What is an Orthopaedic Chair?

What is an Orthopaedic Chair?

If the truth were told all of us are creatures of habit and if a survey were taken I’m willing to bet that a great number of us have a favourite place to occupy within the home, church, or hall and within this space is a favourite seat or chair. The chair photographed here is that of Judge Richard Jebb; it was from this seat in the Spring Assizes, March, 1820, at Limerick Courthouse that he sentenced John Scanlan, to be hanged for the murder of the Colleen Bawn, on the Shannon: An important chair, occupying an important space, and more importantly giving comfort and ease to the learned judge in his role in the administration of justice.

I was close to home after a brisk constitutional walk on one of those rare bright sunny mornings in winter, when suddenly the sky darkened and a deep shadow descended. Before me blocking my path stood a man of great stature – a giant of a man.

“Aren’t you the lucky man to have met me today” - was how he greeted me. “I’m going out of business and I have a beautiful, quality, leather suite that I’m practically giving away.”

From years of experience I have learned that the “modus operandi” of these travelling salesmen is to counter ones every move to avoid purchasing their ‘must have’ product. And despite this, we are quite often left holding an item that you wonder what possible use you can put it to within minutes of the salesman’s departure.

I’m sorry, I said; I purchased a beautiful quality leather suite some years ago and I have no room for two of them.

Where! He asked.

What do you mean, where? I countered.

“Where did you buy this quality leather suite?”

It was purchased in Casey’s at Raheen, said I, without hesitation.

As quickly as it had descended the shadow lifted; the sun shone again and I was free to continue my journey, while at the same time congratulating myself that I was not left trying to lug a quality leather suite back to my home. I was about to enter the footpath that leads to my front door, when a voice from nowhere shouted: “Hello Sir! Can I interest you in a lovely quality leather suite?”

I was shortly to be joined by a stocky guy; the owner of the voice; and one whom I judged to be about my own age that is to say;- going on elderly. I concluded by the ‘cut of his jib’ and confident demeanour that I had here a client of greater determination to offload than that of his bulkier companion I had encountered earlier. I met your brother earlier: Was how I opened my defence.

“What brother? I’ve no brother,” he replied.

Are there two of you selling quality leather suites? I asked.

“It’s a gorgeous piece and you won’t be disappointed at the price – take a look at it anyway.”

No! I said, I’ve no room for it. He guessed that I had actually been the recipient of an earlier effort to offload by his companion and changed tack.

“I have a lovely chair and you can put it anywhere in the house; it’s made for you.” Was the follow up approach? I felt it was now time to end this conversation and decided to volunteer more information as to why I could not contemplate the purchase of any items of furniture at this time. ‘When I retired from work some years ago I completely refurbished the house – in fact I’m waiting on a skip to rid myself of some of the old discarded stuff out the back.’ This declaration I thought would surely end the conversation.

“Would there be an old ‘dresser’ in it by any chance? – I’ll take it off your hands.”

No dresser, I replied, but there is an old broken-down vacuum cleaner that I can let you have.

“Who would want a broken-down vacuum cleaner?”

I don’t know, I said, but in the right situation it could pass for a nice ornament?

“Come on, he said, you’ll buy the orthopaedic chair from me – it’s made for you?”

The reader will be aware that the chair has now entered a new classification, in that it is described as orthopaedic. Having never heard of, and with no knowledge at all that such a chair existed, I felt for the first time in this whole episode that I was beginning to lose control and somewhat out of my depth. Furthermore, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain I was not at all comfortable with the word “orthopaedic.”

Would you say I’m a candidate for one of these chairs, I asked him.

“You’d never know;” was his reply.

To strengthen my case and partly convince myself that I was not in need of such a chair or likely to need one in the near future, I resorted to a little exaggeration. ‘I’ll have you know that I have just completed a six mile walk in little over an hour.’ I told him.

“Oh! You’ll be looking for a young one of around thirty so!”

Well my God; I thought; to what lengths will this fellow go to make a sale. Moreover, he must know from my appearance and age that I could hardly keep the woman in food not to mention maintenance. Am I to assume you are speaking from personal experience? I asked with interest.

At that he turned on his heel and made a dash for a white van parked on the far side of the road. “Have you got her in the van?” I shouted, as he slammed the door and drove off without belting up.

