Amanda Clarke

Searching for Senan: The Life

I’ve been to Clare, on a three day trip with Amanda, both of us in search of St Senan. Our destination was Scattery Island, in the mouth of the Shannon, a boat trip from Kilrush. My intention with this post was to describe this marvellous trip to Scattery – HIGHLY recommended! But alas, I made the mistake of turning to Whitley Stokes translation of The Life of Senan, from the Book of Lismore.

As regular readers know I have turned to the Book of Lismore on other occasions (see The White Hound of Brigown and this piece on St Brigid) and I am entranced by the language of Whitley Stokes’ (below) imaginative and magisterial translation, so this post will be devoted to the Life of Senan, illustrated by the many stained glass depictions of him we found in South Clare. My main source for photographs, however, is the large depiction of Senan in the Robertstown (Co Limerick) Church, and the photography is by John Glynn. John has very generously shared his magnificent photograph of the window with me, for which I am very grateful. John is also the mastermind behind Clare’s Stained Glass – a work of great interest, beauty and erudition. Check it out!

Scattery Island is the spiritual home of St Senan. With the ruins of six churches (and hints of a seventh), a holy well, and echoes of gruelling pilgrimages, it is a fascinating island – but more of that next time.

For now, let’s talk about Saint Senan, one of the ‘apostles’ of Ireland. His name may have been originally pronounced Shennon: yes, quite like the river at whose mouth the island sits. Stokes uses the form Senán throughout (pronounced Shenawn), but I have kept Senan (Pronounced Senn-an) since that is the common pronunciation. Before I begin, here is the complete Robertstown window. It is the work of Kevin Kelly of Abbey Studios, done in 2003. Thank you, John, for these outstanding images.

The story starts with St Patrick, foretelling the birth of Senan (image below the quote).

‘And the island there in the west, in front of the sea, that is Inis Cathaigh, is there any dwelling in it?’ saith Patrick. ‘There is none,’ say they, ‘for there is a terrible monster therein named Cathach, who doth not allow it to be inhabited. ‘Marvellous,’ saith Patrick, ‘is the diadem of dignity, and the precious stone, and the venerable servant specially lovable to God and to men, even the child that will be born with you. For it is for his sake that the soil of yon island is preserved in virginity, for it is there that his resurrection will be, and the resurrection of a great host of saints along with him.’ Then said Patrick, prophesying Senán’s birth:

A manchild will be born in the west,

In the island over the ocean.

The Corco-Baiscinn will be under his hand,

Men and children and women.

He will be splendid, noble, dignified,

With God, and with men.

Happy the folk and the church

That will be under that child’s protection.

‘Renowned and revered will that child be,’ saith Patrick; ‘for he will bring to them peace with abundance of every good thing, and banishment of every unlawful disease, if they do the will of that child, even Saint Senán, with tithes, and first-fruits and alms to God and to Senán. But woe to his monks who shall not do that child’s will, for God will then inflict heavy vengeances upon them, so that there shall be ruin on their men and on their cattle. And corn and milk and every produce shall then be taken away from them, so that they shall abide in famine and ruin, and every one will sell his son and his daughter in far-off territories that they may be fed, unless they are obedient to Senán. Wise and dignified will their children be in the present world if they are obedient to him.’ The stake of rowan that was in her hand when she was bringing forth her son took the earth, and burst at once into flower and leaf; and still that tree remains.

Senan performs lots of miracles as a child: like transporting his family’s whole farm through the air to a new location (I could have done with Senan when I moved house in January!); emerging unharmed in a barn conflagration; blessing spoiled food so “their proper flavour went to them;” reading while the corn grinds itself; bringing a dead boy to life. However, in a story that reminds us that old Irish saints were full-blooded creatures capable of behaving badly, he does not hesitate to use his powers in vengeful and destructive ways.

