Brendan, Judas, Harry Clarke – and Matthew Arnold

St Brendan was a favourite subject for Harry Clarke. Four of his windows depict the saint: a prizewinning student piece from 1911; his Honan Chapel commission of 1916; the Ballinrobe windows from 1924-25 (pictured above); and the windows designed for the Rathfarnham Jesuit Retreat in 1928 and subsequently relocated to Tullamore (pictured below).

The Tullamore Brendan (above) is recognisably based on that from Ballinrobe, but in this window a youthful Brendan, as described by Paul Donnelly, ‘engages the viewer directly with a penetrating look’  

Harry researched his subjects extensively and ensured that anyone working on his windows did too. Paul Donnelly, in his fascinating essay Legacy and Identity: Harry Clarke, William Dowling and the Harry Clarke Studios (in Harry Clarke and Artistic Visions of the New Irish State) tells how he sent his apprentice, William Dowling, off to the National Library to read all that was available on his subject when he was working on the Rathfarnham window (above and below).

Nicola Gordon Bowe, in the Life and Work of Harry Clarke, felt that Harry was influenced by Matthew Arnold’s poem, St Brandon, when he set about designing his student piece, now in the Crawford Art Gallery. Based on the Medieval best-seller (there are over 100 versions still extant and many translations) Navigatio Sancti Brendani Abbatis, Arnold’s poem tells of an incident on the voyage in which the Saint meets with Judas, tied to an iceberg in the ocean. There are several slightly different accounts of this part of the voyage, but Arnold’s poem is compelling, and beautifully told.

From the Ballinrobe window, a detail showing what Brendan was seeking – the Land of Promise

Both in his poetry and criticism, Arnold explored issues of morality versus religion, and themes of alienation and redemption. Clarke was constrained to work on religious subjects since most of his stained glass commissions came from churches, but revelled in the chance to introduce details from mythology and ancient hagiographies (such as O’Hanlons Lives of the Irish Saints which he consulted exhaustively) and to use those details as a springboard for his own imagination.

Also from the Ballinrobe window, the bottom panel shows Brendan praying  at the bow of the boat and an angel appearing

We can see the progression of his art, and his growing interest in the macabre, in the two depictions of Judas. Both are emotive and powerful, but in the first, from 1911, Judas is shown as a fully human, tortured man. In the Honan window, from 1916, he has turned into a monster with scales, feathers, fur and claws. One constant is that Brendan’s companions look on in shock and horror in both pieces, while the saint remains unmoved, gazing thoughtfully and perhaps compassionately on the scene.

From the Honan window, according to Gordon Bowe: ‘The upper panel which perhaps represents Brendan’s vision of Paradise, is spanned by a golden hemisphere and depicts the saint at sea in his coracle, preaching to his companions as they approach the skull-ridden coastline of America in their search for the Islands of the Blessed’

Harry went on to design two more Brendan windows, but chose different details for them. In fact, he wrote to Monsignor D’Alton at Ballinrobe, ‘The meeting with Judas I have done too often to do again with enthusiasm.’  Arnold’s poem was first published in 1860. He died in 1888 and Harry was born in 1889, so their lives did not overlap. But Harry was very well read and Arnold, at the turn of the century, was still considered one of the major poets of the Victorian era. I think you will find that the poem and the windows are a successful collaboration between two iconic figures of art and literature. I give the poem now in its entirety, illustrated by Harry Clarke. [The first image is from a panel in Tullamore, originally part of the St Brendan window but separated from it when the windows were relocated. The second and third image are from the 1911 student piece; the next three from the Honan Chapel 1916 window.]

Saint Brandan sails the northern main;

The brotherhood of saints are glad.

He greets them once, he sails again;

So late!—such storms!—The Saint is mad!

He heard, across the howling seas,

Chime convent-bells on wintry nights;

He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides,

Twinkle the monastery-lights;

But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer’d—

And now no bells, no convents more!

The hurtling Polar lights are near’d,

The sea without a human shore.

