Bits and Pieces 4
1850 Boston Globe John Mulvuhill of Newtownsands . 6 yrs in USA lost Jane 2yrs ago his last sister was pointed from horsehead German county (chemung county) New York his
sister Margaret Connell in new Orleans will he thank but for any information from his address to the care of N.W. Ryan Jackson st. 4th district, New Orleans. Daniel and Patrick Dunford of
Newtownsands . Daniel was in Cleveland Ohio. Patrick sailed from Tralee on August 1851 for Quebec in the ship Nester. Information thankfully received by Timothy Flahavan, Hedgeville Beekley V.A 1850
Boston Globe advertising looking for Relations William Walsh of Inchamore . last learnt of was at Melville Mass . His son Edward Walsh would like the hear from him . Direct to Enoch train and co. 37
and 30 lewis wharf Boston . Richard Stack from Knockanure left Ireland in November 1851 in the "David Cannon" for New Orleans . When last heard from was in dearborn co., Indiana. A few times
addressed to his wife Catherine Murphy . Alias Stack care of Mrs. Griffin 119 twelfth street Louisville K.Y. Will he carefully attended to William McAuliffe of Newtownsands . Who sailed from
liverpool to Quebec in the ship "John Adams" on the 12th of September 1850. Any person knowing him will confer a favour on his brother by writing to John stokes McAulffe, Cavettsville westmoreland
co. P.A. Dan Mangan of newtownsands . Sailed from Limerick to Quebec about 8 yrs ago . When last heard of he was in Rochester New York . Should this meet his eye or any person acquainted with him a
favour would he conferred by writing to his brother John Mangan Carpenter care of P.E Green cleveland Ohio. Mary Mangan daughter of Pat Mangan and Ellen Mulvihill of Newtownsands . She left Ireland 4
yrs ago .Any information will he thankfully received by her father Mount St. Patrick C.W.
John Windle Sudden Death
Kerryman Report April 1924
Sudden Death inListowel .
At about 11oclock on fri a Fair Day in Listowel a small farmer of Aughrim moyvane .John Windle aged about 65 yrs collapsed and died . an Inquest was held that evening by Dr Clancy Coronor .Mr Martin Mulvihill merchant .Church St .foreman of the Jurey .Sergt P Flynn represented the State . Martin Mulvihill said that he and his father were born on the next farm to the deceased and knew him very well a delicate man who lived alone with a couple of children . Was neglected and perhaps had no proper nurishment either. Mr William Collins also knew deceased well was also present .Mr Maurice Healy of Ballygrennan said that deceased appeared to be in ordinary health shortly before he died .
Dr T Buckley found that death was due to heart failure .A Verdict according to medical evidence was returned .
Another Report in the same edition .
Abbeyfeale Markets .
150 loads of hay @ 60 shillings upwards
Calves 25s to 50s each . eggs 10d per doz. potatoes 1s 3d per stone. Oats 2s.
