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: Mary McElligott Page 1 of 2

Country Folk Come to Town

By

On December 16, 2024

In Listowel, Personal, Poem

Charles Street on a frosty morning in December 2024

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John O’Connell’s Christmas Memories

( as related to his wife, Noreen)

“In our house in Curraghatoosane ( Botharín Dubh), Christmas preparations started with white washing. Lime was mixed with water and a little bluestone added and this was painted on with a wide brush or sometimes the sweeping brush.

Red berried holly was picked up in the Hickeys and a few red or white candles were stuck in a turnip or a 2 pound jam crock filled with sand and decorated with a piece of red crepe paper if we had it.

The crib was set up on the wide window sill and decorated with holly or laurel.

On Christmas Eve I went off shopping with my mother on  our ass and cart. My job was to hold the ass  as mother leisurely shopped, in all the shops where she left her  loyal custom throughout the year. Here she got a “Christmas box” as a present. This was usually a fruit cake wrapped in festive parchment with a lovely little shiny garland around it or a small box of biscuits.

There was no rush on mam, or no great worry about poor me in my  short pants, patiently awaiting by his docile ass. Throughout the long shopping  trek, I got   a bottle of Nash’s red lemonade and a few thick  ha’penny biscuits.

It was up  Church street to Barretts  shop and bar, Lena Mullalys,  O Grady’s Arch store, to Guerins in Market Street, John Joe Kenny’s in the Square and many more smaller shops in town,  for flour and meal, tea and sugar, jam, biscuits, jelly  a cut of beef, lemonade,  and lots of stout and a bottle or two of sherry.

Eventually with our cart laden with the provisions and the bottles rattling away  in long wooden boxes ( which would be returned with the empties after Christmas), we set off home, poor Neddy and me, tired and cold but mother content and fulfilled and warmed by perhaps the drop of sherry or perhaps a  little  hot toddy she might have shared in a Snug  with a friend she met on her shopping expedition!!

The last stop was at Jack Thornton’s for a few black jacks, and slab toffee which revived my drooping spirits. As we travelled home the homes were ablaze with lighted  candles . It was a sight to behold, which I can still see as plain today as it was 70 years ago. There was very little traffic back then but I lit the way home  with the torchlight for mam, me and Neddy . The “ Flight to Curraghatoosane”!

Next it was to  untackle and feed and water our gentle, compliant ass, unload the messages and join my father and 3 brothers for a welcome bite. I was the 2nd eldest of four boys and felt high and mighty to be chosen to chaperone my mother. “Mother’s pet,” says Noreen!!

 Next morning we were awake at cock crow to open our purties. (These were sometimes hidden in the meal bin and one year we were informed of this by an older neighbouring boyo and when the coast was clear one day, we searched and found the hidden cache.We were smart enough to remain  silent  so nobody  spilled the beans. ) We  walked, fasting, down to 7 a.m Convent Mass.  Then home to play with and maybe dismantle a purty to investigate its workings.

The stuffed goose was roasting in the bastible. What a glorious smell . I loved the delightful brown gravy, carrots, turnips  and pandy, all from our own garden. As well as supplying milk in town, we had a fine market garden and so we had plenty of fresh vegetables. The trifle dessert was such a treat. 

Next day –St Stephens day was gambling day in our house, when the neighbours congregated to play 110 which could last for days, even into weeks. Plenty porter was gratefully accepted and savoured as well as  tea and cake.

As I got older St Stephen’s day was the day for the wran (wren). We started getting ready early in the day and it was the day that the fancy cake garland that came around the  “Christmas box” cakes, were recycled and transformed into part of the” wran “head dress. We had a fantastic wrenboy group, known as the Dirrha wrenboys, captained by the well -known Sonny Canavan. A wren dance followed in a few weeks, hosted often in our  home and was the event of the year with music, song and dance and 2  half tierces, and attended by locals and visitors and denounced from the pulpit  by the parish priest, if he came to hear of it.”

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Small Taste of the Marvellous Tractor Run

John B. Keane Road on Sunday December 8 2024

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A Poem and a Memory

Johnny Joy shared this lovely memory on Facebook.

