Punishment and Pilgrimage in 16th Century Ireland

In 1539 a certain Heneas MacNichaill (Henry McNicol) of Armagh confessed to a particularly heinous crime, that of strangling his son. We know nothing about the reason, nothing about the son – an indication that it was more important to record the punishment than the details of the crime. 

We know what the punishment was because it is recorded in the Register of Bishop George Dowdall. Dowdall was a fascinating character, living in a time when it was prudent to be Catholic, then Protestant, then Catholic again and finally back to Protestant. Dowdall was not for turning – he resigned his seat as Primate of Ireland rather than approve of the Book of Common Prayer. He was later restored to the See by Bloody Mary (below), dying conveniently just before she did. While in office he kept what is known as ‘Dowdall’s Register’, the last in the series of volumes of medieval records which survive for Armagh.

One of Dowdall’s Deans, Edmund, meted out the punishment to Heneas MacNichaill. He was ordered to do a round of pilgrimages to all of the great Irish Medieval Pilgrim sites – 18 of them. We don’t know how common such a sentence was, but Salvador Ryan tells us that such punishments

. . . often took the form of a long, arduous pilgrimage, a substantial deed of almsgiving or some kind of penitential abstinence or fasting.

The annalists frequently record instances of pilgrimages undertaken as penance. The Annals of Ulster, for instance, relate that in 1491 ‘Henry, son of Hubert, son of James Dillon slew his own father, namely Hubert, with thrust of knife and he himself set out for Rome after that. The sinner might also found a monastery, as expiation for sin, or at least offer to sponsor an existing foundation’s restoration. Some accounts of the Mag Uidhir clan illustrate how individuals belonging to an important Gaelic family, in this case rulers of Fermanagh, made reparation to their God. In 1428, ‘Aedh, son of Philip Mag Uidhir went on his pilgrimage to the city of St James…and died…after cleansing of his sins in the city of St James.’

From: Popular Religion In Gaelic Ireland

St James, above, with his pilgrim’s attributes of the scallop shell and the staff and pouch.

Heneas returned two years later, in 1541. The Register records it thus:

71. Certificate of fulfilment of penance. Memorandum that, on the 4th April, 1541, Heneas McNichaill, a layman of Armagh, appeared before the Primate to declare that he had fulfilled the penance imposed on him by Edmund, Dean of Armagh and custos of the spiritualities of the vacant see, for having strangled his son. 

He had visited : 

1. Struhmolyn in Reghterlaegen in Patria Kewan (or Rewan ?). 

2. Lectum Cayn in Glendalough (i.e., St. Kevin’s Bed). 

3. Rosse Hyllery 0 Garbre in patria McCarbre Rewa, principale purgatorium hic ut dicit (Ros-ailithreach, Co. Cork). 

4. S heilig Meghyll in patria McCathiremore (i.e., The Skelligs, off the coast of Kerry). 

5. Arayn Nenaw (i.e., Ara na Naomh). 

6. Cruake Brenan in patria militis Kerray (Crock Brendain, in Kerry). 

7. Sanctorum Flanani et McEdeaga in Momonia (i.e., Killaloe). 

8. Comllum. Sti. Patricii in Conacia in patria Y maille (i.e., Croagh Patrick).

9. Purgatorium Sti. Patricii apud Loughdirge in patria Ydonyll (i.e., St. Patrick’s Purgatory in Lough Derg). 

10. Enysskworym Sti. Gworain Anmerrys Downy 

11 in Conacia (Gort, Co. Galway). 11. Cornancreigh in patria McSwyne. 

12. Tyrebane in patria Ydonyll. 

13. Sanctum Cntcem apud Woghterlawan in patria Comit?s Ormond (i.e., Holy cross). 

14. Can eh C ai s sill (i.e., The Rock of Cashel). 

15. Dwyne, et Sawyll, et Craen Yssa (or Craev Yssa) et Strwyll (i.e., Down, Saul . . . and Struell). 

The Primate re-affirmed the absolution. (Primas continuavit causam absolu tio

Laurence P Murray*

So Heneas had done his time and was forgiven his great sin. But where had he gone on this trip around Ireland? The sites have all been identified by scholars. Some are obvious (Cashel, Lough Derg, Croagh Patrick, Glendalough) and remain important sites of pilgrimage to this day.

Pattern at Glendalough by Peacock, courtesey of the National Gallery of Ireland

But some are obscure – and it’s one of those I want to talk about today.  Number 7 on the list is recorded as Sanctorum Flanani et McEdeaga in Momonia. Sanctorum Flanani is straightforward – it’s St Flannan’s Shrine in Killaloe (below).