Now! I’ve heard of hall chairs, dining room chairs, kitchen chairs, but what (and the purpose of this post) is: AN ORTHOPAEDIC CHAIR?

This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland. It is Cóipcheart © Cois Má 2010

Manister History Project 2000

An Introduction to Axe-Manister (Below)



Manister parish is situated to the east of the town of Croom, that is close enough to the centre of county Limerick. It would be fair to say that it has struggled over the years to keep its identity as autonomous and equal to other parishes in the county. I have had occasion recently to check out the listed buildings contained in the ”Limerick County Development Plan” and of many listed within the parish, only one is deemed to be located in Manister and even then it is shown as Monasternenagh – there is no reference anywhere to Manister or Monaster. It is a small parish undoubtedly, but this is no reason to ignore its existence.
Early in 2000 a likeminded group got together for the purpose of documenting a history of the parish with the intention of presenting it in book form to the “church” for its jubilee year. At first glance it would appear that this was going to be a simple enough proposition as getting around this small parish was no big deal and we had all summer to do it. The jewel in the crown for this historical group as they set out was of course the Cistercian Abbey, founded here in 1148 by Turlough O’Brien, King of Munster, and if there was no more than this extensive ruin from whence Manister got its name to write about, surely, this was reason enough to embark on the project.
As we raced to the close of 2000 and yet more and more historical subjects coming to attention, pre Christian monuments; social upheavals; early Christian settlements, together with many others, some “more recent” shall we say, but of no less interest for those of us who seek knowledge of our own place. After some late nights and a hasty bundling of the material, and with a sigh of relief, it was handed over to the printer with instructions to get the whip out to meet our deadline. And while we admired some beautifully reproduced photographs, lovely text etc., the duplication and missed pages were never going to be a runner. With the disappointment of missing the deadline after a year’s hard work, there was one consolation; we had a glimpse of what was possible and we had a new whole year to do it!


The decade has now passed into history and the book is still in the making. We must be the only history group ever that met regularly for the first year of its existence and hasn’t met at all in the intervening ten years; well, not formally anyway. We do on occasion meet at funerals. For the impatient who wish to see the book, it is a bit of a nuisance but on the positive side, there is always that little bit of additional information to add to what is now a very large volume of work. If you were in discussion with someone like me who was retired when this project began and introduced the subject to them, you may well be greeted with a vacant expression and the query; “what history book?"
To be involved in this project was and still is exciting, not only for the reminder of what a rich heritage we have all about us, but what is of particular satisfaction to me and comes about largely because of being born and raised in this place and armed with the intimate knowledge of the terrain here and the experience of other investigators in similar circumstances and places, we have been able to unearth previously undocumented information in respect of our ancient and not so ancient past in Manister.
Can all this gathering of information over more than a decade be lost to the wider public? Well of course it can, and certainly so if it were to remain in jotters, copybooks, and computers even. History is made every day, and those of us that document it are history tomorrow!
If the outcome of all this data gathering is to end with the publication of a book, then the material has to be retained and jealously guarded to bring about the desired result – there is to be no drip feeding, and this has largely been the position over the past ten years – until now that is. I have decided to break with tradition and produce one item; one of very many, but one that will show how we went about our business; how we were able to resolve important and difficult issues and bring them to a satisfactory conclusion.
In posting this introductory piece to the “history item” below, it is my wish that everything will go according to plan. With this “introduction” I plan to publish a very beautiful photograph taken at Rathmore in the summer of 2000, it is of an ancient fort surrounded by bales of hay, with the Galtee Mountains in the background. I will now have to have a further look at the historical piece and see if I can post it after all?
This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland and it is Cóipcheart © Cois Má 2010

Manister Axe

AXE it: AXE it we did!

