The Earley Stained Glass Studios

This week I helped to launch a major new stained glass book into the world – such an honour! The book is The Stained Glass of Earley Studios, and it is the work of Michael Earley, retired surgeon and the 6th of 7 generations of the same supremely talented family, who, no matter where he goes in Ireland, finds himself in churches with Earley windows.

The book is from UCD Press and they have done a fabulous job of it – it is quite sumptuous. I have illustrated this post with my own photographs but the images in the book are mostly by the amazing Jozef Vrtiel, Grand Master of stained glass photography. The launch was in the College of Surgeons on Stephens Green in Dublin and it was great fun. Michael is related to half of Dublin and the other half are his friends and colleagues, so it was a noisy and jolly affair. (That’s me at the podium in the shot below.) He has spent several years on the research and the writing, and along the way he has been very helpful to me and to all our co-enthusiasts in the world of stained glass studies.

To enter a church full of stained glass and to realise quickly that some, most, or all of them, are Earley windows is to acknowledge that they are distinguished by recognisable elements. For me, it’s the colours – luminous blues, purples and pinks in combinations that no other studio seemed able to realise.

Sometimes it’s the faces – finely drawn, both naturalistic and idealised (somehow that’s not contradictory), full of expression. Often it’s the size and complexity. A friend took me to Eyrecourt Church in Galway to see the window that transfixed him as a child (below) and I could see instantly what he meant. We stood for ages picking out details and stories that filled the large four-light window. Christy – you will be glad to know that your window is in the book!

The window below is the St Anne window in Blackrock Church in Dublin – but what else can you pick out in it? The Earleys, like other stained glass studios, had a House Style: idealised, naturalistic religious figures in traditional compositions the faithful already knew. The aim was to aid devotion, not to challenge. It was influenced by the Nazarenes and Renaissance and Baroque paintings.

Thomas Earley came from Pugin’s circle to establish the firm in Dublin. His nephews John Bishop Earley and William, or Bill, Earley really developed it. Both accomplished artists, they concentrated on their House Style. William’s Last Judgements window in Sts Peter and Paul’s Church in Athlone is a great example of his mastery of this style.

Of this window, Michael says


William found humanity in its variety of emotions an endless source of inspiration and used his abilities of observation to convey expressions ranging from those of despair, need, and desperation, to those of adoration, awe, and serene contemplation. An example of this range of emotion is displayed in the ‘Day of Judgement’ window in the SS Peter and Paul Church in Athlone, County Westmeath (1937), where the damned and the saved are shown in stark contrast . . . Some of the faces are rendered in a caricature-like manner in order to show emotions in simplistic terms that can be visible from a distance.

Here are the righteous (recognise any?), and below are the damned.

Their House Style was influenced by the Nazarenes and Renaissance and Baroque paintings. John Bishop introduced notes of Celtic Revivalism and Pre-Raphaelite floral ornamentation. Leo, Michael’s father, admired Harry Clarke and Richard King, and we see that reflected in some later windows. For example, the window below is by Leo, but I mis-identified it for a long time as a Harry Clarke Studio window. Can you see why?

Each window was built on quality materials and highly skilled techniques. Michael presents this craft as integral to the House Style, not just as method. Michael also shows us that their business was indeed run along Arts and Crafts principles. The two brothers, John and William designed, cartooned, and supervised every aspect of window production.

Above is a St Patrick window from Templemore. While their windows were, as Michael puts it, “of an orthodox type” there is no disputing that they were superbly crafted and they were beautiful. They were also packed with detail.

There, in one window, was every major Patrick story. The saint occupied the main panel, shamrock raised in one hand, elaborate crozier in the other. Every inch of his flowing and layered garments was painted, stained and etched. St Benignus peeped from behind one side of his halo and Brigid tended her lamp on the other side. At the top, Pope Celestine gives Patrick his commission.

Lower down, he manages to light the Paschal Fire on one side and baptise Eithne and Fidelma on the other. Finally in the Predella, he converts a rather grumpy-looking King Aengus.

Michael’s book has wonderfully illustrated for us the complex, hard working, dedicated life of a family of artists and business people – a family that has worked its way into the fabric of Ireland (and continues to do so) in a way that very few families indeed can claim. The work is ongoing: he has not yet identified every Earley window out there. He had counted 839 in Ireland by the time the book went to press, but that figure is already out of date. So if you suspect you know of an Earley window in your parish, send along your photographs to Michael.

