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: Mattie Lennon Page 4 of 6

New York Kerry tean 1926, Covid 19, Writers Week 2019, Finuge and A Song

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On April 28, 2020

In Uncategorized



Statue of Schiller in Listowel’s Garden of Europe in April 2020


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Football in New York in 1926

Tom Fitzgerald sent us this great photo of the New York Kerry football team in 1926. His uncle is third from the right in the second row. People may know some of the other players.

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Strange times indeed!

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If Only!

Mary Fagan holds the microphone for Clíona McKenna during the Saturday morning walk at Listowel Writers Week 2019. Just about now I should be contacting my able assistants and putting this year’s Walk together.

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Sheahan’s Cottage, Finuge

A Phoenix from the ashes, Sheehan’s cottage was rebuilt following the devastating fire.

Photo; John Kelliher

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Hope in Troubled Times



Mattie Lennon with The Seanchaí, Eamon Kelly

There’s a Brightness

As a child I remember small farmers
Being depressed at some times of the year,
With climatic conditions uncertain
Turning hopes of their harvest to fear.
Whenever they cursed the bad weather
As the elements failed to rescind
My father, with wisdom, would tell them:
“There’s a brightness at the butt of the wind”.

When teenage ambitions got twisted:
My identity crisis would loom.
Rejection and fantasy   mingled,
Resulting in pictures of doom.
Then………the Power of Good to the rescue
To counter each negative trend.
My thoughts would somehow be diverted
To that brightness at the butt of the wind.

           Chorus;
When the weather of life it looks hopeless;
And dark clouds with disaster seem twinned,
Remember that God will send sunshine.
There’s a brightness at the butt of the wind.                 

When the storms of anguish are beating
And I’m lashed by the gales of defeat
When the forecast of life holds no promise
It’s still not the time to retreat
A fresh glow appears in my vision
Like a night sky by bright stars sequined.
Then I know then I haven’t forgotten
That brightness at the butt of the wind 

At last when I’ll see the horizon
And that mist (self-deception) has cleared
I’ll ponder the journey before me
And confront all the things that I’ve feared,
Expecting a turbulent crossing
As the Clergy point out that I’ve sinned
But knowing that Salvation is certain
By the brightness at the butt of the wind

                  Chorus.

(c) Mattie Lennon 2005

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Old Papers





Damien Stack found this from 1941 when the carnival was in town.

Ballinruddery, Beggars, Covid 19 and a Noel Roche poem

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On April 14, 2020

In Uncategorized

Ballinruddery at Evening


Marie Moriarty took these photos on her evening walk.

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A Róisín Meaney Covid poem

We sit in our houses and miss

The freedom to hug and to kiss 

Our oldies cocooned,

Our friends all marooned,

The return of the touch will be bliss.                   

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BEGGARS CAN BE CHOOSERS

                           By Mattie Lennon        

      “Les bons pauvres ne savent pas que leur office est d’exercer Notre generosite.” (The poor don’t know that their function in life is to Exercise our generosity.) Jean-Paul Sarte.

 I was delighted when  that the stupid law (The Vagrancy (Ireland) Act 1847) had been found to be unconstitutional.

   It reminds me of the first time I met the late John B.Keane in Grafton Street, in Dublin. He was being ushered Brown-Thomas-ward by his spouse. And cooperating fully: unusual for a husband. I accosted him to say thanks for his prompt reply when I had written to him shortly before requesting information for an article I was writing. 

     We were about thirty seconds into the conversation when an adult male with a lacerated face and looking very much the worse for wear approached me. The polystyrene cup in his outstretched hand proclaimed that he would not be offended by a donation. 

    I contributed 20p (I think). Ireland’s best-known playwright turned his back, (I’m sure he picked up the gesture in the Stacks Mountains as a young fellow) extracted a substantial amount and gave to the needy. I then thought that a man who had written about everything from cornerboys to the aphrodisiac properties of goat’s milk could enlighten me on an enigma, which I had been pondering for decades. 

