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Centenary Commemoration For Captain Jerry Kiely, 4th Battalion, 3rd Tipperary Brigade IRA.

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.

In a statement witnessed by Dan Breen (Quartermaster, 3rd. Tipperary Bde., I.R.A) and recorded in the Bureau Of Military History, 1913-21 Document No. W.S. 1,763. Page 161 we learn:-

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 site in 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.”

Downfall Of Many Men – “Slow Horses & Fast Women”.

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”.

Unrequited True Love Story For St. Valentine’s Day.

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

On Raglan 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.

END

Visit To Thurles Co. Tipperary By Asenath Nicholson. [Part 3]

In a rare book, [edited with an introduction by Alfred Tresidder Sheppard, (London 1871-1947)], entitled “The Bible in Ireland” (Ireland’s welcome to the stranger or excursions through Ireland in 1844 and 1845 for the purpose of personally investigating the conditions of the poor), written by Asenath Nicholson; we learn of her visit to Thurles, Co. Tipperary and other nearby villages, including Gortnahoe, Urlingford, Cashel, Holycross and Mount Melleray, Co. Waterford.

To follow the story of this remarkable womanView Part 1 HERE; – View Part 2 HERE, before continuing on this page.

Pamphlet printed by White Quakers following the auctioning of property under the direction of the Court of Chancery.

Asenath writes. “I took a car the next morning for Mount Melleray*, a distance of more than 50 English miles.

[Note: * Mount Melleray Abbey is a community of Cistercian (Trappist) monks. The monastery is situated on the slopes of the Knockmealdown mountains, latter a mountain range located on the border of counties Tipperary and Waterford.]

I had hoped to stop at the Rock of Cashel, but was obliged for the present to content myself by seeing its lofty pinnacle. Perched upon the top of a rock, it has stood the ravages of centuries, looking out upon the world, and the City beneath its feet, now going fast to decay.
Cashel looked more deserted this day than usual, as a rich brewer in the city, a brother of Fr. (Theobald) Mathew, (latter teetotalist reformer), had died, and the shops were closed in honour of his funeral.

When travelling by coaches and cars, I have been so much annoyed by the disgusting effluvia of tobacco, that I dread a ‘next stage’, the changing of horses being the signal for a fresh lighting up.

At Cashel I sat behind a rustic* who had reloaded his pipe, and he began puffing till my unlucky head was enveloped in a dense fog, a favourable wind wafting it in that direction.

[* Note: Word ‘rustic’ means a rural dwelling man].

Knowing that the consumers of this commodity are not fastidiously civil, I forbore to complain, until I became sick. At length I venture to say ‘Kind Sir, would you do me the favour to turn your face a little? Your tobacco has made me sick.’ Instantly he took the filthy machine from his mouth and archly looking at me, ‘Maybe yer ladyship would take a blast or two at the pipe,’ resumed his puffing without changing his position. I was cured of asking favours.

I blush for my country when, on every car, and at every party and lodging house, this everlasting blot on America’s boasted history is presented to my eyes. Even the illiterate labourer, who is leaning over his spade, and tells me of his 8 pence a day, when I in pity explain, ‘How can you live? You could be better fed and paid in America,’ often remarks, ‘Aw you have slaves in America, and are they better fed and clothed?

A few hours carried us to Clonmel, a town neat in its appearance, containing about twenty thousand inhabitants, amongst whom are many Quakers.

Here some of the ‘White Quakers’*, a small body of ‘Come-outers’ from the Quakers, formerly resided, but they have removed to Dublin. These people bitterly denounce others, but take liberties themselves, under pretence of walking in the Spirit, which by many would be considered quite indecorous. The men wear white hats, coats and pantaloons of white woollen cloth, and shoes of undressed leather; the women likewise dress in white, to denote purity of life.

Note: * Joshua Jacob (1802–1877), founder of the ‘White Quakers’, was born in Clonmel, Co. Tipperary. Educated at Newtown school, Waterford; Joseph Tatham’s school in Leeds and later in Ballitore, Co. Kildare; in 1829, he married Ms Sarah Fayle who bore him three sons.
Mr Jacob established himself as a grocer in Dublin. His shop, known as the “Golden Teapot”, specialised in the sale of different varieties of tea.

