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
Photo; Chris Grayson in Killarney National Park on January 7 2025
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A Tree of Hope Knitting Project
This is the St. Conleth’s Parish newsletter which was sent to me by Mary McKenna.
As you can see this was a massive undertaking, a huge credit to all involved. In Newbridge, knitting is a huge community thing. I have seen and documented here their previous yarn bombing and St. Brigid projects.
Detail shows how each branch and bauble was made.
And someone wrote a poem.
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A Birdseye view of Snowy Listowel
John Kelliher took this fabulous photo of the recent snow.
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Growing up in Listowel in the 1960s and 1970s
By Carmel Hanrahan
(Continued from yesterday)
… My father grew a lot of vegetables alongside all the flowers and ornamental plants he had – he was a passionate gardener and I inherited that gene. There seemed to be a type of barter system going on amongst the other gardeners and himself as it wasn’t unusual to look out the window and see one of the neighbours collecting some vegetables, (or strawberries in the Summer), but we also picked peas and other items in Hilda O’Donnell’s Garden. Between us and the O’Donnell’s was the Crowley’s house. Kitty Crowley was also a keen gardener. Together, Hilda and Kitty (it seems strange to call them by their first names as, growing up, most people were addressed as Mr or Mrs) often did “a run” to Ballybunion during the fine weather. It seems in my memory that no invitations were issued but if you spotted a car being packed you just turned up with your towel and your togs and joined the group. I think we may have broken a few Guinness records for the amount of people in those cars. Kitty drove a Mini and Hilda a VW Beetle and yet, their combined 6 or so children – Susan and Nuala may not have been born at that time, – plus whatever number of neighbour’s children all travelled in layers to the beach – often only one car was taken. A veritable “Lasagna” of people.
We were taken fruit picking by Mrs. O’Donnell, to give her her full title, to a fruit farm where you picked your own. She would then spend several days making jam and marmalade. Her Kenwood Chef was her pride and joy and I later visited her when I was in my 20’s and the machine was still going strong. Mrs. Jones, further down the road taught me to make apple and rhubarb tarts which I proudly brought home. Sometimes we were sent to the Creamery for bottles/jars of cream which you filled from a tap and then paid for through a window on the side of the office building. I also recollect a man with a bike, not unlike a butcher’s bike but with a churn of milk or cream on the front and ladles in pint and half pint measures hanging from the bike, possibly called PJ – end of an era I think.
Another instalment tomorrow
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Just a Thought
I have been fairly busy on Radio Kerry over the holidays. Here is the link to some reflections you wont have herd before. Some of these are included in my recent book, Moments of Reflection.
I was just going through an old photo album from around 2002 and came across the photo on the left of an Edward Rex Letter Box somewhere in south-west Wexford and said I’d share this with ye.
Many of you will know this already but in case you don’t, when ‘The Free State’ was setup, the old red boxes associated with the British Empire were rebranded and painted green. To this day, you’ll spot these around the country and obviously this one in Wexford caught my eye some 22+ years ago.
The letter box on the right is from over in Buckinghamshire in England and as you can see, they are almost identical in design. I’m no expert on this but I believe these were installed/made between 1901 – 1910.
A great bit of rebranding and a sensible and practical thing to do back in the day.
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A Fact
The first cheque written in decimal currency in the UK was for £50.30p in March 1968.
January 2025 must have seen some of the most disruptive weather for many a year. I didn’t venture out in the cold snap so most of my snow pictures are taken from my front door or from obliging others.
We’ll start with a few from the fam.
Cliona and Aoife in Kildare heading out to make Aoife’s first snowman.
Carine and Reggie in Ballincollig
Pat Breen with tractor coming to the rescue of a neighbour
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The Letters Page
Yesterday’s Sunday Independent had a very interesting letters to the editor page. The “Letter of the Week” accolade was awarded to our own Shane McAuliffe.
Shane was praising the role farmers played in helping out last week. It wasn’t just the farmers. The bad weather brought out the best in most people.
Also on the letters’ page was a missive from an old man in Wexford. He described last week’s atrocious weather as a “smattering of snow and ice”. He remembered hard times in Dublin in the 1960s when he had to have his Saxa salt shaker constantly at the ready to melt his way to work. He all but accused the media of exaggerating last week’s unprecedented hardships.
On the same page, another letter writer, co incidentally also from Wexford, told us that the Healy Rae’s in government would look out first and foremost for Kerry. Of course, that is not how every other politician in this country works.
