Gormú

The Return of the Earls: The 2025 Crowley Clan Gathering

I spent Saturday in Baltimore celebrating, with dozens of Crowleys, a signal occasion. This celebration involved the iconic boat The Saoirse, exhaustive genealogical research, long lost cousins meeting for the first time in over 300 years, and a remembrance of a devastating episode in Irish History – the Flight of the Earls. 

Let’s start with the Flight of the Earls. The Battle of Kinsale in 1601, was the moment that marked the end of the power of the great Irish families and the end of the Gaelic way of life. Many heads of those families who had fought at the battle fled Ireland from Rathmullen in Donegal, heading for the continent, in 1607. Their names can be found in the lists of those who fought in the armies of Spain, France and the Austrian Empire, as well as, sometimes lightly disguised, as landowners, wine-growers and grandees in those countries.

However, one of the leaders, Red Hugh O’Donnell of Donegal, set out earlier, on January 6th, 1602, and he sailed from nearby Castlehaven (below). You can find the whole story, told in a highly entertaining way, on the website of our old friend Gormú. That’s Richard King‘s rendition of Red Hugh, above, being offered a poison cup by a traitor, causing him to die in Spain (where his grave has recently been identified). My lead photograph is his statue, by Maurice Harron, in Donegal town and the cartoon is by John Dooley Reigh, from The Nation (I think). We in West Cork have never forgotten that this is a West Cork story and we feel we can claim Red Hugh as one of our own. This connects us in a special way to the whole saga of the Flight of the Earls.

That flight did not stop in 1607 – Irish men and women, clan chieftains, soldiers and peasants alike, continued to leave for the continent over the next centuries. 

Among those who left were the parents of Don Pedro Alonso O’Crouley. Here are the details from the Crowley Clan website:

Pedro Alonso O’Crouley was born in Cadiz in 1740. Both his parents had emigrated from Ireland. His father Dermetrio (Diarmuid or Jeremiah) was from Limerick claiming descent from Cormac O’Crowley born in Carbery, Co. Cork in 1550. His mother was an O’Donnell from Bally Murphy in Co. Clare.

At nine years old he was sent to France where he got a classical education from the Augustinians at Senlis. He chose to follow a career as a merchant and got a licence for Veracruz and made his first journey to Mexico at the age of 24. Over the next ten years he repeated the journey several times and built up a large fortune from his trading business.

While in Mexico, or “New Spain” as it was called, he gathered every bit of information he could about the country and its history, geology, vegetation, animals, etc. and wrote up his findings in the “Idea compendiosa” – A description of the Kingdom of New Spain” in 1774.

After returning from Mexico O’Crowley stayed on in Cadiz pursuing his interests in antiquities and history. In 1794 he published a catalogue of his private collections called “Musaei o’croulanei”. It lists over 5,000 Greek and Roman coins and 200 paintings including works by Van Dyck, Rubens, Murillo, Velaquez, Zurbaran and Ribera. He also had many geological specimens he had gathered in New Spain.

Pedro remains very famous in Cadiz, where his house functions as a museum. And – there are descendants! In 2014 the Crowley website received a letter:

My name is José María Millán Fuentes, and I am a descendant of O’Crowley. I live in Cádiz, Spain, and I am doing work for the University of Málaga on my ancestors. I speak very badly English, but I have a lot of interest in the topic. I would like to help you, and that you also should help me. I have read in your web Antonio Castro, and also I descend from Pedro Alonso O’Crowley O’Donell and Adelaida Riquelme O’Crowley. I have a lot information about the family up to Pedro Alonso, but then everything fades away.

Eleven years later, José Maria is to be the guest of honour at the Crowley clan gathering. The committee discusses how best to make the most of this moment and comes up with a genius idea. He should arrive by sea, born into Baltimore on the iconic boat, the Saoirse. Read about the Saoirse here, and for true traditional wooden boat enthusiasts, you can buy Kevin O”Farrell’s brilliantly photographed book on its reconstruction in Hegarty’s boatyard. 

The Saoirse is a big, gaff-rigged yacht, the original version of which was built to sail around the world. It requires a great deal of skill to sail, and thus the task was entrusted to Liam Hegarty.

A flotilla of traditional wooden boats was to accompany her into the harbour but high winds scuppered that plan so in the end only two boats made up the guard of honour – Cormac Levis’s Saoirse Muireann (above) and Nigel Towse’s Honorah. 

It was thrilling to see the Saoirse round the Beacon point and tack into Baltimore. I stood with a large contingent of Crowleys, waving flags and cheering, while a group of lively dancers set all our toes tapping.

