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

Tag: KnitWits Page 2 of 6

A Poem, Athea, old Cork and generosity personified at Christmas 2017

By

On December 21, 2017

In Uncategorized

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Forget Elf on the shelf. Chris Grayson’s robins are up to morning adventures as well.

Ballylongford in Winter 2017     Photo by Ita Hannon

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The Wind         by James Stephens

The wind stood up
and gave a shout

He whistled on his
fingers and

Kicked the
withered leaves about,

And thumped the
branches with his hand.

And said that he’d
kill, and kill, and kill

And so he will!
And so he will!

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Athea’s Local Chronicler



Domhnall de Barra does his local district a great service by bringing them a regular update soon local happenings in his 

Athea and District News

Here is some of what he has to say in Christmas 2017

The Festive Season 

Domhnall de Barra


Christmas time is upon
us again and the buying frenzy has already started. In trying to understand
why, I googled Christmas and found a lot of information about the origins of
the feast and how it developed over the years. You can do this yourselves so I
won’t go into it except  for the following passage:

The celebratory customs associated in various
countries with Christmas have a mix of pre-Christian,
Christian, and secular themes
and origins. Popular modern customs of the holiday include gift giving,
completing an Advent calendar or Advent wreath, Christmas music and caroling,
lighting a Christingle,
viewing a Nativity play,
an exchange of Christmas cards, church services,
a special meal,
and the display of various Christmas
decorations, including Christmas trees, Christmas lights, nativity scenes, garlands, wreaths, mistletoe,
and holly.
In addition, several closely related and often interchangeable figures, known
as Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas,
and Christkind,
are associated with bringing gifts to children during the Christmas season and
have their own body of traditions and
lore. Because gift-giving and many other aspects of the Christmas festival
involve heightened economic activity, the holiday has become a significant
event and a key sales period for retailers and businesses. The economic impact
of Christmas has grown steadily over the past few centuries in many regions of
the world.


That passage sums
up  in a few sentences what Christmas is about but it does not tell the
whole story. With all the ballyhoo, the real meaning of Christmas can easily
get lost. It was created to  celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, an event
that is central to Christian beliefs. December 25th may not be the real date of
the Lord’s birth but it was chosen because it was the shortest day of the
year in the Roman calendar and marked the beginning of the longer days  to
come and more light. When people celebrate they often do so by eating together
so the Christmas dinner began. It was, and still is, a great family occasion
and a time for loving and sharing…..

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Cork in 1920




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A Heartwarming Story

This is Eunice Perrin of Duagh. Eunice loves to knit and every evening she knits little hats for premature babies as she watches her favourite TV programmes.

I met her in Scribes on Saturday where she was meeting up with another very generous soul. Namir Karim is closing down his craft shop in Church Street and he gifted Eunice twenty balls of knitting yarn for her charity knitting. Maureen Connelly agreed to be the liaison person to deliver the yarn and collect the caps.

Three kind people

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Getting Ready for Christmas in Asdee in the 1950s

by Jim Costelloe in his book…Asdee a Rural Miscellany

Whitewashing the
dry walls around the house was one of the jobs that had to be done for
Christmas. The outer walls of dwelling houses had to be lime washed also. The
lime had to be prepared a few days beforehand and I have a memory of rocks of
lime in the bottom of a bucket being covered with boiling water as the mixture
stewed a combination of steam and lime into the air,  Some blue dye which was also used for
bleaching white clothes on washday was also added to make the lime wash brilliant
white. The yard and the bohreen near the house were also brushed and a general
clean up was done.

There were no
commercial;l Christmas decorations for sale in the shops, or, if they were,
they were not bought by most rural householders. Holly and ivy were the only
decorations I remember with the odd simple crib. We were aware before Christmas
of the holly with the “knobs” was as we would have been hunting and searching
the fences for plums and sloes during the autumn.

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Well deserved Cultural Archive Award for Listowel’s Lartigue




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The sea gives up its secrets




As Noelle Hegarty was taking her morning walk on Beale strand yesterday, she noticed that the tide  had washed clean the sand that usually covers the old slipway.



