I’ve had the most marvellous emails from James Goggin – thank you James! Three of his grandparents came from Crookhaven – and the fourth, well that’s him in this spectacular photograph. Yes, he’s in a diving suit. James tells me: His name was Allen G Tyson, and he had come from Wales to work at the Crookhaven Quarry, seconded from Flintshire council in North Wales. Aggregates from the quarry were sent to North Wales amongst other places. He was a tall man and brilliant mathematician and civil engineer and lived with us in later life until his death in ’79. He designed the first dual carriageway in N.Wales and worked on the blue jubilee bridge in Queensferry (similar to and at the same time as Sydney and Newcastle bridges).
The quarry, of course, is the monumental structure, above, that Robert wrote about in his post Industrial Archaeology in Crookhaven, one of our most popular posts. It seems that anyone who has ever been to Crookhaven has wondered about that wall of concrete across the bay. James also sent me this shot of a group of men who worked at the quarry. Cloth caps and moustaches were the order of the day – except for Allen Tyson – he’s the suited and coiffed individual in the back row.
Once in Crookhaven, Allen met and married Bridget O’Driscoll. They had 5 children, including James’s mother Phyllis, who married Joe Goggin. Joe died not too long ago at the age of 91 and still has a sibling in Clonakilty, James remembers happy family holidays in his Nana’s house, the old Barracks next to the Marconi House in the village. He is full of stories and precious memories.
My father used to row coal to the Fastnet for a shilling or two. He told me of an uncle who used to shoot the sea mines ( like prickly conkers) with a .303 from Carrigeen cliffs off Rock Street. Nana would climb down to the sea for driftwood for the fire into her 70s. I remember the sacred heart picture and light, and the lights would flicker as I believe there was a generator in the village for power. A large old transistor radio in the kitchen with all the valves visible. Cold cupboard (a safe) under the stairs. Soda bread (and marmalade daily made in the range.
James told me several other stories about his father, whom he admired and loved. But he also sent me another gem! A link to a movie, I Thank a Fool, made partly in Crookhaven, and released in 1962. You can watch it here – the Crookhaven parts start around the 1:09 mark and it is a complete nostalgia fest for those of us who love this part of the world. Here are some screen captures.
The village is still totally recognisable.
The 1804 Brow Head Signal Station is used as a ‘house’ where some of the action takes place. You can see Marconi’s Wireless Telegraph station in the background. For more on these structures go here for Marconi and here for the Signal Station.
There is also a funeral at St Brendan’s Church. The procession gives us a marvellous opportunity to see back to Crookhaven and the mining magazine that was once clearly visible behind the town, but which is no longer a mark on the landscape. I’ve used that as my feature image at the top of the post, but here’s another take. That’s Peter Finch as the leading man.
I love it when this kind of serendipity happens – thanks again, James. I know that anyone who loves Crookhaven, as we do, will really like this walk through past times.
I’ve been stricken with Covid, so the post I was planning to write – about my visit to the amazing Derry Duff Farm will have to wait a week. And no – I haven’t forgotten I need to get back to the Skeams and St Brandanus! Instead I bring you one of Robert’s posts from a few years ago in which he leads us along some of the smallest roads you can encounter in West Cork. I’ve swapped in a few photos.
Small Roads
Road repairs in rural Ireland peak in the summer months. Favourable weather is responsible. Always be ready for holdups and diversions. ‘Boreens’ – narrow roads in country areas – are often unable to take the machines required to cut edges, fill potholes and restore surfaces while letting traffic through at the same time. In the worst cases, alternative routes can add many kilometres to a journey. So, when setting out, always leave yourselves plenty of time.
Here’s our Yeti straddling the border between Cork and Kerry on the Priest’s Leap road. That’s one of our favourites: the scenery is outstanding, but there can be problems if you meet someone coming the other way. In fact, that difficulty is present on very many of our local byways: hone your reversing skills!