The most moving moment was when José María  climbed up the ladder to the pier, to be met with his 7th cousin, Kevin Crowley from Martinstown, Co Limerick, and enfolded in a welcoming embrace. The Clan Taoiseach, Larry Crowley gave a short, perfect speech. He said, and I paraphrase – José María, your ancestors fled Ireland 300 years ago. They were escaping from oppression, from poverty, from dispossession and from the consequences of resistance. But here we are now, all of us proud Europeans, standing shoulder to shoulder. 

Led by a piper, we marched up to the village square.

I was struck by the aptness of the Spanish flags passing under the walls of Baltimore Castle – a castle that, in its day serviced the vast Spanish fishing fleets that came for the pilchards and herring. The O’Driscolls became fabulously wealthy through that commerce, and forged alliances with the Spanish that came back to bite them in later years.

There were more speeches, including a masterful summing up of Baltimore’s history by William Casey, and then a squall had us running for cover. The Algiers Inn and other eateries in Baltimore served up a smashing array of sandwiches and soup. I chatted with New Zealand Crowleys and American Crowleys and Irish Crowleys – we all agreed that it had been a perfect Welcome Home.

I may not have all the details exactly right – corrections welcome from knowledgeable Crowleys. My special thanks to Charlie Crowley for inviting me along.

Rock Art 3D

There’s a concentration of prehistoric rock art around Castletownshend and I am currently writing a paper about that for the next issue of the Journal of the Skibbereen and District Historical Society. There are seven individual pieces of rock art: as part of the research I recently visited the one stone I hadn’t seen yet. Fortunately, we had the company and assistance of Conor Buckley of Gormú Adventures (been on one of his marvellous walks yet? If not, try this one, or this one or this one.) who, as a native of the area, knows everyone and introduced us to the landowner, the genial Bill O’Driscoll.

The townland is Farrandeligeen – isn’t that a wonderful name? A dealg is a spine or thorn or prickle, and therefore a deilgín is a small one of those. So it can be translated as the Land of the Thorns, which can be blackberries or blackthorns – and this being West Cork, probably both. An old saying is Is beag an dealga dhéanfadh braon – the tiniest thorn can cause big problems. Thorn in a hiking boot, anyone?

The land lived up to its name. Bill took us to where he knew the rock art was, and that’s when we encountered the deligeen bit. Fortunately he had a stout fork with him, and took to hacking and bashing his way through the thorns, while we stood back and offered encouragement. The first place proved unfruitful and he moved a few metres away and soon struck gold. Among the brambles, earth, gorse and general undergrowth there was a hint of something white. This turned out to be a bag filled with stones – the very bag he had put there to remind him that this is where the rock art was – but so many years ago that it had slipped his mind until now.

And so the stone gradually came into view until I could finally get down to clearing it off with my gloves. (I was sorry I hadn’t brought the red socks.) This stone is already in the National Monuments Records as a ‘Cupmarked Stone’ (CO151-013) and is described as having ‘at least ten cupmarks’. Bill told us that his father had said he remembered the stone standing upright – it had fallen to its present position flat on the ground since his father’s time.

For more on what a cupmarked stone is, and how it fits in to the general category of ‘Rock Art’, see my post The Complex Cupmark. For now, quoting from that post:

The cupmark is the most basic and numerous element or motif of rock art in Ireland and elsewhere. In the examples labelled rock art in County Cork, they occur with other motifs, principally concentric rings, sometimes with radial grooves, and a variety of curved or straight lines. They can be incorporated within a motif (as in cup-and-ring marks, rosettes, or where enclosed by lines) or they may be scattered, seemingly randomly, over the surface of the rock, between and among the other motifs. 

. . . patterns of straight lines, or of rough circles or semi-circles, can be made out in several of the stones we have recorded to date.

Rock art is widespread across the Atlantic coast of Europe and is believed to date from the Neolithic, about 5,000 years ago. The cupmark as a motif, however, continued well into the Bronze Age, since we find it on wedge tombs and boulder burials. We do not know what the significance of the cupmark is, but it must have held a special meaning to the carvers since it persisted over time and space.

We got the rock cleared enough to identify the cupmarks and I put a button in each one to make sure it showed up – sorry, those are not gold coins. Some of the cupmarks are tiny. You can look at the cupmarks as a random scatter, or as in the quote above, you can see two groups, in which a cupmark is surrounded by a semicircle of four others. 

