That’s our new car, sitting in Ballydehob a day or two ago. It’s given me the chance to revisit my posts about the history of Rural Electrification in Ireland – and to bring the subject right up to date! The word Microgeneration is new to my vocabulary. Here’s where I first saw it:
What that means is that our supplier – Electric Ireland – is paying us! We are contributing to electricity generation here in West Cork because we have tapped in to the sunshine!
Since we collected our Ora Funky Cat from Blackwater Motors in Cork, two weeks ago, all our fuel costs have been free! As you can see from the display on our car charger, every watt is coming from solar gain, and feeding into the Funky Cat’s battery. If we get the timing right, we will never have to pay fuel costs again, unless we travel away from home.
That’s our Zappi car charger, above. We made the decision to install photovoltaic (PV) panels on the roof of our house. We face south – looking out over Roaringwater Bay – in a location that’s ideal for harvesting solar energy.
Our house from the fields below: you can see a few stages of rural electrification in this picture, conventional supply posts and wires, and the new panels on our roof. (Below) Fergus and Kevin are well on with the installation:
It’s been well worth the disruption, which was actually shortlived – and everyone who worked on it was cheerful. Why wouldn’t they be? They were bringing the most up-to-date electric technology to our doorstep. We are now being credited for anything we generate that goes into the grid (that’s the default mode). But we are going to use our own power as much as possible in Nead an Iolair. We have had a battery fitted, and a diverter which powers another circuit if there’s anything to spare once we’ve charged the car.
We are fortunate in that our house has extensive south-facing roof slopes – ideal for the installation of eighteen PV panels (above). Properties which don’t have roofs facing the right way can consider panels mounted on freestanding frames. Here’s one set up by neighbours of ours:
The same neighbours have also been tapping into wind energy for many years (above). They are significant contributors to ‘rural electrification’ here in West Cork!
There’s a phone app for everything! Mine is telling me how our system is performing. It’s Saturday afternoon and the day is relatively dull. There is no sun shining on the panels, but the solar gain from the overcast sky is still generating (or ‘microgenerating’ as the ESB would have it). The battery in the system (on the left) is full, the car (bottom image) is unplugged. The PV (centre) is pushing 5.1kW into the grid! No wonder our ‘house’ is smiling.
Finally, this week – in our electric car – we visited the impressive re-erected Gorteanish stone circle near Ahakista on the Sheep’s Head. I wonder: could this have been a forward-looking experiment by Bronze Age West Cork dwellers into harvesting solar energy?
Thinking of a carbon emission reduced future yourself? It would be worth speaking to our contractor: https://www.toolenpv.ie/
And, if you like the look of the Funky Cat, don’t forget to connect with Blackwater Motors, our Cork dealer. Incidentally, if you are wondering about the name, Great Wall Motors (GWM) is one of the largest car manufacturers in China, where cats are considered lucky: all GWM Ora products have ‘Cat’ in the name. Examples – Good Cat, Ballet Cat, Lighting Cat, Grand Cat… And Funky, of course!
Further information on the Electrification of Ireland can be found in these posts:
Above – on the left is the old Vaughan’s Hall in Ballydehob. Local historian Eugene McSweeney tells this tale:
. . . This hall in Ballydehob ‘had the Electricity’ around 1951-52. UK Queen Elizabeth II was crowned in 1953 – June 2 – and a film was made by the BBC. This film was sent around to be shown in village halls etc all over Britain, but also in Ireland. Vaughan’s Hall was able to borrow a projector, and an evening was set aside to show the coronation film. There were ‘some local lads’ who felt that good Irish citizens shouldn’t be gawking at this English Royal event. They brought some heavy chains, and threw them over the new electric wires connecting into the hall. This caused a short circuit and the lights – and the film – went out! Ballydehob had to wait for another day to see the coronation . . .
