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

Knockanore Graveyard, A Mattie Lennon Story and An Gleann took the Honours in 1971

By

On March 13, 2019

In Uncategorized

Incomparable Stucco Detail at McKenna’s


Understated timeless elegance well worth preserving

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Knockanore Then and Now


Photo; Kerry Archeological Magazine


Knockanore Today


This lovely hill top burial place has within its confines the ruins of an old church. Since graveyards were originally churchyards it is quite common to see the remains of the old church still standing in today’s cemeteries. It is not usual to see graves within the wall of the church.

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A Mattie Lennon Story with a Listowel Connection

BEGGARS CAN BE CHOOSERS

By Mattie Lennon

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

Jean-Paul Sarte.

Isn’t it wonderful that the stupid law (The Vagrancy (Ireland) Act 1847) has 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 meagre 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 forty 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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An Gleann, Winners of the Street League in 1971

John Kelliher posted this old one on Facebook and here are the names as he had them with a little help from his friends.

Jerry Kelliher behind Tony O’Donoghue then John Driscoll , I think that’s Pete Sugrue alongside J D. Richard Connor back holding the pup and Tony Donoghue beside him. 

Front Left Vincent O Connor, Eileen Kelliher holding the cup. I think that’s Fongo in front of Tony Donoghue 

 Bendigo next to Vincent and I nearly sure it’s Donal Brown next RIP. Donal Brown was captain.


Killarney Cathedral, Dress to Impress and Volunteers at the local V.de P shop

By

On February 11, 2019

In Uncategorized

Rainbow over St. Mary’s Cathedral , Killarney

Photo: Eddie Farmer

This photograph was taken by Eddie on Jan 19 2019.

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Retirement




This fashion shop which has been dressing North Kerry ladies for over twenty years is soon to close. When it does, Danny’s Hair and Beauty will relocate across the street.

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A man, a boy and an ass




Source; Photos of Old Dublin



The man on the left on the phone is Mattie Lennon, a great friend of Listowel and a contributor  to Listowel Connection.

The year is 1996 and the photo was taken on Bachelors’ Walk. The uniform is that of of a bus inspector.

Mattie does a spot of writing and he has sent us this essay for our entertainment.

                           DIP ME FLUTE 

     Long before DeValera expressed his dream of “comely maidens and athletic  youths at crossroads” young people held crossroads dances at Kylebeg in the West Wicklow of my youth. At the time it was the equivalent of Facebook or Dateline. 

     There was the occasional “American Wake” ‘though not described as such in our part of the country. And during the twenties and thirties there were also a number of regular dancing houses; usually dwellings with flagged floors and one or more eligible daughters. The small two-roomed home of John Osborne was one such house. Situated at the hill ditch, which divided the common grazing area of “The Rock” from the relatively arable land. There was no road to the house. . It was accessible only through the aptly named Rock Park; the nocturnal negotiation of this field a feat even for the most sure-footed. This had one advantage; when the Free State government introduced the House Dance Act of 1935 which banned dances, dancers and musicians. You had to get a licence to hold a dance, even in your own house. They came up with a moral argument against dancing and ,if you don’t mind, a sanitary facilities argument. But as one commentator said, at the time, the Government don’t care if you make your water down the chimney as long as they get their money. But a breach of the law could result in a court appearance and penalty.

However there was no danger of a late night invasion of John Osborne’s by any Government Inspector. Because even the most dedicated servant of the State would not risk a nightime ambulation through the Rock Park. As the shadows jumped on the whitewashed walls and the lamplight flickered on the willow patterned delph an official invasion was the furthest thing from the minds of the revellers.

   John Osborne,  the man of the house was an accomplished flautist. Did he, I wonder, favour saturating his instrument, like, Neddy Bryan, the flute-player from Ballyknockan,   who on arrival at a session would request the facility to “….dip me   flute in a bucket o’ water”. According to the older people, Neddy Bryan, when he was a young man played the Piccolo . . . that is . . . until the local schoolmaster informed him that the name Piccolo came from Piccolo Fluato, the Italian for a small flute. “I’ll be damned,” says Neddy, “ if I’m going to be called the fella with one of thim things.” and from then on he concentrated on  the  CONCERT FLUTE. Neddy was a fair enough flute player but John Osborne would get so engrossed by certain tunes that he would go into a sort of a trance. 

One night he was after playing a tune called High Level (Now . . .if I was sworn I can’t remember if it was a jig or a reel). Anyhow, one of the boyos says to him, “Do you know that your daughter is abroad in the haggard with Jimmy Doyle?”  

