Skibbereen

Yeats’ Day

Yeats country – Benbulben and Classiebawn Castle (above). Finola took this fine view seven years ago, when we set out to visit the haunts of William Butler Yeats. We have to turn to Yeats now, as it’s exactly one hundred years since he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature – in December, 1923. I have carried a place in my heart for Yeats, ever since I was at Primary School on the Hampshire/Surrey borders, not far from Thomas Hardy’s Wessex. Yeats and Hardy were rivals for the coveted award – the final vote in 1923 was between the two of them: in the end, only two Nobel committee members voted for Hardy, and Yeats achieved the prize. The Guardian newspaper said that “…Mr Yeats is to be congratulated, almost without reserve, on lifting this substantial stake. He is a poet of real greatness; prose, too, he can write like an angel…”, however then arguing that Thomas Hardy would have been a worthier recipient of the award!

The Irish press congratulates Yeats on his achievement (above – Irish Independent 29.11.1923). My schoolboy encounter with the poet must have been when I was around ten years old and we were tasked to learn The Lake Isle of Inisfree. I can still recite it, word for word, to this day, sixty seven years later. But it was far more than mere words for me, then. Our teacher – Mr Sharpe – was careful to explain that this man was cooped up in the city of London – on its “pavements grey” and was yearning for the countryside he loved:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Inisfree serves the poet’s romantic dreams of a remote idyllic landscape far away from the noisy metropolis. It does exist as a place – on Lough Gill in Co Sligo: Yeats spent childhood summers nearby. Interestingly, I searched the internet for pics of the island, and the above came up. It’s from a Roaringwater Journal Post which I wrote in 2016. And it’s not Inisfree, but another ‘lake island’ – just outside Skibbereen, in West Cork – Cloghan Castle Island on Lough Hyne: there’s a holy well nearby, and an 8th century church dedicated to St Brigid – but all that is another story. The diversion just serves to warn against trusting what you find online!

Thoor Ballylee Tower, Co Galway (above) – this 14th century tower house was described by Seamus Heaney, another Irish Nobel Literature prize winner, as The most important building in Ireland, because of its associations with Yeats, who spent many summers there with his family.

Here is the finely crafted cover of The Tower: a book of poems by W B Yeats, published in 1928 (courtesy Yeats Thoor Ballylee Society). The Tower was Yeats’s first major collection as Nobel Laureate after receiving the Nobel Prize in 1923. It is considered to be one of the poet’s most influential volumes and was well received by the public. (Below) a 1917 drawing by Robert Gregory – son of Isabella Augusta (Lady) Gregory and Sir William Gregory of Coole Park, Co Galway – of The Tower (courtesy Yeats Thoor Ballylee Society).

Going back to my early school years: I was an incurable romantic, and a daydreamer. I paid enough attention to lessons to get by, but my heart lay outside the school gates. Just minutes away were hop-fields and, beyond those, pastures, woodlands, streams – idyllic places where I loved to wander. I could completely relate to Yeat’s desire to be far away from the city, and that’s why his poem appealed to me. I knew very little about Ireland, and had no idea that was where I would one day make my home. I am here now, sitting at my desk, with the hills and oceans of Yeats’ own country beyond.

W B Yeats and his wife George Hyde-Lees heard the news that the Nobel Prize had been awarded to him on 14 November, 1923. The photograph above (courtesy Irish Independent) is said to be taken on that day. It’s also said that they celebrated by cooking sausages! The Irish Independent records: “Irish poet and senator, William Butler Yeats created history when he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, the first Irish citizen to achieve such an accolade. The prize was awarded to Yeats ‘for his always inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation’.”

Somewhat surprised by the award, Yeats would later write in his (unpublished) autobiography: “Early in November (1923) a journalist called to show me a printed paragraph saying that the Nobel Prize would probably be conferred upon Herr Mann, the distinguished novelist, or upon myself, I did not know that the Swedish Academy had ever heard my name.” The news of the award was widely praised in Ireland with members of Dáil Éireann proudly announcing that it had placed Ireland on the international stage. It was a sentiment reiterated by the laureate himself, who at the awards ceremony claimed that the Nobel Prize was less for himself than for his country and called it Europe’s welcome to the Free State. In his presentation speech, Per Hallstrom, then chairman of the academy’s Nobel Committee, praised the poet’s ability to ‘follow the spirit that early appointed him the interpreter of his country, a country that had long waited for someone to bestow on it a voice’.