Eugene McSweeney, Ballydehob
During the 1930s most towns in Ireland were connected to the National Grid. The outbreak of World War II in Europe led to shortages of fuel and materials and the electrification process in Ireland came to a virtual halt. In the early 1950s the Rural Electrification Scheme gradually brought electric power to the countryside, a process that was completed on the mainland in 1973 – not without some Herculean efforts by the on-site crews . . .
. . . While battling with the rocks in the Schull/Ballydehob fastnesses, blasting our way to our goal, we were informed that our next area was Castletownbere. No stick of exploding gelignite could produce more of a stunning effect in the Area Office than when the news reached us. Then we knew we were being accepted and acknowledged as mountainy men, men of steel and gelignite, capable of shaking still further the serenity of the West Cork mountains whose calm had not been disturbed by the noise of men and clash of steel since O’Sullivan Bere . . .
ESB ARCHIVES – AO Report 1951
Above – the pegging teams faced an onerous task when they moved over to the Beara Peninsula. Here are extracts from the reports of the Area Officer when works set out towards Castletownbere in late 1951:
. . . In November 1951 I left Ballydehob to visit Castletownbere area, the future scene of our endeavours. Looking at the country between Glengariff and Castletownbere I wrote off the battle of the Schull area as a skirmish, as I felt that the real battle was here. Here were crags, crevices, canyons, woods, bogs, etc, which defied all exaggeration. W Trusick, the pegging engineer, was very much depressed at the thought of what lay ahead of him as we climbed up the winding road from Glengarriff to the heights of Loughavaul and beyond again to Coolieragh. However, when we topped the climb at Coolieragh the vista of mountain and sea that met our eyes gave us a temporary respite from our morose reflections . . .
ESB ARCHIVES
Extract from the reports of the Area Officer when works set out towards Castletownbere in late 1951:
. . . Here was a scene that is hard to equal anywhere else in Ireland. Ahead of us lay the country of O’Sullivan Beara. Away in the distance lay Beara island like a sleeping monster resting on the sea, protected on the northern side by the massive bulk of Hungry Hill, and farther west by a ring of mountains whose western slopes dip down into the Atlantic Ocean. Behind us we looked across Bantry Bay at Bantry away in the distance sheltered by the bulk of Whiddy island. Nearer to us was Glengariff with its myriad of islets and heavily wooded hinterland, cosy and comfortable looking, secure in the shelter of its encircling mountains. On a cold November day in the weak wintry sunshine people do not stay long admiring scenery from such a dank vantage point as Coolieragh, and so we continued our journey westwards along by Adrigole, close to the Healy Pass, skirting the foot of Hungry Hill with its silver streak waterfalls and finally we arrived at the capital of the Beara Peninsula, Castletownbere . . .
ESB Archives
. . . Mr O’Driscoll and his crew in Dromahane, had apparently two major obstacles: First, the landed gentry who vehemently objected to the “beastly sticks” being put anywhere on their land: the second being a van which objected to moving under any circumstances whatever. Of the original 320 economic acceptances, 57 were ‘backsliders’, most of these being cottagers and small farmers. As an offset, 20 new consumers were gained, mostly having large premises, with the result that the total revenue was increased by £2. Only 20 premises were wired for outside light, due, in general, to the speed with which the contractors wanted to move from one house to another, and to their telling their clients that outside wiring could be done after they had been connected to the supply lines. Principal items sold in the area were 20 cookers, 30 irons, 20 kettles and 11 Milking Machines. Milking Machines are becoming increasingly popular in this area, solving as they do, the problem of milking on a Sunday when, normally, labour is not available. Mr O’Driscoll is doubtful if post development will meet with any marked success . . .
ESB Archives – DromAhane, Co Cork
It’s intriguing that the reports in the ESB Archives from the time of installation so often represent negative views about the ‘success’ or otherwise of the rural electrification project (Mr O’Driscoll is doubtful if post development will meet with any marked success). It’s as if this ‘new fangled’ technology is never going to take the place of the way traditional life is lived in remoter places. With this viewpoint, the drudgery of manual tasks such as bringing in water from an outside source, cooking, washing clothes is likely to continue, with the housewife / farmer’s wife and their children having maximum input. It’s just as well that a more enlightened attitude prevailed in some places – here’s an early taker of the benefits of an electric egg sorting machine (ESB Archives):
In urban areas, there was certainly enthusiasm for the improvements which ‘modern living’ offered (below). The new devices must have appeared exotic at first, but no doubt their benefits were instantly apparent to those who set their minds positively.
