West Cork Blog

The Return of the Earls: The 2025 Crowley Clan Gathering

I spent Saturday in Baltimore celebrating, with dozens of Crowleys, a signal occasion. This celebration involved the iconic boat The Saoirse, exhaustive genealogical research, long lost cousins meeting for the first time in over 300 years, and a remembrance of a devastating episode in Irish History – the Flight of the Earls. 

Let’s start with the Flight of the Earls. The Battle of Kinsale in 1601, was the moment that marked the end of the power of the great Irish families and the end of the Gaelic way of life. Many heads of those families who had fought at the battle fled Ireland from Rathmullen in Donegal, heading for the continent, in 1607. Their names can be found in the lists of those who fought in the armies of Spain, France and the Austrian Empire, as well as, sometimes lightly disguised, as landowners, wine-growers and grandees in those countries.

However, one of the leaders, Red Hugh O’Donnell of Donegal, set out earlier, on January 6th, 1602, and he sailed from nearby Castlehaven (below). You can find the whole story, told in a highly entertaining way, on the website of our old friend Gormú. That’s Richard King‘s rendition of Red Hugh, above, being offered a poison cup by a traitor, causing him to die in Spain (where his grave has recently been identified). My lead photograph is his statue, by Maurice Harron, in Donegal town and the cartoon is by John Dooley Reigh, from The Nation (I think). We in West Cork have never forgotten that this is a West Cork story and we feel we can claim Red Hugh as one of our own. This connects us in a special way to the whole saga of the Flight of the Earls.

That flight did not stop in 1607 – Irish men and women, clan chieftains, soldiers and peasants alike, continued to leave for the continent over the next centuries. 

Among those who left were the parents of Don Pedro Alonso O’Crouley. Here are the details from the Crowley Clan website:

Pedro Alonso O’Crouley was born in Cadiz in 1740. Both his parents had emigrated from Ireland. His father Dermetrio (Diarmuid or Jeremiah) was from Limerick claiming descent from Cormac O’Crowley born in Carbery, Co. Cork in 1550. His mother was an O’Donnell from Bally Murphy in Co. Clare.

At nine years old he was sent to France where he got a classical education from the Augustinians at Senlis. He chose to follow a career as a merchant and got a licence for Veracruz and made his first journey to Mexico at the age of 24. Over the next ten years he repeated the journey several times and built up a large fortune from his trading business.

While in Mexico, or “New Spain” as it was called, he gathered every bit of information he could about the country and its history, geology, vegetation, animals, etc. and wrote up his findings in the “Idea compendiosa” – A description of the Kingdom of New Spain” in 1774.

After returning from Mexico O’Crowley stayed on in Cadiz pursuing his interests in antiquities and history. In 1794 he published a catalogue of his private collections called “Musaei o’croulanei”. It lists over 5,000 Greek and Roman coins and 200 paintings including works by Van Dyck, Rubens, Murillo, Velaquez, Zurbaran and Ribera. He also had many geological specimens he had gathered in New Spain.

Pedro remains very famous in Cadiz, where his house functions as a museum. And – there are descendants! In 2014 the Crowley website received a letter:

My name is José María Millán Fuentes, and I am a descendant of O’Crowley. I live in Cádiz, Spain, and I am doing work for the University of Málaga on my ancestors. I speak very badly English, but I have a lot of interest in the topic. I would like to help you, and that you also should help me. I have read in your web Antonio Castro, and also I descend from Pedro Alonso O’Crowley O’Donell and Adelaida Riquelme O’Crowley. I have a lot information about the family up to Pedro Alonso, but then everything fades away.

Eleven years later, José Maria is to be the guest of honour at the Crowley clan gathering. The committee discusses how best to make the most of this moment and comes up with a genius idea. He should arrive by sea, born into Baltimore on the iconic boat, the Saoirse. Read about the Saoirse here, and for true traditional wooden boat enthusiasts, you can buy Kevin O”Farrell’s brilliantly photographed book on its reconstruction in Hegarty’s boatyard. 

The Saoirse is a big, gaff-rigged yacht, the original version of which was built to sail around the world. It requires a great deal of skill to sail, and thus the task was entrusted to Liam Hegarty.

A flotilla of traditional wooden boats was to accompany her into the harbour but high winds scuppered that plan so in the end only two boats made up the guard of honour – Cormac Levis’s Saoirse Muireann (above) and Nigel Towse’s Honorah. 

It was thrilling to see the Saoirse round the Beacon point and tack into Baltimore. I stood with a large contingent of Crowleys, waving flags and cheering, while a group of lively dancers set all our toes tapping.

