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.