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A Poem for Christmas 2017



sent to us by Mary McElligott



Christmas long ago, a Christmas poem and Knitwits Christmas get together

By

On December 20, 2017

In Uncategorized

Photo: Chris Grayson

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This year I’d love if people in the Listowel connection community would send me a picture of Christmas where they are and I could share them after Christmas.

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Government Buildings at Christmas 2017

Political correspondent, Martina Fitzgerald, took this photo and shared it on Twitter. She was killing time while waiting for a Brexit briefing last week.

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Christmas in the 1920s as remembered by Eamon Kelly


… (After the rosary) Our knees would be
aching as we got up off the floor and it would take my father a few hours to
get the prayer arch out of his back. Well, we wouldn’t be sitting down at the
supper and my mother would bless herself again, a preliminary to grace before
meals and you could hardly blame my father for losing his patience.”

“Is it in a
monastery we are,” he’d say. “Haven’t we done enough praying for one night?”

After the supper
there was Christmas cake for anyone with a sweet tooth. My father’d never look
at that. His eye would be on the earthenware jar beneath the dresser, and it
would be a great relief to him when my mother would say to us, “Go out there
one of ye and tell the neighbouring men to come in for a while.”

It was a custom
that night, Nollaig Mhór, big Christmas, for the men to visit one another’s
houses. The women were too busy to be bothered. They had their own night,
Nollaig na mBan, small Christmas for making tapes. In a while the men would
come in and at the first lag in the conversation my father’d take the cork off
the jar and fill out a few cups of porter. The men, by the way nit noticing
what was going on and then when they’d get the cups, all surprised they’d say,
”What’s this? What’s this for?”

“Go on take it,”
my father’d say; “It’s Christmas night, neighbours and good luck to us!”

Then the men’s
faces would light up and, lifting their cups, they’d say; “Happy Christmas.
Ned. Happy Christmas Ma’am! Happy Christmas everyone.”

“And the same to
ye, men,” my father would answer.

“May we all be
alive again this time twelve months.”

And my mother, who
was never too happy in the presence of strong drink, would direct her gaze in
the direction of the Christmas candle and say;

“The grace of God
to us all!”

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A Christmas Poem


(one to set you thinking)

I Saw a
Stable     by Mary Coleridge

I saw a stable,
low and very bare,

A little child in
the manger.

The oxen knew Him,
had Him in their care,

To men he was a
stranger,

The safety of the
world was lying there ,

And the world’s
danger.

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Knitwits Christmas Party



An occasion tinged with sadness on Saturday December 16 2017, as Namir cooked his last Christmas meal for the knitting group who have become his friends.

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Irish Wit



Snapped last week on a van in Tralee

 Seán Mac an tSíthigh  spotted this one and posted it on Twitter.


@Aperture posted this photo of Cork in the fog on Twitter.

Our Christmas Tree ,a sad Christmas poem, BOI Enterprise Town event, some brave women and a change at Scribes

By

On December 11, 2017

In Uncategorized


Listowel Town Square

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A Christmas Poem (This is a heartbreaking one)


Christmas at Sea by Robert Louis Stevenson


The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;

The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;

The wind was a nor’wester, blowing squally off the sea;

And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.

They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;

But ’twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.

We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,

And we gave her the maintops’l, and stood by to go about.

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All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;

All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;

All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,

For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide race roared;

But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:

So’s we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,

And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;

The good red fires were burning bright in every ‘long-shore home;

The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;

And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;

For it’s just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)

This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn,

And the house above the coastguard’s was the house where I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,

My mother’s silver spectacles, my father’s silver hair;

And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,

Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,

Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;

And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,

To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.

‘All hands to loose top gallant sails,’ I heard the captain call.

‘By the Lord, she’ll never stand it,’ our first mate, Jackson, cried.

… ‘It’s the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson,’ he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,

And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood.

As the winter’s day was ending, in the entry of the night,

We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,

As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;

But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,

Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.