     You see, dear reader, if I were talking to you on a public thoroughfare anywhere in the world and a beggar was in the vicinity he would ignore you as if he was a politician and you were a voter after an election. But he would home in on me. I don’t know why. Maybe, contrary to popular opinion, I have a kind face. Come to think of it that’s not the reason. Because I have, on many occasions, been approached from the rear. Many a time in a foreign city my wife thought I was being mugged. When in fact it was just a local with broken, or no English who had decided to ask Mattie Lennon for a small amount of whatever the prevailing currency was. Maybe those people have knowledge of Phrenology and the shape of my weather-beaten head, even when viewed from behind, reveals the fact that I am a soft touch. 

    However, a foreman gave a more practical explanation to the boss, on a building site where I was employed many years ago. The site was contiguous to a leafy street in what is now fashionable Dublin 4 and those from the less affluent section of society used to ferret me out there. Pointing a toil-worn, knarled, forefinger at me the straight-talking foreman, Matt Fagen, explained the situation to the builder, Peter Ewing, a mild mannered, pipe-smoking, kindly Scot. “Every tinker an’ tramp in Dublin is coming to this house, an’ all because o’ dat hoor……because dat hoor is here…an’ they know he’s one o’ themselves.” 

I was relating this to John B. adding, ” I seem to attract them.” to which he promptly replied;” (calling on the founder of his religion). You do.”

      The reason for his rapid expression of agreement was standing at my elbow in the person of yet another of our marginalized brethren with outstretched hand. 

 So the best-known Kerryman since Kitchener left me none the wiser as to why complete strangers mistake me for Saint Francis of Assisi. 

 And salutations such as “hello” or “Good morning” are replaced by “How are ye fixed?”, “Are you carrying” and, in the old days, “Have you a pound you wouldn’t be usin’ “? 

      I do not begrudge the odd contribution to the less well off and I am not complaining that I am often singled out as if I was the only alms-giver. Come to think of it, it is, I suppose, a kind of a compliment. 

    Sometimes I say ; “I was just going to ask you”, but I always give something and I don’t agree with Jack Nicholson who says; ” The only way to avoid people who come up to you wanting stuff all the time is to ask first. It freaks them out.” Those unfortunate people are bad enough without freaking them out.  Of course there are times when it is permissible not to meet each request with a contribution. I recall an occasion in the distant, pre-decimal days when a man who believed that, at all times, even the most meager of funds should be shared, approached my late father for five pounds. When asked ; ” Would fifty shillings be any use to you?” he conceded that yes, half a loaf would be better than no bread.    Lennon Senior replied; “Right. The next fiver I find I’ll give you half of it.” 

     Of course none of us know the day or the hour we’ll be reduced to begging. In the meantime I often thought of begging as an experiment. But I wouldn’t have what it takes. Not even the most high powered advertising by Building Societies and other financial establishments can restore my confidence, to ask for money in any shape or form, which was irreparably damaged when I asked a Blessington shopkeeper for a loan of a pound nearly fifty years ago.  He said; I’d give you anything, son….but it’s agin the rule o’ the house.” 

       I wonder was he a pessimist. It has been said that you should always borrow from a pessimist; he doesn’t expect it back. Well recently I was in a restaurant when a work colleague texted me asking to borrow a small amount of money……he was seated two tables away. 

       As JFK said in his inaugural speech: ” If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.” 

I don’t know about the rich but I have learned one thing about the poor; 

            BEGGARS CAN BE CHOOSERS.

                        

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Some Mike O’Donnell Covid Cartoons

           

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Brotherly Love


The Roche family of O’Connell’s Avenue, Listowel had footballers and poets in their number. In the following poem, Noel remembers a brother he looked up to and sadly lost.

Brother Mike

In Loving Memory

Noel Roche 2017

My thoughts I put on paper

For all the world to see

I want to share with everyone what my brother meant to me.