The most moving moment was when José María  climbed up the ladder to the pier, to be met with his 7th cousin, Kevin Crowley from Martinstown, Co Limerick, and enfolded in a welcoming embrace. The Clan Taoiseach, Larry Crowley gave a short, perfect speech. He said, and I paraphrase – José María, your ancestors fled Ireland 300 years ago. They were escaping from oppression, from poverty, from dispossession and from the consequences of resistance. But here we are now, all of us proud Europeans, standing shoulder to shoulder. 

Led by a piper, we marched up to the village square.

I was struck by the aptness of the Spanish flags passing under the walls of Baltimore Castle – a castle that, in its day serviced the vast Spanish fishing fleets that came for the pilchards and herring. The O’Driscolls became fabulously wealthy through that commerce, and forged alliances with the Spanish that came back to bite them in later years.

There were more speeches, including a masterful summing up of Baltimore’s history by William Casey, and then a squall had us running for cover. The Algiers Inn and other eateries in Baltimore served up a smashing array of sandwiches and soup. I chatted with New Zealand Crowleys and American Crowleys and Irish Crowleys – we all agreed that it had been a perfect Welcome Home.

I may not have all the details exactly right – corrections welcome from knowledgeable Crowleys. My special thanks to Charlie Crowley for inviting me along.

Words on the Waves Vs Wavy Words

A few weeks ago I visited the National Museum in Dublin especially to see their Words on the Waves exhibition. This is the story of how Irish monks lived and worked on the continent during the 8th and 9th centuries, producing marvellous illuminated manuscripts of the gospels and other books.

The exhibition continues until the 24th of October so if you haven’t seen it yet, there’s still lots of time. And it is SO worth it. The exhibits are a mixture of Irish and continental. St Gallen, in modern-day Switzerland, was one of the destinations to which Irish scribes travelled and they have retained an incredible collection of manuscripts. Below is the start of the Gospel of St John – In the Beginning Was the Word.

There are book shrines and gospel fragments from Ireland, explanations of how books were made and bound, early examples of ogham writing, designs on wood and metalwork of what we often call “Celtic interlacing” but which is properly referred to as ultimate La-Tene. 

From St Gallen come the manuscripts – gospels, law texts, a mathematical calculation for Easter (below), a Greek dictionary and a Latin Grammar (second down).

There’s even a poem of complaint by an Irish monk about how badly he is being treated at St Gallen (below). 

A lovely addition was an exhibition of student work, based on workshops they had taken on the art of calligraphy and medieval manuscripts.

I was completely bowled over by the manuscripts. Carried away by enthusiasm, I ordered a copy of the Royal Irish Academy’s The Irish Art of Calligraphy, by Timothy O’Neill, the renowned expert on this field. 

I then bought myself a calligraphy set at Cathal O’Donovan’s lovely bookshop in Skibbereen. 

I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, but hey, I reasoned, this is not art, it’s just writing, right? The instructions were crystal clear and organised in a lovely straightforward step-by-step manner. Having figured out how to assemble the pen (no instructions included, but thank you, YouTube) I set about copying the letter i, then the o then j, c, and e. 

Yes, you guessed it – this is a lot harder than it looks, especially for someone not naturally gifted in this way! I may have used too thick a nib to begin with. I may be holding the pen wrong. The paper I copied to practise on (I didn’t want to use the book!) may be too blotty. 

I will try again. Any readers who can see what I am doing wrong, please weigh on with words of advice. Encouragement to persist also welcome. This my letter o attempt – the first o is the model, the rest are mine.

After all, I tell myself, those monks didn’t produce those wonderful scripts overnight – I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t a seven year apprenticeship. Perhaps I’ll do an update in seven years and show you my progress. What are the chances it will look like this?

We are on Substack!

I was dubious, but I have decided to go for it. Following on from the excellent advice you, our readers, sent me, I have embarked on the new adventure of creating a Substack newsletter. Essentially, every time I post on the blog, I will send the same post to Substack, so if you already subscribe to the blog, there’s no need to subscribe at Substack too. If you don’t already subscribe to the blog, you can do so now either by clicking on the cog icon at the top of this page and entering your email address, or by subscribing at Substack. Don’t do both or you’ll be driven demented by getting the same post twice.

For my first Substack post I have selected one of our classic posts – and one of our most popular – about the time we almost got lost on Mount Gabriel looking for Poul an Oigheannn, the Cauldron Pool, and all the floklore that goes with that enchanting little glacial lake.

It’s taken me so long to learn how to do this, there’s no time for a new post today. To check out our new presence on Substack, go here:

https://roaringwaterjournal.substack.com/p/legends-of-mount-gabriel-1

St. Brandanus: A 14th Century Graphic Novel. Part 3

Finally getting back to good old St Brendan and his voyage. (You can catch up on Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t read them already.) While writing this post I have been listening to one of my all time favourite pieces of music – The Brendan Voyage by Sean Davey, with the great Liam O’Flynn on the uillinn pipes. Robert wrote about the thrilling experience we had at the National Concert Hall where we attended a memorial concert for Liam O’Flynn which featured the whole Brendan Voyage, with Mark Redmond on the pipes. That post, Piper to the End, has several links to extracts from the Brendan voyage, but I will just post one movement here, and because I am half Canadian it has to be the Newfoundland Suite. Turn the volume up.

This music was written to celebrate the extraordinary journey taken by the late Tim Severin, tracing St Brendan’s voyage across the Atlantic. You can read the book (it’s a great read) or watch the documentary – I found part 1 and Part 2 online. Tim was an incredible explorer – the Brendan Voyage was one of many epic adventures he undertook to trace the footsteps of early voyageurs and travellers – you can read much more about him at his website, from which this photo, and the lead photo above, was taken, with thanks.

OK – back to S Brandanus and the 1360 graphic novel that illustrated his adventures for a medieval audience. For my final series of images from the book, I am using the translation this time of the great Irish scholar, John J O’Meara. In 1976 he translated the Navigatio into English, published by the Dolmen Press. He explains in his Introduction:

. . .within a hundred years of his death there already existed a primitive account in Latin of Brendan’s quest for that happy land [the Land of Promise]. This account was ecclesiastical in general character, but influenced the creation of the secular, heroic Voyage of Bran, written in Irish, which goes back to the late 600’s or early 700’s.The Latin Voyage of St Brendan, which is here translated, was written in Ireland perhaps as early as 800.

O’Meara illustrated his book with woodcuts from Sankt Brandans Seefahrt, printed by Anton Sorg at Augsburg in 1476. As you can see, they are different in character from our manuscript, being woodcuts for one thing, rather than pen and ink drawings. For example, the illustration on the cover is of the famous incident with the whale, covered in Part 2 of this series, while the illustration below is of the Unhappy Judas on a rock in the sea. Contrast it with the same scene from S Brandanus, below the first quote.

Nevertheless, O’Meara’s translation and the S Brandanus illustrations correspond perfectly, indicating that both were based on the same text. I am using the story of Brendan’s meeting with the Unhappy Judas. Regular readers will remember that I wrote about this once before, in my post Harry Clarke, Brendan, Judas – and Matthew Arnold. While the stories are the same, Arnold’s poem ends with Judas disappearing, while the story from the Voyage carries on. Here goes.

When Saint Brendan had sailed towards the south for seven days, there appeared to them in the sea the outline as it were of a man sitting on a rock with a cloth suspended between two small fork-shaped supports about a cloak’s lengths in front of him. The object was being tossed about by the waves just like a little boat in a whirlwind. Some of the brothers said it was a bird, others a boat. . .

Blessed Brendan questioned him as to who he was, or for what fault he was sent here, or what he deserved to justify the imposition of such penance?

The man replied: “I am unhappy Judas, the most evil trader ever. I am not here in accordance with my desert but because of the ineffable mercy of Jesus Christ. This place is not reckoned as punishment but as an indulgence of the Saviour in honour of the Lord’s resurrection.. . . 

When I am sitting here I feel as if I were in a paradise of delights in contrast with my fear of the torments that lie before me this evening. For I burn, like a lump of molten lead in a pot, day and night, in the centre of the mountain that you have seen. . . .

But here I have a place of refreshment every Sunday from evening to evening, after Christmas until the epiphany, at Easter until Pentecost, and on the feast of the purification and assumption of the Mother of God. After and before these feasts I am tortured in the depths of hell with Herod and Pilate and Annas and Caiphas. And so I beseech you through the Saviour of the world to be good enough to intercede with the Lord Jesus Christ that I be allowed to remain here until sunrise tomorrow, so that the demons may not torture me on your coming and bring me to the fate I have purchased with such an evil bargain.

Saint Brendan said to him, May the Lord’s will be done! Tonight until the morning you will not be eaten by the Demons. 

The man of God questioned him again saying what is the meaning of this cloth? 

The other replied I gave this cloth to a leper when I was procurator for the Lord. But it was not mine to give. It belonged to the Lord and the Brothers. And so it gives me no relief but rather it does me hurt. Likewise the iron forks on which it hangs I gave to the priests of the temple to hold up cooking pots. With the rock on which I sit I filled a trench in the public road to support the feet of those passing by, before I was a disciple of the Lord.

The story continues, with the demons coming to take Judas back to hell, upon which Brendan forbids them to do so. The following morning, when they come to fetch Judas, 

. . . an infinite number of Demons was seen to cover the face of the ocean emitting dire sounds and saying ‘Man of God, we curse your coming as well as your going, since our chief whipped us last night with terrible scourges because we did not bring to him that accursed prisoner.

They tell him that Judas will suffer double punishment for the next six days because of this, but this also Brendan forbids, in the name of God, saying: 

I am his servant and whatever I order, I order in his name. My service lies in those matters which he has assigned to me.

The Demons followed him until Judas could no longer be seen. They then returned and lifted up the unhappy soul among them with great force and howling.

Eventually the voyage ends and Brendan returned home, relating everything that had happened on the voyage and saying that his own time had now come to an end. His dying and death are given less than half a page – an unseemly short few words to bring the voyage to a close.

For when he had made all arrangements for after his death, and a short time had intervened, fortified by the divine sacraments, he migrated from among the hands of his disciples in glory to the Lord, to whom is honour and glory from generation to generation. Amen. End.

Derry Duff Farm: Miracle in the Mountains

Last week I finally managed to make it to one of Derry Duff Farm’s open days – something I have been trying to do for a couple of years, ever since I started reading about what Steve and Claire Collins are accomplishing up in the mountains above Coomhola.

The first thing to know is that Derry Duff is one of the highest farms in West Cork, occupying very marginal land – the kind we mostly see being used as sheep range or simply covered in heather and fionnán grass. Certainly not the kind of location where you can imagine a thriving and productive berry farm.

The second is that Steve Collins is a man on a mission. A highly-educated dynamo, he has spent his working life in the trenches of famine-stricken regions, teaching local people the value of diversifying their crops so that when one fails, they do not starve. There a lovely irony in this, as it is very likely that those who lived on this land in the mid-nineteenth century surely were victims of the Great Hunger, when the potato crop failed for several years in a row. The Derry Duff farm still has its old farm buildings to show how long people have been making a living on this mountain.

Steve is convinced that Ireland has fallen into a false sense of security, with our reliance on mono-cropped grass. In years when the price of silage and hay soar, as they do, or when feed is scarce (remember the fodder crisis of two years ago?), cattle and dairy farming become precarious. He set out to see what he could grow that could make money, was not vulnerable to rainfall and climate change, was ecologically sound, and which helped to drive diversity. 

Along the way there has been experimenting, and not everything has been successful (anyone for Irish walnuts?), but he has landed now on two main cash crops – blueberries and aronia berries – and a huge variety of fruit trees and vegetables that are grown mainly for themselves. 

The farm is very impressive indeed. Steve has harnessed streams from the mountain, and dug ponds, and using solar-powered pumps, has a steady supply of water. He ‘grows’ his own soil using compost, wood chips and sheeps’ wool, which produces earth at the right Ph level for the crops he plants.

The paths that wend through the growing areas (you can’t really call them fields) are fragrant with chamomile, and at this time of year loaded with blackberries, heather, meadowsweet and cat’s-ear. The impression is of a living hillside, bursting with life. Apple trees grow all over the place, hens cluck here and there, and many different tree species have space to see if they can flourish at this altitude and in this climate.

To eat a fresh Derry Duff blueberry (you can buy them at select stores locally) is to rediscover what a blueberry is supposed to taste like – large, juicy, sweet and substantial. It’s a labour intensive crop but there are picking machines which may be part of the process at some point. They were just ripening for our visit.

Aronia berries are new to us here in Ireland. A north American native, they have the highest level of polyphenols of any plant or vegetable.

Here’s the information from the Derry Duff website:

These benefits come from four distinct but inter related mechanisms; their ability to improve glucose metabolism; their positive effects on the microbiome; their anti-inflammatory properties; and their antioxidant power.  Research shows they can prevent metabolic syndrome; the combination of central obesity, high blood pressure, diabetes or pre-diabetes and deranged blood fats; the greatest source of chronic ill health in Ireland and the developed world.

I came home with a large box of aronia juice, and I’ve been working my way through it. I like it – it’s not too sweet and tastes great mixed with some sparkling water. As regular readers know, I had Covid last week and I do wonder if the aronia juice got me back on my feet sooner than I might have without it. I remember feeling tired and listless for ages after my last bout of Covid and I seemed to bounce back more quickly this time. But of course that’s an anecdote (or a scientific survey with a population of one) and for the real science behind aronia, you can take a look at all the evidence here.

I came away from Derry Duff with a sense of awe that Steve and Claire and their family have taken on a challenge like this – to take a piece of marginal Irish hillside and turn it into a small miracle of abundance and fertility. Oh and by the way, up there ranging over the hills is also a small herd of Dexter cattle. The emphasis is on sustainability and biodiversity.  Nothing is wasted and everything they do addresses their aim, to live in harmony with the hills.

If you want to experience this yourself, you can stay at Derry Duff! They have a wonderful, luxurious, cabin called the Hidden Haven and it gets rave reviews in all the usual sites and magazines. The photo above is taken from their website. If you want to visit on an open day, contact them through the website to add your name to the list.

Small Roads

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!