I love the letters page but sometimes tone deaf writers make my blood boil.
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A Listowel Childhood in the 1960s and 70s
When Carmel Hanrahan wrote to us with her Full and Plenty story I asked her if she would write a few reminiscences of her time growing up in Listowel. Here is part one of her reply…
Hi Mary,
Following on from our discussion and your request for some memories of growing up in Listowel which would have been in the 1960’s and 70’s – off we go…
With the possibility that I have my rose-tinted glasses on, here goes. We were a lucky group all things considered, in that, our earliest childhood was in a pre-digital age where we learned well how to entertain ourselves and to “just be”. Crossing the two eras of our early childhood and the more modern era of our 20’s which we embraced wholeheartedly has given us a unique position in time. Not that we always appreciated it, and the often-voiced lament, especially in teen age years, that “you can’t do anything or go anywhere without someone watching you” was a given. With hindsight as a parent and indeed a grandparent, I can now appreciate the value of growing up in that relatively safe environment. We wandered at will and as long as you turned up on time for dinner/tea nobody really fussed about where you were.
We lived on Church Street and then Ballygologue before the final move to Cahirdown. At the time we moved, there were houses on one side of the road only – across the road was one cottage belonging to an old woman called Madge?? (I want to say Mulvihill but I don’t know if that’s right) and her older family cottage which was empty and beginning to deteriorate. Behind our row of houses was Foley’s field. This was where cattle grazed for many years before houses were built there. Mr Foley eventually moved to a New Build house at the end of the road and lived with his daughter. His old house was lovely and I remember on a few occasions being sent to buy some apples from his orchard. Where Sexton’s house was (though it might belong to someone else now), stood a gate house at the entrance to the woods, where a man called Dan Dannagher lived. He was quite old and I remember my father inviting him to our house for Christmas Dinner.
Christmas Recalled in Garry MacMahon’s Nostalgic Poem
A Kerry Christmas Childhood
Garry MacMahon
Now I cannot help remembering the happy days gone by,
As Christmastime approaches and the festive season’s nigh.
I wallow in nostalgia when I think of long ago,
And the tide that waits for no man as the years they ebb and flow.
We townies scoured the countryside for holly berries red,
And stripped from tombs green ivy in the graveyard of the dead,
To decorate each picture frame a hanging on the wall,
And fill the house with greenery and brighten winter’s pall,
Putting up the decorations was for us a pleasant chore,
And the crib down from the attic took centre stage once more.
From the box atop the dresser the figures were retrieved,
To be placed upon a bed of straw that blessed Christmas Eve,
For the candles, red crepe paper, round the jamjars filled with sand,
To be placed in every window and provide a light so grand,
To guide the Holy Family who had no room at the inn,
And provide for them a beacon of the fáilte mór within.
The candles were ignited upon the stroke of seven,
The youngest got the privilege to light our way to Heaven,
And the rosary was said as we all got on our knees,
Remembering those who’d gone before and the foreign missionaries.
Ah, we’d all be scrubbed like new pins in the bath before the fire
And, dressed in our pyjamas of tall tales we’d never tire,
Of Cuchlainn, Ferdia, The Fianna, Red Branch Knights,
Banshees and Jack o Lanterns, Sam Magee and Northern Lights
And we’d sing the songs of Ireland, of Knockanure and Black and Tans,
And the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.
Mama and Dad they warned us as they gave each good night kiss,
If we didn’t go to sleep at once then Santa we would miss,
And the magic Christmas morning so beloved of girls and boys,
When we woke to find our dreams fulfilled and all our asked for toys,
But Mam was up before us the turkey to prepare,
To peel the spuds and boil the ham to provide the festive fare.
She’d accept with pride the compliments from my father and the rest.
“Of all the birds I’ve cooked,” she’s say, “ I think that this year’s was the best.”
The trifle and plum pudding, oh, the memories never fade
And then we’d wash the whole lot down with Nash’s lemonade.
St. Stephen’s Day brought wrenboys with their loud knock on the door,
To bodhrán beat and music sweet they danced around the floor’
We, terror stricken children, fled in fear before the batch,
And we screamed at our pursuers as they rattled at the latch.
Like a bicycle whose brakes have failed goes headlong down the hill
Too fast the years have disappeared. Come back they never will.
Our clan is scattered round the world. From home we had to part.
Still we treasure precious memories forever in our heart.
So God be with our parents dear. We remember them with pride,
And the golden days of childhood and the happy Christmastide.
