It might answer the question as to why the Shally family moved to Tulsk – an investigation for another day.
Last Summer, on a trip to The Maharees of the Dingle peninsula, I spotted a plaque the likes of which I had not seen before – a plaque listing and remembering those of the locality who left for farms elsewhere as part of the Irish Land Commission.
It might answer the question as to why the Shally family moved to Tulsk – an investigation for another day.
My recording of Roadside Memorials came in handy a few months back when I had to submit an essay for the Local & Regional Studies Course I am attending. The essay was about the uses of Roadsides and Waysides for burial and commemoration.
During a tea break during a lecture one evening, LH commented that she had spotted an unusual memorial on the road from Farranfore to Killarney. This was as good an excuse as any to travel a road different to normal on my trip to the Dingle Peninsula earlier this month.
LH was not wrong. I have not seen a memorial like it before. Beautiful. And appropriate.
Nearly four years after the death of Edward Duggan while cycling, the memorial is clean and very well maintained. It has fresh flowers and solar powered lights.
For many years now, I have been photographing and recording the many Roadside Memorials that I have seen around the country. They are substantially for victims of Road Traffic Collisions, but there are memorials for drownings, train crashes, and others.
The uploading of each of the memorials to the blog is a work in progress, as is the plotting of the memorials on Google Maps.
Another first spotted at Killiney Cemetery in Castlegregory, Co. Kerry.
I cannot recall before seeing a headstone in the shape of a pillow – caused me to stop for a while and smile.
Sleep well, Timmy O’Connor
Having spent our holidays on the Dingle peninsula over the past years, we are well used to the Irish summer weather. We have had to have distractions and other activities for the not-so-great days.
Collecting sea glass and making art pieces has been a form of entertainment. Another has been Stone Art – where stones collected on the beach (on a marginally better day) are then painted.
This summer, in both Kilshannig and Killiney Cemeteries, near Castlegregory, I noted painted stones. It appears that the weather may not be restricted to the summer months and others have some mindfulness with StoneArt.
A selection of images of the painted stones:
I do not think that many consider the purpose of a headstone is to bring a smile – it looks like Josephine Deane held the minority view, thankfully.
KIlshannig Cemetery must have one of the best aspects of any graveyard that I have visited and Jospehine’s headstone occupies prime real estate.
So the visitor gets a smile and a view.
In Killiney Cemetery in Castlegregory, it took me a few seconds to spot the headstone. At first I just saw grass and the bush.
The oval shaped stone was then spotted. It could easily be a stone from the neighbouring beaches, repurposed to accommodate the essential information of name and date – Rita Donnellan, 27 – 11 – 1986.
I like this on so many fronts – using materials that are near to hand, and free; the understated nature; the fact that someone thought of this 33 years ago; and, the skill of carving on a carving on a curve.
It is not just in Liscannor that they have ‘Fancy Goods’. They have also been spotted in Knock, and Fancy Cakes were in Amiens St in Dublin. Mallow had a warehouse full.
Recently in Tralee, I was delighted to see ‘Fancy Goods’ still written big on the face of a shop.
I wonder if, in the cyclical nature of things, whether there might be some marketing type person wondering if the time has come to re-introduce the lucky bag imagery of ‘Fancy Goods’.
Yesterday, in Tralee, I asked the three teenagers with us if they knew what the building was before it was a hairdresser. They all missed the ghostsign on the pelmet detail of the shopfront.
They were looking face on and did not see the cross on the end faces – that was their excuse. Once the mortar and pestle was ponted out, they knew it had been a chemist.
I cannot recall many such ghostsigns.
I wonder how much longer it might stay.
‘It wasn’t that I was ungrateful to America because America had been good to me, and still is, but even the very bird prefers the area where it was hatched’
Last July, heading for a weekend on the Dingle peninsula, I detoured at Cordal and took time-out, a few minutes of me-time in Kilmurry Cemetery. There, for the first time, I met with John O’Donoghue who had died 35 years earlier, about the time that I was receiving my Leaving Certificate results.
I have seen many nicknames on headstones on my rambles through cemeteries. The term ‘The Yank’ struck. Maybe it was because I had not long finished the book by another returned Yank, Tomás Ó Cinnéide. Maybe it sparked a memory of the tales told of Kruger.
As possibly the only returned emigrant in the area, use of ‘John O’Donoghue’ was likely to cause confusion in the area, whereas there was, most likely, just one ‘Yank’.
This morning, I spotted a tweet about a recently released book by Sinéad Moynihan on the ‘Returned Yank’ that will probably be requested of my local library in the near future.
It brought back that minute on two standing with John O’Donoghue on a lovely quiet Kerry morning.
Quite a few blog posts hereabouts have been accompanied by the expression that ‘it is a bad day when one does not learn something new’.
Last week, I learned something completely new. Upto then, I would have thought that it could not have been true. It was so ‘not a bad day’.
Those of you who regularly pass by these pages are probably aware of my interest in Commonwealth War Graves – the inscriptions; the dates; the distances travelled; the alias; the location; and, the neighbours in the graveyard.
I had understood that such headstones were erected to those who had died in the World Wars or slightly after as a consequence of action in a World War.
While the women of the house sit in front of a television, waiting for the appearance of a wedding dress, I am contemplating the removal, deliberate or otherwise, of part of the history that remains from when Ireland was part of the United Kingdom.
I have often blogged on matters relating to postboxes – colour & font; split-personalities; repurposing; quirks of manufacture; and, even, the riddle of Shanagarry. Another blog on a post-box should not surprise too many who pass by here often.
