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: Listowel Races Page 3 of 7

Ballybunion, A Horse Train to Listowel Races and an Elegy to John B.

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A Few Ballybunion snaps

The good work of the local Tidy Town Committee is everywhere to be seen.

Recent storms have snapped off this sign.

It’s an ill wind…. Looking for treasure among the flotsam thrown up by storm Brian.

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In 1899 they had a Horse Train



Kay Caball found this marvellous old poster online. Weren’t The Races very late in the year back then?

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A Song written in tribute to John B. Keane on hearing of his passing in 2002


JOHN. B.

By Mattie Lennon.

Chorus

Before you went you told us not to
cry.

On that sad night.

“Let the show go on” you
said and then “goodbye”.

We shouldn’t question why you had to
die

Before you went you told us not to cry

As Writer’s Week had opened,

For it’s thirty-second year,

Where poet and peasant mingle

To absorb Listowel’s  good cheer.

A cloud crossed hill and valley

From Carnsore to Malin Head,

As news went ’round our island

“The great John. B. is dead”

Chorus.

He who walked with King and beggar

Will lift his pen no more,

To bring out the hidden Ireland

Like no one did before.

He banished inhibitions

To put insight in their stead.

The world stage is brighter

But The “Kingdom’s King” is
dead.

The dialogue of two Bococs

Is known in every town.

Now the Ivy Bridge links Broadway

To the hills of Renagown.

While men of twenty emigrate

And Sharon’s Grave is read,

Or a Chastitute ‘s forlorn

His memory won’t be dead.

Chorus.

They stepped out from the pages

Of The Man From Clare and Sive

To walk behind his coffin

Each character alive.

His Soul, with One-Way Ticket

To The Highest House has sped,

And this world has lost a genius;

The great John. B. is dead.

Chorus.                  

   © Mattie Lennon 2002. (Put to music by
John Hoban.)

               

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How they used to Build a GatePost 


I took the photos on The Sive Walk.

Listowel Races in the 1950s, Recycle Fashion Day 2017 and Thomas Ashe

Photo; Chris Grayson

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Listowel Races as they used to be


Vincent Carmody relives the race meetings and harvest festivals of the 1950s.

The arrival in town in the late 1950s of the well known English racing
tipster, Prince Monolulu caused quite a stir. People were taken by the
different outfits which he wore on the different days and by his personality.
Again. like the woman who gazed into her crystal ball, I am not sure if he gave
out too many winners. (this picture appeared in the Irish Examiner this week)

The Harvest Festival Committee, in order to generate interest for the
crowds remaining in the town after the day’s racing and to create some fun for
the locals, came up with some very interesting simple ideas, these included
the  Listowel Donkey Derby, the Munster and All Ireland Wren Boys
competition, the All Ireland churn rolling (milk tanks) competition, a walking
race from from Tarbert to Listowel and common bicycle race from Ballybunion to
Listowel.

Of these the All Ireland Wren Group competition still survives and the
finals are played out in The Square on the Friday night of race week,
always before a large and  receptive crowd.

For sheer thrill and great fun it was hard to beat the Donkey Derby,
which ran over two nights. The donkeys ran down the length of Church Street,
which used to be closed to traffic. Heats took place the first night with the
semi–finals and final on the following night. Both footpaths would be packed
with onlookers, with volunteers stewarding the final 50 yards on both sides.

 Many stories remain of the event,
two of which I can attribute to John B Keane. Once when he was asked to
describe the event, he described it as “a fantastic flight of asses down the
historic Church Street course ”  A friend, Thomas Ashe, once told me,
that John B, as chief steward, had appointed him as offical starter. On the
night of the heats, upwards of 100 donkeys had been brought before the start of
the heats to be entered. Thomas, who had only just come down from Dublin for
the week, was unaware of the format for running the heats, so he got on a
walkie talkie to John B who was positioned at the finish.

“John B.,” said Thomas,

“Yes, young Ashe, what’s wrong?” said John B.

 “We have upwards of 100
asses here. Do I run 5 heats of 10 asses, or 10 heats of 5 asses?” said
Thomas.

 There was a silence for about 10 seconds,
when John B came back on and said for a laugh  ” Let them all off
together and stampede down the street.” 

The asses came from far and near, but the best of all was a local one
named Listowel Factory. He was owned by Paddy Behane of Bunghara. As an extra
to the night’s racing there was a special race in which some of the jockeys
riding at the Island would take part.  This
race was commentated on by the legendary racing and football commentator,
Micheál O’Hehir.

