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: John McGrath Page 4 of 7

1956 Advertisement, The Land and an Old Pres. Photo

Photo: Breda Ferris

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From Shannonside Annual of 1956

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Once a Tidy Towner……

Breda McGrath is not fond of having her photo taken. So she didn’t pose but I snapped her doing her level best to make sure we win that gold medal again. Breda is just one of the many volunteers who work round the clock keeping Listowel looking beautiful.

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A Very Strange Happening in 1842

Boston Pilot 9 July 1842

The Wandering Quakers. These silly fanatics arrived in Listowel from this town on Tuesday evening last, and formed their encampment in the extensive area in the rear of one of the houses in the square, under the shelter of which they sat in pious silence the greater part of the next day in expectation of obtaining followers, or at least hearers, and of being internally moved by the spirit to preach, sing or pray. Finding, however, after a great trial of their patience that, all their expectations were in vain, they rose and retired to Adam’s Hotel where they did justice to the good things of this carnal world, making atonement in the flesh for all that was wanting in the spirit. The next day the holy’ tribe set out on their peregrinations, after having excited the surprise and laughter of the good folks of Listowel. — Kerry Examiner.

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Photo by Éamon ÓMurchú of farm implements at Newbridge House

The Land

John McGrath

I stand in fields where my forefathers stood once

And feel the dreams of those who’ve gone before me.

I tramp through damp and half-remembered pastures,

The folds and features of the land that bore me

All around.  Above the sound of lark’s song,

Below the spring of earth beneath my feet,

The green and gold of April in the hedgerow,

The purple haze where sky and heather meet.

Where mighty men have thought to mark their passing

The furze creeps back to mock the spade and plough,

Those futile epitaphs of generations

In Folk Museums condemned to moulder now.

Where men have raised a fence or tilled a furrow

The land, as if to scorn their simple gains,

Erases each proud trace until tomorrow.

The men have gone; the land alone remains.

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A Passover Meal in Pres. Listowel

I could guess a few names but I’d probably be wrong so I’m hoping someone will help us out.

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Molly, a Hare and a Master Signwriter at work

Golodcrest in Dromin by Paddy Fitzgibbon

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Update on Molly

Still the king of the castle but sheltering from the heat.

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The Blessed Well in Kilshenane

From Closing the Circle, an anthology of the poems of John McGrath

Hare

I met a hare along the road today,

Tall as a greyhound.

He hopped towards me,

hesitated, 

hopped again,

stopped to listen

to my freewheel click,

then turned and loped away.

I gazed in grateful awe

as with each simple spring

the distance grew between us,

marvelled how his quiet grace

belied his hidden power.


Then with one bound

he cleared a ditch

and disappeared from view

leaving me to wonder.

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Dancing in the 1970s

Those were the days.

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Church Street Tattoo


Our local tattooist was taking the opportunity in a lull in business to paint his door jamb.

He had a cancellation due to his client getting sunburnt.

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Master at Work

Martin Chute sign writing in the old fashioned way at Sheahan’s, Upper William Street on Saturday July 24 2021.

Martin was so focussed on his work, he wasn’t even aware I was photographing him. This man is the best at what he does. Listowel is blessed to have him working on our shopfronts.

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Pitch and Putt, a Poem, and Bridge Road, Listowel

The Florist; Photo by Paddy Fitzgibbon

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Listowel Pitch and Putt Clubhouse

The clubhouse of the pitch and putt club is located next to the Dandy Lodge. Martin Chute has done his usual lovely job on the gable wall. I took the photo on a sunny day. Hence all the shadows.

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Contented Diner

Glass House

John McGrath

I must have ordered onion rings for two.

They’re stacked above my steak like lifebelts;

Pepper sauce and wedges on the side,

salad and a subtle Chilean Red.

Beyond the glass I watch the river rise

swiftly with the tide.  Swans

feed frantically, bottoms in the air.

Mine hugs lime-green leatherette.

The waiter smiles, tops up my wine

and leaves.  I watch his bottom too,

then raise my fork and stab my plate

like a Polynesian fisherman.

Out on the river, the swans swim on,

pedalling frantically against the tide, 

Diving, feeding, pedalling again.

I marvel at their weight-loss plan.

I put down my fork and sigh contentedly,

raise my feet onto the lime-green leatherette,

smile at the waiter as he takes my plate and muse

on why others choose to swim against the tide.