It was hard to get the rock clean enough to see detail so I decided to carry out a photogrammetric survey, the object of which is to end up with a 3D image from 2D photographs. That involves taking LOTS of photos (in this case, 100) of the stone, working my way systematically across the surface of the stone at three different levels, keeping the camera settings consistent.

Conor had his drone with him – a new experience for us! He took photos and videos of the stone in its general location, capturing me doing the photogrammetry and also a good indication of the amount of undergrowth that had to be cleared out of the way before the rock came into view. (Thank you, Bill!)

I sent the photographs off to UCC, to the Department of Archaeology, where Nick Hogan generously processed them for me, using the Department’s specialised software. The results are fascinating!

First of all, it looks like there are more than just cupmarks on this rock. A long line stretches from the far left (in this image) cupmark to the right hand grouping. There is a hint of a circle around the bottom left cupmark. The three large cupmarks in the right grouping appear to be conjoined, and there is a line from from the far right cupmark to the end of the stone.

You can view the render in what is called Matcap, which creates it in a metallic view (above and below). On a grey day with no shadows, and still lots of mud on the stone, none of this was obvious to the naked eye. There is a possibility that these new elements, rather than being carved, are natural contours in the rock itself. We haven’t had time yet to go back and check this out more carefully, but we will have to do so – and update this post! If indeed the lines turn out to be carved, that fact will elevate the rock from a Cupmarked Stone to Rock Art. Watch this space.

If you’d like to see the 3D render for yourself and have fun turning it this way and that, you can click here. Let me know if you spot anything else! It was good to be out in the field again after a long winter of cold wet weather. It was great to have Conor and his drone along and to meet Bill, who is committed to keeping safe this precious part of our heritage.

Feasts and Festivals

It’s August in West Cork and we’re going to need a holiday to recover! July was a blast – here are a few highlights – The West Cork Literary Festival (I was on stage at Future Forests as part of a joint Lit Fest and Ellen Hutchins Fest Seaweed and Sealing Wax presentation, to a large and enthusiastic audience; A Fusion Feast at Levis’s with good friends and cooked by Rob Krawczyk and, both with their own Award Winning Restaurants; the Launch of Holy Wells of Cork by Amanda Clarke; and a continuation of the high standards of exhibitions at The Blue House Gallery in Schull, with Oonagh Hurley, Catherine Weld and Shane O’Driscoll – including this rug designed by Shane and made by Ceadogán Rugmakers.

The wonderful Kilcoe Studios also organised an innovative series of events titled The Fibre of Our Being, “exploring contemporary textiles which draw on tradition to reinvigorate their process” and involving several different artists, including our friend and neighbour Liadain Aiken – see here for our post on Robert’s sweater.

August started with the 10 Hands Exhibition at the Working Artists Studios. 10 Hands is the brainchild of Angela Brady, architect, film maker and craft historian. This year, the ten artists and makers have been joined by 6 more from the Working Artists Studios team, and the result is very impressive. Lots of variety here, and an exceptionally high calibre of vision and execution. I am craving one of the incredible standards lamps by Ania Surazynska – here’s one example. This artist is new to me, but I see a very, er, bright future for her. You heard it here first.

While we weren’t able to get to the opening last night, we are planning a trip out to Union Hall tomorrow for the annual and always-outstanding West Cork Creates Exhibition. This show has now moved to a marvellous new establishment, the Cnoc Buí Arts Centre. We visited last month and were delighted by the exhibition we found there, of sculptures, paintings and books by Nathalie Vessié-Hodges. Here she is signing one of her books for me (it was published by the Louvre!). A fairly recent blow-in to West Cork, I predict we will be seeing more of Nathalie.

Also on our list for tomorrow is the West Cork Rare Book Fair – we attended last year at the lush Inish Beg Estate and this year it is being held at the home of Innana Rare Books just outside Skibbereen. Doesn’t this look inviting? (It’s a screenshot from the Innana website – thank you, Holger and Nicola!)

And then it’s right into the West Cork History Festival. Robert and I have organised the field trips, and we are looking forward to our own contribution to those – a tour of the historic Church of St Barrahane in Castletownshend. There are several other options – including walks and swims with Gormú, a walking tour of Ballydehob (oops -sold out!) and an historical Kayak trip through Castlehaven. The Program of Talks features leading academics and writers, and there’s a hot rumour that Micheál Martin will do the opening honours. I’m particularly looking forward to Friday night’s opening session with writer Glenn Patterson who will be in conversation about his latest book The Last Irish Question: Will Six into Twenty Six Ever Go? followed by a panel ruminating on what we have learned from the Decade of Centenaries about our past and our future.

