Sweet Adare

Sweet Adare
Oh! sweet Adare, oh lovely vale!
Oh oft retreat of sylvan splendour
Nor summer sun, nor morning gale
E'er hailed a scene more softely tender.
Aubrey deVere

For this post I decided to liven things up and get away from the every-day cares of life and concentrate on a few pictures that are nice to look at and conjure up for me at any rate, a feeling of wellbeing whenever I visit the lovely village of Adare. This is not going to be a history lesson or anything like it but hopefully it will contain some little snippets of interest for some, who knock across this post on the web.
My introductory picture left is of the “usher” at Adare Manor; a most cordial and pleasant gentleman that one would ever wish to meet. I mention it here as my photograph belies his jovial and gregarious manner for all who make his acquaintenence.
My second picture below is a John Hinde postcard entitled: Desmond Castle on River Maigue, Adare, Co. Limerick, Ireland. John Hinde produced these postcards in the nineteen fifties and sixties when colour was just about to make its appearance on the postcard scene and one would have to say that the one reproduced here is very pleasing indeed.
The first thing to catch the eye is the three beautifully groomed young ladies who give this scene a heightened sense of colour and contrast. Did they just happen along being in the right place at the right time; or were they positioned here for the photograph? Are they sisters, as it would appear all three had the same hair stylist? The ruins of the old Desmond Castle are reflected in a still pool on the low waterline of the river; we can just about make out the outline of the castle; hidden as it is in a forest of vegetation. Is there a hint of autumn in the leaf colour? With conservation work being carried out on this old ruin in recent years, should you wish to capture this scene today, you would find it much changed and perhaps not quite as appealing as we see it here.
On the reverse of the card is carried the following information:
“DESMOND CASTLE, ADARE, CO. LIMERICK:
The wooded banks of the river Maigue close to the village of Adare provide many pleasing sylvan vistas, good fishing and historic sites. The Desmond Castle which was erected in the 13th century saw many a struggle for possession. Cromwell ordered its dismantling in 1657, but the estates remained in the possession of the Fitzgerald family until 1721 when they were purchased by the Quinn family, ancestors of the present owner, the Earl of Dunraven.”
The Fitzgeralds came to Ireland with the Anglo-Norman invasion of 1169 and the branch of the family referred to here came down the centuries as the Earls of Desmond – hence the Desmond Castle at Adare. And although Cromwell ordered its dismantling (a refined description for having it blown up) the Fitzgerald’s held on to the estates, which is no great surprise either as most Irish families of possessions hedged their bets when taking sides in any conflict; it being quite normal to find brothers in opposition in territorial wars. Cromwell came to Ireland with his army in 1649 and carried out a bloody war in the short time that he commanded his forces while on the field so to speak. And by all accounts he didn’t have it all his own way either, with O’Neill from the north giving him a bloody nose at Clonmel. His personal activities in Ireland lasted but nine months before returning to England, that being said, his influence in Ireland you could say is with us to the present day.
We see where the Quinn family purchased the estates; they were later to become the Earls of Dunraven, with the family seat being Adare Manor. Adare Manor (pictured right) and manor grounds are today an upmarket hotel and golf course; (President Clinton having an overnight stay here.) it being sold on to Irish/American interests. If you behave yourself, keep out of the way of greens, golfers, weddings, etc., and desire a look around the manor grounds and perhaps have a reasonably priced meal in the “Coach House Restaurant” (not the manor you will understand) then I feel certain you will be made welcome – I was.
I show in my third picture the manor house; the original house incorporated into the very impressive building that is now in evidence. What is unique about this building is a declaration in large carved lettering in stone, spanning the western facade,in recognition of the workers who built it.The engraving and preparation of the large blocks of stone had to be carried out in the workshop in advance of the construction of the great house and it is for this reason it is seen to have been an exceptional piece of engineering for the period. Some very nice carvings of heads, gargoyles, etc., all of which are the work of a local stone mason who had a workshop in the locality is a feature. To the right of the picture can be seen a large Cedar of Lebanon which is the subject of my fourth and last photograph for this post.
This picture (right) is a close-up of Cedrus libani, Cedar of Lebanon; it is stated to be the oldest specimen of its kind in Great Britain and Ireland. By any standards this is an impressive tree and I have been in the company of relatives from America who hugged this tree for an embarrassingly long time.
“The Hillier, Gardener’s Guide, to Trees and Shrubs,” inform us that it was introduced in c1645. When they say ‘introduced’ they mean to this part of the world; the specimen that we have at Adare manor is no doubt one of the first, if not thee first. If you have the good fortune to see this tree,(and if you’re interested in exceptional tree specimens then you should.) it might be no harm to keep in mind that it arrived here just about the same time as Cromwell!
The lovely village of Adare with its thatched cottages and quaint old-world appearance is congregated with leisurely strollers from home and abroad throughout the summer months. It has in the past been given the accolade of being Ireland’s Tidiest Town and although not repeated, it is not for the want of effort on the part of the hard working committee and local council that the ultimate prize has for the second time eluded them so far.
Adare and its hinterland is steeped in history, it is the territory of the poet Aubrey deVere; it is for G.A.A. fans the place of one of the greatest craftsmen to wield the camán in the persona of Mark Foley, and if you’re looking for a bit of “rhythmic trad” to raise the spirits, tune in to the melodious box of Adare’s own Derek Hickey. And finally, if you wish to party, look no further than the Fitzgerald, Woodlands House Hotel – they haven’t gone away you know!
This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland.
It is Cóipcheart ©Copyright Danny Quain, Cois Má 2008

World Trade...

My Ass – Neddie, a rugadh air?