At last—(it was the Christmas night;

Stars shone after a day of storm)—

He sees float past an iceberg white,

And on it—Christ!—a living form.

That furtive mien, that scowling eye,

Of hair that red and tufted fell—

It is—Oh, where shall Brandan fly?—

The traitor Judas, out of hell!

Palsied with terror, Brandan sate;

The moon was bright, the iceberg near.

He hears a voice sigh humbly: ‘Wait!

By high permission I am here.

‘One moment wait, thou holy man

On earth my crime, my death, they knew;

My name is under all men’s ban—

Ah, tell them of my respite too!

‘Tell them, one blessed Christmas-night—

(It was the first after I came,

Breathing self-murder, frenzy, spite,

To rue my guilt in endless flame)—

‘I felt, as I in torment lay

‘Mid the souls plagued by heavenly power,

An angel touch my arm, and say:

Go hence, and cool thyself an hour!

”Ah, whence this mercy, Lord?’ I said.

The Leper recollect, said he,

Who ask’d the passers-by for aid,

In Joppa, and thy charity.

‘Then I remember’d how I went,

In Joppa, through the public street,

One morn when the sirocco spent

Its storms of dust with burning heat;

‘And in the street a leper sate,

Shivering with fever, naked, old;

Sand raked his sores from heel to pate,

The hot wind fever’d him five-fold.

‘He gazed upon me as I pass’d

And murmur’d: Help me, or I die!—

To the poor wretch my cloak I cast,

Saw him look eased, and hurried by.

‘Oh, Brandan, think what grace divine,

What blessing must full goodness shower,

When fragment of it small, like mine,

Hath such inestimable power!

‘Well-fed, well-clothed, well-friended, I

Did that chance act of good, that one!

Then went my way to kill and lie—

Forgot my good as soon as done.

‘That germ of kindness, in the womb

Of mercy caught, did not expire;

Outlives my guilt, outlives my doom,

And friends me in the pit of fire.

‘Once every year, when carols wake,

On earth, the Christmas-night’s repose,

Arising from the sinner’s lake,

I journey to these healing snows.

‘I stanch with ice my burning breast,

With silence balm my whirling brain.

Oh, Brandan! to this hour of rest

That Joppan leper’s ease was pain.’—

Tears started to Saint Brandan’s eyes;

He bow’d his head, he breathed a prayer—

Then look’d, and lo, the frosty skies!

The iceberg, and no Judas there! 

 

An Excursion to Dunboy

We have often visited the Beara Peninsula: it’s not too far away and makes a good day’s outing for us. Have a look at some recent posts here and here to get the feel of the geography. Yesterday we were out with a mission – to find out more about Donal Cam O’Sullivan Beare (1561 – 1618) and his connections with Dunboy Castle, out beyond the town of Castletown-Bearhaven in the far west of County Cork.

Our first stop was at the bustling harbour of Castletownbere which sits at the foot of the Caha Mountains. …Where land and sea collide, untamed beauty abounds… – that’s the apt heading on the website of the town’s Development Association, and it most certainly seems a lively and flourishing community, a well-placed base from which to explore the wealth of history and archaeology on the Beara. Daphne du Maurier’s novel, Hungry Hill, is set in the area and is a family saga loosely derived from the history of the Irish ancestors of du Maurier’s friend, Christopher Puxley.

We paused only for a much-needed coffee and a quick look in the Sarah Walker Gallery (precariously and picturesquely situated on the end of the town’s slipway – it’s the white building in the picture above) before setting out to find Dunboy. I had read a little of the history of the place, and knew that it had been a centre of rebellion following the Battle of Kinsale in 1601 – 1602, when allied Irish and Spanish forces were defeated at the culmination of the Nine Years War between England and the Gaelic lordships.

