Category: Mayo - Reading the Signs

Search the site

This Grave to be Closed Forever

18/1/2017

I do like visiting cemeteries. I do like mosaics.

It is not often that the two combine but they did so in Castlebar a few months back.

I had an early morning stroll around the cemetery. I stopped to ponder at the ceramic mosaic.

It appeared to be a triple grave but if anyone else was to be buried on the left section, it would mean destroying the mosaic.

Briefly I wondered as to whether that section was full; whether a decision was made that no more would be buried on that side; or even none buried at all on that side. Then I walked on and it was mentally filed away as a potential blog, sometime.

Over the Christmas break, I spotted a tweet from GraveyardDetective where he had spotted a headstone in Anfield Cemetery upon which was engraved the message that the grave was not to be reopened after the couple were buried.

It did add a sense of mystery and intrigue.

Why?

Liam Burke (near Castletownroche)

I have seen similar messages only relating to Irish Republican Memorials but to effect that gate/wall remains until Ireland is fully free. I have never seen such a message in a cemetery.

Donal Shinnick (near Mitchelstown)

Back to Anfield - Why? Why was it necessary to have engraved? Was it obeyed?

I have no answers so your imagination is probably as good as mine, if not better – let it loose on that for a while.

A final reminder to self – better upload those mosaics that I have spotted around Cork. Until then, a taster.

Irish American Oil Co Ltd.

16/1/2017

My curiosity levels were raised in Westport over the Christmas holidays.

I spotted this chamber cover in the footpath, or alternatively the sidewalk, when we spent a very pleasant couple of days in Co. Mayo.

I had never heard of the Irish American Oil Company Limited until it stared back up at me from the path. The Companies Registration Office advises that it was founded in 1951 and dissolved in 1990 – having filed last accounts in 1980.

My best guess is that it is a chamber to allow an oil delivery truck to connect to a pipe that goes under the building or laneway to an underground tank of some sort.

I have seen covers for gas chambers. I have seen coalplate covers over coal bunkers. I have seen standard manhole covers in petrol stations over feed pipes to the tanks.

This is the first cover of this type that I can recall seeing – assuming my best guess is correct. It is definitely the first time I read of the Irish American Oil Co. Ltd..

Will be keeping the eyes open for more – both oil covers and references to Irish American Oil Co. Ltd.

Remembering the International Brigade

23/10/2016

A while back I learnt of a Jewish tradition to leave a small stone on a grave.

While our children swam up and down a pool for an hour, ET and I were chatting away, as chauffeuring fathers are wont to do. He related that one day, with work, he was in a cemetery with a colleague. They spotted a Jewish grave and both stooped down to select a stone to place on the grave – unknown to the other until then, both had Jewish ancestry.

This sparked an association with me. I always have a few stones in my pocket – replacement stones are regularly acquired on beach visits. They can be left on headstones. They can rattled as worry beads/comfort beads. The few mountains that I have summited each has a stone placed by me.

I cannot remember when I started having stones – but it is many years ago. Maybe it is a Camino thing. Maybe they are just a comfort-blanket.

On Friday, I read of the death of Stan Hilton, the last surviving British member of the International Brigade.

The previous day, I left Castlebar Peace Park with one stone less in my pocket. One was used to remember Tommy Patton and David Walsh who, like many others, did not return to Ireland.

Tommy Patton remembered at 5:12

Stone Never Refused Paint

20/10/2016

BG21nH7100 De le W21 2412120 – Do you know what this might mean?

Oh for a real fancy cake……

1/2/2016

Amiens Street, Dublin

Previously, I commented on the use of the word ‘Fancy’ in old shopfronts in Liscannor and Mallow.

In Amiens Street in Dublin last week, I spotted a reference to ‘Fancy Cakes’.

Maybe it is a sign of getting old when those cakes that were once fancy and exotic are now plain and everyday; cakes that were once a treat are now on par with a scone; cakes that contained cream that tasted a luxury rather than homogenised or fake.

Beam me back, Scottie

Oh for a real fancy cake……

Amiens Street, Dublin

Amiens Street, Dublin

Knock, Co. Mayo

Anthony Rafferty

17/7/2015

A final blog, for now, from Kiltimagh.

The name of Rafferty, the blind poet, did stir some memories upstairs among the grey matter. It did take this sculpture to prompt some web searching to learn of the man who wrote “Is Mise Raifteirí” on the back of a five pound note.