When I consider writing a post, my first consideration is given to what pictures I can include and are readily available to me to give emphasis to the story, or point I wish to convey; working on the principle of a picture being worth a thousand words. All of the pictures here are my own, the majority taken with my old trusty if sometimes erratic (or is it me?) “Agfa Isolette 1” folding camera of the 1950’s.
If you have read my introduction to “blogging” you will be aware that I come from a long way back; not mentioned a small farm background in Ireland, and can trace our family name in Ireland for more than a thousand years. I began my adult working life on a wage of the equivalent of just under four euro per six-day week. I have now arrived at this point in my life where there is absolute incredulity at the pace and enormity of world commerce and trade. I sometimes meet up with an old working colleague who like me is retired from active service. At these meetings we almost always discuss current affairs. If there was one thing we always agreed on, and it is that this massive greed ridden building frenzy was going to come crashing down around our ears. People went off on holiday for a couple of weeks or so, only to return to find what had been in days gone by, the little backyard piggery and onion patch was suddenly transformed into a three story apartment block. The pace of the construction dictated by the deadline for the twenty year tax exemption. Some of the best farmland in the world was scrutinised for its potential as “sites” for rural housing development; but more importantly, other less favourable sites were identified for the same purpose, with many new developments constructed on marshland and flood plains. Soon we were to witness flooding like we have never seen before, and worse, because of inadequate sewage systems we wound up drinking our own excretement, and then there was ecoli this, and crypto that: not to worry though, there is treatment! God save us all. For some unknown reason that I cannot fathom; nothing less than seven bedrooms, three bathrooms, lounge, sitting room, study, TV room, computer room and wait for it – a sun room – in Ireland!! Very often it was a “partner” it been no longer safe to mention “wife” with one or two children that occupied this edifice that our parents would have said “would take ‘Ardnacrusha’ to light-up. (Ardnacrusha being the turbine electricity power station on the Shannon).
The Americans have given us some wonderful additions to the English language and stretched some old translations to mean something else altogether. The most recent “Sub Prime” is one such, and if it wasn’t they who introduced it, it should have been, for it was they who made prime use of it. They might as well have said “second rate” – “below par” or “loser’s” when lending prime funds to those who could not pay it back. “Here you are doggoneit!” And like all prudent bookies they spread the gamble throughout the known trading world – world trade how are you?
When I set out in the 1960s to borrow £200, I was asked “what are your borrowings to date?” I replied that it was my first encounter with borrowed finances; to be told that it would be extremely difficult to raise the necessary funds as I had no previous record in the financial market. My car dealer went on to explain: “Bowmaker, has a record of all borrowings to include defaulters in this state.” The chief executive of a practicing law firm recently left our jurisdiction owing €83,000,000 (not far off $100,000,000) to a number of banking institutions in the Irish State. He borrowed several millions from four individual banks on the strength of one old estate the real value of which was but a fraction of the borrowings. He has now intimated that he will speak to us via video link from London! Where is Bowmaker now I ask?
You could not put your nose out on the public road but you were in grave danger of being run over by a Merc, Beamer, or 4 X 4 off-road.
My picture here is of my late uncle Jack who is about to park his quadruped having transported the “scuffler” to his potato field. (Jack’s sister Delia arrived at the port of New York on board “The Adriatic” from Queenstown, Cork, on September 05, 1913. Jack was born three years later in 1916 the youngest of the family. Although both lived to old age they never met.)
A distant cousin lay on his deathbed; his sister and brother who lived with him suspected that he had a cache secreted away in one of the myriad of holes and crevices in the thick stone walls of the bedroom of this old thatched cabin; if there was any chance at all of discovery of the pile before Willie “kicked the bucket “Ellen was the one to do so. “Willie, you know you are getting weaker and not long more for this world – will you tell me where you keep the money?” If there had been any concern for his welfare with anticipation of a return to good health by the pair, it had now vanished, and Willie knew it. “It is there in the hole Ellie.” “Where is it Willie?” “It is there in the hole Ellie.” “What hole Willie?” Even now almost seventy year on from the death of Willie I could not reveal the stated location of the money as it was a personal matter between brother and sister. Strangely though, a quarter of a century later the writer here had a fattening pig in residence in the same room – the house no longer in human habitation. As regular as clockwork, almost on a daily basis over a period of very many weeks I would discover in the metal trough a shining “half-crown” or “two-shilling-piece” snouted up by the pig from the mud (dirt) floor, or who knows, perhaps he had discovered Willie’s hidden cache. This money returned to commerce even though it had been out of circulation for a long time – can the same be said for the “Sub-Prime?”
Willie of course did pass on and was “waked” in the room that for so long had been the place of his confinement. Late into the night my mother decided to pay a visit to the “corpse house“to see how the brother and sister were coping with this difficult situation for them. On entry to the house she found the pair alone, with the only light coming from a flickering flame in the open hearth. My mother had some concern about the situation as she found it, and explained to Seán that at the very least there should be a “Blessed Candle” lighted by Willie’s bedside as this was the old Irish Catholic custom for the dead. “He had the lights of Nebraska and what good did it do him,” replied Seán. As a young man Willie had gone to America as had so many generations of his kinsfolk before him. After a few years in America he returned home to Cahirduff where he would indulge his audience with tales of the new world. He told of having worked in cornfields in Nebraska that were so vast that they stretched away for as far as the eye could see in all directions. I don’t know if such existed or perhaps still exist: is there someone out there who can tell us?
This picture is of our own thatched cabin (still in the family) very similar to the cousins discussed above, but of an older vintage still; dating back many hundreds of years.

If anyone had any doubts as to how quickly and with such dire consequences a global recession can occur, as it would appear we are heading into right now and with no one really knowing how long it’s going to last, or what will be the eventual outcome for trade and the world economy: we have only to look to 9/11 – one day of madness and mayhem that shook the world to its core, and boy has it left us a legacy?
I was in the strand in Ballybunion, Co. Kerry when the news came through that one of the “twin towers” in New York had been struck by a plane; a beautiful September day in the south west of Ireland; a particularly tragic day for the Irish in New York, as we were soon to learn the magnitude of it all. Over the years since that dreadful day in September 2001 how often have we heard of the twin towers, ground zero, and so on; how easy for us in this part of the world at any rate, to forget that this place in the capital of commerce was named “The World Trade Center”

My sister who seems to have been in New York for ever, very kindly sent me a ticket to visit and have a look around in 1985, and it was a trip down the Hudson River on the Circle Line that gave me my first view of the soaring “twin towers” and yes, there was no doubt at all but they were impressive. My picture here shows the unmistakable twin towers taken from the boat on the New Jersey side of the river.
It was an agreement between the New York and New Jersey Port Authorities that in 1966 saw work commence on the construction of the World Trade Center and it was officially dedicated “opened” for business in April 1973.
On my visit to the World Trade Center on the October 24, 1985, I entered the lobby of Two World Trade Center (The towers being named One and Two World Trade Center) The information leaflet informs me that here a quarter of a mile above the pavement is one of the most spectacular views on earth. “To start your voyage skyward, take the escalator up to the ticket booth on the mezzanine.” If like me you don’t know what a mezzanine is? Mezzo, middle. A story situated between two main ones; an entresol: The Lexicon Webster Dictionary. “One of two express elevators will whisk you up to the 107th floor in about 58 seconds. Your adventure begins. Wind and weather permitting you can reach even greater heights. Take the escalator up from The Deck to the Rooftop Promenade above the 110th floor. You’ll be standing on the world’s highest observation platform.” Although the day of my visit was quite pleasant it was declared unsafe for The Rooftop Promenade and had to be satisfied with the 107th floor Deck for my view over Manhattan and New York Harbour. And I was not disappointed. With floor to ceiling glass there was a panoramic view in almost every direction. As I looked out over the harbour I could easily pick out Liberty Island with the famous Statue of Liberty clearly visible. Clothed now in a web of scaffolding, no doubt having a “makeover” in preparation for centenary year in 1986, Miss Liberty, a gift from France, was placed here in 1886; ‘give me your poor, your huddled masses’ was the accompanying invitation; an invitation that was short lived as the huddled masses came in from all over Europe.
You will see in the picture (right) just upriver from Liberty, is Ellis Island, where on January 1, 1892 a new immigration station was opened to deal with the massive influx of immigrants now arriving at the port of New York. An elaborate ceremony was planned for the occasion but the authorities in Washington directed that the opening be carried out without ceremony. There were three large steamships with a total of 700 passengers waiting to disembark, we are told some of whom were anxious as to who would be first to enter the new building and registration. The New York Times reports: “The honour was reserved for a little rosy-cheeked Irish girl. She was Annie Moore, fifteen years of age, lately a resident of County Cork... ” Annie had left Queenstown (Cobh) on board the S.S. Nevada on December 20, 1891, travelling with her were her brothers, Anthony (11) and Phillip (7). There to meet the children on arrival were their parents who by this time were already residing in New York. It was Annie’s fifteenth birthday. There are statues in her honour in Cobh and Ellis Island. The first railroad ticket to be sold in the new building was purchased by Ellen King, on arrival from Waterford, Ireland, and in transit to a small town in Minnesota.