When the crowd surged at the end of an exciting sprint down the street,
Micheál was knocked from the top of a tea chest, which he used as his
commentary box. That incident, along with one of the jockeys getting injured
falling from his ass, put paid to both Micheál and the jockeys taking part in
any further Donkey Derbys.

At one stage, someone had a vague idea of moving the Derby to Charles
Street.  When publican, Denis Guiney,
whose premises was located adjacent to the finishing line at the lower end of Church
Street, heard this rumour, he approached the then Chairman, Dr. Johnny Walsh
and said, in no uncertain terms, that he would withhold any further
contribution to their yearly collection.

That year, he had contributed one shilling and sixpence !!! 

(photos from North Kerry Camera)

Another great addition to the Listowel of those years was the setting up
of Radio Listowel, it was broadcast from a room in Michael Kennelly’s Travel
Agency in Market Street and was linked to loudspeakers in the different
streets. Used extensively at Race Week and Christmas time, it was also used by
the local Urban Council for any public announcements.

It would not be proper to finish without a mention of Listowel people’s
favourite food at Race-Time, that is, Mutton Meat Pies. These were served in
broth and sold in many a house in the town, many a stomach was filled and many
a sick head was cured by their consumption. O Connor’s public house in Upper
William Street, known as ‘Mike the Pies’ got its nick-name from the time that
Michael and Kate O’Connor came back from America in 1907, to open their public
house, Kate, formally Mulvihill from Ballylongford, realising that country men
who were in town all day for Market and Fairday’s needed wholesome nourishment,
so she came up with the idea of making and serving these famous pies. 
    

With the arrival of more and more Travelers and their caravans into the
town, especially in the 1950s, parking in the Market place became a premium. The
remainder then went to the only other available site, on the riverside. This
continued until the late 1950s. Then, the Market place was bought by the newly
formed Listowel Mart Company. The traditional camping side in the front market
gave way to the building of the new mart building and associated pens. From the
late 1950s and early 1960s the Travelers’ lifestyle was also evolving. Many
were been resettled and their traditional caravan and way of travel was becoming
obsolete. In many cases the hirse drawn caravan gave way to more more mobile
small pick up trucks. The Listowel riverside encampment of the 1950s is more
than likely the last actual image of a way of life that is now a distant memory.
This photograph could also be a mirror image of the early pioneers on the
American Sante Fe Trail well over 100 years before. (photo from North Kerry
Camera 1989).

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More from Listowel Races on Saturday Sept 16 2017


Friends, Gillian McElligott and Cliona Cogan meet up on The Island.

 Local ladies enjoy watching the style.

Once a scamp, always a scamp. This man is always a great supporter of this event. He looked just as dapper as usual this year and, as usual, he was flirting with the ladies.

Some local vintage glamour

This Galway couple won Most Stylish Couple on Ladies Day. If there was a category for  stylish couples on Vintage Day they would have won hands down.

 Imelda and Liz were busy organising the event. They did a great job.

 There always seems to be a stag party on the island on the Saturday of race week. This year they brought “the bride”, Roberta, who was sporting a recycled wedding dress for reuse and recycle day.

This lady was last year’s winner. She is always beautifully styled . Her outfit this year was stunning.


A New York bought dress, a pair of gloves she dyed with beetroot to make them look old and the only hat in the house made up this eye-catching outfit. The judges loved this look and she was a finalist.

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A sad telegram in the UCD archives


Much memorabilia related to the death of Thomas Ashe has been released to coincide with the centenary of his death. The below telegram from his parents to deValera must be among the most poignant. it is granting permission for him to be buried in the republican plot in Glasnevin rather than with his family in Kerry.

Artistic Graffiti at the Ball Alley and Vincent Carmody’s Race week enterprises in the 1950s

Chris Grayson was on the Dingle peninsula.

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The Ball Alley


A few years ago, as a project during Listowel Writers’ Week, the young people of Existance Youth Café, helped and supported by Listowel Tidy Towns’ Committee, painted some artistic graffiti on the walls of the old ball alley. Recently I noticed that the end wall has been painted over. I hope whoever painted it won’t paint over any more of it, because it is lovely. 



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Twin Concerns this week; a Mayo football Jersey and a jockey’s silks in the window at Harnett’s

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Home is the Hero

Photo; Darren Frehill on Twitter

Real heroes have time for their fans.