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Some photos from Listowel Enterprise Town evening




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Life in Cork in 1836 was tough


This story comes from the Durrus History Society. Durrus ia a small town in west Cork

1836 Evidence of Father John Kelleher, Early Statistician, to Poor Laws (Ireland), Enquiry.

 Muintir Bháire There are in these parishes about 50 and at least that number of individuals who endeavour to make out a livelihood by buying eggs here and taking them to Cork where they are bought for the English market.  These individuals are generally young women of blameless morals and great industry the distance they have to travel barefooted with such a load as 300 eggs in a basket on their backs is to many no less than 50 miles.  Some will take so many as 350 of these eggs others not more than 200 they generally bring as heavy a load back from the city. And make ten or a dozen such journeys each year.  The time devoted to such a journey is generally a week, their profits are inconsiderable perhaps about £3 in the year.

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Where Age is no Barrier



Friends, Lilly and Maureen knitting with Knitwits in Scribes

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Here is the link to the Girl Guides Camp in Dromin in 1992 as recorded by Michael Guerin

Listowel Girl Guides 1992

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Scribes is changing hands




Brigita, on the left is taking over from Namir in Scribes in Church Street. We will miss Namir’s genial presence and invariable good humour and wit.

Brigita will be very different but a good different. She is a lovely genial lady, a great cook and immensely talented. I wish her the best of luck and I look forward to many more happy hours in Scribes.

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Winner Alright



You all know Chris Grayson from his beautiful Nature photographs which I love to share with you. Chris is not a native Kerryman but he is the next best thing, an adopted one. He loves his Kerry home and he celebrates it often in stunning photos.

Chris has another string to his bow. He is a dedicated runner. Last weekend he won the Clonakilty marathon. Congratulations to a great friend of Listowel connection. May you go on to many more such successes.

Bridge Road , Knitwits, November Remembrance and Listowel Half Marathon

By

On November 14, 2017

In Uncategorized



November 2017



Its not nearly as bad as Thomas Hood makes out in his poem


No sun – no moon! 

No morn – no noon – 

No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day. 

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, 

No comfortable feel in any member – 

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, 

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! – 

November! 

Thomas Hood


top <<<


Bridge Road is Changing


Recently Bridge Road has become a traffic headache for many people who live there or who have to drive through Listowel at certain times of the day.

This is soon to change with work to begin on the enlarging of the entrance to the town park. At present if a car is on the way out the car entering the park has to wait. This is causing traffic to back up on Bridge Road.

Another cause of concern on Bridge Rd is the entrance to the housing estate which is located opposite the entrance to the park.

Plans are afoot to improve this junction as well.

<<<<<<<<<



Still Knitting and Nattering




Our knitting group meets in Scribes on Church Street on Tuesdays and Saturdays at 11.00a.m.

 New members are always welcome.

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Simon Delaney in Lizzie’s




Photo; Lizzie’s Little Kitchen

Simon Delaney of TV3 and now more famous as the writer of a cookbook was in town to open the Food fair. He called in to his friend Lizzie and her husband in her workplace.

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Listowel’s Half Marathon 11/11/2017



Every Saturday morning a group of fitness conscious individuals meet in Listowel Town Park for the weekly park run.

On Saturday last, some of the more experienced among them joined serious runners for Listowel’s annual half marathon.  The race was run in atrocious weather conditions.

This photo was taken by super photographer, Chris Grayson. People who follow my blog regularly will be familiar with Chris’ great photographs. There is much more to Chris than beautiful photographs. Chris is a dedicated marathon runner and on Saturday in Listowel he was doing a job of pacing for the athletes. That is him below in the middle; Number 61

These are Chris’ photos of the participants’ medal

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Lest we Forget




Every November Listowel remembers its war dead at a special mass and ceremony. These former soldiers with their flags were proud to stand for my photo outside St. Mary’s Listowel before the mass on November 12 2017

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Every Picture Tells a Story



Who cares about the weather when you are happy? John Stack took this great photo and here is the caption he put with it on Facebook.

Darren O’Connor, Captain Ballydonoghue receiving the cup from Johnny Stack, Chairman North Kerry Football Board after defeating Moyvane in the final of the Kieran Corridan Intermediate Cup Final Sponsored South Of Ireland Waste Management played in Ballylongford on Saturday. 

(P.S. Saturday, Nov. 11 2017 was one of the wettest  days in North Kerry in a long time.)



