Read first, HERE, an extract from Tipperary County Councils Corporate Plan (2020- 2024). Their unkept promise, to “Continue to enhance and protect the built, heritage in Tipperary and to work in partnership with key stakeholders, to deliver a high quality heritage service that will serve the people of Tipperary and attract visitors to our count.”
The above statement is yet another commitment which Tipperary Co. Council has successfully been allowed to weasel out of and row back on. And no, I am not further raising the issue of the now completely destroyed, historic Great Famine, Double Ditch. However, local people should be made aware that yet again, another piece of Thurles history has been, eradicated, without any consultation with the people of Thurles.
I refer of course to the 170 year old Victorian Turnstile Gates, [known locally as the Swinging gates], once found positioned beside and south of Lidl supermarket, on Slievenamon road (N62); same leading east on the river Suir pedestrian walk way.
My attention was drawn to its absence on meeting several motorcycles and numerous silent electric scooters travelling at speed on what was supposed to be a pedestrian footway.
Thurles Victorian Turnstile Gate Gone. Pic. George Willoughby.
On questioning a member of the local districts council’s workforce, I learn that this Victorian Turnstile gate is not, as I had foolishly believed, stored in the Parnell Street, County Council storage shed, but has been simply given away by as yet an unnamed senior official within Tipperary Co. Council, without any consultation whatsoever with local people.
Does this mean that the Turnstile Gate (Swinging Gates), on the junction between Emmet Street and Thomond Road will also be removed?
MatchingThurles Victorian Turnstile Gate at Thomond Road Junction. Pic. George Willoughby
We now have a situation, where parents walking with young children, need to take great care and control when coming out onto the N62 thoroughfare, as there is nothing to protect either pedestrians or small unsupervised children.
Obviously, ignorance now hopes to “Position Tipperary as a holiday destination for domestic and international markets”, latter yet another promise in Tipperary Co. Council’s Mission Statement which the latter has successfully been allowed to weasel out of and row back on.
It had been hoped that this Victorian Turnstile gate would have been returned to its opening with a robust pedestrian-safe, self-closing, “Ball Fence Swing Gate” at the side, latter to accommodate access for wheelchair users.
Thurles people should note: These gates were unique to Thurles town – find me another image of such gates on the internet. Note, how the capping stones were tied together (See Pic 2) using forged iron staples held in place with lead filling.
I first fell in love with Easter when I heard Judy Garland sing “I could write a sonnet about your Easter Bonnet With all the frills upon it in the Easter Parade”. Then and for many years later, within the environs of Thurles, was held an ‘Easter Bonnet Parade’. Sadly no more.
In pre-television days as a child it was a treat for me to go out in the early morning, on Easter Sunday, and search under the newly planted cabbage plant leaves to see if the Easter Bunny or Good Fairy of Easter, had brought me a surprise in the dark of night; a reward for being a good boy who had not broken any windows; taking 21 yard frees, playing hurling on the road or had not annoyed the poor unfortunate neighbours with harmless blaggarding.
The movie, “Easter Parade”, with Judy Garland and Fred Astaire, might be showing in the local cinema, to which we went in the afternoon, funded by our Easter egg money, with comics to swap for little chocolate Easter eggs or what remained of a large sized Easter Egg; had we been really lucky enough earlier that morning.
At Easter Sunday Mass it was essential that we brought home bottles of Easter Water, with the stern warning to be sure to not spill it along the way home.
Easter was always one of the most joyful times of the year for us children despite being asked to write essays (compositions, or aisti we called them) on Eiri na Casca and An Chaisc, at the local Christian Brothers School. Easter Sunday was such an uplifting experience after all the solemnity and serious ceremonies of Good Friday, when shops had to be closed before the Stations of the Cross on that day, and when Thurles Cathedral would be packed with genuinely religious folks. The tradition of the closing of shop shutters on Good Friday, again is longer observed.