Congratulations, Michael, on this outstanding contribution to stained glass scholarship in Ireland. I know it has been a labour of love for you, to retrieve and document your own family history, to celebrate the achievements of all these generations of artists who have made Ireland richer,  and to deepen our understanding of our Irish artistic legacies.

Can you pick out the ‘notes of Celtic Revivalism’ in John Bishop Earley’s window above, from Killarney Cathedral? And before I forget – I said Michael was the 6th of 7 generations of artists. The 7th is his son, James, who has brought the art and craft of glass into the 21st century with huge installations and stained-glass inspired street art. This is his piece for Wilton Park (image taken from James’s website, with thanks).

Thanks to UBC Press for the photographs of the reception, taken from their Instagram page.

Welcome to the Mizen – in 1992

I seem to be posting a lot of nostalgia lately! This one is mostly about Schull, but other places in the Mizen feature too. I have stumbled across (the Internet is a weird place) a Visitors’ Guide from 1992, and it is fascinating for what is still here, thirty four years later, and what remains only in the memory of long-term residents. The famous Courtyard Restaurant, for example, still missed, still talked about – and the space it occupied now partly taken up by the wonderful Amar’s.

Here is the full cover. The Guide itself is full of ads – just as interesting as the text. Who remembers the Altar Restaurant, for example?

I don’t, but sone of the places in this list are still in business (YAY!) and some are long gone.

We had a budding young artist in our midst – he’s still here but nowadays his art goes into his food.

This ad was especially poignant for me – my dear former friends and neighbours, Dietrich and Hildegard, both architects. They designed our beloved Nead an Iolair, and many many houses around this area. Who out there lives in an Eckardt house?

The Planetarium was a real attraction then. Time for a boost? (Sorry – the brochure is black and white but I couldn’t resist adding a little colour for pizzazz.

The brochure is larded with comments from happy visitors. Here’s one most of us will remember.

How many of these have you read? I think I have almost all of them.

And of course, some things never change. Thank goodness.

If you would like to browse the complete brochure, you can find it here: https://bibliotheque.idbe.bzh/data/cle_148/Welcome_to_Schull_Ireland_1992__.pdf

The Train Returns to Schull

After two named storms (first Austen and then Boelo), and before the next yellow warning and epic rainfall hits tomorrow, the Schull Samhain Parade took place tonight. Samhain (pronounced Sow -to rhyme with how – in) is what we call Halloween, and Fionn Mac Cumhaill must have been keeping an eye on us from Mount Gabriel, because we had a warm and moonlit evening for it. The harbour was looking calmer than it has in days.

The theme of the parade was The Railway Returns. Here’s the poster designed by local gal Liadh Pyburn.

You can read all about the days when the railway ran from Skibbereen to Ballydehob and then on to Schull in Robert’s post Tracking the Trains

So tonight the Ghost Train arrived! It was so cleverly done, as you can see in the photos – lots of huffing and puffing and tooting and steam!

There were little vignettes – this one was about the cattle car and the dealing and wheeling at the fair.

Here are the first class passengers, snug inside the car.

And the second class passengers, who had to get out and push.

The ghost conductor was having a ball.

And the kids, as always, stole our hearts.

It felt great to be out in my new home village, laughing and cheering with all my friends and neighbours, and in complete awe at the endless creativity of Schull.

And if you wander down to the Harbour one day, you will see Robert’s poster all about the old Railway Days.

The Thrashing

This week’s post is courtesy of a) Bill Jermyn and his marvellous memoir Only Dead Fish Swim with the Current,* and b) the annual Threshing Day at Caheragh. That’s Bill above on the left, with his brothers, David and Richard, about 1960 I think. I was very taken with Bill’s account of threshing day in Toormore, beyond Schull on the Mizen, where he grew up. Mind you, everyone called it The Thrashing back then, and I heard lots of that today in Caheragh too.

For a kid of 6, the Threshing Machine must have been like one of the Wonders of the World. It is still incredibly impressive. I don’t know if the machine in Caheragh (and next Sunday in Ballydehob) is the same one that came to Toormore, but it could have been. This one dates to 1911. Sean O’Sullivan (below) rescued it, and Ted O’Driscoll modelled and remade all the parts, and there seems to be a whole gang of men who keep it running and gather together to work it, all in great good humour and with evident satisfaction at helping to conserve such a traditional operation.

It was great fun to be out in Caheragh (pronounced Cora, about 10 km north of Skibbereen) amid the vintage cars and tractors and the stalls and games – the welly-tossing was my favourite – and delicious food. It was a pet day, and everyone was out to have fun. Now – here is Bill, to tell us how is was when he was a kid.