The heroes were the riggers and the geligniters, braving the elements and the raw landscape, to eventually bring power to the furthest reaches of rural Ireland (a task not completed, it could be said, until 1991, when Cape Clear – off our own West Cork coast – was connected to the National Grid). After those heroes came the dealers and traders. Someone had to provide all the water heaters, pumps, milking machines, refrigerators, cookers, washing machines . . . It was big business.
Above – an ESB salesman exercising persuasion on a willing customer. The man looks on! Below – interesting juxtaposition . . .
. . . Once a community was connected, or about to be connected, the ESB held public demonstrations of household appliances. These were then sold bringing electric irons, kettles, stoves to homes. The demonstration evening in Glenamaddy was held in January 1951. The handwritten report records that it took place “in the very fine Esker Ballroom”; these events were social occasions that brought communities together. The Glenamaddy evening “was attended by about 90, including 50 women. As is usual, the women appeared to be more keen than the men and more inclined to ask questions (and to argue). After the demonstration, a melodeon player turned up and an impromptu dance got under way” . . . Small towns and rural townlands became brighter and winters less harsh and Christmas more special as the fairy lights began to shine. It also gave rise to a rural Irish icon as every house had the Sacred Heart picture with the (electric) red lamp: many didn’t get a kettle and washing machine until later on . . .
ESB ARCHIVES
(Above) Seán Lemass – Minister for Industry and Commerce – performing the formal ‘switch-on’ in Ballinamult Creamery (Co Waterford) on 1st March 1954. This was the Electricity Supply Board’s 100,000th customer. Also in attendance are Mr R F Browne, ESB Chairman, and The Very Rev Father Walsh, PP Ballinamult.
Above: “As the last rays of sun leave the hills, the lights go on at Ballinamult Creamery, the Board’s 100,000th Rural Consumer”
. . . In November, Miss Crowley of the ICA toured Sherkin Island and lectured in nearby Skibbereen giving her ideas on modern home-making and sponsoring the use of electricity to a great extent. The area demonstration at the end of November was very well attended and sparked off a keen interest in the various appliances on show, just as the connections in the area were commencing. ESB sales in the area are now in the region of £1,300 while contracts are on hands for six pumping installations . . .
I have been gifted with a marvellous set of photographs of Dunanore, or Dún an Óir – an O’Driscoll Castle on Cape Clear. The gift came from one of our readers, Tash, and I am very grateful indeed. Regular readers know that I like to use my own photos, and I do have some that I took from the sea (like the one below) but I have none of Dún an Óir from the land, let alone from the castle itself!
And that’s because, as you can see from the drawing by Jack Roberts at the top of this post, this castle is situated in a very perilous location, on the edge of a cliff, on a small island, essentially, making access a hazardous scramble up from a rocky beach. It was once connected to the rest of Cape Clear by a narrow causeway but this has long collapsed. It was still there in the 1770s when Charles Smith visited. In his The Ancient and Present State of the city of Cork Vol 1, he wrote:
And this brings us to the name – Dún an Óir. It means, of course, Fort of Gold, and some of the old legends about this place talk about the name coming from stories of buried treasure. But in fact, this has been the name of this fort since the first maps of this area were made in the fifteen hundreds and it speaks to the wealth of the O’Driscoll clan who built it. Remember, their other stronghold, now called Baltimore, was Dún na Séad, or Fort of Jewels (on at least one map given as Castle of Perles). On Sherkin, their castle was Dúnalong – or the Fort of the Ships – that’s it as it is now, below.