It’s not always other vehicles you have to watch out for . . .
A rural road can be a challenge: never be in a hurry. You just have to go with the flow, even if that means reversing for half a mile. In that situation, of course, the main difficulty is making the decision as to who will have to reverse: you, or the vehicle coming the other way. If that oncoming vehicle is a large tractor and trailer, you may not have much choice.
Yes, there are still a few roads around in very out-of-the-way places which are not surfaced as you might expect. They fit well into their rural surroundings!
Take care not to get lost . . . Some of these boreens are not even marked on the map!
Give a thought to those who built these byways: quite a lot of engineering has been involved in carving through rocks to create a more or less level route.
Some roads lead to a dead end. I prefer those that fly high – over the mountain passes; the scenery never disappoints.
. . . The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say . . .
from ‘the old Walking Song’ by J R R Tolkein
There’s always a reward to be had for travelling uphill: it’s the view from the top!
WordPress, to my dismay, has now labelled all the content on this blog as ‘by Finola’. This is due to the necessity, for various reasons, of adjusting ‘ownership’ and management parameters. It’s a bit heartbreaking, though, as it’s no longer easily discernible which of the posts (approx half of the 1,132 posts so far) were written by Robert. So every now and then I thought it would be good to highlight one of his older posts. So here is his wonderful account, written originally in 2014, and titled In Search of Ghosts, of the spirits that haunt Brow Head.
Lonely and wild – Brow Head is the most southerly point on the mainland of Ireland. There are ghosts here: ghosts of ancient people who created the stone monuments, perhaps 5000 years ago, that are now inundated by every tide in the bay at Ballynaule below this Irish ‘Lands End’; ghosts of early farmers who began to lay out field boundaries criss-crossing this windswept promontory; ghosts of the defenders of an empire who feared a French invasion that never happened; ghosts of the prospectors who sunk two shafts – now barely protected by rusting wire – during the nineteenth century copper mining era; and, lastly, ghosts of the pioneers of our own digital age, represented in the brooding ruins that crown the hilltop here above West Cork’s remotest village, Crookhaven.*
Brow Head – haunt of ghosts
Napoleon setting his sights on the British Empire 1804 (Charles Motte)
Facing up to Napoleon: Brow Head Signal Tower, built in 1804 in anticipation of a French invasion
We can be very specific about one ghost: Guglielmo Marconi – born at Bologna, Italy, on April 25, 1874 to Giuseppe Marconi, an Italian country gentleman, and Annie Jameson, daughter of Andrew Jameson of Daphne Castle, Enniscorthy, County Wexford, Ireland. The Jamesons were and are renowned distillers of Irish Whiskey. It’s reasonable to say that Marconi was an ‘Irish Italian’, and that heritage was reinforced when in 1905 he married Beatrice O’Brien, daughter of the 14th Baron Inchiquin. Marconi’s fame is that he pioneered the commercial application of electromagnetic waves – or Radio.
Marconi – wishful thinking!
At the age of twenty one, Marconi was able to demonstrate to his father how, without any visible physical link (without wires), he could transmit dots and dashes through the rooms of their home in Pontecchio. “…When I started my first experiments with Hertzian waves…” he is quoted as saying, “…I could scarcely believe it is possible that their application to useful purposes could have escaped the notice of eminent scientists…” His parents used their influence to help him travel to England to meet the Engineer-in-Chief of the British Post Office with the result that in 1896 Marconi obtained the first ever patent in wireless telegraphy.
Signal Station at Poldhu, Cornwall, 1914
Marconi’s ambitions started in a room in Italy: by December 1901 he was able to send messages from Poldhu, Cornwall, to St John’s, Newfoundland, a distance of 2100 miles – an historic achievement. In his attempts to bridge the Atlantic with Radio waves he had explored the west coasts of Britain and Ireland for suitable telegraphic locations. One of his destinations was Crookhaven, which he visited many times – using the Flying Snail en route!