Knitters party, Tidy Towns Unveiling, Wren boys part 4 and some photos of local people

By

On December 16, 2016

In Uncategorized



Knitwits Christmas Party in Scribes




Una Hayes and Maureen Connolly

Patricia Borley and Mary Boyer

Katie Heaton and Anne Moloney

Helen O’Connor and Pat Barry

Peggy Brick, Kathleen McCarthy and Una Hayes

Jane Anne Sheehy, Eileen O’Sullivan and Eileen Fitzgerald



Maria Leahy, Anne Moloney and Joan Carey

<<<<<<<



New Kids on The Block




This business  has opened at the corner of William Street and Charles Street in the premises that used to be Jerome Murphy’s



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Sunday December 11 2016 at the Unveiling of the Tidy Towns’ Sculpture




At 5.00 p.m.we turned our backs on the Coca Cola truck and headed across the Square to the island outside The Listowel Arms for the unveiling of the sculpture to celebrate the work of Listowel Tidy Towns Committee in bringing glory to town. Readers of Listowel Connection already knew what the piece looked like but the committee covered it up again for the big reveal.

Kerry County Council and the Enterprise office had a hand in funding so Aoife Thornton gave the first speech on their behalf.

Canon Declan O’Connor, P.P. Listowel blessed the piece and blessed the work of the Tidy Town committee.

Ta da! There it is.

The artist, Darren Enright stood proudly among the onlookers as his work was praised.

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That was then; this is now



When another sculpture was unveiled in The Square in December 2010 we had snow on the ground

This year the sun shone and we had temperatures of 13 and 14.

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A Few More People I photographed on November 25

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North Kerry Wren Boys by Wm. Molyneaux in Shannonside Annuals

Part 4

We had great times with the
same Wren, so we did.  One St Stephen’s
Day I was out with Coolkeragh.  They were
a good crowd.  We were travelling on,
whatever.  I don’t know that anyone of us
knew the names of the people where we were at all. 
But still is was a good place. 
Well, any torn down house or anything, we’d say to ourselves that we
wouldn’t go in there at all.  

So this
house, anyway, we crossed it.  It was a
small little pokeen of a  house.  Myself and the player were talking.  We said to ourselves we wouldn’t go in there
at all-you know.  There would hardly be
no one there at all- poor looking. “Cripes,” says I (as if I had the knowledge)
“ “I imagine,” says I, “but I see an old woman walking around
the house, and now  that old woman might
only get insulted.  We want nothing from
her,” says I, “but she might get insulted if we didn’t go into with
the Wren.”  “Well, by God, that’s
right, Williameen.  “We go in
then.”  

In we went.  This poor little woman was inside.  A very small little house entirely.  She had a few coals down.  I went up to the fire, myself and the player.  He was Willie Mahoney over in Coolkeragh and
a good player he was.  The Dickens, I
went up.  I was inclined to
“hate” the tambourine over the coals. 
There wasn’t as much fire there as would heat it.  Stay, I told him play away.  He played away.  He played, I think, a hornpipe.  God he was a good player!  We were at it for a bit, and with that,
whatever look I gave, there was the poor woman and the tears rolling down her
face.  “Stop, let ye,” says I
to the crowd.  “Stop, let ye, there
must be something wrong here.  Will ye
stop!”  I turned around to the old
woman: “well, poor woman,” says I “there must be something wrong
with you or with someone belonging to you. 
And if we knew anything like that,” says I, “we were not going to come in at all” says I “if
we knew what we know now….  When we see
the tears in your eyes we wouldn’t have come in at all….

At that she started, at the
top of your voice: “Yerra,Wisha, Weenach!oh!oh!OH!..It isn’t any dohall I have
at all about the Wran Boys!….Yerra, Wisha…..my husband, Tom….he’s inside in
the Listowel ‘ospital with a sore leg. 
And, and if Tom was here today, wouldn’t he be delighted to see the fine
crowd of fine respectable Wren boys that made so much of me as to come in here!
Wait a fwhile ‘til Tom ‘ll come home and if I don’t be  telling him that…..oh!oh!oh! and she went on
at the top of her voice.