There are many accounts of their fleets of ships, and the battles they waged against the Waterfordmen in which they came out the worst for wear when Dunalong was attacked. The scene below, from an information sign on Sherkin, shows the Battle of the Wine Barrels, 1537, with both Dunalong and the Friary on Sherkin in flames
Dún means ‘fort’ but seems to be especially applied to promontory forts in the southwest. Before the castle was built, therefore, it is likely that the O’Driscolls fortified the headland, which may date well back to the Early Medieval period (400-1200) or even to the Iron Age (500BC to 400AD, or 500BCE to 400BC for those who prefer the secular version). The Illustration below is taken with permission from Dún an Óir Castle: an uncertain future, by Dr Sarah Kerr, and shows the present state of the castle, marooned on what was once a promontory connected to the Island.
Our Promontory Fort man is Thomas Westropp (see here and here), and he wrote about Dún an Óir in his 1914-16 paper for the Royal Irish Academy, Fortified Headlands and Castles in Western County Cork. Part I. From Cape Clear to Dunmanus Bay. He visited the site, but like many a good explorer before and after him, did not venture out onto the promontory, but satisfied himself with what he could see from the high ground above it. That included the promontory and ruined castle, the rather ominously named Tonelunga (The sea-bed of the Ships), the end of the promontory called Caenroan (quay of the Seals), the inlet between the promontory and the cliffs, Coosadoona (the Little Harbour of the Fort) and the high cliffs behind the fort, Foilacuslaun (Cliffs of the Castle). All of these are marked on the 19th century twenty-five inch map.
Westropp writes about Dún an Óir as one of three Promontory forts on Cape Clear Island, although in fact there are more than that, as identified by the National Monuments Record – each yellow dot below is one.
Here’s one of them (below), Lios Ó Móine (the Fort of the Meadow – lios is usually used to designate an earthen ring fort): the description and then the photo are by National Monuments Service (NMS). In the photo you can see the narrow neck of land leading out to the promontory. This is likely what the spit leading out to Dún an Óir may have looked like.
Description: In rough pasture, at the foot of a steep N-facing slope on Stuckaunfoilnabena, a headland on the NW coast of Clear Island. A narrow eroding neck of land (Wth 3m; L 15m) leads to the roughly anvil-shaped headland. Across this neck of land are the remains of three earthen banks and the shallow remains of three fosses. Further examination of the remains was not possible for safety reasons.
Curiously, the NMS does NOT identify Dún an Óir as a promontory fort – here is what it says:
Description: The location of the tower house ‘Doonanore Castle’ (CO153-015002-) on a promontory, on the NW shore of Clear Island, suggested that it may have been built on the site of a promontory fort. However, there are no visible surface traces of an earlier defences across the promontory. The promontory is now isolated at high tide but was connected to mainland by causeway until 1831.
However, it has this to say about the earthwork identified on the high ground:
In pasture, on a steep N-facing slope to the E of the tower house known as Doonanore Castle . . . An earthen bank . . .extends upslope in a S to SW direction from a modern E-W field boundary wall on the cliff-top at N and ends at a large outcropping rock on the edge of another cliff. This bank appears to have formed part of the defences on the land approach to the castle from the E. The bank has three contiguous linear stretches [and] there is an entrance near the N end. There is a possible hut site near the centre of the enclosed area. The short promontory on which Doonanore Castle stands is a possible coastal promontory fort.
So, as you can see, although the NMS declines to label it a promontory fort because there are no longer any signs of banks or walls, it does concede that it is possible. It also extends the defences of that fort to the higher ground above it.
Back to Westropp – He quotes:
the poem of O Huidhrin, before 1418, tells how “0 hEidersceoil assumed possession of the Harbour of Cler.” It was of some importance to the foreign traders in wine and spices, and so figures in all the early portolan maps. Angelino Dulcert, in 1339, calls it Cap de Clar ; the subsequent portolans, Cauo de Clara, 1375 and 1426 ; Clarros, 1436 ; C. d’Clara or Claro, 1450 and 1552, and, to give no more, Cauo de Chlaram, in 1490. The 0 Driscolls’ Castle probably dates between 1450 and the last date. It was probably on an earlier headland fort, as it is called Dunanore. In 1602 it surrendered without resistance to the English, who burned it.
