Archaeology

Péacáin Revisited

This was the scene in the Working Artist Studios, Ballydehob, on Friday evening. It was the launch of a brand new book by our friend Amanda Clarke: Holy Wells of County Cork. That’s Amanda, above, in the centre, with Finola on her left. Regular readers will know that we share many adventures with Amanda and Peter, and we were so pleased to see the successful fruition of her years of research with this outstanding volume, exquisitely designed by Peter, now available to purchase online, and in bookshops. Finola wrote about this venture last week. I thought I would indirectly celebrate it today by reviving a Roaringwater Journal post from five years ago, about one of our own expeditions that included a visit to a holy well.

Once again we followed in the footsteps of Amanda and Peter: they had visited the Glen of Aherlow in County Tipperary and pointed us to St Berrehert’s extraordinary site at Ardane which I described in this post. Not far away is another site, equally remarkable, and related to St Berrehert’s Kyle in that they were both restored by the Office of Public Works in the 1940s. They are also both very easily accessible in a few minutes from the M8 motorway at Cahir.

We were delighted to be travelling again through the beautiful Glen in the shadow of the Galtee Mountains (above) as we searched out a boreen that led us down to the railway. We parked and crossed at the gate, watching out carefully as this is the Waterford to Limerick Junction line used by two trains a day (except on Sundays!)

Once across, we were in an idyll. It’s a private lane, running alongside a gentle stream, but the Bourke family allow visitors to walk (as they have done for centuries) to the old church, the cell and the holy well of Saint Péacáin. Ancient stone walls line the way, and trees overhang, shading the dappled sunlight in this most exceptional of Irish seasons. We met Bill Bourke, who regaled us with tales of his life spent mostly far away from this, his birthplace – but who returned to rebuild the family home and to enjoy perpetual summer in what is, for him, the most beautiful setting in the world. He also told us of the crowds who used to come to celebrate St Péacáin at Lughnasa – 1st August – paying the rounds and saying the masses.

In her monumental work (it runs to over 700 pages) The Festival of Lughnasa – Oxford University Press 1962 – Máire MacNeill points out the harvest feast day was such an important ancient celebration that it survives as the focus of veneration of many local saints who would otherwise have been known for their own patron day, and she particularly mentions Tobar Phéacáin in this regard: a place well away from any large settlement where the great agricultural festival was so critical to the cycle of rural life.

The rural setting of St Péacáin’s Cell can be seen above, just in front of the trees; the church and the well are nearby. MacNeill provides a description of Tobar Phéacáin and includes some variant names:

. . . Tobar Phéacáin (Peakaun’s Well), Glen of Aherlow, Barony of Clanwilliam, Parish of Killardry, Townland of Toureen . . . On the northern slope of the Galtee Mountain at the entrance to the Glen of Aherlow and about three or four miles north-west of Caher there is a well and ruin of a small church. About a mile beyond Kilmoyler Cross Roads a path leads up to it . . . In 1840 O’Keefe, of the Ordnance Survey team, reported that the old church was called by the people Teampuillin Phéacáin, or just Péacán . . .

. . . The well, which he described as lying a few perches south-east of the church was called Peacan’s Well or Tobar Phéacáin. It was surrounded by a circular ring of stonework. He stated: ‘The pattern-day still observed at this place falls on the 1st of August, which day is, or at least until a few years since, has been kept as a strict holiday.’ Devotions were also, he said, performed there on Good Friday . . .

A hundred years after O’Keefe wrote this, the church ruins were tidied up by the Office of Public Works. As at St Berrehert’s Kyle, it seems there were numerous carved slabs on the site and remnants of high crosses, implying a significant ecclesiastical presence here. All these have been fixed in and around the church ruin for safekeeping, and in an intelligent grouping. It’s wonderful to be able to see such treasures in the place they were (presumably) made for, and to experience them in such a remote and peaceful ambience.

McNeill continues:

. . . Nearby is the shaft of a cross which tradition avers was broken in malice by a mason who was then stricken with an inward pain and died suddenly as a punishment for his sacrilege . . . O’Keefe was told a story of a small stone, 6 or 7 inches long and 4 or 5 in depth, having ten little hollows in it and resting in a hollow of the ‘altar’ of the old church. Christ, or according to others St Péacán, asked a woman, who had been churning, for some butter; she denied having any and when the visitor departed she found the butter had turned into stone which retained the impression of her fingers . . . Nuttall-Smith speaks also of a cave where the saint used to practice austerities . . .

The carved fragments are quite remarkable and are in all likelihood well over a thousand years old. I have yet to see anywhere in Ireland – outside of museums – which has such an extensive collection of fascinating medieval antiquities as these sites in the Glen of Aherlow. Here you can also see cross slabs and a sundial said to date from the eighth century.