Knockanure Medieval Church By John Murphy Joe Gleeson of upper Athea died at an advanced age. A protestant, he was respected by all for his many admirable qualities. A keen sportsman, he often roamed the fields of Gortaglanna and Kilmorna with dog and gun, this area was the haven of grouse and rabbits. He had a deep interest in local history and ancient ruins or to use his own word “Antiquity”. Entering the old Knockanure graveyard he would gaze reverently on the roofless Medieval Church and pause hatless beside the headstone of long departed friends. One of his statements has been recorded. It is that the roof was taken off the church and placed on a protestant church in Athea. The man responsible for this was Van de Leur, an officer in Cromwell`s army. The period would be c.1652. But about 100 years before this time churches were seized in an attempt to made Catholics attend protestant service. This attempt failed. Still it is probable that they maintained the buildings as long as possible in case enough protestant settlers might be planted to form a congregation. According to historians there was a relaxation of the penal laws in the period from 1620 up to the new wave of persecution after the Cromwellian take over. And so Joe Gleeson`s statement handed down from his forbears may well be based on fact. Charles Smith, a protestant historian wrote a history entitled “The Ancient and Present State of the Co. Kerry 1756”. We learn from him that the church was a ruin by then and the Glebe land (known as Farren today) was held by Ratoo landlord Staughton. Going back 322 years before this we find that in 1434 Fr. Scanlon was vicar of Knockanure parish and before his tenure there was Fr. Cormac o Connor and another named Kennelly. They were of the Augustinian order whose monastery was at Ratoo, Ballyduff. The abbot of Ratoo had jurisdiction over several parishes in North Kerry. From such evidence it seems that the church was erected some 600 years ago or more. But it still stands – its ivy clad gables and stout wall-in defiance of the ravages of the time. Inside those walls is the grave of famous local ballad composer and wit Paddy Drury (died 1945) Quoted: “Knockanure church may the heavens bless you, That sweet place of rest where the dead do resort, If you stand by its corner on a bright summers morning you will see ships sailing from many a port, You will see Co. Clare and the hills back in Kerry, The tide at Saleen as it rises and falls. If you travelled the nation for a burying plantation, Still Knockanure church in the pride of them all. More Writers . Sr Evangelist Curtin . Sr Bridget Moloney . Michael Reidy, Cordal . Denis Brosnan , Kilsarkin . Con Houlihan . Moss Connor ,Kielduff . John Francis Broderick, Knocknisnaw. Fr M J Moloney, Abbeyfeale. Fr Pat Collins, Moyvane. Cannon John Begley, b 1863. Sean Histon,Athea .Folklore . O Connell . Mountcollins . Sr Cusick.Nun of Kenmare . Henry Aloysius Stack ,Listowel . Dan O Connell ,Liberator . Robert Leslie Boland . Martin O Sullivan ,Athea&Ballyduff . Charlie Linihan . Padraig Kennelly . James Clarance Mangan . Fr Gaire, Duagh Andy Mc Mahon, Moyvane . Michael Taylor , Knockanure . Brian O Dalaigh, Ennis . Dick Stephenson,Piper.d1897. Tomas Rua O Sullivan .d1848. Charlotte O Brien, b1845. John Downey ,Vales Direen . Tim Costelloe ,Glin . Audrey de Vere,b1814. Michael Scanlon,Castlemahon. Tim Keating, Local History. Michael Mc Peadair O Longain .d c1770 . Andrias Mc Craith, Maigue Poet. Michael Og Langan. D1837 . Pat T Ahern . d1989 . Tim Leahy ,Clounmacon. Eitne Strong .Glensharold Muiris O Riordan, Abbeydorney . Ryle T Dwyer. Mick Mc Carthy Sean Mc Carthy. Fr Padraig O Fiannachta. Fr Kieran O Shéa. Tom Ashe, Piper. James Gandsey Piper, born C 1770. Newtownsandes The Vales of New Dirreen Fare well, fare well, my native land farewell forever more, I now must leave you far behind and seek a foreign shore, For very soon the ocean wide between us will intervene, In that dear old home its mine no more, in the vales of New Direen. At home in dear old Ireland I fain for ever would stay, But fate it has compelled for to wander far away, From these native hills and valleys fair where blooms the shamrock green In that dear old home its mine no more in the Vales of New Dirreen In cold dark waves and Saxon lands we have known great joys and woes And in that far off ocean wide where the stately Hudson flows In Ireland too we have cherished hopes but seas are placed between From that dear old home its mine no more in the Vales of New Dirreen The sandowen seas I have crossed before and sought a foreign strand But still I thought I soon would see again my native land Its like John Mitchell in his cell where something tells unseen Which makes me roam from my dear old home in the Vales of New Dirreen When last I looked upon that place it was with a mournful eye The tears fell trickling down my face and loudly I did cry The pale of night it soon came down and that was the last I had Seen of my dear old home its mine no more in Vales of New Dirreen Now to Conclude those enfin lines fearing I should be late The Mourning Train from Adagh starts at twenty five past eight O God be with you Ireland your the starlight ocean Qeen And a Fond farewell to all who dwell in the Vales of New Dirreen. An old Ballad ' Copright Newtownsandes 2000
NEWTOWNSANDES Index VALLEY OF KNOCKANURE
by Brian McMahon
You may sing and Speak about Easter Week or the Heroes of Ninety Eight
Of the Fenian Men who roamed the Glen in Victory or defeat
Their names are placed on History's page their memory will endure
Not a song was sung for our darling sons in the valley of Knockanure
The Raid on Knockanure by Willy Finucane
Have you ever been to a Pub me Lads or have you felt that way
Tis nice to have a pint or two to pass the time of Day
O if at night tis a sure delight you bid your thirst to cure
But watch the clock or you'll see the dock like the night in Knockanure THE HILL IS ALIVE
for Mary O'Carroll
Amused among the gusts of grass and stones,
You played here as a child. You loved to peep
Around the doors of tombs, primed for skeletons--
But counted on the dark in which they sleep.