“I don’t,” says John,  “But if you whistle a few bars of it I’ll have a go at it”.

 Dancing wasn’t the only thing that went on in such houses. Now . . . now . . That ís NOT what I’m talking about. If you’ll listen for a minnit I’ll explain. If John  Osborne was alive today he would be described as eccentric. Well . . . I suppose he wouldn’t . . He was a poor man and you have to be well off to merit the euphemism “eccentric”.  Anyway , he was a bit odd but could have some very practical, if unorthodox solutions to certain situations. I’ll give you an example. One night a visiting dancer; a fine young fellow who had the book-learnin’ was going the next day for an interview with a view to joining the Garda Síochana. Opinions were divided as to whether he was of the required height. Until a horse dealer, a relation of my own, stated with some authority,

“That man is not the full eighteen hands high.”

A stone cutter who only lived one field away went home and returned with a six-foot rule. And sure enough the prospective polisman proved to be half an inch short of the required height. What was to be done?. This was before the era of “brown envelopes” and anyway times were poor. John Osborne hit on a plan. When the dancers back was turned he dropped his flute and with the maximum alacrity picked up an ash-plant. Almost before the pause in the music was noticed he gave the young man a belt of the stick on top of the head. ‘A fellandy” it was called up our way. The man in question had a good thick head of hair and the resulting bump brought him up to the required height.

  He made a good Guard but ever after, in our area anyway, he was known  as “lumpy head”. There were some colourful nicknames around our place, one young male patron of Osborne’s was known as ‘you’ll have yer ups an’ downs”. You are going to ask me how anyone could end up with such a cumbersome handle. Well . . . I’ll tell you. It was inherited- like a peerage. His father, as a young man had met a girl at a house-dance, a few miles away. Her parents were dead and she had returned from the US of A and, of course, had a few dollars. And . . . she was an only child, into the bargain and . . had  inherited a good few acres. Me man played his cards well and told her a few stories that wouldn’t exactly run parallel with the truth. Anyway, to make a long story short, the relationship blossomed and they got married. He was a steady enough lad . . . he had a few head of cattle . . . five or six. But . . . he had five brothers and each of them had a good few cattle. . . which he borrowed for the occasion. ( In modern banking parlance such a move would be described as “an artificial boost”) The new bride must have thought she was back in the land of extensive ranches when the herd was installed on her little farm. There was shorthorns, Friesians, whiteheads and a couple of Aberdeen Anguses. Needless to say, for the first few mornings after the wedding the young couple didn’t get up too early. But one morning when the new bride arose from the marriage bed she noticed a reduction in the herd. One of her brothers in law, under cover of darkness, had repossessed what was rightfully his. When she pointed out the loss the spouse his only comment was “you’ll have your ups an’ downs” . “You’ll have yer ups an downs”. Every other night a similar  raid would take place as each brother took back his livestock and every time the moryah innocent husband would say “you’ll have yer ups an’ downs”. 

But I’m rambling. Nowadays I think they call it digressing. 

I mentioned earlier about the practice of dipping the wooden flute in water. Well, whether for flute-immersion or not a galvanized bucket of water was a permanent feature on the stone bench outside Osborne’s door. And one June night when the boys and girls, (a term used to describe those unmarried, and under 70) having made it relatively unscathed through the Rock Park, were knocking sparks from the floor. They  were glad of the opportunity, amid the jigs and the reels (and God only  knows what other energy-sapping activities) to exit occasionally for a   refreshing draught from the Parnassian bucket. 

  At day-break, while preparing to depart, the exhausted assembly was informed by a youth (who was looked on locally as “a sort of a cod”) of  how he had suffered during the night with a stone-bruise on his big toe. The pain, he  said, would have been unbearable but for the fact that; ” I used to go out now an’ agin an’ dip it in the bucket o’ water”. 

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The Joy and Camaraderie of Volunteering 


Lovely customer assistant volunteers in Listowel’s St. Vincent de Paul shop on Friday Feb. 1 2019. the atmosphere in this shop is always so warm and welcoming, and they have some lovely  new and pre loved stuff for sale.

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A Great Weekend for Kerry People




On Friday evening Feb. 8 2019 Namir and Kay Karim were invited to the Late Late Show to tell their story of enduring love and their triumph over adversity in their determination to be together.

You’ve read the story on Listowel Connection before but it was lovely to see them tell it to a national audience. They conducted themselves with decorum and dignity in a giddy environment. what a couple!

If you are in Ballybunion be sure to call in to Namir’s, a lovely place to eat.

Photo: SpotsJoe.ie

It was a great weekend for football fans. Every Kerry victory gives Kerry people a lift. A victory over Dublin is always extra special.