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A Mystery Procession

Éamon ÓMurchú found this marvellous photo among his late father’s things. It was unusual for Luaí ÓMurchú not to note the date and occasion on a photograph but, in the case of this one, he did not so we need your help.

Dave O’Sullivan tells me that the car on the right was registered in Dublin between January 1949 and June 1950. “I’d be 90% certain it’s a Vauxhall Wyvern LIX. They were made between 1948 and 1951. Top speed 62 mph from a 1442cc engine.”

Surely some petrol head will remember the car.

The girls faces are very clear. Someone must recognise them.

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Bridge Road 2021

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Bread Shoes, Dried up River and Listowel Characters Mural

Skerries by Éamon ÓMurchú

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A Strange Tale from the School’s Folklore Collection

Little Hands and the Bread Shoes

Once upon a time there lived a man with his wife and son war broke in France, and every Irish man had to go there, and this man had to go also. He wrote letters every day to his wife, and one a wire came to his wife that her husband got killed in the war. She had only one little boy, and he was only a baby. It was a slate house they had.
One day as the little boy was sleeping in his cradle, a slate fell off over the window, and a branch of ivy went in the window and it grew around the child’s. The child was about four years when he went to school. After a time the children got the “flu”, and the little boy took it, and he was very sick, and it was worse he was geting, and at last he died.
His mother kept a little red pair of shoes under her bed, and when she went up in the room the mice had them eaten, and then she took out a loaf of bread out of the bin and softened it in boiling water; and while she was softening the bread a man went in and asked a piece of bread for God’s sake. The woman said that she had bread inside, and she had a loaf in the bin.
The man who asked her was Christ at last the boy was buried, and the threw herself on the grave, and the neighbours pulled her away, and she went to bed after going home, and a few nights after her son appeared to her and said I am in the first step of heaven mother, but the bread shoes are keeping me back, and the night he came he said he was in the second step of heaven, but the bread shoes had kept him back and the next night he came he said he was in the third step of heaven but the bread shoes had kept him back, and then they took off the shoes, and he went to heaven. After a short time the boys mother died, and she went to heaven
Collector; Eileen Hannon Age 14-

Informant- Mrs Ellen Foley-Age 74-

Address, Mountcoal, Co. Kerry.

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Wouldn’t it Lift your Heart?

This is my grandnephew in the U.S. dancing with his great grandmother at a family wedding.

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Drought 2021

The River Feale at the Big Bridge is at a very low level.

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Elegy to Road Kill

Fox

by John McGrath

I killed a fox last night

outside the graveyard wall.

Too late to brake I caught

a flash of golden fur

in headlight’s glare,

Felt the thump and crunch

of steel on bone,

Slow-motion silence,

Disbelief and then,

certitude

that fate had mindlessly conspired

to lead us to this place,

this point in time,

this intersecting line

where two lives intertwine

with tragedy.

One of us remained

outside the graveyard wall.

One moved on

and died a little too.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The Mural is Finished

I took the following photos on July 24 2021 as the muralist just finished the artwork. I took a few long shots to give those of you not in town an idea of where it is and to put the scale of the work in context

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A Prayerful Year in North Kerry

Glendalough, Co Wicklow

Photo Éamon ÓMurchú

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A Photo of a Photo in The Advertiser

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Laborare est Orare

Cathedrals

By John McGrath

Walking with dolphins on a summer’s day

High over Ballybunion,

Talking with ravens in Ballyegan bog,

December morning after rain,

Watching a tumbling star

In a blue-black January sky,

The moon ringed with gold

Over Cnoc An Óir,

Listening to a choir of thrushes

Or the vespers of a thousand starlings,

Turning day-old hay

Towards a sweetening July sun,

Smelling the first rose of April

Or the first turf-fire of autumn.

Incense, mystery, music, majesty

And many places,

Many ways to pray.

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A Pres. Memory

Keelin Kissane, winner of An Post writing competition with her mother, Vourneen, a representative of An Post who sponsored the competition and Sr. Consolata and Sr. Sheila Mary of Presentation Secondary Scho0l, Listowel.

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Just a Thought

My reflections in the Just a Thought slot as broadcast on Radio Kerry last week

Just a Thought by Mary Cogan

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Listowel Characters

The first of the murals at the end of Colbert Street was nearly finished when I photographed it on Thursday last July 21 2021. Listowel’s Siobhán Mooney was helping the artist with the final touches in the sweltering heat.

The quotation is from Brendan Kennelly

“All songs are living ghosts. And long for a living voice.”

By the time you see these the mural will be finished.

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