On another day Senan went with his father’s oxen out of Irrus in the west to bring them eastward to Magh Lacha ; and he saw the sea full in before him. Now night was then near, so he went to Dun Mechair (Mechar s fortress), which was at hand, to ask for a guest-house.  Now Mechar was not in his fort on that night, and in his absence his household refused Senan. So Senan went back to the sea to await the ebb, and there was no other house near him to which he might then go. As his oxen went before him, on the shore of the sea, he saw the sea-strand before him. Then he drives his oxen over the strand. Then as Senan lifted his feet up over high-water-mark on the land, he heard the wave behind him striking against his heels. His mind changes then, and this he said, Sufficient for me is the length of time that I have been at this layman’s work. Then he breaks the spear that was in his hand, and makes a cross thereof, and sets it into the ground, and thrice he prostrates himself by it to God. Then a troop came, and that night destroyed Mechar s fortress, and they slew his son, and his wife was carried off in the plunder. And the fortress has not been inhabited from that to this, and this will never be done.

Another version of this story has it that the staff in the shape of the crucifix parts the sea so the cattle can get through. (Hmmm, what does that remind you of?). By now he is a novice in the Monastery of the learned Notal, and as Senan’s fame spreads Notal’s monastery is overrun with supplicants so he tells Senan it is time to set up his own house. The first of these is at Enniscorthy, near Ferns, where Maedhoc of Ferns turns the Abbey over to him.

From there he goes to Rome (above right, meeting the Pope. On the left is the young Senan with his mentor, Cassidus), and onward to Tours, to learn from St Martin of Tours, who gives him a book, “today called Senan’s Gospel.” St David of Wales, on his way home, gives Senan his crozier. That’s what’s being depicted below, along with a lovely impression of the Scattery Island ruins.

Once he gets back to Ireland there are many more adventures and miracles. There’s a long poem about Inis Cara, and several more houses to establish, and monks and holy virgins to gather, and wells to spring forth, and miracles to perform. But still he has not found the place of his resurrection. I am giving the story of how he came to Scattery in full, as it so central to the legend of Senan. Inish Cathaigh (pronounce inish cohig) is derived from Island of the Battle, and Scattery is likely derived from a local pronunciation of that name.

Then came Raphael the Archangel to commune with Senan, and he said: ‘Come with me, and I will shew thee the place in which thy resurrection will take place; for unto God it seems time for thee to reach it.’ Then Senan and the angel went till they were on Mullach Feis. Then said the angel to him: ‘Behold the island there. Thy resurrection shall be therein, and the resurrection of a great host of saints along with thee. In the west of the world there is no more sacred island. No outrage to God hath ever been committed there. God sent an awful monster to keep it, so that neither sinners nor sons of cursing should dwell therein, but that it should remain in holiness awaiting thee. Yonder monster shall be put forth from the island before thee, so that dwelling along with it may not annoy thy community. For unto God it seemeth time for thee to go and build a church in that island. Noble and venerable will that church be. It will be a head of devotion and a well of wisdom of the west of the world. It will be a protection of prayer to foreigners and to Gael.’

Said Senan to the angel: ‘What seems timely to God seems timely to me; for this is what I seek continually, that which is the will of God.’ With that the angels lift him up along with the flagstone on which he was sitting, from Mullach Fessi, and set him down on a high hill in the middle of the island; and thence is Ard na n-Aingel ( the Angels Height ), and Lee na n-Aingel (the Angels Flagstone ) in Inis Cathaigh. They sing praise to God in that spot, even Senan and the angels, and then they went to seek the monster, to the place in which it abode.