Nuttall-Smith’s ‘cave’ – quoted by MacNeill above – is likely to be St Péacáin’s Cell, set in a field on the far side of the river. This was probably a clochán, or beehive-hut, of the type once used by anchorites. It is protected by a whitethorn tree, but was quite heavily overgrown on the day of our visit. We could make out the ballaun stones inside, said to be the knee prints of the Saint who made his constant devotions there. Amanda – in her post on the holy well – reports that Péacáin would also stand daily with arms outstretched against a stone cross, chanting the psalter.

McNeill discusses the significance of weather at the August celebrations:

. . . Paradoxically for a day of outing so fondly remembered, no tradition of the Lughnasa festival is stronger than that which says that it is nearly always rainy. No doubt this has been only too often experienced. Saint Patrick’s words to the Dési: ‘Bid frossaig far ndála co bráth’ (Your meetings shall always be showery) must be as well proved a prophecy as was ever made. Still there must be more significance in the weather beliefs than dampened observation. Certainly it was expected that rain should fall on that day, and sayings vary as to whether that was a good or bad sign . . . There are a few interesting beliefs about thunder, which was also expected on that day: the loud noise heard at Tristia when the woman made rounds there to have her jealous husband’s affection restored; the prophecy that no-one would be injured by lightning at Doonfeeny, a promise also made by St Péacán . . .

The holy well is tucked away in a stone-walled enclosure hidden under the trees on the edge of the field which contains the Saint’s cell. It is also a tranquil place, obviously still much visited: the water is crystal clear, refreshing and will ensure protection from burns and drowning.  This is a magical setting to complete our day’s travels in the beautiful Glen of Aherlow.

Prehistoric West Cork

What’s your favourite thing to do in West Cork? Ours is to pull on our boots and go on a field trip – often archaeological. To encourage you to enjoy the wealth of prehistoric sites West Cork has to offer, I’ve made a slideshow. It’s a fairly random selection of sites, but they are all prehistoric and all visitable. The music is Sliabh na mBan by the incomparable Liam O’Flynn, from the album The Piper’s Call.

For more information on any of the sites, type its name in the search function at the top of the page. We’ve written about all of them at one time or another. Then pull on those boots!

Fort of Gold 2: The Castle

This post will be about the castle itself, as a follow-up to Part 1 about the promontory and historical background. I received some very interesting comments on the name, Dún an Óir, which I interpret as Fort of Gold, and I will write more about that at the end of this post. If you are not familiar with castle architecture, before you start, you might want to browse my castles page and pay attention to how they were built and what the castles of Ivaha generally looked like. Unless otherwise identified, all the photographs in this post were kindly sent to me by Tash, one of our readers. In this one, taken from the sea, the impregnable siting of the castle can be appreciated.

The castle was surrounded by a bawn wall, clearly visible still. Three floors (ground, first and second) were surmounted by a ‘partial vault’, above which was the principle chamber or solar – the private domain of the castle owner and his family but also where visitors were entertained.  Above that was a mezzanine floor and above that again was a wall walk, accessed via a spiral staircase from the main chamber. 

In her paper on this castle*, Sarah Kerr points out that it is, in fact, unlike the other O’Driscoll Castles of Dún na Séad and Dún na Long, and indeed other West Cork Castles, in that it only had one entry, at the ground-floor level. It is possible, she says, that the tower was so well defended naturally by its position, that a raised entry (an additional line of defence) was unnecessary. She also points out that a raised entry functioned as a status symbol, since it was the entry used by the chief to access the private rather than the public spaces within the tower. Perhaps Dún an Óir was therefore a lower-status castle, occupied by a garrison rather than by a chieftain. She provides this plan

Another unusual feature is the small projecting tower that contained the garderobes. You can see that projecting addition in the plan, above, and in the photograph, below. The entry led up, via a mural staircase to a door giving admittance to the first floor, and carrying on to entries at the second and third floor levels. From there, another stairs led up to the wall walk.

Flat slabs were used to dress the outside of the walls, the same construction method as at Dunlough, although not as finely built. 

Instead of a complete vault, such as we see at Dunmanus or Rincolisky, there is a ‘partial vault’, described by Samuel:

Two free arches resembling ‘slices’ of a barrel vault were built. The gaps between the arches and the walls created were lintelled over with large overlapping slabs. This ‘economy’ vaulting was much lighter than a complete vault. 