By 1838 having publicly criticized the comforts of Quaker life, he was disowned by the Quaker community, and decided to form a society of his own, calling its members ‘White Friends’, ‘Shining Ones’, or, officially, ‘The Universal Community’, latter which gained considerable adherents, briefly in Clonmel, before spreading to other areas on Ireland’s south east.
In 1842, he and his followers began to practise communal holding of all earthly goods, while appearing clothed in loose, unbleached loose-fitting clothes made in calico and linen, and frequently going barefoot; hence their name ‘White Quakers.’

The hostility of the orthodox Quaker community towards this practise of the communal holding of all earthly goods, came to a head in late1842, when Mr Jacob’s breakaway community took ownership of an inheritance, valued at £9,000, donated by Mr Jacob’s recently widowed sister-in-law.
He was made the subject of an action, taken before Lord Chancellor, Edward Burtenshaw Sugden, by the executor of the property, and was confined to London’s Marshalsea debtors prison, from January 10th 1843 following his refusal to recognise the court.

Having sold his shop, he sent instructions to the ‘White Quaker’ community from his prison cell situated, just south of the River Thames; firing broadsides in the shape of printed pamphlets, at society as a whole, each composed with the assistance of Ms Abigail Beale, who took up residence with him in Marshalsea prison.
His rejection of the final judgment of the court, resulted in the community’s property being seized and put up for auction, hence his opposition to paying taxes supporting British police. [See image above.]


Mr Jacob was release from prison in 1846, on grounds of ill health. The ‘White Quakers’ remained active in early food distribution during the Great Famine period 1845-1848, before disintegrating as a society in the latter end of the same year.

From 1842 Mr Jacob had lived apart from his wife, who no longer shared his religious views. Later on her death, he married Ms Catherine Devine, adopting her Roman Catholic religion, before raising six children in that faith.

In 1849, Mr Jacob established a new community at Newlands, Clondalkin, Co. Dublin. Here also this newly formed community slowly disintegrated.
Mr Jacob passed away in Wales on February 15th, 1877; before being repatriated and interned in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, in a plot of ground, previously purchased for ‘White Quakers.’

A Roman Catholic priest soon seated himself upon the car, whom I found polite and intelligent. His first enquiries were concerning American slavery. Its principles and practices he abhorred, and he could not comprehend its existence in a Republican government.

Seeing a labourer digging a ditch under a wall, I asked him the price of his day’s work. ‘A shilling ma’am.’ ‘This is better than in Tipperary, sir.’ ‘But we don’t have this but a little part of the year; the Quakers are very hard upon us here, ma’am; giving us work but a little time, and if a poor Irish man is found to be a little comfortable, they say “he has been robbing us.” ‘The English, too, are expecting a war and they want us to enlist, but the divil of an Irishman will they get to fight their battles. O’Connell is not out of prison’ *, and stopping suddenly leaning on his spade, ‘How kind America has been to us; we ought to be friends to her, and the Irish do love her.’
He grew quite enthusiastic on America’s kindness and Britain’s tyranny, dropped his spade, climbed the wall, where I was standing, and expiated on Ireland’s woes and America’s kindness, till I was obliged to say ‘good-bye.’

[Note: * In 1844, the year Asenath had arrived in Ireland, Daniel O’Connell was arrested and prosecuted for conspiracy, following seditious speeches made by O’Connell and others; latter namely his son John O’Connell, Thomas Steele, Charles Gavan Duffy, Richard Barrett, John Gray, and T.M. Ray, during monster meetings in locations; e.g. Clontarf, Co. Dublin, Hill of Tara, Co. Meath and Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
O’Connell’s trial began in the Four Courts in Dublin on January 15th 1844. Roman Catholics were excluded from the jury, with the Crown also refusing to supply the accused, with a list of witnesses.
Then aged 69 and despite being in bad health, Daniel O’Connell and his fellow accused were found guilty, but were allowed to choose their own place of incarceration.
They chose the Richmond Bridewell, latter a prison mainly used to accommodate debtors, located on Dublin’s South Circular Road.