Childhood memories come to me 

In O’Connell’s Avenue.

Hero is the word that comes to mind

That’s how I looked at you.

All Ireland Boxing Champion

Bonfires lit up to the sky.

Everyone came out to celebrate

You were the golden boy.

London called. Off you went,

And there you would remain.

Romance came into your life.

Carmel was her name.

One by one, the children came

Until five kids you had.

Came as no surprise to me

You were a brilliant dad.

Hey, even as a granddad

You were a best in every way

Everyone that knew you

Would agree with what I say

The last two years of your life

Were your happiest, I’d say

With the love your family showed you

Every single day.

Surrounded by your family

The love filled up the place

I saw love and happiness

Written all over your face.

I know I’m gonna miss you.

When I’m feeling blue

I can call on the memories

Of times I spent with you

We could search the whole world over

And we would never find

Another like my brother Mike,

That man with an angel’s mind.

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Don’t trust everything you see on the internet



I saw this poem on the internet with the story that it was originally written after the great influenza pandemic of 1918 and I shared it on the blog.

This poem was written in 1869 by Kathleen O’Mara:



And people stayed at home And read books
And listened
And they rested
And did exercises
And made art and played
And learned new ways of being
And stopped and listened
More deeply
Someone meditated, someone prayed
Someone met their shadow
And people began to think differently
And people healed.
And in the absence of people who
Lived in ignorant ways
Dangerous, meaningless and heartless,
The earth also began to heal
And when the danger ended and
People found themselves
They grieved for the dead
And made new choices
And dreamed of new visions
And created new ways of living
And completely healed the earth
Just as they were healed.

Reprinted during Spanish flu pandemic, 1919 and again during the Covid 19 pandemic, 2020
Photo taken during Spanish flu



Well!

Mattie Lennon did a bit of research on the poem and its author and here is what he found;

Viral posts on social media are circulating a poem that begins with the line “And the people stayed home”. (  here ). 

Some posts make the claim that the poem was written in 1869 after the Irish potato famine of the mid-19th century. Others say it was re-printed “during 1919 pandemic”, (  here ) – a reference to the Spanish flu outbreak that began in 1918. 

Some posts attribute the poem to Grace Ramsey (  here ), pen name of Kathleen O’Meara, a 19th century French-Irish biographer and novelist (  here ). 

The poem has attracted attention for its timely reflections on social distancing during the current coronavirus pandemic. It describes people adapting to isolation through reading, art, exercise, meditation and other activities. 

The claim circulating on social media is false. The poem was not written in 1869 but in March 2020, by Catherine (Kitty) O’Meara, a retired teacher from Madison, Wisconsin.     

Writers Week 2007, St. Patrick’s Day 1961 and an old class photo and Helen O’Connor R.I.P.

By

On March 23, 2020

In Uncategorized

We were never more conscious of the truth of this statement on the Listowel Community Centre gable than now in March 2020 at the height of the Covid 19 crisis.

Greg McDonough of Listowel and China who has just come out of quarantine set up a Facebook group for us

Listowel Covid 19

Here you can find up to date information about shop closures, services and who to turn to for help.

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Listowel Writers Week


Plans for a big birthday celebration are frozen for the moment but hope springs eternal….

In the meantime Mattie Lennon, a great of friend of Writers’ Week and a great friend of this blog has been reminiscing. Here are his memories of the 2007 festival. His essay is a long diary like text so I’ll give it to you over a few days.

Once again I paid my annual visit to the most prestigious literary festival in Europe, if not in the world. On Wednesday 30th May Writers’ Week 2007 was officially opened  by renowned writer Joseph O ‘Connor. The author of such masterpieces as Star Of The Sea and more recently Redemption Falls, as well as many humorous works, complimented the Kerry people on their organising skills, literary and artistic prowess, footballing ability and of course . . . their great humility.