Many years ago now I found myself in the company of a Kerryman who was home on holiday from Boston. In the course of our conversation I gathered that he had left Ireland as a young man around the “Civil War” period (1922 – 23). He told of his setting out for America from his home, far out on the Dingle Peninsula. Early on the morning of his departure his father having tackled the horse to the common cart, they set out as the heavens opened and the rain poured down on a dreadful day that ended late that evening, where by prior arrangement they stabled the horse and stayed the night at the home of a relative. Early the next morning they set out once more for Tralee arriving there in late afternoon. On the following morning he continued on by train to Cork and thence to Queenstown (Cobh) and the boat to America. Like so many before him this was the last time my acquaintance was to see his father alive, as both his parents died in his absence. He took up his first job with a public transport company in Boston; they employed the use of horse-drawn carriages (trams) or some such, to convey people about the city. Our man was employed in the smith’s (farrier’s) farriery where teams of sweating horses were brought off the road to have thrown shoes replaced or a new set of shoes could be on order. The new arrival from remotest County Kerry found himself in the frenetic hustle and bustle of the city of Boston, swatting biting insects from the agitated animals as the smith carried out the necessary adjustments to the horse’s hooves. He later graduated to driving motor-coaches – an occupation I shared with him, and perhaps his reason for confiding in me his introduction to the free world; these were our people who gave outstanding service to the place we call America.

My second picture from the tower is of Midtown with many well-known skyscrapers in evidence – in the far distance can be seen the Empire State Building. Close up and on the left is the upper section of One World Trade.

Back to my information leaflet: “If all this gives you an appetite, grab a bite on The Deck at New York’s highest snack bar. And don’t miss the intriguing History of Trade exhibit also on the Deck. For mementos of your memorable trip, there are fascinating selections at the Sky Caravan Gift Shop.”

At this remove I cannot remember if I availed of what was on offer at this altitude but I am certain that purchases were made on coming back down to earth. I have subsequently reminisced on the many, many, thousands of trinkets, – cups, mugs, named key-rings, etc., etc., with World Trade Center emblazoned on them that sit in obscure places in homes all over the world.
Some facts about the World Trade Center:
All three New York subway systems served the World Trade Center. The elevator system in the Twin Towers had each tower served by 23 high-speed express cars. Seventy two local elevators and four giant freight elevators, travelling at speeds of up to 1,600 feet per minute.
It was occupied by more than 1,200 trading firms and organizations, with 50,000 of a working population and had over 80,000 visitors daily.
The Twin Tower floors were column-free and one acre in size: 43,600 windows with 600,000 square feet of glass. The Austin J. Tobin Plaza of the World Trade Center covered almost five acres.
You were sure to find whatever your palate dictated in one of the ‘World Trade Center’s ’ 22 restaurants, one of which is described here: “The Restaurant at Windows on the World: Situated on the 107th floor of One World Trade Center, it’s one of the most spectacular restaurants in the world. Designed as a series of terraces, it provides an impressive view of the city from every table. The wine list offers more than 600 selections, and the cuisine which is of international inspiration, won a Gault Millau citation for excellence. New York’s most exciting restaurant experience... ”
The World Trade Center Concourse was Manhattan’s largest indoor shopping mall. “New York’s busiest thoroughfare allows you to shop in any weather. There are over 60 stores, services, and restaurants... ”
The Vista Hotel: “The Vista International Hotel, located at Three World Trade Center, is the first major hotel built in lower Manhattan since 1836. Formally opened in July1981, it is operated by Hilton International. An oasis of privacy and graciousness... ”
“A huge Joan Miro tapestry is hung against a 50-foot high marble wall in the mezzanine of Two World Trade Center. It measures 35 feet in length and 20 feet in height, and weighs three tons.”

All utterly destroyed, and the consequences of this dreadful act are still with us today. You may well ask, with what purpose do I put this information before you? And of course the answer is, I happen to be in possession of it, and having visited the place and keeping in mind that up on 3,000 people died, I still consider it a miracle that so many got out alive. And now with apologies to all who have suffered as a result of this dastardly deed I will tell you of my thoughts following the destruction of the World Trade Center.
I think of the New York Fire Service and Police Department very many of whom traditionally come from Ireland or have an Irish background. Of that day and in particular I think of Ron Clifford from Cork who in the midst of horror and turmoil with debris and bodies hitting the plaza, jumpers, from high on the doomed tower, he stopped to aid a distressed woman who had suffered severe burns; he speaks of seeing six firemen rush past him into the tower building: in doing so their fate was sealed. Ron was not to know then that by another quirk of fate his sister Ruth and her young daughter Juliana were on the “United” flight that crashed into the tower above.
I think of the first casualty to be brought out of the tower by the firemen, it was that of Father Mychal Judge – he, a chaplain to the New York Fire Service. What was he doing there you might ask? He was simply there to give support to his fellow firemen in a desperate situation the likes of which they had not seen before – he was doing his duty as he saw it – it cost him his life. Fr. Mychal Judge was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1933; his parents with little means had emigrated from County Leitrim. His father died when he was six years of age, and Mychal hit the streets as a shoe-shine-boy to supplement his mother’s income to help support two sisters and himself in very difficult times. He joined the Franciscan Order in 1954 and was ordained a priest in 1961 and became a fire-chaplain in 1992. It is ironic that Mychal as a young boy dreamed of being either a priest or a fireman; “now I’m both,” he said, on being appointed chaplain to the Fire Service.