The Young Ireland leaders, William Smith O’Brien and Thomas Francis Meagher, were held there four years later, in 1848, following their arrest after the battle of ‘The Widow McCormack’s Cabbage Patch’ in 1848 in Ballingarry (SR), Thurles, Co. Tipperary.

However, same accused actually served out their sentences in the comfort of the private quarters of the prison’s Governor and Deputy-Governor, rather than in their chosen prison. They were allowed to employ servants and family members could stay with them also. A steady stream of gifts and guests flowed into the prison and according to Charles Gavan Duffy, the dinner-table was never set for less than thirty persons. Their incarceration would become known as ‘The Richmond picnic’. Indeed one of the O’Connell detainees wrote that their imprisonment proved as unpleasant as ‘a holiday in a country house.’]

O’Connell and the other prisoners incarcerated with him, were freed on September 6th of the same year, 1844, after the British House of Lords overturned their convictions. However, they returned to Richmond prison the next day, so that a ceremonial release could be stage managed. O’Connell would now leave the prison aboard a special triumphal chariot, latter drawn by six grey horses, with 200,000 people lining the streets to cheer.

Asenath continues to write: “A new car and driver were now provided. These drivers are a terrible annoyance, with their ‘Rent ma’am.’ ‘Rent! for what?’ For the driver ma’am.’ ‘I will give you an order on Bianconi, sir.’
I had been told that Bianconi paid his coach men well, and forbade they’re annoying the passengers, but afterwards found that they received from him but 10 pence or a shilling (12 pence) a day, out of which they must board themselves. I was sorry I spoke so to the driver, and hope to learn better manners in future.

Our route lay now through the files (‘Files’ in this context meaning ‘one behind another’) in the intricate windings of the Knockmealdown mountains, and had my faith been strong in giants, fairies, and hobgoblins; the dark recesses and caves in these mountains would have afforded ample food for imagination.

In the coming days read about Asenath Hatch-Nicholson’s visit to Mount Melleray Abbey [Part4] from Thurles.

Visit To Thurles, Co. Tipperary, By Asenath Nicholson. [Part 2]

In a rare book, [edited with an introduction by Alfred Tresidder Sheppard, (London 1871-1947)], entitled “The Bible in Ireland” (Ireland’s welcome to the stranger or excursions through Ireland in 1844 and 1845 for the purpose of personally investigating the conditions of the poor), written by Asenath Nicholson; we learn of her visit to Thurles, Co. Tipperary and other nearby villages, including Gortnahoe, Urlingford, Cashel and Holycross.

See Part 1 of her story Here

Asenath Nicholson writes: “The celebrated estate of Kilcooley, (Gortnahoe, Thurles, Co. Tipperary) has descended by hereditary title, from the days of Cromwell, till it is now lodged in the hands of one who shares largely in the affections of all his tenants, especially the poor.

The wall surrounding his domain is said to be 3 miles in extent, including a park containing upwards of 300 deer and a wild spot for rabbits. A church and an ancient ivory covered Abbey, of the most venerable appearance, adorn part of it.
But the pleasure of walking over those delightful fields is enhanced by the knowledge that his tenants are made so happy by his kindness.
To every widow he gives a pension of £12 a year and to every person injuring himself in his employment, the same sum yearly, as long as the injury lasts.

His mother was all kindness, and her dying injunction to him was ‘to be good to the poor’. His house has been burnt*, leaving nothing but the spacious wings uninjured. An elegant library was lost.”

Note on ‘Burnt’ *. A huge accidental fire partly destroyed the property, causing it having to be reconstructed in the 1840s, during which the family occupied the old abbey. The interior today mostly dates from after that fire.

His mother, whom he ardently loved, was buried on the premises and his grief at her death was such that he left the domain for 12-months.
He supports a dispensary for the poor, who resort to it twice a week, and receives medicine from a physician who is paid some £60 a year for his attendance. I was introduced to the family of this physician, to see his daughter, who had been a resident in New York some 6 years, and hoped soon to return thither to her husband and child, still living there.
As I was seated a little son of 2 years old, and born in America stood near me. I asked his name. Yankee Doodle, ma’am was the prompt reply. This unexpected answer brought my country, with every national, as well as social feeling, to mind, and I classed the sweet boy in my arms.
Let not the reader laugh; he may yet be a stranger in a foreign land. This name the child gave himself, and insists upon retaining it. O! those dear little children! I hear their sweet voices still: ‘God bless ye, lady, welcome to our country,’ can never be forgotten.