At the edge of the Dunboy Demense are traces of a castellated sea-wall and a gatehouse (above).  The territory was a stronghold of the O’Sullivan Beare clan leader, and was built to guard and defend the harbour of Berehaven. Its presence enabled O’Sullivan Beare to control the sea fisheries off the coast and collect taxes from Irish and continental European fishing vessels sheltering in the haven. It was also a centre for trade to and from the continent. Following the Battle Of Kinsale Donal Cam O’Sullivan Beare’s followers retreated to Dunboy Castle which was considered an impregnable stronghold.

The 25″ historic Ordnance Survey map (upper picture) shows the location of the O’Sullivan Beare fortress, circled in red. Don’t be confused by the ‘Dunboy Castle’ label: this is a later building added to an existing tower house that stood on the hill above the promontory. The estate came into the hands of the Puxley family who invested significantly in the Allihies copper mines in the 19th century. The development in the centre of the aerial view above is Puxley Manor, and is a 21st century incarnation of the huge neo-gothic family mansion created by the family, which was burnt out by the IRA in the 1920s.

These pictures show the mansion after its destruction and today. In the lower photograph you can see the original tower house in the foreground: the buildings were fully restored as part of a high-profile ‘Celtic Tiger’ project to create a 6-star hotel which could have brought employment and significant economic benefits to the area. Unfortunately the project collapsed before completion, and the future of this decaying leviathan is uncertain.

We could only look in awe at the very evident and lavish quality of the restoration and development, even now, and speculate how its fortunes might have fared in more stable times. But all this was a bit of a diversion, as our goal was a much less audacious – but far more historically important – site: the original ‘Dunboy Castle’. We followed the trackway along the inlet, which looks as though it was artificially constructed to form a quay serving the demesne.

The ruin itself is unassuming: thick stone walls barely a few metres high. However, the ground plan is clear to see – a typical ‘tower house’ design with splayed openings and steps contained in the thickness of the outer walls. Also visible in the surroundings, however, are the clear ‘star’ shapes of an enclosure, complete with salient angles. These outer defences, reminiscent of ‘star-shaped forts’ evidently date from Cromwellian times, constructed after the castle was destroyed.

These ruins conceal an unhappy tale. At Kinsale the clan chiefs has been assisted by a large force of troops sent by King Philip III of Spain, who considered that a federation with Ireland would assist his aspirations against Elizabethan England. After the surrender, a number of O’Sullivan followers retreated to Dunboy, where they found the small Spanish force stationed there  preparing to hand the castle over to the queen’s Lord Deputy, Mountjoy. O’Sullivan overpowered and disarmed the Spaniards and later released them to return to Spain, having kept kept all of their arms, ordnance and munitions. Inevitably, an English force under George Carew set out for Dunboy: it is said that this force numbered between 4,000 and 5,000 troops. O’Sullivan Beare set up defences at the castle, but set off himself with most of his own army to consolidate in the north of the Beara Peninsula. Only 143 of his men were left behind at Dunboy, together with Friar Dominic Collins to look after their spiritual welfare. The siege of Dunboy began with an artillery bombardment by land and sea. Owen O’Sullivan of Carriganass, a cousin of Donal Cam, had allied himself with the English and informed them of a weak point in the castle walls. The guns were directed to that point, and the walls were eventually breached. After a ten day siege, Dunboy was reduced to the ruin we see today.

Above is a wonderful graphic illustration of the Siege of Dunboy Castle from Pacata Hibernia or A History of the Wars in Ireland during the Reign of Queen Elizabeth first published in 1633. Only 72 of the Irish defenders survived the seige: they were all hanged, including Friar Dominic Collins. Most of the hangings took place in the bustling square of Castletown-Bearhaven, close to where we had enjoyed our coffee at the start of our excursion.

Here I am meeting Donal Cam himself in the ruins of his former stronghold. My account of the Siege of Dunboy is a very condensed version. Much more has been written about the details. As for O’Sullivan Beare, he eventually embarked on a long march to Leitrim with a thousand of his followers – but that’s a further unhappy story, best kept for another day!

