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: Richard Moriarty

Listowel, San Diego, Prague

Upper William Street, January 2023

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It Started with a Poem

Richard Moriarty of San Diego is a blog follower. His friend, Judy Alexander sometimes helps him by typing the occasional poem to send to us here.

She sent me this last week

On the occasion of her 100th birthday, Friday, January 23, 2023, dedicated to Eileen Moriarty,

 born in Ballydonogue and living now in Dublin

( The birthday was on Friday Jan 20th. but a typo in the first email led me astray and then it took a bit longer for the ladies to get the tributes together and for Dave O’Sullivan to help me convert the pdf image they sent to one I could use here. Apologies Eileen, birthday girl, and all her family for missing the big day)

MY MOTHER

WHILE WE’RE TOLD IN SONG AND STORY

OF PEOPLE OF RENOUN

BE THEY WRITERS POETS OR CONGRESSMEN

OR KINGS WHO WEAR A CROWN

IT’S INSCRIBED THERE IN THE PAGES

THEIR NAMES AND WHERE THEY’RE FROM

BUT I BELIEVE THE UNSUNG HERO

IS THE PERSON KNOWN AS MOM

SHE’S THE ONE WE ALWAYS TURNED TO

WHENEVER THINGS WENT WRONG

THE GENTLE HAND THAT DRIED OUR TEARS

WHILE SHE HUMMED SOME SILLY SONG

SHE WAS ALWAYS THERE TO GREET US

AND HELP US ON OUR WAY

WITH THAT SPECIAL TOUCH

THAT MEANT SO MUCH

AND A GENTLE WORD TO SAY

AND THERE WERE TIMES WHEN

WE CAUSED YOU PAIN

AND TREATED YOU UNKIND

BUT ALL THE WHILE YOU’D SOFTLY SMILE

OH, HOW COULD WE BE SO BLIND

BUT YOU ARE THE ONE WE DO ADORE

AND LOVE LIKE WE COULD NO OTHER

WE THANK YOU FOR GIVING US

SUCH A SPECIAL CARING MOTHER

By Richard G. Moriarty of

Ballydonohue  Listowell

and San Diego California

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I wrote back to ask if Richard had a photo or a story or something to give us a better picture of his mother. It is not everyday someone reaches this big milestone birthday.

Richard hasn’t mastered technology at all and Judy and his wife, Molly, are not too adept at it either but they put a lot of effort into sending us the following.

,,,,,,,,,,,,

I am Molly Moriarty, married to Richard, son of Eileen Moriarty.  I am very glad to be able to wish my mother-in-law a happy 100th year birthday.  I met Richard and Eileen in 1980 when visiting Ireland and having just met Richard was invited to their home for a Sunday dinner.  I was immediately welcomed and the dinner was delicious.  After all these years I have realized how important family is to Eileen.  She is very interested in all things around her and always seems to know all the news.  I soon learned that if I wanted to know what was going on, just have a seat, and soon I would be better informed than watching the news.  She always looked far younger than she really is and is a beautiful lady.  Her faith has always buoyed her up as she has had more than her share of troubles.  I feel I could not say the same, and I truly respect her courage and strength and think of her as a role model.   There is so much in 100 years of telling that only a book could do her justice.  With that in mind, I feel proud to know her and, again,  wish her a happy 100th birthday.