And to add to the pleasure two Kerry clubs won their own All Ireland finals so all in all a weekend to remember.

Listowel Marching Band, A Visit to Killarney House and a Seán MacCarthy song

By

On November 7, 2018

In Uncategorized

Cahirdown, looking towards town

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Listowel Marching Band 1987



Charlie Nolan shared this great old photo with us.

Wouldn’t it be great if someone could name names and tell us the story. I know the marching band brings back happy memories for a few forty somethings.

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Killarney and Killarney House


Mons. Hugh O’Flaherty striding out beside the side entrance to Killarney House.

 In the garden

In Killarney House you can take a guided tour and learn all the history of the house which was once a stable. You will hear how the McShane family sold it to the state for a pittance and how the state spent millions restoring it to the beautiful national treasure it is today. You are not allowed to take photographs during this part.

Last month they opened 15 new self guided interactive rooms and that is where I took these photos.

There is lots of information on the ecosystems and the people in the National Park. It is all presented in accessible and varied format.

I took this through a window looking out on the vast lawns and gardens which link up with the gardens at Muckross House.

 Family photographs of Lord Kenmare (Killarney House was originally Kenmare House) tell us the interesting story of this family.

Lord Kenmare became Lord Castlerosse and he married Doris Delevigne. If that name is familiar it is because she  was a relative of the now famous Cara Delevigne.

All the signage and explanatory notes are in Irish and English. Edward V11 visited Killarney House when he was Prince of Wales. Queen Victoria visited too and more recently Charles and Camilla came here as part of their Irish tour.


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A Seán Mac Carthy Song

This is a very sad song of a mother who is encouraging her daughter to make the pragmatic but awful decision to marry for money and security rather than for love. This was in an Ireland when parents who knew poverty and hardship themselves appreciated the importance of land and money. Love was a luxury. You were lucky if it grew in a made match but many unions were unhappy unless you could find the mindset to count your blessings and make the best of your lot.

Mattie Lennon shared the lyrics with us.

DARLING KATE

You are fair of face, dear Kate, now you’re nearing twenty-one,

I hesitate to spoil your dreams, when your life has just begun.

Your father, he is old, a grah, and I am far from strong,

A dowry from John Hogan’s son would help us all along.

Just think of it, my darling Kate, you would own a motor car,

You’d wear fine linen next your skin and travel near and far.

Hogan’s lands stretch far and wide, from Rathea to Drummahead;

He owns sheep and cows and fine fat sows; pyjamas for the bed.

I know he’s tall and skinny, Kate, and his looks are not the best,

But beggars can’t be choosers, love, when you’re feathering your nest!

He’s been to college in the town; his shirts are always new,

What does it matter if he’s old, he’s just the man for you.

I know you love young Paddy Joe, him with the rakish eye,

I’ve seen the way you look at him whenever he goes by.

I will admit he’s handsome, Kate, but he doesn’t own a car,

Sure, he likes to fight and drink al night above in Sheehan’s bar.

Did I ever tell you, Kate a grah,  that I was pretty too?

The summer days seemed longer then, and the sky was always blue!

I was only gone nineteen, and your father fifty-three,

But he owned the land on which we stand and he seemed the man for me.

There was a young man lived next door, I loved with all my might,

It was his face that haunted me when your father held me tight;

I longed, dear Kate, down through the years, for the soft touch of his hand.

But young love is no substitute for ten acres of fine land.

You will wear a long white dress and a red rose in your hair,

I will throw confetti, Kate, the whole town will be there;

You will make a promise true, to honour and obey,

I will stand on your right hand, and I’ll sell my love away.

Tears are not for daytime, Kate, but only for the night,

You’ll have a daughter of your own and teach her wrong fro right;

Rear her strong and healthy, Kate, pray guidance from above.

Then one fine day when she’s nineteen—she might marry just for love. 

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

By

On November 6, 2017

In Uncategorized

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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.

Preparing for Christmas 2017, Marie Shaw and a Wedding in Germany and Painted Ladies in John B.s

By

On October 31, 2017

In Uncategorized


Two St. Johns’


St. John’s Tralee


St. John’s Listowel




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Looking Forward to Christmas 2017


Great things are planned for Listowel at Christmas 2017

Local elves have been at work preparing a surprise for us all. The polar express will bring Santa into town this year and he and Mrs. Claus will meet North Kerry Children at the Lartigue Museum.

Keep an eye out for updates on this page;  North Pole Express


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Marie Shaw remembers her Christmas in Listowel in the 1950s

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A Wedding in Germany with a Listowel Connection



This is Mary Sobieralski of Listowel pictured with her son Mark on the morning of his wedding.