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More Race Week Memories from Vincent Carmody




Overview photo of the racecourse by Pat Healy


Apart from the fine
fresh air and friendship that you will have in abundance at the races, the only
other thing free for the week is the free draw each day, entry forms to be
found on the day’s race card.

Race card kiosks are
located in several areas of the enclosure.

In my previous lookback,
I mentioned Paul Kennelly of Woodford.  He
used to be assisted in putting up the decorations by several of his sons. One
by one over time, they emigrated to seek their fortunes in England. Like many
before them, they worked hard and prospered. Murt, having done well, decided to
become a racehorse owner. Among the horses that he owned was Bregawn. In 1983
Murt achieved what most owners and trainers would only dream of, by winning the
Gold Cup in Cheltenham. It could not happen to a nicer man and family.

The weekend prior to
the races would see an influx of returning emigrants arriving at the Railway
Station. The Races was the one time of the year where anyone away would make an
big effort to return back to town and meet up with old friends.

  

Tuesday used be
the first day of the three day meeting. Many lads, like myself, would be down
early outside the Race Company Office in the Square; our mission, to collect
race cards for the day. This was another money making project for us young
fellows. Each card would be sold for one old shilling and we would take three
old pence for each one sold. On getting the cards, a bee line would then be
made to the Railway Station, where each race day morning at least four packed “specials”
would arrive.  It used be like London’s
Euston station. We used work in teams of three, with one always ready to cycle
down to the Square to get fresh supplies.

Here we were also
introduced for the first time to the Dublin fruit and sweet sellers. We used to
call them the Molly Malones. Afterwards we got used to their cry, “apples,
pears and ripe bananas!”.

Any cards we had left
after the railway station would be sold around the streets.

One year I decided to
go into business on my own, running a bicycle park. A bike would have been the
most common form of transport for a lot of country men in the mid 1950s. Each
day of the races from mid-morning droves of country men from the northern end
of the county would come down the Ballylongford Road to the town. By taking up
a position on top of the bridge I could easily canvas likely contenders who
would have dismounted and walked up the far side and who wanted their bike
parked safely for the day. Having secured a customer, I would take him down to
our yard, give him a ticket, get paid and then rush back up to the bridge
again. By early afternoon customers would have dried up so it was then off over
to The Island.

Our racedays were
spent like most others out in the field opposite the stand. Not like today,
where the field is used as a carpark, it was in those days similar to the
opposite enclosure, albeit without a stand. 
It had  bookies, bars, Tote and every other facility, even
including swinging boats. Evening time offered the magic of the market, and for
the week the cinemas would run a second film showing. 

Back to the bicycle
park. The less said about the bicycle park the better. Having got my sister to
help out in the early part of the evening, I then had to take up duty. On that
particular night it was after five in the morning before the last bike was
claimed. My mother and father said they had no sleep with all the comings and
goings, so that finished that idea.

A friend, Dr. Philip O
Carroll, now domiciled in Newport Beach in California, reminded me of Bryan McMahon’s
classic Listowel ballad, ‘Lovely Listowel’ first printed by Bob Cuthbertson and
sold on an original penny ballad sheet. I have a copy and I would like to share
it with all of those Listowel people around the world who could not join us
this year.

Oh, Puck may be famous
and Galway be grand,

And the praise of
Tramore echo down through the land,

But I’ll sing you a
ballad and beauty extol,

As I found it long ‘
go in the Town of Listowel.

I’ve been to Bundoran,
I’ve rambled to Bray,

I’ve footed to Bantry
with it’s beautiful bay,

But I’d barter their
charms, I would, pon my soul,

For the week of the
Races in Lovely Listowel.

There were Bookies and
Bagmen and Bankers and all,

Biddy Mulligan was
there with a green-coloured shawl,

And a cute little boy
pitching pence in a bowl,

Took me down for a
crown in the Town of Listowel.

The Hawkers were
kissing and bleeding as well,

We had Hoop-La and
Loop-La and the ‘oul Bagatelle,

And silver-tongued
gents sure I’d bet they’d cajole,

A pound from a miser
in the Town of Listowel.

Beyond on the course
there was silk flashing past, 

The unfortunate nag
that I backed he was last,

When he ran the wrong
way sure I lost my control,

And I prayed for the
trainer and Lovely Listowel.