Westropp goes on to say
Dr. O’Donovan, in his ” Sketches of Carbery,” gives a few notes on the later history. He says there was a garrison at the Castle in Queen Anne’s time, and mentions the huge iron ring-bolt, set in the rock, to which the O Driscolls formerly moored their galleys in the creek. The last is improbable, even to impossibility: no one could moor galleys in the dangerous wave-trap, open to the most stormy and unsheltered points. The islanders regard the ruin as haunted, and tell of the singing of ships’ crews in its vaults. One “Croohoor” (Conor) O’Careavaun (Heremon’s grandson) lived as a hermit there in the eighteenth century. Another legend tells how, in 1798, the inhabitants painted the Farbreag Rocks and pillars so as to resemble soldiers in uniform to keep away the French ! If any truth underlies this, it is probably based on the idle act of some revenue or other officers, in the endless leisure of their island station.
In the map above, of the southwest end of the Island, you can just make out the name Firbreaga, almost covered by the O of OSI. Fir Bréaga means The Lying Men, an apt translation given Westropp’s story. No doubt the name is older than 1798, and may refer to the cliffs at that end seeming to be less dangerous from the sea than they actually were. Note also the two yellow dots for two more promontory forts- Doonthomas (Thomas’s Fort) and Coosfoilaskehaun (the Small Harbour of the Knife-Edge Cliff).
Westropp’s description of the promontory upon which Dun an Óir sits is poetic:
The path runs up a very slight ledge, flaking away and high above the creek, along the face of a cliff of polished silvery slate. The low neck joined it to the mainland, and the nearly perpendicular strata make the dock-like creek of Coosadoona, fort-cove, to the south Beside this cove, opposite to the castle, an enormous precipice rises high above the tower top. In the other direction is a noble view across the wide, porpoise-haunted bay, and its low islands to the blue, many-channelled Mount Gabriel, and on to Mizen Head.
In fact, very little is known about the history of Dún an Óir before the Battle of Kinsale in 1601. We can deduce from its strategic location that the O’Driscolls used it to keep an eye on every ship that sailed in and out of Roaringwater Bay, to exact fishing dues before the rival O’Mahonys could get to the incoming vessels, to curb the power of those O’Mahonys, and to establish their dominance over the land of Cape Clear Island. (See this post for more on the map above.) Because the castle would have been rendered, probably in some shade of white or near-white, it would have been visible from all around Roaringwater Bay, and have represented a potent statement of supremacy.
After the Battle of Kinsale the Castle was seized by Captain Harvey, as described in Pacata Hibernia:
‘While these things were on doing, Captain Roger Harvy sent a party of men to Cape Clear,the castle whereof being guarded by Captain Tirrell’s men, which they could not gain, butthey pillaged the island and brought thence three boats; and the second day following therebels not liking the neighbourhood of the English, quitted the castle, wherein Captain Harvy placed a guard. At this time Sir Finnin O’Driscoll came to Captain Harvy and submitted himself.’
This illustration, from Pacata Hibernia, is of the siege of Dunboy Castle, the stronghold of O’Sullivan Beare, on Beara Peninsula. The destruction of Dún an Óir is described by James Burke in his article Cape Clear Island in the Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society Journal of 1908. Rather than Harvey simply taking over the castle, Burke relates the following:
Its central arch and the steps leading to its upper portion remain; but the huge pieces of its eastern wall now lying about show how severely it has suffered from the havoc of war. This wholesale destruction occurred when Dunanore Castle, together with the island, was captured on the 22nd of March, 1601, by Captain Roger Harvey, following on the defeat of the Spaniards at Kinsale. By means of the artillery he planted on the high ground adjoining it, he battered down the eastern wall and compelled the garrison to surrender, for which and other services (as Dr Donovan writes in his “Sketches of Carbery”) he was granted at the time a commission by Lord Deputy Mountjoy as Governor of Carbery.