Dunboy Castle and its immediate environs are publicly accessible and there is plenty of parking within easy reach. We finished our day on the Beara by following a rural loop walk from the castle ruin back to the gatehouse – about 5 kilometres in idyllic surroundings.

Irish Immersion!

We traversed the Dingle Peninsula on the way to our week-long ‘Irish Immersion’ course. Our route included the Conor Pass (above) – possibly Ireland’s highest mountain pass with a summit of 456m: not to be missed, as the views from it are spectacular in all directions. Do be careful, though, as it’s included in the list of ‘the World’s most dangerous roads’. That’s because in places it is only a winding single track, with the way almost tunnelled out of steep rock faces: don’t try it in a bus!

Once over the pass, however, it’s plain sailing and sunshine all the way down to Dingle itself, a busy waterside town (which sells the best ice-creams!),  where we stayed while we were on our course. Here’s the view from Coastline House, our very well-appointed B + B:

So why would I want to learn the Irish language? And how easy is it? The answer to the second question is: it’s fiendishly difficult – especially for an ear that’s been attuned to English for a lifetime! But – here I am in my eighth decade, an Irish citizen and a permanent resident of West Cork – so what would be more natural (and good for the ageing brain) than being able to communicate in the native tongue? Finola, of course, learnt Irish right through her schooldays (it’s been compulsory since the founding of the Irish State) and can hold her own in conversation, but she wants to improve her knowledge and took a course at a higher level: I was in the raw beginners’ class, together with our good friends Amanda and Peter Clarke, with whom we enjoyed great craic in our free time.

The western part of the Dingle Peninsula is a Gaeltacht area: that means it is a place where Irish is the dominant language; all street signs, traffic signs etc are in Irish only; anyone in shops, businesses etc is likely to speak in Irish, and there are a number of schools where teaching is all in Irish. Our courses were based in Baile an Fheirtéaraigh (in English it would be known as Ballyferriter) – to the west of Dingle town (which is, in Irish, An Daingean). You can tell from many of the photographs in this post how stunningly beautiful the landscape is in this part of Ireland. The upper picture above shows the very fine school building of Coláistí Chorca Dhuibhne, which hosts all the Irish classes. The ones for adults are run by the Oidhreacht Chorca Dhuibhneyou can find all the details here if you’ve a mind to give it a try yourself.

It’s a different world in the Gaeltacht areas: can you guess what the sign above is saying?

You ought to know, also, that the Gaeltacht area here is known as Corca Dhuibhne, which translates literally as ‘the seed or tribe of Duibhne’ and derives from the clan who anciently lived in this part of County Kerry. Try saying ‘Corca Dhuibhne‘ . . . How did you get on? This is what I should have heard:

Above – streetscapes in the lively village of Baile an Fheirtéaraigh (Ballyferriter). Note the signage in the upper picture. The lower picture will be self-explanatory to Star Wars fans: the film series is set “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….” – Fadó Fadó is the Irish way of beginning a fairy-tale, meaning literally “long long ago….”. And – just to confuse you (and me) – Ar an mBualtín means “in Ballyferriter”! I know – I just told you that the town is Baile an Fheirtéaraigh in Irish, but the townland is known as an mBuiltín, which is in fact another way of describing a “booley” which, you will no doubt remember from my post here, is the place where cattle are taken up to the hill pastures in the summer. So, all things Irish are often not straightforward. Just to explain a connection: parts of the latest Star Wars episodes have been filmed on the promontories above Ballyferriter – a great ‘selling point’ for the local tourism industry!

Green roads lead to the hillside pastures which dominate the Dingle Peninsula

Our course was taxing, and I have the greatest admiration for our múinteoir (teacher), Caitríona Ní Chathail – a wonderful lady of infinite patience, and great enthusiasm for the language which she shared with us throughout the six days. We were allowed some treats – Caitríona took us out on a walk and introduced to us some of the history of the area (kindly, she spoke bilingually); on one evening we were given a talk on archaeology by Isabel Bennet, the very knowledgable curator of the museum in Baile an Fheirtéaraighand on the final evening we combined our various talents to give a concert to all the students, Oíche Airneáin – literally a “night of visiting”, and we each had to introduce ourselves in Irish!