I now know a bit more – and have a desire to find further information, and listen to the DocOnOne

Coillte Come Home

11/7/2015

I left college in 1987 and was one of only two who stayed in the country. Most of the others left for the London construction boom.

During those college years, I shared houses with a few lads from Mayo. Maybe because of them, the buses home from the Quays at the weekends, the impending emigration, or for whatever reason, the name of the Coillte Come Home Festival took up some shelf space in my mind and has remained since.

It is said that Kiltimagh gave its name to the expression ‘Culchie’.

This sculpture in Kiltimagh brought that memory back to the fore when I saw it last year.

I did mention that there would be more from Kiltimagh

Reading the Western People

5/7/2015

Did you spot the Pioneer Pin?

This time last year, I was in Mayo for NM’s funeral.

I took the opportunity to spin around and ended up for the first time in my life in Kiltimagh. This weekend, I was catching up on John Spillane – An Fánaí on TG4 Player when he visited Kiltimagh.

He reminded me of this sculpture, so well positioned on the Main Street – it could so easily be real.

Expect a few more over the coming weeks.

Flights of Fancy

27/6/2015

Not a sign that one sees often

Those birds have some high standards.

No garage or run-down shack is good enough. No.

Only the inner sanctum of Ballaghaderreen Golf Club will suffice for chosen residence – and without the necessity to cough up green fees.

Many thanks to SOK for the photo which set me down on two separate memory tracks.

Flight 1.

What is the connection between Ballaghderreen and Ballyvaughan?

Other than the obvious beginning with Ball?

Flight 2.

Can you read Cork?

ABCD Birds
DMRN Birds
DR Birds
OBJURI DR Birds

A Tale of Two Pubs

6/6/2015

After Gerry – 2

I came late to drink.

In hindsight, it would have been great if I was categorised as an ‘Irish Queer’ – a category created by Seán Ó Faoláin, ‘a man who prefers women to drink’. Unfortunately, ignorance prevailed and it was not a case of opportunities lost as more opportunities I did not know ever existed.

As a non-drinker, I perfected the art of the people-watcher; a part of the group but still apart. This art was later expanded with a camera – at events or even sessions, the person with the camera has a licence to mingle, to drop in and out of groups. He is in control. He can move on when he wants without offending.

As a non-drinker, I also became the designated driver which again gave control as to where and when.

During a quiet time in college, a group of us headed down to PM’s homeplace outside Claremorris – at the end of a boreen, off a country road. For someone who lived within earshot of Cork’s Kent Station and had grown immune to the hum of the train engines constantly ticking over, waking in Rockfield is my first memory of complete silence.

Another memory is that Saturday night, or actually Sunday morning after 3a.m., leaving Mulligan’s and being asked by the bar staff, ‘Are ye sure ye won’t have another?’. That may have been the norm but for this non-drinking city-kid, somewhat fearful of being a found-on, it was a phrase that remains in a strong shade of grey upstairs in my matter.

Last July, I was back in Mayo, for the funeral of PM’s mother – the woman who ensured that we were so well fed and ready for Mulligan’s, nearly thirty years previously.

I was disappointed to see the sad and sorry state of Mulligan’s.

‘…
“Come in, boys, and welcome,
the later the safer as the man said.”
“The night’s gone out of it,” I replied
“but home and dry we’ll wet our whistle.”
And we settled in until dawn.’

Extract from The Corner House

Gerry Murphy - Muse

The Corner House started as a place for lunch; then became a spot with my stool in the corner at lunchtime; and, now is my local – although I have migrated from the front corner to the back, once more being apart.

Gerry Murphy’s latest book of poems brought the two pubs together in my mind. It got me thinking and made me jealous – of the after-hours forbidden drink.

I took the photograph as part of a grouping of tiled mosaics on buildings in Cork but it goes to show how the Celtic Corpse has treated both The Corner House and Mulligan’s – maybe the demand for after-hours pint and the reliance on the after-hours trade extracted its revenge in Mayo.

Main Street

8/10/2014

My struggle with improving my Irish by using streetsigns continues.

Those responsible for translating and erecting the streetsigns can in no way be accused of consistency.

One would think that Main Street should be reasonably standard. After all, it does appear in very many towns, villages and cities.

So far, I have come across three options – which roughly translate as Principal, Big and Middle. And even among them there are variations.

Príomhshráid, I can understand as it is the merging of two words into one – similar to cúlbhóthar and seanathair.