Lovingly, Molly

……

DR. KILDARE WOULDN’T GET A LOOK-IN

One of my treasured memories of my Mom I guess would be when I was about seven years of age growing up in LISSELTON.   A good- natured local man entrusted me with a fullsize RALEIGH BICYCLE! Him, not knowing I wasn’t qualified to operate such an advanced piece of equipment and I wasn’t going to make him any the wiser. I was doing great on the straightway but when I came to Lyre Cross the stopping power just wasn’t there. With Johnny Cash it was the mud the blood and the beer, but with me it was the mud the blood the gravel and the Furze bushes. Now what to do?  My wails became more pronounced with each trickle of blood oozing from the scalp and even more so at the sight of the two gravel embedded kneecaps. But that wasn’t the worst of it, oh no, not even the road rash to the KEESTER. The worst would be the Mom. As I laid there in that stream that autumn evening, I could hear her, “Why are you doing this to me, who do you think you are, haven’t I enough to contend with besides you coming in here with this?”  But, not “Oh my God what happened to you (son)?” Between sobs and sniffles hiccups and heaves, “Mom, I was helpin’ Mrs. Foley fill her water barrels over at the river, and I fell off the donkey cart onto the BIG stones (YERRI)!”  “Sure. You’re always tryin’ to help people.”  Growing up in rural Ireland in the ‘60’s, where each household had eight or nine children, you had to think fast, REAL fast.  For the next two weeks the Mom was my primary doctor, night nurse, neurologist, and just like all moms, whatever roles needed to be filled.  The upshot of it all I made a LHOUBAWN of the ROTHAR but for two whole weeks I got loads of TLC and lots of TCP. Thank heaven for moms.

JANUARY 20, 2023

HAPPY 100th BIRTHDAY

MOM

Richard G. Moriarty

…………

As a friend of the family, I’ve heard many fond reminisces about Eileen Moriarty, although I never met
her. She is a true woman of her times, a farmer’s wife and mother of eight children. She could (and did)
awaken in the middle of the night to help birth a calf, and still manage to put a hot breakfast on the
table for her husband and children, pack their lunches, and see them off to the fields and school before
she headed out to do laundry, tend her veggie patch and all the other chores women of her time did
that made them super heroes to their families. Then it was back to the kitchen to prepare another
home-cooked meal. I’m sure her prayer was to manage a full night’s sleep without being called out to
help another farm animal.
Eileen is a woman of faith which, along with her stoic nature, has seen her through the tragedies that
are a part of living. She has always been a beautiful woman, taking pride in her appearance and her
representation of her family. There must be a portrait in the attic, growing old instead of her. This week
she received congratulations from President Higgins for reaching one hundred years of age. Well
deserved congratulations! Eileen lives at home now in Dublin with her daughter Margaret. God bless
them both, and happy birthday to Eileen!

Greetings from Judy Alexander of San
Diego, CA USA

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The Real Child of Prague Statue

Kathleen Griffin sent these to us.

Infant of Prague
Infant of Prague statue

The Infant of Prague statue is located in the Church of Our Lady of Victories of the Discalced Carmelites, in Malá Strana, Prague, Czech Republic (Czechia).  The statue is only about 19” tall and has an extensive wardrobe of garments!  Photographed by Kathleen Griffin on 10th Sept., 2019.

The icon we are familiar with here bears very little resemblance to the real thing. It is a tradition in some countries to dress statues in actual clothes. This seems to be what happens here.

Thank you, Kathleen, for those images of The Infant of Prague in Prague. The little statue surely is magnificent.

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Listowel, The Celtic Art Capital of Ireland

We pride ourselves here on being the literary first town in Ireland. The more I look into Celtic Art in town the more I am convinced that Listowel is at the forefront of this art form as well.

This magnificent piece is in Listowel Credit Union office . It is the work of the late Paddy Fitzgibbon.

Dave O’Sullivan found the relevant article in The Kerryman of May 28 2008.

I’ve enlarged the text a bit. I hope you can read it. There is nothing that I know of anywhere in the world to match this for artistry. The influence of the Book of Kells is obvious.

There is another Fitzgibbon piece in Scoil Realta na Maidine. I’ll bring you that tomorrow.

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Jimmy Hickey

I love to run into my friend, Jimmy Hickey, when I am in town. I met him last week at the St. Vincent de Paul Day Centre where he was collecting meals to deliver to people in North Kerry. Jimmy told me that people get a delicious meal from this Meals on Wheels service and he is only too happy to help with the delivery.

Jimmy told me that he had lost a friend over the Christmas holidays.

