulets better than anyone else.

As you plaited the harvest bow

You implicated the mellowed silence in you

In wheat that does not rust

But brightens as it tightens twist by twist

Into a knowable corona,

A throwaway love-knot of straw.

Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks

And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game cocks

Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent

Until your fingers moved somnambulant:

I tell and finger it like braille,

Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,

And if I spy into its golden loops

I see us walk between the railway slopes

Into an evening of long grass and midges,

Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in
hedges,

An auction notice on an outhouse wall—

You with a harvest bow in your lapel,

Me with the fishing rod, already homesick

For the big lift of these evenings, as your
stick

Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes

Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes

Nothing: that original townland

Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your
hand.

The end of art is peace

Could be the motto of this frail device

That I have pinned up on our deal dresser—

Like a drawn snare

Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn

Yet
burnished by its passage, and still warm.


<<<<<<<<<







Ladies’ Day Just got Better



This is the bus the kind folk on Listowel Race Committee is going to hire to take ladies to The Island on the Friday of the Races. I’m not sure if you can avail of it if you are not wearing high heels and if you would just like a lift.


<<<<<<<<<<


A Sermon and a story for you


While I was in Asdee church I picked up their August 2016 newsletter and I read this story. I’m cutting it short here but it is attributed in the newsletter to Tom Cox;

In 2013 a Brazilian millionaire announced that he was going to be like the Egyptian pharaohs and bury his treasure with him. His greatest treasure was his Bentley.

He was lambasted in the media for this ostentatious show of wealth and foolishness so he called a press conference at his house. The media turned up in big numbers to see if he would really carry out his promise. Diggers were at work in the garden digging a big car sized hole.

But Mr. Scarpa didn’t bury his beloved car.

Instead Mr. Scarpa delivered this message, “I didn’t bury my car, but everyone thought it was absurd when I said I would. What is more absurd is burying your organs, which can save many lives. Nothing is more valuable than life. Be a donor and tell your family.”

Now the story

Regular readers will know that my only sister died in 1964 of kidney failure. She had been ill for a year before she died and she was in and out of hospital frequently. Her best friend was a girl called Marion and they were thick as thieves. If kidney donation was an option, they would have given one another a kidney in a heartbeat. For that year while they were apart they wrote regular letters to one another and they invented a secret code to write private things about boys just in case the letters fell into the wrong hands. All very innocent girly stuff. They were only 15.

Marion kept all the letters and has treasured them all these years. Her friend’s death had a profound effect on her and she has never forgotten her. 

Recently she took one of these letters to a tattoo parlour and the tattoo artist scanned my sister’s signature along with the coded message and Marion had it tattooed on her forearm.

Rambles in Athea, Cork and Castleisland

More from Athea


My three girls posed for me looking at the blacksmith at work.

Nicky A. Leonard posted the following recently on Facebook.

The Blacksmith’s Epitaph

“My Sledge and Hammer lie in rust

My Bellows too have lost their gust

My fires extinct, my Forge decayed

And in the dust my Rasp is laid

My coal is spent, my irons gone

My nails are driven, my work is done.”

We went to Cnoc na Sí, left all our worries with Cróga at the worry tree and remembered again the story of the giant and his unfortunate mother.

 Sad to see that even in this lovely place, vandals have done their worst and destroyed the bug hotel.



“The recent vandalism in the fairy mountain, down by the hall, is to be

deplored. Athea Tidy Town’s committee have worked extremely hard over

the past few years to make Athea a better place in which to live for

all, including children who take a great interest in the fairy

mountain. That some mindless young people see fit to undo  the good

work is beyond comprehension. Apparently the culprits are known to the

committee who do not want to bring the Gardaí into it at this stage .

If not, it is time for their parents to take action and ensure their

offspring have an appreciation of the damage they are doing to the

whole community. If this is not nipped in the bud who knows where it

will stop. It has to be noted, however, that the people who carry out

this type of vandalism are a small minority and the vast majority of

our youngsters are very well behaved and a credit to their teachers

and parents. Maybe they should bring their influence to bear on those

who, by their anti-social behaviour are giving them all a bad name.”



Domhnall de Barra :Athea Notes;

It was feeding time for Athea’s family of ducks.

This uninhabited house was decorated for the Euros and left thus for the Olympics.

We finished off our day with a visit to the very warm and welcoming home of my friends, Jim and Liz Dunn. Here the work of the artist, the craftsman, the engineer or the baker is appreciated. Stories are valued and everyone, including children, is encouraged to learn and explore. We are so blessed in our locality that the fickle finger of Fate pointed these lovely talented and generous people in our direction.


Jim got down on the floor with the girls to introduce them to an old clockwork toy, a treasured marvel of engineering, a huge novelty to a generation raised with technology.

<<<<<<<<


Thank You

Last week I returned to Cork for my final check up. This is to say thank you to all the people who showed so much concern for me and a special thank you to the doctor who treated me and saw me back to full health.

Because he is not allowed to advertise I can’t publish his name but I took a selfie.

<<<<<<<<


A Hidden Corner of Castleisland



I happened upon this disused church last week in Castleisland. It is located behind the main street in a lane that is used as a pedestrian short cut by local people.

The graves were a mixture of tombs and regular graves and dated back centuries.