When the monster heard them, it shook its head, and its hair stood up upon it, and its rough bristles; and it looked at them, hatingly and wrathfully. Not gentle, friendly, mild, was the look that it bestowed upon them, for it marvelled that any one else should come to visit it in its island. So it went to them strongly and swiftly, insomuch that the earth trembled under its feet. Hideous, uncouth, ruthless, awful, was the beast that arose there. Longer was its body than Inis na h-Urclaide. A horse’s mane had it; an eye gleaming flaming in its head, and it keen, savage, froward, angry, edged, crimson, bloody, cruel, bounding. Any one would think that its eye would go through him when it looked upon him. Two very hideous, very thick feet under it; behind it a mane. Nails of iron on it which used to strike showers of fire out of the rocks of stone wherever it went across them. A fiery breath it had which burnt like embers. A belly it had like the bellows of a furnace. A whale’s tail upon it behind. Iron, rending claws upon it, which used to lay bare the surface of the ground on the path they came behind the monster. Equally did it traverse sea and land when it so desired. Then the sea boiled from the greatness of its heat and from its virulence when it entered it. No boats could catch it: neither from that day to this has any one escaped from it who could tell tidings of it.

Above, an image of Senan and the Monster from Monmore Church in Clare, by the Murphy-Devitt Studios

Now, when the monster came savagely to the place where Senan was biding, it opened its maw so that, as it drew nigh the cleric, its entrails were clearly seen over the maw. Thereat Senan lifted up his hand and made the sign of Christ’s Cross in its face. Then the monster was silent, and this is what Senan spake to it: I say unto thee,’ saith he, ‘in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, leave this island and hurt no one in the district over which thou wilt go, nor in the district unto which thou wilt come. The monster went at once at Senan’s word out of the island till it reached Dubloch of Sliab Collain. And it did no hurt to any one, till it came there, nor after arriving; for it durst not oppose Senan’s word.

Now after that Senan and the angels went righthandwise round the island till they came again to the Height of the Angels, after they had consecrated the island. Senan said to the angel: Savage is the sea that there is around the island: there seemeth a troubled people therein.’ ‘Though it be savage,’ saith the angel, ‘whatever monk with humbleness of heart shall go from thee, he will not be drowned until he shall come back to thee again. God hath granted to thee,’ saith the angel, ‘that he over whom the mould of this island shall go, shall not be after Judgment an inhabitant of hell.’

Once Senan was safely in charge of the Island there were, of course, many more miraculous happenings: men sent to haul him away left empty-handed and died soon afterwards; a wizard is drowned by what sounds like a tidal wave; horses are swallowed up by the land (in the place known ever after as Fan na n-Ech); an evil king is killed (by a hornless swarthy sheep) and his land then belongs to Senan; two small boys die but come back to let their parents know they are happy in heaven and will stay there; food is provided for a feast by a King who then converts; a drought is cured by means of a holly tree. (In the section below, monks travel safely on the left and sailors are saved from drowning on the right.)

The visit of St Canair (Pronounced Canner, and also often given as Canaire, pronounced Canner-ah), a holy woman who is also associated with Bantry on West Cork, is almost the last story in the Life of Senan. She comes to Scattery but Senan refuses to allow her to land and they have this exchange

‘Women enter not this island’, saith Senan.

‘How canst thou say that?’ saith Canair. ‘Christ is no worse than thou. Christ came to redeem women no less than to redeem men. No less did  He suffer for the sake of women than for the sake of men. Women have given service and tendance unto Christ and His Apostles. No less than men do women enter the heavenly kingdom. Why, then, shouldst thou not take women to thee in thine island?’

For thus had she been while they were in converse, standing up on the wave, with her staff under her bosom, as if she were on land. Then Canair came on shore, and the Sacrament was administered to her, and she straightway went to heaven.

God granted unto Canair that whoso visits her church before going on the sea shall not be drowned between going and returning.

I think that’s enough. Or rather, as Stokes translates it: Overmany, now, to reckon and set forth are the miracles and marvels which God wrought for Senan. 

But let us not neglect the wonderful summation of his life and worth that Stokes renders in this gorgeous language. I will just give you a taste of it.

He is the glassy well whereby all the folks which God entrusted to him are washed by the purity of his teaching.  He moreover is the heavenly cloud whereby the earth of the Church and the souls of the righteous are illumined by the rain of his teaching with the holding fast of virtues. 

He is the mayor and steward and spencer,  whom the Heavenly Overking sent to exact tribute of virtues and good deeds from Goedel’s many clans.