It is far more likely that the ruined state of the castle is a result of the natural passage of time than the ‘havoc of war.’ For one thing, it would have been a monumental task to deploy artillery overland on Cape Clear. Any cannon fire would have come more naturally from the English warships we know were in use during this period and therefore, the damage would have been to the seaward side of the castle – but this side is actually intact.
A romantic view of the ruins of Dún an Óir above, by W Willes.* Next week we will look at what is left of the castle and what we can tell from that. I’ll be using the marvellous photos from Tash in that post.
The traditional Irish village: Lusk, Co Dublin, in 1954 (photo from ESB Archives). Thatched buildings, the village pump, bicycles: a man sitting on the stone smoking his pipe. The intrusions are the poles and the overhead lines bringing the modern world into rural Ireland. Lusk was connected to the new grid close to the beginning of a project that spread out from the major conurbations from the late 1920s, taking some fifty years to embrace the whole state.
Rural Electrification arrives in Dromiskin, Co Louth, in 1949. Cork Electric Supply Co Ltd was in operation in Cork City before 1927. It supplied 4,225 homes and businesses in 1929, rising to 5,198 by March 1930, before being acquired by ESB in April 1930. Close neighbouring communities began to receive connections from 1930 onwards; Skibbereen and Bantry waited until 1937, while Schull and Ballydehob were without until works crept into furthest West Cork in 1952.
Above – family Life in 1950s rural Ireland (photo by Robert Cresswell). When I was a boy in 1950s England, I was probably fortunate to live in a house where electricity had been connected: my parents were quite progressive in that respect. I well remember the brown bakelite switches and plugs (two sizes: small and large). However, I often visited my Granma who lived in a house without any of it. It was a bit like the one above (which is in Kinvara). Gas globes hung from the ceilings: they had to be lit with tapers while pulling down on a lever. Cooking and heating came from a black coal range, and there was one cold tap in the scullery. There was no bathroom or shower, only a toilet outside in a shed. But there was a large wireless set – just like the one shown above. It was powered by an ‘accumulator’ which had to be taken to the shop up the road to be refilled with acid every few weeks. My Granma lived and died without ‘electrics’.
Above – Ballydehob before electrification. The ESB Archives are alive with colourful descriptions of the Rural Electrification works arriving here and in neighbour Schull. Reports from the on-site engineers are droll . . .
Schull Rural Area, April 1952 . . . Mr O’Driscoll opens his post-construction report in almost poetic terms and then to show that he is not bound to one form of art, proceeds to give us a word picture of the terrain in Schull, which is even more realistic than the deepest purples that Paul Henry ever used. We gather that pegging was, at times, a highly arduous and dangerous task and it would appear that among the wonders of the modern world, the greatest (in the view of the pegging team), was how this Area was ever selected for electrification . . .
ESB Archives
‘Pegging’ is a term in common use in the ESB Archives. It refers to the art of raising poles and stringing them with wires across the country. Evidently, the ‘landed gentry’ unkindly described them as “those beastly sticks”. Over 1 million poles were erected eventually, with 78,754km of wire used and a total of 2,280lbs of gelignite consumed during construction. The overall cost was some £36m (equivalent to €1.5bn today).
. . . We had very few wayleave difficulties. Sometimes an argument would develop with a local farmer whether the patch of grass where we put a peg was a field or not. If he convinced us it was a field, which he usually did by showing us the welts on his hand, we shifted the peg. It would seem too much like taking the bread from the mouth of a child to destroy his farm and livelihood by one pole . . .