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More Fairytale of New York windows
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Cookery Book Memories
Memories of Maura Laverty and her complete guide to good cooking, Full and Plenty, bond Irish mothers and daughters still.
Helen Moylan, Judy MacMahon, Bidgetta O’Hanlon all remember their mothers using recipes from this book.
The daughter in today’s Full and Plenty story cherishes the cookery book as a link to her mother but for a different reason.
Carmel Hanrahan told me her mother daughter Full and Plenty story.
Carmel’s parents, John and Breda Hanrahan at a social in the 1950s.
Breda bought her copy of Maura Laverty’s book in 1960. She wrote her name and the date she bought it on the flyleaf. This is precious to Carmel because it was just 2 months before she was born.
Carmel was only two weeks old when her mother passed away. So Carmel has no memories of her mother making the recipes. She treasures the book and she herself uses it.
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Christmas Stories from the Schools Folklore Collection
Christmas Day Christmas comes but once a year; When it comes it brings good cheer, When it goes it leaves us here, And what will we do for the rest of the year.
When Christmas morning dawns everyone is up early and goes to early Mass, and many receive Holy Communion. When people meet on their way to Mass their salutes to each other are:- “A happy Christmas to you” and the reply is – “Many happy returns”. The children are all anxiety to see what Santa Claus has brought them. When Mass and breakfast are over the children play with their toys while the elders are busy preparing the Christmas dinner. The chief features of an Irish Christmas dinner are – roast turkey, or goose and a plum pudding. The remainder of the day is spent in the enjoyment and peace of the home, and the family circle. Christmas customs vary from country to country but the spirit of Christmas is the same the wide world over. It is the time of peace, and it is also the feast for the children, because it was first the feast of the Child Jesus who was born in Bethlehem nearly two thousand long years ago.
Collector Máighréad Ní Chearbhaill- Address, Ballybunnion, Co. Kerry. Teacher: Máire de Stac.
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In the year 1839 on little Christmas night there was a fierce storm. The people were very happy and enjoying Christmas ; they had the Christmas candles lighted and the night was very calm. At ten o’clock they went to look at the cows and took lighted splinters as candles were very scarce in those days. It was so calm that the splinter kept lighting till they had secured the cattle for the night. Afterwards they went to bed, and were sound asleep when the storm arose at midnight. It was so bad that the people ran out of the houses. The houses were thrown down, cowstalls were flying half a mile away, and cattle were bellowing with no roof over them. The people were screaming for help, and tried to hold on to each other, and were very much exhausted. The storm lasted from twelve o’clock at night till seven in the morning. Then the people collected and made up little houses that they could sleep in, until a time came when they were able to build their houses once more. Afterwards when people talked of it they used to call it the night of the Big Wind. Pat Stack, Told by Nurse Stack, Newtownsandes, 62 years.
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Holly
Picture and text from Killarney Outlook online, December 2024
Saving the Holly
By Anne Lucey
The Brehon Laws had particular provision for the Holly Tree. So it is good to see the reminder from the Killarney National Park not to decimate this ancient tree.
The holly was one of the seven noble trees – along with oak, hazel, yew, ash, scots pine, and wild apple.
Cúchulainn made his carriage and spear shafts from the slow growing cuileann tree with the white wood. During the winter, then as now, birds visiting and native, survived on it.
Not only birds – the badgers, pine marten and wood mice – and the squirrel if he woke up feed on it.
The national park has an interesting line on the spikey leaves – these mainly occur at lower levels.
“If you look closely next time you see a holly tree, you might notice that they also produce many leaves without spikes, these are normally up higher up in the branches of the tree.”
The tree was seen as a fertility symbol and a charm against bad luck. The druids and Celts brought evergreens into their homes during the winter, believing that the plant’s ability to keep its leaves was magical and assured the return of spring. It was thought to be unlucky to cut down a holly tree, the park tells us.
But it wasn’t just “luck” that preserved the trees – many of which are hundreds of years old. The sophisticated Brehon laws had a penalty for cutting down holly. You could be fined two cows and a heifer for cutting a holly down on your own land. If you cut the branch of a neighbour’s holly the fine was a yearling heifer.
The national park is warning against collecting holly or other greenery from the park for Christmas decorations. I have news for them: the holly around Mangerton is nearly gone already. So, they might want to go back to the Brehon laws and confiscate a few cows!
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A Fact
Nelson Mandela was not removed from the terrorist watch list in the U.S. until 2008