While in this family, I attended the Protestant church on Mr Barker’s domain* and heard the curate read his prayers to a handful of parishioners, mostly youths and children. By the assistants of a rich uncle of his wife’s, he can ride to church in a splendid carriage, which makes him tower quite above his little flock. His salary is £75 per annum.”

[Note on ‘Mr Barker’s domain’ *. Prior to 1770 the Barkers may not have spent much time at Kilcooley and when they were present, they lived in the old abbey, which had been modified to serve as a private residence. Without any direct heir provided by the last Sir William Barker in 1818, and following his death, his estate was inherited by his nephew, Chambre Brabazon Ponsonby, on condition he adopted the surname, ‘Barker.’ He in turn passed away in 1834 and the Kilcooley estate then passed to his eldest son, William Ponsonby-Barker of whom Asenath Nicholson speaks.
Latter William referred, was himself an ardent Evangelical Christian and in the years prior to his death in 1877, he would habitually follow the example set by King David (c.1005–965 BCE), and Abishag, latter a native of the town of Shunem north of Mt. Gilboa in ancient Palestine, (See 1 Kings 1:1-4), originally brought to King David’s bed to “lie in his bosom”, chastely, to keep him warm as he neared death according to the Old Testament.
As stated, the ageing William Ponsonby-Barker would also take a young woman to bed with him, as a human hot water bottle. It is said that be choose from among the housemaids, who were lined up following evening prayers.
The story has been repeated down through the years, possibly repeated because on one occasion, the maid whom he selected, offended his sense of smell, so in the darkness he sprinkled her liberally from a bottle containing what he believed contained perfumed water. The following morning it was discovered that the bottle actually contained ink.]

Asenath Nicholson Continues: “Thurles, an ancient town in the County of Tipperary contains a good market house, fine chapel, college for Catholics, nunnery and charity school, with a Protestant church and Methodist chapel.
I took a ride of 3 miles to visit Holy Cross, (Thurles, Co. Tipperary). On our way we passed a splendid estate, now owned by a gentleman who came into possession suddenly by the death of the former owner from whom he acted as agent. Last Christmas they had been walking over the premises in company; on their return the owner met with a fall and was carried home to die in a few hours. It was found he had willed his great estate to his agent.
Holy Cross was the most vulnerable curiosity I had yet seen in all Ireland. We ascended the winding steps and looked forth upon the surrounding country, and the view told well for the taste of O’Brien, who reared this vast pile in 1076. (Today there are few remains of the original 12th/13th century church; only the north arcade of the nave and parts of the south aisle date from this time.)
The fort containing the chapel is built in the form of a cross. The architecture, the ornamental work, and the roofs of all the rooms, displayed skill and taste. We visited the apartments for the monks; the kitchen where their vegetable food was prepared, and the place where repose so many of their dead. Pieces of skulls and leg bones lay among the dust, which had lately been shoveled up and as I gathered a handful and gave them to an old woman, who acted as my guide, she said, ‘This cannot be helped. I pick ‘em up and hide ‘em, when I see ‘em, and that’s all can be done; people will bury here, and it’s been buried over for years, because you see ma’am, it’s the place of saints. People are brought many miles to be put here the priest from all parts have been buried here, and here is the place to wake them,’ showing a place where the coffin or rather body was placed in a fixture of curiously wrought stone.
The altars, though defaced, were not demolished; the basins cut out of the stone for the holy water were still entire; and though many a deformity had been made by breaking off pieces as sacred relics, enough remains to show the traveller what was the grandeur of the Romish Church in Ireland’s early history.

I stayed in Thurles with a Catholic family, and the husband endeavoured to induce me to become one church; but zeal was tempered with the greatest kindness.”

Over the coming days“Visit To Thurles Co. Tipperary By Asenath Nicholson. [Part 3],”