He is the precious stone whereof the heavenly palace is built for the hosts of the earth. He is the pure vessel by which the wine of God’s word is dealt out to the people. He is the great and happy hospitaller of goodly teaching, who used to satisfy the poor and naked. He is the branch of the true Vine which prepareth life and satisfaction for the world. 

He is the true leech that healeth the ailments and diseases of the soul of every faithful man in the Christian Church.

There is a final story about Senan’s death involving the relics of his tutor, Cassidan; holy virgins who ask for the body of one of his monks (for relics); Martin of Tours uplifted on a cloud for a final meeting with Senan; and various saints and clerics coming to bury him before ‘angels carried his soul to the eternal rest in the union of the holy Trinity and heaven’s household.’

A final note, just in case you though Senan was all work and no play . . .

St Brigid And Her Wells

It has become my habit over many years now to mark St Brigid’s Day with a post. This link will bring you to the last five. If you have read them, you will know already that the camp I am in is the one that sees her as an historical figure – an actual woman, powerful and pious, that ruled benevolently over Kildare in the 5th/6th centuries. I used, to the extent that I could, the original documents that lead us through her life – an account by Cogitosus written in the year 650, and the Vita Prima, written 100 years later. Both are likely to have been based on an earlier Life by St Ultan. Since both accounts are mostly a list of miraculous happenings, I do not hold them out as factual – what is convincing is that they were written so soon after her death and that they are so specific about the establishment of her foundation in Kildare.

Over the centuries much folklore and mythology has accrued to St Brigid’s story, as it does inevitably to all of these Irish Early Medieval icons. Most of it has enriched her legendary image. However, I do find it puzzling that so many people are now convinced that she never existed and is simply a Christianised version of a mythical ‘Celtic’ goddess. Funny, we don’t do that to our other founding saints, Patrick and Columcille.

I usually go for stained glass images but this year it will be about her holy wells. This is partly in homage to Holy Wells of Cork and Kerry – or in other words to my good friend Amanda Clarke, with whom Robert and I, and now I, have had so many adventures, out Good Well Hunting. 

I was privileged to be on the first ever outing – to St Brigid’s well in Lough Hyne on St Brigid’s Day in 2016 – exactly ten years ago (above). Amanda is marking this auspicious anniversary with a special post summarising those ten years and what she has learned along the way. Do pop over and have a read – since her book is now out of print, it may be the closest you get to a summary of her wisdom. Lough Hyne is a small, obscure well, hard to get to but as full of intriguing detail and structures and folklore as any of the more frequented wells. On the other end of the spectrum are Brigid’s large and most well-known wells. We have been to several of both types. I’ll start with three of the most-visited.

Nothing can quite prepare you for the impact of Brigid’s Well in Liscannor, Co Clare. At first it seems like a well-tended garden-like area with the obligatory statue, but then you see the entrance to what looks like a cave. 

And that’s kinda what it is – a womb-like space filled with statues, icons, candles, supplications, photographs. It is a powerful testament to what a living tradition this is – to visit a place associated with her, to pay your devotion and ask for her intercession. 

Kildare, of course, is the city and county most associated with Brigid and St Brigid’s well outside Kildare town is a beautiful and contemplative place. It is laid out in such a way to lead you through the pattern of prayers, and it encourages you to slow down and feel the atmosphere.

Another such is the Brigid’s well near Lough Owel near Mullingar. This one features a statue showing her in the act of casting her brat, or shawl, across the land to claim it for her monastery.

There’s a space for a priest to say Mass, the Stations of the Cross, and the well itself, topped by a green mound and a St Brigid’s Cross (my feature photograph for today)

But it’s the hidden wells, down almost-forgotten paths, that resonate with me most. Amanda, with her exhaustive research, has led us to several. This one is near Carrigillihy in West Cork. Only the locals really know about it – there is no signpost and you have to look out for a tiny path off the road.

My lead photograph is the well itself. From it, there is a view to Rabbit Island, where the well was originally located. Realising that it was now too inaccessible, the well re-located itself (they do that) to the mainland.

Sometimes it takes real effort to get to a well – thus it was with Stonehall, in Co Limerick. The map was vague, and directions even vaguer but there was nothing vague about the mud. 

Once you finally get there – across this field and up this rutted path – and catch a glimpse of something promising (Amanda swears by small gates), the sense of achievement is huge. 

You might be the only people who have been year in years, but here it still is.

One of my favourites is the one at Britway, not too far from Rathcormack in Co Cork. We discovered this one on our own, in the course of an expedition, and I loved the vernacular nature of it but especially the statue. Brigid had been furnished with a coat-hanger crozier, and her eyes had been coloured black, giving her a threatening air. I believe she may have been refurbished more recently, so perhaps is not quite so scary now. 

I leave you with some images of Amanda in her happy place. 

Congratulations, my friend, on ten amazing years of exploration and discovery and on becoming the Go To Authority on the Holy Wells of the south west of Ireland. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy Wells of Cork: The Book!

Woohoo! The book is published, and will be launched in Ballydehob on the 21st – see the end for details. All welcome.

This project started on St Brigid’s Day in 2016 – Amanda Clarke set out to record every holy well in the County of Cork – all 358 of the currently known ones. I happened to be with her (above) on the very first venture – a Brigid’s Well, chosen because it was St Brigid’s Day, Feb 1 (now a national holiday). 

That was seven years ago, and Robert and I continued to accompany Amanda and Peter on many of their holy well expeditions, along the way covering almost every inch of Cork and then progressing into Kerry and Limerick, because after all you can’t have too many wonderful adventures in the great outdoors with good friends.

We have fallen in mud and slipped in cow pats, tramped over bogs and halfway up mountains, coped with frisky bullocks and over-friendly dogs, got soaked to the skin and baked under hot skies, and wandered and wondered and laughed and photographed to our heart’s content. I recommend it to everyone – pick a focus, find out what you can and go find it.

Half the work, maybe more than half, is the research and Amanda is brilliant at that, mining every resource she can find for information about each well – its history, folklore, cures, saintly associations, rounds and pattern days.

The result of her investigations is sobering, though – only a third of our holy wells remain active. Another third can still be found, even if they have not been visited in a long time, and the final third have disappeared. Even wells that were once the focus of huge local celebrations can slip into the mists as if they had never existed. 

In this light, Amanda’s records are incredibly important and this book is an immeasurable contribution to Cork history. I will end by quoting from Amanda’s Press release:

. . . this book is a celebration of the many holy wells that have quietly prevailed through the millennia, providing powerful connections to the past. It is widely accepted that many holy wells date from the pre Christian era and are an important part of our cultural heritage. They are not dead monuments – many remain potent, active and meaningful, a source of quiet and solace in a chaotic world.

Amanda’s book is available now for pre-order at a special pre-launch price. Just go to https://wildwayspress.com/ Orders will be processed after the launch on 21 July 2023. There is also an option at checkout to pre-order for collection at the launch. 

Come and get a signed copy of what is sure to become the book that every Cork household needs on its shelf.

Honouring St Barrahane

It’s December 3rd (yesterday) – St Barrahane’s feast day, that is. He’s one of our local saints and not a lot is known about him. There are other St Barrahanes – or St Bearchán as it’s more commonly spelled – a whole raft of them, in fact from around the country. But this one belongs to Castlehaven.

Now, I am not normally given to honouring saints’ feast days, but there are exceptions. St Patrick’s, after all, is a national holiday, and St Brigid’s soon will be, so it would be rude not to. St John’s Eve is big in Cork and this year I did the rounds in my local graveyard – see this post for my lovely experience. That’s Castlehaven graveyard, below, right on the sea – the sea that Amanda and I are bobbing around in, in the lead photograph.