He later gave an example of Kerry wit when he told about meeting a friend of his who was on his way to meet Carlo Gebler and Joseph was asked, “Will you follow me up to Carlo?”Prize-winners were announced (Roddy Doyle won the €10,000 Kerry Group Irish Fiction Award for Paula Spencer). Pauline Scanlon who spent three years with the Sharon Shannon Band provided music, to a packed house.

On Thursday a full schedule started with a recording of Sunday Miscellany in Saint John’s Theatre where local writer Cyril Kelly regaled us with the story of how he had been in that particular venue when it was a mortal sin (Saint John’s was a Protestant Church at the time).

Through the day readings by Joseph O’Connor, Colm Tobin, John McGrath (whose book of poetry Blue Sky Day was launched), Roger McGough, and others stimulated the literary minds of the visitor.

Food for thought was in plentiful supply at Amnesty Event with Fergal Keane, Gerard Stembridge and Zlata Filipovic. Next Door by Listowel man John McAuliffe was launched and Poet Laureate, Andrew Motion read from his autobiography In The Blood; A Memoir of My Childhood.

Poets, essayists and others got a chance to perform their own work at the microphone at Poet’s Corner where the Master-of-ceremonies was the inimitable George Rowley.

(I’ve just read that and marvelled at the star studded lineup of visitors in 2007.)

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St. Patrick’s Day Pageant 1961


Máire MacMahon found these among some old Drama Group stuff. Does anyone remember this?



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Mr. Kenny’s Fourth Class sometime in the 1980s



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+ R.I.P. Helen O’Connor +



Helen O’Connor, who passed away at the weekend was very happy  and proud on this summer Sunday in her beloved Duagh as she introduced me to her godson, John Relihan, who had brought a taste of international outdoor dining to her little corner of the world.

Helen had a gifted pair of hands. Her name will live on in the many many crochet and knitted pieces that she made for clients all over the world. If you have one of Helen’s creations, keep it and treasure it and tell your family that it was made by a lovely lady, who was one of the best crafters in Kerry in her time.

I took this photo of Helen with our knitting group in Scribes  the last time I met her. She was in good form and breathing a sigh of relief that she was free of treatment for a while. Helen told us that she had done something while on chemo that she hadn’t done before. She knitted a sweater for herself. It was beautiful. Helen was pleased with it and was planning to knit the pattern again in another colour. She had lost a lot of weight but Helen was seeing this as a positive and was determined to keep her weight down in future.

Because of the present Covid 19 restrictions, Helen’s grieving family are deprived of the comfort of a funeral. We, her many many friends are deprived of a chance to tell Tom and all her family how much we loved her and we will miss her too.

Helen’s busy hands are now still, A huge wealth of talent and skill has gone into the grave with her. I count myself among the many who were blessed to have known this humble and kind lady. 

May she rest in peace.

Garden of Europe, The Oskars, A Photograph and and the Weather

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On February 19, 2020

In Uncategorized




Spring sun casting shadows over the steps into The Garden of Europe



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The Night of The Oskars

Promises to be  great night.

I caught these 4, Mary, Jennifer, Catherine and Namir during filming at Christy’s

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North Kerry Writers

Pictures in Flavin’s window

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The Value of a Photograph


Every photograph is  important. When the photographer clicks that shutter, he captures a moment in time that will not come again but can be relived with the help of the snap.

I enjoyed this essay which is shared with us by Mattie Lennon

THE SNAP

                                By Mattie Lennon

  Photography records the gamut of feelings written on the human face, the beauty of the earth and skies that man has inherited, and the wealth and confusion man has created. It is a major force in explaining man to man. –Edward Steichen.

   Great thinkers have made many comments about photography but when was yours truly introduced to the medium?

   It was a Sunday in the early summer of 1949. My mother was combing my curly, uncooperative, hair and my father was repairing one of my boots on the small foot of the last. I was being prepared for the journey to the other side of Kylebeg, to my mother’s uncle, Phil Molloy. His nephew, Dan Quinn, was down from Dublin and would take my “snap”.