The annual “thrashing,” as it was called, was a rite-of-passage in the fall and a high point of community cooperation and socialization. I always looked forward to Babe Donovan’s thrashing in the haggard across the road from her house. Babe had two large fields growing oats; the cutting was done about two weeks in advance of the threshing and the men leaned the sheaves together in fours and fives to form stooks. When these had dried, they were brought to the haggard with several trips of horse and cart. The sheaves were built on each other to form a large stack at one side of where the thrashing machine would be stationed. When the first stack was built to about 12 feet, another stack was built opposite the first so that there was room for the thrasher in between.

The long-awaited thrasher rarely arrived on time because it depended on how much oats was in the previous haggard. Eventually, it came up the road slowly, towed by the owner on his tractor. The men of Toormore followed. They traditionally worked together at each farm until all the oats in the parish were threshed. The thrasher needed quite an amount of ‘nurturing’ to get through the narrow gates of the haggard. Part of the challenge in the region was getting the thrasher in and out of the small haggards. The gates were not made for such a large machine. Eventually, the thrasher squeezed in and was then reversed between the two stacks.

The owner connected the tractor to the thrasher using a belt and two flywheels. The beast was now ready to spring to action, drawing life from the tractor. Up close the thresher looked like a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a large mouth at one end and exhaust-like chutes at the other. Two men climbed up on the first stack and two more climbed on top of the machine. The men on the stack threw the sheaves to the men on the machine. They ripped off the binding and fed the sheaves to the voracious jaws of the hopper.

Across the road, in Babe’s kitchen, I smelled the sweet aroma of bacon boiling in the large pot on the turf-burning stove and the even more beguiling scent of cabbage. Neighbourhood women were there assisting with the food preparation for a meal when the thrashing was done. I heard the gurgling sound of the permanently boiling tureen of water, ready to sate the constant requirement for fresh tea. I shuttled across the road, with buckets half-filled with milky tea and lumps of bread, while the other kids ferried bottles of black porter. Work stopped as the men lay on the straw on the stacks and on the thrasher to drink their porter or tea.

The thrasher seemed to grow taller as the flanking stacks of oats grew smaller, while its inner workings were mysterious due to the amazing exterior array of wheels and belts that whirred and strafed with hypnotic regularity. The vibrating baffles issued their familiar ululating roar. The oats were digested into the bowels of the machine, and it began to spit the separated straw out of the front end, like some regurgitating prehistoric beast. On the ground at the back of the thresher, I helped with the bags that were slowly filling with the warm grain. There were four outlet chutes with jute bags attached to each. My job was to watch out for bags filling and close off the shutter on the chute. When the men took away the bag, I attached an empty bag and opened the chute again. I was six years old.

Under the overall high-pitched roar of the machine were the individual sounds of some of the hard-working parts, the whirring of a wheel, the slapping of a belt, and the clapping of the baffles: whirr, whirr, whirr, whirr awhirr, slap, slap, whirr, whirr awhirr, clap, clap, whirr, whirr awhirr …….all combined to create a friendly symphony of sound. The machine weaved its magic with the community in harmony, nothing in order, but everything in its place.

Thank you, Bill, for allowing me to use your story – it was a real treat to see the whole thing through the eyes of a child. The book is available in West Cork bookstores and at https://www.amazon.ie/Only-Dead-Fish-Swim-Current/dp/1738961907

[And a note for my friend, Jim – I have taken up my bed, Jim. :))

A Signal Success in Irish Engineering – Part 1: Kedge Point

I have been under the weather and not fit for blogging so here is another of Robert’s classic posts, this one from 2020. This was the first post in a series on Signal Towers. If you’d like to read more, the complete list can be found here. Normal service will resume soon.

At first sight this gaunt ruin on the West Cork coastline could be taken for a medieval fortified house or castle, but we can date its construction very precisely – to 1805, and we also know its purpose: long-distance communication. It was only put to use for a few years, and has been derelict at least twenty times as long as it was ever in service. It’s a signal station, one of over eighty similar structures around the whole coastline of Ireland, an initiative which represented a major engineering feat of its time.