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Woodford Pottery

Pat has been so busy this year that he didn’t have enough stock to do the Christmas craft fairs. So the mountain had to come to Mohammed. Woodford pottery pots are absolutely beautiful. His lovely shop is well worth a visit for a hand crafted special present. He sells online now too, if you can’t make it to Woodford or to one of the many shops he supplies.

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A Lovely Door deserves a Lovely wreath

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A Timely Poem for Christmas 2024

SILENT NIGHT

by Mary McElligott

Please Santa, will you help us,

Wake the world for all to see 

What has happened to my home

And all the ones here ‘round me?

I search the sky with my stinging eyes

Hoping to see your sleigh

But bombs and rockets just keep falling

And will frighten ye away.

Our new house has just 3 walls 

And carpet for the door.

There’s loads of us which keeps us warm

As we’re squashed down on the floor.

I miss my nan and mom I do

As we all here just moved on.

I don’t believe my dad no more,

I’m worried that they’re gone.

I don’t want toys at all this year,

Just bring lots of food like bread

And rice and flour and coats and shoes,

Just stuff like that instead.

When you’re up around the stars

Can bombs be turned around?

Maybe you can stop them 

Before they hit the ground. 

Why are we here like this?

What did we all do wrong?

I hate to go to sleep at night.

I hope you won’t be long

‘Cause Santa can you bring us peace

And oil too for our light?

I’m tired now, I hope I sleep.

I’d love a silent night.

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A Fact

Ice age people used human skulls as cups

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Drama in Kilcullen

By

On December 15, 2023

In Duagh, Listowel

Christmas crib in Duagh.

photo from 2022

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Out of Order

One of the highlights of my trip to Kildare was a visit to the Town Hall Theatre, Kilcullen for a most enjoyable evening of theatre in the company of family and friends.

My daughter Clíona surrounded by her McKenna, O’Neill and Muldoon in-laws in the ample foyer of the theatre.

The play was a fast paced farce full of confusion and misunderstandings and was played to perfection by the local cast.

The part of Miss Worthington was played by Sinead O’Neill who posed for me beside a photo of her late grandfather who was also a member of Kilcullen Drama Group.

The O’Neill’s were out in force to support Sinead.

Mary and Anne O’Neill beside their late father’s photo.

This group has a strong Listowel connection.

There was a period in the 60s and 70s when they staged almost every John B. Keane play.

The group have the most comfortable theatre in which to perform.

This theatre began life as a cinema and it has the marvellous tiered seating and physical closeness associated with a small old style cinema.

The place got a major overhaul in 1999. This huge work was spearheaded by a man called Pat Dunlea. Pat was a garage owner and Volvo dealer. He persuaded Volvo to sponsor the seats.

These are the most comfortable theatre seats you’ll ever sit in.

Seated comfortably, we were treated to a head spinning, laugh a minute adult pantomime.

The action took place in Buswell’s Hotel in Dublin.

In the interval, “Buswell’s staff ” served us tea in china cups.

Another nice touch was the cast came to meet and greet, pose for photos and chat in the foyer after the show.

If you are ever in that neck of the woods and these people are performing be sure to go along. They were just the tonic for a cold evening in Winter.

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Christmas at The Claus House

Home Alone

A Christmas poem from Mary McElligott

‘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,

With 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 tread,

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 tombed,

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.”

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A Fact

From Schools’ Folklore collection

Garret Stack went to confession Christmas Eve and he was to go to communion Christmas morning and the clock stopped during the night and he got up and went away thinking it was very late and when he was near Newtown he met a priest and he knew him and that priest was dead and he came down the road and went into Mc. Cabe’s and it was only one o’clock and he stayed there until morning.


Written by Con Shine, Kilbaha, told by his father John Shine.

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St. Michael’s, Ballybunion, St. Mary’s in Lent and a Covid 19 poem

By

On March 20, 2020

In Uncategorized

Peppercanister Church, Dublin

Eamon ÓMurchú took this great photograph recently

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“All you that have your eyeballs vexed and tired

Feast them on the wildness of the sea”   Keats


Marie Moriarty took these photos in Ballybunion yesterday

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St. Michael’s staff 1979

This photo was published a commemorative book to celebrate the centenary of the school.