You remember Conor Buckley and his adventure and outdoors company, Gormú? To jog your memory, take a look at Castlehaven and Myross Placenames Project and Accessible August. He’s an all-round dynamo, whose idea of fun is to take people swimming at dawn in the middle of winter. But on this occasion, there was heritage to back him up – a local custom of going to St Barrahane’s well to get water on Dec 3rd, as a cure, but also as a talisman against any kind of accident at sea. Important, in this maritime location.

We gathered at the top of the road at dawn and walked down to the sea. Conor invited us to go barefoot as the original pilgrims would have done, and there were actually a few takers.

Then up to the holy well – about 20 of us. Conor told us about the traditions associated with this particular well, and asked Amanda to speak about wells in general. Declaring that she “has done more for holy wells than anyone else in Ireland” he then invited her to be first to the well – being first was also particularly auspicious in the local folklore.

The well contains a sacred eel (to see it brought good luck forever) and a cure for fevers that lasted all year. People would visit at any time, but particularly on Dec 3rd to collect water and take a bottle home with them. By the 1930s, when this account (below, in Irish) from Dooneen School was given in the Dúchas Schools Collection, only a few people were still coming. The onus on the pilgrim was relatively light – just a few Hail Mary’s and the Sign of the Cross and then you could drink the water. Some people left rags or a coin.

After the student’s writing is a Nóta, written  by the headmaster, R Ó’Motharua. 

The information for the Nóta came from James Burke, a noted local historian, TD (member of the Dail, or Irish Pariament) and Editor of the Southern Star.* He took a scholarly interest in local saints, of whom Barrahane was a prime example. Here is my translation (corrections welcome).

There is mention of Bearrcháin or “Berchin” in a Papal letter in 1199 (Innocent III). In the manuscript “Onomastecan Gaedilicum” one sees Berchan – son of Máine of the Race of Lúghdach Maidhe (Page 440). In the book Celtic Miscellany (page 46-51) one sees the name of Bearcháin with Fachtna – the founder of Rosscarbery – he was reading with him an oration that was given after the death of the Abbot O’Gillamichil who was the patron of Teampall Bearcháin [St Bearcháin’s Church] in this parish. They called Gillamichil “Open Purse” – because of his generosity. His name is still in the parish in the townland of Farranagilla [meaning Gilla’s Land].


https://www.duchas.ie/en/cbes/4798763/4796172

Farranagilla, by the way, is a townland halfway between Castletownshend and Skibbereen. This accords with other information I have from James Burke about St Barrahane. In a letter to Edith Somerville of February 1917 he says:

When we come to Saint Barrahane (Irish Bearćán) we are in more shadowy ground. 

There was a great St Bearchan a noted prophet of Cluain Sosta in Hy Failghe of whom there is much (exhaustive) knowledge but I have elsewhere tried to prove that the patron of Castlehaven parish was a native of West Cork and is identified with the Bearchan  mentioned in the genealogy of Corca Laidhe but he is only a name. He certainly was the patron of Castlehaven which as early as 1199 and no doubt much earlier was called Glenbarrahane. 

From a letter in the Somerville archives, Drishane House. Quoted with permission**

James Burke had originally set out this information in his paper for the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society of 1905 on Castlehaven and its Neighbourhood, pointing out that the original name for Castlehaven Parish was Glenbarrahane, after its patron saint. In his magisterial work, A Dictionary of Irish Saints (Four Courts Press, 2011, p96),  Pádraig O’Ríain agrees with the notion that the saint belonged to the Corca Laighde family, despite some misgivings. He also adds local tradition maintains that Bearchán came from Spain.

Why was James Burke writing about St Barrahane to Edith Somerville? She was researching appropriate saints for the window she and her family had commissioned from Harry Clarke (of which more in a future post). A lack of information didn’t stop Harry Clarke from imagining what Bearchán might have looked like. In his Nativity window in St Barrahane’s Church of Ireland, he gives full reign to his imaginative vision and depicts him as a monk.

He gets the full Harry treatment – large eyes, a face full of wisdom and compassion, long tapered fingers. He is writing on an extended scroll – and the scroll hides a surprise, only visible in close-up and upside down.