Poet, Anne Hartigan and Jimmy have been good friends since they first met at Listowel Writers’ Week in 1996.

Jimmy gave a talk on the history of Irish dancing. He had some of his dancers on hand to demonstrate the steps. Jimmy invited the audience to dance with the local dancers. Jimmy was dancing with the poet, Anne Drysdale, who enjoyed herself so much she wrote a poem about it. Another poet present was Anne Hartigan. She admired Jimmy’s dancing and proposed that he compose a dance to which she would write a poem.

The dance and the poem were duly composed and Jimmy and Anne practiced their performance in Ballygrennan, with Anne reciting and Jimmy dancing on an old half door.

“My feet were the music to her poetry.”

Later that year the Kerryman’s Association in Dublin were organizing a big £100 a ticket fundraiser. They asked Jimmy and Anne to perform their unique dance to poetry.
There were 1,000 people in attendance and Dan Collins was the M.C.

The audience were spellbound by the rhythmic taps of the dancer to the cadence of Anne Hartigan’s poems, What Way the Wind Blows which Jimmy choreographed in jig time and Little Lord of Death which he danced in reel time.

Jimmy wrote out the steps in the old Gaelic notation with seimhiús and síne fadas. 

This unique performance was greatly appreciated by the audience.

As far as Jimmy knows this has never been done before or since.

Jimmy and Anne remained friends. When she passed away on December 29 2022, her family informed Jimmy and he flew to Dublin for her funeral.

Thus closed an extraordinary chapter in Jimmy’s very colourful life.

May Anne le Marquand Hartigan rest in peace.

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Christmas Reading

Christmas 2022

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Memory Lane (from The Advertiser)

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A Seasonal Poem from 1927

Butte Independent, Saturday, June 11, 1927;
CHRISTMAS EVE IN KERRY

“Tis Christmas Eve in Kerry, and the Pooka is at rest
Contented in his stable eating hay;

The crystal snow is gleaming on the mountains of the West,
And a lonesome sea is sobbing far away;
But I know a star is watching o’er the bogland and the stream,
And ‘tis coming, coming, coming o’er the foam;
And ’tis twinkling o’er the prairie with a message and a dream
Of Christmas in my dear old Kerry home.

‘Tis Christmas Eve in Kerry, and the happy mermaids croon
The songs, of youth and hope that never die;
Oh never more on that dear shore for you and me, aroon.
The rapture of that olden lullaby:
But the candle lights are gleaming on a hillside far away.
And peace is in the blue December gloam;
And o’er the sea of memory I hear the pipers play
At Christmas in my dear old Kerry home.

‘Tis Christmas Eve in Kerry, oh I hear the fairies’ lyre
Anear the gates of slumber calling sweet.
Calling softly, calling ever to the land of young desire,
To the pattering of childhood’s happy feet; 

But a sleepless sea is throbbing, and the stars are watching’ true
As they journey to the wanderers who roam —
Oh the sea, the stars shall bring me tender memories of you

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MY CHRISTMAS WISH

Oh Lord, when we give this Christmas time,

Do teach us how to share

The gifts that you have given us

With those who need our care,

For the gift of Time is sacred~

The greatest gift of all,

And to share our time with others

Is the answer to your call,

For the Sick, the Old and Lonely

Need a word, a kindly cheer

For every precious minute

Of each day throughout the Year,

So, in this Special Season

Do share Your Time and Love

And your Happy, Holy Christmas

Will be Blessed by Him above

Junior Griffin

                                      Listowel

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Christmas in an Irish house in Kentish Town in the 1960s

Maurice Brick  Irish Central December 2021

I was wiping the mud from a 20-foot length of half-inch steel reinforcing bar with a wire brush and cursing the frost from the night before, which made it harder. I had, by then, passed the “barra liobar” (frozen fingers) part and the blood was circulating well despite the freezing cold. Steel is about the coldest thing you can handle in freezing weather.

