I’m reposting this, written six years ago, for the season that’s in it.
It’s not the trees that lend autumnal hues to the Mizen, as they do elsewhere. It’s the whole landscape – that combination of rock, heather, bracken, moor grass, brambles, filtered through the light and shade of our notoriously changeable climate – that creates the special colour palette we associate with autumn. It’s my favourite time of year.
Today, early, we drove up Mount Gabriel and looked over the whole of the Mizen, back to Mount Corrin and Mount Kidd, and across to the Sheep’s Head, the Beara, and away to the mountains of Kerry.
Upper: looking down to Dunmanus Bay from Mount Gabriel; Lower: looking across to Mount Corrin
But every day brings changes. What trees we have are not yet bare. The thorns, blackthorn and whitethorn are loaded with berries. The heather is hanging on here and there, providing a wonderful contrast to the yellow gorse.
Haws, Sloes, Heather and Gorse
The bog asphodel is fading now, but earlier in the month it had reached its peak orange state and looked spectacular consorting with the other bog and mountain flowers that were still blooming.
Upper: Bog Asphodel, Gorse, Scabious; Lower: Cappaghglass Bog
When you get a clear day, like today, there is nothing on earth like a walk on the West Cork hills, drinking in the colours and trying to store them in the memory. Or perhaps, in a blog!
Upper: Toormore; Lower: Derryconnell
Upper: North Side of the Mizen; Lower: Crough Bay and Long Island
Scarecrow in an abandoned garden – quintessential autumn image!
I”m going to try to be slightly less detailed this time (I find that hard!) or we will never explore the rest of Cork. This post will concentrate on the area north of the Mizen – our two other peninsulas, Sheeps Head and Beara.
Sheeps Head (and it has an apostrophe in some maps and not in others, so I’m leaving it out) is given here as the head at the westernmost extent of the peninsula. But of course, we now call the whole Peninsula Sheeps Head. Or, if you prefer, by its Irish name of Muintir Bheara (Mweenter Varra) which means, confusingly, the people of Beara.
Besides a single house at Gortavallig, the only words on the east end of the map refer to placenames. The road does not extend beyond Dooneen. Nowadays, of course, this is a well-walked, prize winning set of trails that will bring you off road for the most part into wild and scenic country.
KIlcrohane and Ahakista have churches and chapels but no real communities in the 1790s. The castle near Kilcrohane is the vestigial one built by the O’Daly clan, the famous bards, at Lake Farranamanagh. There are no roads on the north side, and none crossing the Peninsular.
Let’s leap now, as Fionn MacCuamhaill might have done, to the next peninsular up – Beara. The full extent of it is shown in my lead photograph, and above is the eastern end and specifically Dursey Island. The Calf Rock is offshore, with the Cow further put and the storied and spectacular Bull Rock further out again. I do plan to visit it one day! Dursey is the only place in Ireland that you get to by cable car and has a tragic history. An Abbey is shown on the eastern shore. National Monuments tell us that “According to the soldier-writer and native of Dursey, Philip O’Sullivan-Beare, writing in 1621, it was a ‘monastery, built by Bonaventura, a Spanish Bishop, but dismantled by pirates'”.
The western end of the Peninsula is mountainous. A road extend along the southern side but not the northern. This is one of the few places in Ireland we have a very old map to make comparisons. Take a look at my post Elizabethan Map of a Turbulent West Cork and Elizabethan Map of a Turbulent West Cork 2: The Story, for a lively take on mapping this part of Ireland 200 years earlier.
Bear Island is featureless apart from a chapel but Castletown (more properly known as Castletownbere or Castletown-Berehaven) is shown as having a town or village and several substanital houses, a mill, and a church with a steeple. Interestingly, the castle at Dunboy, the siege of which is chronicled in the older map, is not shown at all in this one.
Moving eastward, very little human activity is noted on the map, but Hungry Hill is there and Adrigole Harbour. The dotted line marks the division between Cork and Kerry.
Then, there seems to be a bit missing – Glengarriff (or here, Glengarruv) Harbour is surrounded, then as now, by substantial forests. The only road to Kenmare at that time was the Priest’s Leap, even now a death-defying and vertiginous climb.