One could not help but think of Police Officer, Moira Smith, whose parents were from Dublin, and who was on the mezzanine directing an orderly exit from the building when the tower collapsed. She had shown exceptional courage in returning to the building even though the first tower had already come down. She was the only female officer to lose her life in the Twin Tower’s disaster; she left behind a policeman husband and young daughter. Of the 3,000 that died, it is thought that up on 1,000 of these were of the services, and it was largely due to their efforts that so many escaped the doomed buildings with their lives.
Is it any wonder then that we were the only Sovereign Nation to totally and without exception shut up shop in a day of mourning for all who died in what has come to be known simply as 9/11? And it was a day that changed the world in so many ways. It had serious repercussions for trade and economics. Who would have thought that we would find ourselves in airports, bare-footed and holding up our pants with both hands? Or to see a little old lady being asked to step aside to have a nail file removed from her handbag. Yes, we have seen many airlines depart the scene and for a couple of years at least all manner of difficulties was blamed on 9/11.
In extolling the virtues of the Irish in America, I could go back to those who stood with George Washington in his campaigns for American Independence, but I feel there is no need to go there. What I would like to refer to is the many Irish who are fine decent upright working people; as good, if not better than their compatriots that have gone before, but nowhere is there a “document” to be found. No, they are left scurrying around trying to keep out of the gaze of the authorities. They are left to mourn the passing of their loved ones in Ireland with no possibility of seeing them to their final resting place. There are people in “high places” in America who say they are illegal and should go home. Give us a break!! I wonder if anyone asked the council of “Sitting Bull” or whoever is the Chief at the present time for his opinion? All we are talking about is a poor attendance day in Croke Park with much of the Hogan Stand empty. A simplistic view of the intricacies of running a nation where proper order and regulation prevails perhaps, but ponder this then if you will. Having spent in excess of forty years working; having over all this time made regular contributions to a pension scheme, paid all taxes, been thrifty, putting a bit by for my old age; time now to pull the old rocker on to the porch and do a bit of whittling. I talk to the people who have been minding my savings for all these years, explaining that it was now pay-back-time. “This is a bad time to be thinking of retirement, Sir. Stocks, bonds, shares, and all kinds of investments are at rock bottom right now.” You don’t understand – it’s my pension fund I’m talking about? “Sorry old timer, the ass has fallen out of the cookie jar.” “Where is the money Willie.” ”It’s there in the hole Ellie.” “What hole Willie?
(Click on the photo's to enlarge if that is your wish.)

This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland; it is Cóipcheart © Copyright and may not be used in any form without my express permission. Danny Quain Cois Má 2008.

Post Script:
In writing the above I wish to state that I was conscious of and fully acknowledge all those from so many backgrounds, nationalities, class, and creed that suffered grievously as a consequence of the destruction of the World Trade Center.

Robert Francis Kennedy

Robert Francis Kennedy – a son of Ireland

The death by assassination of Robert Francis Kennedy 40 years ago this year shocked the world. It was all the more shocking for his brother President John Fitzgerald Kennedy had died by an assassin’s bullet just five years previously.
Robert Kennedy was born to Rose Kennedy and Joseph P. Kennedy, the seventh of nine children on the 25th November 1925, in Brookline, Massachusetts. Having attended a number of schools in his early education, Kennedy was attending Harvard University when he put his education on hold to join the U.S. Navy during World War II, much of which was in the V-12 Navy College Training Programme, at Harvard College Cambridge Massachusetts. After the war he went back to finish his degree course and was later to obtain a law degree from the University of Virginia. He came to public notice when in the 1950’s as council to the U.S. Senate Committee investigating the Unions that had him lock horns with Teamsters leader Jimmy Hoffa. He managed his brother John’s campaigns for the U.S. Senate throughout the fifties that culminated in 1960 in John’s election to the highest office in the land – that of President of the United States of America. Robert was rewarded for his good work by being appointed Attorney General. There is no doubt but he acquitted himself well in the post of Attorney General and served for some short time in the administration of Lyndon B. Johnson who succeeded to the Presidency on the death of JFK in 1963. He served as Attorney General from January 1961 to the 3rd September 1964. Robert went on to be elected Senator for New York and it was from this position he declared his candidacy for the United States Presidency in early 1968. On the 5th June 1968, having won the California primary and having delivered a speech to his supporters he was shot by Sirhan Sirhan, at the Ambassador Hotel, Los Angeles. Robert Francis Kennedy’s shocking and untimely death was announced to the world on the 6th June 1968; he had served as Senator from the 3rd January 1965 to his death on the 6th June 1968.
The Kennedy’s have their roots in Dunganstown, New Ross, County Wexford, Ireland. There is an Arboretum established here where many rare trees flourish in the moist warm climate of the south east of Ireland; it is named in honour of President Kennedy. This year (2008) a new somewhat larger than life-size bronze statue in the image of the late president was unveiled to commemorate his visit to New Ross in 1963. On the occasion of his visit President Kennedy had tea with distant cousins in the old ancestral home just months before his assassination in Dallas, Texas. It was a matter of great pride then to have represented by special request a party of Cadets from the Irish Defence Forces forming part of the Guard of Honour at his burial.
On the maternal side of the Kennedy clan are the Fitzgerald’s who come from around Loch Gur, Bruff, Co. Limerick, Ireland.
Loch Gur (Picture Right: P.C. Fitzgerald) is known to be one of the oldest inhabited places in Ireland with artefacts recovered from the Loch (lake) dating back 5,000 or more years. If you want to experience a piece of ancient Ireland you will find here the largest stone circle in Ireland; a megalithic tomb and much, much, more. Stand by the post-holes of the very earliest dwellings that command a rise of ground overlooking the lake as the sun sets on a fine autumn evening, with only the water fowl for company; there you will find enchantment, for you can be certain it has been done for 5,000 years before your arrival. When Thomas Fitzgerald (Born Bruff, 1823) set off from here for the new world around the time of ‘the great hunger’ of the 19th century; counted among his little possessions was the family bible. It was on this bible that John Fitzgerald Kennedy was sworn in as 35th President of the United States of America: it is now housed in the Kennedy Museum in Boston. A son John Francis Fitzgerald was born to the above Thomas on the 11 February 1863. He became known as John Honey Fitz. He served two terms as mayor of Boston and a member of the U.S. Congress. He was the father of Rose Elizabeth Fitzgerald. Rose was to marry Joseph Kennedy and they had nine children; two of the most famous; President John F. Kennedy and Senator Robert F. Kennedy, the latter being our subject for the purpose of this short recollection, - it being forty years on from his assassination.
In close proximity to Loch Gur and in a very rural backwater is a much used and cherished community hall; as you approach the building a large sign in bold lettering proclaims: “The Honey Fitz.” One would have to wonder if the seldom passer-by is aware of the significance of the proclamation for it was from here – this rural County Limerick landscape that Thomas Fitzgerald set out for the new world. He was not to know that he was distained to be the progenitor of the most powerful leader under the sun. Yes! It was from this ‘bible-toting’ son of Bruff in his escape from starvation and poverty and his quest for a new beginning in America that brought about the first Catholic President of the United States of America. President Kennedy himself said in his speech on the quay at New Ross “When my great (paternal) grandfather left here to become a cooper in East Boston he carried nothing with him except two things – a strong religious faith and a strong desire for liberty...” As we have seen, the same sentiments might be expressed about his maternal great grandfather Thomas Fitzgerald.
My photograph right (Danny Quain 1985) shows the grave of President Kennedy at Arlington National Cemetery Virginia. It is impressive with its “eternal flame” burning brightly. Radiating out from this cylindrical bowl is a chequer-board of miniature plantings that is so carefully tended to be immaculately orderly. Around its perimeter a discreet barrier keep the throngs of inquisitive pilgrims from trespassing.