This watercolour sketch by surveyor Sir William Smith is invaluable: it dates from 1808 and shows a signal station in use in its heyday. This one is at Malin Head on the Donegal coast, Ulster, and shows the elements which would have been common to all of the stations: a signal mast, a defended tower and a ‘guard house and barrack’ – probably also an equipment store. The signal tower bears a striking resemblance to the Irish ‘tower house’ or castle dating from several hundred years earlier, with its bartizans, machicolation, base wall batter and raised entrance, All these features were practical as the towers were military installations built in the times of the Napoleonic Wars. The cartoon (below) dates from 1805 and encapsulates the fear of invasion that swept over Britain in the early 19th century. Balloons, kites, flotillas of troopships and a channel tunnel were all envisaged as ways in which the French might conquer these islands! Humorous though this may seem, France had already used military balloons in the 1790s, and Bonaparte appointed Madam Blanchard as his ‘air service chief’, though she told him an aerial invasion would probably fail because of adverse winds.

Since Theobald Wolfe Tone and the Society of United Irishmen attempted to rally France behind the Irish cause in the 1790s, Ireland was seen as a possible focus for the feared invasion, and led to the British Admiralty constructing the system of signal stations as observation posts, together with 50 Martello towers, each maintaining a garrison of troops, officers and heavy artillery. The principal purpose of the signal towers was to keep watch on the coasts and to rapidly send signals around the country if unrecognised shipping was seen. Each tower, therefore, had to be within sight of one or more of its neighbours in both directions. The average distance between towers was 13.5km, although here in West Cork the towers at Brow Head and Mizen Head are only 3.8km apart. Ireland’s coastline is about 1,400km long, depending how you measure it.

Various combinations of flags and canvas ‘balls’ could be quickly assembled on the signal masts and, with the use of a code book (above) fairly complex messages might be circulated. Another vital piece of equipment, of course, was a high quality telescope. As the Navy had such essential apparatus – and the experienced personnel to use it – the Irish signal towers were largely manned by active or retired sailors.

We set out to explore some of the signal stations close to us in West Cork. Once we feel free to travel further afield through Ireland I can see the signal towers becoming a long-term project! If those we have visited so far are good examples, they take us to some of the wildest high places with panoramic coastal views: many are utterly remote. And they are all imbued with a sense of history – of duties that demanded long hours of lonely vigilance in harsh conditions. Most are long abandoned and forlorn. But the marks of those who have been there remain inscribed on the decaying walls.

The header illustration and all the photographs above were taken on our recent visit to the signal station at Spain, to the east of Baltimore. There is rugged moorland there and dramatic cliffs overlooking Kedge Island. The site is known as Ballylinchy or Kedge Point. It’s a fair climb off-road but not difficult to reach. It’s always essential to seek permission locally before crossing farmland.

There are uninterrupted views from Ballylinchy towards Kedge Island (upper photo) and across the islands towards the Mizen (lower). Visibility was restricted on the day we visited – and this made us realise how important the weather would be for accurate observations. However, we could clearly see the signal tower on Cape Clear from this vantage point, shown below, with the Fastnet Rock and lighthouse beyond. You can understand from this view – with the camera zoomed in – how powerful the telescopes needed to be to clearly read the flag signals. Finola’s post here includes a section on the Cape Clear installations.

The Google Earth images above and below reveal the setting of this signal station on the highest point of land for miles around. History abounds on this site, with the remains of a World War 2 observation post in close proximity to the 1805 structure, and one of the many EIRE signs set into the cliff, also dating from World War 2 and set up around the coast, reportedly at the behest of the American authorities to help orientate pilots and alert them to Ireland’s neutrality.

The south facing elevation of the Kedge Point signal tower clearly shows its defensive machicolation. On the left is the stump of the LOP (World War 2 lookout post). Below – the rubble of the destroyed LOP and some of the recognisable architectural features of this tower.

Next week I will report on a very different location, which we visited on a much better day – lots of sunlight, blue skies and West Cork magic to look forward to! This time our site will be at the westernmost tip of the Sheep’s Head Peninsula, and you will get a different sense of the relative orientation and intervisibility of these intriguing historic monuments.

Below – the signal tower at Toe Head, about ten kilometres to the east, seen from Kedge Point

Added by Finola below, 2026 – Robert the architect doing an inspection

Searching for Senan: The Places

South Co Clare is Senan Country – there are churches, wells, shrines, and men, all called after him. Most importantly, there is Scattery Island – I told you how he came to be associated with Scattery in the last post, Searching for Senan: The Life.

Amanda and I were searching individually and jointly – she for holy wells, and I for churches and stained glass, and both of us for Scattery. We also found St Immy, Senan’s sister, pronounced EYE-mee, after whom Killimer (Kill-EYE-mer) is named. Our go-to encyclopaedia of Irish Saints, A Dictionary of Irish Saints by Padraig O Riain is silent on Immy but she is venerated all over south Clare and to prove it, above is one of her shrines.

