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
On my recent trip to Kildare I photographed some railway station post boxes along the route. I travelled from Kent Station in Cork to Kildare via Portlaoise.
Pillar box in Listowel town Square.
This one is in Kildare. This station that is currently undergoing a huge expansion as it now comes within the Dublin commuter belt.
Clíona and Aoife say goodbye to me at Kildare train station
In Portlaoise
This one is in Glenflesk on my way home to the Kingdom.
I have a dread fear that someone in An Post might consider these surplus to requirements. They are, in a way but they are part of our landscape and our history and so valuable in their own right.
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May Weekend Visitors
Reggie brought his human family with him to Listowel for the bank holiday weekend
We went to Woodford Pottery where Carine fell in love with Pat Murphy’s beautiful colourful tableware.
She bought three different colours in the end as she failed to pick a favourite.
We went to Pad Thai. Their English may be a bit hit and miss but they got the inportant thing right…the food. I’d recommend you give it a try.
We were in John B.’s for one.
Reggie did the river walk.
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Ballybunion
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Three French Visitors
In Lizzie’s, five retired teachers and one working one.
Nathalie Léger, far right with me and Catherine Moylan.
Nathalie spent a very happy year in Presentation Secondary School, Listowel in 1989. Catherine was one of her pupils.
Joanna Keane befriended Nathalie and introduced her to her parents. John B.’s became Nathalie’s local and she remembers John B. and Mary and their great kindness to her. She was delighted to meet Lily O’Flynn in Lizzie’s.
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A Fact
The Rolling Stones released their first album in 1964.
Charles Street on a frosty morning in December 2024
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John O’Connell’s Christmas Memories
( as related to his wife, Noreen)
“In our house in Curraghatoosane ( Botharín Dubh), Christmas preparations started with white washing. Lime was mixed with water and a little bluestone added and this was painted on with a wide brush or sometimes the sweeping brush.
Red berried holly was picked up in the Hickeys and a few red or white candles were stuck in a turnip or a 2 pound jam crock filled with sand and decorated with a piece of red crepe paper if we had it.
The crib was set up on the wide window sill and decorated with holly or laurel.
On Christmas Eve I went off shopping with my mother on our ass and cart. My job was to hold the ass as mother leisurely shopped, in all the shops where she left her loyal custom throughout the year. Here she got a “Christmas box” as a present. This was usually a fruit cake wrapped in festive parchment with a lovely little shiny garland around it or a small box of biscuits.
There was no rush on mam, or no great worry about poor me in my short pants, patiently awaiting by his docile ass. Throughout the long shopping trek, I got a bottle of Nash’s red lemonade and a few thick ha’penny biscuits.
It was up Church street to Barretts shop and bar, Lena Mullalys, O Grady’s Arch store, to Guerins in Market Street, John Joe Kenny’s in the Square and many more smaller shops in town, for flour and meal, tea and sugar, jam, biscuits, jelly a cut of beef, lemonade, and lots of stout and a bottle or two of sherry.
Eventually with our cart laden with the provisions and the bottles rattling away in long wooden boxes ( which would be returned with the empties after Christmas), we set off home, poor Neddy and me, tired and cold but mother content and fulfilled and warmed by perhaps the drop of sherry or perhaps a little hot toddy she might have shared in a Snug with a friend she met on her shopping expedition!!
The last stop was at Jack Thornton’s for a few black jacks, and slab toffee which revived my drooping spirits. As we travelled home the homes were ablaze with lighted candles . It was a sight to behold, which I can still see as plain today as it was 70 years ago. There was very little traffic back then but I lit the way home with the torchlight for mam, me and Neddy . The “ Flight to Curraghatoosane”!
Next it was to untackle and feed and water our gentle, compliant ass, unload the messages and join my father and 3 brothers for a welcome bite. I was the 2nd eldest of four boys and felt high and mighty to be chosen to chaperone my mother. “Mother’s pet,” says Noreen!!
Next morning we were awake at cock crow to open our purties. (These were sometimes hidden in the meal bin and one year we were informed of this by an older neighbouring boyo and when the coast was clear one day, we searched and found the hidden cache.We were smart enough to remain silent so nobody spilled the beans. ) We walked, fasting, down to 7 a.m Convent Mass. Then home to play with and maybe dismantle a purty to investigate its workings.