This is another reminder to self to continue the populating of the map that I started – hundreds and hundreds still to do.
This blog has been prompted by a tweet from Eoin Lettice about the upcoming Sheppard’s Auction where Lot 2 is a Victorian cast iron pillar postbox, guiding €2,000 - €3,000, previously resident at Patrick’s Street in Cork.
My recording of postboxes only goes back as far as this website and the VR box from Patrick’s St. was before that. If I were to guess, it may have been replaced by the modern rust-bucket style unit, now at the junction with Academy Street, but I may need to flick through books with old photographs to hunt for more clues.
Maybe An Post needed the money and decided to sell off some postboxes from stores. Maybe some ‘enterprising’ person thought that they were being wasted in An Post stores.
The old boxes definitely are better wearing and hardier than that the modern versions. I would have thought that it would be an idea for An Post to keep the old style to replace the postbox causalities – and there have been a few.
There was an old pillar box in Ballyphehane in Cork that is no longer – or substantially no longer. The base is still there and used as a concrete foundation for the new style box. I suspect this was a victim of a road traffic accident.
The Carron Scotland pillar box at the Holy Ground in Dingle lost its battle with a truck that came down Green Street and ended up in the Woolen Store shop. It was replaced by an old-style Handyside pillar box
The Carron, Scotland pillar-box that stood outside Bandon Road Post Office in Cork city is yet another that is no longer.
But whether this was another victim of road traffic or revenge for the ambush at Ballynamona, Mourneabbey is still open to debate and supposition
Not for the first time on our Conversational Irish walk, I was delighted with the literal translation of a new Irish word learned.
Last Summer, I had learned of an expression from West Cork – as tough as ath fhéithlean, a bi-lingual acknowledgement of the strength and stubbornness of Woodbine. I had always known the plant as Woodbine, quite probably the name was ingrained following many visits with my grandfather to those institutions that no longer exist, the tobacconist. He had a preferred mix of a number of brands for his pipe.
It was well into the second half of my years to date before I knew it was also called Honeysuckle.
A few weeks later, as we walked around Blackrock and Bessboro, I learned of “Fás Aon Oíche”, or “Grows One Night”.
I thought it was such a lovely name, perfectly describing what was in front of us – a mushroom.
Only the previous week, sitting on a high stool while on holidays, Tim imparted the benefit of his local knowledge. We now know where to find mushrooms while on holidays.
A few days after that Conversational Irish walk, I headed west for the Dingle peninsula to pack up everything and everyone – the return home after the Kerry Summer Experience. Before leaving that Saturday, I headed out early and collected a cap-full of mushrooms that had sprouted up that night. It remains my most recent meal on the Dingle peninsula.
I can still recall the buzz of foraging and the flavours enjoyed.
A tweet last weekend from Robert Macfarlane on ‘puhpowee’, a native North American word for the force that pushes mushrooms up overnight, assisted in getting this blog from my brain into the virtual world.
It has also prompted a separate section of other words in Irish that brought a smile with their literal translations – Head of a Cat; Seal’s Snot; and, others. Hopefully, even more will be added over time.
This book was recently taken down from an attic in Ennis where it resided for probably close to 50 years. It is assumed that it belonged to the man who built the house but he was educated in Partry, Co. Mayo where he was born in 1918.
The web educates that fifth edition of the book was published in 1910. There is nothing to say whether this copy is a first or later edition.
Among those thanked in the Preface is an tAthair Pearar Ó Laoghaire, who died in 1920 and is buried in Castlelyons where Thomas Kent was reinterred in 2016. Seán Ó Catháin and Diarmaid Ó Foghludha are also thanked and, if I found the correct men, they died in 1937 and 1924 respectively, and were involved in Irish education.
sJames Griffin of Main Street in Dingle has his name written in the book. The 1911 Census reveals that there was only one James Griffin in Main Street, Dingle, the then youngest of ten children living with shopkeeper Michael and his wife, Kate. Their house was at 33 Main Street.
Having gone up and down the street on Google, very few premises have numbers on their doors. Even fewer appear to have the building number on their website or on weblistings. My best guess is that the south side (Foxy John’s; Benners) have odd numbers and the north side (Currans; St James’ Church) have the even numbers.
Number 33 would appear to be in or around McKenna’s . My mind supposes that young James Griffin, as one who had no problem with writing his name in many locations, was more interested in playing around the corner on Dykegate Street rather than perfecting the art of Irish Composition. The fact that at 4 his parents did not consider him able to speak either Irish or English, adds to that image.
I can understand how the book travelled from Partry to Ennis and why it resided in an attic for 50 years but am intrigued as to who Pat Carroll was; was he the second of three owners of the book; where was he living.
How the book got from Dingle to Partry is another riddle remaining unsolved.
I don’t think I have ever before enjoyed a book so much without reading it.
I was sorting through some photographs taken during the Summer and spotted that today was the anniversary of the Earl of Desmond.
As good a reason as any to try to get back to more regular blogging.
Logainm assists with the meaning of Glenageenty – Gleann na Ginnte
Another word added to my Irish vocabulary – dícheann – to behead
Blogs I Read & Links
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For the Fainthearted
Bock The Robber
140 characters is usually enough
That’s How The Light Gets In
Tea and a Peach
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Come Here To Me
Pilgrimage in Medieval Ireland
The Irish Aesthete
Ireland in History Day By Day
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The Standing Stone
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