Upper – Caitríona’s history walk around the locality; lower – my contribution to the Oíche Airneáin was some tunes played with Christy Martin on hammered dulcimer. Christy, a fellow student, is a professional travelling musician from California

How do I feel after the course? Exhilarated by the experience of having concentrated for a week on one fundamental aspect of Irish culture, but daunted by the very long path upon which I have embarked – and uncertain as to how to make sure to build on that grounding. One thing that impressed me above all is the obvious passion that the people of Baile an Fheirtéaraigh and Coláistí Chorca Dhuibhne have for their particular Gaeltacht: Caitríona made sure that we realised that the Irish which she taught us is specific to Corca Dhuibhne: each of the Gaeltacht areas has its own dialect, although – whichever version of Irish you learn – you will be understood by speakers from the other areas.

Traditions and stories are abundant in the Corca Dhuibhne Gaeltacht: upper picture – the Wren is hunted on the Peninsula at Stephen’s Day (26 December), and I caught a glimpse of some ‘straws’ hanging behind a door: part of the costumes worn by one of four ‘Wran’ groups who keep the tradition alive in Dingle. Lower picture – two of many gullauns (standing stones) dating from ancient times and which remain in the landscape of the Peninsula: the backdrop is Mount Brandon, named after the 5th century saint – Brendan – who discovered America long before Christopher Columbus!

I was pleased to be presented with a certificate by Caitríona at the end of the course! We all had one, and mine will serve as a reminder of the intensive week. Hopefully, it will also serve as an incentive to delve further into the mysteries of Gaeilge. I am already determined to revisit the wonders of Corca Dhuibhne as soon as possible!

A Lost Cross-Inscribed Stone – Found Again!

An exciting discovery by Robert has led us on yet another journey – this time to the Dingle Peninsula in the Early Medieval period. But the journey started in Adare Manor and I don’t think it’s finished yet. Let me explain…

Our Christmas present to each other was a two night stay in Adare Manor – a favourite place full of history. Robert has written about a previous stay there when he was overwhelmed by the Gothic architecture and I wrote about our falconry experience. This time, we spent much time wandering the extensive and beautiful grounds. There’s a small grove of trees between the house and the golf club and this is where the Adare Manor collection of Ogham stones are located. These fine examples of Ogham, all of which came from Co Kerry originally, have been located at the Manor since the early nineteenth century. In recent years the grove has been cleaned up (older photos show it to have been quite overgrown and brambly) and the stones themselves have been straightened and cleaned. (Read more about Ogham in this post from a few years ago by Robert.)

Robert spotted a flat slab lying in the ground among the stones. He has developed a keen eye for anything resembling a carving (remember his find at Inish Beg?) and called me over to look more closely. We took several photographs, trying to get the best light to show up the carvings – a difficult task underneath the trees. It was obviously something, and vaguely reminiscent of Early Medieval (or Early Christian as it used to be called) carvings we had seen elsewhere, but odd and indistinct.

Noting that there was no record of anything except Ogham stones at this location in the National Monuments inventory, I sent photographs to Chris Corlett, an archaeologist with the National Monuments Service and an authority on the Early Medieval period. He responded that he was pretty certain it was from that period and forwarded the correspondence to Caimin O’Brien, the NM archaeologist with responsibility for Limerick. That’s where we started to get some answers. Caimin immediately recognised the carving from an 1865 book!

The book is Memorials of Adare Manor by Caroline, Countess of Dunraven (it’s available online at that amazing resource, archive.org). Caimin sent me a screen print, from which it was obvious that this was the same stone. The Dunravens, like many educated people in the nineteenth century, were interested in antiquities of all sorts. They are referenced here and there as ‘rescuing’ ancient artefacts and stones from damage, and Lady Dunraven goes to some pains to explain that none of the pieces that ended up in the museum at Adare Manor were in situ when they were acquired.