I’ve blown up the Ballylickey section as it holds particular interest for me – here depicted is the home of Ellen Hutchins! There’s a large house, surrounded by trees, on the banks of the Ouvane River. This is especially exciting as Ellen was living here at exactly that time! Born in 1785, she was botanising and making all kinds of discoveries until her untimely death at only 29 in 1815. After the sparsely annotated Peninsulas, it’s interesting to see more houses noted as we near Bantry.
Bantry is shown as a large town – with Bantry House, built on the early 1700s, dominating the landscape just as it does today. The Abbey has disappeared (it was a Franciscan establishment) but has given its name to the Abbey Graveyard at the southern end of town. We’ll finish with Whiddy Island and a genuine mystery – note the Martello Tower (below). There were actually three circular fortifications constructed on Whiddy after the abortive invasion by the French in 1796. Known as the West, East and Centre Batteries (or ‘redoubts’); this is probably the Centre one. They were very solidly built and can still be seen.
We know this map was done in the 1790s, and these redoubts, like the Signal Towers dotted along the coast, were built to warn of another French incursion and to defend Bantry Bay. The signal towers were built around 1804 and abandoned by 1815 after the Battle of Waterloo. None of them is noted on the Bath map, consistent with our understanding that the Cork map was completed in the 1790s. Martello towers date to the same period – the first of them were built in 1804, mostly along the east coast. The only actual Martello tower in this area is on Garnish Island. It was built in 1804/5 and does not show up on the island in the Bath map – see Glengarriff Harbour, above. The Whiddy Batteries are shown on the National Monuments records as dating to 1804 to 1807. They are round – more like the shape of a martello than the tall rectangular signal towers that were built around West Cork. But was the term Martello common at this time? Might this be a later addition to the map? Although it was completed in the 1790s it was not published until 1811, allowing for the possibility of editing and changes. Anybody have any comments on this – it’s a head-scratcher!
The first thing to say about this map is that on it the name Roaringwater Bay is assigned to a restricted area area eastwards from Horse Island, up to the entrance to Ballydehob Bay, and across to Skeaghanore, Kilcoe and Turk Head. This, in fact, is still how modern maps are labelled.
However, when you live here, you realise the term Roaringwater Bay is used to refer to the whole area that encompasses all the Islands, right out to Cape Clear. In Irish, Roaringwater Bay is called Lough Trasna, which simply means Lake ‘Across’ – a term which carries the implication of a body of water you have to cross over.
And how did it get the name Roaringwater – the official version is that it’s called after the Roaringwater River, which in turn gets it name from the way the water roars as it tumbles over rocks. But read my post from way back in 2014, The Roaring, and you will realise that there is a much more sensible explanation. So I will use the term Roaringwater Bay in this post as we use it every day around here – to include everything you see from the top of Mount Gabriel, looking south and east, as below. Before I move from the image above, however, let me point out Kilcoe Church, and Kilcoe Castle, both of which I have written about.
Let’s start with the biggest island – familiarly known locally as Cape Clear. Clear Island, as it is properly called (Oileán Cléire) and as it is labelled on this map, shows the name Cape Clear reserved for its southwestern tip.
Dún an Óir Castle (see this post, and this one) is clearly shown, as is St Kieran’s Church, which was a ruin even then. Intriguingly, there is a Catholic Chapel shown which must have been in place before the current church was built in 1839, approximately in the same area. Even more strange is a building shown as a ‘Gentleman’s Seat’ – that is, a Big House, on the south side of the Island. Can anyone help us with that this might have been?
Sherkin Island is shown as Ennisherkin. This is from the Irish Inis Arcán, translating literally as Piglet Island, but likely from the Irish word for porpoise, which is muc mara, or sea-piglet. Anyone who has boated in the area will know how prevalent porpoises are in the seas around the islands. Once again, we have a catholic chapel, and of course the ruined Abbey and castle. Take a look at my post A Walk on Sherkin Island for a taste of what that’s all about. The term Quinny Gulph, by the way, must be Kinnish Harbour, the large bay in the centre of Sherkin. Once again, we have a ‘gentleman’s seat’ on Sherkin, and once again I am asking readers to identify this.
Ennisdriscol Island is of course now called Heir Island – the older name indicating that it was very much the domain of the O’Driscolls in the past. It’s curiously featureless on this map, apart from yet another large house. Right above it are the Skeams, East and West, or the Schemes, as Bath has it. West Skeam has a pre-Romanesque church on it which I have yet to explore – a new blog post one day! I’d better hurry – it’s in a perilous position on the edge of a cliff and much of it has already been swept away.