You come here often now to feel the valley spread,
To soften in the gray rain and listen to the scoop
Of Kerry's wind, to dream among the dead.
You dipped us gently on our fathers' sleep.
We spread like rivulets, meandering down,
Then wound our way back, poling the deep
Grass around islands of lichen-laced stone.
The hill rolled slowly, singing in its sleep.
John found it first, all teeth intact, white, occult
Survivors nestled in a refuse heap
Within the abbey walls, the vestige of a vault
Collapsed upon its coffins in their sleep.
I watched you turn it slowly in your hand
And scan it with a thoughtful fingertip.
You mused as you returned it to the mound,
"This might once have robbed me of my sleep."
Below, the cows fanned out down through the town,
Herded from their fields, their udders ripe,
Their low mooing mixing with the wind.
The hill rolled lightly, singing in its sleep.
Karen Marguerite Moloney The poem was published in BYU Studies 23 (Fall 1983), 417-429, as part of a longer series of poems entitled A Milesian Tel in Southern California. The series draws upon my genealogical research in the Listowel area (including Moyvane, Knockanure, Ballybunion, and the Gale churchyard).
Karen Marguerite Moloney has just published a book on Seamus Heaney's poetry: Seamus Heaney and the Emblems of Hope (Columbia: University of Missouri, 2007).
Our Moloneys came from Coilagurteen,
Karen Marguerite Moloney, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.
More Writers .
Sr Evangelist Curtin .
Sr Bridget Moloney .
Michael Reidy, Cordal .
Denis Brosnan , Kilsarkin .
Con Houlihan .
Moss Connor ,Kielduff .
John Francis Broderick, Knocknisnaw.
Fr M J Moloney, Abbeyfeale.
Fr Pat Collins, Moyvane.
Cannon John Begley, b 1863.
Sean Histon,Athea .Folklore .
O Connell . Mountcollins .
Sr Cusick.Nun of Kenmare .
Henry Aloysius Stack ,Listowel .
Dan O Connell ,Liberator .
Robert Leslie Boland .
Martin O Sullivan ,Athea&Ballyduff .
Charlie Linihan .
Padraig Kennelly .
James Clarance Mangan .
Fr Gaire, Duagh
Andy Mc Mahon, Moyvane .
Michael Taylor , Knockanure .
Brian O Dalaigh, Ennis .
Tomas Rua O Sullivan .d1848.
Charlotte O Brien, b1845.
John Downey ,Vales Direen .
Tim Costelloe ,Glin .
Audrey de Vere,b1814.
Tim Keating, Local History.
Michael Mc Peadair O Longain .d c1770 .
Andrias Mc Craith, Maigue Poet.
Michael Og Langan. D1837 .
Pat T Ahern . d1989 .
Tim Leahy ,Clounmacon.
Eitne Strong .Glensharold
Muiris O Riordan, Abbeydorney .
Ryle T Dwyer.
Mick Mc Carthy
Sean Mc Carthy.
Fr Padraig O Fiannachta.
Fr Kieran O Shéa.
Tom Ashe, Piper.
James Gandsey Piper, born C 1770.