The Marconi Wireless Telegraph Station at Brow Head – exactly 100 years ago
Brow Head was one of a number of transmitting stations set up by Marconi and it got off to a flying start soon after opening in 1901 when, in the presence of Marconi himself, Morse signals were received from Poldhu, 225 miles away. The fact that the Atlantic gap was conquered only a few months after this shows the rapid pace of developments at that time.
Calling America…
The village of Crookhaven had long been the first and last port of call for ships going between Northern European ports and America. Over the centuries ships stocked up here with provisions before tackling the open sea. Because of this, the major shipping lines had agents here. Reuters and Lloyds had flag-signalling and semaphore equipment on Brow Head to communicate with the maritime traffic, superseded by the telegraph station. At the end of the 19th Century it was said that “…you could cross the harbour on the decks of boats…” Up to 700 people are reputed to have lived in the area at that time: now, Crookhaven has a permanent population of no more than 40. An article written by one of the telegraph operators in 1911 summarises:
…As Crookhaven is the first station with which the homeward bound American liners communicate it is naturally a busy station. By the aid of wireless all arrangements are made for the arrival of the ships, the landing and entraining of the passengers and mails, whilst hundreds of private messages to and from passengers are dealt with. Messages are also received from the Fastnet Lighthouse, which is fitted with wireless, reporting the passing of sailing ships and steamers. These messages are sent by vessels not fitted with wireless by means of signals to the Fastnet, thence by wireless to Crookhaven, whence they are forwarded to Lloyds and to the owners of the vessels…
Engraving by Mary Francis Cusack, 1875
We have some first hand accounts of the workings of the signal station in its heyday from the handwritten log books of Arthur Nottage – for many years landlord of the Welcome Inn at Crookhaven – who died aged 90 in 1974. In 1904 he arrived in West Cork (from England) to work on a shift basis with one other man as Marconi telegrapher at Brow Head. Until 1914 he operated the Morse code apparatus with a salary – generous for the time – of £1 per week.
Arthur Nottage of Crookhaven
A hundred years ago telegraphy had advanced to such a stage that it was no longer necessary for stations to operate close to the shipping lanes, and small, isolated sites such as Brow Head were closed down. Legend has it that in 1922 the Irregulars destroyed the buildings during the Civil War.
Becoming archaeology: the ruins on Brow Head today
Finola and I have both been inspired by the landscape and atmosphere of this Atlantic frontier. It’s a place we will return to. All West Cork landscapes are impressive, but this is a place apart. If you want to feel at the end of the world, walk here: you won’t meet many others, even in the height of the visitor season. Perhaps that’s because it’s haunted – but in the best possible way. Like so much of Ireland the world has come here – a mark has been made – memories have been left behind. Now, you hear the ghosts in the ever-present currents of wind and surf.
Base of Marconi’s mast at Brow Head
*I am grateful to Michael Sexton and the Mizen Journal (Number 3 1995) for many fascinating items on the Crookhaven Telegraph Station not recorded elsewhere.
We’re going back a few years to look at a piece of West Cork history: a shipwreck. The ship is the Kowloon Bridge, a Bridge class OBO (oil/bulk/ore) combination carrier built by Swan Hunter in 1973. She ended her days on the Stags Rocks, beside Toe Head in West Cork in 1986 (above – image courtesy of Irish Examiner). At the time, this was said to be ‘one of the largest wrecks in maritime history’.
A Bridge Class model (above – photo courtesy www.mikepeel.net). Six of these ships were built by Swan Hunter at Haverton Hill on the River Tees in County Durham, UK, between 1971 and 1976. Originally named English Bridge and subsequently – passing through various ownerships – this 54,000 tonne vessel was renamed Worcestershire; Sunshine; Murcurio; Crystal Transporter; and finally Kowloon Bridge. I’m tempted to think of the old folk belief that says changing the name of a boat is unlucky!