Four cross-inscribed stones are described in the book, all of which came from the Dingle Peninsula in West Kerry, or Corca Dhuibhne, from the area around Ballyferriter, west of Dingle. It’s an area that is unusually rich in Early Medieval sites – Reask, Gallarus and Kilmalkader are only three of the well known monastic ruins. Of those four stones, three are now back in West Kerry and on display. Until we found it, however, nobody had any idea what had happened to the fourth stone!

Imaged above and below are the cross-inscribed pillar that came from Reask in the early 1800s – and returned there in the 1970s

The late Tom Fanning excavated the Reask site (Riasc, in Irish) in the 70s and it is now a monument in state care, carefully reconstructed to suggest what an early monastic site would have looked like. One of the Adare stones had come from Reask and it was sent back to the reconstructed site “. . .through the kind offices of Lord and Lady Dunraven.” My photographs are below, but if you want to see it in 3D, click here.

A group of Americans were enacted some kind of ritual at the Reask monastic site when I was there. There was a lot of shouting about darkness and light and and dancing in a circle

Two others of the original four also arrived back in West Kerry and are both now at the Músaem Corca Dhuibhne in Ballyferriter, under the knowledgeable care of Isabel Bennett, the curator, pictured below with the second cross-inscribed stone). I am assuming that the stones were returned at the same time as the pillar now at Reask. Isabel has poured over all the available documentation but, like me, she can’t quite figure out when or why the transfers were made.

The more elaborate of the two came from Reask, but may have been considered too worn to be displayed outdoors. I give Lady Dunraven’s drawing below (although I am not sure who actually did the drawings – it may have been our old friend George Victor du Noyer). You can view a 3d rendering here.

The smallest of the stones (below) is triangular in shape and came originally from the townland of Killvickadownig, a few kilometres south of Reask, near Ventry. There’s a faint carving of a cross on the back, but the front bears a lovely four-armed cross with curled ends. The stone appears to have been detached or broken off from something else.

But our piece, the Adare Manor cross-inscribed stone, where did it come from and why is it, alone of the four, still at Adare? Well, it appears from Lady Dunraven’s account that the stone came from Ballydavid (Baile Daith), not too far from the other stones, and ‘close to a ringfort.’ Caimin has now uploaded the record (screenshot below) with a provisional original location near the only ringfort in Ballydavid, but noting of course that the stone is located in Adare Manor.

I can find no explanation as to why this stone was left at Adare Manor when the others were moved. It seems that the Reask pillar was located among the Ogham stones also, while the other two may have been indoors. Perhaps our Ballydavid slab was covered in moss and brambles to the extent that it was simply overlooked. Whatever the reason, I am glad to have been part of the rediscovery of this curious stone. I never cease to be amazed at the variety of forms these early cross slabs take, and this one is certainly unusual. While a cross shape forms the upper core of the carving, the central part reminds me of the monks’ habits that you see on occasional high crosses, such as the ones at Kilfenora. But what about all those squiggles at the bottom? I can make no sense of them.

Nick Hogan of the Dept of Archaeology at University College Cork had graciously taken the images I sent and turned them into a 3D rendering: the image below is a still from that process. My photogrammetry skills need refining but he still managed to create an image that is clearer than any photograph.

A close-up of the carved area. The grid at bottom left is part of a scale-arrow

There are still unanswered questions in this story, but the biggest unanswered question – Where is the fourth stone? – has at least been answered.

Still from a 3D render of the cross-inscribed stone

It’s been a fascinating bit of detective work to piece the story together and many people have contributed their expertise generously, particularly Chris Corlett, Caimin O’Brien, Nick Hogan and Isabel Bennet, while Sarah Ormston of the Adare Manor Hotel facilitated our access to the slab for recording purposes. Our thanks to all of them.