The Tower Houses of West Cork by Mark Samuel

In fact, this type of internal vaulting is not that unusual in West Cork – we saw it at Dunlough and in the small tower at Dunworley. At Dunlough, we can still see many of the large slabs of slate that once bridged the gaps between the arches of the partial vaulting, while at Dunworley the roof is still intact. In Tash’s photograph below you can see the double arches and the full extent of the three floors below them, as well as the chamber above which would have had a pitched wooden roof..

The top room, or chamber, was very high with a pitched roof supported at each end with an archway. The archway also allowed the top of the wall to be kept clear to form a wall walk. A conjectural reconstruction drawing at Ballinacarriga conveys the idea, although Dún an Óir only had one arch, not two.

The battlements have disappeared – they were likely Irish crenellations consisting of stepped merlins and crenels (see here) – but the wall walk can still be discerned. As you can see below, the steps can still be climbed by those brave enough.

Quite a bit of the bawn wall survives, although of course it would have been much higher (possibly as described here). If the sheer cliffs were not enough to deter any thought of attack, the walls would have provided an additional barrier. Unfortunately, they were not able to withstand cannon fire, let alone the passage of hundreds of years. Sarah Kerr has an interesting take on this wall:

Bawns are often considered an additional defensive feature, or at least deterrent. Dún an Óir’s in this regard is somewhat excessive as anyone who could scale the rocky façade of the promontory would likely not be deterred by additional few metres of wall. The bawn, however, would have provided the inhabitants a layer of safety against accidental falls and protection from some of the inclement weather, such as high winds and storm waves from which Roaringwater Bay gets its name. These humdrum practicalities of the medieval lived experience have often been overlooked in castleology or castle-adjacent buildings archaeology, however, it is this very granularity which deepens our understanding of how these buildings worked.


Networked Control: Tower Houses in Ireland by Sarah Kerr

The bawn, in Samuel’s estimation, (that’s his plan above) was big enough to accommodate quite a large herd of cattle. An interesting feature is that of an outside kitchen with an oven, reminding me of what was uncovered at Rincolisky, another O’Driscoll castle, in recent excavations. In the plan above the oven is the circular feature at the north corner of the tower. Other buildings stood inside the bawn, although their purpose is not clear. There may have been a gatehouse, and the ‘possible wall embrasure’ in Kerr’s plan is viewed by Samuel as a corner turret. Samuel lays out what he can interpret of the various walls that surround the castle:

The continuous and well-preserved north wall of the bawn terminates to the west with a return that runs a short distance north before being broken away. This is the inner face, a turret with gunloops which defended the bawn. The curved outer wall enfiladed the mainland with three widely splayed gunloops.

The interpretation of the ruins east of the tower house is more difficult. Erosion has removed the eastermost part of the defences. Two separate walls on the east side of the tower diverge from its orientation; running approximately due east they seem to have formed the north and south walls of a smaller enclosure containing another building. At the west end, the north wall meets a wall (the junction is destroyed) with a gate which abuts the north face of the tower. The robbed jambs of a large gate survive on the east face of the wall and indicates that the gate swung inwards to the west where another enclosure presumably existed. A deep drawbeam is visible in the south jamb. This gate now leads almost directly into a deep ravine. A fair-weather landing stage may have once existed on this side of the island but it would have rarely have been safe to use.

. 
The Tower Houses of West Cork by Mark Samuel

Sarah Kerr positions Dún an Óir in a network of O’Driscoll castles that together worked to control the resources of Roaringwater Bay, to levy fishery dues, monitor trade, and defend territory when necessary. Within this network, the highest status tower, and probably centre of administration was Dún na Séad (Baltimore). The highly visible nature of all these castles, some on promontories and all visible from the sea, were ‘manifestations of authority, wealth and status.’ She posits that: 

Due to Dún an Óir’s lack of a slipway, natural harbour or rock-cut steps, it is unlikely that manging the fish produce was a primary role at this dwelling, particularly as Dún na Long and Dún na Séad were more suited to such tasks. Instead Dún an Óir probably managed the victualing and collection of fees from passing ships, indicating that the tower houses worked in unison. It appears that each tower house had a specific role which complemented one another, as such they were unique actors that performed as a network

Networked Control: Tower Houses in Ireland by Sarah Kerr

It’s surprising how much we can tell from the remains of this once prominent symbol of power. It will never be on a tourist trail and I would not advise anyone to try to access it – but as you can see, Tash and his group managed it.

In response to my first post I had several suggestions for alternate titles on Facebook. Ruamann Ua Ríagáin proposed an alternate interpretation as Dún an Ár, or Fort of the Slaughter. There are no indications that there was any tradition of cattle-slaughtering at this site, nor any record of a massacre. However, it remains a possible interpretation. Another reader, Tom Driscoll found another Dún an Óir which was assumed to come from Dún an Ochair, meaning Fort on the Brink/ Cliff Edge. Certainly apt for this location. Finally, note the long comment on Part 1 by OVERSEASGREATGRANNY who is trying to trace similarly named forts and relate them to Irish history – quite fascinating.