ESB ARCHIVES
Above – Celebrations came with the connection of the 100,000th premises in 1954. Now we return to our own West Cork:
. . . It is interesting to note, and perhaps might be taken as a headline, that the early switch-in of the villages of Schull and Ballydehob (1952) had an excellent reaction on the more outlying areas and could not be denuded of all credit for the extra consumers eventually connected . . . There was an amusing revival of an ancient rivalry between the two villages. Ballydehob, looking with pride at their 100kVA transformer, were inclined to be scornful of Schull where a 50kVA transformer was erected; but the Schull people not to be out-done, countered by pointing out that there were many more poles in their “Town” than in Ballydehob “Village”. . . Only 8 houses remained to be wired when the gang left the area, 3 of these were parochial property and 4 were under the control of the Board of Works . . .
ESB ARCHIVes
The mention of “parochial property” in the paragraph above – from the ESB Archives – is of significance. The term would be applied to churches and schools, certainly. As outlined in last week’s post, Seán Keating was scornful of his view of the clergy position on Electrification: his Night’s Candles painting shows the priest still reading by the light of a candle while the world moves on around him. We can find differing views on the attitude of the Church.
. . . Throughout the length and breadth of Ireland politicians of all political shades lobbied the ESB for their area to be electrified. It wasn’t just politicians who tried to exert their influence: in July 1957, the parish priest of Ballycroy, County Mayo, wrote to the Rural Electrification Office. He said that his parishioners were anxious and that they believed he could influence decisions at the Dublin head office. “Sometimes people get an idea that the PP isn’t taking any interest in these matters. I need not add that I have a very deep enthusiasm for the light coming to Ballycroy” . . .
Above – celebration in Dublin St Patrick’s Day Parade 1954. Here in Ballydehob I was pleased to hear some reminiscence from retired schoolmaster Noel Coakley pertaining to the ‘parochial property’ which remained to be wired when the gangs left the area:
. . . Having had the luxury of the electric light when growing up in Bantry town in the 1940s and 50s, rural electrification was a subject of which I was blissfully unaware until my first teaching post, 60 years ago next month in Tragumna National School near Skibbereen. Though the building was wired for electricity and rural electrification had already arrived in the area, the school wasn’t connected to the grid. On checking the reason, the reply I received from the then School Manager, the local Parish Priest, was, ‘Why would a school need electricity?’ End of the matter! Indeed, I should have known better because my own alma mater, Bantry Boys’ NS which was on the Hospital Road, wasn’t even wired for electricity. In fact, it wasn’t connected until the autumn of 1970 during the 2 year experiment, 1969-71, on having Summer Time all year round. Back teaching in Bantry by then, teachers and pupils had to endure almost pitch dark classrooms for the first year of the trial. Coming to Ballydehob in February 1971 was going from darkness into light because the school here could even boast of having electric sockets into which we could plug new fangled machines like tape recorders, while Bantry Boys’ had only being upgraded to two 100w single bulbs per classroom. Regarding Rural Electrification in Ballydehob, I think the village was connected around 1954. I do recall that the area around the townland of Knockroe, bordered between Bantry Road and Skibbereen Road, didn’t get connected until the 1970s because the majority of residents refused connection when the rest of the district was being electrified . . .
Noel Coakley, Ballydehob – personal communication
Above – a network of ‘pegs’ crossing the north side of the Mizen today.
Once again, I am grateful to Michael Barry for pointing me in the direction of some of this information, and for switching on the lights for me in respect of the extensive ESB Archives. I also appreciate the contributions of Noel Coakley and Eugene McSweeney, Ballydehob. Are there any other stories out there? More to follow next week!
Here is a collection of photographs taken in West Cork from some of the high places: ridges, peaks, mountain paths. The pics were all taken around ten years ago, and haven’t been used in our blog posts previously. They serve to show stunning landscapes, of course, and hopefully illustrate the variety of the country which surrounds us here. The header is taken from the peak above Three Castle Head.
The upper pic is looking down on Bantry town from the high ground to the south, while the lower one reminds you of the evening view from Bantry at sea level.
If you leave your car at Galley Cove Beach and walk up the steep track towards Brow Head you will come across this enormous stone row – and you will look back to the peninsula of Crookhaven. Don’t be fooled by the stones: they have been placed on this site fairly recently. They are impressive, nevertheless.
