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: robin

A Robin, Some old photos and Parking Balls in Florida

Ireland’s Largest Megalithic Cemetery

Catherine Moylan took this photo in January 2017 in Carrowmore, Co. Sligo.

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Posing Robin


This friendly fellow met me in the town park and he kindly agreed to pose for me.

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Progress on the Community Centre Extension





Listowel Community Centre shared the following photos from inside the new gym.

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Some Old Photos from National Geographic online



The men are saving the hay, the women knitting and gleaning.

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Waiting



Nicholas, a blog follower, likes this poem. I do too.

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Meanwhile in Sarasota, Florida



Pat del Savio is following the story of the balls as a deterrent to parking on the pavement. When she made a trip to her local Target store recently she photographed these for us.

True to form, the US balls are bigger and more colourful.



19th Century Kerry, Balls in Ballybunion and a pupil remembers his old teacher

Beautiful North Kerry



Photo: Mike Enright



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To Hell or to …..Kerry

Kerry was a tough place to be in the nineteenth century. The
first On This Day story was shared by Jimmy Moloney and the account of the
Revenue man in Kerry was shared by Kay Caball from the Milltown and Castlemaine
page

OTD 1843: Death of
Arthur Blennerhassett (MP 1837-41) failed to become MP for Tralee in 1832 after
duel with his opponent Maurice O’Connell.

………………

Ebenezer Turner, the Inland
Revenue officer, originally from Scotland who was resident in Milltown between
1869 and 1875, writes  his memoirs: Ebenezer Turner “Six Years in Ireland
– Part One”, The Venture, Vol. 6, pages 93-111 (Edinburgh, 1897)

 Milltown is a place of some 700 or 800
inhabitants, situated about 12 miles from the towns of Tralee and Killarney.
Its main street is not so wretched in appearance as in reality, being built of
stone and roofed with slate: at least one side of the street is so constructed.
These houses were built by an enterprising inhabitant[1]in the bad times of
1846-1848 when labour was paid for at the rate of sixpence a day. The back
parts of the village are composed of miserable hovels, built very roughly of
ill-shaped stones and poor lime; whitewashed sometimes and thatched with straw
or reeds. A low door admits the human and animal occupants; a tiny window or
two sometimes admits lights. There are of course degrees of wretchedness
according to the means and character of the inmates; but none of the houses
boast of any better flooring than the hard-beaten earth. A pig usually shared a
corner of the one room, fowl commonly perched on the rafters and frequently
room is made for a donkey, a goat, and, as I have seen, a cow.

The rules of the Revenue
Service require an officer to remain one year in a place before asking to move.
On reaching Milltown, in the middle of a blustering March day, travelling from
Killarney in a covered car like nothing so much as a small prison van, we thought
only of the time when we could request to be removed from so undesirable a
residence. For three weeks, we lodged at the so-called hotel where the landlord’s sister, intensely interested in
the unpacking of boxes, thought we could scarcely be properly married, because
my wife’s wedding dress was not or bright red, green or yellow silk.
Afterwards, we rented a portion of one of the before-mentioned houses, the
rooms of which we had to provide with locks, wall-paper and paint, and then had
the good fortune to succeed the Methodist Preacher in the occupancy of a
cottage with over a quarter of an Irish acre of garden. I should say that by this
time our ideas of removal had become modified. A few friendly families – two
especially – made us feel at home even amid such unaccustomed surroundings and
by the time the twelve months had expired we thought no more of an immediate
change….

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The Balls in Ballybunion

I nipped out to Ballybunion by the sea for a look at the controversial traffic control situation. In response to local demand for a measure to stop illegal parking on the streets in Ballyb, Kerry County Council installed these black balls at problem spots around the town. It’s a miracle that no one has tripped over them or damaged their vehicle. They are soon to be removed I’m told, so I photographed them before they disappear.


As a measure to prevent people parking on the yellow lines they obviously don’t work.


Bollards like these ones outside Sundaes was what was wanted.

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Joe Murphy’s introduction to Pat Given’s October Stocktaking



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Signs of Spring




Photo; Chris Grayson


Any day now paths in the town park will be bordered in yellow. I’m looking forward to it.



A Knitting Project, Seán McCarthy and Ireland’s Own

December Robin photographed by Kerry’s best Robin Photographer


Another Chris Grayson robin in The National Park, Killarney


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Michael Tea



A very talented knitter and a super designer of tea cosies, Frances O’Keeffe of Listowel designed and knit this charming tea cosy.


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Diocesan Knitting Project


Recently I was part of Diocese of Kerry organised crafting project. The idea was that people (mostly women) from all the parishes of Kerry would knit squares. Then we all came together in Killarney to sew or crochet the squares into blankets to send with Trocaire to Gaza. It was an uplifting and enjoyable occasion and I took a few photos.

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 Seán McCarthy R.I.P.  Poet of the People


Seán McCarthy, poet and balladeer was a man who had his finger on the pulses of North Kerry people. He wrote many great verses celebrating Kerry and its people. Junior Griffin treasures all his collections of poems and songs and I have photographed a few for you. Firstly read what Bryan MacMahon wrote about him in the forward to one of these anthologies.





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What I’m Reading Now



No Christmas reading list is complete without Ireland’s Own Christmas Annual. this year it contains a story from one of our own. Be sure to read Bobby Robin’s Christmas gift, a story for young people by Neil Brosnan.

They say that if you miss The Ireland’s Own you miss part of Christmas. If you read all of Ireland’s Own you’ll miss the whole of Christmas.

I’m going to share with you a piece of knowledge I learned from this year’s Ireland’s Own Annual. Christmas pudding was first made in the 14th century. It was made five weeks before the big day on what was referred to as “Stirring Sunday”. It was made with 13 ingredients representing Jesus and his twelve apostles. Every member of the household took a turn at stirring the mixture. It had to be stirred from East to West to represent the journey of the Magi.