The stuffed goose was roasting in the bastible. What a glorious smell . I loved the delightful brown gravy, carrots, turnips and pandy, all from our own garden. As well as supplying milk in town, we had a fine market garden and so we had plenty of fresh vegetables. The trifle dessert was such a treat.
Next day –St Stephens day was gambling day in our house, when the neighbours congregated to play 110 which could last for days, even into weeks. Plenty porter was gratefully accepted and savoured as well as tea and cake.
As I got older St Stephen’s day was the day for the wran (wren). We started getting ready early in the day and it was the day that the fancy cake garland that came around the “Christmas box” cakes, were recycled and transformed into part of the” wran “head dress. We had a fantastic wrenboy group, known as the Dirrha wrenboys, captained by the well -known Sonny Canavan. A wren dance followed in a few weeks, hosted often in our home and was the event of the year with music, song and dance and 2 half tierces, and attended by locals and visitors and denounced from the pulpit by the parish priest, if he came to hear of it.”
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Small Taste of the Marvellous Tractor Run
John B. Keane Road on Sunday December 8 2024
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A Poem and a Memory
Johnny Joy shared this lovely memory on Facebook.
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Woodford Pottery
Pat has been so busy this year that he didn’t have enough stock to do the Christmas craft fairs. So the mountain had to come to Mohammed. Woodford pottery pots are absolutely beautiful. His lovely shop is well worth a visit for a hand crafted special present. He sells online now too, if you can’t make it to Woodford or to one of the many shops he supplies.
Horsechestnut tree in the grounds of former Presentation Convent
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In Listowel Hospital Grounds
The same statue with Senan House and Fuchsia Centre in the background
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Brave and Generous Listowel born Priest
Irish Independent Tuesday, 17 April, 1934;
BRAVE IRISH PASTOR, HOW HE DEFIED INCENDIARIES, HIS WORK IN ENGLAND
There is much regret in Catholic centres in Manchester at the departure of Rev. Vincent Marshall, who has been pastor of St. Malachy’s, Collyhurst, for 14 years, during which he had to make a strenuous struggle on behalf of his congregation. Father Marshall, for health reasons, has been transferred to a parish near Preston. Father Marshall is a native of Listowel, and first cousin to the Ven. Archdeacon Marshall, P.P.. V.G.. of Kenmare and Mr. H.J. Marshall, Solr. Listowel. He was sent to Collyhurst from Wales in 1927 to open a Mission.
INCENDIARISM.
Despite opposition, he secured a room, where his little congregation heard Mass. On one occasion an effort was made to prevent Mass being celebrated there, and on three occasions the place was fired by incendiaries.
After a long period of suffering. Father Marshall saw his life’s ambition realised in the building of the present fine school, Church and presbytery, at a cost of £IO.OOO. Latterly he has been prominent in connection with the slum clearance in Manchester, and, successfully fought, the rights of the now very large number of Collyhurst Catholics to be re-housed in flats in the same district. Last year the parish presented Father Marshall with £500 on the occasion of his silver jubilee, and he devoted it to church purposes.
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My Trip to Kinsale
During my recent sojourn in Ballincollig I spent a lovely day with family in Kinsale. Kinsale is very picturesque but plagued with traffic in its narrow streets. The town is badly planned and laid out. You never know what surprise is around the next corner.
This is the picture postcard view with Bobby and Cecile as the tourists in the fairly wet street.
Colourful paintwork and old fashioned lamp standard add to the picture.
What a striking shopfront!
A craft shop…and wait for it…
The Listowel connection.! Woodford Pottery’s very popular used tea bag receptacles. Perfect tourist product for this colourful artistic town.
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The Way we Were
A guide to Listowel town in the twentieth century
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A Fact
Cats, when they walk or run, step with both left legs and then both right legs. The only other animals who walk this way are camels and giraffes.
Gerard Stack was anxious to see a photo of the scene in Walsh’s toyshop at Christmas time long ago.
Mike Moriarty had just such a photograph
Here is Mike’s email;
In response to Gerard Stack’s post re Toy Shop at Walsh’s I have attached a photo from those days. At the back on the left is yours truly, centre is Marie Keane Stack (mother of the Brogans) and on the right is my brother, Tom. At the piano is Mary Sheehy(nee Shaughnessy). At her left shoulder is Mike McGrath and in the centre is your correspondent, Gerard Stack. We were all neighbours, such a contrast with today where there are no children growing up in William St.
Rgds.,
Mike Moriarty.
Dave O’Sullivan found some great old ads in The Kerryman. Walsh’s had a Toy Fair complete with film show in 1950.