Oh night time, how are
you-the night sure ’twas day,

And the stars in the
sky sure they looked down in dismay,

And they sez to the
moon then in accents so droll,

‘You’re done, for the
sun shines to-night in Listowel’

And you’d travel the
land to see maidens so rare,

With buckles and
pearls and grace I declare,

In my troubles and
toils there is one can console,

she’s a wife, be me
life, from the Town of Listowel.

My rhyming is over,
God bless those who heard,

For I’ll take to the
roads and go off like a bird,

And before I depart
well you all must pay toll,

So three cheers for
the Races and Lovely Listowel.

                  

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Last year on the Saturday of race week, Owen MacMahon gave an impromptu blast of his father’s famous ballad. He was helped by fellow “well dressed men” at Listowel’s Tidy Town’s Vintage Day.

Here it is

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Races 2017



It’s still a bit blustery on The Island. The weather is set to improve though.

John Kelliher  some  great photos.

Jumpers, McKenna’s, Listowel History Festival and Vincent Carmody’s Race Week in the 1950s

Photo: Chris Grayson

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Painting Job well done




McKenna’s is looking splendid in its new coat.

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Jumpers and By Herkins

Recently I included the below snippet in a blog post

Brosna Jumpers

(from The Freeman’s Journal New South
Wales, Australia)

Passing to the diocese of Kerry, I observe
that at a mission by the Franciscans, in the parish of Brosna, 5,000 persons
communicated, 2,000 were invested with the scapular of the Blessed Virgin, and
1,200 were enrolled in the Confraternity of the Holy Family. Moreover, six
unfortunate persons who had become ‘Jumpers’ made, with their families, a
solemn public recantation. I may mention that this place was once the centre of
a Protestant proselytising traffic, I doubt if there is any single Protestant
there now.

Has anyone any idea what Jumpers were?

Joe Harrington answered my call. Here is the explanation from the Clifden heritage organisation:

The Famine
years were particularly harsh all over the west of Ireland, and especially in
the Connemara region whose population of tenant farmers and labourers depended
almost entirely on the lumper potato. Thousands died when the potato crop
failed in the summer of 1845 and failed again over the following three years.
Those who managed to survive were weakened by years of hunger and disease and found
it difficult to restart their lives as their work tools, farm implements and
furniture had been sold to raise money for food. This was the environment into
which the Irish Church Missions stepped when it began its proselytising work in
Clifden in early 1848. Its arrival, with plentiful supplies of food and
clothes, must have seemed like a godsend to the starving poor of Connemara.

The Irish
Church Missions was established by Revd Alexander Dallas, the Church of England
rector of Wonston in Hampshire and had been active at Castlekerke, near
Oughterard since 1846. Its ambition was to convert the Roman Catholic
population of Ireland to scriptural Protestantism and it was handsomely funded
by the Protestant population of Great Britain. The Irish poor who attended the
Irish Church Missions schools and churches of received clothes and food in
addition to educational and religious services and, with the west of Ireland in
the midst of a dreadful famine, it is unsurprising that the poor of Connemara
eagerly flocked to the Protestant Irish Church Missions.
Within a short time the mission could correct
claim a very large number of converts or ‘jumpers’ as they were known. [It is
thought that the term Jumpers comes from the Irish expression d’iompaigh siad –
they turned.]


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I also got this interesting snippet about the etymology of the exclamation “By Herkins”

It is a strange saying. I thought it was probably an incorrect rendition of some similar sounding-word, maybe ‘Hearken.’ This was much used in biblical connotations- 

​’​

Hearkenbrothers, give ear unto my words

​…’​

However, I believe that is not the case.

I was later informed that ‘By Herkins’ is, in fact correct, and this is validated in the story, “The Lady of Gallerus” by T. Crofton Croker 1798-1854. 

It echoes of wonderment:  “By Herkins, I nothing but a made man with you, and you with a King for your father.”

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Finally, a ‘Jumper’ is someone who changed from R.C. to Protestant- usually as a result of hunger and proselytising. He or she ‘jumped ship!’ Or took the soup and became known as a ‘Souper.’

Dingle was noted as a Colony of Soupers/Jumpers.

Brosna also had a colony (though some were ‘economically’ inspired and did it for gain. Others did it to stay alive, which was o.k. in 1847 or thereabouts. Many we

nt back to their old faith when their bellies were full again!