As kids we always wore our very best clothes for Mass on Easter Sunday, which was followed by the Easter Commemorations; featuring male members of the Old IRA and Cumann na mBan (“The Women’s Council”) both of whom who had fought in the Irish War of Independence from 1919 to 1921, between the Irish Republican Army and British forces. Some of those gathered wore Easter Lily badges in their lapels. Here on this day in Liberty Square, Thurles, the Irish Proclamation of Independence would be read aloud and the Irish National Anthem played, as townsfolk stood, like Kevin Barry, who according to the song ‘Kevin Barry’“proudly held his head on high”, in honour of all who had died during that same War of Independence, begun over 100 years ago, in Soloheadbeg in County Tipperary, on the day the first Dáil Eireann met on January 21st, 1919. As the years have rolled by, the number of those old soldiers who marched in the Easter Sunday Commemorations Parade, sadly are no longer with us.
At the cuardaiocht evenings, on Easter Sunday night, in Thurles in earlier days, it was mandatory to sing “Tipperary So Far Away” a song about legendary Sean Treacy of the Third Tipperary Brigade Old IRA, who was held in the highest esteem in the homesteads of Tipperary. The exploits of Treacy and those of the Third Tipperary Brigade of the Old IRA were related in almost reverential tones by older folks.
The late Mrs Kathleen Allis Cleary, a first cousin once removed of Sean Treacy, lived here in Thurles and possessed the violin which Sean Treacy played at other Cuardaiocht evenings, long ago in possibly more convivial and reverential times in Co. Tipperary.
Easter is still, for me, an uplifting time, offering sparkling hope for the future and not a little nostalgia for a more innocent past. Happy Easter to all and well wear on your bonnets, ladies! Hats the way!
Tom Ryan, ”Iona” Rahealty, Thurles, County Tipperary.
Captain Jerry Kiely armed with Thompson submachine gun.
Memorial erected by his father Michael, in Lisvernane Village, Co. Tipperary. Picture courtesy G. Willoughby.
The Centenary Commemoration for Captain Jerry Kiely, 4th Battalion, 3rd Tipperary Brigade IRA, will take place today, Saturday April 1st, at 3:30pm, in Lisvernane Village, Glen of Aherlow, Co. Tipperary.
The Commemoration is being held in conjunction with the Third Tipperary Brigade Old IRA Commemoration Committee.
Capt. Jerry Kiely 4th Battalion 3rd Tipperary Brigade IRA.
Following the meeting of the Army Executive in the Nire Valley, it had become known to the Irish Free State authorities that the civil and military leaders of the Republic were present in the area and elaborate arrangements were made, accordingly, to encircle the mountains of South Tipperary and North and West Waterford, with the object of bringing off the most sensational coup of the civil war.
On Sunday, April 1st 1923, the 3rd Tipperary Brigade lost a fine soldier, a brave officer and a noble character by the death, in action, of Captain Jerry Kiely, of the 4th Battalion.
Jerry Kiely was staying with Dan Breen in the house of Stephen MacDonough (father of the late Vice-Comdt., Paddy MacDonagh), at Lisvernane, in the Glen of Aherlow, when a party of Free State troops, under Captain O’Dea, from Galbally, attacked the house. The men inside were taken by surprise, but held their fire until the raiders burst in, before opening fire. The Free State commander was mortally wounded by the first shot fired from the kitchen, while one of the soldiers were wounded by the second shot.
On receiving the fatal wound Captain O’Dea rushed from the house through the front door, by which he had entered, and running round to the back collapsed on a dung-hill where he expired.
Meanwhile, Sergeant English had attempted to open fire on Captain Kiely, but his gun jammed and in leaping back under the cover of the porch, he tripped and fell.
Springing over the sergeant’s prostrate body, Capt. Kiely rushed onto the road. Having already emptied his revolver, the latter now attempted to use a Thompson submachine gun which he carried. Unfortunately for himself, it jammed after the first shot and Capt. Jerry Kiely fell dead on the roadside, shot through the lung.
It had been arranged between Dan Breen and Jerry Kiely that they should retreat through the back door, using their grenades to get clear of the enemy, but when Jerry Kiely observed that the ‘Free State’ sergeant had tripped and fallen at the door, he saw an opportunity of escaping through the front door entrance and seized upon it.
J. Kiely grave, St. Michael’s Cemetery, Tipperary Town. (Right of K section, edge of path, walking up the hill). Picture courtesy G. Willoughby.
Dan Breen meantime had gotten clear through the back door, making his escape into the woods with the help of a hand grenade.
Captain Jerry Kiely was one of the great personalities of the Third Tipperary Brigade, a man of immense courage, highly intelligent and with a great sense of humour. He was loved by children and old people wherever he stayed.