Writers and Poets
George Fitzmaurice 1877-1963.OfDuagh
Bryan Mc Mahon born 1909 .
Pat O Connor wrote for Magazines and Films .
John B Keane Listowel.
Maurice Walsh Ballydonoghue 1879-1964 .
Monsignor Edward Kissane 1886-1959
Fr Garrett Pierce Maynooth.
Monsignor Alfred O Rahilly 1884-1969.
Fr Anthony Gaughan born 1932 .
Fr Kieran O Shea ,PP Knocknagoshel .
Edward Lysaght Born Duagh c1918 .
Tom F O Sullivan 1881-1950.
E T Kane 1867-1945 .
Gabriel Fitzmaurice Born Moyvane 1952.
Dan Keane Born Knockanure 1919 .
John Mc Mahon 1908-1963 .
Dan Boland 1891-1973 .
Tom O Rahilly 1882-1953 .
Brendan Kennelly Born Ballylongford .
Dan O Connor Born Knockanure .
Dr Brendan Barrett , Poet .
Sean Mc Carthy ,of Rathea .
Padraig O Concubhair .Historian .
T F Culhane ,born 1891 -1969.
Michael Langan, Gaelic Scholar c1800.
Tom Moore 1779-1852 .
Richard Cantillon c1680-1734 .
Fr Michael Kissane Ord. 1946.
Garrett Barry 1847-1899 . Piper. Died in Ennistymon Workhouse .
Padraig O Keefe Died 1963 .Born Glauntane .
Mici Cumba O Sullivan .Piper .
Willie Finucane Born Knockanure .
Paddy Drury Born Knockanure .1859.
Fr Con O Keeffe .
Bernard Connor b c1666 died London 1698 Lecturer at Oxford .
Alice Curtayne md Stephen Rynne 1935.
Jer Curtin b.Detroit 1835 -d Vermont 1906 .
Margaret Ann Cusack b.1832 d1899.
Kevin Danaher b. Athea 1913 .
Mary Agnes Hickson .
Fr Edward Leen b. Abbeyfeale 1885.
John Lloyd b. 1741 poet Writer .
Edward Mac Lysaght b1889 .
Fr Francis Xavier Martin b.Ballylongford 1922.
Henry O Brien d.1835
Eugene O Curry b. 1796 .
John O Donoghue b. 1900.
Standish H O Grady b 1832.
Sean Long b. 1917 .
Sean O Sullivan b.1905 .
John Windele b.Cork 1801.
Sir Arthur Vicars b.1864 .
Peter O Connell 1746-1826 .
Thade Gowran b. Duagh 1868 .
Shane Nolan Lyre .
Frank Thornton Kilbaha .
T D Shanahan Newcastlewest .
Martin Sullivan NT Ballyduff .
Sean Quinlan Ballyduff .
Bertie O Connor Ballyduff .
William J Hudson Florida.
Dan Mc Carthy , Bishop of Kerry .b,1822.
Jerry Histon Clounmacon .
Brassil Ballylongford .
Cannon Brosnan PP.
Padraig O Cearuil Glin.
Michael Guerin Listowel .
Sr Pius O Brian, Ennis .
Fr William King .Kilflyn .
Sr Philomena Mc Carthy , Kenmare .
Vincent Carmody Listowel.
Pat T Ahern ,d1989 .Carrigkerry .
Ned Buckley , b.1880 Poet .
Luke Keane Knocknagoshel .
Tom Sheehy Ballyferitor .
T E Stoakley , Sneem .
John Griffin , Tralee .
Bishop Lacey of Athea .Consecrated 1738 .
Nora Herlihy. Credit Union .
Nic Hayes ,Ballybunion .
Michael Harnett b.1941 Newcastlewest .
Seamus O Connor , Knocknagoshel .
S O Connor .
P S O Dineen .
Tom Mc Greevy.
Seamus Wilmot .
John Flaherty .
Tom Neville Stack .
Michael Mahony Asdee .
Fr Diarmuid O Shea Ballylongford .pre 1800 .
Washington Downing .
St Killian Martyred 689 in Wyrzburg .