It’s the one next to it that had scholars chewing their pencils – McEdeaga in Momonia. But it has now been identified as St Erc’s Holy Well in Glenderry, near Ballyheigue, on Kerry Head in the extreme northwest corner of Kerry. Amanda had tried to find it twice before but last week she hit it lucky and I was along for the ride. 

This map is from the wonderful Journeys of Faith: Stories of Pilgrimages from Medieval Ireland by Louise Nugent. One of our reasons for being in Kerry was to hear Louise’s talk to the Kerry Archaeological and Historical Society and she showed us this illustration of Heneas’s journey – I was immediately captivated by the fact that the well Amanda was seeking was on the map!

I can’t emphasise enough how obscure this well is now. Although the Corridons, the traditional well-keepers have kept the knowledge alive, it has faded from the memory of everyone else and is no longer a site of pilgrimage at all. And who was St Erc? His little church, above, is still a sacred spot on Kerry head. He is associated with St Brendan – he baptised Brendan and blessed his voyage.

I will treasure forever Amanda’s excitement at Michael Corridon’s offer to take her to the well, and the enormous beam on her face upon her return. But there was one more thrill in store – so what I want you to do now is go to Amanda’s blog and she will take up the story. This is a co-op blog!

I will leave you with Michael Corridon and Amanda setting off for the well. Now go to A Mysterious Well at the End of the World – St Erc, Kerry Head

*The Register of Bishop George Dowdall can be found in a series of articles for the Journal of the County Louth Archaeological and History Society: from their issues of 1926 to 1930.
A Calendar of the Register of Primate George Dowdall, Commonly Called the “Liber Niger” or “Black Book.” (Continued) Author(s): Laurence P. Murray Source: Journal of the County Louth Archaeological Society , Dec., 1927, Vol. 6, No. 3 (Dec., 1927), pp. 147-158 Available on Jstor

Dignity and Simplicity: Scott/Tallon in Knockanure

This week I fulfilled a long-held ambition – to visit Corpus Christi Church in Knockanure, Co Kerry.

This was one of Ireland first modern churches, built in 1964, and designed, depending on which authority you read, by Michael Scott or by his partner, Ronnie Tallon. At any rate, it was certainly the work of what is now, since 1975, the architectural practice of Scott Tallon Walker, still going strong. Michael Scott, according to Richard Hurley in his outstanding book Irish Church Architecture, was “the leading architect of his generation.” The black and white photos of Knockanure in this post are from that book. Meanwhile Ronnie Tallon was “one of the most influential Irish architects of the last century”. 

Hurley assigns the design to Michael Scott, while this piece from RTE (source of the second quote above) declares it to be the work of Ronnie Tallon. I am convinced by the latter, having read Stony Road Press’s artist description and statement by Ronnie Tallon, in which he talks about his obsession with the simplicity of the square and with the work of Mies van der Rohe.

But Scott (above), as the head of the practice was undoubtedly involved. Hurley tells the story of how the commission was won:

The whole project was a bold intervention by Michael Scott who, when he was asked to design the church, was required to seek approval from the people of the parish. This he succeeded in doing at a meeting which was held in the local school attended by the head of each family. Nobody before or since had dared to construct a church of such rigid discipline which, in spite of its small scale, raises itself above the surrounding countryside.

This is a profoundly rural area in North Kerry, and yet it is home to a number of modern, innovative churches. Knockanure was the first, indeed one of the first in Ireland. Is there something in the water, that produces such forward-thinking parishioners who can see beyond the confines of gothic arches and rose windows? I don’t know, but I made sure to drink lots of water during my visit to North Kerry.

Photo above by Amanda Clarke

Hurley describes Corpus Christi as a building of absolute dignity and simplicity, but one which at the same time had little or no sympathy with the Kerry landscape. I’m not sure I quite agree with the second part, since the area around Knockanure is flat and low-lying. The church appears to be built on a platform, with steps leading up to the front, so that it is clearly visible on the landscape. 

The church is indeed rigidly disciplined – a rectangle that gives the appearance of a light and airy open box. Two panels, one at the front and one at the back, delineate the worship space, while clerestory windows created by the roof beams allow light to pour down the side walls. The back panel conceals and makes space for the sacristy.

The church furniture, all part of the original 1960s design, enhance the simplicity and the unity of the design, from the black marble altar and fonts to the low, beautiful benches. 

