Travel « Thurles Information

A Sharp Decline In Roads Policing Gardaí, Raises Safety Concerns.

New figures released by the Department of Justice and An Garda Síochána show that the number of Garda members assigned to Roads Policing Units has fallen by almost 40% since 2009. The total number of specialist personnel dropped from 1,046 to 645 by March this year; a reduction of 401 officers dedicated to policing Irish roads.

Dublin experienced some of the steepest declines, with roads policing numbers nearly halving over the period. One Dublin division recorded a 59% drop, leaving just 11 specialist Gardaí and two road policing vehicles covering the area.

Other regions also saw significant reductions, including Sligo/Leitrim, where staffing levels fell from 34 officers to 14. Limerick was the only area to record a slight increase in personnel since 2009.

Road safety advocacy groups described the falling numbers as deeply concerning, warning that reduced enforcement capacity impacts road safety efforts nationwide. Campaigners said roads policing units are struggling due to limited resources and staffing pressures, and believe enforcement on Irish roads has been weakened at a time when offences are increasing. Recent figures show that more than 211,000 vehicles on Irish roads were uninsured or unregistered last year, roughly one in every 15 vehicles nationwide.
Despite Gardaí carrying out over one million vehicle checks during the first three months of 2026, more than 5,000 vehicles were still seized for having no insurance during that short period alone. Thousands of additional summonses were also issued.

In response, An Garda Síochána stated that all Garda members contribute to road traffic enforcement, including those outside dedicated Roads Policing Units. According to the organisation, non-specialist personnel accounted for a majority of DUI detections, vehicle detentions, and checkpoints carried out last year.

The force also said there is no policy aimed at reducing roads policing numbers and noted that more than 80 new members have been assigned to roads policing duties over the past 18 months. However, Garda management acknowledged that staffing increases have not yet delivered the “significant uplift” desired in roads policing capacity

A Warning To Late Travellers On The Cashel Road.

If the Roads Around Cashel Fall Silent, Best Turn for Home.

If you find yourself out late around the town of Cashel, Co. Tipperary, take a bit of advice from the old people; go home before the road goes quiet.

Tourists especially beware, because according to the folklore of the Galtee country, there are worse things abroad at night than a Garda checkpoint or a missed Fish & Chipper.

Long before horror films discovered the headless horseman, Ireland already had the Dullahan, latter a charming individual who travelled the roads carrying his own head under his arm and announcing death wherever he stopped. No door lock kept him out. No gate latch held him back. The only known deterrent was gold, which feels very Irish altogether. Even supernatural evil respects inflation.

The most entertaining version of the tale comes from an old story called “The Good Woman”, collected by Thomas Crofton Croker in the nineteenth century. The story is set around the Galtee Mountains and Cashel, where a horse dealer named Larry Dodd makes the sort of decision that proves Irish folklore exists mainly to warn men against acting the maggot after dark.

Larry is riding home from Cashel one June evening after buying a horse. He’s feeling pleased with himself, no doubt after “just the one pint” that became several. Along the road he meets a mysterious cloaked woman walking alone at twilight.

Now, any sensible person in rural Ireland knows there are only three explanations for a woman silently appearing on a lonely road after sunset; a banshee, a fairy, trouble.
Larry, unfortunately, ignores centuries of accumulated wisdom and offers her a lift.
She says nothing. Climbs up behind him. Still says nothing, which, to be fair, should have been the first warning sign to any member of the male species.

Eventually the horse stops near the ruins of an old church. The woman slips down soundlessly and glides away across the graveyard. Larry, displaying the sort of judgement that has doomed Irish men since mythology began, chases after her looking for a kiss and catches her, only to discover she has no head.

At this point the story becomes considerably less romantic. Larry faints dead away and wakes among a gathering of Dullahans; headless ladies and gentlemen, soldiers, priests, musicians and skeletons tossing skulls around like hurling balls. Naturally enough, someone offers him a drink. Well this is still Ireland after all.

Things go poorly from there but eventually he escapes with his life, though not with his dignity, and his horse disappears entirely which may be the most authentically Irish ending imaginable. Survive supernatural terror if you like, but someone is still stealing the livestock.

So if you’re around Cashel late at night and happen to see a silent figure on the roadside, perhaps keep driving. Do not offer lifts. Do not flirt. And, absolutely do not follow mysterious women into ruined churches.

The old stories survive for a reason, and mainly because somebody ignored obvious warning signs and succeeded to live just long enough to warn the rest of us.

Concerns Raised Over New Roadside Memorial Ban & Ongoing Road Sign Issues In Thurles.

A new policy approved in Tipperary will ban roadside memorials in areas where speed limits are 60 kilometres per hour and above. The decision follows updated national road safety guidelines aimed at reducing dangers for motorists, pedestrians, and road maintenance crews.

Under the new rules, future memorials will not be allowed along higher-speed roads due to concerns about driver distraction, roadside parking and pedestrian safety. Existing memorials will remain in place, but any damaged memorials requiring replacement must comply with the updated regulations.

While many understand the importance of improving road safety, the decision has sparked debate among communities who see roadside memorials as important tributes to loved ones lost in tragic accidents. The issue is especially sensitive for grieving families and local residents who feel these memorials serve as lasting reminders for drivers to slow down and take greater care on dangerous roads.

At the same time, many people are questioning whether enough attention is being given to other road safety problems across the county. In Thurles, concerns continue to grow about road signage in several busy areas. A number of directional signs have reportedly become loose, damaged, are pointing in the wrong direction, or in some cases have disappeared altogether.

Areas such as Mill Road, Cathedral Street and Liberty Square in Thurles have been highlighted by residents as locations where signage problems are creating confusion for motorists and visitors alike. Many signs are hidden by hedge growth and some locals believe these practical road safety issues should also be prioritised alongside the introduction of any new policies and restrictions.

Road safety campaigners continue to stress that clearer signage, proper maintenance, safer junctions, and responsible driving all play a major role in preventing accidents and protecting lives on local roads.

As discussions continue, many will be watching closely to see how the new memorial policy is implemented and whether wider road safety concerns throughout Tipperary receive the same level of urgency and attention.

Tipperary V Clare – May 16th

Traffic advice from An Garda Síochána for those travelling by car To Thurles.

To help ease congestion, please consider using alternative routes when travelling to Thurles:
Suggested Routes:

► M7 → Moneygall → Dunkerrin → Templemore → Thurles
► M7 → Roscrea → Templemore → Thurles
► M8 → Cashel → Holycross → Thurles
► M8 → Exit 6 (Horse and Jockey) → Thurles
► M8 → Exit 5 (Twomileborris) → Thurles

Please avoid the Nenagh → Latteragh (R498) → Borrisoleigh route due to extensive roadworks and Stop/Go traffic management systems. Here significant delays are expected.

Sheds Before Beds, Thurles Born Mikey Ryan Reports.

It was a damp Tuesday morning in Thurles when according to Mikey Ryan, he first heard whispers of “The Shed” in a conversation overheard in the Arch Bar.
From his evesdropping he learned that this was not just any shed, no, this was “THE Shed”; a €127,000 monument to human ambition; a bicycle sanctuary if you will; a stainless-steel Cathedral to two-wheeled transportation, and a structure so majestic that local lads had begun referring to it as “The Taj Ma-Cycle.”

Mikey, using his Charlie Haughey granted free travel pass, was soon to be seen standing outside University Hospital Kerry with a chicken fillet roll in one hand and existential rage in the other.

“Sweet suffering Jaysus,” he was heard to mutter, staring up at it. “For that money they could’ve built a second hospital, or at least fixed the machine in SuperValu that keeps robbing me Clubcard points.”

The bike shed shimmered in the Kerry drizzle like a spaceship designed by accountants. A gust of wind blew dramatically through Tralee town as elderly pensioners, nurses, and one confused German tourist gathered around hospital trollies, gawked in stunned silence.

“They say,” whispered young Paudie who had journeyed down with Mikey for free, having declared himself to be an Independent Travel Support assistants, “that there’s heated bolts in it.”
“Heated bolts?” said Mikey. “Heated Bolts” replied Paudie sounding like an echo. Mikey nearly fainted into a nearby puddle.

Meanwhile, inside the Dáil, panic spread quickly among the Shinners and the Peoples Before Profit Liberation Army; the announcement moving faster than free pints at an Irish wake. The Public Accounts Committee had declared the bike shed “extravagant,” which in Irish political language is only one level below “Ah now lads, come on seriously.”

Opposition politicians stormed corridors, led by Molly Loo, some carrying folders, spreadsheets, and previously unopened copies of “Value For Money For Dummies”.
One TD dramatically slapped a photograph of the shed onto a desk. “This,” he roared, “is no longer infrastructure. This is performance art.”
The controversy would soon echo the wider political fallout from the infamous Dáil bike shed saga at Leinster House, where a bicycle shelter costing more than €330,000, triggered a national debate on public procurement, value for money, and as suggested by a Tipperary Labour Deputy, should itself be classified as another UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Politicians now clutched spreadsheets like rosary beads, while ordinary citizens stared into the middle distance, calculating how many breakfast rolls, semi-detached houses, or actual bicycles could have been bought instead.
At one point, rumours spread that the shelter included heated seating, mood lighting, and a part-time Sommelier (Latter a trained, knowledgeable wine professional), necessary for assisting exhausted civil servants arriving on electric scooters.

Meanwhile, the HSE defended the project. “It’s a long-term investment,” they insisted. “Long term” barked Mikey now back in Thurles, and seated on his couch watching RTÉ. “For €127,000 that bike shed should be curing gout and baptising children.”

Rumours spiralled wildly across Kerry. Some claimed the shed had underfloor heating. Others insisted it had held its own Eircode, three civil servants, the Healy Brothers and full diplomatic immunity.
One woman swore she saw Michael Flatley emerge from it, days earlier, and at dawn surrounded in a cloud of dry ice.

Mikey Ryan was determined to uncover the truth. The next morning after a quick pint in The Arch Bar in Liberty Square, Thurles and armed only with a hi-vis Uisce Éireann jacket that he found in the boot of his cousin’s Corolla; then with the confidence of a man who once argued with a parking meter for forty minutes, he headed to Kerry to infiltrate the actual site.
Inside, silence, stillness and bicycles, just normal bicycles, including a rusty Halford’s mountain bike stood, fitted with a child’s seat covered in rainwater. Another bike stood without any cycle lock; one wheel missing entirely, so it wouldn’t be stolen.

Mikey stared in disbelief. “That’s it?” he gasped. “There’s only bikes in it? I thought there’d at least be a butler.”
Suddenly, a motion sensor light flicked on overhead with the drama of a Hollywood premiere.
Mikey froze. The shed hummed softly around him. And then, suddenly Mikey understood. This wasn’t a bike shed anymore. No, it was a facsimile of Ireland itself; overpriced; overcomplicated; mysteriously damp and somehow still held together with zip ties and taxpayer goodwill.

A single tear rolled down Mikey Ryan’s cheek. Then he looked at the polished steel beams one last time and whispered: “Wouldn’t it be grand if they put in a coffee dock though.”

And somewhere deep in Leinster House, another civil servant was quietly ordering a €94,000 umbrella stand.