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Another Regular at Christmas Time
At this time of year I like to include familiar seasonal pieces of excellent writing. This is one of my favourites.
A Kerry Christmas Childhood
Garry MacMahon
Now I cannot help remembering the happy days gone by,
As Christmastime approaches and the festive season’s nigh.
I wallow in nostalgia when I think of long ago,
And the tide that waits for no man as the years they ebb and flow.
We townies scoured the countryside for holly berries red,
And stripped from tombs green ivy in the graveyard of the dead,
To decorate each picture frame a hanging on the wall,
And fill the house with greenery and brighten winter’s pall,
Putting up the decorations was for us a pleasant chore,
And the crib down from the attic took centre stage once more.
From the box atop the dresser the figures were retrieved,
To be placed upon a bed of straw that blessed Christmas Eve,
For the candles, red crepe paper, round the jamjars filled with sand,
To be placed in every window and provide a light so grand,
To guide the Holy Family who had no room at the inn,
And provide for them a beacon of the fáilte mór within.
The candles were ignited upon the stroke of seven,
The youngest got the privilege to light our way to Heaven,
And the rosary was said as we all got on our knees,
Remembering those who’d gone before and the foreign missionaries.
Ah, we’d all be scrubbed like new pins in the bath before the fire
And, dressed in our pajamas of tall tales we’d never tire,
Of Cuchlainn, Ferdia, The Fianna, Red Branch Knights,
Banshees and Jack o Lanterns, Sam Magee and Northern Lights
And we’d sing the songs of Ireland, of Knockanure and Black and Tans,
And the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.
Mama and Dad they warned us as they gave each good night kiss,
If we didn’t go to sleep at once then Santa we would miss,
And the magic Christmas morning so beloved of girls and boys,
When we woke to find our dreams fulfilled and all our asked for toys,
But Mam was up before us the turkey to prepare,
To peel the spuds and boil the ham to provide the festive fare.
She’d accept with pride the compliments from my father and the rest.
“Of all the birds I’ve cooked,” she’s say, “ I think that this year’s was the best.”
The trifle and plum pudding, oh, the memories never fade
And then we’d wash the whole lot down with Nash’s lemonade.
St. Stephen’s Day brought wrenboys with their loud knock on the door,
To bodhrán beat abd music sweet they danced around the floor’
We, terror stricken children, fled in fear before the batch,
And we screamed at our pursuers as they rattled at the latch.
Like a bicycle whose brakes have failed goes headlong down the hill
Too fast the years have disappeared. Come back they never will.
Our clan is scattered round the world. From home we had to part.
Still we treasure precious memories forever in our heart.
So God be with our parents dear. We remember them with pride,
And the golden days of childhood and the happy Christmastide.
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Advertisements from another era
Sent to us by Mattie Lennon
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So Much has changed
Knitting group in Scribes in 2012
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Listowel Christmas 2021
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My Christmas Reading
I loved my Woodford Pottery jug and vase so much, I went back and bought the mug to match.
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‘Twas the Night before Christmas 2021
By Mary Conlon
Twas the night before Christmas, but Covid was here, So we all had to stay extra cautious this year. Our masks were all hung by the chimney with care In case Santa forgot his and needed a spare. With Covid, we couldn’t leave cookies or cake So we just left Santa hand sanitizer to take.
The children were sleeping, the brave little tots The ones over 12 had just had their first shots, And mom in her kerchief and me in my cap Had just settled in for a long summer’s nap. But we tossed and we turned all night in our beds As visions of variants danced in our heads.
Gamma and Delta and now Omicron These Covid mutations that go on and on I thought to myself, “If this doesn’t get better, I’ll soon be familiar with every Greek letter”.
Then just as I started to drift off and doze A clatter of noise from the front lawn arose. I leapt from my bed and ran straight down the stair I opened the door, and an old gent stood there.
His mask made him look decidedly weird But I knew who he was by his red suit and beard. I kept six feet away but blurted out quick ” What are you doing here, jolly Saint Nick?”
Then I said, “Where’s your presents, your reindeer and sleigh? Don’t you know that tomorrow will be Christmas Day? “ And Santa stood there looking sad in the snow As he started to tell me a long tale of woe.
He said he’d been stuck at the North Pole alone All his white collar elves had been working from home, And most of the others said “Santa, don’t hire us! We can’t work now, thanks to the virus”.