We were but some months into the research, collecting and collating all things historical connected with the parish of Manister. When on a Tuesday night we met as a group at the community centre as was our custom at the time to discuss the programme to be pursued for the week ahead.
We had just about commenced the meeting when one of the members asked those present to close their eyes, as he was about to unveil a surprise out of a little leather satchel that he had by his side. On such occasions previously there had been odd photographs, bits of writings, old maps etc. This is `primary` material, folks, he said, as we were instructed to open the eyelids once more.
There on the tabletop before us was the most magnificent `stone axe` that anyone present had ever seen. To be truthful, we all stared in awe and wonderment for some minutes before one of the group got back enough breath to ask – where in the name of God did you get it? While another asked – what is it? What is it! - said the holder of our treasure, what is it, but quite possibly the most significant find since the discovery of the `Tory Hill gold collar` and that’s a world-class artifact.
After everyone had handled and thoroughly scrutinized the object all were in agreement that this was a real work of art. One thing was for certain, - there was no one present whose father had one from the old days, or whose grandfather had a couple up the chimneybreast. There was one further observation by one of the group however, and it was, - ` whoever owned it didn’t do much with it? ` No sign of bloodstains, pieces of scalp or anything of that nature adhering, is how we understood his comment.

Come on, don’t keep us in suspense – where did you get it, was the general cry after the preliminaries were over. Was it found in the parish?
To keep the anonymity of the owner intact the object came by circuitous route to the member of our group and it was essential that it would return to the safe keeping of its owner in the same manner it had arrived; - it had after all been under cover for a very long time.
The stone axe didn’t just come in a little leather bag, no, accompanying it came the following story. It appears that some time in or around the mid nineteen twenties an ancestor of the present owner was ploughing a field with a pair of horses, this being close by to an ancient site in the parish of Manister, when up turned (unearth) the beautiful stone axe now before us. So mesmerized and dumfounded was the discoverer and owner of the field by the significance of the object he had uncovered, that he ceased ploughing and from that day right up to the present, the field has not been ploughed.

After further discussion we were unanimous, that if nothing else were to come of our history exploits in the parish, this find alone was a major discovery for the group. But how now were we to get over `tricky` hurdles on our way to glory. None among us was acquainted with the present law of the `State` in respect of the discovery of stone axes, not withstanding the fact that it had been found more than 70 years previously, and no matter how `civic minded;` our obligation had to be its safe return to its owner; our reputation as unhindered traversers of the local countryside depended on it. How then were we to get our information without producing the goods?
It was decided that your scribe could be trusted to take the object home with him where photographs could be taken and perhaps some discrete inquiries made before it (the axe) beat a hasty retreat by the circuitous route back from whence it came.

Although late into the night when I returned home, temptation got the better of me when I phoned a fellow Manister man and asked him if he could call round as I had something important to show him. It must be important at this hour of the night came back the terse reply. I had our stone axe resting on a white tablecloth (for better impact) when he arrived. Having been ushered in to the special space where he immediately observed our piece-de-resistance, there followed a long silence.
Where did it come from, was the first remark, having rolled the object round in his hands for quite some time, and obviously impressed by what he has seen and felt. To take the incredulous look off his face, I blurted out; `I made it. ` Ah, feck off, was the reply. This helped to remove the tension and thereafter went on to discuss all possibilities. Do you realize I said that the man who carried this object in his belt might be strutting around Manister as far back as 7,000 years ago when it is said that man first set foot on this little island of ours." I wouldn’t care to have it fall on my toe," was the follow up remark from my visitor.

No time was lost in photographing, measuring, and weighing the object and having discussed with likeminded enthusiasts of matters historical it was decided to make contact with Mr. Denis Power, of the `National Monuments Depot` Mallow Co Cork, who although limited to photographic, and written description of the object, agreed to make inquiries on our behalf.
Hereunder are the questions posed by our group?

“As can be seen from the photographs the object is without blemish, it is 5 inches in length, it is 2 inches in width and is 2 lb in weight.
For obvious reasons it is most important that as full and comprehensive description as possible on this object be conveyed to us.

(1) Can you for example give us an exact description of what this object is and for what purpose it might be used?
(2) What type of stone was it made from, is it local, or was it perhaps imported into the locality from some other part of Ireland.
(3) How was the handle attached?
(4) From its description can a period in time for its use be given and can this be reasonably accurate.
(5) Have there been many of the type found in Ireland previously, are there others in County Limerick.
(6) In your opinion, - is this a significant find in archaeological terms and if so perhaps you can state why this is so.

Any additional information on this subject that you consider relevant will of course be received with much gratitude and with your approval have it included in our parish history.
Thanking you for your help in this matter.