   Across the valley was a long walk for a three-year old. On arriving at our destination I was put standing on a dry stone-wall which seemed frighteningly high. It was probably about eighteen inches high but to me it was like being on the Eiffel Tower.

   My Grand-uncle was an economy conscious bachelor, sheep farmer, not in the habit of dispensing lemonade or sweets. And he wouldn’t even dream of pressing a shiny shilling, or even a tanner, into the sweaty palm of a shy junior. His favourite comment on the prevailing economic climate of the time was, “It’s hard to live now.” The click of the Brownie didn’t impress; perhaps it led to my camera-shyness in later life.

   When, recently, I dug out the picture (which is the only pictorial record of me until I made my Confirmation seven years later) I decided to write a poem about it;

Me,

At three.

  I was claiming that it was the shortest poem in the English language until an intellectual acquaintance took the wind out of my sails. (Don’t they always!)

   He pointed out in his erudite manner that Mohammed Ali’s autographical poem was shorter;

Me,

Whee.

David Hockney said, “ All you can do with most ordinary photographs is stare at them”. Is this “snap” an ordinary photograph and can I only stare at it? I don’t know. All I know is that it is me seventy years ago and everybody else associated with it has gone to that great studio in the sky.

>>>>>>>>

Weather Lore

From the Dúchas Schools’ Folklore Collection

Weather Signs

When bad weather is near at hand you will notice in this locality the foam rise and dash against the Cliffs off the coast of Clare. The Rooks and Seagulls fly to the land when severe weather is approaching searching for food. The cat sits on the hearth, the soot falls down the Chimney when we are near bad weather. You would also notice a circle round the sun and moon and the clouds are very dark. the wind is generally from the west or south west when we have bad weather.

When we have good weather in this locality you will hear the waves at the north or north east. When we have good weather the birds fly high into the air in search of food. This is generally the case with the swallow. The sun and moon shine bright and clear and the sea is quite calm.



Michael Griffin v.

Bromore,

Ballybunion

June 23rd -1938

Information from people at home

Two Strange All Ireland Stories and James Kissane Remembered

By

On August 30, 2019

In Uncategorized

Listowel Courthouse

August 26th. 2019

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Where Stories Begin

Maurice Kelliher and his friend, John Leahy (reluctantly) posed for me beside Kempes photo in the collage of Town faces on Lawler’s window.

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Take the Soup


A story from Mattie Lennon for All Ireland Final weekend

Take the Soup

Up to today no senior Wicklow football team has ever graced the hallowed sod of Croke Park on the penultimate Sunday of September. Even Mick O Dwyer couldn’t do anything for us. Imagine letting soccer and rugby into Croke Park before Wicklow got a crack at an All- Ireland final. . and then the Queen . . . and The Pope.  And we almost had Obama. I suppose we’ll soon have Trump.

    But Wicklow men and sons of Wicklow men have played for many another county’s winning team.  

Such was the case in 1928. It was the first year of the Sam Maguire Cup and Kildare met Cavan in the final. One of the Kildare forwards was of Valleymount parentage and, of course, the locality claimed him as its own. Now, money wasn’t plentiful  in the West-Wicklow of 1928. The Wall Street crash was in 1929 but we were well ahead of them. The people in our area couldn’t afford to travel to Dublin for a match. But they were a  resourceful people. And they did a very clever thing. They took up a collection and appointed one man, a sort of an emissary, to go to the match and bring back the information. The man selected as representative was a farm-labourer, Matt Colley, who had a phenomenal memory, a good eye and ear for detail and was a good storyteller (sometimes with a little bit of embellishment).

   Though times were hard subscriptions surpassed expectation. With the proceeds Matt boarded the steam Tram, in Blessington, and set out on his journey to Terenure  or Roundtown as it was called at the time (where the tram terminated) He walked, at a leisurely pace into the city centre and in the unfamiliar surroundings of the main thoroughfare of the Metropolis he spotted an impressive building; The Gresham Hotel.  When he entered the posh foyer of the Gresham, of course the head porter and others were amused by his mountainy walk.