Close by and in sharp contrast is the grave of Robert Kennedy, (Photograph, by Danny Quain taken in 1985) shows a solitary figure (known to me) beside a small white cross. When so often our impression of all things American is flamboyance, and an ‘out of this world’ experience to the point of vulgarity; what we see here is simplicity in the extreme. The little snow white cross, this simple marker standing alone in a sea of green that stretches out into the distance, is something that stops you in your tracks the moment you see it; it is a marker of some significance – and for all of that it is a thing of beauty. Here in what we are told was a very rare night-time burial lie the mortal remains of Senator Robert Francis Kennedy – a son of Ireland – Mac na hÉireann.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a ainm.

This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland and it is Cóipcheart © Copyright and may not be used in any form, whole, or in part, without my express permission: Danny Quain, Cois Má, 2008.

An Out and Out Irish Bourke!

General Sir Richard Bourke K.C.B. Governor New South Wales 1831 -1837
Oil by Sir Martin Arthur Shee, held by State Library of NSW, Sydney.

General Sir Richard Bourke, K. C. B.

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Bourke’s Parakeet––– Neopsephotus bourkeii



When Thomas Livingston Mitchell (1792 – 1855) set out from Fort Bourke in 1835* in yet another of his many journeys of exploration in New South Wales, - there is little doubt but on discovery of a new species of parakeet, (Neopsephotus Bourkeii – “New inlaid with pebbles.”) he was influenced in naming it after a `comrade at arms` serving seven years as Governor of New South Wales, - General Sir Richard Bourke, K. C. B. (1777-1855)
Two years on from the discovery of the Bourke’s parrot in 1837 Richard Bourke was to travel back to Ireland having served one term of seven years as Governor. He choose the circuitous route home calling at Fiji, then going up the Andes, across Argentina by mule, before finally leaving for Ireland from Rio de Janeiro that took him more than a year to complete.

Who was Sir Richard Bourke? The Bourkes from whom Sir Richard descends came to Ireland with the Anglo-Norman invasion of 1169/70, - then known as deBurgo, and to be more specific, - in a genealogical tree by John Sheehan of Castleconnell, for Gerard Bourke (of which more later) William Fitzadelm de Burgo, married Isabel daughter of Richard Coeur de Lion, and settled in Castleconnell Co. Limerick in 1199, having been viceroy of Ireland in AD. 1177.
The young Richard Bourke attended school at Westminster and while here he would on occasion visit and spend holidays with his relative (second cousin once removed) the statesman, Edmund Burke, at his home in Beaconsfield. He also studied at Oxford where he had taken a law degree. He opted for a career in the army. He joined the Grenadier Guards and when only a young ensign he was wounded in the battle of the Helde in Holland in 1801.
He was involved in three campaigns in the River Plate, Argentina, in 1806-1807.
He was superintendent of the military academy at High Wycombe where in addition to military matters, he taught Spanish, classics and law, and it was while in this post in 1811 he bought the house and estate of 180 acres then called `Shanavoy` (later renamed `Thornfields` by Richard) situated just six miles east of Limerick city.
It would appear that he enjoyed farming his small estate, (singularly not shared by any of his successors.) and had a keen interest in botany. Hundreds of trees are testimony to this, none more so than two magnificent `Cedar of Lebanon` that are today, standing sentinel over all beside the lawn.
After four months on the high seas, a journey that must have taken its toll on his beloved wife Betsy (who died just five months after arriving in Sydney) Richard took up his appointment as governor of New South Wales on the 3rd December 1831

We know that Richard was a most devout, liberal, and fair minded, of the Protestant faith. Shortly after his arrival in Sydney he discovered that there were moves afoot to have the Church of England declared the established church of New South Wales He moved against this position, no doubt his experience in Ireland standing him in good stead as two years prior to his departure for New South Wales, (1829) Catholic Emancipation was enacted through the House of Commons under the stewardship of its Irish born Prime Minister, the celebrated Duke of Wellington. But in fact ever before he left to go abroad Richard established a school for 70 pupils just across the road from Thornfields at Ahane in 1825. In documents recently discovered in a solicitor’s office in Limerick were a set of rules for the running of the school, and in the words of Gerard Bourke in his biography, “Equal tuition for both religions stands proudly first among them”. Bourke gave equality of religions through the Church Act of 1836.His reforms also extended to the Administration of Justice and Education. He decreed that education follow the Irish National Model in which the syllabus was agreed by Anglican, Catholic, and other protestant religions.
When in 1835 John Batman explored the area around Port Phillip Bay and the Yarra River where he discovered wonderful grazing land he proceeded to do some sort of barter or deal to lease or purchase the land from the local Aborigines.

Later Batman was to send John Fawkner with a party of six to settle on the land. After landing his party from his boat, Fawkner returned for provisions. This interaction between Batman and Fawkner has led to controversy among Australians as to who actually founded `Melbourne, ` Batman, or Fawkner`?
The Irish Pioneer Journalist, Edward Finn, wrote under the pen name of `Garryowen`. All with an interest in rugby football will be familiar with `a Garryowen` but it may not be known to all that Garryowen is a suburb of Limerick city in the parish of St. John. It is obvious that Finn had a Garryowen connection and could be described in the language of the Limerick city dweller as, - `one of our own`.
Writing in the chronicles of early Melbourne (1888) Finn declares: - “It was not Fawkner, but Fawkner’s party of five men and a woman, and the woman’s cat, were the bona-fida founders of Melbourne.”
On hearing of Batman’s dealings with the Aborigines and the putting in place the settlement on the Yarra River, Governor Bourke lost no time in acting in the interests of the Crown with the issuing of a `proclamation`.

By His Excellency Major General Sir Richard Bourke, K. C. B. Commanding His Majesty’s Forces, Captain General and Governor in Chief of the Territory of New South Wales and its Dependencies, and Vice Admiral of the same &c &c &c