The well itself is a little beauty – half hidden in the undergrowth and accessed by a wooden bridge. It is festooned with fishing floats – fisherman left them here to protect them at sea – rags, and rosaries. The water is fresh and clear.

In fact, the water from this well is used to baptise infants in both the Catholic and Protestant churches of Castlehaven Parish! 

So there you have it – what we know about St Barrahane and the traditions that surround him. We collected a jug of the water from the well for anyone who wanted to fill a bottle. As Joey in Friends used to say – Could I be wearing any more clothes?

But, this being Gormú, there was more to the day – the visit to the Holy Well was to be followed by a swim! Yikes! Amanda and I egged each other on during the week (I will if you will)) and finally decided it had to be done. And guess what – it wasn’t that bad! In fact, the water felt if anything slightly warmer than the surrounding air. In case anyone thinks I am virtue-signalling here (Look at me, swimming in December!) we didn’t stay in long, and there was a lot of shrieking involved. Some of the real swimmers emerged half an hour later.

There was an immense sense of camaraderie as we chowed down on our hot porridge and tea afterwards. Vincent O’Neill presented Amanda and me with the latest issue of the Castlehaven & Myross History Society Journal.

It is a great thing that Conor and other local historians have taken on the task of re-activating this pilgrimage and it felt wonderful to be a part of it. 

*For more on James Burke, see A Tale of Two Editors: the Lives and Words of James Burke and Patrick Sheehy, in the Skibbereen Historical Journal, Vol 16, 2020, by Alan McCarthy
**With thanks to The Somerville Archives and Tom Somerville for permission to quote from the James Burke letter.

A Dander on The Sheep’s Head

it’s not just for long walks – the Sheep’s Head is also perfect for wandering with intent, having, as my father used to say, a dander. Our trip there this week, in the excellent company of Amanda and Peter, was that sort of day, where we drove around and dropped in and out of interesting places. Amanda and Peter Clarke, our regular readers will know, are the couple behind Walking the Sheep’s Head Way, so who better to have as companions and guides for a day of exploring. Amazingly, given all the time we’ve spent there, only one of our stops was familiar.

Our first stop was a curious stone overlooking Dunmanus Bay. Known as the Giant’s Footprint, the local legend tells a familiar story about two giants throwing rocks at each other. This must have been a mere pebble, because one of the missiles became the Fastnet Rock. Footprint stones are also associated with inauguration sites, where kings were acclaimed in early medieval society. (See the comments section below for a link to an amazing piece of art from our friend, the acclaimed photographer EJ Carr, who used this stone in his fantasy photography piece on the Arthurian legend – follow the link in the comment to view his images.)

Being with Amanda is always a great opportunity to visit a holy well and we had never been to Gouladoo. It also ticked a box for me as I’ve been wanting to visit promontory forts. The holy well first – it’s a Tobar Beannaithe, a Blessed Well, not associated with any particular saints. Amanda’s research revealed that it did have a particular purpose, though – girls would visit to pray for a husband. Read Amanda’s comprehensive account here. 

Because this is on the Sheep’s Head Way, the route is signposted and maintained. The well itself has a cup thoughtfully provided so you can have a drink if you dare. The path down to it has been carved out of the hillside and roughly paved, indicating that this was a site to which many people once came.

If you turn your back to the holy well, the promontory fort is straight ahead of you.

Where you have a promontory jutting out into the sea it’s easily fortified by building banks and ditches at the neck. Promontories with narrow necks were usually chosen, as being easiest to defend, and archaeological evidence suggests that some were in use as early as the Bronze Age but most evidence of occupation dates to the Early and Later Medieval Period (400 -1500AD). 

As promontory forts go, this is a classic – a narrow neck with evidence of walls across it, steep cliffs on all sides, and a flat and verdant area in the middle for houses and cattle. This one has an added feature – sea arches underneath! The sea arches mean that this may eventually become an island.

The antiquarian Thomas J Westropp set out to visit all the promontory forts along the Beara and Sheep’s Head in or around 1920 and has left us his account, written over three articles in the Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland. Gouladoo, as his map shows, was one of his destinations.