It just didn’t seem like Christmas at all. I received a card from home the day before and Mam said how they were looking forward to Christmas and going to Dingle for the day with Dad. The lads were fine, she said, and they were wondering why I wasn’t coming home and she told them work was tight in England and maybe I wanted to put a bit of money away. Poor Mam, she always thought the better of me.

Today was payday; at least there was something good about it. Tomorrow, Friday, was Christmas Eve, so we had money for a good booze-up if nothing else for the weekend. There were six of us staying in a boarding house in Kentish Town and since we were all from the other side the mood, to say the least, was somber.

There were two from Donegal and they worked in the tunnels and made tons of money. The work was hard but, I’ll tell you, they were harder. There were three of us from West Kerry and we worked straight construction – buildings, shuttering (concrete formwork) and the like. That was hard work, too, but not as tough as the tunnels with the compressed air. The other fellow was from Clare, a more respectable sort of chap and he worked for British Rail as a porter.

I tried the tunnels myself once. I persuaded one of the Donegal fellows to get me a start and to tell the truth it was the money that enticed me outright. But my venture was a disaster. I started and descended into the tunnel and while there the compressed air hit me like a shot after an hour and my ears screamed with pain.

They were worse again when I entered the decompression chamber and I couldn’t wait to get out. I gained a great deal of respect for the Donegal fellows after that. They both wore a medal-type apparatus around their necks that gave the address of the decompression chamber of their tunnel.

On Christmas Eve, we worked half a day. The foreman was a sly bastard. He was as Irish as we were, but when the “big knobs” from the Contractor’s office appeared on site he affected such a cockney accent that you’d swear he was born as close to “Petticoat Lane” as the hawkers plying their trade there on Sunday.

Anyway, we all chipped in and gave him a pound each for Christmas. This gesture did not emanate from generosity but rather preservation. Our erstwhile foreman could be vindictive and on payday, he would come by and ask for a light and you would hand him the box of matches with a pound note tightly squeezed in there and all would be well with the world.  Not a bad day’s take as there were twenty in our gang. But the job paid well and no one complained.

When I got to the house on Christmas Eve, I paid the landlady and took a bath and dressed in my Sunday best. I waited for the others and we all sat down to dinner. It had some meat and lashings of mashed potatoes, “Paddy Food” they called it. It didn’t bother us much for we knew we would have steak in a late-night café after the pubs closed anyway. The six of us were dressed and ready to go at half six and we headed straight for the “Shakespeare” near the Archway.

After a few pints, there we went to the “Nag’s Head” on Holloway Road. However, we encountered a group from Connemara there and rather than wait for the customary confrontation – for some reason there was animosity between those from the Kerry Gaeltacht area and those from Connemara, which was also a Gaelic speaking area in Galway – we decided to forego it on Christmas Eve. But we assured each other that the matter would be taken care of in the very near future. Just as I was leaving one of the Connemara chaps said, “láithreach a mhac” (soon, my son) and I responded, “is fada liom é a mhac” (I can’t wait, my son).

We ended up in the “Sir Walter Scott” in Tollington Park and I barely remember seeing a row of pints lined up on the bar to tide us over the period between “time” called and when we actually had to leave. This period could last an hour depending on the pub governor’s mood.

We ambled, or rather staggered, into the late-night café sometime after midnight and the waitress gave us a knowing glance and said, “Steak and mash Pat, OK” and we all said “yes.” Some of us said it a few times just to make sure we had said it. It was then I thought, Jesus, I never went to Midnight Mass. That bothered me. I had always gone to Midnight Mass, but it was only last year I started drinking and it went completely out of my head.

We had our feed of steak and left and we decided to walk to the “Tube” at Finsbury Park and that would bring us to Kentish Town Station. Somehow, we made it and truthfully I don’t remember a moment on that train.

We arrived home at two and as quietly as possible reached our rooms. One of the Donegal fellows pulled out a bottle of Scotch and passed it around and we just sat on the beds and took turns taking swigs descending deeper and deeper into the realm of the absence of coherence of any sort.