Piper Mc Carthy Ballybunion .
Dore of Glin wrote in Irish .
David Bruadair old Irish Poet .
Monsignor Pat J Walsh wrote Biography of Archbishop Walsh .
Fr Woulfe ,Cratloe .
Fr Tim Leahy ,Woodview .
Gerald Griffin .
Sam Hussey d 1913 .
Jacko Lavery ,Tarbert .
Leslie ,Tarbert .
Rev Charles O Connor ,Tralee.
George Langan ,Gragra .
Paddy Faley .
Pat Brosnan .
M Mc Grath Athea.
Tom Donoghue .
Sean Og O Flanagan, c1750.
Con Costello .O Connell Memorial Church .
Rev Denis O Donoghue .
Jeremiah King .
Mrs P Hayes .c1880 poem on Ballybunion .
Owen Ruadh O Sullivan .
St Brendan , School Ardfert .
Mc Sweeney b1871 Vatican Library .
O Boyle .
Fr Joe Walsh ,b1924 Moyvane .
Producers .Fr T Hickey and Fr P Ahern .
Shanahan Piper Ballybunion 1842 .
Dan Harrington d1915 .
Sr Dympna Godfrey ,Lixnaw .
Fr W Ferris ,Ordained 1906 .
Diarmuid Keane .
Mrs Beasley .
Michael Dore , Dore History .
David Larkin of Molahiffe early 1800s works in RIA.
Add on your Favorite Local Writer .
We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another."
--- Luciano de Crescenzo
"All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence."
- Martin Luther King, Jr.
From The Ohio Repository, (Canton, OH), 11 February 1841, page 1:
From the New Orleans Picayune.
A most singular and extraordinary incident took place in this city last week.---Two brothers have been living for twenty years within a hundred yards of each other in neighboring streets, and the consanguinity was never known until a most trivial accident a few days ago developed the story. The particulars are of too remarkable a nature to escape publicity, altho' the names we must withhold. The brothers were born in Paris, and were orphans at so early an age as to have no recollection of their parents. While children, an accidental explosion of gunpowder, with which they were playing marked an indelible scar upon the cheek of one, and rendered useless for life a finger of the other. They were separated while still infants and taken care of by strangers--one afterwards following the sea as a cabin-boy, when fifteen years old found himself in this city, and obtaining employment more to his fancy than roving the waves, he abandoned salt water and applied himself to another pursuit. Even at this time his brother was residing in the neighborhood, and they became acquainted and having conversed with each other daily almost from then until now. Both were industrious and have gradually improved their condition in life until now they are surrounded by the comfortable rewards of thrift. Each remembered the accident, which occurred during childhood and knew tht he had then a brother, but this was all. The other evening one of these brothers collected a circle of friends to witness the christening of his first grandchild, and his old familiar neighbor round the corner was among the guests. Accident brought the mutilated finger into notice, and the history of it was of course told, when the delight and surprise of the whole party may be imagined at the old neighbor abruptly giving the history of the scar on his cheek and claiming his long lost brother. Each had retained the original family name, but it had been altered in spelling, that neither detected the similarity. There was quite a dramatic denouement when the old friends mutually explained, became convinced of the relationship, and rushed into each other's arms as brothers.
From the Bangor Daily Whig and Courier, (Bangor, ME), 22 January 1900, page 3:
Hudson Ice Crop May Not Recover from Ill Effects of Recent Rain
Catskill, N.Y., Jan. 21. Yesterday's rain dealt the Hudson river ice crop a hard blow, from which it may not recover. The mild, spring-like weather the past week culminated Friday evening in a heavy fog, followed by 12 hours of warm rain. The ice at this point began breaking up Saturday morning and by night it was moving with the tide. This is discouraging to ice men. The harvest should be well started at this date, but thus far not a pound of ice has been taken from the river north of Poughkeepsie, and but a small amount from the creeks and still waters. Several hundred thousand tons of last winter's crop has been carried over, perhaps one-third of a supply.