May all of those who have passed away rest in peace.

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Lent


While we are in partial lockdown due to the global pandemic, Covid 19, people may not have been visiting the church as much as usual. Here is the lovely display for Lent 2020.

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Hard Times in North Kerry in 1881


Kerry Sentinel 06.05.1881, page 3 (Edited Version)

Important Meeting of Lord Ormaithwaite’s Tenantry in the parishes of, Listowel, Ballydonoghue, Newtownsandes, Lixnaw, Irremore and Ballybunion were at a meeting in the Land League Rooms in Listowel. They decided that 25% over Griffith’s valuation was a fair rent. Mr George Sandes the landlords agent refused the offer and offered an abatement of 15%, he agreed to meet Lord Ormaithwaite and let them know his reply in a few days.

The cases of the eviction in Gunsboro of Broder and Kissane, who were uncharitable put out on the road at the end of their working life, had the sympathy of all tenants.

Priests in attendance Rev. M O’Connor , P.P. Ballybunion; Rev James Burke, P.P. Newtownsandes, Rev James Casey C C. Listowel; Rev F Cremin, C.C. Lixnaw; Rev. M. Godley, C.C. Ballybunion; Rev F. Carmody, C.C. Newtownsandes, and the rev B. Scanlon, C.C. Duagh.

Priest of the Listowel Deanery held meeting and deplored the evictions on the property of Mr. Gunn Mahony and absentee, a dying man, father of large family was flung on the roadside without any shelter. North Kerry was tranquil, but it is with horror they contemplate the future, if  the evictions of law abiding and industrious people, continues.

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An Ode to St. Patrick in This Time of Crisis


St Patrick’s Day 2020

By Mary Mc Elligott

Please come back St Patrick

And bring us loads of bleach,

Soap and disinfectant

And sanitizers, yes, one each.

Back then, we thought snakes were bad,

For the Irish, a pure curse

But now in the year we have

The story is much worse.

Corona is the reason,

A scary dangerous Virus.

It’s in all the Televisions,

The papers and the wireless.

It spreads with a cough or sneeze

Or even talking to a person

And forget about a handshake.

It will only make it worsen.

If you can bring supplies,

Include some kitchen rolls

Don’t bring any toilet paper

As we all have loads and loads.

Also to be safer,

Leave your cloak and staff at home.

We’ll provide a set of scrubs

‘You’d get destroyed in bleach and foam.

We’re not out this year

But we’re not too far away.

We’re indoors and we’re praying,

That you’ll kill the bugs with spray.

We’ve even closed our Pubs,

Paddy’s day, a disaster

But we’re willing and we’re able,

If the Virus goes much faster.

You saved us many moons ago.

You’re held in high esteem.

Irish eyes will all be smiling,

When we’re out of quarantine.

We’ll be dancing and a lepping,

Down the streets, with marching bands.

Oh, a little reminder when you’re coming,

Don’t forget to wash your hands.

Vintage Day at Listowel Races 2018 and a new Alzheimers Day Centre planned for Listowel

By

On October 8, 2018

In Uncategorized

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A Touch of Glamour from Times Past

Anna brought a touch of US chique to the restyle recycle event at Listowel Races.

Tis young lady favoured a tan palette for an outfit that would look as well today as in a bygone era .

Maria had a story.  She was wearing a themed outfit. The theme was Ballybunion during race week in Listowel.  It is customary for people who overindulge at Listowel Races to go to Ballybunion for a seaweed bath the morning after the night before.  Maria’s dress was the green black colour of the black rocks and her lacy sleeves were a sea weedy black. On her head Maria wore one of her own millinery creations. This one was particularly inventive. It involved collecting and drying out seaweed, fashioning it into a hat and painting the finish product. It was definitely the best and most creative piece of the day.

This man was rocking an upcycled ploughboy look. He wore a grandfather style shirt,  an old trousers and a flat cap. He brought a pitchfork as a prop to set off the look. It’s certainly a lot easier to win a prize in the men’s section of this competition!

Kieran and Imelda, members of the Tidy Town committee looked on in fascination.