When the storms rage over Roaringwater Bay it is natural to wonder how long this castle can last, isolated on its spit of land and open to the full force of nature. But it is also a comfort to know that the castle builders built it so well that it has lasted now since it was built around 1450 and battered in 1601. Here’s to another few hundred years!

Thanks again for the superb photos, Tash!
Sarah Kerr of UCC has kindly shared with me her draft paper, Networked Control: Tower Houses in Ireland. I thank her sincerely for permission to quote from this unpublished paper.

The Electrification of Ireland – A Medieval Diversion

In my recent posts I have set out a brief history of how the new State became electrified – and how this affected the urban and rural ways of life in Ireland. An important part of the story was the building of the hydro electric power station at Ardnacrusha, on the River Shannon, between 1925 and 1929. That’s the original control room, above, unaltered since construction – there’s not a screen in sight! Most of the works of the station are now handled elsewhere using screens and keyboards rather than dials and switches. This site became the nerve centre for the electrification of Ireland and the National Grid was established in tandem with the project.

This selfie shows Finola and I on a visit to Ardnacrusha last week. (If you want to go yourself you have to book in advance). We had a great time! And I’ll be reporting back on that trip in due course. But first I want to take you back in time – more than a thousand years . . .

Here’s the River Shannon today, just north of the power station. There’s a big head of water there, and the river had to be dammed and flooded to maximise the feed to the turbines. The significantly raised water level had consequences.

The aerial view, above, shows the river today with its elevated water level. In the pic you can see the ‘Site of Friar’s Island’ indicated: before 1930 there was an island there, on which were some noted relics, including the Oratory of St Molua of Kyle (also known as St Lua), who died in the year 608. His feast is celebrated on August 4th. It’s said that crowds used to assemble there on that day, most of them wading across the water to get to the island. This description of the saint is from the Schools Folklore Collection (informant Tom Seymour, aged 60, Cloncully Co Laois):

. . . We don’t know where he belongs. Some say he belongs to Killaloe. He had his monastery in Kyle. Near the monastery he had a big stone where he used to pray. There are two big holes where he laid his elbows, and two more where the tears fell. In Ballaghmore there is a trough laid up on a stone. It is always half-full of St Molua’s water. The hottest day in the summer the well is always half-full of water. When he died the people of Killaloe wanted to bury him in Killaloe and the people of Kyle wanted to bury him in Kyle. They made two coffins, one went to Kyle and the other to Killaloe. He had another monastery in Offaly . . .

Schools Folklore Collection

In this extract from the early OS 6″ map (above) you can see that the island was quite substantial. The pilgrimage involved visiting a holy well and St Lua’s Oratory. The small church was by tradition built by the saint, although it seems likely to date from the ninth or tenth centuries.

St Lua’s Oratory – Eighteenth Century water colour – Royal Irish Academy. The figures are somewhat out of scale. Below is a photograph of the Romanesque structure taken on the island in the 1920s.

. . . The nave walls are constructed with uncoursed cyclopean sandstone masonry while the chancel walls are constructed with roughly squared stones of smaller size. The chancel has a single-light round-headed E window with stepped sill-stone and unusual flat-headed doorway in the S wall. The round-headed chancel arch has curious jamb-stones which are not flush with the chancel arch and project inwards. The triangular-shaped chancel roof is bonded with lime mortar and is well preserved. The nave walls are poorly preserved and only survive several courses high with a trabeate doorway in the W wall. Excavations at Friar’s Island prior to the removal of the church revealed that the church was constructed on a stone platform enclosed by a possible cashel with a revetment wall of unknown purpose. A second stone platform (dims. 22ft (6.71m) N-S; 50ft (15.25m) E-W) was located to the S of the church and eleven skeletons were uncovered under or close to the foundations of the N wall of the church (Macalister 1929, 16-24) . . .

National Monuments Service description

As the plan to establish the new power station progressed, it became obvious that the level of the river below Killaloe would have to be raised significantly in order to maximise the water power turning the turbines to be installed: some five meters, in fact. The consequence for Friar’s Island were that it would be flooded, and the Oratory would be lost.