Mapping West Cork, Part 2: John Speed

John Speed was one of the greatest of Britain’s map-makers, but it is unclear how much actual original cartography he did. Much of the information in his maps appears to be based on Mercator’s maps, which we featured in Mapping West Cork, Part 1. What does appear to be original, as there are no previous records of them, are the city maps, so we can be reasonably sure that these were done from his own calculations – laid out by paces rather than by measuring implements.

Who was John Speed? Born in 1551, he trained as a tailor but his passion was for maps and he finally worked his way into a full time position as a historian and geographer, even being allocated a room for his research by Queen Elizabeth I.

His magnum opus was The Theatre of the Empire of Great Britaine, published in 1611 and 12. This marks them as later than Mercator’s maps, but earlier than Joan Blaeu’s (see Part 1).  They were also drawn with the collaboration of Iodicus Hondius, who had drawn Mercator’s, which also explains the similarities to Mercator’s maps.

The edition of Speed’s atlas that is most often referenced is the one published in 1676, and that is the one that the wonderful David Rumsey acquired and uploaded to his map collection site. Until I read the fine print, I hadn’t realised that the maps in fact dated to 1611/12 and therefore were older than the Blaeu atlas.

This is the period immediately following the Battle of Kinsale in 1603, which marked the decisive end to the Nine Year’s War, and to the old Gaelic way of life. The maps were also made in the period after the failed Desmond Rebellions of 1569–1573 and 1579–1583. They still name the great Irish families rather than the English planters who would so totally supplant them over the course of the next century. In this regard, it is an important record of what was happening on the ground in 1611.

Along with his Atlas he produced a work that combined history and geography – the Invasions of England and Ireland, in 1601 and 1627. He was, of course, a devoted subject of the Queen (‘her sacred maiestie’) and his political opinions tended to the conservative, if not puritantinical.

This map is accompanied by the history of invasions, with suitable illustrations. I am particularly taken with the depiction of ‘Desmond beheded’

True to his day, he depicted the Irish quite differently from the British – the lowest grade of English person was the Countryman or Country woman, whereas in Ireland it was the Wilde Man or Woman.

The city maps were all new and it seems that Speed, with one of his sons, actually travelled to the cities he includes in his atlas and paced out the distances, drawing the maps based on these calculations. They are a unique and invaluable record of a time when Ireland had walled cities, especially given that so few intact stretches of those walls remain. (We’ve visited some impressive remains, though – see Youghal’s Walls and our post on the walled town of Fethard.)

The Dublin map is from a later edition

The actual physical depiction of the land is recognisably based on the Mercator map but there is more information now about locations and families. I was delighted to see Rossbrin show up (Roßbrenon) along with Ardintenant (Artenay), since it is this castle that we look across to from our home. Mizen Head and Brow Head are both marked, and the Sheep’s Head is also noted as Moentervary (Muintir Bheara is the Irish designation for that Peninsula).

Besides the O’Mahonys, the O’Driscolls, the McCarthys, the O’Donovans, Sir Peter Carew occupies a chunk of land. Someday I will write about his claim to that land and the lengths he went to to secure the deeds to it. But perhaps I shouldn’t be too exclusive to West Cork: below is a section of North Cork and part of Kerry in 1612. What can you see?

Maps drawn by a colonising power, have an agenda far beyond simply charting the territory. John Speed’s became the defining maps of the expanding British Empire during the seventeenth century and indeed they influenced British people’s perceptions of the world until well into the eighteenth. For us in Ireland, and in West Cork, they are an invaluable social document.

Mapping West Cork, Part 1

Industrial Archaeology in Crookhaven

Roaringwater Journal has featured Crookhaven many times. This far south-western outpost of Ireland has layers of history: thousands of years ago people lived in this area and made marks on the rocky landscape while countless generations of seafarers forged a ‘haven’ from the naturally sheltered ‘crook’ of land upon which the settlement is based. Even into the twentieth century pioneering technological advances were being made in Crookhaven: in the early 1900s Marconi sent some of the world’s earliest radio communications from Brow Head to vessels in the Atlantic shipping lanes.