Yours sincerely,

While awaiting a reply to the above I took the opportunity of visiting `The National Museum` Dublin, where there is on display a range of `Stone Age` implements. And although many and varied, there was nothing like our Manister axe. The nearest in mineral composition, viewed through a glass case, and more of a hatchet than an axe, came from the north of Ireland. Yes! We really had something important on our hands no doubt.
At about two weeks on from the inquiry above I took the opportunity of phoning Mr. Power at his Mallow office in the hope of some progress being made and to be honest, there was a restless and eager anticipation of an announcement of monumental proportions on my part. What will be revealed?
Mr. Power stressed the point that `stone axes` was not his field of expertise but that he had been looking up some reference material from his base at Mallow and further to that he had looked at some catalogues at U.C.C. - to date, nothing like our stone axe has turned up. I will be meeting with Professor Gabriel Cooney, Department of Archaeology, U.C.D. next week. Professor Cooney is the foremost authority on stone axes in Ireland
It was with pounding heart and a lump in my throat that I heard the phone ring out in Mr. Power’s office on the appointed day for contact regarding his Dublin excursion. On finding my man on the other end of the line; well, `what did Mr. Stoneaxe have to say for himself? ` I asked. “Having looked at the photographs he is in little doubt but the axe is not Irish and in fact he is pretty certain that it is AMERICAN!!”

There is no doubting the sincerity and absolute good faith of the person(s) who gave this artifact for consideration by our historical group and no doubt were even more taken aback by the outcome than we were.
Could Professor Cooney be mistaken, after all he didn’t see the axe? Hardly; we were to learn subsequently, that not only was our `ploughman` in America as a young man, but he was also a member of the U.S. Cavalry.
And so ended a short period of glorious expectation for our historical team; but sure, it’s still our history isn’t it?

This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland, it is Cóipcheart © Cois Má 2010

A Hurling Afternoon in Newport

A Hurling Afternoon in Newport

A Chance Encounter

With just a few weeks on from the `County Final (2007) debacle there is still an air of `Doom and Gloom` in the town of Croom and while elsewhere, and you know where, there is a pep in the step in the village of Adare. No! Its not poetry but you know what I mean. When we think of all those people who travelled from far-flung places to be with us in the expectation of a celebration, we feel this defeat and the manner of its execution a dreadful letdown for all concerned.
There are not many now who attended the last one in `48 but Fr. David O’Regan did, and had to return from London for this one; or so he told us from the alter at Sunday Mass on the morning of the game.
The weekend papers following the game were scathing in their account of proceedings on the pitch, and described the game as possibly the worst final ever. “It was like blocking windows with brown paper bags in the face of an atomic attack,” declared another.
The Atomic Bomb wasn’t invented when Croom last won a Senior County Championship (1941) but when we did win it; there were a number of their ranks that played with the County team. We have had no such group since then – a period of up on sixty years. Well, not until now that is, and who would say that they haven’t made a significant contribution to the Limerick team – come on, be honest; was this one of the most wonderful, exciting years in the history of Limerick hurling and we in Croom gaeldom had a group of lads that played their part in it.
When we speak of Croom’s proud hurling tradition there are few now who can recall those far off days of glory, and fewer still who wish to impart it for fear of the `deaf ear` or worse still no ear at all, but I’m going to risk all that - I’m going to chance an outburst of nostalgia!

Limerick qualified to meet Kilkenny in the National Hurling League Final of 1983 to be held at Thurles on Sunday the 25th April having beaten Wexford in the Semi-Final two weeks earlier. Due to a prior commitment Limerick had agreed to play Tipperary in a fund-raising match to be played at Newport on the Sunday before the final. This was an unexpected development and because the two engagements were so close it became necessary to find an entirely new team to take on Tipp, not wishing to risk any injury to the team for the League Final.

As we made our way up the hill from Newport town to the field on this April Sunday evening an icy blast came swirling down from Keeper Hill in whose shadow the Pádraig O Riain (Lacken) Memorial Park stands. The cold of the evening was no surprise as earlier that afternoon before we set out from Croom an enormous shower of hail left the streets covered in a shimmering mass of ice

The game had already commenced as I took up my position at the back of the goal nearest the entrance gate and Limerick had a point on the scoreboard. The interest for me in this somewhat insignificant game were the new faces to be called on to make up this second string Limerick Team. Sidelined for this game were the old `reliables` Len. Enright, Seán Foley, Liam O’Donoghue, Joe McKenna… In, in their place came Pat Potter, Mike Barron, Dom Punch, Peter O’Connor, Frankie Nolan, Joe Mann… .
The first half was a mediocre affair with both teams level 1 – 6 to 0 – 9 at the interval. Our enjoyment of the game wasn’t enhanced any either by a light shower of hail that fell during the break.
The game wasn’t long underway for the second half with Limerick playing in to the town goal, when not for the first time in his very significant but unassuming hurling career Frankie Nolan flashed the ball to the net from a melee outside the square. (Will I ever forget his wonderful goal taken from an angle on the left hand side in the first half of the Munster Final of 1973? Without it, club-mate Ritchie’s celebrated point with the last puck of the sliotar would be just another statistic in a losing game.)
I believe it was at this point that I first became aware of the elderly gentleman standing by my side, wearing a heavy overcoat and with a soft hat pulled well down on his forehead, and who like me peered through the wire mesh fencing that by now had become part of the modern Gaelic Park. Gone were the men with the `tag` tied with a piece of string to the buttonhole in the `lapel` of the bodycoat, declaring for all that they were `Maor`. And with shouts of `back behind the line` back, back to the line, as the sliotar is lost in a forest of spectators. I stand to be corrected, but I think this came to head in Croom when Tournafulla and Patrickswell played here in a County Final. With about ten minutes to go and the players playing in a 20-yard strip from one goal to another and with the gap getting progressively narrower, the referee wisely called a halt to proceedings for another day and another venue. I digress; as we peered through the mesh, my companion and I began to shout encouragement to our goalie and backs that were now at our end of the field. “Come on Mike Barron, get that ball out of there.” “Well played Jimmy Fenton.” On a number of occasions my newfound companion remarked: “We’re tough at the back.” “Will you look at that? That’s the second blatant foul that hasn’t been penalized; I hope he is more alert next Sunday! (Same referee, Noel Dalton for final.) To be honest I hadn’t seen the fouls alluded to and thought this old man could be the typical hurler on the ditch – never played the game but could tell all others how it should be done.
As the game progressed into the last ten minutes or so we had to weather the proverbial storm from Tipperary and we eventually came out winners with the scoreboard reading 1 – 15 to 1 – 12.

As we turned away from the wire my companion for the hour remarked:
“Do you know that Tipperary hasn’t beaten Limerick in twelve years.” (Can this be true?) And followed up with: “With any luck it will be another twelve!”
Where do you come from, he asked, by way of conversation as we headed for the exit.
Croom, I replied. Do you know, I will have to shake the hand of a Croom man – I come from there myself? I’m sorry I said but I’m afraid I don’t know you. My name is Garrett Howard he replied!
Whatever else might be said by this Colossus of hurling lore in the fleeting moments before we parted in the gathering twilight was lost in the turmoil of my brain for I was trying to get to grips with the fact that I hadn’t recognised this masterful and unique hurler from Croom. And even as our farewell utterences were exchanged I was trying to recall some of the honours he had achieved in an era long, long, gone by.

Seamus O Ceallaigh, in his `Great Limerick Athletes` written for the Limerick Leader (1954) began his piece on our own Garrett Howard thus:
“Search where you may it would be difficult to find a hurler with a finer record than that to the name of Garrett Howard, the only Limerickman to win five All Ireland Senior Hurling Championship medals, and boasting other claims to fame in that he represented Ireland in both hurling and shinty at two successive Tailteann games; played for both Leinster and Munster in Railway Cup Finals; won National Hurling League trophies with Dublin and Limerick; figured on the successful side in eight provincial finals – four each in Leinster and Munster; and has a grand total of eight County senior hurling championship mementoes to his credit – five won with Garda in Dublin; two with the famous Tipperary Toomevara Greyhounds, and one- his first-won with his home club in Croom.” And now you know the difficulty I had in recalling the honours attained by this, my companion of a bitterly cold afternoon in Newport.
Time and space will not permit me to write all the superlatives and credits that O Ceallaigh attributes to this wonderful Croom sportsman but how fortunate we are now more than half a century on that he had the foresight to commit it to print.
Here is another piece from O Ceallaigh and as a Croom man I’m particularly pleased: “Garrett, who hailed from the rich lands of Croom proved himself one of the most versatile men in the game. A great defender with good hands, he was equally at home in the forward line and must have won more hurling gold medals than any other man of his era. And he often told me that whatever he knew about the game he learned it from the great Croom men of his young days-the Mangans, Feely, Shea etc and at the (dare we say it) Christian Brother Schools, Adare. Possessed of sprinters pace and infinite resourcefulness his grand judgement and ashcraft were bye-words in hurling circles during his long years service.”
I have read that last sentence over and over and all I can say about it is, - now that is pure poetry.
Garret won his first senior medal when he played with Croom in the final of the 1919 County Senior Hurling Championship. And he played in his first Munster final in the 1920 Championship. Limerick qualified for the All Ireland final of 1921 when they beat Galway in the Semi-Final. The final wasn’t played until March 1923 the first final to be played after the changeover from British rule when President Cosgrave and seven ministers attended.
Garrett joined the Garda in 1924 and won his first Leinster Championship medal and later that year won an All Ireland medal playing for Dublin, he was to go on to win Leinster Championships with Dublin in 1925,1927,and 1928.
Playing with the Garda club he won five Dublin Senior County Championship medals in the years 1925 – 1929, and also won three Dublin Senior Hurling League trophies in the same period