Considerable debate ensued, the main factions being archaeologists, engineers, and the Catholic Church. Politically, the efficient functioning of the new power station was paramount in order to show the State and the world that Ireland was an entity to be reckoned with. At the same time, the archaeologists were keen to project that the independent country recognised and championed its very rich ancient heritage, and would therefore go out of its way to preserve all surviving artefacts. The Catholic Church was anxious to show allegiance to all aspects of progress in the State, while noting that it was also the fundamental root of the unique Irish culture that led to the historical founding of sites such as St Lua’s Oratory. I was fortunate to be given access to a paper by Niamh NicGhabhann of the University of Limerick: Medieval Ireland and the Shannon Hydro-Electric Scheme: reconstructing the past in independent Ireland. Here’s an abstract:

. . . This essay considers the position of Irish medieval buildings in the early years of the twentieth century. Focusing on the treatment of the oratory of St Lua at Killaloe, it examines the ways in which the ruins of the medieval past were used to signify a range of political, religious and cultural ideas and attitudes. The rising water levels following the Shannon Scheme works (begun in 1925) meant that this stone oratory was moved from its original position on Friar’s Island to the grounds of St Flannan’s Roman Catholic Church in 1929. The resulting paper trail reflects the complex processes of decision-making within a civil service in transition as the new Irish Free State calibrated its position with regard to the past and the treatment of medieval ruins throughout the countryside. The case study of St Lua’s oratory is considered here in the context of the nineteenth-century tradition of scholarship on medieval buildings, the development of the idea of a national Irish architecture during this period, and the impact of this tradition on subsequent engagement with the buildings of the medieval past . . .

Niamh NicGhabhann
IrIsh studIes revIew, 2017 vOL 25 NO. 4

Above – a surviving photograph of St Lua’s Oratory being disassembled in 1929. The various debates had produced three alternative solutions to the dilemma of the impending inundation of Friar’s Island:

1 – Allow the island and the ruins to vanish below the flood: by far the cheapest course of action.

2 – Build a new concrete platform (effectively a new ‘island’) above the level of the flood water, and transfer the remains of the building to this.

. . . The RSAI officially responded in support of the second proposed scheme of work, involving the elevation of the building and the construction of a concrete pier. They suggested one amendment to the plan, that a ring of grass be added around the building to give the concrete plinth the appearance of an island. Given that both the RSAI and the OPW were in favour of the second scheme as the most appropriate and cost-effective course of action, the fact that the oratory was eventually moved and transported some distance from the site, however, reflects competing values, as well as several structural problems that emerged in the second scheme as proposed. As works progressed, it became clear that the elevated island site would be eventually undermined by the flow of the river, making this process untenable . . .

Niamh NicGhabhann
IrIsh studIes revIew, 2017 vOL 25 NO. 44

3 – The Scheme that was eventually adopted involved dismantling the Oratory and re-assembling it as faithfully as possible, on a suitable mainland site. Initially the suggested site was on the Clare bank of the Shannon, but the ground conditions were not suitable for a permanent structure.

. . . A further plan for relocation was also progressed, which involved moving the ruin into the town of Killaloe, and locating it beside the later and larger oratory of St. Flannan, and the medieval cathedral of St Flannan. These plans were at quite an advanced stage by mid – 1929, with several drawings and maps produced by Leask’s office for the purpose. However, while the preservation process was certainly hampered by these structural issues, ideological concerns also had a direct impact on the treatment of the oratory . . . The intervention of Bishop Fogarty was also noted on 13 July 1929, when the Limerick Leader reported that “the safeguarding of such a venerable relic of primitive Christian architecture is due to the timely intervention of Dr Fogarty, Bishop of Killaloe, who put the matter before the Government”. (Limerick Leader, 13 July 1929) . The use of the word “relic” as opposed to “ruin” is significant here, reflecting an interpretation of the site as part of a tradition of faith, rather than of architectural or antiquarian interest . . .

NIAMH NICGHABHANN
IRISH STUDIES REVIEW, 2017 VOL 25 NO. 44

In this photograph of the Oratory as it stands today in the church grounds at Killaloe, it is perhaps worth wryly commenting that we see a true piece of early medieval architecture behind the screen of ‘pseudo’ high crosses. We have a good record of how the remains were dismantled and accurately re-assembled: this was written by the archaeologist H G Leask MRIA in 1930:

. . . In order that the rebuilding should be, as far as was possible, an accurate one, it was necessary to adopt a system of marking the stonework by which the original stones should occupy their original positions when reassemble. The stones being very varied in size and irregular in shape, and laid uncured, no system of numbering such as could easily be applied to squared ashlar was admissible. To the Clerk of Works in charge, Mr C J Dowdall, must be given the credit for the scheme finally decided upon. This consisted in marking with paint of different colours a series of level lines at two feet vertical intervals all round the exterior and interior wall faces. These lines were crossed again by a series of vertical lines at the same intervals but of one distinctive colour for each wall face inside and out. Where the squares formed by this grid of paint enclosed, unmarked, a number of small stones, diagonal lines were added to each square to ensure that every stone showed the same marking. A complete series of elevational photographs of each wall face was taken and careful drawings were also made with the coloured guide lines indicated upon them. On the large plot of ground on the opposite side of the river kindly lent by Major Lefroy, above future water level, timber guide planks were laid down as a frame to each wall and gable face. On the timber frames the coloured guide lines were indicated and the stones when transported were laid down face upwards, in sand, in correct relation with the coloured marks. Each wall, of course, was divided in two vertically along its length and “displayed”. Important quoin, jamb, and arch stones were numbered in colour in regular order. The transport over the Shannon was carried out by means of a specially built barge and a rope stretched from shore to shore, the workmen simply “handing” the boat across by this means. An inclined trackway with truck and winch was erected by Messrs Siemens Bau Union and two small temporary jetties by direct labour. The Most Reverend Dr Fogarty, Bishop of Killaloe, vested a site in the Church enclosure on the summit of the hill in Killaloe town, and the building has been erected there and is now (May, 1930) approaching completion. (Note: the work of re-erection was finally completed in July, 1930) . . .

The Church of St Lua, or Molua, Friar’s Island, Co Tipperary, Near Killaloe
Further Notes – H G Leask
13 May 1930

A couple of afterthoughts to finish off with: a letter from Canon Clancy to Leask, dated 14 October 1930, asked whether a gate could be installed, as it is “liable to be desecrated by boys using it as a urinal, in fact, some boys have already been using it”. And a contemporary cutting from the Nenagh Guardian noted that . . . works cost thousands of pounds are being misused on a “folly” in demolishing St Lua’s Chapel and hiding it in a yard when they could have lifted it above the waters and put a strong light in it that would have illuminated the whole country round, and made it one of the sights of the place . . .

I am grateful to Niamh NicGhabhann for allowing me access to her excellent paper on the tensions surrounding the proposals for the Oratory remains. Further information on the Electrification of Ireland can be found in these posts:

Night’s Candles are Burnt Out

Electrifying West Cork

Rural Electrification – Process and Effect

Fort of Gold 1: The Promontory Fort

I have been gifted with a marvellous set of photographs of Dunanore, or Dún an Óir – an O’Driscoll Castle on Cape Clear. The gift came from one of our readers, Tash, and I am very grateful indeed. Regular readers know that I like to use my own photos, and I do have some that I took from the sea (like the one below) but I have none of Dún an Óir from the land, let alone from the castle itself! 

And that’s because, as you can see from the drawing by Jack Roberts at the top of this post, this castle is situated in a very perilous location, on the edge of a cliff, on a small island, essentially, making access a hazardous scramble up from a rocky beach. It was once connected to the rest of Cape Clear by a narrow causeway but this has long collapsed. It was still there in the 1770s when Charles Smith visited. In his The Ancient and Present State of the city of Cork Vol 1, he wrote:

And this brings us to the name – Dún an Óir. It means, of course, Fort of Gold, and some of the old legends about this place talk about the name coming from stories of buried treasure. But in fact, this has been the name of this fort since the first maps of this area were made in the fifteen hundreds and it speaks to the wealth of the O’Driscoll clan who built it. Remember, their other stronghold, now called Baltimore, was Dún na Séad, or Fort of Jewels (on at least one map given as Castle of Perles). On Sherkin, their castle was Dúnalong – or the Fort of the Ships – that’s it as it is now, below.

There are many accounts of their fleets of ships, and the battles they waged against the Waterfordmen in which they came out the worst for wear when Dunalong was attacked. The scene below, from an information sign on Sherkin, shows the Battle of the Wine Barrels, 1537, with both Dunalong and the Friary on Sherkin in flames

Dún means ‘fort’ but seems to be especially applied to promontory forts in the southwest. Before the castle was built, therefore, it is likely that the O’Driscolls fortified the headland, which may date well back to the Early Medieval period (400-1200) or even to the Iron Age (500BC to 400AD, or 500BCE to 400BC for those who prefer the secular version). The Illustration below is taken with permission from Dún an Óir Castle: an uncertain future, by Dr Sarah Kerr, and shows the present state of the castle, marooned on what was once a promontory connected to the Island.

Our Promontory Fort man is Thomas Westropp (see here and here), and he wrote about Dún an Óir in his 1914-16 paper for the Royal Irish Academy, Fortified Headlands and Castles in Western County Cork. Part I. From Cape Clear to Dunmanus Bay. He visited the site, but like many a good explorer before and after him, did not venture out onto the promontory, but satisfied himself with what he could see from the high ground above it. That included the promontory and ruined castle, the rather ominously named Tonelunga (The sea-bed of the Ships), the end of the promontory called Caenroan (quay of the Seals), the inlet between the promontory and the cliffs, Coosadoona (the Little Harbour of the Fort) and the high cliffs behind the fort, Foilacuslaun (Cliffs of the Castle). All of these are marked on the 19th century twenty-five inch map.