Fealebridge on the Kerry-Limerick border (near the creamery on the old main road) had its small colony. There was a proselytising Minister, the Revd. ‘Ned’ Norman there, and he had a church in the middle of no-where. (It is reduced to rubble now- with some fine cut limestone).

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Going to the Creamery


This lovely old postcard was shared recently byListowel History Festival. The History Festival is a new venture from the people behind the military festival. The time had come to move on from the military emphasis.  In future this festival will look at all aspects of history. If you have any ideas of how this new history weekend could be enhanced get in touch with them through their page. They are very anxious to get as many diverse aspects of history covered in the weekend.

Back to the postcard. Doesn’t it take you back?  The donkey looks young and sprightly to me and his cart is either new or newly painted.  The saved hay in the background says that it is summer. I wonder could the history festival find a donkey and bring him into the town and tackle him to a flat cart. How many people nowadays could name the various items of donkey’s tackling? Would’ nt it be a education for youngsters and a trip back in time for us all to see the donkey dressed for a trip to town.

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It’s Race Week



This window display in Lawlers of Church St. is getting us all in the spirit.

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Reminiscing at the beginning of another Race Week

Photos and text by  Vincent Carmody,       Sept. 
 2017

 The pristine straight, without a hoof mark… within a
few hours the horses will come thundering up the hill, some gallant winners and
many more gallant losers. The Listowel Arms and twin church spires are in the distance.

 The three stands are ready and waiting to host the
thousands who will flock to the Island for the seven days.

One of the many Tote facilities, this one built into
the new building which was opened last year, it also includes a large bar and
“The Old Weir” foodhall.


Some Listowel Races memories.

I went for a walk this Sunday morning, 10th
September, back to our Island Racecourse, to see the course in its state of readiness
for the first day of our seven day feast of racing. The memories came flooding
back.

In the days of the 1950s when myself and my contemporaries
were growing up, racing days consisted of three days, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.
We would have school on the Monday, and I remember one of the compositions
always rostered for homework was one, either through Irish or English, with  a ‘ week of race-week theme ‘.

For us townies, the sense of anticipation, would have
began during the previous week when a gentleman called Paul Kennelly from
Woodford would move around the streets with a hay cart which contained
specially large made concrete bases with a hole in the middle.  These had metal handles for lifting. 
The bases were left on the edges of the various footpaths at either side of the
road, at distances of about 30 yards. Alongside these were left tall poles,
some painted black and white, more multicoloured, similar to the wooden poles
one will see on showjumping fences. Mr Kennelly’s next job was done with the help
of some of his sons. They stood the poles into the concrete bases. This done,
they strung coloured buntings from the top of each pole to its opposite across
the street, until the streets were ablaze with the fluttering decorations.  Later when trucks were getting higher, a
metal pole was attached to the tops of the poles. It was also customary at one
stage to tie bunches of ivy on to the poles. 
This was discontinued when somebody’s emancipated donkey, which had been
tied on to one of the poles, decided to feast on the ivy. The stricken ass had
to receive veterinary assistance and when possible litigation loomed  a
stop was put to this form of decoration.

Strings of electric light bulbs would, I remember,
have been first erected by Gene Moriarty. His family still keep up the practice
to this day.

The market amusements were also a major part of the
week, The Bird family operated the most popular of these, and were located in
the back market, which was, in our time, until the building of the Mart, separated
from the front market by a long shed which ran from the market wall down
towards the river. The top end of the front market, inside both gates would
have contained lines of travellers green coloured canvas topped caravans. This
is why it  was known as the Tinkers Market.
The lower part hosted small-time amusement operators, mostly with swinging
boats and hustlers selling everything and anything. An abiding memory that still
abides is the smell that emanated from the wood-fueled open fires which
would be lit outside the caravans at dusk.

Also in Market Street, McKennas used have installed a
small screen which fitted into the fanlight of one of their small doors. On
this screen throughout the week they would play repeats of that year’s Grand National
and other sporting events, more than likely, similar to Movietone News. I
remember one of these was a match which featured Stanley Mathews. 

For those of us living near the railway station, Monday evening
had its own attraction; the arrival of the special train coming from the
Curragh. This would be full of racehorses, scheduled to run in the various
races during the week. The Race Company had a stable yard with around 50
stables at the back of William Street where most of the horses would be housed
and the overflow would go to various houses who had private stables in their
backyards. The various trainers and stable boys would always require assistance
in bringing their luggage and equine requirements to the stables, so we would
become hastily employed and willing stablehands for the evening. The monies
received would happily subsidise race-week pocket money which one would never
have enough of.              