From The Ohio Repository, 29 January 1819, page 3:
The vessels composing this expedition has returned to Brassa Sound, Lerwick, without the loss of a man. They have succeeded in exploring every part of Baffin's bay, and of ascertaining that no passage exists between the Atlantick and Pacifick oceans; through Davis's Straights and Baffin's bay they found the whole to be surrounded by high land, extending to the north as far as lat 77, 55, and long. 76 W; and in the 74th degree of latitude, stretching westward as far as 84 W. long. ---They made many curious observations and discoveries, of which, perhaps, will not be considered as the least interesting, that of a NATION being found to inhabit the Arctick Regions, between the latitude of 76 and 78, who thought the world to the south was all Ice; that generation had succeeded generation of a people who had never tasted the fruits of the earth---had no idea of a Supreme Being---had never had and enemy, and whose chiefs had hitherto supposed themselves the monarchs of the universe.
From The Ohio Repository, 18 December 1817, page 2:
Gentlemen of the Senate, and House of Representatives,
No extraordinary occurrence has taken place since the last session of the Legislature. We have a continuation of peace on all our borders, with a time of general health throughout the state. The earth has been uncommonly fruitful the last season, and besides supplying our own wants, will leave a large surplus for exportation. . . . .
Whilst in the enjoyment of these extraordinary blessings we should not forget that we are accountable for their abuse, and that it is our duty to use all the means in our power to perpetuate the blessings of a free government to those who may come after us. This is the duty of all, but more especially of those to whom the people delegate the power of government.
With a view to the fulfillment of the duties assigned me, I shall recommend for your consideration such subjects as are deemed most important for the promotion of this great object, as well as the present comfort and convenience of our fellow-citizens:--and first, as I consider it most important, I recommend to your particular attention, the education of the rising generation. . . . .
With a view to aid in effecting this desirable object, I recommend to the consideration of the General assembly, the propriety of establishing at the seat of government a free school at which shall be taught the different branches of an English education at the expense of the state, to such number of boys the children of parents unable to educate them, and no others: as the legislature may deem proper. That whenever young men thus educated shall become qualified for that purpose, they shall, when proper salaries are furnished them, have the preference of employment in the publick schools of the state, and shall be obliged to serve as teachers of schools until they are twenty one years of age, and afterwards so long as they may conduct themselves well, have the preference of employment.
The Vales of New Dirreen
Fare well, fare well, my native land farewell forever more,
I now must leave you far behind and seek a foreign shore,
For very soon the ocean wide between us will intervene,
In that dear old home its mine no more, in the vales of New Direen.
At home in dear old Ireland I fain for ever would stay,
But fate it has compelled for to wander far away,
From these native hills and valleys fair where blooms the shamrock green
In that dear old home its mine no more in the Vales of New Dirreen
In cold dark waves and Saxon lands we have known great joys and woes
And in that far off ocean wide where the stately Hudson flows
In Ireland too we have cherished hopes but seas are placed between
From that dear old home its mine no more in the Vales of New Dirreen
The sandowen seas I have crossed before and sought a foreign strand
But still I thought I soon would see again my native land
Its like John Mitchell in his cell where something tells unseen
Which makes me roam from my dear old home in the Vales of New Dirreen
When last I looked upon that place it was with a mournful eye
The tears fell trickling down my face and loudly I did cry
The pale of night it soon came down and that was the last I had Seen
of my dear old home its mine no more in Vales of New Dirreen
Now to Conclude those enfin lines fearing I should be late
The Mourning Train from Adagh starts at twenty five past eight
O God be with you Ireland your the starlight ocean Qeen
And a Fond farewell to all who dwell in the Vales of New Dirreen.
An old Ballad
The bells of St. Bartholomew's rang in the morning air,
The mission bells were pealing to summon souls to prayer,
Three rebel sons of Ireland their fear of danger shed,
To kneel before God's altar and receive eternal bread.
Paddy Walsh and Paddy Dalton and their companion Dee,
Because they loved their Motherland they strove to set her free,
They little knew that morning what they shortly would endure,
As they took the road towards their last abode in the Valley of Knockanure.