"Whereas, it has been represented to me, that divers of His Majesty’s Subjects have taken possession of vacant Lands of the Crown, within the limits of this Colony, under the pretence of a treaty, bargain or contract, for the purchase thereof with the Aboriginal Natives; Now therefore, I, the Governor, in virtue and in exercise of the power and authority in me vested, do hereby proclaim and notify to all His Majesty’s Subjects and others whom it may concern, that every such treaty, bargain, and contract with the Aboriginal Natives, as aforesaid, for the possession, title, or claim to any Lands, lying and being within the limits of the Government of the Colony of New South Wales, as the same are laid down and defined by His Majesty’s Commission; that is to say, – `Governor Bourke then outlines the territories involved and ends with`,– is void and of no effect against the rights of the Crown, and that all Persons who shall be found in possession of any such lands as aforesaid, without the license or authority of his Majesty’s Government for such purpose, first had and obtained will be considered as trespassers, and liable to be dealt with in like manner as other intruders upon the vacant Lands of the Crown within the said Colony."
Given under my Hand and Seal, at Government House, Sydney, this twenty sixth Day of August, One thousand eight hundred and thirty five.
(Signed) “Richard Bourke”
What is interesting here, taken in the context of the period when communication to the homeland could take many months, Bourke had to use his skill and judgement in steering a steady course in the interests of the Crown as Governor of New South Wales?
The fact that a settlement was already up and running at this location was known to Bourke. Instructing his Assistant Surveyor General, Robert Hoddle to accompany him they arrived at the settlement on the 4th March 1837 for the purpose of laying out the town. It is quite apparent that Bourke took an active part in the planning of the town as there was a disagreement between Hoddle and himself as to the width of the main streets, Bourke believing them to be too wide and suggesting that they be reduced by quite a number of feet. On the other hand Hoddle was of the opinion that the streets leading off the main streets that Bourke had proposed, and were to be developed into `Mews` (for the well off), were much too narrow. In the end there was a compromise by the men with each having his way with regard to the streets. It is said that the people of Melbourne should be thankful to Hoddle for insisting that the wide main streets remain, for as congested as Melbourne is today it could be much worse had Bourke’s suggestion been acted upon. The Governors secretary suggested that the settlement be named `Glenalg` but Bourke overruled this and proposed that it be named `Melbourne` in honour, and as a complement, to Lord Melbourne the then Prime Minister of Great Britain. Governor Bourke wrote to the Prime Minister requesting permission to have the settlement named in his honour. In giving his permission, it is said that the Prime Minister added the remark, - “Nobody will ever hear anything of it”.
Bourke also named `Williamstown, in honour of King William IV, - it is the oldest suburb of Melbourne, and now a city in its own right. It is interesting to note that for a brief period during the First World War, the Bourke’s leased Thornfields to a family of `Gore`by name and soon to be related through marriage. When Gerard Gore, an only son, went off to war when only 18 years old and was killed in action, his grief stricken mother to help the war effort, gathered up what waste paper she could put her hands on within the confines of Thornfields. Included in the bundles of paper was the original map of Melbourne.
Before leaving the question as to who founded Melbourne, - there can be no doubt but Bourke had the city mapped out and named and having done so had the various properties (Which included Bourke Street, and Elizabeth Street, the latter after his wife) leased to interested parties in a series of auctions that followed. That being said however, there is equally no doubt, and is given recognition by the Australian Government in recent years, - that going back into the mists of time, here, in this place, roamed always, the native Aboriginal people. It is said also, that Bourke’s plan to give the Aborigines an education was met by much opposition and this was a determining factor in making up his mind not to seek a second term of office.
Dr. Hazel King’s account of Governor Bourke’s departure from Australia in 1837:
“On the day of his departure, so many gentlemen attended his `levee` at Government House that it took an hour for them to file past and make their farewell bows. The opposition press expressed amazement at the number of `respectable` persons who attended. With the scenes on the foreshore and on the harbour however, it was disgusted. For here, the `shirtless and shoeless friends of the Governor thronged to applaud him: the ruffians followed him by land-by water too. Those who had hats waved them triumphantly in the air; those who had not, contented themselves with shouts that rent the sky.
As his ship rode down the harbour followed by a crowd of little boats, Bourke stood on deck bareheaded, waving in response to the cheers. Never had a governor of New South Wales been so acclaimed”.

With my interest in Australian Parakeets I was most curious to know how `Bourke’s Parakeet` got its name. Having posed the question to a like-minded group on the `net` and with a suspicion that there may well be an Irish connection, perhaps a transported convict? Back came one reply to my query, - “there was a Bourke, a governor of New South Wales”.
One can imagine my surprise when only one week later, and quite by chance, I tuned in to a history programme on local radio, to find been interviewed, Gerard Bourke, the great, great, grandson of General Sir Richard Bourke. I was amazed to discover that here was an 82 year old, the last male in the line, and living in the same house that Sir Richard purchased all those years ago. I resolved that if at all possible I should meet with him.
With Gerard Bourke’s Autobiography in my possession, I made my way on a most pleasant late afternoon on Thursday 14th June 2004, to `Thornfields` Lisnagry, Co Limerick. The book, `Out on a Limb` had been the subject of the history programme referred to earlier, and in it Gerard gives an account of his childhood days at Thornfields. Later having gone to London, he discusses his interest in classical music, operas etc, having secured a job as a music critic with the Irish Times.
He states in his book that he knew at an early age that because of his orientation he was going to be the last of his line of Bourke’s, - he was not going to marry and live the lie, is how he puts it. On inheriting Thornfields in the early nineteen sixties, he, Gerard, with his partner George, returned to Ireland with the intention of selling the property. With an offer of no more than £3,000, which was less than a third of its value in Gerard’s estimation, (perhaps far less than this in real terms) the pair decided to remain on and restore Thornfields that was by now greatly run down and badly in need of repair. The £5 paid him by the `Irish Times` for a review of his night at the opera was never going to make him a rich man, and consequently, the restoration of the old house was going to mean a great deal of hard labour, ingenuity, great personal sacrifice, and inevitably, the sale of almost all of Sir Richard’s remaining artifacts and belongings.
As we drove along the winding avenue to the great house one could not help but notice a most magnificent clump of Gunnera manicata positioned as it was in the middle of the lawn and now with the setting sun; in deep shade. A plant normally associated with water, - because of its enormous spread on what appeared to be dry lawn it somehow looked out of place. Could it perhaps be one of Sir Richard’s original plantings and be here for more than 150 years that might well explain this exceptional clump of giant rhubarb?
The great house suddenly appears, surrounded you might say by many large trees and while the scale of it is impressive it is not very striking in its architecture, a plain house is how I would describe it. Its front porch a copy of the one that is now the Old Government House, at Parramatta, on the outskirts of Sydney, put in place after Sir Richards return home, gives some relief to what is a very basic structure. An addition to the rear of the building perhaps necessary to accommodate the thirteen children of Sir Richard’s daughter Ann who was married to Deas Thomas, the Colonial Secretary who were frequent visitors to Thornfields when on holiday to Ireland does not help matters; as the whole now gives the viewer a sense of being off scale, -which of course it is.

It was here at this rear section of the house, which is now self-contained, that my host Gerard Bourke, on the steps leading to the front door, greeted me warmly and ushered me inside. I was immediately struck by the spaciousness of the drawing room. Three large windows reached for the ceiling, which must be all of eleven feet from the floor. The windows with their large timber shuttering that took so much time and effort to restore are put to the use for which they were made before the occupant retires for the night.
By the wall nearest the door stands a magnificent desk and accompanying cabinets. A `cabinetmaker come undertaker` of Thomas Street, Limerick, made them for Sir Richard in 1817. Directly over the desk is an etching of the governor and on either side are the last remaining (Four) `Meissen` plates of a vast service that Sir Richard had ordered for his sojourns in South Africa and Australia.
Emblazoned on the plates is Sir Richards crest and various species of exotic butterfly.