. . . Perhaps the most famous maritime superstition of them all is the idea that changing the name of a ship is bad luck. Legend has it that Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, has a ledger in which he keeps track of the name of every sea-going vessel. Changing the name is seen as a challenge and as an attempt to try and out-smart him, which would incur his wrath. To avoid any bad luck, the original name must first be purged from Poseidon’s book in a de-naming ceremony, before the new one is adopted . . .
There she is, in her original incarnation and unladen (image courtesy of Tony Ecclestone, Swan Hunter). As you can see, a massive vessel. Her length was 295 metres and her beam 44.3 metres. She had a draft of 18.5 metres. In November 1986 the Kowloon Bridge – which she had then become – departed Sept-Îles, Quebec, bound for the River Clyde in Scotland. Her cargo was 160,000 tonnes of ‘marble sized’ iron ore pellets and crude oil.
The Atlantic crossing was particularly rough-going, and the vessel sustained some superficial damage. The decision (a fateful one) was taken to head for the nearest shelter on the east side of the ocean: the deepwater Bantry Bay, off West Cork’s coast. A Lloyds’ survey there showed that she had suffered ‘routine heavy weather damage’ and recommended that she remained anchored in Bantry Bay while temporary repairs were undertaken. Here’s a view of Bantry’s waterside in more benign days: Roaringwater Journal has reviewed the town in some detail.
Above is a RWJ view of Bantry Bay and Whiddy Island taken back in 2014. The island was the setting for another disaster in earlier years: on January 8, 1979, the French-owned tanker, Betelgeuse, exploded at the oil terminal, resulting in 51 deaths. Even now – 45 years on – new enquiries are being set up to establish the true facts surrounding that incident. Returning to our Kowloon Bridge story, accounts seem to vary. One says that on 22 November 1986 – having had the necessary repairs completed – the ship resumed her voyage and set out into the Bay; but she was plagued by continuing bad weather, and lost her steering gear. Another suggests that the problems included ‘deck cracking in one of her frames’: she was forced to leave port to avoid colliding with another tanker and – engine running astern – she lost her anchor and her steering controls. The decision was taken to abandon ship (still running astern) and Royal Air force helicopters rescued the crew. She headed out of the bay and into open waters, being driven also by storm-force winds. (Image below courtesy of Southern Star)
Kowloon Bridge left Bantry Bay and rounded the Sheeps Head and Mizen Head. A tug tried to intercept her, but was unsuccessful as this, also, sustained damage due to the adverse conditions. Coming close to Baltimore the combination carrier/tanker hit rocks and her engine stalled. She continued to drift eastwards, finally coming to rest on the Stags Rocks below Toe Head (header pic).
Despite efforts to board her and assess salvage attempts (images above courtesy Irish Examiner), in due course the ship broke her back and went under – although, according to local reports, her bow could still be seen for months afterwards. To this day she lies off the rocks, with her iron ore cargo surrounding her. Below: the view from Toe Head today and (lower) the Stags Rocks.
The breaking up of the ship caused the release of of 1,200 tonnes of fuel oil. This led to damage to local coves and beaches, with loss of income being suffered by the fishing and tourism industries. The incident happened in the days before The International Convention on Oil Pollution Preparedness, Response and Co-operation was set up: that came into being in 1990. Parties to OPRC are required to establish measures for dealing with pollution incidents, either nationally or in co-operation with other countries.
. . . Ships are required to carry a shipboard oil pollution emergency plan. Operators of offshore units under the jurisdiction of Parties are also required to have oil pollution emergency plans or similar arrangements which must be co-ordinated with national systems for responding promptly and effectively to oil pollution incidents. Ships are required to report incidents of pollution to coastal authorities and the convention details the actions that are then to be taken. The Convention calls for the establishment of stockpiles of oil spill combating equipment, the holding of oil spill combating exercises and the development of detailed plans for dealing with pollution incidents . . .