It seems that records of some of the burial places are not recorded or else they had a lawn cemetery before these became popular elsewhere.

A trawl the internet found this following interesting post about the oldest tomb:

An East Kerry Pastor

By T.M. Donovan

For about the past thirty years there
was an historical puzzle to be solved with regard to one of the oldest tombs in
the ancient graveyard of St. Stephen’s in Castleisland. Even learned priests
could not solve the riddle of the tomb. This ancient tomb belongs to Mr.
Richard E. Shanahan, of Castleisland, the present-day representative of the
once powerful Shanahan clan of East Kerry. Above the entrance to this tomb,
over the sculptured head of an angel guarding it, there is a Latin inscription
with, apparently on a casual glance, the date, 1067 – a date that takes us back
to Gaelic Ireland before the Norman Conquest. It is this very-far-back date
that caused all the trouble to our antiquarians; for it was hardly credible to
think that this old tomb held itself above ground for eight and a half
centuries! But there it was at a casual glance – 1067.

The Problem Solved

It was the late Rev. Thomas Heffernan
who, will visiting his brother, Mr. Michael Heffernan, N.T., Castleisland, that
first solved this mystery of the Shanahan tomb. Father Heffernan and a
Castleisland friend thoroughly cleaned off the fungoid growths on the slab
bearing the Latin inscription and found the following —

“Ecce Nunc in Pulvere Dormiant

Job 7.21″

“Behold now I sleep in Dust.”

Darby Shanahan of Knockahip and
Glounsharoon and his brother Edmond of Castleisland the present owner’s father,
must have been grand-nephews of the first recorded Parish Priest of
Castleisland since the Elizabethan proscription of the Catholic Church in
Munster. The Diocesan Records do not even contain the name of this
mid-eighteenth-century pastor of East Kerry. Fr. Maurice Fitzgerald, who was
appointed Parish Priest in 1781, is the first recorded P.P. of Castle-island,
after a long blank in these records.

So for East Kerrymen this discovery of
the burial place of their oldest Parish Priest is unusually interesting and
instructive.

When I was writing the chapters on the
past parish priests of Castleisland in my “History of East Kerry,” I
had only the mural records in the Parish Church to rely on; and these parish
records only carried us back to the days of that grand old Sagart of the
Diocese of Kerry, Fr. Maurice Fitzgerald, who became pastor in 1781. I did not
know of Darby Shanahan who, early 200 years ago, preceded Father Maurice as
Parish priest. As Fr. Maurice Fitzgerald presided over the parish for the long
period of 49 years, and as he was ordained in 1774, we may assume that Father
Darby Shanahan was in charge of his then extensive parish for 20 or 30 years,
which would carry us back to near the middle of [missing]

[missing] was given to Edmond Shanahan.
As Archdeacon O’Leary was called “Father Darby” by his parishioners,
we see that in our list of Castleisland parish priests we have now two Father
Darbys.

This Edmond Shanahan, a near relatives
of Fr. Darby Shanahan’s, must have been a bachelor; for when dying he left
annuities to all the Shanahan families of East Kerry, or least to five of them
– to the Shanahans of Castleisland, Shanavalla, Knockahip, Kilcusnin and
Crocknareagha.

The Thatched Chapel

Very probably it was this Father Darby
Shanahan who built the “Thatched Chapel” in Castleisland – the first
since old St. Stephen’s Church was confiscated by Queen Elizabeth’s.  Undertakers towards the end of the sixteenth
century. Before this thatched chapel made its appearance, the hunted priests of
the Penal Days said Mass in the “Glounanaffrins” or Mass Rocks of
East Kerry at Gortglass, Foyle ..hilip, and Gloun [missing]

[missing] worshipping in a splendid
Parish Church with its massive arches of marble, its pillars of polished
granite, its beautiful stainglass windows, its magnificent high altar, and its
tower and spire point to heaven; while the remnant of the descendents of these
alien lords less than a score, are worship-ping without ostentation in a
decaying building.

Father Darby’s Tomb

The old tomb of Fr. Darby Shanahan’s,
although not built, as we have seen, in the 11thcentury, is one of
the oldest tombs in the St. Stephen’s graveyard. Close beside this old tomb the
remains of the late Rev. John Donovan, S.J.M.A., the defender of the Gospel of
St. John against the attacks of our modern pagan rationalists, lies buried in
his grandmother’s grave. This grand-mother of the learned Jesuit Father, Mary
Shanahan, was a neice of Fr; Darby Shanahan. Had Father Donovan known that his
remains would lie so near his 18thcentury kinsman, it would please him to think of his burial
so near the tomb of [missing] Parish Priest [missing]

[missing] in the [missing] nearly worn
[missing] which then became a perfect figure 1. The O became a naught and the B
a 6; so at one glance one had the date 1067. The 21 was so worn down that it
looked like quota-tion marks.

Father Heffernan opened the Bible at
Job. Chapter , and in verse 21 he found the translation of the Lation quotation
on the tomb – “. . . now I shall sleep in the dust, and thou shall seek me
in the morning, but I shall not be.”

This wall around the burial ground, was constructed in a way which discourages idlers and sitters on walls.

Page 6 of 11

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén