George Walsh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brenainn loved lasting devotion

According to synod and company :

Seven years on the back of the whale :

Hard was the rule of devotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Part 1 is here.

Brigid 1500: Mary of the Gael

St Brigid, according to some accounts, died in 524. Therefore, we are celebrating this year the 1500th anniversary of her death. Once again, I have gone back to primary sources for incidents from her life and am illustrating them with stained glass images. This year I have added as a source the famous Canon O’Hanlon’s Life, from his Lives of the Irish Saints Series, Vol 2, a work of overwhelming erudition.

The Patrick and Brigid window in Meath Hill, by George Walsh. I love that Brigid has precedence over Patrick in this enormous cruciform window

If you haven’t already done so, now is a good time to go back and read my 2022 post, St Brigid: Dove Among Birds, Vine Among Trees, Sun Among Stars and my 2023 post, Brigid: A Bishop in All But Name. In them, I explain what the original sources for the Life of Brigid are. They all contain similar accounts and may be ultimately based on a single source – the Life of St Brigid by St Ultán – and are laid out as a series of miracles that lead us from her birth to her death.

This is a detail from a window in Ballynahown, Co Westmeath, and is probably by Watson of Youghal. I like the clever way the oak leaves are used as frame and background

Many more miracles, legends, myths and stories accreted to her cult over the centuries. A good example of such a story is the one where she makes a cross from rushes – that one is nowhere to be found in the original Lives, but is an integral part of the folklore surrounding her, and therefore almost invariably found in her iconography.

This is a photo by Frank Fullard, used with permission and thanks. It is a simple treatment of St Brigid from Kilmaine, Co Mayo

She is associated with many places and numerous holy wells – just take a look at all the St Brigid’s wells Amanda has documented in Cork and Kerry. But of course it is Kildare that rightly claims her. Kildare (Cill Dara – the Church in the Oak Wood) is where she built her church and established her city. It is the origin of three of the attributes we see in many windows – a church, oak leaves and a lamp. (For the story about the Bishop’s Crozier, see the previous posts.)

Detail from the Brigid Window in Carrickmacross – she’s consulting with her architects

The Book of Lismore has this story about building the church:

Brigit went to Bishop Mel, that he might come and mark out her city for her. When they came thereafter to the place in which Kildare stands to-day, that was the time that Ailill, son of Dunlang, chanced to be coming, with a hundred horseloads of peeled rods, over the midst of Kildare. Then maidens came from Brigit to ask for some of the rods, and refusal was given to them. The horses were (straightway) struck down under their horseloads to the ground. Then stakes and wattles were taken from them, and they arose not until Ailill had offered the hundred horseloads to Brigit. And therewith was built Saint Brigit’s great house in Kildare, and it is Ailill that fed the wrights and paid them their wages. So Brigit left (as a blessing) that the kingship of Leinster should be till doomsday from Ailill, son of Dunlang.

Detail from the Brigid window in Sneem, Co Kerry, by Watson of Youghal

It was a large establishment. O’Hanlon says:

We are informed, that her Rule was followed, for a long time, by the greatest part of those monasteries, belonging to sacred virgins in Ireland; nearly all of these acknowledging our saint as their mother and mistress, and the monastery of Kildare as the headquarters of their Order. Moreover, Cogitosus informs us, in his prologue to her life, that not only did she rule nuns, but also a large community of men, who lived in a separate monastery. This obliged the saint to call to her aid, and from out his solitude, the holy bishop, S. Conlaeth, to be the director and spiritual father of her religious; and, at the same time, to be bishop of the city. The church at Kildare, to suit the necessities of the double monastery and to accommodate the laity, was divided by partitions into three distinct parts. One of these was reserved for the monks; one for the nuns; while a third compartment was intended to suit the requirements of the laity.

Harry Clarke’s 1924 window in Cloughjordan is of the Ascension with Irish Saints – this is a young St Brigid, holding her church

And what about the lamp? This is interesting, as its first appearance was not in any of the lives but in the writings of the notorious Giraldus Cambrensis, Gerald of Wales. He will get a post of his own in due course, but for the moment, if you are not familiar with him, there’s a delightful sketch of him and his writings about Ireland in the 12th century here.

Brigid window in Kilgarvan, Co Kerry, by Earley and Co

Here is his story about the sacred fire, now usually rendered as a lamp, as faithfully related by O’Hanlon:

Speaking of Kildare city, in Leinster, which had become so renowned, owing to its connexion with our glorious abbess, Giraldus Cambrensis says, that foremost, among many miraculous things worthy of record, was St. Brigid’s inextinguishable fire. Not, that this fire itself was incapable of being extinguished, did it obtain any such name, but, because nuns and holy women had so carefully and sedulously supplied fuel to feed its flames, that from St. Brigid’s time to the twelfth century, when he wrote, it remained perpetually burning through a long lapse of years. What was still more remarkable, notwithstanding great heaps of wood, that must have been piled upon it, during such a prolonged interval, the ashes of this fire never increased.

Another detail from the Watson window in Sneem

What is furthermore remarkable, from the time of St. Brigid and after her death until the twelfth century, an even number, including twenty nuns, and the abbess, had remained in Kildare nunnery. Each of these religious, in rotation, nightly watched this inextinguishable fire. On the twentieth night, having placed wood on its embers, the last nun said:” O Brigid, guard thy fires, for this night the duty devolves on thyself.” Then the nun left that pyre, but although the wood might have been all consumed before morning, yet the coals remained alive and inextinguishable. A circular hedge of shrubs or thorns surrounded it, and no male person dare presume to enter within that sacred enclosure, lest he might provoke Divine vengeance, as had been experienced by a certain rash man, who ventured to transgress this ordinance. Women only were allowed to tend that fire. Even these attendants were not permitted to blow it with their breath; but, they used boughs of trees as fans for this purpose.

This is the predella from the Brigid window in Moone, by the Harry Clarke Studios (see blow for the main panel)

All of the Lives and O’Hanlon’s account tell of Brigid’s many miracles in providing food and clothing for the poor, in healing sicknesses, in turning the hearts of evildoers to God, in freeing slaves, and in punishing those who are selfish or cruel.

Brigid and the Beggar, by William Dowling, Gorey C of I

However, the story I like best perhaps is this one from the Vita Prima: 

In the same place also when saint Brigit was staying as a guest, a married man came with a request that saint Brigit should bless some water for him to sprinkle his wife with, for the wife actually hated the husband. So Brigit blessed some water and his house and food and drink and bed were sprinkled while his wife was away. And from that day on the wife loved her husband with a passionate love as long as she lived.

She may have been a nun, but she obviously served up a good love potion when the situation required it. This story is not only repeated in the Book of Lismore, but embellished, thus: 

When he had done thus, the wife gave exceeding great love to him, so that she could not keep apart from him, even on one side of the house ; but she was always at one of his hands. He went one day on a journey and left the wife asleep. When the woman awoke she rose up lightly and went after the husband, and saw him afar from her, with an arm of the sea between them. She cried out to her husband and said that she would go into the sea unless he came to her.

The aged St Brigid by George Stephen Walsh, in Ballintubber Abbey – another image generously loaned by Frank Fullard

My final point for this post about St Brigid is the matter of where she is buried. Most authorities give this as Downpatrick, where she is laid to rest alongside Patrick and Columcille. However, a medieval legend grew that she went to Glastonbury in old age and died there. That is why she is venerated in Britain as well as in Ireland – the top photograph in this post is from the St Brigid window in Exeter Cathedral. Here’s the full window, in which she is flanked, for some reason, by St Luke and St John busily writing their gospels.

Here is another British window, this one designed by Nuttgens in 1952 for St Etheldreda’s Church in London. (Used with thanks under the Creative Commons License – original is here.) It’s a particularly good narrative window, showing the building of her church under the Oak Tree, her crozier, and two cows – there are many stories of milk and cows in the Lives.

But O’Hanlon is having none of the Glastonbury story.

We cannot receive as duly authenticated, or even as probable, several assertions of mediaeval and more recent writers, who have treated concerning this illustrious virgin. It has been stated, that about the year 488, Saint Brigid left Ireland, and proceeded towards Glastonbury. There, it is said, she remained, until advanced in years, on an island, and convenient to the monastery in that place. Whether she died there or returned to Ireland is doubted. But, it seems probable enough, such a tradition had its origin, owing to this circumstance, that a different St. Brigid, called of Inis-bridge, or of Bride’s Island, had been the person really meant. She lived many years on a small island, near Glastonbury, called Brigidae Insula i.e., Brigid’s Bridge. This latter St. Brigid is said to have been buried, at Glastonbury.

This Brigid window is in Moone, Co Kildare from the Harry Clarke Studios. It features, as do many Brigid windows I have seen, a deer, but I can find no mention of a deer in any of the Lives. Perhaps one of our readers knows where the deer icon comes from?

I will finish with a quote from the Book of Lismore, which gives me the title for this post, and gives Brigid one of her most frequent soubriquets.

It is she that helpeth every one who is in a strait and in danger: it is she that abateth the pestilences: it is she that quelleth the anger and the storm of the sea. She is the prophetess of Christ she is the Queen of the South: she is the Mary of the Gael

I don’t know whose window this is – it’s from Ballybunion – but I love the composition

And a final image from Glynn, Co Wexford, because I love the pared-to-the-bone simplicity of this Richard King medallion..

Posts about St Brigid

St Brigid and AI

Brigid 1500: Mary of the Gael

Brigid: A Bishop in All But Name

St Brigid: Dove Among Birds, Vine Among Trees, Sun Among Stars

St Michael

For a part of my life I lived in the west of Cornwall, looking out over St Michael’s Mount (above). Back in the 5th century, the Archangel himself appeared to fishermen on that rock. Legend has it that the Mount was constructed by giants and, also, King Arthur battled and defeated a giant there. As you all know, we have just passed Michaelmas – the day of the saint – September 29th.

There is another ‘St Michael’s Mount’ on the coast of Brittany: Mont St Michel (above, from an old lantern slide). I have mixed memories of that place, having gone there on a school trip when I was twelve: I had all my hard-saved pocket money stolen from me in one of the little winding lanes that goes up to the summit. Michael is the patron saint of high places, so expect to find him on pinnacles.

This St Michael’s church is certainly in a high place. It’s at Hammerfest in Norway, and has the distinction of being geographically the highest church in the world! (image by Manxruler)

I asked Finola if there was very much in the way of St Michael imagery in Irish stained glass. There’s a fair bit: on the left, above, is a Watsons of Youghal image of the Archangel in his role as weigher of souls. He stands at the gates of Heaven waiting for you on Judgment Day with his scales in his hand. Often, beside him, angels hold up two books: the smaller one records the names of the blessed, while the larger book is a list of the damned… On the right is our friend George Walsh’s depiction of Michael defeating Satan, who here takes the form of an impressive dragon.

This St Michael is very local to us: it’s in Teampall Church at Toormore, and is by Clokey of Belfast (Finola’s photo). Look carefully and you’ll see the Saint pinning down the fire-breathing Devil.

Also in my distant youth I was an ephemeral chaser of ley-lines: I have since thought better of it, but the idea of a straight line starting in Ireland and connecting seven St Michael sites while traversing Europe and Greece was attractive, and fleetingly convincing. Of course, there are many more Michael sites scattered around the Christian world which don’t fall anywhere near this line.

. . . As with other ley lines, no scientific evidence indicates that the alignment was planned and meaningful, making the claim pseudoscientific, but commonly reported at these sites. Physicist Luca Amendola noted that the deviation of these sites from the loxodrome that allegedly connects them ranges between 14 km and 42 km. According to legend the Sacred Line of Saint Michael the Archangel represents the blow the Saint inflicted the Devil, sending him to hell. Some also say that it is a reminder from Saint Michael that the faithful are expected to be righteous, walking the straight path . . .

Wikipedia

It’s nice to see that the phenomenon starts (or finishes) at Skellig Micheal, off the coast of Kerry (pic below courtesy of OPW):

Here’s an interesting view of the three somewhat feminine Archangels painted by Francesco Botticini in 1470. Michael is on the left. With them is Tobias who, in the popular Biblical tale, overcomes obstacles as he and his heavenly guardians set out to discover a cure for his father Tobit’s blindness. They are successful, for Tobias returns with a cure for his father as well as a wife!

I couldn’t resist this wonderful image of a St Michael’s site (from Wikipedia). It is the tenth-century Sacra di San Michele on Mount Pirchiriano in Italy. It also happens to be on the Saint’s ley-line!

I’ll finish this little review of St Michael where I started – off the coast of Cornwall. This 1920s postcard of the Mount, from a painting by A R Quinton, sums up the romantic image which I still carry from my days lived on that coast.

The Storied Way to Beara

You know we love the beauty of West Cork, and we can’t resist the odd foray into all our neighbouring parishes. They are perhaps a bit wilder and higher, with markedly remote open spaces. So here’s a little wander on to the Beara Peninsula and beyond: I have raided our archive of photographs to enthuse us – and, hopefully you – to travel those roads in the coming spring. Firstly, have a look at this:

There’s a house down there, nestled under some spectacularly steep fields! This is to remind you that you have to up the scale a bit if you are stepping across the county boundaries. This Kerry landscape is such a contrast to our own seascapes and islands. We have our hills, of course: Mount Gabriel was in the news this week because of the gorse fires which lit up its summit. Such fires are allowed up until the first of March – by longstanding tradition – to clear the land and improve the grazing. It all seems a bit incongruous, though, when governments are planning to outlaw wood-burning stoves because they lead to poor air quality, and we are being advised by the HSE about the adverse health effects of air polluted by smoke and ash. Fire on Mount Gabriel 26 February 2023 – photo by Magnus Burbanks – courtesy Southern Star:

Let’s leave that argument – and the drama – for others to debate, and return to the colour and spectacle of our neighbours. Below are fishing boats tied up in Castletown-Berehaven. You’ll note that ‘Iolair’ is registered in Skibbereen. If this seems strange, remember that our West Cork town on the Ilen River is still the Port Of Registration for all shipping on the south-west coast of Ireland between the jurisdictions of Cork and Limerick. My recent post on the Ilen described Skibbereen as “. . . a settlement served by water . . .” with perhaps up to nine historic quays and a Custom House located within the town in its heyday of commercial vessels working on the river. Present day Shipping registrations are administered by Customs & Excise in Bantry, even though the prefix ‘S’ (for Skibbereen) is still used – a somewhat quirky anomaly: the Custom House in Skibbereen was closed in 1890!

The people of the Beara Peninsula quite likely think of themselves foremost as an entity, rather than a mixture of Corkonians and Kerry people. In Eyries a Seanchaí – or storyteller – is celebrated: Pádraig Ó Murchú. His story is a somewhat sad one, certainly not untypical of many remote areas in Ireland. He was born in Gort Broc (Gortbrack, Co Kerry – north of Kenmare Bay) on 15 February 1873. His parents were Seán Ó Murchú whose wife Máire Harrington. (‘Caobach’) and he had four sisters and two brothers. Five of them, the boys and three of the girls, went to Butte, Montana. Seán died in Gort Broc at the age of 47 when Pádraig himself was a young boy. None of his forebears ever returned home but he would receive a letter every now and then from one of his aunts. Folklorist Martin Verling states that 707 men and 431 women emigrated to Butte from the parish of Aorí between 1870 and 1915. An account of how his great-grandfather, Seán Ó Murchú, settled in Kerry was taken down from Pádraig’s mouth (or Patsy as he was called): Seán was abducted by one of the ‘Cithearnaigh’ (a name given to certain Irish landlords in Beara) in Kerry and sold in France as a slave. When he managed to escape, he landed in Beara.

Commemorating Pádraig Ó Murchú in Eyries

Measles affected Pádraig’s eyesight so badly that he was given a blind pension; ‘flickering’ left him unable to read or write. He spoke English fluently, with Irish his native tongue. Until she died in 1923 his mother lived with him, and it fell to him to tend to her during the decline of old age. He earned his living by farming and fishing and was always in good health, apart from his eyesight. Writer and folklorist Máirtín Verling recorded memories of him from men who were young boys during Pádraig’s old age. Pádraig was part of a culture now vanished, and Verling states “. . . the day Pádraig Ó Murchú was lost as an old man – the habit of storytelling, and the habit of speaking Irish, died together in Béarra . . .”

Map of the Beara Peninsula from the Royal Society of Antiquities of Ireland, T J Westropp 1919. Principal archaeological sites are indicated.

These Beara landscapes are typical of the remote grandeur of the territory. Human settlement has encroached upon it – the patchy forestry plantations above are unnatural and uninspiring – but there are sufficient wild prospects remaining to ensure that the all-embracing beauty can never be eroded. Plenty of living history remains in evidence.

Archaeology, colour and community are all part of the local scenes on the Beara. The tourism industry is undoubtedly thriving, bringing fresh life with it.

We hope you will agree that the Beara – whether it’s Cork or Kerry – is deserving of a visit – and a stay: you have to delve deeply into the lifestyle and traditions. Enjoy!

(Above – the work of stained glass artist George Walsh. A visit to the little church in Eyries to take in more of this is a must)

Sun’s Out! A Further Look at The Beara

A few years ago, on one April day after a bleak, harsh winter that had gales, hurricanes, blizzards and unceasing bitter east winds thrown at us – the sun came out! We were out too, and headed up to the Beara Peninsula to see if we could remember what sun-soaked landscapes felt like… They felt great!

Header – the glories of Cork and Kerry combine on the spectacular Beara; top photograph – finally, after a long,harsh winter, we see the spring blossoms appearing; middle – a wayside shrine on the road out from Glengariff; bottom – Hungry Hill dominates the views as we head west on the peninsula

You will remember our previous visits to the Beara: there are not enough superlatives for what it has to offer in the way of stunning scenery and colour. None of these photographs have been enhanced – what you see is exactly what we saw on the day – and it’s what you will see, too, if you choose aright (although even on dull days we always find plenty to interest us).

Top photograph – St Kentigern’s Church is in the centre of one of Ireland’s most colourful villages; middle – the sunlight plays games with the beautiful windows by glass artist George Walsh; bottom – light from the windows dances on the pews

We knew where we were going: Finola was keen to revisit the little Catholic church of St Kentigern in Eyeries, which has a fine collection of windows by George Walsh: it’s a gem – and at its best for the quality of the light enhancing it on the day. I wanted to see the settlement itself in the early spring sunlight as it’s one of the most colourful places in the whole of Ireland! Neither of us was disappointed.

Just a taster of the treats in store in Eyeries: on a beautiful spring day there was hardly a soul around, but we were still able to find an ice cream in O’Sullivan’s!

Our second objective was to travel into the hills and find Ardgroom Outward stone circle. The trail involves farm gates, stiles and a lot of mud – but the 9 stone circle (named locally ‘Canfea’) is a fine, almost intact monument with wide vistas to mountain and sea. The impressive outlier stone is 3.2m in height.

The magnificent Ardgroom Outward (or ‘Canfea’) stone circle is accessible via a marked, boggy path: the vistas from the site make the journey worthwhile. Finola is dwarfed by the huge outlier!

It’s barely a skip up to Eyeries from Nead an Iolair, so we had to carry on around the peninsula and take in the almost surreal views of oceans, lakes and mountains before dipping into Kerry and then heading over the top back into Cork county and down the Healy Pass – surely one of Ireland’s most spectacular road trips.

Returning home – with the evening sun setting gloriously over Roaringwater Bay – we reflected that there can’t be many places in the world where a single day can offer such a feast to satisfy all the senses.

Irish Artists and Stations of the Cross

Every Catholic Church in Ireland has a set of Stations of the Cross on the wall – fourteen focus points for devotion and reflection on the Way of the Cross. The Stations, as they are universally known in Ireland, come from a long tradition within the Catholic Church, often associated with St Francis, but also with the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem, and the custom that Pilgrims had of retracing Jesus’ footsteps on the way to Calvary.

Most Stations appear to have been ordered from a catalogue and all look similar, painted in an Italianate Renaissance style and framed in wood. The image above, of one of the stations in a rural church in Cork, is typical.

However, architects, priests, and parish committees sometimes took the bolder step of commissioning Stations from a contemporary artist. The lead image and the one above are both from sets of Stations by Richard King. The lead image is the Deposition (Christ taken down from the Cross) and is in a small church in Foilmore in Kerry, while that immediately above is from Swinford, Co Mayo, as is the one below – a painting that focuses ferociously on the suffering of the crucified Jesus.

This was an important source of income for artists from the beginning of the new Irish State. While we don’t often think of the Catholic Church as a patron of the arts, in practical terms it functioned as such for many painters and sculptors. In fact it is hardly an exaggeration to say that the church was the largest commissioner of contemporary art in Ireland during most of the twentieth century. 

Galway Cathedral is a showcase for twentieth-century artists and all fourteen Stations were carved in portland stone by Gabriel Hayes. It took her eighteen years to complete them and she called them ‘the main work of my life.’

Certain architects – Liam McCormack, for example, or Richard Hurley – considered each aspect of their design and included specification for contemporary art. Some indeed, like Eamon Hedderman, worked closely with artists to plan a church holistically, incorporating the art into the integral fabric of the building. A magnificent example of this can be seen in the Church of the Irish Martyrs in Ballycane (Naas) where large-scale graphic stations designed by Michael Burke are surrounded by contemporary glass by George Walsh.

Many of the Irish artists familiar to us from the 20th century catalogues have contributed Stations to churches around the country – sometimes to the large cathedrals but often too to obscure country parishes where the priest (it was usually the priest) wanted something more than a standard imported set. Sean Keating‘s Stations for St John’s Church in Tralee (both images below) are arresting in their drama and strong character studies.

Stations come in many media and I have tried to show a variety in this post by well-known Irish artists. Bath stone was the medium of choice for Ken Thompson – the image below is of one of his stations for St Mel’s Cathedral in Longford. Below that is a Station from Ballywaltrim Church in Bray by the Breton/Irish Sculptor Yann Renard Goulet, although I am not sure what the material is.

Patrick Pye is more commonly associated with his stained glass windows for Irish churches, but his painted Stations for the Church of the Resurrection in Killarney (below) bring a quietly beautiful reflective focus to a contemporary interior.

Sean O’Sullivan was known primarily as a portrait painter, but he also designed Stations, such as the ones below for the church in Newquay in Clare. Using only pencil and colour washes, he has produced powerfully emotive scenes (below).

Stations, however, are often unsigned and so our old friend Anon is responsible for many. A future post will include some of his or hers. The enamel Station below, for example, may be by Nell Murphy, but I can’t confirm this, so Anon it is, for the moment.

I am also planning a post on Stations done in stained glass – they are some really beautiful example, starting of course with Harry Clarke’s Lough Derg windows. But this post will start us off with some of the examples I have seen in churches around the country – let’s call it an Introduction to Irish Contemporary Stations. I’d love to hear from readers who have their own favourite set. And if anyone knows the artist responsible for the Stations in the Franciscan Church in Wexford (example below), do let me know!