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A Few More Photos from the BOI Expo in November






Interview with a Dragon


Eileen Broderick and Aoife Hannon at Aoife’s stall.

Finesse had some beautiful wedding wear on display

Available at Chery’s Antique store in Church St.

Oonagh Hartnett and Sonja of Broderick’s Pharmacy



Susan Quilter, vet.


Robins, Ballycotton, Craftshop na Méar

What is it about Robins?

Robins have been photographed, drawn, painted and written about for years.

Prompted by Ita Hannon’s lovely photographs of a robin in Beale, Dick Carmody sent me this poem that he wrote to about the robin his garden.

The
Robin……          

            …….companion for a reluctant
gardener.

Reluctantly
I kneel to tend my garden, derived of some pride, devoid of great pleasure

Painstakingly
I toil to keep apace of mother nature, as weeds compete with work rate

Then
I am suddenly less aware on my ownliness, a companion ever present at my side

The
Robin makes his predictable welcome appearance to distract from my discomfort.

Red-breasted,
he sits proud upon the boundary wall to watch my laboured movement

Takes
pride in that he fanned the fire in Bethlehem’s stable to keep the Baby warm

And
how the flames had burned his then colourless breast to testify his zealousness

Or
was it when he pulled the thorn from Jesus’ brow on his way to cross on Calvary

And
now carries his blood-stained feathers as if to show his favoured ranking.

At
arms length he follows my every move, often playing hide and seek with me    

Standing
tall or sometimes with head erect, motionless he stares me eye to eye

I
could believe him God-sent, no other bird in sight in hedgerow or on leafless
tree

Or
is it just that he sees me as his meal-ticket, as I gather and discard the
fallen leaves

Exposing
tasty morsels in the unfrozen ground to help him cope with winter’s worst.

I
move along, hunched on bended knee, he follows cautiously close behind, beside

Sometimes
out of sight, I seek him out again and know I will not be disappointed

For
sure enough he’s back again here, there and everywhere, not taken for granted

Now
gardening is less of a chore as I’m gifted a companion, my new forever friend.

©
Dick Carmody                                                                                November,
2013.

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Confraternity



The confraternity photo is still doing the rounds and bringing back many happy memories. One blog follower shared this via email:



Regarding the Confraternity and the Sodality; these were gone or on the way out when I was a nipper. I do remember a crude put-down that was used in those days against  someone that was, in the common perception, ‘ró-mhór leis an gcléir,’ and involved in every religious event and occasion- this put-down was as follows: ‘Jaysus, that fellow is stuck in everything! He’d be in the Children of Mary as well, if they could find a knickers big enough for him!’ 

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We see the mote in our brother’s eye…….




photo: Dublin Q102 on Facebook

West Cork is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. It is such a pity that someone thought it was a good idea to greet visitors with this insulting and unwelcoming sign.

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East Cork is Beautiful too



Recently I visited Ballycotton with my family and we walked the cliff walk. The scenery is absolutely stunning.

My little Aisling is taking a leaf out of Nana’s book and capturing the memories.

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Kiely’s, 53 Church Street is now Craftshop na Méar



Some old photos; this time with names, and a few new ones to amuse you.

Winter Robin by Timothy John MacSweeney

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Elizabeth O’Carroll Chute wrote to me about this photo:

“Tim  Kennellys  father is man on left . Girl with sunglasses , Frankie Chute who lives in California . 

Next to her girl with long hair could be Kennelly . Her parents had a very busy hardware store in small square next to present shoe shop . I believe the nun is Sr Austin , one of my favourites. 

The man with the grey hair could be Mr Reagan but that’s a long shot . And that is most definitely Norella with her mum . “

The funny thing is is that the one person we were both sure of was Norella and we are both wrong, for it is not the good lady at all but her younger brother. Apologies to Norella and to Eoin.

P.S. I think the woman on the far right with glasses is the late Mrs. Kirby of Convent St.

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This is what Junior Griffin wrote to me about this old photo:

“Back row;

Can’t make out the 1st side face but the 2nd is Sean O’Sullivan of Market St.;Andy Molyneaux, Listowel; Not sure of the next, then partly hidden, Bill O’Sullivan, Clounmacon, Murt Galvin, Killarney (County Board Treas;) Cormac O’Leary, Moyvane, then I feel Tadhg Prendeville, Castleisland, (County Board Treas.)


Front Row;

Dan Kiely Tarbert (possibly North Kerry Chairman at that time, Maybe 1969 or a bit later; Gerald McKenna, Ballyduff; Johnny Walsh, Ballylongford and possibly Jackie Lyne, Killarney”



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The year is 1992 and it’s Christy Walshe winning the bartenders’ race. Tom Fitzgerald found the old photo. He found this next one too. It’s Joe O’Mahoney in another heat of the same race in 1992.

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Turf cutting during the war



In Ireland, while war raged in Europe, turf was the main fuel and to meet the increased demand, men were recruited from all over the country and were housed in hostels and camps in Kildare. The work was very hard, living conditions were fairly spartan but there was good money to be made in a time of rationing and poverty.

This is the bill of fare for the Christmas festivities in the Turf Development Board’s hostel in Newbridge in 1945. Many of the men did not go home for Christmas as they would have worked on Dec. 24 and would be back to work again on the 27th. There were no women in the camps.

This shocking photo shows one of these men in ragged clothes cutting sod turf in his bare feet. Men were paid for the amount of turf they cut.  There was no hourly rate.

Bank of turf in Phoenix Park during WW2

(information from Bord na Mona Heartland)

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