I remember thinking again about missing Midnight Mass and I must have voiced my disgust a number of times to the annoyance of the others and one of them asked me to “shut the hell up.” I approached him and hit him right between the eyes and he crumpled to the floor and fell asleep.

The others struggled and lifted me onto the bed and everything just blanked out and I remember awakening on Christmas Day and the fellow I hit was nursing a bruised cheek by the window. I asked him what happened and he said he didn’t know and that he thought he bumped into something in his drunken state. I told him that I thought I hit him and that I was sorry.

He came by my side and sat there and I thought I detected a tear or two in his eyes. He looked at me and said, “You know, this is no friggin’ way to spend a Christmas, is it?” And I said, “You’re right” and I shook his hand for I thought he was a better man than I. 

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A Christmas Poem from an Emigrant

lI KNOW SANTA’S ON HIS WAY 

GRANDPAW,  Will you tell me the story, of how Christmas came to be

About the baby Jesus, the presents, and the tree 

Why the stars all seem to sparkle, up yonder in the sky 

And why there’s so much laughter, amongst every girl and guy 

Can you tell me why the candles, seem to have a beacon light 

Will it be like this forever, or is this a special night 

Cometo me my little sweetheart, and climb up on my knee 

And I’ll tell you the story, just the way ‘twas told to me 

It started back many years ago, in a land far, far away 

In a little town called Bethlehem, or so the people say 

By a manger in a stable, so cold and all forlorn 

There on the hay, that December day, Jesus Christ was born 

You ask me of the presents, and what meaning they may hold

I guess it’s called affection, should the truth be ever told 

They’re little gifts that are bestowed, and we all understand 

On that special day we just want to say, God bless the giving hand 

Now, I know what you are thinking, by the way you look at me 

You want to hear the story, about the Christmas tree 

Well, every day in His own way, God sends us from above 

Some hurt, some joy, some strength and pain, but He does it all with love 

He gave us gifts like mountains, the deserts, and the sea

And mankind enhanced this beauty in the form of a tree

My little girl with golden curl, about the candle glow 

Should we get lost, by day or night, as on through life we go 

When we’re in doubt, as we sometimes are, as on and on we roam

It’s the twinkling stars and candlelight, that will lead us safely home

Well, now I believe I’ve come to the end, I have no more to say

So go to sleep my sweetheart

I KNOW SANTA’S ON HIS WAY!

By Richard Moriarty of

Ballydonogue, Lisselton

and San Diego, California

Christmas 2022

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Christmas Holidays

I’m taking a little break to enjoy the festival with my family. Thank you everyone who sent me Christmas messages and a big thank you to everyone who helped Listowel Connection in any way during the year.

I’m looking forward to doing it all again in 2023.

Slán tamall agus beannachtaí na féile oraibh go léir.

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St. Patrick’s Day 2019, Death of a Rev. Mother, Pres. footballers and a poem for Mothering Sunday



Ballybunion in March 2019

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Some Stalwarts of Listowel Parades

Seán Moriarty provides a running commentary in The Small Square.

Charlie Nolan recording it all from the viewing platform.

Listowel 2019 Parade by Charlie Nolan

Denis Carroll records the day for us on the street. His lovely video of this year’s St. Patrick’s Day  is at the link below.

St. Patrick’s Day 2019 in Listowel

Billy Keane was back on the stand in 2019 doing his MCing.

Tim O’Leary and Donal O’Sullivan

Liam Brennan as St. Patrick blesses us all.

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St. Patrick Joins in The Fun



 St. Patrick dances with Mary Twomey  on St. Patrick’s Day 2019

 Meeting and greeting


And we all head home, St. Patrick’s Day done and dusted for another year.