  He took his seat in the dining room but didn’t consult the Menu. With all due respect to the man, he had a near photographic memory, was a gifted raconteur but the written word meant very little to him. A liveried waiter with notebook, and pencil poised, materialised at his elbow. ” Soup Sir?”?

“I don’t want any soup”, says Matt.

“But the soup of the day, Sir is the Chef’s – “

“Amn’t I after telling ye I don’t want soup.”

 “All right Sir, the main course – “

   The waiter goes on the list the many choices, only to be told, “I don’t want any o’ that, I want a feed o’ bacon an’ cabbage an’ a few good floury spuds. Have ye any bacon an’ cabbage?.”

Taken aback and getting annoyed the waiter says, “I’ll see what we have in the kitchen.”

 “I don’t want to know what ye have in the kitchen, I want bacon, cabbage and potatoes.”

 The waiter now decides to teach this Russ-in-Urbe a lesson. He brings out a large serving dish (like the big Willow-pattern dishes that Matt’s mother kept on the top shelf of the dresser). It was heaped to capacity.

Matt ate and he ate and he ate – and then he ate more.

   He ambled upstairs and spotted, through an open door, a double bed. It wasn’t near match time so he stretched out on the bed; face down. Of course he was asleep in seconds.

Now – as luck would have it, sometime later, the male guest in the adjoining bedroom “took a bit of a turn.”  The Doctor was called and promptly arrived accompanied by a nurse. Seeing the prostrate figure of Matt, with a belly like a poisoned pup, he made a rapid diagnosis. “I know what’s wrong with this man,” says he.

   Without any further instruction the nurse left and reappeared quickly with a red rubber hose, tapered on one end and a funnel on the other. The necessary garments were removed, a large white enamel jug of warm, soapy, water was produced and a certain medical procedure got under way.

  Halfway through the irrigation process Matt woke up. And would you blame him?  

The match was over. He had no information for his financiers. He hadn’t done what he was sent to do.

He headed for Terenure and the tram but he wasn’t walking too well.   On the tram he met a few fellows from Brittas and Manor Kilbride who filled him in on the main points of the game.

By Tallagh he knew that Kildare been awarded ten frees in the first half and that the score at half time was one two to three points in favour of Kildare. Jobstown saw him rehearsing his “report.”  “Cavan won the toss and played with the wind, from the Railway end, for the first half. Smith of Cavan got the ball at the throw-in and passed it to Higgins who was fouled.  

Devlin of Cavan scored the first point after twenty minutes of play.  

Fitzpatrick of Kildare was injured and spent a long time on the ground. Joe Loughlin of Kildare was injured and replaced by Dan Ryan.”

   As the tram passed the brick-works in Tinode , Kildare was playing with the wind in the second half.

When Matt alighted at the tram-sheds in Blessington, in his head the match was over.  Cavan was two goals and five points and Kildare was two six and the final whistle blew.  There were men there to meet him from Kylebeg, Lacken, Blackrock, Lugnagun and Ballinastockan.

   It was like a press conference. They were shooting questions at him from all sides. ” Who won Matt?”, “Was it a good game, Matt?”, “What was the score Matt, “ “How did our man fare, Matt?”

   During a lull in the interrogation he put up his hand: “I’ll tell yez all about the match in a minute, But first I want to tell yez this, If any o’ yez ever goes to Dublin and yer in a place called the Gresham Hotel, if they ask ye d’ ye want soup, for Christ sake take it. For if you don’t they’ll put it in a big enamel jug an’ they’ll get a length o’ hose an’ a tundish. They’ll take down your trousers an’ savin’ yer presence they’ll  administer it in the most undignified manner . “

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James Kissane


 At the Ballydonoghue WW1 commemoration on Saturday August 24 2019 the soldiers who fought were remembered by their relatives. No descendant was more proud than Eily Walsh who has researched in detail her soldier relative, James Kissane.