I turned around to the crowd:
“lads,” says I, “have ye much money around ye? “agor, we have”
says the captain,  we could have up to
about five pounds, (it was early in the day) “Are ye all satisfied to give
this poor woman,” says I, “half of what ye have?  The day is long” says I, “and
we  will make enough to maintain us
through the night.”  And they said
they were agreeable.  The cashier was
just starting to pull out his purse and off she started again: “oh!  No! 
No!  Wait awhile now and I must
turn around and give ye something.  She
had long stockings on her, and she stuck down her hand in one of them-down,
down, and then she got hold of something and she started pulling and pulling
til she pulled up a big cloth purse-as sure as I’m telling you there would a
quarter sack of male fit inside it!  And
I couldn’t tell you what money was inside it. 
Up she pulled the bag anyway and reached a shilling to myself.  “No, ma’am,” says I, “put that in
your own pocket.”  Then she started
again: “oh!  No!  No! 
No!  If you don’t take that now,
decent boy!  Oh,Yerra  Wisha 
after what ye had done for me! 
Yerra, Wisha, the best friend I ever had in all my life would not do
what ye’re after doing for me.  That the
Almighty God and the Blessed Virgin Mary may save and guard ye! Bless and
protect ye! And that you and yer crowd might be going around on the Wran,”
says she, “ for the next 100 years without a feather ou of ye.”

That happened, for a God’s
honest fact.

(more tomorrow)

<<<<<<


Home Alone


A Christmas poem from Mary McElligott

HOME ALONE

‘What will I do Mrs Claus?”

Santa rubbed his head.

He really was exhausted.

His legs felt like lead.

His head was pounding,
throbbing.

He was frozen to the bone.

Mrs Claus was too busy
cleaning,

To listen to him moan.

He was like this every
year,

I suppose you’d say,
stressed.

She’d listen, support and
encourage,

Take out his long sleeved
vest.

Christmas Eve was looming,

Three more sleeps to go.

Was it his age? She
wondered,

Gosh, t’was hard to know.

Mrs Claus was high
dusting,

Changing sheets and beds.

Five hundred elves was no
joke,

The last time she counted
heads.

One hundred stayed all
year

But in October that count
went up,

Hard work for Mrs. Claus,

To get it all set up.

She cooked and cleaned
their dorms.

She worked out their Rota,

24/7 their job,

Hard, juggling that quota.

She loved it though, being
busy,

Loved caring for the
elves,

They were like their
children,

When they didn’t have any
themselves.

Some poor elves were
homesick,

In the North Pole for a
whole twelve weeks.

She often saw tears
flowing,

Down their little cheeks.

She had one big job to
sort.

She did it through the
year.

It was she who got the
elves their gifts,

Brought them their
Christmas cheer.

She made several trips
down south.

There was a great service
from The Pole

But her favorite place to
go,

Was a place called
Listowel.

It was so tidy and clean,

So pretty, down by the
park

And even more beautiful at
night,

What with all those blue
lights in the dark.

She’d buy all their gifts,

Hats, scarves and gloves
for the elves.

She’d pack them in huge
cases,

Leaving a bit of space for
a few bits for themselves.

She loved Christmas Eve,

Santa gone, the elves in
bed.

She’d open up her cases,

Deliver gifts as she’d
quietly thread,

Up and down, between the
beds,

One hundred in each dorm,

Over and back until the
cases were empty,

Finishing up near dawn.

They all get a Christmas
bonus,

50 Euros and of course,
some sweets,

After all it was Christmas

And you’d have to give
them treats.

She’d only just be gone to
bed,

When Santa would land in,
FROZEN..

She’d leave out coke and
cake,

Waiting for him, dozing.

‘How was it Santa?’ she’d
ask,

‘Everything go all right
with the reindeer?’

“Absolutely perfect Mrs
Claus,

Thanks to you. Merry
Christmas, my dear.”

<<<<<<<


Friends Reunited


I had a lovely morning meeting with some old friends recently. Some I met by arrangement and some by chance. It was delightful to renew old acquaintance at the end of 2016

I first met these ladies when we were all teenagers. Heres to the next time, Jill, Assumpta, Eileen and Peggy. 

Little did we think back in the 1970s that we would sit in The Malton, Killarney in 2016 discussing the merits of free travel.

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