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Death of Rev. Mother in 1919


Kerry News, Friday, August 01, 1919
(An Appreciation by a grateful patient) Condensed

DEATH of Rev Mother Michael, Superioress of St Bridgid’s Convent of Mercy, Listowel. Requiem High Mass was celebrated on Sunday 13th at the lovely little-church attached to the Mercy Convent, by the Most Rev. Dr. O’Sullivan, Lord Bishop of Kerry, with the Very Rev. Fr. Breen, S.T.L., President St Brendan’s Seminary, Killarney, and the Rev. T. Trant, P.P.,Ballymacelligott, her nephew, as deacon and sub-deacon ; Very Rev. Canon O’Riordan, P.P., V.F., Boherbee, as Master of Ceremonies. There was also present in the Sanctuary the Very Rev Dean O’Leary. P.P.. V.G.. Tralee, and the Rev. Fathers , Ferris, Behan and Conlon, O.P. Several members of the Christian Brothers from the Industrial Schools were also in attendance.
Amongst the chief mourners were- Sisters Benedict and Catherine (nieces) Rev. T. Trant, P.P.: Dr Trant. J.P. : Mr. P. Trant, J.P., and Mr Michael O’Connell, Clerk of the Union (nephews) Miss Danagher, Mrs O’Connell (sisters) Miss M. A. O’Connell, Miss B O’Connell, Miss N O’Connell, (nieces); Miss Nora Trant. Mrs. S. Fuller and the Misses O’Connell (grand nieces); Messrs P. Trant. junr., and D Trant (grand nephews} : etc.. etc. A full list of the general public is out of the question.

Rev Mother Michael came to Listowel some 36 years to take over charge, of the Union Hospital and let it be said that from the very start her work was cut out for her, for the Hospital Buildings though large enough were anything but sanitary or comfortable. Uninviting, rough, whitewashed, walls, straw beds, small apertures in the Walls instead of windows a room only fit for a stable to hear mass in were only a few of the many unsightly objects that met the view of Rev. Mother Michael and her faithful little band of nuns when first she entered the then unhallowed walls of the Listowel Workhouse. The change for the better which she wrought in this establishment would if described fully read like a chapter from Fairyland. The sisters transformed the place.

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Presentation Secondary School Team

I think this is a football team back in the day

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Richard Moriarty sent this poem home to us for Mothers’ Day


MY MOTHER

DEDICATED TO MOMS EVERYWHERE

WHILE WE’RE TOLD IN SONG AND STORY

OF PEOPLE OF RENOWN

BE THEY WRITERS, POETS OR CONGRESSMEN

OR KINGS WHO WEAR A CROWN

IT’S INSCRIBED THERE IN THE PAGES

THEIR NAMES AND WHERE THEY’RE FROM

BUT I BELIEVE THE UNSUNG HERO

IS THE PERSON KNOWN AS MOM

SHE’S THE ONE WE ALWAYS TURNED TO

WHENEVER THINGS WENT WRONG

THE GENTLE HAND THAT DRIED OUR TEARS

WHILE SHE HUMMED SOME SILLY SONG

SHE WAS ALWAYS THERE TO GREET US

AND HELP US ON OUR WAY

WITH THAT SPECIAL TOUCH

THAT MEANT SO MUCH

AND A GENTLE WORD TO SAY

AND THERE WERE TIMES WHEN

WE CAUSED YOU PAIN

AND TREATED YOU UNKIND

BUT ALL THE WHILE YOU’D SOFTLY SMILE

OH, HOW COULD WE BE SO BLIND

BUT YOU ARE THE ONE WE DO ADORE

AND LOVE LIKE WE COULD NO OTHER

WE THANK YOU GOD FOR GIVING US

SUCH A SPECIAL CARING MOTHER

Richard G. Moriarty

Remembering, an anniversary poem, Convent Cross and Halloween at Kerry Writers’ Museum

Trees in John Paul 2 cemetery

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Poem from Richard Moriarty on a wedding anniversary

REMEMBERING

Just thinking back on yesteryear and how it used to be

When love was new to me and you, and life a mystery

How I’ve cherished all these special years, since we first said “I do”