The men are usually the ones to bring a bit of levity to proceedings.

This year the token “stag”  was present but he was reluctant to take part.

This outfit was worn by lady who was born in the wrong era. She loves vintage fashion and chooses it over modern stuff every day.

Proof, if proof were needed, that style is timeless.

Marlyn dressed herself for the competition in clothes from the IWA shop. She looked magnificent in her floral dress and red jacket and her vintage shoes were perfect match for her outfit.

Jean is one of these ladies who would look good in a binbag. For this event she sourced this beautiful royal blue dress on eBay. She teamed it with white accessories and she could have worn it any day and looked a million dollars.

This lady from Duagh looked perfectly turned out for a day at the races in browns and tans…timelessly stylish and worn with confidence and ease.

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Jackie Moore, Whitesmith



I posted this photo from the Johnny Hannon collection some time ago with the heading Jackie Moore, Pipesmith. Now I’ve learned something new from an old neighbour and friend of this craftsman.

Jackie was not a pipesmith but a whitesmith. A blacksmith takes someone’s design and makes it. A whitesmith designs and makes his own design from scratch. A blacksmith works with iron, a whitesmith usually with lighter metals such as tin.

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Remember those who can’t Remember



Listowel is soon to have a new Alzheimer’s Day Centre. Planning is granted and it is hoped to have it up and running by 2020. Below is a photo of the site. Are Churam is in the background.

Here is a poem  on the theme of growing old from local poet. Mary McElligott

ME



Help me save my memories, 

Each day I’m here with you.

It won’t take up all your time, 

As I only have a few.

Don’t ‘correct’ or ‘fix’ the gaps,

Just let me rattle on.

Feel free to move me on a bit,

If my story is too long.

Help me to keep myself, 

From disappearing down a hole. 

Save me from destruction,

As my body leaves my soul.

Show me my old photographs,

You can talk about my dog.

Help me dip around a bit,

If my memory needs a jog.

They wrote up ‘my story’,

The first week I came in.

It’s to help me remember me.

Now where do I begin?

I know I can’t remember much, 

Not too sure about this place

But I don’t feel so worried, 

When I see a smiling face.

If I’m ever feeling frightened,

‘You might see it in a frown’,

Come and sit beside me

And in time I’ll settle down.

Help me to be myself,

The best that I can be.

Remember who you’re looking at, 

The one and only…………ME.

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Remembering Christopher Hennessy…A Short Life Well Lived



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Positive Ageing




Joe OMuircheartaigh posted (on Twitter) these photos of his uncle, the legend that is Micheál Ó Muiurcheartaigh, abseiling in Dún Síon, west Kerry

Cherry Blossom Time the park, The Lartigue commemorated and Living History in Bridge Road

By

On May 13, 2018

In Uncategorized

This lovely tree grows in  Listowel Pitch and Putt course in the town’s park.

What a great amenity this park is. The people of Listowel are truly blessed.

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Listowel’s Lartigue Railway is celebrating 130 years since it First Ran


To coincide with Listowel History Festival, the good people of Lartigue Museum held a remembrance ceremony to commemorate 130 years since this unique train first ran between Listowel and Ballybunion. Steve Kelly was the official photographer and these lovely photos and lots more are available to purchase from him.


 Some of the volunteers with Jimmy Deenihan. Jimmy has always held this project dear and has supported it in every way he can, including donating the proceeds of his memoir.

Local historian, Michael Guerin, who spearheaded the effort to preserve everything to do with The Lartigue and the mainline railway in Listowel.  He played a huge part in the restoration project and making sure that this valuable part of Listowel’s history is never forgotten.


The beautifully constructed replica locomotive and carriages. A trip on this train should be on every Listowel person’s bucket list.

As part of the commemoration, the local writing group read some of their compositions. Mary McElligott very kindly shared her poem with us.

LOCOMOTION

Closing my eyes to the whistle,

A door, bangs towards the back,

My train’s moving off slowly,

To a tune, yes a clickety clack.

It’s five o clock in the morning,

I dream as I sit half asleep,

I start to think of all travellers,

Worldwide, as they smile or they weep.