The Calves, now uninhabited, occupy the middle ground of Lough Trasna between the mainland and Cape Clear, while Long Island, Castle Island and Horse Island parallel the coast. Horse Island and Castle Island are each now owned by a single individual, while Long Island still has a resident population of several owners. The vestigial castle on Castle Island is not shown. To the east of Long Island is Goat Island and Goat Island Little – the cleft between them is actually much narrower than appears on Bath’s map and only navigable with care by kayak. It is home to a herd of feral goats.
And finally Spain Island, now called Spanish Island, and the western end of Ringarogy. Note that the only one of the small islands scattered between Sherkin, Turk Head and Heir Island that is named on this map, is Woman’s. In fact, there is a tiny rock in this area labelled on modern maps as Two Women’s Rock. The largest island in this group is actually called Sandy Island and the smaller ones are The Catalogues. Note also that the castle now called Rincolisky, is here labelled Reencoe. And let’s include Baltimore, with its castle and – the beacon!
I know we have been a bit forensic about the area I call home – my next post will take a much broader look at West Cork. Here’s a sneak peak.
As readers know, I love old maps and there’s a map of Cork I haven’t written about yet. This is a truly beautiful piece of work, and a huge step forward on some of the older maps of Cork I have described – for the list, see my page The Magic of Old Maps.
Since it will take me more than one post to talk about this county map properly, I will start today by concentrating on Map 4, and stick to the Mizen Peninsula. The map is in 6 parts and I am able to share it with you today through the generous assistance and permission of the Cork County Library. You can view their hi-res images here – they may be sharper than mine, as I do have to compress images for the blog.
But first, some context… We assume that proper, professional mapping really got underway with the Ordnance Survey in the 1830s, but indeed there were competent cartographers in Ireland before then. Neville Bath was one. In an essay by J H Andrews (see reference in the final quote) he is described as English but spending his whole cartographic career in Ireland, starting off by drawing estate maps in Kerry. He finished a map of Cork City in 1788, so was well placed to be awarded the contract for the county map, when the Irish parliament allowed public money to be spent on producing Grand Jury barony maps as well as county maps, but only for official purposes and only in the form of manuscript ‘protractions.’ Bath tried to arrange for the manuscript protraction to be turned into a proper published map by selling subscriptions – that did not go well, and it wasn’t until 1811 that the map was finally published, engraved by the London firm of S J Neele, acknowledged as the finest artists in the Kingdom.
What was a Grand Jury and why were they commissioning maps? As the name suggests, Grand Juries were initially conceived as groups of 24 men (yes, only men) who wielded authority for the administration of the criminal justice system in Ireland. The exclusive domain of wealthy landlords, the Juries exerted enormous power over the whole population – a population with which they had little in common, including economic status but also language, religion and cultural affiliation. Over time, the Grand Juries accumulated other responsibilities, for roads, bridges, hospitals, schools and tax collection.
Eventually, all those duties were taken over by other bodies – County Councils, the Poor Law Union, a proper legal system. Above is the final sitting of the Cork Grand Jury in 1899. But while it lasted it was already an archaic system, deeply unfair and rife with corruption. It also became highly competitive, with one Grand Jury after another building more and more elaborate courthouses*. The same thing happened with maps:
Almost inevitably, the maps enabled each grand jury to convey its own prestige to its neighbours, and the ‘Grand Jury map’ project took on an increasingly expensive and stunningly elaborate life of its own. William Larkin was the greatest exponent of the genre and produced maps for six out of the twenty-six counties that made it into print using the public purse. Larkin produced maps for Westmeath (1808), Meath (1817), Waterford (1818) and Galway, Leitrim and Sligo (1819). From 1784 grand juries were required to have their county map ‘put up, and kept constantly during the assizes in the grand jury room of said county’.
Let’s take a look at Neville Bath’s map now, working from west to east along the Mizen Peninsula. you will have your own favourite spots to check out – I am just going to point out a few of interest to me.
This map pre-dates Richard Griffiths road-building along the Mizen, but nevertheless it shows a road going all the way to Crookhaven. I love the little depiction of Dunlough/Three Castles, and also that a church is shown at Lissagriffin – we can see the ruins still. Alderman’s Head is called Streek Head on the early OS maps, while the rocks offshore at this point are called Alderman’s rocks. (Who was the Alderman, I wonder?)