At the desk, seated, Gerard Bourke, with Danny Quain
On returning home to Thornfields on holiday, Gerard would remark, -“these are a new lot of butterflies,” the others having been broken in the meantime. Gerard informed me that I was very lucky to have seen the desk as Mealy auctioneers had already been and taken some photographs for their catalogue. “I have decided to auction it”, he declared. It was at this desk that Sir Richard helped edit Edmund Burke’s letters and papers, - one been found in a drawer as late as 1952. Gerard visited Australia on a number of occasions in the 1980’s. He visited Old Government House at Parramatta that was to be Sir Richards’s residence for the duration of his time in office. On display here are portraits of the first ten governors, Sir Richard being the eight in line. Close by is St. John’s Cathedral and graveyard where Gerard visited the grave of his great-great-grandmother, very happy to pay his respects and place some flowers –“they came from Thornfields with my love and admiration”.
An invitation to Admiralty House, the Sydney residence of the Governor-General was the highlight of his visit. He was shown round the state dining room. Prominently displayed, - “were our two fine crested silver-plated candelabra, two wine coolers, and four candlesticks, by Matthew Boulton that the Australian Government bought at my auction at Thornfields”.
Much is written about Sir Richard during his period as governor of New South Wales and before, but what after his return to Thornfields, did he retire gracefully from public life and potter about in his garden?
On his return to Limerick, Sir Richard became a member of the Judiciary, subsequently he became High Sheriff, and he is credited with being a founder member of the `Athenaeum` when with others he donated £5 in 1852.
He is credited with helping William Monsell of Tervoe, (M.P. 1847) to establish an Agricultural College at Mungret.
General Sir Richard Bourke died at home at Thornfields in 1855, and is buried just two miles distant in the lovely village of Castleconnell on the banks of the Shannon.

When I informed Gerard that it was my intention to visit the grave of Sir Richard, he told me that just a few years ago, he was rummaging about in a drawer full of keys’ to find but one with a label that read `vault`. Whether it was curiosity or for some other reason, (it hadn’t been opened in the twentieth century) - Gerard himself says he was persuaded, in any event, he had a local man oil the lock and hinges.
“Inside; his coffin draped in purple, bordered with silver, looking completely undecayed. Six other family members keep him company in death. We laid flowers, prayed, and closed the vault.”
The vault made by James Pain is a square stone structure, with its roof raised from all four sides to form a point over the center. Stone steps that are guarded by an iron railing reach its entrance door below groundlevel. Over the door a plaque reads: -

THE BURIAL PLACE
OF
GENERAL SIR RICHARD BOURKE K.C.B.
AND OF HIS DESCENDANTS

I asked Gerard if he were aware that there was a grass parakeet named after his great ancestor. He told me that a London ornithologist had informed him of such on hearing that he was Australia bound. He told me of his disappointment at viewing a glass case full of stuffed birds in one of the corridors of Old Government House and not a Bourke’s parrot among them. He visited Sydney Zoo and asked at reception, - is there really a Bourke parrot. Yes, there is, sir, she said, - cage 13. She sent an attendant along with him to see how he would greet the Bourke emblem. What greeted him was a forlorn parrot, standing, as he was in a bunch of feathers, obviously in the severest throes of the moult, and looking all of what gives rise to the expression, -“as sick as a parrot”. Gerard was fortunate however, to receive a T-shirt showing two beautiful Bourke’s parakeets, a gift from a Limerick friend, bought in Bahrain and made in Thailand, - “it was the last one in the shop too!”

Footnote:

Thomas Livingston Mitchell – 1792 – 1855

Thomas Livingston Mitchell was born the son of a harbour master, at Craigend, Sterlingshire, Scotland in 1792. He was to join the army where he rose to the rank of Major. He had a distinguished career as a surveyor in the Napoleonic Peninsular Wars in Spain. He excelled as a surveyor and mapmaker; some of his maps are in use to the present day.
He succeeded on the death of General Surveyor Oxley in 1827, a post he held until 1851.
Major Mitchell carried out three extensive exploration expeditions in northern and western New South Wales between the years 1831 – 1837.
Exploring the McIntire River 1831. The Bolgan and the Darling 1835. Following the Lachlan, Murnumbridge and Murray down to the Darling to west of Discovery Bay, 1836/7.
Mitchell had encountered opposition to his exploration from some of the native Aborigines resulting in a small number of fatalities on both sides. It was his fear of attack from the Aborigines that Mitchell built a fort and named it after his governor `Bourke` in 1835. It would appear that this was not of a substantial construction however, as it soon disappeared, but not before a settlement grew up around it, that is now the town called `Bourke`. With a population of around 3,500 it is located on the Darling River in far Western New South Wales, and is 789 km. northwest of Sydney.
He was knighted, Sir Thomas Mitchell in 1839 and he died of pneumonia on the 5th October 1855.

The Wild Type Bourke’s Parakeet as Mitchell discovered it. Photo courtesy, Bob Fregeres.

In 1835, Mitchell is credited with the discovery and naming of the Bourke’s parakeet Neophema bourkeii, (Now more correctly called Neopsephotus Bourkeii. The Bourke parakeet has a distribution in the wild that extends to the southwestern part of Queensland and into western New South Wales, through central Australia and to the north of South Australia and parts of the inland of Western Australia.
* In a fine article on Bourke’s Parakeets written by Graeme Hyde in “Cage and Aviary Birds” dated 24th February 2005, the following is stated: “Major Sir Thomas L. Mitchell, the Scottish surveyor and explorer first sighted the beautiful Australian Bourke’s Parakeet in 1835, along the banks of the Bogan River in New South Wales, south-east of the present-day town of Bourke. He named it after Sir Richard Bourke, who was at that time governor of New South Wales (1831 – 1837).”

Copyright: Danny Quain © Cóis Má. 2004-2008

Acknowledgement: The Image of General Sir Richard Bourke K.C.B. Governor of NSW 1831-1837, Oil by Sir Martin Arthur Shee,held by the State Library of NSW, Sydney.

References: -

An interview with Gerard Bourke, June 2004.


Photograph: A beautiful Bourke’s Blue opaline hen by kind permission of Bob Fregeres.

Bob Fregeres: Renowned expert and breeder of Bourke’s mutations

R. L. O. A History Programme, with Tony Browne.

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The World Wide Web.

“Out on a Limb”, by Gerard Bourke.

K.C.B. Knight Commander of the Bath.

The Famine and Beyond!