A portrait of Yeats painted by Augustus John OM RA in 1930 (courtesy Sothebys – private collection). Before Yeats passed away he requested that his final resting place be in Sligo. He died in Menton, France in 1939 aged 73 and was buried there. His wish was fulfilled in 1948 when his body was exhumed and buried in St Columba’s Church, Drumcliff. His headstone reads:

Rural Electrification – Process and Effect

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 . . .

ESB ARCHIVES

Thanks once more to Michael Barry for inspiring this brief study. Also to the ESB Archives, The Irish Story and Eugene McSweeney. Roaringwater Journal is always pleased to receive comments and contributions on any subject we take up.

Previous posts on Ireland’s Electrification:

Night’s Candles are Burnt Out

Electrifying West Cork

Electrifying West Cork

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” . . .

The Irish Story.com

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!

The Elusive Lighter (Sweet Ilen – Part 8)

This photo of the West Cork Hotel beside the Ilen River, Skibbereen (courtesy of the NLI Lawrence Collection) captures a moment in time. It was taken in the very early 20th century – probably before 1910. Clearly seen are the hotel itself – opened in 1902 – the old iron road bridge which was superseded in 1964, and the railway bridge behind it carrying the line to Baltimore (which was opened in May 1893). That bridge still exists, of course, although the line closed in 1961. To the right of the photo is the Old Steam Mill, originally constructed as a flour mill by Thomas Marmion in the 1830s. This building stands on Steam Mill Quay.

The Irish name for this town, an Sciobairín, is said to mean a small inlet for docking boats. Steam Mill Quay is the first of five quays which served the town, suggesting a period when the river itself (tidal to just north of the town) was the life blood of the community:

. . . Skibbereen was a settlement served by water. The River Ilen is tidal and in the early 19th century boats of up to 200 tons could navigate to Oldcourt, within two miles of the town centre. From there goods were transferred into ‘lighters’ (unpowered barges) and then brought into the quays where there were warehouses and a Custom House. Now, sadly, Skibbereen’s waterfront is a bit neglected and its active past shipping history is no longer obvious. Five historic quays have been identified along the river: Steam Mill Quay, Long Quay, Levis Quay, Minihane’s Quay and Chapel Quay . . .

Roaringwater Journal

Here is the Custom House – now a private residence on Townshend Street. The first edition of the OS map (above the photo) marks the location. It’s a fine building, clearly of some standing, with its decorative niches and curved fanlight. The existence of this building in the town emphasises the historic significance of importation and trading of commodities, probably primarily by water transport, to Skibbereen when it was operating. I was surprised to find that Hansard – the official record of the actions of the British Parliament – has one entry pertaining to the Skibbereen Custom House. From it we learn that its business was transferred to Bantry in 1890, and that this was a cause of concern to some of the townspeople and local fishermen:

. . . DR KENNY (Cork, S) I beg to ask the Secretary to the Treasury whether he is aware that owing to the transference of the Custom House from Skibbereen to Bantry very great inconvenience and injury are caused to the Baltimore fishing industry; whether, according to existing Customs arrangements in Skibbereen. the Deputy Officer of Customs in that town is unable to give permission for the discharge of cargoes of ice absolutely essential for the preservation of the fish caught by the Baltimore fishermen, and also that it is impossible for him to obtain permission by telegraph from Bantry to do so, and whether, in consequence, steamers for conveying the fish have to wait at Baltimore the arrival from Bantry, 24 miles distant, of the Superintendent of Customs; and whether he will take steps to have abated the inconvenience complained of, by restoring the Custom House to the Skibbereen district?

Hansard record of Commons Sitting 08 May 1890 § 469

There is a further record giving the response by the then Secretary to the Treasury: it lacks sympathy!