Before we move East to Schull, I just want to highlight Dunmanus. The ‘castle’ at Knockeens is clearly shown. As I discussed in my post Dunmanus Castle 1: The Cliff-Edge Fort, there is much much local folklore about this site. There may have been more to see when Bath was mapping this area.
Moving towards Schull, I am intrigued by the noting of a ‘pound’, which does not occur on later maps. A pound was used to secure animals seized by the landlord’s agents for payment of rent. Note also the ‘Fort’ at the end of the Lisscaha road. While I haven’t written about this fort, I have visited it, and very impressive it is.
Schull is shown as a sizeable settlement, with a storehouse, Glebe, and Church – St Mary’s Church, now replaced by Trinity Church. A number of Gentlemen’s Seats are shown in the vicinity.
And finally we arrive at our own Ballydehob, shown as a town. Note the church to the south west of the town – I wonder if this is the church that once stood in Stouke Graveyard. It hadn’t occurred to me that Skeaghanore was the Irish for Golden Bush – there must be a story there! We will cover other parts of West Cork in subsequent posts. This map is an incredibly valuable resource dating as it does from well before the Ordnance Survey. We are lucky that it was published and copies saved. But what happened to Neville Bath? As JH Andrews tells us, Bath
may well have been dead by the time his work was officially published on 20 February 1811, and the map itself was only just in time. Irish cartography was about to pass into the hands of a new elite, engineers rather than land surveyors, whose most distinguished members were immigrants from Britain like Alexander Nimmo and William Bald. This later generation had a low opinion of Bath, and within fifteen years of his departure the counties of Limerick, Tipperary and Kilkenny had all decided to have his work done again. Not surprisingly, none of his manuscript county surveys appears to have been preserved. The map of Cork is available in a number of Irish libraries, however, and only awaits the judgement of the county’s own historians.
We have a major new player in the arts scene in West Cork. Over the last couple of years, Cnoc Buí (cnoc buí – yellow hill) Arts Centre in Union Hall, has quietly established itself as a significant focus for the arts. I have attended several exhibitions there, always marvelling at the space, the light, the curation and the excellence of the art on exhibit. Here’s the list for 2024, although it doesn’t include the current exhibition, and that’s the one I want to write about today.
First of all, a little about Cnoc Buí itself (photo above by Amanda Clarke). As the name suggests, it’s a yellow house, beside the sea in in Union Hall, renovated and fitted out for the arts. It’s the brainchild of Paul and Aileen Finucane, who have come to live in Union Hall permanently, after owning a house here for forty years. Passionate about art, and avid collectors, they are ‘giving back’ in the most magnificent way possible through their philanthropic efforts. Read more about them and Cnoc Buí in this story from the West Cork People. (Photo below courtesy of the West Cork People.)
Those of you not living in West Cork – you have no idea how rare it is to come face to face, in your own backyard, with the great Irish artists of the 20th century. Normally we have to go to Dublin, to the National Gallery, or the Hugh Lane.
Ahakista by Letitia Hamilton
I often get my fix from the wonderful Facebook Page 20th Century Irish Art, and I have come, thanks to that source, to recognise many of the names and styles of our leading artists.
Phyllis Leopold’s The Belfast Blitz
The only other comparable experience I have had here in West Cork was with the Coming Home expedition in 2018. Don’t get me wrong – I love 21st century art and we have SO many excellent artists and great venues here in West Cork, and we have written about and reviewed many, many shows. Remember The Souvenir Shop? Rita Duffy is here as well.
Kathleen Fox, Still Life with Bust
This show emphasises Irish women artists – over half of the pieces are by women. We are all rediscovering the superb women artists who were in the shadow of famous husbands (Grace Henry, Margaret Clarke) or unjustly neglected (Kathleen Bridle, Hilda Roberts, Gladys Mccabe), better known as stained glass ‘craftswomen’ (Evie Hone, Sarah Purser, Olive Henry, Kathleen Fox), written off as mere ‘Illustrators’ (Norah McGuinness), or who were even actively discriminated against by the male establishment and dominating figures like Sean Keating. Some are getting the last laugh now – there’s a new exhibition opening now in the National Gallery devoted to Mildred Anne Butler, who is represented in this exhibition.