Those left in the toyshop had little to do. With supply chain disruptions, they could make nothing new. And as for the reindeer, they’d all gone away. None of them left to pull on his sleigh.
He said Dasher and Dancer were in quarantine, Prancer and Vixen refused the vaccine, Comet and Cupid were in ICU, So were Donner and Blitzen, they may not pull through.
And Rudolph’s career can’t be resurrected. With his shiny red nose, they all think he’s infected. Even with his old sleigh, Santa couldn’t go far. Every border to cross needs a new PCR.
Santa sighed as he told me how nice it would be If children could once again sit on his knee. He couldn’t care less if they’re naughty or nice But they’d have to show proof that they’d had their shot twice.
But then the old twinkle returned to his eyes. And he said that he’d brought me a Christmas surprise. When I unwrapped the box and opened it wide, Starlight and rainbows streamed out from inside.
Some letters whirled round and flew up to the sky And they spelled out a word that was 40 feet high. There first was an H, then an O, then a P, Then I saw it spelled HOPE when it added the E.
“Christmas magic” said Santa as he smiled through his beard. Then suddenly all of the reindeer appeared. He jumped into his sleigh and he waved me good-bye, Then he soared o’er the rooftops and into the sky.
I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight “Get your vaccines my friends, Merry Christmas, good-night”. Then I went back to bed and a sweet Christmas dream Of a world when we’d finished with Covid 19.
A horse and rider in the sea at sundown in Portmarnock captured by Eamon ÓMurchú
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Woodford Pottery Wows a New
Buyer
If you stop in Kanturk on your way to Cork you may have dined in The Vintage or you may have had a wander around the lovely nearby Presents of Mind. O’Brien Street in Kanturk is well worth stopping for. On one side is the lovely riverside park, with picnic benches and a wooden sculpture by Fear na Coillte. The other side of the street is the commercial side and it’s here you will find Presents of Mind. If you are lucky, you will hit it on a day when my lovely friend, Lil, is in charge of the shop.
Recently I introduced Lil to Pat Murphy of Woodford Pottery and she was very taken with his unique tableware and very different items.
We visited Pat in his studio and he gave Lil a demonstration of his potting process.
Even though he is a one man operation, Pat seems to constantly have a production line on his shelves. This lot is waiting to be glazed.
As well as beautiful and unusual tableware, Pat makes lovely gift items like oil burners, his new range of owls and, my favourite, Christmas nativities. This year he had added a more modern “crib” to his range as well.
Oil burners ready for a Christmas at home.
These owls are causing a bit of a sensation on Pat’s Facebook page.
This is my kind of Christmas crib. I have the white one. I love it so much I never packed it away with the Christmas stuff. I’ve lit a tea light in it this summer as a kind of votive to pray for deliverance from the Corona virus.
This crib is more popular with young people who like the more rounded, less traditional figures.
Pat, like all artists, is hit by the closure of gift shops and the cancellation of craft fairs. He is lucky in that he can sell from his shop at his studio in Woodford, Listowel.
If you do want to treat yourself or a friend to something lovely for Christmas, I’d advise you to get on it. Now that the Kanturk crowd have discovered him, these lovely pieces will sell out fast.
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This Could Be the Start of Something Big
Photo: David Kissane on Facebook
Sinéad Kissane (Ardfert Kilmoyley) on the podium in Mosney after winning the gold medal in the U10 200m in 1988.
That moment in 2020 when you are a well respected TV Sports Journalist and your dad digs out that old photo when they couldn’t find a tracksuit small enough for you when you won gold at the Community Games. Parents!
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Flying the flag
The Irish Standard Sept. 29 1917
FlAG STILL FLIES.
“It seems that it is considered necessary just now in England to hold on to the name Catholic, as others, who once repudiated it, are now appropriating it, and applying to us, with no friendly intent, the name Roman Catholic.
“A Catholic chaplain in the British army somewhere in France, put up a soldiers’ hut and over it ‘Catholic Soldiers’ Hut.’ Some Anglican parsons objected and demanded that the title be: ‘Roman Catholic Soldiers’ Hut.’ Father Regan demurred. The matter was referred to the authorities.
Three Generals came along and ordered the change made. Father Regan refused and was threatened with reduced rank. He replied, ‘What I have put up stands, or I and every Catholic Chaplain here will resign. Quad scripsi, scripsi.’
“The matter has been allowed to drop with Father Regan’s flag still flying.”—Columbian.