    

Beano, The Bog,The River, The Courthouse and the Ambassador

The River Walk in January 2017


Photo by Deirdre Lyons

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Goodbye Ambassador



Kevin O’Malley has returned to the U.S. and the new ambassador, a Kerry man will be the next to take up the post.


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Listowel Courthouse


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Some Things are Timeless


I have someone in my family who loves nothing better than a session with her Beanos and she has a good few. Whenever I see an old Beano annual in a charity shop I buy it for her.

The photo shows her on Christmas Day 2016 when she abandoned all her other presents to read her Beano first.

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Maria Sham Remembers the Races and The Bog

The railway was very exciting during The Races, which fell at the end of September. It was the Harvest Festival when all the farmers would have finished the harvest and come to town. It would go on for 3 days and well into the nights. The horses would be transported onto the train for the races. The town would be decorated with buntings and music played into the early hours of the morning.

All the country people came to town and you would see them walking through the streets eating crubeens [pigs feet]. They would be displayed in all the shop windows in large dishes, steaming hot. The streets would be strewn with bones . I can’t remember any rubbish bins then. Another special treat at that time and still is!! mutton pies, all the restaurants would sell them in soup plates covered in soup.

Mam would make dozens for us and there would be a big pot of bone broth left on the range the whole of The Races so we could pop in a pie anytime. Nothing spoiled as there were no onions in anything.

But for us children it was not about horse races, but the market. It was a delight with bumper cars, swinging boats, chair planes, the wheel of death, and lots more, games to win anything from a doll to a set of saucepans. My favourite was at the entrance to the market with the tinkers, now called Travellers’. They lived in horse drawn caravans then. They would have fires lit and do their cooking outside, selling heather and telling fortunes, I am sure I can still smell the smoke. As I got older I got a job for the days of the races from 9am to maybe 10pm a £1 for the day.

Another big occasion for our family and for all the people at that time was the cutting of the turf and bringing it home. The turf would be cut with a slawn and would be allowed to dry. Well the bringing home was a great effort and in those days all the neighbours helped each other. On one occasion one of the men fell into a bog hole and had to come home without his trousers only a sack tied around him. We had a great laugh.

That morning the men would set off early with bread and ham and the makings of tea,

On arrival back with a lorry full of turf mam would have a grand dinner ready for everyone, meat, potatoes and a pigs head. We all helped to draw in the turf and stack it in the shed in the back.

There was also a big field called Jack Thornton’s where we also played. We had to be careful and watch out for Jack as he would chase us with his big stick. He also had a shop on the Ballybunion road and we could buy a tosheen which was just a piece of paper rolled up in cone shape, full of sweets for a penny or a Peggy’s Leg or slab toffee which was a favourite of mine. A big treat was if we met dad at his local, Sheahens. Then it was a bottle of lemonade and a big cake.

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A Clarification Re Listowel Badminton Tournament 


When I asked Junior for a photo of the first presentation of his trophy, he asked Tom Bourke to send me one. Now, I presumed that Tom was the photographer but, in fact, he is the winner of the trophy. When I asked about the whereabouts of the trophy I was told that it was on its way to Cork so I presumed the winners were a Cork partnership.

I was all wrong. So here is the photo again and the correct story from the horse’s mouth;

Thank you so much for printing that photo of the first presentation of the cup that the Listowel club commissioned and named after me.

Just to advise that Tom Bourke is not a Cork man. Whilst he is Clare native he is stationed in Kerry and has represented the Kingdom in Badminton for many years, being a winner of numerous Munster singles and doubles titles.

I commenced our mixed doubles event in 1972 and Tom is the leading winner, after his first win in Listowel in 2003  with Dublin’s Helena O’Sullivan , he won his 7th title this year with Cork’s Niamh O’Driscoll who competed in Listowel for the first time. Tom’s 7 wins includes a treble from 2011 to 2013, his partners being Brid Murphy and Peggy Horan, both Kerry, and Patricia O’Herlihy of Cork.

Thanks again Mary

Junior


Well done, Tom from Listowelconnection




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R.I.P. John Hurt




This photo shared on Facebook by John Keane was taken when John Hurt came to Listowel. The two Johns had a great respect for one another and everyone agrees that John Hurt was a brilliant interpreter of the character, Bird O’Donnell, in John B’s The Field. 

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a n-anamnacha araon.

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