For history buffs, you just can’t beat this Festival, this year in the magical surroundings of Inish Beg Estate. As soon as it’s over I will be hot-footing it to the events of the Ellen Hutchins Festival – a feast of delights for anyone even vaguely interested in the natural world, inspired by the life and work of Ireland’s first female botanist. I’ve signed up for several events – lots of them are free and many are suitable for children.

And once all that is over, I might just have to retire. Wait, what? I AM retired, I hear you say? Ah – so no excuse needed to do more of this – having leisurely lunches overlooking Roaringwater Bay?

Oh – you have another question? What’s Graham Norton doing in the top photo? That’s easy – he lives part time in Ahakista on the Sheep’s Head, and there he is, doing his stint as Quizmaster at the annual Ahakista Festival this weekend. We attended one year and it was predictably hilarious.

Myross Woods

I had the great pleasure yesterday of co-leading a walk through Myross Woods, along with Mark Robins and Conor Buckley.  Mark (that’s him above) is an ecologist, now retired to West Cork (and lucky we are to have him) and Conor is the dynamo who runs Gormú Adventures and who has an inexhaustible store of folklore, mythology,  and local history. My job was to talk about the wildflowers, Mark set the context by explaining what a healthy woodland habitat looked like, and Conor enriched all the narratives with local lore.

So  where, and what, exactly, is Myross Woods? It’s a large House on an estate of the same name, built originally in the mid-eighteenth century by the local Vicar, Arthur Herbert, who sold it eventually to the Earl of Kingston who was building Mitchelstown Castle and needed a place to live while it was under construction.

Mitchelstown Castle was one of the most impressive Castles ever built in Ireland. It was looted and burned by the IRA in 1922. 

Mitchelstown Castle. Originally published in 1820 in “Views of the seats of noblemen and gentlemen, in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland.”, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16264046

It was probably the Earl who set about designing the landscape as a series of vistas and pleasure gardens to impress his guests – his guiding principle seems to have been that ostentation should be given priority (he specified that Mitchelstown Castle should be the biggest in Ireland). The eighteenth century was the era of the Designed Landscape. As I said in my post on Belvederes 

The effect they strove for was naturalistic (as opposed to natural) – a planned layout that mirrored but enhanced their idea of a ‘wild’ and romantic landscape. Large expanses of grass, strategically placed lakes and ponds, plantings of carefully chosen tree and shrub species, and clever little structures such as temples, summer houses and belvederes all combined to delight the eye, create a romantic mood and, of course, attest to the taste and wealth of the owner.

Capturing the View: Belvederes in West Cork

One of Kingston’s enhancements was to carve out the rock to create a waterfall. I wonder how he and his Protestant guests would feel if they knew that the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart, who ran Myross Woods as a retreat house for most of the twentieth century, had turned his sylvan feature into a Marian Grotto.

In the case of Myross Woods there is good evidence that there was an existing and ancient woodland, since some of the indicator species are present. Believe it or not, one of those species is the native Bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta), which flourishes in ancient woods. Another is the Woodrush (ditto, above) which is identified with oak forests, such as we have at Myross Woods, as well as Wood Sorrel (above).

Kingston set about enhancing the environment by planting Beech Trees, by carving out clever little waterfalls, by building an impressive entryway featuring a hand-hewn tunnel, by walling a garden behind the house, and by all the interventions that were used at the time to create imposing carriage drives, romantic vistas and delightful walks. 

As you can see above, the 1840s map and the modern map illustrate that the woods have remained more or less as they were, in terms of location and extent. It’s the composition of the woods that is the issue. The presence of Sanicle (below), for example, indicates that non-native Beech trees were introduced here (Sanicle typically grows under Beech trees).

While it can be hard to say in places where the original woods leave off and the new plantings begin, for the most part the interventions are fairly obvious. This creates a dilemma for those committed to restoring the woods. For example – the Killarney Fern is found here (below). Incredibly rare, it’s one of Ireland’s three types of filmy fern. Is it native to these woods or was it introduced by those fern-mad Victorians? Whichever it was, its presence here is what has conferred on these woods a Special Area of Conservation order. The fern requires shade, and that shade is currently being provided by invasive Laurel – see the problem?

The Friends of Myross Woods has been set up to support the creation of a living, community woodland resource for biodiversity, education, recreation and the arts. They have been hard at work on a long-term project to restore the woods to something closer to a native woodland. They want to gently shift the site from a mixed broadleaf woodland to a more oak dominated birch and holly woodland (the most natural woodland type for this area).

On our walk Mark pointed out what has been accomplished and the immense amount that needs to be done. YOU CAN HELP! Sign up to become a Friend of Myross Woods, see what you can do to help, or make a donation to their efforts. Think how good you will feel, knowing you are doing your bit for this wonderful environment.

But even if you can’t do any of that, just go and take a walk in the woods – it’s open to everyone and it’s a restorative experience at any time of the year. There are two walks you’ll want to do, both short and easy. The first of the one to the south of the house, leading down to the water of Glandore Harbour. This is the walk we did yesterday.

The second is the Tunnel Wood walk, near the N71 entrance. It will bring you to the tunnel, dripping with bryophytes (mosses and liverworts) and on to the amazing bridge that Kingston had built to provide a suitably opulent entry to his demesne. Be careful here, though – it’s high and precarious.

Myross Woods is just one branch of the great work that is being done by CECAS (Centre of Excellent for Climate Action and Sustainability), an initiative of Green Skibbereen. By signing up to support CECAS you become part of a movement that is stepping up and actively tackling climate change in our West Cork Community.

Romantic Toe Head

Toe head is dramatic and scenic – but romantic? Let me explain.

Conor Buckley – the dynamo behind Gormú eco tours – was offering a Romantic Sunset Walk on Toe Head in honour of St Valentines weekend. Who could resist? That’s Toe Head in the distance, above.

To us, in the past, Toe Head has been synonymous with the Signal Station – Robert has written about it here. But we’ve always known there’s a lot more to Toe Head than that and have been wanting to make a return trip, especially in the company of someone with lots of local knowledge. The black arrow above shows our starting point and the red arrow our destination.

We met at the Lifeboat Station – it was Kathleen, John, Robert and I –  and Conor started us off with an introduction to the story of Diarmuid and Gráinne, which he used as the organising theme for the whole walk. A Seanachie (pronounced shanakee) – an Irish story-teller – had told, about 100 years ago, of Diarmuid and Gráinne’s travels in West Cork. The star-crossed lovers are responsible for landmarks all over Ireland. They ran away together, escaping from the aged Fionn McCuamhaill (FinnMcCool), Gráinne’s intended husband, and rested in many places along the way. The dolmens or wedge tombs where they slept are often known locally as Diarmuid and Gráinne’s bed. I won’t recount the whole story here, as there are lots of accounts online: this is a good version. 

Our walk took us along quiet country roads and out to An Móin Rua – the Red Bog. Not really a bog, but a heath, and in the summer alive with colourful heathers and Irish Gorse, and the home of swooping and calling choughs. 

As we reached the place traditionally thought to be the leaba – bed – of Diarmuid and Gráinne, a sheltered spot with a natural clearing, Conor, in honour of the day that was in it, produced champagne, strawberries and chocolates.

We continued on, with a new part of the story every now and then, interspersed with lots of place name lore, and snippets about our surroundings and the ecology of Toe Head. The little crag below is called An Srón (pronounced shrone), which means The Nose. Not hard to guess why.

The next stop was at the EIRE sign, painstakingly restored now by a group of local volunteers. 

These signs, spelled out in whitewashed stones, were placed all along the coast during WWII to alert German Bombers that they had overshot Britain and were approaching neutral Ireland. 

Our last point of interest was a wonderful Promontory Fort, Dooneendermotmore – or Big Dermot’s Little Fort. I’ll be returning to this one in the future, as I am planning to retrace the footsteps of Westropp, who was the first to describe these coastal forts. As it happens, I will also be following in the wake of my old Professor of Archaeology at UCC, Michael J O’Kelly, as he excavated this site in the early 1950s. 

It was getting dark as we made our way back. Before we broke up, Conor told us the story of the Death of Diarmuid. The whole sad saga was originally translated by Lady Gregory. Above is an extract from her Gods and Fighting Men.*

The illustrations I’ve chosen above (and the one of Diarmuid and Gráinne at the start of this post) are both from Andrew Lang’s Book of Romance,* and are by Henry Justice Ford. Anyone else remember being entranced by Andrew Lang’s Fairy Tale books, with their wonderful illustrations, as a child?

I will leave you with an image of the leaba – the bed – of the lovers. Not a comfortable place to spend the night, but when you are being chased by Fionn MacCumhaill, you can’t be picky.

*Gods and Fighting Men and The Book of Romance are available in The Internet Archive

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.