The sun of May was rising, casting shadows to the west,
On a bridge in Gortagleanna those men sat down to rest,
They chatted there with Jerry Lyons their comrade from duagh.
But, alas! Too late to make escape when the Black and Tans they saw,
From lorries three in fiendish glee the Tans did leap and roar
With rifle-butt, with fist and foot they beat their prisoners sore,
Nought could they gain, the poured in vain rough language and impure,
No fear they showed in their last abode in the Valley of Knockanure.
They put them in the lorries and travelled towards Athea,
But there, again, they turned west and went the other way
Beyond the Gortgleanna cross a fort came into view
The Black and Tans hatched evil plans in a field behind Lisroe.
Again, their captives gave their names but nothing more they'd tell
Within their breasts beat hearts as brave as e'er for Ireland fell,
The tans foul breath or threats of death could nothing more procure,
For valour glowed in their last abode in the Valley of Knockanure.
With love undying they stood in line, clasped hands and said goodbye,
They shouted prayers for freedom when they knew they were to die.
No order had been given,they fired in random glee,
One dared to dash for freedom; a rebel called Con Dee.
In that lonely dell three comrades fell their tortures were all o'er,
In tale and song they still live on and will for evermore.
They met their God on their own green sod with stainless souls and pure
And their red blood flowed in their last abode in the Valley of Knockanure.
The Tans were raging furious as Dee kept gaining ground,
The hills around re-echoed the rapid rifle sound.
Though wounded early in the chase he held both head and feet
On towards the wild wide mountain where green and purple meet.
He prayed to those he left in death that they his life would spare,
God bless the hands that found him and took him in their care.
They nursed the worn weary limbs that bore him o'er the moor
As he fearless strode from death's abode in the Valley of Knockanure.
The bell of St. Bartholomew's still speaks in solemn tone,
The Patriot hearts who gave their all are still in memory known.
The graves that hold their fleshless bones a veil o'er life has drawn
But their souls have flown to that bright home of God's eternal dawn.
May they look down from Heaven's crown on the land they died to save,
God grant that we might ever be as fearless and as brave.
There's a cross to tell where those men fell our freedom to secure
And the sun of May shines bright today o'er the Valley of Knockanure.
By Dan Keane who was born Sept 17th 1919.
Walsh, Lyons and Dalton were shot by the Tans at Gortaglanna on May 12th 1921.
Con Dee escaped.
' My Own Newcastlewest
By Garry McMahon
To a town in County Limerick where the river Arra flows,
My heart takes flight, each day and night, at work or in repose,
Cross sundering seas, fond memories of the place that I love best,
To roam again each hill and glen, round my own Newcastlewest.
From Barnagh Gap, spread like a map, I see Limerick, cork and Clare,
The Ashford Hills and Phelan's Mills, the verdant Golden Vale,
I hear the sound of the beagle hound, put fox and hare to test,
And in reverie I can clearly see my own Newcastle West.
And often in the evening when the summer sun went down,
With rod and reel I fished the Deel, a mile outside the town,
Through salty tears and lonely years, my heart ached in my breast,
As I laid my head on a foreign bed, far from Newcastle West.
Once more the clash of hurley ash re-echoes in my ears,
As I recall my comrades all, when I now roll back the years,
On the playing field we ne'er would yield and we always gave of our best,
To bring honour bright to the black and white of our own Newcastle West.
Through Nash's Land to the old Demesne, where my love she gave sigh,
In the grove of oak her voice it broke, as we kissed our last goodbye,
A stor mo chroi no more I'll see, you're going just like the rest,
And you never will return again to your own Newcastle West.
So I'll say slan to fair Knockane, Gortboy likewise I'll greet,
To Boherbee and sweet South Quay, Churchtown and Maiden Street,
But God is good and I' am sure he would grant an exile's last request,
And let me die ‘neath a limerick sky in my own Newcastle West.
Paste links to see four thousand local pictures.