Príomh Shráid, Príomh-Shráid and variations without the h (séimhiú) and fada, I have difficulty with as my understanding was that the adjective should follow the noun – streetsigns are obviously an exception, at least in Kiltimagh, Killavullen,Caherciveen, Manorhamilton, Castlelyons, Youghal and Ballinrobe.

Claremorris’ Middle Street translation has me completely baffled – I hope it is an error of translation. Otherwise, I fear for my chances of improving my Irish vocabulary.

Bob Seger considers Main Street as one word

Mór = Big, Great, Large, Grand, Main

Príomh = Prime, Principal

Variations on Príomh

Delia Murphy - Ballad Queen

7/9/2014

Another name that was unknown to me upto a short while ago.

In July, travelling from Hollymount towards Tuam, at Annemount Cross, I saw the fingerpost for the Delia Murphy Memorial and my curiosity was stirred.

As ever, YouTube and the internet has educated as to Delia Murphy and her influence on the Clancys, helping the Scarlet Pimpernel in the Vatican during World War II, and a life of travel when countries were really far away.

I watched the five parts of the programme. It is of the format of its time but enlightening as to a life lived.

Vision at Knock

21/8/2014

Knock Shrine

Today, the twenty first of August, is Gerry Murphy Day.

I am very far from an expert in poetry. Even in schooldays, I would not have learnt more than a few poems by rote for the exams. I suppose that observation above could support the contention of Gerrymandering.

“A Small Fat Boy Walking Backwards” was published in 1985. Before then I would have first heard the poem “Vision at Knock” – the image, if not the exact words did take up residence in my teenage brain, occasionally waking up to say hello.

In the summer of my Leaving Certificate, I went Interrailing through Europe with my cousin. One of the first stops was Lourdes – to purchase a gift for our Grandad – over thirty years later and I can still remember the gift.

An even stronger memory of that visit is the commercialism, the number of shops selling souvenirs – so many which were so plastic, so tatty and so off-putting. Back then I had already given up on Catholicism, was agnostic, but would have been somewhat anti-Catholic – a position from which I have mellowed slightly.

A few years after Lourdes, I visited Knock for the first time – on a busy Sunday morning and again was taken aback by the plastic commercialism and the sense of the many following blindly, or what I perceived as blindly.

Recently I have read ‘The Sign of the Cross’ by Colm Tóibín and Stephen Walsh’s ‘Faithful Departures’. Both similar in visiting sites of Catholic pilgrimage, in being written by one raised in the Catholic faith and in bringing me back to those experiences in Lourdes and Knock.

Last weekend I read a newspaper article about the Knock Novena.

“Upwards of 150,000 pilgrims — some of them from overseas — will descend on the small village to celebrate the annual Knock Novena. Annually, the shrine welcomes more than 1m visitors. It’s a curious thing about Knock that even those who don’t attend Mass regularly find something there.”

Irish Examiner

21st August, 1879

I can vouch for the truth of that statement of finding something there. Last month, I travelled north of Claremorris upon the death of a friend’s mother. After the removal, I went for a spin and decided to see how Knock compared to my memory -the holy water taps are still there.

I spent a short while at the Shrine. There were not many there that Sunday night. I did have some down-time, some time for reflection and thought.

But sitting there Gerry Murphy woke from his slumber in the back alleys of my brain and the thought and image of the statue of Stalin laughing formed part of that me-time.

Maireád

20/7/2014

A while back, I commented that I liked the use of a tree to commemorate someone.

Last Monday week in Mayo, driving towards Hollymount, I saw this lovely specimen of a tree, so large and such a colour.

I do not know who Maireád was but I am jealous of her tree.

Courageous Mother

11/7/2014

“Their circumstances in Church Lane were dire and when his Mother fell ill the children took over running the household, including drawing water from the Robe River....

She eventually realised how serious her condition was, but having no money for medical care, she decided to auctioned off their few possessions and moved the family to England. Within days of their arrived she died. She had known that the family, as orphans and paupers in Ireland, could be split up and sent to the Workhouse or Reform Schools of which she, like many more abhorred.”

Historical Ballinrobe

I drove through Hollymount, Co. Mayo on Monday and spotted this plaque.

My first thought was that if plaques were erected for the mothers of all politicians, there would be an awful lot of plaques around the place.

Resorting to the web, some articles were located.

Different times and different expectations – imagine the employment and health & safety case that could have been brought by his father under today’s rules.

That was some decision by Mary Therese Cooney to try to keep her children together as a family – reason enough for a plaque, I think.