Eily is a very keen family historian and the acknowledged expert on the Kissanes of Kilcox.

James was the second youngest of 12 children of John and Catherine Kissane. He is the man at the back in the bow tie in this family photo.

He was born in 1889. James had a first cousin who had risen to the rank of Inspector in the Cairns Police Force in Queensland, Australia. James and this cousin, John Quilter, corresponded and James decided to seek his fortune in that police force down under. James emigrated to Australia in 1910 and immediately joined the Australian Police force. 

In September 1915 James took leave from the police force and joined The Australian Imperial Force. The army took him to Egypt, to England and eventually to Flanders in Belgium.

At the Battle of Ypres he was in charge of transport and supple of ammunition to the front line. Ammunition in that battle had to be transported by cart and mule in horrendous conditions.

It was for acts of gallantry  on October 12 1917 that he was awarded the Military Cross.


This is Britain’s third highest honour.

This extraordinary achievement and James’ outstanding war record could never be acknowledged at home by his very republican family.

After the war James returned to Australia. In 1924 he took up a full time paid position as Secretary of the Queensland Irish Association. He changed jobs a few times more, got married and raised a family. The family home in Brisbane was named Listowel.

James passed way in 1954. His family are tremendously proud of their Irish roots and his Irish cousins are proud of him too.

Bridget O’Connor and Eily Walsh, cousins of James Kissane at the Ballydonoghue WW1 commemoration on Saturday last.

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For the Weekend that’s in it


Mattie Lennon has been in touch with a tale for you.

The All Ireland Walkover.

Come this time next week there will be a lot of sore heads around the Town as Dubs supporters celebrate having Sam AGAIN’..as they begin to contemplate is it worth their while removing the buntings and flags from the front of their gaffs, after all they will have the hassle of getting out the ladders and going over the same routine come Sept 2020 when the Dubs are certain to be back at Croker picking up Sam Maguire yet again !

Anyway before a ball is kicked in Croke Park I can hear the mutterings from the Kingdom in ‘Healy Rae language’ about the advantage the Dubs had because the game is in The Capital, or how expensive it is now for a day out in the ‘big smoke’ for the small farmers etc etc etc. 

So here’s a true story that can be told relating to a Kerry Team from 1910 that can be discussed over a ‘sangwich’ on the train to Dublin.

In 1910 Kerry were due to play Louth in the All-Ireland.  There was great interest in the Kingdom and Louth for the game and a huge crowd in excess of 16,000 were expected to attend, a large majority would have been supporters who had attended the Final that was held in Jones Rd the previous year in 1909.  That year Kerry beat Louth 1-9 to 0-6, that 1909 final had attracted 16,000 supporters which was enormous for its time.  By 1910 there was great expectation from many Louth supporters who were hoping that their team could exact revenge for the previous year’s result.

So, understandably enough, all the culchies were looking forward to their day out ‘up in Dublin’, but there was a problem and that came from the expense that was incurred in getting to the venue.  In those days, by all accounts, the train fare from both counties would have been expensive, many of those travelling would have had the extra expense of at least one night if not two in Dublin, a few pints, something to eat and perhaps a ramble around the Monto’s streets (just to have a gander at the ‘quare wans’ as ye do) wouldnt have left much change out of a £5.

So hearing the mutterings from the locals, the Kerry team took the bull by the horns (as ye do in Kerry) they approached the Railway company Great Southern & Western railway and asked them to reduce their fares for those travelling for the Match, quoting the huge interest in the game, the extra business, and numbers expected to travel…the Railway wouldn’t have a bar of it, they refused point blank the Kerrymen’s request, so as a point of principle the Kerry team refused to travel and Louth were awarded the All-Ireland as a ‘walkover’.

I hope the Kerry Team spent their train fare in the Pub.

That’s an absolutely true story.  I Googled it.

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Showing our colours




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