. . . Mr. JACKSON (Leeds, N) I am informed that it is not the fact that very great  inconvenience and injury have been caused to the Baltimore fishing industry through the transference of the principal Customs Offices for the Port of Skibbereen from Skibbereen to Bantry. The Board of Customs have ascertained that no delay has been caused by this change in the discharge of any vessels, nor need any delay or inconvenience be occasioned thereby, as the Officer of Customs still stationed at Skibbereen is now empowered to deal with any Customs business, there or at Baltimore, that may require attention, under exactly the same conditions as were in force previous to the change referred to. No occasion has, therefore, arisen for making any alterations in the. present arrangements . . .

Hansard record of Commons Sitting 08 May 1890 § 470

Here’s a distant view of Skibbereen from the west, probably taken in the early 20th century (courtesy of the NLI Lawrence Collection). On the left, the roadway (today’s N71 going from the town towards Ballydehob) has the track of the Schull railway (or – more properly – ‘tramway’) on its verge. The old bridge into town and the West Cork Hotel are visible, as they are in the header picture. What is noticeable is that there is no sign of any navigation of the Ilen River. I have looked carefully through over 200 early photographs of the town and it is the case that none shows any river craft. Hence my title today (and I apologise for taking a long time to get to this) The Elusive Lighters. We have no detailed records of any boats that used the river, and the quays, except that they were shallow-drafted unpowered barges. The term ‘lighters’ usually refers to ‘dumb’ boats (unpowered) used to offload cargoes from ships and transfer these to quays further inland. How were the Ilen boats built, and what did they look like?

Here’s a guess – something I found in an old engraving (not from anywhere in West Cork). The boat is being ‘poled’ or swept along by a figure with a large oar, while a ‘steerer’ handles the helm. It would almost certainly have been built from timber. After a coaster, steamer or sailing ship arrived and moored at Oldcourt, the cargo would have been offloaded to the lighter, which would have to await a rising tide before setting out for Skibbereen. The return journey would have to be carried out when the tide was falling.

It would be great to find the remains of such a boat on the Ilen, but very little would survive of a working craft dating back over a century and a half. The wreck above is on the River Barrow Navigation at Lowtown. Here’s another old wooden boat which lay beside the tidal Ilen itself a few years ago: it may still be there!

While my nostalgic soul would like to think that some trace might remain of the old Ilen boats and the quays that they served, I know that is unlikely. River traffic on the tidal Ilen would have been in its hey-day in the early part of the 19th century and would have been affected by the sufferings of the Great Famine which heavily hit Skibbereen. After some recovery, the arrival of the railway line from Cork in 1877 ensured that river trade could no longer survive: it’s ironic, perhaps, that the first locomotive on the Skibbereen to Schull tramway was named Ilen.

This post is the latest of a series that studies the full length and history of the Ilen River. Previous posts can be found here: Sweet Ilen : Sweet Ilen – Part 2 : Sweet Ilen – Part 3 : Sweet Ilen – Part 4 : Sweet Ilen – Part 5 : Sweet Ilen – Part 6 : Sweet Ilen – Part 7. Volume 18 of the Skibbereen Historical Journal (2022) includes an article Sweet Ilen – the story of a river: Part 1 – Source to Tide penned by myself. This is to be joined by a second part in this year’s Journal. Look out for it!

Here’s a link to the ever fascinating Skibb Historical Society, while the Journals can be purchased through this link.

Swanton’s Store on Levis Quay, Skibbereen a few years ago. Many thanks to the Skibbereen Heritage Centre for this image

An Artist’s Encounter with West Cork

Perhaps this book review is a little late arriving? The book was – after all – published by Brandon of Dingle in 1990: thirty two years ago! The artist, and I, were in our forties then. But – don’t hesitate – although it’s out of print you can find copies readily available on many booksellers’ websites. You can spend a Euro (the postage will cost four times that!) or many Euros: but it’s well worth whatever you have to pay.