In keeping with the directives of Vatican II, the church incorporated work by some of the finest artists of the time. The front panel is in fact a large-scale sculpture, in wood, of the Last Supper, by Oisín Kelly. It is the first thing you see when you enter, immediately heralding a devotional space. The back of the panel holds two confessionals. 

The cross is by Imogen Stuart, as is the carved wooden Madonna and child statue. Imogen died last year, aged 96.

The stations are unique – large tapestries designed by Leslie MacWeeney, an artist who has slipped from our consciousness in Ireland as she moved to the United states while still quite young. There’s a chapter about her in Brian Lalor’s Ink-Stained Hands – she was one of the original founders of the Graphics Studios – and a more recent interview with her here. 

This is a nationally important building and an early and striking example of the influence of modern architectural movements on Irish architects. The RTE piece was part of the 100 Buildings of Ireland series. (We visited another one, just up the road – but that’s a post for another day).

In the 100 Buildings piece, Tallon is quoted as taking inspiration from Irish Romanesque architecture. 

Irish Romanesque churches… were remarkable for their small size, extremely simple plan, rich and delicate decoration, giving a shrine effect which, at that time, had almost disappeared elsewhere. They were of single-chamber construction, with massive side walls projecting beyond the front and back façades the cross-walls including the façades were left as open as possible and were developed as a series of arched screens.

I am puzzled by this quote and I wonder if Tallon was even referring to this church, which owes nothing to Romanesque architecture. The projections he refers to (known as antae) actually predate the Romanesque style. Take a look at my two-part post on Cormac’s chapel to see if you can figure out why Romanesque architecture has been dragged into the story of this church, as if to somehow Hibernicise a building which belongs, triumphantly, to the International Modern style.

Vatican II and a new generation of Irish architects taking their cues from Europe dragged the Catholic Church I grew up in, into the 20th century. Corpus Christi in Knockanure is at the forefront of that breakthrough design revolution.

Equinox!

Ken Williams - capturing the moment

We’ve just passed the Equinox – one of the two moments in the year when day and night are of equal length. This happens once in the spring and once in the autumn. This year that moment was March 20th at 9:01AM, but it can fall between the 19th and the 21st, depending on the year. The autumn equinox this year falls on Sept 22, but it can range from the 21st to the 24th.

Prehistoric monuments in West Cork often have an orientation – the most famous of course is Drombeg stone circle (above in 2020). It’s a multiple stone, ‘axial’ circle, with two portal stone opposite a recumbent stone. On the winter solstice (this year on Dec 21st) the sun sets behind the recumbent, diametrically across from the portal stones (this is the ‘axis’). Attending this event is always great fun as well as an opportunity to join in a celebration that is thousands of years old.

There is a rhythm to the year provided by these four solar events – the longest day (summer solstice), the shortest day (winter solstice) and the equal-length days (equinoxes). Add to that the cross-quarter days – the points half way between the solstices and equinoxes, and we have a natural calendar of eight divisions.

The cross-quarter days, by the way, are the ones that track most closely to the great ancient Festivals in Ireland of Imbolc, Bealtaine, Luanasa and Samhain. Although nowadays these tend to be celebrated on the 1st day of February, May, August and November, in fact the dates would have varied and in 2025, the accurate dates for the cross quarter days are Feb 3, May 5, Aug 7 and Nov 7. This is important to know as various solar events happen on cross-quarter days, and if you want to see them, you have to turn up on the right day! See this post on Boyle’s Bealtaine for a good example of this – the photo above was taken on May 5, 2018.

Ken and Robert: getting ready for sunset at Bohonagh

A few years ago, we met up with Ken Williams of Shadows and Stone, to photograph the equinoctial sunset at Bohonagh Stone Circle, near Rosscarbery. Ken is the undisputed master of prehistoric photography in Ireland. His website contains high-quality images of many different kinds of monuments, he supplies photographs for all the best publications, and he was our partner in the Rock Art Exhibitions we mounted in the Cork Public Museum and in Schull.

flashes strategically deployed

Ken’s work on rock art is astounding. We know first hand how difficult it is to get good photographs of the carvings. Many of them are covered in lichen, obscuring all the detail, and can really only be discerned in long slanting light, such as at sunrise or sunset. Ken uses both natural and artificial lighting to capture his excellent images and when we first met first we asked him how he packed all those lights up to the remote locations in which a lot of rock art is found. He grinned and opened his backpack. “This is my equipment,” he said, “It’s all I use.” Essentially his gear consists of a camera, flashes, and tripods – strategically deployed in the photograph above. If you want to see the difference between what Ken captures and what us ordinary mortals manage to do, take a look at the first two images in the post Revealing Rock Art.