Westropp writes about Dún an Óir as one of three Promontory forts on Cape Clear Island, although in fact there are more than that, as identified by the National Monuments Record – each yellow dot below is one.

Here’s one of them (below), Lios Ó Móine (the Fort of the Meadow – lios is usually used to designate an earthen ring fort): the description and then the photo are by National Monuments Service (NMS). In the photo you can see the narrow neck of land leading out to the promontory. This is likely what the spit leading out to Dún an Óir may have looked like.

Description: In rough pasture, at the foot of a steep N-facing slope on Stuckaunfoilnabena, a headland on the NW coast of Clear Island. A narrow eroding neck of land (Wth 3m; L 15m) leads to the roughly anvil-shaped headland. Across this neck of land are the remains of three earthen banks and the shallow remains of three fosses. Further examination of the remains was not possible for safety reasons.

Curiously, the NMS does NOT identify Dún an Óir as a promontory fort – here is what it says: 

Description: The location of the tower house ‘Doonanore Castle’ (CO153-015002-) on a promontory, on the NW shore of Clear Island, suggested that it may have been built on the site of a promontory fort. However, there are no visible surface traces of an earlier defences across the promontory. The promontory is now isolated at high tide but was connected to mainland by causeway until 1831.

However, it has this to say about the earthwork identified on the high ground: 

In pasture, on a steep N-facing slope to the E of the tower house known as Doonanore Castle . . . An earthen bank . . .extends upslope in a S to SW direction from a modern E-W field boundary wall on the cliff-top at N and ends at a large outcropping rock on the edge of another cliff. This bank appears to have formed part of the defences on the land approach to the castle from the E. The bank has three contiguous linear stretches [and] there is an entrance near the N end. There is a possible hut site near the centre of the enclosed area. The short promontory on which Doonanore Castle stands is a possible coastal promontory fort.

So, as you can see, although the NMS declines to label it a promontory fort because there are no longer any signs of banks or walls, it does concede that it is possible. It also extends the defences of that fort to the higher ground above it.

Back to Westropp – He quotes:

the poem of O Huidhrin, before 1418, tells how “0 hEidersceoil assumed possession of the Harbour of Cler.” It was of some importance to the foreign traders in wine and spices, and so figures in all the early portolan maps. Angelino Dulcert, in 1339, calls it Cap de Clar ; the subsequent portolans, Cauo de Clara, 1375 and 1426 ; Clarros, 1436 ; C. d’Clara or Claro, 1450 and 1552, and, to give no more, Cauo de Chlaram, in 1490. The 0 Driscolls’ Castle probably dates between 1450 and the last date. It was probably on an earlier headland fort, as it is called Dunanore. In 1602 it surrendered without resistance to the English, who burned it.

Westropp goes on to say

Dr. O’Donovan, in his ” Sketches of Carbery,” gives a few notes on the later history. He says there was a garrison at the Castle in Queen Anne’s time, and mentions the huge iron ring-bolt, set in the rock, to which the O Driscolls formerly moored their galleys in the creek. The last is improbable, even to impossibility: no one could moor galleys in the dangerous wave-trap, open to the most stormy and unsheltered points. The islanders regard the ruin as haunted, and tell of the singing of ships’ crews in its vaults. One “Croohoor” (Conor) O’Careavaun (Heremon’s grandson) lived as a hermit there in the eighteenth century. Another legend tells how, in 1798, the inhabitants painted the Farbreag Rocks and pillars so as to resemble soldiers in uniform to keep away the French ! If any truth underlies this, it is probably based on the idle act of some revenue or other officers, in the endless leisure of their island station.

In the map above, of the southwest end of the Island, you can just make out the name Firbreaga, almost covered by the O of OSI. Fir Bréaga means The Lying Men, an apt translation given Westropp’s story. No doubt the name is older than 1798, and may refer to the cliffs at that end seeming to be less dangerous from the sea than they actually were. Note also the two yellow dots for two more promontory forts- Doonthomas (Thomas’s Fort) and Coosfoilaskehaun (the Small Harbour of the Knife-Edge Cliff).