Olive Henry is more familiar to me as a stained glass artist, so I was delighted to see this fine portrait
But it was women who led the Irish art world into the modern era: The Irish Exhibition of Living Art was founded by women who had been able to afford to go abroad to study and had picked up newfangled ideas on the continent – women like Evie Hone and Mainie Jellett. Young artists flocked to their exhibitions, while the old guard stuck to their conservative, academic forms – echoed, of course, in the suppression of women and modernism in the new Irish State.
Evie Hone, Drying Nets – The Harbour Wall, Youghal
But here they all are, in Union Hall! The pioneering, courageous, persistent, driven, women of the new State.
Portrait by Hilda Roberts
There are lots of men here too, of course – even Sean Keating, with a marvellous charcoal portrait of deValera. Did they grumble together about the goings-on over at the IELA?
John Sherlock was new to me and a great discovery – I have used his bust of John Hume as my lead image.
Oisín Kelly (above, Bust of a Young Girl) is a personal favourite, and I have mentioned Thomas Ryan in another context: he is also, perhaps, under-appreciated. George Campbell, despite designing windows for Abbey Studios in the 60s and 70s, never got written off as a stained glass craftsman. The portrait (below) is of his mother, Greta Bowen, who only began painting at 70 and exhibited well into her 90s.
I recognised this painting, Mary Magdalen (below) as a Margaret Clarke right away, even though I had never seen it before.
It’s that combination of exact portraiture (I am willing to bet the angel was based on one of her children), the haunting expression in the eyes of Mary Magdalen, and the way the gestures mirror the scenery and shrubbery behind the figures.
The Sarah Purser is interesting on a number of fronts. Purser made her name with portraiture, using her connections to obtain many commissions – she herself said she went through the British nobility ‘like the measles.’ But this nude (below) is of Kathleen Kearney, ‘Mother of All the Behans’, who worked for Purser as a young (and very beautiful) woman. Sarah Purser’s many talents (she was a superb manager of An Túr Gloine Stained Glass Studio among many other things) are currently on full display at the Hugh Lane Gallery.
I have only given you a flavour of what’s in this exhibition. If you can, get down to Union Hall and take a wander through it yourself. If you get there on a weekend, the charming Nolan’s Coffee House will be open.
The Cliffs of Dooneen – surely that’s in Clare? Well, no, the song was actually written by Jack McAuliffe about the cliffs near Lixnaw, Co Kerry, from which Clare can, apparently, be seen. It was initially popularised by Paddy Breen, a traditional flute player, but got famous when it was performed by Christy Moore of Planxty. Paddy Reilly has a nice version too. But the Dooneen we are talking about today is the one on the Sheep’s Head, a few kilometres beyond Kilcrohane and on the way-marked trails of the Sheeps Head Way. It’s a spectacular spot, well worth visiting for no reason at all other than to contemplate the glories of the scenery in this part of the world.
Dunmanus Castle can be glimpsed across Dunmanus Bay (above), and the whole of the Mizen Peninsula lies across from you, from Mount Gabriel to the end of the Peninsular where Dunlough Head hosts the magnificent Three Castles.
Dooneen (Dúnín – ‘Little Fort’) has been a locus of activity for a long time, probably because it provides a sheltered spot for boats. Sheltered – but not necessarily safe!
The pier here is substantial. This was the centre for a busy fishing industry early in the 20th century. We’ve often talked about the 15th century as a time when vast shoals of pilchards and herring congregated in the waters of West Cork. It happened again in the first half of the 1900s, and this is when this pier probably dates to. We know that, because it is not shown on the 6” or 25” Ordnance Survey Maps which date from the 19th and early 20th centuries.
An excellent page on eOceanic provides directions for mooring and some history of the area. This page also has some great photos of the pier from the sea, such as this one, below, taken by Burke Corbett, and used here with thanks to the admins of eOceanic
The author states that the pier was initially built to service the busy copper mines in the area. However, I would expect the roads he refers to, to be visible on the OS maps, and they are not, so perhaps the pier here was quite rudimentary or natural before the current concrete pier was constructed.
The author of the eOceanic page refers to the feature above on the rock as a ‘steamer turning bollard.’ I had never heard that term before so I turned to my friend Sean O’Mahony, mariner and historian, for an explanation. Here’s what he told me, along with an illustration. Thank you, Sean!