Just like a dream, or it would seem, with someone as dear as you

I wander back to when first we met, we’d walk down by the strand

We’d kiss each other on the cheek and hold each other’s hand

How we strolled along the boardwalk and gazed out on the sea

Those endless days of happiness, the way ‘twas meant to be

Together all the things we’ve done, and all the things we’ve seen

The little gifts that we have shared and the places we have been

Those simple times like holding hands, when all the world seemed still

Or saying such things as “I love you” and I know I always will

And there were times when I felt down and life seemed all so grey

But you were there to show you cared, with a gentle word to say

And when things went wrong, as they sometimes do, and woe was all about

You’d smile and say

“Don’t worry now, this too we will work out”

All through these years of joy and tears, you’ve been a friend to me

A union blessed, at God’s behest, for all the world to see

And in years to come, on that special day, just like we’ve done before

We’ll hold each other in our arms and say it just once more

You bring me joy this very day as you have for all these years

We’ll kiss each other on the cheek while holding back the tears

Again we’ll stroll down by the strand, we’ll gaze out on the sea

And with love we’ll share some other care,

And another ANNIVERSARY.

Richard G. Moriarty

Richard now lives in San Diego, California but he hails from Lisselton.

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At Convent Cross




The postbox is Elizabethan.



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Thinking Ahead to Halloween





Dare to enter the Haunted Writers’ House at the Kerry Writers’ Museum, Listowel this Halloween where ghosts & ghouls lurk around every corner. Follow the haunted trail and find the clues hidden within. A thrilling, heart-stopping, fun-filled experience the whole family will enjoy.

Open daily from October 31st to November 2nd from 3 to 6 pm. Tours every half hour.

Suitable for children age 6 to 10 years.

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Molly was back



Molly came to Listowel with her forever family for the weekend. She has grown up a bit and matured …a bit.

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Positive Ageing



If there is a better depiction of active ageing, I haven’t seen it.

Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh abseiling…….photo from Twitter


InSomnia, Listowel Harvest Festival 1994 and Tralee’s Christie Hennessey

Photo by Ita Hannon

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Sleepless in Seattle


Seattle’s Best Coffee in Market Street has rebranded as Insomnia.



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1994 Harvest Festival Brochure


Junior Griffin found this old brochure among his treasures.

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Christie Hennessey


This is the Christie Hennessey memorial in Tralee. Plans are in train to put a voice element to these memorials. In time, visitors will be able to access a spoken biography of the singer at this spot.



The words of Christie’s greatest hit song, Roll Back the Clouds are printed in full  in the memorial. Wouldn’t it be great if the voice element included Christie singing his moving song?

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Kerry Football, is it in the blood or in the DNA



All the way from San Diego came this missive on Monday.

Message from Richard Moriarty, from Lisselton-Ballydonoghue, now living in San Diego,California, USA:

I wrote a poem commemorating the “Five Games in a Row” (attached)

I hope you will share it with your bloggers.

Thank you for your consideration.

Richard Moriarty

FIVE GAMES IN A ROW

I remember back when just a kid I’d climb on Grandad’s knee

And while I perched there 

With an eagle stare

He’d tell these tales to me

How in this land there’s a noble band of men who plan and dream

Who cannot be beat

Who will not retreat

And they’re called the Kerry Team

Like giants he said they forge ahead a wave of green and gold

Who in the history book

If you care to look

With passion there it’s told

As plain as day I can hear him say those boys are smooth as foam

They glide they swoop

They slide and scoop

To bring that trophy home

He’d call out each game each date and name until it was all done

And when he shed tears

For the losing years

I dried them one by one

Yes that was many years ago but some things are still the same

With my grandson Lee

There on my knee

Today we watched the game

And Grandpaw I knew you were here too but in case you didn’t know

In headlines bold

The tale was told

“Tis FIVEgames in a row

Richard Moriarty

Ballydonoghue/Lisselton

San Diego, California

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