Ernest Bernard O’Malley [Latter Irish: Earnán Ó Máille; (26th May 1897 – 25th March 1957) an Irish republican and author], writing of Jerry Kiely, stated “His face was brown under thick black hair, which he carefully combed. He held his head to one side. He spoke rapidly, he was good company around a fireside. I could often hear his songs at night-time”. Kiely was a man of vision and a deep thinker, who sought military action. He was not prepared to be a pen and pencil soldier during the War of Independence. He was known and respected by most of the leading IRA officers in Munster. Few is any of his comrade in the Third Tipperary Brigade were involved in as many engagements as Jerry, against enemy forces”.
It was later reported in the Press that Dan Breen had been wounded in the head during the fight. This report was unfounded. “I was not wounded on that night,” said Breen many years later, “but I was badly wounded in the heart at the loss of Jerry Kiely. What a man he was: – one of the finest soldiers I have ever met, and a loving comrade”.
Despite creating a perception of a happy carefree fellow, Jerry Kiely was a man with a prepared agenda, with a knowledge of what he wished to achieve as a soldier and in private life. When the ‘Truce’ was called, he made his way to America, to further his livelihood prospects. It was the tragic Civil War that brought him back to Ireland.
Thus he was to lose his life in his beloved Aherlow glen at Lisvernane, Co. Tipperary in a shoot-out with Pro-Treaty troops. As brave and able a soldier and as noble a patriot as County Tipperary ever produced, fell in battle on Sunday April 1st 1923, for his nation, while in the bloom of his youth.
Sadly, to the shame of the organisers and indeed Fianna Fáil; (latter founded as a Republican party on May 16th 1926, by Éamon de Valera and his supporters), I must report that 100 years on, neither the Kiely memorial plaque in Lisvernane, nor the Kiely grave sitein St. Michael’s cemetery, Tipperary town, have been cleaned for this Centenary Commemoration being held today. It is to this end I am reminded of the lines in the song “And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.” – [Lyrics Eric Bogle].
“And the band plays Waltzing Matilda, And the old men still answer the call, But as year follows year, more old men disappear, Someday no one will march there at all.”
The song sung hereunder, is about the Irish boxer, of the 1930s. Mr Jack Doyle latter who was known as ‘The Gorgeous Gael’. Born into a working-class family on August 31st, 1913 in Cobh, Co. Cork; he would pass away on December 13th, 1978 in Paddington, London, England.
Jack was tall (six feet five inches), good-looking and a multi-talented individual. He was a contender for the British Boxing Championship; a Hollywood actor, and an accomplished Tenor (between baritone and alto), however his often generous nature and love of drink was to be his eventual downfall.
Doyle became involved with the actress Movita Castaneda. Following a celebrity wedding, in Dublin’s Westland Row Church, (Jack’s second wedding; he was previously married, in 1935, to Judith Allen), after which the couple toured both sides of the Irish Sea, selling out Music Halls and Opera houses.
About this time, Jack fought his last professional fight, against a journeyman named Chris Cole. Same took place in front of some 23,000 fans, in Dalymount Park, Dublin. He arrived for the event late, having stopped at The Clarence Hotel for refreshments. The bout saw an inebriated Doyle, go down in the first round. Soon afterwards, having had enough, Movita packed up and moved back to Hollywood, where she would go on to marry film star Marlon Brando.
Doyle, shortly afterwards, found himself in Mountjoy Jail, Dublin, having assaulted and knocked out a Garda Detective, in a Dublin pub. Having moved to England he spiralled downwards into alcoholism and bankruptcy and found his friends had deserted him, as fast as his bank balance, latter spent in his own words on “slow horses and fast women”.
I had the privilege of meeting Jack on several occasions, in the early 1970’s, walking on the sea front in Bray, Co. Wicklow, where he had a flat for a short time. His only source of income during this time was an allowance he continued to receive, by agreement, from former wife Movita.
Sadly, Jack died in 1978, aged just 65 years, at St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, in the City of Westminster, Central London; his death caused by cirrhosis of the liver. He is interned in the Old Church Cemetery, on the outskirts of Cobh town, Co. Cork, Ireland, his grave today visited by thousands of people annually.
The Contender.