it was a beautiful evening – perfect conditions to see the sun sink behind the recumbent stone. Bohonagh (above) is a complex site. Not only do we have a stone circle, there is also a boulder burial, featuring a rather spectacular quartz supporting stone and cupmarks on the upper surface of the boulder, as well as a cupmarked stone hidden in the undergrowth between the boulder burial and the stone circle. It’s been excavated.*

Looking over the recumbent
Looking over the recumbent

It was a treat to see a master photographer at work and to have Ken explain how he gets those amazing shots. From previous attempts, I knew how difficult it was to portray a scene when you’re aiming directly into the glare of the setting sun. This time I concentrated on capturing the photographer at work. Ken, meanwhile, worked his usual magic – and here’s the result, included with his permission. Not only can you see everything, including the still blue sky, but his picture captures the mysterious ambiance of the setting and the occasion.

BohonaghEquinox15-12

Our thanks to Ken for an inspirational photo shoot.

Thanks, Ken!

* A stone circle, hut and dolmen at Bohonagh, Co. Cork, by EM Fahy, 1961

Ogham Stone or . . . ?

It’s been an eclectic week – Amanda, Peter and I had a skite out to Inchydoney, and I finished off the week with a trip to Barley Cove.

Inchydoney Island is a beautiful, unique and historical part of West Cork. Just south of Clonakilty, it was indeed once an island but now is connected to the mainland with causeways. The reason for our trip was to check out an intriguing stone, spotted by Willie O’Regan, along the shore. Willie’s thought was that it might be an Ogham stone and he wanted to check that out. It had fallen forward out of the bank in recent high tides, revealing parallel grooves along its length – just the sort of thing you might expect from an Ogham stone.

We rendezvoused with Willie on the north side of Inchydoney, across from Clonakilty (above) and walked along the shore, while he told us about the history of the area. We could see across the pond known locally as the Beamish Lake to the Hungerford House, originally called Inchydoney House. It has been purchased and magnificently restored in recent years, the owners pouring resources and loving attention into their project, including restoring the walled garden.

The shoreline had been – er – shored up by rocks and rubble all along its length. It may originally have been walled – designed landscapes were very popular in the 18th century – take a look at New Court, for example. There may also have been small inlets and launching places along the edge. At one such possible spot Willie showed us what he had found. 

We examined it thoroughly and took lots of photos. It wasn’t an Ogham stone – although anyone could be forgiven for mistaking it for one! The grooves are actually plough marks. 

As the plough passes over and through the soil, it runs across stones that are just at the right depth below the surface, gouging out these grooves. Over the years, many grooves appear. Sometime the stones, if they are small enough, roll over and the grooves appear on other surfaces, as seems to be the case with this stone.

Plough-marked stones like this could be any age – this one could be medieval or more recent. It was probably finally unearthed and tossed to the edge of the field to join the other rocks keeping the water from eroding the shorelines, eventually falling forward and revealing itself to Willie’s keenly observing eyes. It tells a story – a story of cultivation and hard work and a story of never throwing anything away, and a story of a man who walks these shores for pure pleasure and never misses a trick. Thanks, Willie – we had such a good time on this walk!

And – to learn all you ever wanted to know about Inchydoney Island, read Robert’s epic post from 2021, Inchydoney – and Virgin Mary’s Bank. 

And Barley Cove? As last year, I went out to see what I could see of the Early Sand-grass. A remarkably homely little tuft of grass that is nevertheless precious because it is extremely rare. I found lots and it felt so good to be out in the fresh air, lying in the dunes, and taking an unconscionable number of photographs of this humble little representative of our incredible West Cork biodiversity.

And then home through some of the most scenic coastline in Ireland. Not that I’m biased.

Flail, by Debbie Godsell

It’s not often an art exhibition has me running to my word processor to get a post out, but this one did it for me! On the surface, this is a quirky, amusing, thought-provoking, installation about the annual Harvest Festival, as practised in the autumn in Church of Ireland communities all over Ireland. Except it’s so much more than that. It’s titled Flail, and it’s on right now at Uillinn.

Debbie Godsell has taken the idea of the harvest festival and the communities that celebrate it, and turned it into a personal exploration of her own experience with it, as a child growing up in the C of I, and as a photographer recording the custom of decorating churches. In Ireland, this is a custom unique to the Protestant church – the minority religion. As such, there’s a strangeness to it when viewed by someone who grew up Catholic. Not strange in the sense of peculiar, but in the sense of unknown, slightly other-worldly, why-have-I-never-known-about-this?

But yes, it is quirky and amusing. Just take a look at these heads – they are the first thing you notice when you come in, titled ‘Ancestors’. Made from all kinds of found materials, some represent real people (hello, Great-Aunt Molly!) although most are simply heads – a bit like you might find on a scarecrow out in the fields around harvest time.

But after the first encounter you realise that this also of course, is the thought-provoking part of this exhibition Now you notice that they are on sticks, mirroring perhaps the heads on pikes that seemed to spell the end on many rebellions against English rule down through the centuries. In her notes, Godsell states:

Here, the heads take on an unsettling childlike quality, drawing from elements of folk drama and ritual. Rudimentary in form, they are a fusion of figures from Irish history and the artist’s own imagined lineage. Blurring the line between historical facts and personal mythology, the work interrogates themes of memory, identity and inherited trauma, challenging how history is constructed and remembered.

What does it mean, in Ireland, to be part of a minority religion? What has it meant in the past, and now? What if that religion was perceived to track closely with class, and land ownership, and unionist sympathies? 

We pride ourselves, in Ireland, now, on being a pluralistic and non-sectarian society. But if that is true at all, it is only recently so. The Ireland I grew up in – in the 50s and 60s – was deeply sectarian. Protestants and Catholics rarely mixed and we were forbidden, on pain of sin, to enter each other’s churches. We were educated separately, played some different sports (Anyone for lacrosse? How about men’s hockey?), sounded different, went to separate Brownie troupes, studied different curricula at school . . .

This exhibition explores the harvest-related parts of that separateness, but the opening, in which Debbie Godsell was interviewed by art critic Cristín Leach, also featured a discussion on folklore and a hymn by Cristín!

Cristín has said that Flail is ‘complicated territory’ for her and the hymn, Harvesting History, sprang almost spontaneously from engaging with the first Flail exhibition. It has been beautifully set to music by Susan Nares, and the West Cork Choral Singers presented it at the opening. Here’s a snippet.

I was particularly fascinated by the folklore discussion. As Roaringwater Journal readers know, we have used the Duchas/Schools Folklore Collection extensively over the years. One particularly important piece of research for me was to look at what it had to say about the Reverend Fisher – Saint and/or Souper of Toormore. What I found was a little shocking and it opened my eyes to an aspect of this wonderful resource that I had never previously considered – the decidedly sectarian nature of the collections. While some Protestant National Schools did participate in the School’s Collection of 1937/38, Protestants are very under-represented as informants. See this excellent article from History Ireland for more on this*.

Cristín and Debbie talked about the prevailing view of Protestants as seen in the overwhelmingly Catholic responses in the Collection – and it wasn’t a pretty picture. As I discovered with Fisher, and as Amanda has discovered with Holy Wells Folklore, the Protestants are basically blamed for anything misfortunate or discreditable – some examples here, and here and here. 

Go see this exhibition if you can. It’s fascinating, but more than that, it’s important. We are still trying to come to grips with our history, in Ireland. Art like this helps immeasurably.

* A ‘Protestant folk’? Author(s): Deirdre Nuttall and Críostóir MacCarthaigh Source: History Ireland , Vol. 25, No. 5 (September–October 2017), pp. 48-51 Published by: Wordwell Ltd. Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.2307/90014607

Light is the Canvass

This wasn’t the post I planned to write for today, but it’s the one, in the end , I felt I wanted to do more than any other. It would have been Robert’s birthday on Wednesday (March 5) and somehow a contemplative post filled with beautiful images (many of which he helped me to process), and set to sublime music, was calling out to me. Watch it on YouTube for the best experience. I hope you enjoy it.

One way to think about a piece of stained glass is that, for the artist, light serves as the canvas, while glass is the medium. Additional materials may include glass paint, acid, and other treatments used to enhance the design or respond to the context of the window or panel. Throughout the ages, stained glass has surrounded us—adorning churches and public spaces—yet we don’t often pause to look beyond its surface. We admire the light it casts without considering the artist’s hand, the vision, and the craftsmanship that bring it to life. I have tried to do that in this quirky set of photos. I wandered though my (embarrassingly) huge archive and chose the ones that spoke to me. As I look at what I have chosen I see I am drawn to abstractions and faces – a duality that Robert the sociable architect would approve of. 

This photo of us was taken ten years ago. The music is Ave Maria Stella by the late great Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin. It’s available here, and is used with permission.