We also found her birthplace – she and Senan were both born here “on a slab”. 

The well, devoted to Senan, was a trek across a field (can you see it below in the distance?

When we reached it we found that an enthusiastic painter had brightened up the gate with such an amount of thick red paint that it could no longer be opened. Undaunted, Amanda climbed over and she provided this image of the well for me.

And why haven’t I provided my own image of the well? Perhaps this photo (also by Amanda) will answer that question – with the best will in the world, I was unable to surmount the obstacle, unlike the gazelle-like leap modelled by Amanda. All I can say in my defense is that when you are trying to climb over a gate, it is fatal to start laughing.

We had other wells – Amanda is an absolutist when it comes to hunting them down. On one occasion, while I sat in the car and ate chocolate, she disappeared for a long time in search of an obscure reference on a map. When she came back she was soaked, muddied, scratched, bleeding (she had literally been through hedge backwards) – and still grinning. She had found it! At the next one, I don’t know if you can see the rain blowing across the landscape in horizontal sheets in this photo?

That rain – it was the reason our trip to Scattery Island was cancelled on the Friday. We were rescheduled on another one for Saturday. First, though on Friday night, which happened to be Culture Night all across Ireland, we attended a marvellous event in Kilrush. 

I have mentioned John Glynnn, the photographer, in previous posts. He has been generous about sharing photographs with me, including Senan, from the previous post, Brigid, for this one, and Brian Boru for this one. John lives in Kilrush, and he had organised a slideshow for Friday night – but not just any slide show. He had hired a high-powered projector and from an upstairs room in one building, he projected images of Clare’s stained glass windows across the street and onto the facade of the old, disused, cinema. He had a good turnout and a very enthusiastic audience. To see the kind of images he was projecting (all his own photography) take a browse through Clare’s Stained Glass Archives

Despite the howling gales of Friday, Saturday dawned sunny and fresh and we bounced across to Scattery Island with the local tour organisers. As you can see, we had the whole boat to ourselves – kudos to Scattery Island Tours for looking after us so well.

Unlike the short shrift given to Immy (above), O Riain spends several pages on Senan. After going through the scholarship of his hagiography, and the various versions of his Life, he gets Senan to Scattery. 

Here the Saint spent the remainder of his life, contesting his rights with various local dynasts, receiving respectful visits from Bréanainn [Brendan],  Ciarán, Féichín, and Laichtín, trading gifts with Diarmuid of Inchcleraun,  insisting to Canner Cráibhtheach that his island was off-limits to females, and finally preparing for death at Caiseadhan’s grave, ironically among women, in nearby Ceall nagCailleach Gallagh, ‘Church of the nuns’…

Pádraig Ó Riain, A Dictionary of Irish Saints

Four Courts, 2011

The island became a large monastic settlement and eventually a place of pilgrimage. Here are the directions to pilgrims – can you imagine! You would be in shreds afterwards. But no – apparently afterwards you engaged in feats of drinking and courting and fighting – the kind of revelries that led to the pilgrimage being eventually shut down by the priests.

There are the remains of 6 churches (one vestigial) on the island, but the legend of course is that there were seven.

Of particular interesting (to me) is the one beside the round tower, which has antae – one of the hallmarks of the earliest kinds of Irish churches – see my post on the Skeams church for an explanation.

The round tower is unusual in having a ground entry – and a funny bulge in the middle.

There is also a medieval church, probably 15th century, with impressive windows and a surrounding graveyard with interesting grave slabs. 

The church at the highest point on the island, cnocnanaingeal (Hill of the Angel) marks the spot when the Archangel took Senan to battle with the monster. 

From this spot there is a good view of the north end of the island, which has a battery dating to Napoleonic times and a lighthouse, once manned, now automated. 

And of course there is a holy well.

Scattery was home to many clerics and finally to several families. The men made their living as Shannon River Pilots. When a large ship came up the estuary, heading to Limerick, they would guide it through the hazards of the river, up to the port. They did this by rowing in Curraghs! If you are not familiar with a curragh, here is a good page of information. Eventually, of course, this method became obsolete and this spelled the end of a way of life on Scattery. The last couple left the island in the 1970s.

If you get a chance to go to Scattery, run, don’t walk, to make the booking. I can’t speak highly enough about the professional service we received, the knowledge and skill of the guides – ours was Pierce and he was excellent – and the altogether marvellous morning we had on Scattery.