Here is his description of the fort as he found it then.

Far to the west of Rinn, in Kilcrohane, is a remarkable fortified headland of dark grey slate, up tilted and separated from the mainland by a gully. This is spanned (like those at Doonagh and Dursey) by a natural arch. The adjoining townland is called Dunoure, but no fort is known to have existed near this, so perhaps that name refers to Gouladoo. The arch is lintelled, like a great Egyptian pylon, and is 15 ft. or 16 ft. wide at the gully. The neck is wider to the landward, and was strongly defended. First we find a trace of a hollow or fosse; then the foundation of a drystone wall 82 ft. long (E. and W.); behind, a natural abrupt ridge forms a banquette over 4 ft. high; the wall is about 12 ft. thick, the terrace 12 ft. to 15 ft. wide. Beyond this the neck was enclosed all round by a fence about 6 ft. thick. The whole work measures about 80 ft. each way. As at Doonagh, I think that the line of debris on the peninsula along the edge of the chasm is a trace of a wall, and that the bare slope behind it was stripped by a landslip. The whole is tufted with luxuriant masses of rich crimson heather.


The Promontory Forts of Beare and Bantry: Part III, Thomas J Westropp
The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, 1921

It’s quite difficult to see those features now, although there is a piece of the wall remaining, and what must be his ‘terrace.’

There are other compensations to visiting a site like this – those sheer cliffs which provide such an impregnable defence for the fort, also host many gulls in nesting season. The Bluebells and Sea Campion were abundant there too.

Westropp wrote his article, The Promontory Forts of Beare and Bantry, over several issues of the Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, and maybe it would be fun to retrace his steps a hundred years later to see what’s on the ground now – what do you think? 

From there it was off to the Mass Rock at Glanalin, an easy walk down from the Pietà in the pass above Kilcrohane. It’s a particularly lovely walk to this mass rock (above), and in May the spring flowers are everywhere, especially St Patrick’s Cabbage, one of the group of plants known as the Lusitanian Flora, that only grows here and in Iberia.

And finding a lone Heath Spotted Orchid (above) was a real bonus too!

By sheer coincidence we were there on the same day, May 17th, when Mass was celebrated here in 2000 in remembrance of the ancestors who worshipped here.

Our final stop of the day was another site new to us, the Marriage Stone! That’s Peter’s sketch of it above, from his Hikelines Blog. Tradition has it that people would get married here, as described by local farmer Jack Sheehan:

The hole in the stone is narrow on one side and wide at the other. The man had a bigger hand and he put his hand through the big side and the woman put her hand through the narrow side. They made their promises when they put their hands through the stone

Of course we all had to do it!

There was a ring fort nearby –  actually described as an enclosure in the National Monuments records – but over the years it has been disturbed to the point where it is hardly recognisable. Perhaps it is this site that gave its name to the townland, Caherurlagh. A caher is a stone fort and so the townland name means Fort of the Slaughter. Perhaps there are some aspects to the history of this area into which we should not delve too closely.

I highly recommend a day like this on the Sheep’s Head, with Walking the Sheep’s Head Way as your travelling companion, and channeling the spirit of old Thomas Westropp. I will leave you with what he had to say about the views north to the Beara as he journeyed along the north side towards Gouladoo

We pass beneath the beautiful woods of Bantry House and the picturesque old graveyard, where the Franciscan Friary once stood erected by O Sullivan in 1330. We reach the shore out of a maze of low green hills, several with ring forts on their summits, near Dromclough. Thence on past Rinn Point and up the lofty road, often unfenced and narrow, along the edge of cuttings and precipices to Gouladoo and Collack. The sweep of the high mountains in Beare and those inland heights towards Muskerry is magnificent as seen across the great bay. From Black Ball Head and Dunbeg past flat-topped Slieve Miskish and the great domes of Hungry Hill and the Sugarloaf, on to the shapely cone of Mullach Maisha, the stately range extends.