People travel for reasons,

After weekends, returning for work,

Commuting, often long journeys,

From Tralee, Belfast or Cork.

People travel for reasons,

To Dublin ‘Up for that test’,

No one suspects that they’re worried,

As they hold that fear in their chest.

On trains, before, people chatted,

Some people talking nonstop.

Now they’re all on their I Phones,

Or clicking away, on laptops.

Ear phones are strung from both ears,

As music, goes direct to the brain.

Sadly, I can’t change their channel,

As I suffer their ‘beat’ on my train.

I continue to doze and reflect,

On the men who laid all these tracks,

Of lives lost stretching our travels,

Duffy’s Cut and those graves with no marks.

As Amtrak worked near Philadelphia,

They unearthed a history untold,

Irish workers off on their travels,

What happened, a story unfolds?

It is thought, their conditions were dreadful,

As they slaved and starved and got sick,

Cholera swept through the encampment,

Halting them there, on that trip.

Buried, their deaths unreported,

Their families, in Ireland not knowing,

Tracks lead away from their graveside,

As the wheels of that train kept on going.

I can remember Tubrid School as a child,

The tracks ran directly out back.

C.I.E. ran a train for the races

Oh the excitement to see a train on that track.

Listowel, didn’t have trains anymore,

Obsolete, long replaced by a bus

But that week, that journey re enacted,

Oh the style, all the glamour and fuss.

I reflect and remember the stories,

Of the Lartigue and how people would go

To Ballybunnion, their ‘city’ stopover

And how uphill, their train went so slow.

People would get out to push then,

To give the old engine some help.

When passengers returned to their seating,

I can imagine how they must have felt.

Two calves were put in a side car,

Required to balance one cow,

 The calves travelling back, separated,

Or if together, offset by a sow.

Great thought went into each journey,

As it hung, in the balance that way.

Just think of the fun for those travellers,

But sure that was all back in the day.

Oh to fly Ryan Air to Dublin,

We’d be there in the blink of an eye,

Fasten seat belts on for the landing,

Not near Millstreet, ready to cry.

I decline an offer for coffee,

As catering, pass through the car.

I keep onto my money for Dublin,

Sure at this stage it’s not very far.

Once more I reflect on a journey,

Where trains travel into a hole,

Clipped under carriage for safety,

Transporting to all of us, coal.

But one image I have are those journeys,

Those travellers that never came back,

Packed into those trucks in huge numbers,

To a tune, yes a clickety clack.

Unknowing, they travelled for days,

With children often lost in the crowd,

Tracks leading into cold stations,

Soldiers, shouting out loud.

Their Religion marked them for travelling,

Tracks lead right through the gates

But St Peter wasn’t there waiting,

No Satan stood with his mates.

Auschwitz, Sobibor and Belsen,

Some of the names that we know,

Thousands and thousands of people,

Across Europe, all on the go.

Why did this ever happen,

How could one man pull along,

All his people and thousands of soldier?

How could they all get it so wrong?

As trains travel all the world over,

We hope that never again,

Will the horrors of history be repeated,

For wars that no one will win.

I think back to a time and I smile,

My son on his knees by the door,

Thomas the Tank running on batteries,

His tracks laid all over the floor.

How safe he was ‘on his travels’,

His world at home with his mom.

Why did those years go so quickly?

In a flash, life has moved on.

Our lives start off as a journey,

We roll on, keeping on track.

We may get derailed at some junctions

But the trick is to never look back.

We hope that we travel on safely,

With a ticket to get through the gate,

So book early online and then you’ll be fine

As tomorrow it may be too late.

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Living History at Listowel Military Festival


On Bridge Road on Sunday May 6 2018, the flags flew and the sentry boxes were up.

 These three were manning the gate.

This is the last year that the Listowel Spitfire will be in Listowel before it travels to a more permanent home in a museum.

Dan Shine, an old FCA man, brought his grandchildren to see history exhibits.

These are some of the reenactors who were there.

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Pres Girls 1950/51

 We’re still looking for old photos and memories of Presentation Secondary School.  Please hand them into the school or send them by email or post. The forthcoming publication will only be as good as you make it.

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