Right: Garrett, as he lined out for Limerick in the 1934 All Ireland Hurling Final


Garrett’s first National League medal was won with Dublin in 1929, after which he transferred to Portroe, Co Tipperary in early 1930; he turned out for Toomevara that same year to win a County Senior Hurling medal and added another playing with the same club in 1931. Picked to play for the Tipperary County team in 1931 he helped them win Thomond Tournament honours, but beaten by Cork in the Munster championship. In the same year (1931) he was picked to play with Munster in the Railway Cup and helped them beat Leinster with the score 1 – 12 to 2 – 6.

Garrett declared for his native Limerick in 1933 and by so doing joined the team that was to become known as `The team of all the talents` he played a significant part in Limerick’s four in a row Munster Championship titles from 1933 – 1936. In this meritorious and outstanding period in Limerick hurling, Garrett won two All Ireland Championship medals in 1934 and 1936. He won five National Hurling League titles in the years 1934 to 1938. And in the same period he won four Thomond Tournament trophies playing for his native Limerick.
We have not discussed at all the `International Games` he played or the very many valuable `Tournaments` he won in almost two decades in top class hurling. Neither have we touched on the many outstanding games that Garrett played on losing sides and that count for little in the history books
Here is one that he did win, the occasion being the 1927 Railway Cup Final between Munster and Leinster of which it is said outclassed and outshone anything that Croke Park had seen previously and was talked about for long, long afterwards. Here is a descriptive passage from the period: “It was a struggle in which one can speak only in superlatives. The combined speed, accuracy and vigour exhibited were truly marvelous and in the closing stages it progressed rapidly to a crescendo of unforgettable hurling. Each individual player seemed to yield himself to some irresistible impulse that carried him to unapproachable heights of efficiency and exertion. It was truly an enthralling hurling exhibition won by Leinster in memorable fashion.” The score: Leinster, 1 – 11 Munster, 2 – 6. Fellow Limerickmen that contributed to the loosing Munster side on that memorable day were, Mick Murphy, (Goal) John Joe Kinnane, Micky Cross, and Willie Gleeson.

There were many other athletes in Croom and hereabouts that can lay claim to honour and glory on the sportsfield and rightly so, but none the equal of Garrett Howard. All you who aspire to `mastery of ashcraft` and take the cáman in the láimh could do worse than take a copy of the above `roll of honour` around in the pocket of the `tracksuit` - every now and again take it out and ask yourself the question – can I achieve one or more of these in my hurling career? Unfortunately, our experience in Croom in more than half a century of hurling is not encouraging.

Right: Garrett with his "Hall of Fame" award 1982



What would Garrett say if he were with us today? “Cheer up, we went very close - our lads were great – we beat Tipp didn’t we?
For my part , I feel privileged and humbled that on a bitterly cold spring evening by a chance encounter I find myself in the company of one of the all-time greats of hurling, who had won his first All Ireland medal all of 62 years before and he was here to see a Limerick second-string team in a fundraiser. Garrett Howard, you were a gallant sportsman, a Limerickman of high renown and without equal, we in your home parish of Croom salute you with pride.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam dhilis.
Is mise Cú an scriobh sin. Cóipcheart © 2007 -2009

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.