Header – the ‘old roadstone quarry’ dominates the landscape to the north of Crookhaven Harbour. Above – looking across the harbour from the ‘quarry quay’ towards Brow Head, one of the scenes of operation of Marconi in Ireland

I am fascinated by all traces of industrial history: for me it’s ‘modern archaeology’: some of it might survive long enough to puzzle historians of the far future. I couldn’t ignore, therefore, the huge steel and concrete structures which line the R591 road which approaches Crookhaven when travelling from Goleen. They are built into the hillside above the road, and tie in with a substantial stone quay which has been constructed below it.

The quay which was presumably built to serve the quarry to the north of Crookhaven: the village can be seen across the water

Looking at the construction of this quay, and particularly the wear on the masonry steps leading down to the water, it would be reasonable to assume that the quay predates the concrete and steel structures which abut the road above it – by a long way. You might suppose that such significant edifices would have a history attached to them which would be easy to find, either from local informants, or in written or electronic record. However, I have so far drawn a blank. Well – not quite: there are countless identical references in contemporary accounts of Crookhaven to ‘…the old roadstone quarry on the side of the mountain, which provided metalling for the roads of Wales until 1945…’ I did find one variant, a caption to a general view of the area: ‘…Looking up to the Roadstone Quarry along the north shore of Crookhaven Harbour. The quarry was a source of gravel for Welsh tarred gravel roads until the 1930s…’

The quay below the ‘roadstone quarry’ is a paradise for industrial archaeologists and photographers! It must have had generations of users, up to fairly recent times, all of whom have left behind traces of their presence, but no solid history. I’m hopeful that readers of this post might be stirred to recall stories or memories – or even point me to some documented history to explain the provenance of this little piece of the complex West Cork jigsaw.

I’m borrowing this photograph of the Crookhaven quarry from the log of the MV Dirona, with thanks to Jennifer and James Hamilton, who hail from Victoria, British Columbia and are currently cruising the world in their Nordhaven 5263 vessel. They explored the south west coast of Ireland in June 2017 and, from the water, took this perfect view of the quay, the ‘roadstone quarry’ and the mountain face above it, from which the stone has been extracted. It’s my opinion that the face was worked for construction stone possibly from the 1800s: in September 1846 a road was proposed between Rock island and Crookhaven, and the county surveyor provided an estimate of £1,857. Prior to this, the road which had been built by Richard Griffith, civil engineer for Munster, extended as far as Rock Island, and passage from there to Crookhaven itself could only be made by water. The 1846 road is today the R591 which passes below the quarry. It would be reasonable to suppose that locally available stone suitable for roadmaking would have been used, and the quarry may have had its origins at this time. The construction of the adjacent quay could have been contemporary with this early use of the quarry, but the huge concrete and steel structures we see today are probably an incarnation of the revival of the quarry in the early 20th century. I stand to be corrected.

One of the fascinations of old industrial sites is the way they are taken over by nature if left relatively undisturbed. This one is no exception. There is a monumentality here which is being eroded and softened as time goes by. What does the future hold? Interestingly a -presumably serious – proposal was made in a not-too-long-ago iteration of the Goleen & District Community Council Development Plan:

PROPOSALS

2.24 The old Roadstone quarry-works at Crookhaven Harbour should be developed as an amenity – perhaps a hotel with a restaurant with observation deck at the top…

Hmmm… notions of grandeur there, perhaps – and little regard for practicalities, but it shows the power of imagination! I think it’s far more likely that the area will remain in its present state for many years to come and, perhaps, attract a level of ‘industrial architecture tourism’. Incidentally, it’s not too far away from the site of a fish palace run by William Hull and the Great Earl of Cork in the early seventeenth century: the remains of this are there to see to this day, although almost entirely returned to nature.

Below – a now impassable tunnel under the road connects the quarry workings with the quay; nature entangled with the leftovers of human activity

Endpiece – the old workings and quay are directly opposite the centre of Crookhaven- here’s a view towards the quarry from the village: