West Cork Blog

AI and the Future of Roaringwater Journal

AI is a double-edged sword and the future for Roaringwater Journal, and blogs like it, is looking grim.

First, the not-so-bad news.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I have been exploring various AI tools – chatbots and search engines and research tools like NotebookLM. My first foray was when I asked ChatGPT to write an 800 word essay on the history of West Cork. Although a cursory read left an impression that was persuasive, in fact it was riddled with errors. That was in 2023. Today I asked it to do the same again and I append the results below. MUCH better and in fact this time very accurate. 

I’ve also used image-generation software – I had fun with a St Brigid Post a while back – the results, although amusing, were a mixed bag – I’d say this aspect of AI has a lot of catching up to do. 

I also used Perplexity as a research assistant on my recent series (2 down, 1 to go) on the St Brendan book I purchased, which was written in German.

Finally, I used NotebookLM to keep track of all my references when I did the series on Charles Vallancey. NotebookLM is an excellent research tool which uses the sources you upload yourself. I had 15 different sources for this series, mostly lengthy academic articles, and I was able to use NotebookLM to tease out threads across the articles, each statement referenced back to its source.

Now for the other side of the coin.

When you did a Google search in the past, it came up with a list of Blue Links – clicking on a link brought you to the source website. Search engines drove a lot of traffic to our website.

If you do a search now, the first thing you are likely to see is what’s called an AI Overview. Although there are still links (for now) to Roaringwater Journal and other local sites, many people just read the AI Overview and go no further. If you use ChatGPT the information will simply be served up to you in a condensed form, with no link to sources or to further information.

Perplexity includes links in the form of tiny numbers at the end of paragraphs which you may or may not notice or click on. Claude does something similar but seems to get most of its information from Wikipedia.

The AI companies have drag-netted the internet to train their Large Language Models (LLMs). Where information is scraped from Roaringwater Journal, it has happened without my knowledge or consent. This was not a problem in the past – Google gathered the information, but drove the searcher back to Roaringwater Journal – ‘click on this blue link for more information.’ Now, all my hard work and careful research is simply fodder for huge search engines who present it as if it’s their own. This is even more of an issue for bloggers who rely on traffic to generate income (I do not). 

While traffic to the Journal (people landing on pages and actually reading what we have written) is a significant incentive to keep at it, it’s not the be-all-and-end-all for me, as I have all kind of other motivations for writing it. However, if the trend continues downwards, I can see myself and others taking stock at some point and wondering whether all our hard work is simply now providing content to enrich a bunch of tech-bro gazillionaires. 

The ultimate irony? My story image was generated by ChatGPT!

I would value your comments.

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The History of West Cork: A Story of Resilience, Rebellion, and Rich Culture

West Cork, the southwestern region of County Cork in Ireland, is a landscape of rugged coastlines, rolling hills, ancient stone forts, and vibrant villages. Though often celebrated today for its natural beauty and bohemian charm, West Cork’s history is layered with tales of prehistoric settlers, Gaelic chieftains, Norman invaders, rebellions, famines, and a profound cultural resilience that still defines the area. The history of West Cork is, in many ways, a microcosm of Ireland’s wider historical experience—marked by both hardship and heroism.

Prehistoric and Early Settlements

The earliest traces of human habitation in West Cork date back over 6,000 years, to the Neolithic period. Megalithic tombs, stone circles, and standing stones—such as those found in Drombeg near Glandore—attest to the ritual and communal life of these early settlers. The Bronze Age (c. 2500–500 BCE) and Iron Age (c. 500 BCE–400 CE) left their mark in the form of wedge tombs, fulacht fiadh (ancient cooking sites), and ring forts, which still dot the countryside.

By the early medieval period, West Cork was part of the powerful kingdom of the Eóganachta, a Gaelic dynasty that ruled much of southern Ireland. The area was divided among local chieftains, with clans such as the O’Driscolls, O’Mahonys, and O’Donovans holding sway. These families established fortified homes and controlled trade routes, especially around the coast. The influence of Christianity also spread during this period, and monastic sites such as Timoleague Abbey were founded, becoming centers of learning and religious life.

Viking and Norman Incursions

Beginning in the late 8th century, Viking raiders arrived along Ireland’s coasts, including the bays and inlets of West Cork. Though initially destructive, the Vikings eventually integrated into Irish society, intermarrying and establishing trading posts.

In the late 12th century, the Anglo-Normans began their invasion of Ireland. West Cork, with its remote and rugged terrain, resisted complete conquest for some time, but eventually Norman influence took root. Towns such as Bandon and Kinsale (just on the border of what is traditionally considered West Cork) grew under Norman control. These new settlers introduced stone castles, new agricultural practices, and English legal structures, which often clashed with traditional Gaelic customs.

The Tudor Reconquest and the Flight of the Earls

The 16th century saw the English Crown intensify its efforts to control Ireland. West Cork became embroiled in the resistance movements of local Gaelic lords. One of the most notable figures of this period was Donal Cam O’Sullivan Beare, chieftain of the O’Sullivan clan. After the defeat of Irish forces at the Battle of Kinsale in 1601—a key turning point in Irish history—O’Sullivan Beare led his people on a harrowing 500-kilometer march to Leitrim, seeking sanctuary. Only a handful survived. This event symbolized the collapse of the old Gaelic order and the increasing dominance of English rule.

Following the Nine Years’ War and the “Flight of the Earls” in 1607, many Gaelic lords fled Ireland, paving the way for the Plantation of Ulster and further colonization. In West Cork, land was confiscated from Irish families and given to English settlers loyal to the Crown. This deepened divisions and planted the seeds for centuries of unrest.

18th and 19th Century: Rebellion and Famine

By the 18th century, West Cork had developed a mixed population of Protestant landowners and Catholic tenant farmers. Tensions over land and religious discrimination simmered, culminating in episodes of violence such as the Whiteboy movements—agrarian protests against unfair rents and evictions.

The 1798 Rebellion, inspired by revolutionary ideals from America and France, saw some activity in West Cork, though it was largely suppressed by British forces. Still, the spirit of resistance remained alive.

The most devastating period in West Cork’s history came with the Great Famine (1845–1852). The failure of the potato crop, coupled with British government inaction, led to mass starvation, disease, and emigration. Skibbereen, one of the region’s principal towns, became infamous for the horror it witnessed during the Famine—its name now synonymous with suffering. Over 8,000 people died in the town alone, and many more fled aboard “coffin ships” bound for America, Canada, and Australia.

Twentieth Century: War, Revolution, and Renewal

West Cork played a significant role in the Irish War of Independence (1919–1921). The region was a hotbed of IRA activity, led by figures like Tom Barry and Michael Collins, the latter born in Clonakilty. Notable events included the Kilmichael Ambush, where IRA volunteers killed 17 members of the British Auxiliary Division. These actions helped push the British government toward negotiating the Anglo-Irish Treaty.

The subsequent Civil War (1922–1923) divided communities, including those in West Cork. Collins himself was assassinated at Béal na Bláth in 1922 by anti-Treaty forces, marking one of the most traumatic events in modern Irish history.

Modern West Cork: Culture, Community, and Creativity

In the post-independence era, West Cork remained primarily agricultural, though economic struggles persisted well into the 20th century. By the 1970s and 80s, however, the area began to attract artists, writers, and European settlers drawn to its wild beauty and affordability. This influx helped revitalize the region’s cultural life.

Today, West Cork is known for its lively arts scene, local food movement, and commitment to community sustainability. Towns like Bantry, Skibbereen, and Ballydehob host festivals, markets, and environmental initiatives, while smaller villages retain a sense of timeless rural life.

Though its history has often been marked by hardship, conflict, and change, West Cork has preserved a deep sense of identity. Its landscape holds the memory of centuries—of castles and cairns, abbeys and ambushes—and its people continue to reflect the tenacity, independence, and creativity that have long defined this corner of Ireland.

West Cork’s Earliest Church: The Skeams Part 1

The highlight of last week was a trip around Roaringwater Bay in a traditional wooden boat, the Saoirse Muireann, visiting the Skeam Islands. Our captain was Cormac Levis, who led us last year on a trip to Castle Island and who is encyclopaedic in his knowledge of Roaringwater Bay.

Now, you may be tempted, as I was, to pronounce this The Skeems, but you can mark yourself out as a true local by referring casually to the Shkames. Called after St Céim (pronounced Kame), apparently, although this particular saint is surprisingly controversial, cropping up as Céin, Keane, or Kame, depending on the authority. THE authority, Pádraig O’Riain, in his Dictionary of Irish Saints is uncharacteristically silent on this saint, so we turn to the Mizen Journal for more information. The Mizen Journal was the much-missed publication of the Mizen Archaeological and Historical Society and it combined well-researched articles with lots of local lore. Bernard O’Regan was a highly-regarded local historian, interviewed by two others, Lee Snodgrass and Paddy O’Leary, before his death in 1994. In the interview he gave this account:

When St Ciaran left Cape Clear to go to the continent to be educated, he left his brother Kame and his sister in Cape [Clear]. Kame then built a wooden church on the West Skeam (Inis Kame, Kame’s Island).

The Bernard O’Regan Story Part 2

Mizen Journal No 4

Remember the bit about the wooden church, as we’ll come back to that. 

According to the geologist Anthony Beese, the West Skeam and the East Skeam were once probably joined, and possibly to Heir Island also, since the seas are very shallow between them. Based on geomorphological evidence, and Keating’s 17th century History of Ireland, Beese estimates that the islands may have separated due to storm activity some time between the 5th and the 9th centuries. Such a scenario, he says, would explain the lack of evidence for an early medieval settlement and burial ground on Heir Island. 

His own interpretation of the placename is more prosaic – rather than being based on a saint, he speculates that the Irish word scéimh (pronounced shcay-ev) might be apt – it means an overhang, a projecting rim or edge. He says:

The attitude of the cliffs of the Skeam Islands is determined by the subvertical dip of bedding planes, and when walking over the ridges, the feeling is one of looking down from a high table, boats below your feet, the rocky shore hidden.

Anthony Beese

The Natural Environment and Place-Names of the Skeam Islands

Mizen Journal, Vol 8, 2000

The goats on East Skeam certainly appreciate the cliffs.

So take your pick – the Skeams are named from a saintly church builder from Cape Clear, or the name reflects the geology of the island. Which side are you on?

West Skeam has a fascinating history, as evidenced by the barely-hanging-on remains of an early Christian Church. It’s a small single chamber with antae and a splayed linteled doorway. In the photo above, courtesy of the Irish Times, it’s the small ruin on the bank halfway along the beach. Take a look at my post Irish Romanesque – an Introduction for more about this kind of early, pre-Romanesque Church. It is presumed that antae – the projections of the side walls beyond the gable wall – reflect an earlier form of wooden church in which those projections helped to hold up the roof and provide shelter over the entry. The survival of this feature is known as a Skeuomorph – an imitation in the stone-built form of the earlier wooden construction method. 

This little church is very significant – It’s the only one of its kind in West Cork. For many years it has been falling into the sea. Although once, Beese notes, it would have been high and dry, successive storms and the prevailing winds have eroded the bank it stands on over the centuries. Local people, Cormac included, tell of bones eroding out of the bank. The archaeologist Edward Fahy conducted a brief survey in 1962. The drawing above and one at the top of this post are from that report, and here is the conclusion:

Inhumed burials are visible in the cliff for a distance of almost thirty feet to the north and south as well as within the church itself where they are overlain by some soil and 18” of collapse from the walls. The burials extend downwards to foundation level of the building and appear to post-date it. The density of burials is not high and the skeletons are laid parallel to the axis of the church with their feet to the east. One grave is slab-lined but the rest are simple inhumations.

The architectural features of the church, dry stone building, simple doorway with inclined jambs and without architrave, the antae and the estimated length/breath ratio of the interior suggest a ninth century date for the structure. It is to be regretted that this, the only church of its date in the area is to be allowed to crumble into the sea.


Edward Fahy

Skeam Island Church,

Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society, 1962

A proper excavation was conducted by Claire Cotter in 1990, necessitated by a proposal by the OPW to build a wall to protect the church from further erosion. Here’s what the bank looked like when Fahy reported in 1962, and it was in an even more perilous condition by 1990.

Cotter published her findings in an article, Archaeological Excavations at Skeam West, in the Mizen Journal, Vol 3, 1995. The excavation was confined to the burial grounds – that is, the area outside the church itself. It revealed that burials had been taking place there long before the stone church had been built! In fact, radiocarbon dating of the first phase, containing 24 individuals, mostly adult males, assigned a date range of 430 to 770AD.

Phase 2, consisting of 15 bodies buried in the north side of the church, once again mostly adults, but this time one body could be identified as female. Rather than in body-shaped cuttings, some of these bodies had been placed in pits, and they were in a semi-propped up positions. These burials dated from 550 to 855. 

This is what the church looks like now from the landward side. It’s very overgrown, but you can clearly see the antae and the linteled entry

Phrase 3 encompassed 33 bodies and dated from 1165 to 1395, after which the graveyard went out of use. Some of these graves may have had markers – a stone cross and notched stones were found.

Another interesting find, Cotter tells us:

In a number of burials the head was marked by small flat stones – generally one stone set close to the head on each side. This may indicate that the bodies had been placed on timber planking – the cradle stones would subsequently support the head and keep it in position when the timber planks had rotted away leaving a void within the grave. Remains of such timbers have been found in early medieval graves in England. In the case of Skeam, such timber planking could have formed part of a bier, perhaps used to carry the body on the sea journey. Two burials of newborn infants also belong to this phase and these had been placed on large stone flags.

It looks as if this burial ground was accommodating people from the other islands. Apart from a cillín on Heir Island, there are no burial grounds on East Skeam or on Heir. A midden to the south of the church contained lots of fish and shellfish remains, as well as fragments of seal and whale bones, and cattle sheep and pig bones. This activity dated to the 16th and 17th centuries.

Cotter, in her discussion, says the following:

There are no historical references to the church on Skeam west. It lies in the parish of Aughadown; and a decretal letter of Pope Innocent III [that’s him, below] issued in 1199 refers to “Aughadown and its appurtenances” and the Church in Skeam West may well have been included in these. Local tradition attributes the origins of some ecclesiastical foundation on the island to Ceim or Keims, a brother of Kieran of Cape Clear. This would place the foundation in the pre-patrician period and the site is therefore of great interest. Was the stone church built to replace an earlier wooden structure – perhaps destroyed by the storm which washed up the deposit of shingle visible at the north side of the present building?

. . . Small church sites such as Skeam were generally located within an enclosure which defined the termon or area of sanctuary of the church, and the ditch uncovered to the south of the church is probably the remains of such an enclosure. The question as to whether these foundations should be regarded as monastic has been much discussed in recent years. Some scholars suggest that these ecclesiastical foundations should be regarded as small church sites which provided essential religious services for the local community. Others would argue that the majority of these foundations began as monasteries and only later assumed a community role. In many examples the earliest burials are exclusively male and only at a later stage do we find mixed burial i.e. adults and children of both sexes.

. . . The burial ground at Skeam West appears to have been used over a long period perhaps as long as the 900 years. During its later history it may have been used by a wider community drawn from the neighbouring islands and coastal district as well as the Skeams.

She adds:

The human burials uncovered during the excavations were re-buried on the island in 1992 in what is hopefully their final resting place.

Above is the OPW wall, which seems to be doing the job of arresting erosion for the moment.

There’s lots more to tell you about the West Skeam Island, including fascinating details as to who owned it, and what life was like there. And we haven’t even arrived at the other Skeam Island, East Skeam, yet! Next time. 

One final note – the island is privately owned and monitored by video link. A disembodied voice reminded us that we were trespassing, at which point we left. 

St. Brandanus: A 14th Century Graphic Novel. Part 2

There are several versions of the Brendan story (that’s a Harry Clarke Brendan, above, from Tullamore), and some of the stories in one version might not be present in another. This particular version is told in a series of illustrations, each one captioned in what Biedermann calls “faulty monastic Latin.” It is contained in a much larger work, the Krumauer Bilder-Codex (or Illustrated Codex), and occurs at the end after many other stories of saints. A Codex, by the way, is a book, rather than a scroll. In the 14th century, vellum was used as the main writing material. The drawings are line drawings in pen and ink. They are simple, but in Biedermann’s opinion ‘joyful.’ I agree. Here’s one of the stories.

While they were walking on the island with Saint Brendan, a certain young man met them, filled with the radiance of the sun.

And that young man boarded the little ship with them and vanished from their sight.

I love the way you see only his legs disappearing up into the clouds.  St Brendan, although happy to see the radiant youth in the first illustration, is looking a little grumpy in this one. “What did we do wrong, that he left us”, I can hear him say. You may note, by the way, that in some illustrations the monks are depicted in a curved shape, like Brendan in the first line drawing above. This convention, known as the S-curve, is also seen in medieval stained glass windows, such as this one from the Exeter Museum.

Here’s another one, from St Helen’s Church in York. This S-curve was a way of introducing some sense of movement into a figure of a saint or monk, and was a typically gothic element, perhaps an attempt to make the figure less rigid.

The illustrations are laid out on facing pages, so you read top left, top right, bottom left, bottom right. Although the Brendan story has four illustrations per two-page spread, most of the stories in the Krumauer Bildercodex have six, or occupy three horizontal spaces instead of two. Here’s an image of a typical lay-out, although I don’t know what story is being told in it.

At some point there is a need for a new boat. No problem – Brendan sticks his staff in the ground and immediately a tree springs up. The monks set to work on it and in no time have carved out a boat.

In the next illustration they are at sea and raising a sail. Aha – I hear you cry, but now there are only three of them. And what kind of sail is that? And also – surely they were in an Irish curragh – what about all the hides? Alas – the Codex provides no answers to our urgent questions, although the story-teller who used the illustrations as he narrated to an eager audience may have done all that. We don’t know who commissioned the Krumauer Bildercodex, although since a production like this was time-consuming and expensive, it may have been a noble patron or a monastery. 

One of the most famous of the Brendan stories is that of the giant fish, sometimes called Jasconius, and often referred to as a whale. 

The caption reads: Here they found an island which stood upon a fish, and they hung a pot over a great fire, wanting to boil a sheep, and the fire began to burn the fish, and the fish moved the island. 

Here is Whitley Stokes’ translation of the story from the Book of Lismore

Now after the Easter had come the great sea-beast raised his shoulder on high over the storm and over the wave-voice of the sea, so that it was level, firm land, like a field equally smooth, equally high. And they go forth upon that land and there they celebrate the Easter, even one day and two nights.

After they had gone on board their vessels, the whale straightway plunged under the sea. And it was in that wise they used to celebrate the Easter, to the end of seven years, on the back of the whale, as Cundedan said :

Brenainn loved lasting devotion

According to synod and company :

Seven years on the back of the whale :

Hard was the rule of devotion.

For when the Easter of every year was at hand the whale would heave up his back, so that it was dry and solid land.

Since this is one of the most celebrated of the Brendan legends, it is not surprising that it is the story we see most often depicted in stained glass windows. Above is a beauty by Ethel Rhind of An Túr Gloine, in St Brendan’s College in Killarney. And of course, below, one by George Walsh, this one from St Brendan’s Church, the Glen, in Cork.

I will conclude this post with five illustrations for the story of the Golden Bridle, called the Silver Bit in the account I am using. This version is from the esteemed Canon O’Hanlon, (below) from his Life of St Brendan, in Volume 5 of his Lives of the Irish Saints (available online at https://archive.org/).

It is obvious, since the illustrations track so closely, that O’Hanlon was using the same translation as the Bilder-Codex. But I should warn you that in his translation the demon is cast in the form of a black child, an ‘Ethiop,’ as it is in other versions too. In the Codex it is simply referred to as a demon and depicted as a horned beast with a tail.

But, while they slept, Brendan saw a child, black as an Ethiop, holding a bit, and playing before the unfortunate brother, in whose eyes he made it glitter. The saint arose, and he passed that night in prayer till day. When morning dawned, the monks rose as usual, to give praise to the Almighty, and afterwards to regain their ship. Once more, the table was found furnished, as on the day preceding; and thus, for three days and for three nights, the Lord prepared food for his servants. There, too, for three whole days, by the Divine will, they rested on that isle. 

Then they returned to their ship, when Brendan said: ” See, brethren, doth not one of you carry off something from here?” “God forbid,” they replied, “that a robbery should dishonour our voyage.” “Then,” said St. Brendan, “behold, our brother, whom I warned yestereve, has now in his robe a silver bit, that the devil gave him this night.” The brother instantly flung that bit en the ground. . .


. . . and fell at the feet of the man of God, crying: “Father, I have sinned: pardon! pray for the salvation of my soul.” And, at the same moment, all fell down to pray for their brother’s salvation. 

Rising up, they saw the wretched Ethiop escape from the guilty man’s bosom, howling and crying : “Why drive me, O man of God, from my abode, where for seven years I have dwelt, and thus expel me from my inheritance. Brendan immediately turned to the brother, and said: “Receive promptly the Body and Blood of Christ, for thy soul is about t leave thy body, and this is the place of thy burial. But, thy brother, who came with you from the monastery, shall find his place of sepulture in hell.” Whereupon, that penitent monk received Holy Eucharist . . .

. . . and his soul departed; but, it was received by Angels, in the sight of the other monks. His body was then buried. Also, St. Brendan had ordered the expulsed demon, in God’s name, to hurt no person, until the Day of General Judgment.

There’s more of course, and I am undecided whether to continue next time or come back to it later. I’ll sleep on it, and dream of the Land of Promise and of picnicking on the back of a whale.

Part 1 is here.

St. Brandanus: A 14th Century Graphic Novel. Part 1

I am fond of telling people (because I read it somewhere) that the Voyage of St Brendan the Navigator was a “medieval best seller.” But I have just acquired a book (above) that made me look more closely at that claim. And yes, it’s a true statement, and my book is part of a sprawling tradition of stories about our own beloved St Brendan, that were written across medieval Europe in many languages over several centuries.

This statue of Brendan dominates the town of Bantry. It’s by Ian and Imogen Stuart

I’m mainly illustrating this post with images of St Brendan in stained glass or other art forms. Since he’s one of our favourite Irish saints here, this isn’t hard. But the next post will be illustrated by images from the book, St Brandanus: Der Irische Odysseus. This post is mainly background about St Brendan and his legendary journey.

Willy Earley’s Brendan, St Brendan’s College, Killarney

Brendan’s Navigatio is perhaps best understood as one manifestation of the deep well of mythology that many of our stories have come from. St Brendan sets out from Ireland with several companions (the number changes from version to version) and journeys over the sea for several years. Along the way he encounters wonderful islands, strange creatures, demons and whales, colonies of feathered men and beautiful women. Many miracles keep him and his companions alive and moving onwards towards the Land of Promise.

This window by Ethel Rhind of An Túr Gloine is also in St Brendan’s College in Killarney

This great Irish tradition of seafaring pilgrimage is called Immram and is part of a wider-world mythological treasury that includes Sinbad the Sailor and Odysseus, as well as some other Irish saints. Brendan’s tale is based on a pre-Christian legend called Immram Brain (the full text of which can be read here). Here’s a good summary, courtesy of (unlikely as it seems) the University of Texas in Austin.

The text relates how a mysterious woman appearing in the fort of the protagonist, Bran son of Febal, tells him about a magic apple-tree on the island of Emain Ablach, a terrestrial paradise far away to the west of Ireland and abode of the sea-god Manannán mac Lir, which she describes as a place Without sorrow, without grief, without death, without any sickness, without debility from wounds.

Subsequently, Bran sets out to find this island with three times nine companions: on their way they encounter the sea-god, who directs them to an island inhabited by laughing people, after which they reach a different island inhabited exclusively by women. There, Bran and his retinue spend many blissful years, not noticing the passing of time. When finally Nechtan, one of Bran’s companions, is overcome by homesickness, they decide to return to Ireland but are warned by the queen of the island not to set foot on Irish soil. Upon their arrival, Nechtan disregards the warning and immediately crumbles to dust, as they had spent so many years on the magic island that they were well past their dying age; Bran on the contrary remains on the boat and, after telling their adventures to some onlookers on the shore, sets out again for new adventures.

Readers who are familiar with Irish mythology will immediately recognise the similarity of Nechtan’s story to that of the famed warrior Oisín, who goes to live with the beautiful Niamh of the Golden Hair in TIr na nÓg (the Land of Youth), and to whom the same fate befalls when he returns to Ireland. 

The muscular statue of a mature Brendan in Fenit, Co Kerry, which is the work of Tadgh O’Donoghue. Below is another image of this wonderful work

But to get back to Brendan – the story of his voyage became the principle Immram of the Middle Ages. Originally written in Latin as early as the 9th century, by the 12th century, it was one of the most popular medieval legends, with versions in many languages: French, Italian, English, Dutch, German, Irish, Welsh, and more. In fact, more than a hundred manuscript versions survive. That does not include the Life of Brendan from the Book of Lismore, compiled in the 1480s, and wonderfully translated by Whitley Stokes, even though that Life contains the voyage within it.

Just to give you a flavour of Stokes’ language, here a little extract from the Life:

So Brenainn, son of Finnlug, sailed then over the wave-voice of the strong-maned sea, and over the storm of the green-sided waves, and over the mouths of the marvellous, awful, bitter ocean, where they saw the multitude of the furious red-mouthed monsters, with abundance of the great sea-whales. And they found beautiful marvellous islands, and yet they tarried not therein.

Brendan and his foster-mother, St Ita. In Killorglin, by George Stephen Walsh

The thing about all these manuscript versions of Brendan’s Navigatio is that none except a couple is illustrated. My recent acquisition (thank you, Innana Rare Books!) is a book about one of only two fully illustrated versions, although isolated illustrations crop up here and there. The book was published in 1980 and is a work of scholarship by Hans Biedermann. Biedermann was a highly respected Austrian academic and an expert on symbolism and mythology. A professor at the University of Graz, he died in 1990, aged only 60. This is the only photograph of him I have been able to find.

This means, of course, that the book is in German, and no English translation exists. I turned to my favourite AI tool, Perplexity, to help me with the translations and it provided me with a page-by-page summary. 

This window is in KIllorglin and is by James Cox. It emphasises the scholarly monk in the main panel, leaving the seafarer to the predella

A digression – I am as concerned as you all are about the use and mis-use of AI. For the purpose of this project I used Perplexity as an AI-powered search engine, translator and research assistant, asking it to fact-check items for me, and to dig deeper into sources and references. Because the book is in German, and some of the sources I consulted are in European libraries, I couldn’t have done it without this kind of help. Perplexity also ‘fixed up’ the photograph of Hans Biedermann above, from the tiny fuzzy image which was all I could find online. The writing, however, is all my own – don’t worry, none of this was written by a chatbot.

A detail from a George Walsh window

I am also painfully aware that I am many words in and I haven’t actually shown you what the book is all about. It contains facsimile reproductions of 62 plates from the Krumauer Bildercodex, Codex 370, which is a manuscript kept at the Austrian National Library. The plates illustrate the voyage of St Brendan. There is a minimum of text, in the form of captions in Latin in Gothic script. It is, in essence a graphic novel – and it dates to 1360!

Caption reads: Here the holy abbot Brendan, serving God and the blessed Mary with all his strength, had under him nearly three thousand monks

Next week we will get into the illustrations and look at what may have been the origins and the purpose of the manuscript. They are all pen and ink line drawings – above and below is a foretaste.

Caption reads: Here they set out upon the sea, sailing, and came to an island.

Part 2 is here

Air India Disaster 40 Years On – Dignity, Love, Remembrance

I keep coming back to this story. I wrote about it first when the anniversary was the 30 year mark. And again two years ago when there were new developments in Canada. If you are not familiar with the story, please go now and read Amid Unbearable Tragedy – a Model for the World (Updated).

I attended this year’s ceremony – the 40th anniversary. It remains the single largest mass murder in Canadian history and the deadliest aircraft bombing ever. In fact, it remained the deadliest terrorist attack involving an airplane until September 11, 2001. 

There was a large turnout this year. Family members still come, including my new friend Sanjay Lazar, who contacted me in advance of the ceremony. His is a story tragic beyond belief – he lost his parents and his sister in the bombing, and became in time a spokesperson for airline safety and a trade union champion. 

He comes every year, as does Dr. Padmini Turlapati, who spoke about her two sons, Sanjay, whose body was recovered, and Deepak, who is still out there. Unbelievably, she made us laugh with her funny stories about the boys.

One particularly moving speaker was Hardeep Singh Puri, Indian Minister of Petroleum and Natural Gas. Himself a Sikh, what he said was captured beautifully by Amanda in her daily blip:

Towards the end one of the speakers spoke of the utter futility and horror of terrorism and urged us to look around  – here he said was what it was all about –  kindness, goodness and love. I looked – a very multi-cultural gathering, Sikhs, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Indian, Canadian, British, Irish from all walks of life-  all joined in sorrow and support, humanity at its best.

Amanda was undone by the performance of the local schoolchildren. As she mopped her eyes a very large Mountie in full dress uniform put his arm around her and patted her shoulder. It was a lovely moment.

Micheál Martin, grave and respectful, spoke the words I have used in my heading, dignity, love and remembrance. It perfectly summed up the feeling of the day. It was echoed by Gary Anandasangaree, Canadian Minister of Public Safety, who came to Canada as a child refugee, fleeing terrorism in Sri Lanka, who condemned terrorism in all its forms and spoke to the frustration of the family members who are still without answers. 

In the last three years there have been high-profile assassinations of Sikh leaders in Canada, including the chief suspect in the bombing, and this has led to the closure of each others embassies in the midst of accusations by Canada that India was behind the murders. Meanwhile, India accused Canada of harbouring terrorists. Mark Carney, the new Prime Minister, has been working quietly behind the scenes to normalise relations again, with success. 

This year it seemed that something has shifted – ten years ago, even two years ago, there was more emphasis on the anger at the botched investigation, the utter frustration at the lack of answers and the failure of the Canadian government to hold anyone to account. This year people spoke mainly about moving towards a sense of peace. The emphasis was on support and love, on getting along in our multi-cultural societies, on respecting each others’ cultures and on mourning with each other for those who will never return.

The central point of the commemoration is Ken Thomson’s beautiful sculpture, a sun dial set to the exact time the bomb went off.

Sherkin Friary

The Franciscan Friary on Sherkin Island (also called the Abbey) was established by Fineen (Florence) O’Driscoll, chief of the wealthy O’Driscoll clan, which had its headquarters in what is now Baltimore, but which, in the middle ages, answered to the name of Dún na Séad – Fort of the Jewels (how’s that for flaunting your wealth?). We know this because Fineen applied to the Pope himself for permission to found a friary. The Pope was Nicolas V, here seen in his portrait by Rubens. Although he was only Pope for eight years he was highly influential and responsible for many church innovations (such as the Vatican Library) and buildings (he started St Peter’s Basilica). He’s certainly giving Rubens the side-eye.