And here is a closer view of Crookhaven.
While turning from this spot and looking west, you will see the end of the coastline at Brow Head. This stone is likely to be more anciently placed. In the distance is Mizen Head with its Napoleonic era signal tower at Cloghane.
Contrasting light effects seen on the footpath that follows the ridge on the Sheep’s Head Way. That’s the spit of land that runs from east to west between the Mizen Head and the Beara Peninsula. There are cairns on the summits, with the remains of a wedge tomb and a Marriage Stone to be seen along the way.
The view north from the heights of the Sheep’s Head takes in the Beara Peninsula and – seen above – the high point of Hungry Hill dominating the distant rugged landscape.
You are never far from the coastline in West Cork. Look out for wild seas constantly sculpting the rocks over millennia.
From our home in Cappaghglass we look out to our own ‘high place’ – Mount Gabriel. This enigmatic tract of land dominates the area and is imbued with legends and folklore. It is also one of the most atmospheric of our peaks at all times of the year.
Another local view for us (above): we face out to Rossbrin Cove on the Mizen Peninsula. Finally, the celestial spectacle (below) finds its pot of gold on the shores of the Mizen.
The island of Cape Clear is a constant in our daily view from Nead an Iolair. We don’t visit often enough… But this week the Fastnet Film Festival – based in Schull – had a day out on The Cape, and we went along for the excursion! That’s the harbour, above.
And this is Schull Harbour, where Cape Clear Ferries’ newest boat, Carraig Aonair, picked us up. The name is Irish for The Fastnet and means, literally, The Lone Rock. We have written about the lighthouse in previous posts.
The dot on the horizon, seen here (above) from our ferry to Cape Clear, is the Fastnet Lighthouse. The crossing from Schull takes only half an hour and we were fortunate to have good weather and calm waters. The crowd on board was delighted by a diversion on the way – a pod of dolphins kept the boat company for a while.
Arriving in the North Harbour we were looking forward to our Teanga na Gaeilge ar Oileán Chléire: an Irish Language Day on Cape Clear. First, we had a long hill to climb to reach an Halla Mór: a whole team of islanders were on hand to provide lifts in cars and buses. Some of us chose to do it the hard and steep way, but were rewarded by stunning views and azure water.
Our first film treat was An Cailín Ciúin – The Quiet Girl.
. . . Nominated for this year’s 95th Academy Awards in the ‘International Feature Film’ category of the Oscars, Colm Bairéad’s debut feature became one of the most lauded Irish films of recent years. Adapted from Foster, a short story by Claire Keegan, it centres on nine-year-old Cáit, a shy and withdrawn child who receives little affection from a family ruled by an uncaring patriarch. When she is sent to spend the summer with her aunt Eibhlín (Carrie Crowley) and her husband Seán (Andrew Bennet), she blossoms in their care. At the end of the summer, difficult decisions must be faced . . .
2023 Fastnet Film Festival Programme
Catherine Clinch is ‘The Quiet Girl’ in the film (above). Born in 2009, this is her debut role. Happily, she joined us for our day on the island. I was affected by the story in the film, as were many others in the audience. In fact, I don’t think I have been as moved by something on screen since I was taken to see Bambi at the age of five. Although not topping the Oscars ‘Best International Feature Film’ category (this went to All Quiet on the Western Front) it has rightly gained many other accolades. I think the most apt review I read said simply:
” . . . As beautiful as it is devastating . . .” (Boston Globe).
Carrie Crowley also deserves mention for her sensitive role as the aunt of The Quiet Girl. Crowley and Clinch – below.
This Irish language film was undoubtedly the highlight of the day, but there were plenty more moments, including short film viewings, coffee and good lunches, on Cape Clear. With some long-awaited summer weather to help us enjoy the island.
We had to be sure to arrive back at the harbour before the boat left at five. The alternative would be to sleep out under the stars – tempting! For very many reasons, this was a most memorable day.
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