To assist the ship from movement on the jetty, two lines (mooring ropes or hawsers) are extended from the bow and stern to the bollard. This will help to keep the ship reasonably secure from moving backwards and forwards (ranging) along the pier and also prevent her from being pushed hard alongside. This method would only succeed under reasonable weather conditions. I have a feeling that a lot of wooden fenders would also have been employed. My crude drawing demonstrates this with red lines extending to the bollard.
Second, and probably its primary purpose, was to aid in getting the ship off the berth when she is ready for departure. This procedure is known as warping and works like this. The lines to shore from the bow are left go and then using the ship’s windlass the line to the turning bollard is heaved in causing the bow to move outward in the direction of the open sea, at the same time the line from the stern to the bollard is released as are the stern spring lines just holding one line fast to the shore until the turning manoeuvre is complete, When she has turned sufficiently all remaining lines are released and recovered, engine speed is increased and you steam away to somewhere nice…. like the South sea islands…..
Normally intrepid in his pursuit of the forts. Westropp’s courage failed him when faced, a hundred years ago, with the prospect of travelling on the old, fearfully steep and rough road to this, at that time, remote part of Muinter Bheara. Finding the way ‘insuperable’, he confined his efforts to looking at it with strong field glasses, clear air and light from the Mizen Peninsula across Dunmanus Bay. The fort he describes, as a result of this remote surveillance, and with the help of local informants, appears to be the one further east along the cliffs from Dooneen Pier. It is located on Foilmore (Big Cliff), along from Foilnanoon (Cliff of the Fort). It’s National Monument No CO138-012. It’s Promontory Fort 1 on the map above.
Here’s what Westropp has to say about this fort*:
The high mound and fosse are curved, and bushes grow on the former; inside is a level garth with long grassy slopes down to the cliffs. The rampart, I was told, was “about as high as a man” very steep, “cut by a gap, with a high narrow roadway, only wide enough for a cart to go inside across the ditch” which was “about as deep” as the mound was high – i.e., 5 ft. to 6 ft., making the rampart 10 ft. to 12 ft. high in all. Near it is a small, low peninsula, with little headlands and creeks, Reenanattin (furze point), Coosabriste (broken creek), Carrignagappul, Cooshaneagh (called from horses), and Murkogh. The fort is near Foillmore cliff, and is locally called “the Island of Dooneen” a not unusual term for such forts in Counties Mayo, Clare, Kerry, Cork, and especially Waterford.
Determined to best Westropp and actually visit the fort, I set out, in the company of Amanda and Peter and my sister, to tramp across the fields to it. Alas, we got no further than the farmhouse on whose land the fort is situated, where we were warned that a) it’s crumbling and very dangerous and b) it’s impossible to see anything because of the growth of gorse, trees and scrub.
We abandoned the attempt – I will never doubt Westropp’s good sense again! I contented myself with what is showing on the 19th century OS map, above.
Two more promontory forts are shown on the National Monuments map, presumably identified in the course of the archaeological surveys of the 1980s. It is no longer possible to see the ramparts, banks or ditches of the promontory fort immediately south of Dooneen Pier (above and below) as they have fallen into the sea (like those at Dún an Óir on Cape Clear). This one is called Illaunglass, or Green Island, on the map. According to the National Monument record (CO138-034002) it has a hut site on it. Frustratingly, the details of this record are hidden from view at the moment.
The next one to the south (CO138-035, no. 3 on the map), details also hidden, has a very slight discernible bank, partly covered by a wall, possibly modern (below). However, there is no indication of a ditch or bank in the OS maps, so it is unclear on what basis it has been assigned as a promontory fort.
It is obvious that this area has been important to the inhabitants of Muinter Bheara for a long time, since promontory forts can date as early as the Iron Age (which ended around 500 CE/AD) but are commonly early Medieval, dating up to around 1000 CE/AD.
One more curious feature awaited us on our walk around the ‘Island of Dooneen’ – a blowhole, thankfully guarded by a wire fence. I’d love to go back some time when it’s blowing!
Take a trip out to this part of the Sheeps Head – It’s amazing how one tiny section of coastline can hold such history and magnificent landscape.
*The Promontory Forts of Beare and Bantry: Part III: Thomas Johnson Westropp. The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland , Dec. 31, 1921, Sixth Series, Vol. 11, No. 2 (Dec. 31, 1921), pp. 101-115. Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25513219
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