SUMMER 2007 / VOL. 7 ISSUE 4
In a shadowy studio
I immortalize you
in a cedar frame
your religious relics
won't be lost
as you were
to dried roses
are said to have touched
the coffin of St. Theresa
splinters of a cross
that once lay
across a Holy man
in a faultless square of
a scapular, the backdrop
like a poorly hung drape
in the aged confessional
where you felt coerced to
admit your sins
this promised you salvation
tokens of these
of your silenced voice
at the stone house
you will find
beneath the kitchen window
they spill out of a
their summer petals
a warm breeze brings in
the honeyed air of
ambrosial autumn clematis
eager to waft
and wave at passersby
at the stone house
you will find
gazing out the kitchen window
on a scarce sunny September
where I sit
in silky silence
considering a cup of Ceylon tea
and saying good-bye
the Celtic tiger didn't roar on our trip
which began and ended at the cemetery
kneeling down to
peer into the crumbling open grave
uneven sacred ground
jutted stones like concrete waves
fetid smell of bog and damp grey
we can just
make out a skull or bone
brought forward by an animal
sealing a young man's promise
dance on your grave
his heels bruise the earth
afterwards there is only
the hum of the pub
and hot whiskey
where cloves cling to lemon slices
THE UPPER ROOM ENTIRELY
Beyond the front hall,
where worn Wellies
have found their way home
Open the door now,
where the sitting room
some warmth to your hands
Walk through the hallway,
where their pictures
Don't open that door,
that leads to the fields
It's as old as the county
it sticks a little
go past the parlor; much
though the mantel clock
to the upper room,
where you sleep
cold plaster walls
wears past rainstorms
one single bed
you are home
in the upper room entirely
THEY LEFT THE HOUSE
They left the house
to squatters and animals
it sat lost
on the hilltop
they tell me of
apple trees lined the hill
when antiques graced
from London or Dublin
by a wealthy priest
a misguided man
wandered the streets
with tattered Dylan Thomas
and his rantings
they tell me this
this is your family
they say "when are you leaving?"
the day your arrive
you find no warm embraces
only the constant reminder
of whom they think you look like
maggie, adrian, donal ...
to prove to themselves
you are not a stranger
but a long lost
member of the
yellow kennelly's clan
is well known
in the county
you just might be the last
of the bad blood
but you're ok
if you can
hold your own
at The Railway Bar
- Patricia Kennelly
Patricia Kennelly is a first-generation Irish-American who spent many months during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s exploring her heritage at her father's house in Lixnaw, Co. Kerry. She is a freelance writer/editor and poet who currently lives in Colorado Springs, Colo. Her work has appeared in many publications including Springs Magazine, Artella, The Pointed Circle, Alembic, Pikes Peak Writers NewsMagazine, italianvisits.com and
Athea?s Great Seanchai
In Memory of Mickey Liston
The Rambling House is silent now on the
Where Mickey Liston used to live in his pleasant
A farmer and a storyteller, his like no more
For he has died and left us sad, Athea?s great
Great yarns and amusing tales he told on many
In that Rambling House upon the hill by
Knockfierna?s sloping height,
He was known all over Munster from
Kilmallock to Tralee,
And from Freemount back to Tarbert town,
Athea?s great seanchai.
At Creedon?s bar, Newcastlewest his stories
Won great fame,
Likewise in Carrickerry too sure they often
Spoke his name,
Many Comhaltas friends will think of him as
Will those of Ceol Luimnight,
Sure he was admired by one and all, Athea?s
Those who frequented his Rambling House will
Miss him most of all,
Also his friends and neighbours when old times
They will recall,
Mickey?s kindly hospitality will live on in
As will the wit and humour of Athea?s great
Much interest in his land he showed and he
Travelled here and there
To attend a livestock mart and sales, or a horse
And cattle fair.
Throughout his stories he would tell of how
Farming used to be,
?Before restrictions were imposed?, said
Athea?s great seanchai.
His funeral was the finest seen in Athea for
With a guard of honour formed by his faithful
Friends and peers,
He is laid to rest in Knockanure but his spirit
Now is free.
May the Lord grant him eternal peace, Athea?s