Trying to follow the subsequent story of the wreck, everything gets a bit murky. West Cork communities undoubtedly suffered as a result of the foundering. Debris and oil were washed up (image above courtesy Irish Examiner). ‘Hundreds of seabirds’ died according to local reports. Promises of compensation were made – and reneged on – by the Haughey government. But it was Cork County Council and its ratepayers who eventually bore the major costs of cleaning up, even though the ship had been fully insured (image below courtesy Irish Examiner).
Apparently, the wreck was purchased in December 1986 by a British scrap dealer, Shaun Kent. One report states he paid a million pounds for it – another states he paid one pound for it! An article in the UK Independent newspaper in August 1997 describes how he planned to use high power water jets to wash the iron ore pellets to the surface for recovery. Their value was said to be in the order of millions. He also intended to recover the steel hull and other elements. However, concerns were expressed locally and nationally that such a process so long after the event would adversely disturb the seabed and the stable micro-environment which has evolved over time. It is unlikely that such plans will ever be acted on.
Today, the wreck is an attraction to underwater enthusiasts (images above courtesy of Extreme Sports Cork): Nature has taken over the intrusion to the sea bed. During the various discussions which have ensued in the many years since the Kowloon Bridge came to rest on the Stags Rocks, the question has been raised: was the ship seaworthy in the first place? It is pointed out that a sister ship was MV Derbyshire. Originally named Liverpool Bridge, she was launched in 1975, the last of the six Bridge Class ships. With a gross register tonnage of 91,655 she had the greatest volume. In July 1980, Derbyshire also left port from Sept-Îles, Quebec, bound for Kawasaki, Japan. She was overwhelmed by a tropical storm, and sank in deep ocean, with the loss of all 44 lives on board. This was in fact the largest British ship ever to have been lost at sea (image below courtesy of shipsnostalgia.com).
The four remaining Bridge Class vessels saw long service, and were eventually scrapped, so there is no reason to suggest that the design was in any way faulty. I suppose we might say that it is mankind’s folly to create such huge machinery to bring cargoes across the world. We challenge Poseidon, and he has to take his share (image below courtesy of Bardo National Museum, Tunis).
In a recent post I gave some examples of public art which can be seen on the railway station at Bray, Co Wicklow. I think this subject deserves a more comprehensive airing, so here we go! Just to recap, murals were originally painted here by Jay Roche and John Carter, who won a competition in 1987. Over the years the paintings deteriorated, and were replaced by the same team – assisted by Anthony Kelly and Eileen Maguire – with a very fine set of tiled murals. I’m recording the rest of these in this post, as I am so impressed by the overall work.
Each panel represents a decade in the line’s history. You’ll have to decide for yourselves which decade is which . . .
If only that newspaper headline was really true!
From Wiki Commons 2007: A Panel for Every Decade since 1850s in Bray Railway Station. These are the painted murals.
(Above) some of the painted murals in a fairly advanced state of decay: probably early 2000s. The tiled murals are loosely based on the subjects of the originals, but the artists have respected the variations that the change of medium calls out for:
I mentioned – in Taking Notes – that Brunel was responsible for the line that runs through Bray. Here he is, standing on Bray Station:
And here (above) – also one of the tiled murals on Bray Station – is a portrait of William Dargan. As you can see – considered ‘Father of the Irish Railways’ – Dargan lived from 1799 to 1867. He engineered over 1300 km of railways in Ireland. Working firstly in the UK he was an assistant to Thomas Telford, and oversaw the construction of roads and canals in the Midlands. He returned to Ireland in the 1820s and took an interest in promoting railways here. The first public commuter railway system in Ireland was designed and built by Dargan: it opened in 1834 and ran between Dublin and Kingstown, now Dún Laoghaire. The line as built was ‘standard gauge’ (ie 1,453mm between rails). This was converted to the ‘Irish standard’ of 1,600mm in 1857. The line extended south to Bray in 1854, and to Greystones the following year.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel, an engineer of Britain’s Great Western Railway, informed the Dublin and Kingstown Railway board that he was planning to build a line into South Wales and start a new sea route from Fishguard to Rosslare. He suggested a joint venture for a line from Wexford to Dublin. A coastal route from Bray (rather than inland) was chosen specifically because it would be scenically attractive for travellers. This led to engineering difficulties including tunnels and retaining structures which are still evolving to this day.