While walking in remote parts of rural Ireland it struck me how often one can stumble upon old graveyards. Many now inaccessible and derelict, perhaps neglected and forgotten is a more apt description. Some lichen covered headstones stand resolutely upright against all the elements can throw at them; others have wilted and hang at varying degrees from the perpendicular; waiting for the inevitable. There are still others, ‘footers` I understand them to be, (the practice long since discontinued) are hidden in decades of successive decay and re-growth of vegetation that is nature’s way of reclaiming its natural ascendancy.
After the coming of Saint Patrick and Christianity had taken firm hold, there sprung up all over Ireland a religious fervour coupled with seats of learning that spread far beyond our shores. From these places of learning came disciples; ordained priests, who set out to preach the Gospel in remote parts of the Irish countryside. Many set up cells or hermitages and fully embraced all that was good and holy. Soon little small churches sprung up throughout Ireland with the local population for the most part being converted to Christianity; with those who founded and in whose name the church was built; the patron, being declared a Saint by popular acclaim. Thus we have to this day parishes and townlands throughout the length and breadth of Ireland named after these early saints or their churches, an example being: Cill Breda, - Killbreedy, - The Church of Bridget, and I would suggest `Kilbride` having a similar meaning.
It would be impossible to give an account of the long and troubled history of the church in Ireland in a forum such as this, especially with the exceptional difficulties suffered in the `penal times` but suffice to say that despite this and could be argued because of it, the Irish people clung to their religion as if their lives depended on it, and in fact there were many who lost their life in defence of it. With the suppression of the Catholic Church in Ireland came severe restrictions which included prohibition of burials in early Christian sites such as the large monastic settlements and the lesser and more ancient of which we have been discussing above. Why! You might ask was such a regulation imposed on the Irish people. It was simply a determined effort by the authorities of the time and in every conceivable way to proselytize the entire community. As a consequence of the prohibition and where it was possible to do so the people continued to bury their dead in unmarked graves in these old cemeteries. It was the tradition within local communities as it still exists in some parts today to have the responsibility for grave digging and burials divested on a particular family or group within the community. With this responsibility came an intimate knowledge of the graveyard – there was mental retention; a map, of every family plot within the graveyard, bearing in mind that there was no marker at all for most of the graves in the early years this was remarkable. Furthermore, the grave digger had to satisfy himself, very often from memory, as to where the previous deceased member of a family was interred within the plot, and the number of years that had elapsed since the burial, for in the interest of hygiene etc, no disturbance of a grave could be contemplated within a seven year period – this was the tradition. It has to be understood that many, many, generations of a family were buried in the same plot. To enable this to happen there was a rotation system put in place by the grave digger, where on the death of a family member and in consultation with the family it might be decided to put him or her in with the grandfather now deceased for perhaps a quarter of a century or more. On reopening this grave it was very often the experience of the gravediggers to encounter first the breastplate of the previous deceased and confirm for themselves that there was going to be no nasty surprises. They would next encounter the by now much decayed skeletal remains of the grandfather; these would be carefully removed and set-aside on the bank above. Following this the grave would once again be brought to an acceptable depth for the new burial to take place. On lowering the coffin to its resting place at the bottom of the grave the exhumed remains resting on the bank above are now respectfully handed down to be placed in cavities beside the coffin. This might seem an unacceptable and gruesome practice now but this writer would have known many who would have looked on the exhumed skeletal remains of one or other of their parents at a family funeral. To my knowledge this state of affairs was never commented upon, for those charged with the task of burial while at the same time mourning the loss of a neighbour or loved one, carried out their duties faithfully and respectfully and in so doing acted in the best interests of their community.
To the best of my knowledge there were few if any headstones before the middle of the eighteenth century with perhaps the majority post Catholic Emancipation in 1829. It is evident also that only those in possession of land or having a business could afford to erect a headstone, with some being financed by relatives in the United States and elsewhere. Some of these old graveyards are referred to as “famine graveyards” that is deaths resulting from the famine of the 1840’s and certainly they would have served this purpose, but in reality they existed long before this.
With the construction of new churches in recent times and very often associated with these are the new `Reilig` or graveyard, which has left many of the older ones referred to here more or less abandoned.
Well off the beaten track my picture shows an abandoned and for the most part forgotten graveyard in rural county Limerick. In the stillness of a late summer’s evening one can feel the anguish, pain and sadness of the countless souls who came here to say a last good-bye to their loved ones?
My second picture is of a `detail` in the iron surround of a priests grave – lovely swirls of oak-leaf are topped with a 'bud-burst': overall a beautiful piece of workmanship.
This then is Danny’s Quaint Ireland; it is entirely my own work, cannot be used in whole or in part without my permission, it is Cóipcheart © (Copyright) 2008-07-20

Introducing the Brian Boru Tree

My Introduction Blog

Recently, with the downturn in the economy in Ireland and indeed worldwide, there is much discussion about how bad the 80's was and how it could hardly return to those bad old days again. It set me to thinking that I could remember the 40's with the 80's being just like yesterday and no bad memories – I guess I was too busy working and raising a family.

Now the 40's were a different kittle of fish entirely? My granddaughter informed me just the other day, of a `breakfast club' at their school where if or when necessary they ordered cornflakes or porridge to be followed with rasher, egg etc. When I went to school in April 1945 we were suffering the bite of by now well established war conditions, with all of the basics in short supply. We won't discuss the breakfast here for even now it's a matter of embarrassment. Having walked the three miles to school over very rough road, I can still remember having the toenail lifted from the big toe, it having come in contact with the raised `spall` - if you haven't experienced this for yourself, believe me you can do without it. Our lunch of the time consisted of two slices of homemade cake bread baked over an open fire, and was the so-called flower of poor quality? This was washed down with an HP sauce bottle of cold tea.

Raised under a thatched roof, my formative years had me denied the advantages of electricity and all that goes with it – probably the most important of which was running water, for without, there was no bathroom, no toilets, fetching drinking water from a well that was quite some distance away was an ever ending chore, as was water for washing from a nearby quarry equally a chore and hazardous to boot. There was no radio, no television, no phone, and no motorcars even, due in the main to the restrictions the war imposed, but in any case there were very few in rural Ireland pre-war as the roads were only fit for lifting toenails. As a consequence of my early upbringing I have an advantage over many today, in that I and those of my vintage could have lived in any generation in Ireland almost since it was first populated seven thousand years or whatever the historians say it was, with very little change in circumstances. I say this because we hunted, we fished, we sowed and we reaped. We slaughtered our own animals and we built our own fires to cook them. I still remember the excitement of sitting in the shade of a `hawthorn' as my father cut the last few swards of hay with a pair of horses drawing a trusty `woods mower`, and he shouting "Yes! They are in there." I waited with bated breath for the young corncrakes to break cover from the middle of the hayfield where I would give chase and hope to catch one before they made good their escape in the surrounding hedgerow. Should I be lucky enough to catch one, it was only for a very brief moment before being released, for there was still a mystery attached to these birds as it was still not known definitively where they disappeared to for the winter and early spring.

I am an old-timer but would like to think, not set in my ways? I love old things and a conservationist at heart and that is the reason for the title of my blog Danny's Quaint Ireland but not all and everything will be quaint or about Ireland, but what takes my fancy given my background of which you have had a smattering. So, my first photograph is what is reputed to be Ireland's oldest living tree. There is something wonderful at being asked to come and take a look at this ancient specimen that is growing or perhaps resident might be a more appropriate term given its age at Tomgraney Co. Clare. I was escorted over ditches and along hedges to a spot at the end of a field where there was no mistaking in all its glory was the Brian Boru Oak. It is said that Brian himself planted it, but whatever is the case there is no doubt but this oak was in times past one of the many that made up the great oak forests of these parts, a number of which went to clad the great houses of Westminster. King Brian Boru was one of the great kings of Munster and was slain in his tent when in old age fighting the Danes at the battle of Clontarf, Dublin, in 1014. We can take it then that this great oak is a thousand years old and the oldest living tree in Ireland.