Here it is: a modestly sized paperback volume. But it punches well above its weight. It is beautifully written, and exquisitely illustrated. For everyone who is interested in West Cork, Ireland or the art of engraving it’s a must for your bookshelves. And, historically, it’s fascinating: the cover picture, above, shows Tig na nGaedheal (locally known as Brendan’s) – once described as ‘the greatest and most famous sweet shop ever in Skibbereen’. Sadly, Martha Houlihan, who ran it with her husband Brendan, passed away a little while ago and the shop is no longer trading. It’s still a significant feature in the town streetscape (below). Note the figures looking out of the door and window in Brian’s etching – a typical humorous touch.

The book includes nigh on a hundred of Brian’s engravings. This is only a fraction of the huge body of work he has created in his lifetime to date, and he’s never idle. It’s good to know that Uillinn – the West Cork Arts Centre gallery – has a retrospective of Brian’s work in the pipeline. It will be impossible to show more than a fraction of the art he has produced so far, but we certainly look forward to experiencing that selection.

What I personally enjoy about Brian’s works in this book is the atmospherics that they create. Take, for example, The Dark Edge of Europe, above. The breadth of its content is overwhelming: it’s the landscape of West Cork summed up in gradations of grey, with coastline, lanes, settlements, hills and distant mountains, focussed on a foreground which features an ancient hill-fort. A tale of occupation and morphology: an eternal human story. The illustrations in the book are accompanied and amplified by wonderfully crafted written descriptions.

. . . Defining the high spots in the ribs of land, and distributed with apparent regularity all over this landscape, were lush green rings. Single, and occasionally double or triple concentric rings of grassy banks, these features resembled a giant’s game of quoits, forgotten and left to decorate the landscape. The gargantuan quoits are of course the ring forts or fairy rings of the Irish countryside, and outlined the forms taken by the rural farmsteads and dwellings from pre-Christian times down to the sixteenth century. Each ring represented an earthen rampart on high ground, with perhaps a dry moat or further rampart encircling some wattle huts. Simple and utilitarian, this form of dwelling satisfied the political and practical exigencies of the day – or aeon, for that matter. Rural life was lived in the midst of the land, without congregating in towns or villages . . .

The Land of Heart’s Desire: West of West, Brian lalor

Mount Gabriel dominates much of the landscape in our part of West Cork. Brian’s view, above, is titled Mount Gabriel Gorse Fires. The artist ‘discovered’ remote West Cork back in the 1970s. In the book he describes the journey:

. . . The road wound away into the distance, a ribbon of reflected light, and the weaving shapes of the blackthorns threw a black Gothic tracery across the landscape. The immediate surrounding had a silvery sharpness, the precision of a lunar landscape; brightly outlined walls enclosed pools of darkness. We were no longer at the door to West Cork but in its very interior. We had arrived . . .

Well Met By Moonlight: West of West, Brian Lalor

Essential to the intimate knowledge of West Cork’s landscape is the sea – and the coastline which encompasses it. This view is titled Rock Island & Crookhaven. Brian enhances the rendering with a description:

. . . From the heights of Brow Head the outline of Rock Island at the mouth of the harbour resembles a partially submerged submarine, its twin customs-observation buildings the conning towers of this strange naval mammoth. An ill-assorted collection of buildings adhere like barnacles to the back of this submarine: the roofless lighthouse barracks, a defunct fish factory and an abandoned, rambling Victorian mansion suggest an unfavourable location. Wedged in the little cove in front of the mansion is the hulk of an old wooden trawler. A graveyard of vanished days and forgotten hopes . . .

Coastline: West of West, Brian Lalor

Ballydehob’s 12-arch bridge – or railway viaduct – must be one of the most profusely illustrated and photographed features of West Cork. The Schull, Ballydehob and Skibbereen tramway was a significant piece of transport infrastructure that ran from 1886 until 1947. It’s a fascinating piece of Victorian engineering, the first 3ft gauge railway line to be built in Ireland. Everything about it was eccentric: here’s one of my RWJ posts setting out the history of the line. Brian has a little anecdote well worth the recounting:

. . . As it is one of the most pleasing architectural features of the local landscape, I drew the Twelve Arch Bridge on many occasions and it reappears in a variety of forms amongst these etchings. One village magnate commissioned me to do a large picture of this monument for his new house. The price was agreed and the picture eventually produced. I had chosen an angle which showed the bridge emerging as it does from thickets of brambles and conifers on either side of the water. Delicate fronds of foliage wound in the foreground of the picture and the subject itself basked in the distance, looking solid and ancient. I was quite pleased with the results. When I presented it to my patron he gazed at it in silence for a long time. Then with a large and calloused hand he ran his index finger across the view a number of times, shaking his head slowly as he did so. ‘No. no good at all, It won’t do,’ he muttered more to himself than me. He had been counting the arches. In my enthusiasm for the atmosphere of the piece the accurately rendered number of the arches had become obscured, those on the extreme edges becoming partially lost in the undergrowth. The commission was rejected. If you are paying for twelve arches you don’t want to be short-changed with ten and two halves!

Coastline: West of West, Brian Lalor

Fastnet. An iconic silhouette – perhaps a fish-eye view? The lighthouse is a ubiquitous element of structure which can be seen from all the waters and islands of Roaring Water Bay. Brian’s words:

. . . Roaring Water Bay encompasses an area of about a hundred square miles of water between Baltimore in the east and Crookhaven in the west. The tortuous coastline of the bay, as of much of the rest of West Cork, is punctuated by small coves, each with an old stone pier or miniature harbour. Up to the mid-nineteenth century these were the arteries of communication and trade and a wide array of lighters, barges, rowboats and yawls plied the coast, ferrying freight around the rim of the land rather than through it. Never far from the safety of land, they darted from port to port with the assurance of safe harbours at frequent intervals to reduce the threat from treacherous seas. Today, however, only the yachtsman holds this perspective on the land; it is a medieval cartographer’s view of the world: good on outlines, vague concerning the interior . . .

Coastline: West of West, Brian Lalor

The eye of the artist searches out ways to tell a story or unfold a scene in graphic simplicity. This is St Brendan Crookhaven: a simple church that is dear to the hearts of mariners, and has long been so.

Stone Circle and Child Sacrifice is a thought-provoking piece. These ancient sites date back thousands of years: there are many here, beyond the West. We wonder at them, and can only guess at the significance they had to their constructors.

. . . The Landscape of the mind, which co-exists, interlocks and overlaps with the geographer’s vision, is an intangible, ephemeral thing. You may encounter it unexpectedly on a moonlit night or on some deserted headland, or perhaps in the dim light of a public bar. In this part of the world, soaked in memories and half-memories of the past, much is implied rather than stated. Like the collective unconscious, the landscape, too, is composed of a multitude of intertwining details. This collection of etchings of West Cork is concerned with those details: with small corners of towns and villages, with oddly-shaped fields and erratic skylines. Each etching is a vignette of landscape, architecture or environment. The pictures are organized around a number of themes yet the material as a whole has such an overall unity that what illustrates one section also has relevance for another. The point which they make is a collective one . . .

WELL MET BY MOONLIGHT: WEST OF WEST, BRIAN LALOR

Brian’s book is as much about the human side of West Cork as it is about the natural or supernatural. He illustrates towns – Kinsale, above – and the landscape. For me, this is a very significant little volume: the travels described within it echo my own journeying through this most special of places. Thank you, Brian, for so vividly enhancing my appreciation of West Cork.

Kilcoe

The Caol Stream Then and Now

Five years ago I wrote a piece about the incredible biodiversity that flourished along the Caol Stream, right in the middle of Skibbereen. At the time, the flood relief project was underway, and it wasn’t totally clear how much clearance of the vegetation would take place. I was optimistic, given the resilience of nature, that once things settled down, the wildflowers would once again creep in to populate the banks of the stream.

I am no longer optimistic that this will happen anytime soon, if at all. The photo above shows you what the same area is like now. So this post is an elegy for the missed opportunity that this project represented – the opportunity to balance the needs of the people of Skibbereen not to be flooded repeatedly, with the need to conserve our biodiversity.

Please click on this link to see the riches we have lost:

Down By The Old Caol Stream