Brunel’s vision of a line going from the capital to Wexford and linking with a service of Irish Sea ferries has been fully realised, and is taken for granted. Let’s hope that this line is maintained and continues on far into the future.
I hope you have noticed how the design of the rolling stock has been changing as we go back through the decades. The representation on these murals is accurate, as far as I can see.
I was sorry to miss the sight of restored steam locomotives and carriages coming through Bray and Greystones on Sunday 24 September this year. Here’s a previous Steam Express visit to Wicklow in 2022 (courtesy Irish Independent):
Our lovely friend Leita Camier died this week, aged 92 (although you wouldn’t have guessed it). Leita, and her husband Tommy, who predeceased her, were the marvellous couple who ran, up to a few years ago, the Gortnagrough Folk Museum. Tommy was quiet and gentle, where Leita was outgoing and chatty, and together they built an incredible collection of heritage artefacts. We were lucky we got to visit it before Tommy’s death made it all too much for Leita – it’s been closed for a few years now. In memory of Leita, I am reposting our account of our visit to their Folk Museum. You will see what a special place it was, and why Leita and Tommy were two more in our pantheon of Heritage Heroes.
What follows was written in 2014.
Gortnagrough Folk Museum has been called Ballydehob’s Best Kept Secret, but it could equally be called its Most Delightful Discovery. Leita and Tommy Camier have devoted years to building a huge, quirky, fascinating collection that will transport you back to your childhood, or perhaps your grandparents’ childhood. It’s pronounced Gurt-na-Grew.
While the emphasis of the collection is on local and West Cork history and on farm machinery, many of the items will bring back memories, no matter where you grew up. Close your eyes for a minute and conjure up a picture of the little tin box that your father used to produce to fix the puncture on your bicycle tyre; or the tobacco tin your grandad opened when he needed to fill his pipe for a contemplative puff by the fire; or the funny old caddy your mother kept the tea in, that had belonged to her mother; or, if you’re as old as I am, the school desk you sat at, with the inkwell that was filled by the teacher once a week. You’ll find all of those here.
How many of these do you remember?
How about these?
There are older items here too – eighteenth century bibles, little cages for coalmine canaries, famine soup pots, equipment used by tailors and cobblers, dolls loved by little Edwardian girls and clocks that adorned Victorian mantlepieces.
The Irish, as everyone knows, had a grand tradition of Waking the Dead. The body, first, had to be washed and dressed. Special linens, often passed down through generations and kept beautifully white, were used to dress the body, but also the bed and surrounding furniture. Mirrors and clocks, especially, had to be covered. Leita showed us an old suitcase that contained a treasure trove of this linen.
Among the artefacts are books and books of cuttings, old photographs, recipes, shop accounts, advertisements, journals and articles, all lovingly collated and saved in plastic covers.
Outside is an equally interesting mixture of memories.
Careful – you might get so caught up in browsing among this eclectic collection that the rest of your party has moved on to the farm machinery before you notice.
Tommy and Leita know the use of every item of machinery on their property. A lot of it is still in working order and they bring it to the Thrashing or to country fairs – to demonstrate old winnowing techniques, or to make butter.
Postscript
Looking back on these photos has been a joy, as we remember Leita and Tommy, how kind they were to us as recent blow-ins then, and how much they enjoyed their collections. We hope that this post gives other Ballydehob folk some fond memories too.
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