Ann Lynch, who excavated the Friary between 1987 and 1990 (source of much of the information below) tells us that Nicolas, despite being so busy in Rome,  

. . .in 1449, mandated Jordan Purcell, bishop of Cork, his dean, and a canon of Ross to license and to found a friary in his territory in honour of God, St. John and St. Francis. . . This reference is thought to refer to Sherkin Island (also known as Inis Arcain) and the licence explicitly states that the friars are to be under the jurisdiction of the Observant movement. There is no reference to building the friary however until 1460-2 when the  founder is given as Florence O’Driscoll.

The Franciscan Friary on Sherkin Island, Co. Cork, Excavations 1987-1990,

Ann Lynch, 

Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society, 2018, 55–127

The Observant Movement aimed to restore the order’s focus on poverty, simplicity, and communal living as originally envisioned by Saint Francis. They did indeed seem to have lived a simple life – the only comfortable room in the place, and one use for communal living, was the chapter house, below.

The siting of the Friary, close to Dun na Long Castle (see last week’s post) was not unusual in medieval Ireland, apparently. The castle was supposed to provide protection for the Friary, while the Friary afforded spiritual benefits to the castle inhabitants and the O’Driscoll chiefs. However, as we have seen last week, this didn’t go according to plan. The Waterford men sacked the castle in 1538 and plundered the Friary, setting it alight, and leaving it badly damaged.

They also made away with the Friary bell, as well as some chalices and other valuables. Below is the base of the famous Timoleague Chalice, probably very similar to what was stolen. You can read the story of the Timoleague chalice here.

While the Friars fled for a while, they did return and lived at the friary until the last of them, Fr Patrick Hayes, died sometime after 1766. The Bechers took possession of it at that point and held on to it until they handed it over to the Commissioners of Public Works in 1892. It has been in the care of the State since then.

In form, the Friary is fairly typical of Franciscan houses in Ireland, with a long nave and chancel church, a bell tower, a cloister, side chapels, and a chapter house and refectory. 

The nave and chancel run slightly north of east-west, due to the lie of the land. The West window has three lights and attractive tracery. We know that these would have contained stained glass, since fragments were found during the excavation, but we don’t know what they would have depicted. One of the charming features of this window are the heads – two still present although the one at the apex is too worn to make out, and a third indicated by a gap at the base of the hood moulding.

I am tempted to see a female saint in  the one head that is still fairly complete. After all, St Mona is the patron saint of Sherkin, so why would it not be her?

The tower or belfry, situated between the nave and the chancel, is a familiar feature of Franciscan Friaries – we see the same thing (although on a larger scale) in Timoleague.

The base of this Sherkin tower has a little decorative carving – a very welcome note of frivolity in what is overall a plain building. Although, of course, we do not know how it was decorated: it may have had frescoes and painted walls and have been quite colourful, although generally the strictly observant friaries were not highly decorated.

The chancel (the inner sanctum) also has an eastern three-light tracery window, identical to the one at the west end. There are various niches in the walls in the chancel, and I am wondering if one of them might be an Easter Sepulchre. I have just been learning about these in the latest Archaeology Ireland magazine, in a fascinating piece by Christiaan Corlett. You can read more about them here. In essence they were resting places, from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, of the crucifix, the Host and various other sacred elements, all of which would have been contained in a carved box, which was then deposited in the niche. This niche certainly fits the bill, except that it is on the south wall, rather than the more normal north wall.

The cloister was filled with rubble when Ann Lynch started her excavations. Nothing of it was to be seen, but as you can see the excavation revealed a small but perfectly formed feature.

And it seems that this is where the monks were buried! As the friars were pacing the cloister walk, intoning their office, they were walking on ground above the bones of their brethren who had died before them. Twenty four of them were found, aligned with their heads to the west and their feet to the east. There were no grave goods: they were buried as simply as they had lived.

Later, in the 17th and eighteenth centuries, the west end of the friary was used as a fish palace – a place for curing fish and packing them into barrels. The holes in the walls in the image below would have held press-beams. See Robert’s post Fish Palaces and How They Worked, for more on this. Somehow that seems like an ignominious end for a place built as a focus of worship. 

Today, the first thing you see as you step off the ferry is the friary, peaceful and beautiful in its island setting. It has seen its fair share of turbulence, of industry and of neglect. Now it reminds us that life goes on despite all that, but it never stays the same.