Mary loves Listowel where she spent her youth and happy years of retirement with her late husband, Wolf. But Mary’s smile is broadest when she is in the company of her lovely sons and their families in Germany. This photo of Mary’s family was taken later on on the day of Mark’s wedding.

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A Most unusual fundraiser in John B.s (text and photos by Mattie Lennon)


Mattie Lennon sends us this account of a great night in John B. Keane’s Bar, Listowel.

Billy Keane and Mattie Lennon in John B.s

BILLY KEANE AND THE (BRAVE) PAINTED LADIES.

By Mattie Lennon.

Good painters imitate nature. (Cervantes.)

Hard to argue with that but some painters  tell the story of the most poignant aspects of nature.

   John B. Keane’s pub in Listowel has been home to ventures various and unusual in the past half century but on Thursday 12th October there was a new departure.   There are two body-painting events organised (for Dublin and Cork) during November, by  Bare-to-Care,  to raise awareness of breast cancer.  Ken Hughes and Eimear Tierney came to Billy Keane with an idea for a publicity event; breast painting!  Three brave women volunteered to bare all.  Ann-Marie Quigley who travelled from Portrush,  Bex Tolan originally from Donegal  and Siobhan Heapes from Cork all had had serious health issues.  All three women spoke honestly and openly about their   terrible experiences.   Anna had a double mastectomy and her partner, Jade, died from ovarian cancer in 2008.  Bex won’t ever be able to have children because of previous painful medical conditions and Siobhan Heapes had breast and ovarian cancer.

  Billy Keane is an established author and one of our great Irish journalists.  His writing, about his own life, has, in my opinion, saved lives.  With Billy the devilment is always close to the surface and while Ken Hughes was the event organiser Billy opened proceedings on the night with, “I want to make a clean breast of this.” 

   Three artists, Stephanie Power, Ruth McMorrow and Ciara Patricia Langan, in the words of Billy Keane,”Formed a bond with the human canvasses.”      

   Tennyson wrote of how,” . . .blind and naked ignorance delivers crawling judgements unashamed . . ”  


    “Naked” and “ignorance” were side by side in John B’s on 12th October; One couple got up and left. The female said to Billy, “What would your mother  and father think of this? They are turning in their graves. “  I know what Billy’s parents, who both died of cancer,  would think.  They would think that thank God they had reared a son who is doing something to highlight that dreadful disease.  There was certainly no whirring sound in Listowel cemetery that night .  John B. and Mary were not spinning in their graves.  And Billy Keane was too well reared   to reply to such an ignorant comment.



    Bare to Care Dare will take place in Cork on Saturday November 11th and in Dublin on Saturday November 18th. Hundreds of women will come together to celebrate their bodies, their breasts and above all to support each other. To tell their own cancer survival stories. To be proud and celebrate their new post mastectomy or reconstructed breasts. To lighten their spirits while going through treatment right now. To tick something off their bucket list. To laugh and have fun, to share and to support. Those that have lost loved ones to cancer will bare all in memory, to show their thanks to the support the Irish Cancer Society give every day to thousands of women all over the country.

   Eimear Tierney, Spokesperson   told me, “From our perspective, we were thrilled that Billy agreed to get on board with the charity and publicize our campaign. We were elated when he suggested a promotional event in John B’s. It’s hard to describe the atmosphere and spirit of giving and camaraderie that Billy created that night. Not only did he manage to raise awareness and promote the campaign, he and the guest performers  captured the whole ethos of Bare to Care. The volunteer canvasses were made to feel brave, beautiful and vital by every person that attended the event. He promoted our Bare to Care events as planned but he also provided a safe space for the girls to share their stories and celebrate their womanhood and survival.   We are in awe of Bill’s talent and generosity and we couldn’t possibly have found a more worthy and appropriate advocate for what we are trying to achieve with these events. We hope that it has inspired women to be brave and register for one of our two events.” (Eimear may be contacted at; hello@baretocare.info)

 Anna-Marie had an eagle painted on her front but not everyone knew.  One woman asked, “Where did she get that beautiful top with the eagle on it?”  Of course she was in Kerry so the answer came like a shot, “Penney’s.”  Where would you get it.

I’ll leave the last word to Billy Keane, “  I learned a lot over the last few weeks. There is so much going on in women’s  bodies.  We need a national conversation, education and more  bare, brave ladies.” 

   Billy insists that the pole in the centre of the bar is there to support the roof and there will be no pole-dancing in the future!

 There was no turning in graves

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