Westropp’s description of the promontory upon which Dun an Óir sits is poetic:

The path runs up a very slight ledge, flaking away and high above the creek, along the face of a cliff of polished silvery slate. The low neck joined it to the mainland, and the nearly perpendicular strata make the dock-like creek of Coosadoona, fort-cove, to the south Beside this cove, opposite to the castle, an enormous precipice rises high above the tower top. In the other direction is a noble view across the wide, porpoise-haunted bay, and its low islands to the blue, many-channelled Mount Gabriel, and on to Mizen Head. 

In fact, very little is known about the history of Dún an Óir before the Battle of Kinsale in 1601. We can deduce from its strategic location that the O’Driscolls used it to keep an eye on every ship that sailed in and out of Roaringwater Bay, to exact fishing dues before the rival O’Mahonys could get to the incoming vessels, to curb the power of those O’Mahonys, and to establish their dominance over the land of Cape Clear Island. (See this post for more on the map above.) Because the castle would have been rendered, probably in some shade of white or near-white, it would have been visible from all around Roaringwater Bay, and have represented a potent statement of supremacy.

After the Battle of Kinsale the Castle was seized by Captain Harvey, as described in Pacata Hibernia:

‘While these things were on doing, Captain Roger Harvy sent a party of men to Cape Clear, the castle whereof being guarded by Captain Tirrell’s men, which they could not gain, but they pillaged the island and brought thence three boats; and the second day following the rebels not liking the neighbourhood of the English, quitted the castle, wherein Captain Harvy placed a guard. At this time Sir Finnin O’Driscoll came to Captain Harvy and submitted himself.’

This illustration, from Pacata Hibernia, is of the siege of Dunboy Castle, the stronghold of O’Sullivan Beare, on Beara Peninsula. The destruction of Dún an Óir is described by James Burke in his article Cape Clear Island in the Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society Journal of 1908. Rather than Harvey simply taking over the castle, Burke relates the following:

Its central arch and the steps leading to its upper portion remain; but the huge pieces of its eastern wall now lying about show how severely it has suffered from the havoc of war. This wholesale destruction occurred when Dunanore Castle, together with the island, was captured on the 22nd of March, 1601, by Captain Roger Harvey, following on the defeat of the Spaniards at Kinsale. By means of the artillery he planted on the high ground adjoining it, he battered down the eastern wall and compelled the garrison to surrender, for which and other services (as Dr Donovan writes in his “Sketches of Carbery”) he was granted at the time a commission by Lord Deputy Mountjoy as Governor of Carbery.

It is far more likely that the ruined state of the castle is a result of the natural passage of time than the ‘havoc of war.’ For one thing, it would have been a monumental task to deploy artillery overland on Cape Clear. Any cannon fire would have come more naturally from the English warships we know were in use during this period and therefore, the damage would have been to the seaward side of the castle – but this side is actually intact.

A romantic view of the ruins of Dún an Óir above, by W Willes.* Next week we will look at what is left of the castle and what we can tell from that. I’ll be using the marvellous photos from Tash in that post.

*From: Picturesque Ireland : a literary and artistic delineation of the natural scenery, remarkable places, historical antiquities, public buildings, ancient abbeys, towers, castles, and other romantic and attractive features of Ireland, by John Savage, 1885.

The Castles of West Cork – a New Menu Page

I’ve been working on a post about one of our storied and stunning West Cork Castles. That post will come next week but, spoiler alert, it’s located on Cape Clear Island.

But as I wrote it struck me that we could do with a specific Menu Page all about castles because we have written so many posts about them and those posts are buried in various paces on our All Pages -Navigation. So here it is – our new Menu Page devoted to The Castles of West Cork. As with all out Navigation pages, you can access it by clicking on the three-bar icon in the banner photo at the top of the blog.

I’ve divided it into a few sections, starting with defining our terms – while archaeologists use the term ‘tower house’ to denoted the tall, rectangular stone towers built here mostly in the 15th and 16th centuries, we just call them castles. Thickly ringing the coastline, and slightly sparser inland, they were potent symbols of the power and wealth of the Irish families and their chieftains who held sway in West Cork – the McCarthys, O’Mahonys, O’Driscolls and O’Donovans.

There’s a special section devoted to the Castles built by the O’Mahonys in what used to be called Ivaha, but is now commonly known as the Mizen Peninsula. We’ve visited them all, and provide as much information as we can of both the history of each castle and how they were constructed.

We’ve also written about non-Ivaha castles: the magnificently reconstructed Kilcoe, the lovingly restored Rincolisky, and Castle Donovan, stabilised by the OPW.

Finally, two posts: one about what followed the tower houses (fortified manors like Coppinger’s Court below) and one about an Anglo-Norman masonry castle in Liscarrol – a jaw-dropping keepless Castle which nowadays houses cattle (final photo).

With well over 1000 posts stretching back ten years, we keep trying to simplify navigation on our site. We hope this new page helps.