Singer: Irish (Co. Kildare) Folk Musician, Dan McCabe, [latter who is expected to tour in Co. Tipperary shortly]. Original Lyrics: (Shown Hereunder), From the pen of Cork born Irish singer and songwriter Jimmy MacCarthy.
The Contender. [Original Lyrics]
When I was young and I was in my day, Sure I’d steal what woman’s heart there was, away, And I’d sing into the dawning, Saw a blaze into the morning, Long before I was the man you see today.
I was born beneath the star that promised all. I could have lived my life without Cassandra’s* call, But the wheel of fortune took me, From the highest point she shook me, By the bottle live by the bottle I shall fall.
There in the mirror on the wall, I see the dream is fading, From the contender to the brawl, The ring, the rose, the matador, raving.
And when I die, I’ll die a drunk down on the street. He will count me out to ten in clear defeat. Wrap the Starry Plough* around me, Let the piper’s air resound me, There I’ll rest until the Lord of Love I’ll meet.
There in the mirror on the wall, I see the dream is fading. From the contender to the brawl, The ring, the rose, the matador, raving.
* In Greek Classical Legend, Cassandra was the daughter of Priam and Hecuba, endowed with the gift of prophecy. *Starry Plough, a banner, a socialist symbol, the significance of which it was declared, that a free Ireland would control its own destiny, “from the plough to the stars”.
Dare any of you lovers out there, forget that St. Valentine’s Day, is on Tuesday next, February 14th.
Talking of people in recent history, who fell in love, let’s not forget the sadly unrequited* love story of that great Irish poet, Patrick Kavanagh (1904-1967), and Ms Hilda Moriarty in 1944.
* Unrequited love occurs when one person yearns for unconditional love, from another individual who doesn’t always feel the same way.
It was sometime in the Autumn of 1944, while living on Raglan Road, in Ballsbridge, Co. Dublin, that the poet Kavanagh spotted Ms Hilda Moriarty, herself a native of Co. Kerry, as she wended her way to attend Dublin City University, where she was studying to become a medical doctor.
Ms Moriarty was then 22yrs old, while Kavanagh was some 20 years her senior. For Kavanagh, it was love at first sight, and though she would regarded him as a close friend, her true feelings toward him were never of a romantic nature.
In 1947 Hilda would marry the handsome Mr Donogh O’Malley, a rugby union player, who later served as Parliamentary Secretary to the then Minister for Finance (1961 to 1965); Fianna Fáil Minister for Health (1965 to 1966), and Minister for Education (1966 to 1968). It was the same O’Malley who first announced the notion of free education for Irish students, on September 10th, 1966, unknown to his cabinet colleagues; thus updating Ireland’s antiquated educational system, same unchanged since Irish independence.
Sometime later, Kavanagh was inspired to write the poem, that we refer to, today, as, “On Raglan Road”, published in the Irish Press in 1946, under the title, “Dark Haired Miriam Ran Away”. Kavanagh’s poem was later set to the melody of an old Irish song called, “Fainne Gael an Lae”; (Irish loose translated, “The Dawning of the Day”).
ON
OnRaglan Road.
Lyrics: Irish Poet and Novelist, Patrick Kavanagh(1904-1967). Vocals: Singer, Folk Musician, Banjoist and Actor, the great Luke Kelly(1940 – 1984).
On ‘Raglan Road’ of an Autumn day, I saw her first and knew, That her dark hair would weave a snare, That I might one-day rue. I saw the danger and I passed, Along the enchanted way, And I said, “Let grief be a fallen leaf, At the dawning of the day.” On Grafton Street in November, We tripped lightly along the ledge, Of a deep ravine where can be seen, The worth of passion play. The Queen of Hearts still making tarts, And I not making hay. Oh, I loved too much and by such, by such, Is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind, I gave her the secret sign, That’s known to the artists, who have known, The true gods of sound and stone. And word and tint, (I did not) without stint. (For) I gave her poems to say, With her own name there and her own dark hair, Like clouds over fields of May. On a quiet street, where old ghosts meet, I see her walking now, Away from me so hurriedly, My reason must allow, That I had loved, not as I should, A creature made of clay, When the angel woos the clay, he’d lose, His wings at the dawn of day.
This website uses cookies to improve your experience. We'll assume you're ok with this, but you can opt-out if you wish.AcceptRead More
Privacy & Cookies Policy
Privacy Overview
This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may affect your browsing experience.
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
Recent Comments