<span class="postTitle">Cashel Potter’s Decision to Quit</span> The Post, Cahir, January 21, 1984

Cashel Potter’s Decision to Quit

The Post, Cahir, January 21, 1984

Heading off to the south of France this month is Sarah Ryan of Ladyswell Street, Cashel. Many people will envy her the opportunity to live in such a desirable location because it's to take up residence she intends. However Sarah does not see it as a desirable choice. Instead she is being forced to move from the place she has chosen to work and in which she preferred to live.
Sarah Ryan is a ceramicist, who has been potting away in Ladyswell Street since July 1982. Originally from Rossmore she chose Cashel as the best place to work after quite a lot of travelling in Europe and North America in pursuit of her craft. For the past year and a half she has turned out a very distinctive and personal style of porcelain and stoneware that has won critical recognition.
 

Education

In school she was discouraged from doing art so after her Leaving Certificate Sarah spent two years doing a laboratory technician's course at U.C.G. After that period the artistic 'bug' took possession of her and she decided to pursue an art course at Limerick College of Art. She applied to Tipperary S.R. County Council for a grant but was turned down because the application hadn't been made in the year she did her Leaving Certificate. But, she got over that setback by working during the summer in London and Europe and paying her way through college.
When she finished in Limerick she really had only one choice, teaching, which did not attract her. Instead she went to Europe and spent a good while working and travelling around especially in Denmark, studying what was being done in the various fields. Eventually she decided that ceramics was her forte and she came back to Dublin where she did a year in the National College of Art studying the subject.

Having completed her year she went back to Europe to earn money and to study the practical side of ceramics. This was a very important time for her as she was able to absorb all that was new in the field. She continued this learning progress by going to Canada, the U.S. and Mexico and studying both contemporary and native Indian ceramics there.
 

Cashel

She returned to Ireland in the summer of 1981 and spent a year looking for a suitable premises. She eventually chose Cashel. It was as near as possible her home town. It had a central location and, above all, from the point of view of the artist/craftsperson, it had potential, she thought, as a tourist centre. For these reasons Cashel was the only centre she could choose outside Dublin. There was also an element of urgency in her decision: she had been invited to exhibit at the Tulfarris Gallery, Wicklow in August and needed a proper workplace immediately. She rented a premises in Ladyswell Street at £30 per week.
 

Work

Every single piece of work that Sarah Ryan produces is unique. She never repeats a piece because every one is handmade by a combination of 'coiling' and 'pinching' as distinct from wheel-thrown. These hand-building techniques are very old but are being used more and more in contemporary ceramics as they allow so many possibilities. As the aim is to achieve natural organic forms, mechanical processes such as the wheel or slip-casting are not suitable.

She describes her work as a synthesis of of many different natural forms and processes. Growing living things are a rich source of ideas – inspiration being drawn especially from the marine and botanical world: e.g. fungi, gourds, shells, seed-pods, buds, fruits, etc. She tries to capture something of the essence rather than direct copying of nature.

There is a lot of emphasis on texture and pattern and natural colour is achieved by mixing various ceramic stains and metal oxides. Red earthenware clay, which can be found in many parts of the country, is not suitable because of the dark colour and the fact that it cannot be high-fired. High-firing (to 1260C) is important because it gives extra strength to the very thin-walled, which also gives greater scope to build on. These clays almost never occur naturally in a workable state, so they have to be refined and blended with materials from other sources to give clay bodies of the required texture, colour, composition, etc. As there is nowhere in Ireland where where this process is carried out they have to be imported from England. The ubiquitous V.A.T. Rate on all raw materials is 38% as it is on all the equipment Sarah uses.
 

Long Hours

To keep the wolf from the door and pay rent, ESB, telephone bills, etc, Sarah was forced to work very long hours. Her normal day has been 9 am to midnight, six/seven days per week. Her only break was when she went away on business.

However, this was something she was quite prepared to accept for the first couple of years until she had become fully organised and more established. When one sets up it is vital to become known and the only way to do this is to sell one's work. Apart from exhibitions, for which she makes some quite large pieces, most of her work has been on a small scale and thus quite low prices so as to advertise as widely as possible. Eventually she would like to have time to make very large, more sculptural pieces. It is necessary to sell as much as possible ex-studio as other outlets have to add a huge mark-up plus 38% V.A.T.
 

Exhibitions

The best way a craftsman or artist can advertise his work is through exhibitions. Although established only a shot time, Sarah's work has already got some recognition. The Ulster Museum bought three pieces at the 'Potters 83' exhibition at Dublin. The Crafts Council of Ireland has also purchased some of her work. At the moment her work is on display at the Caldwell Gallery, Belfast and the Forrester gallery, Bandon. She has been invited to exhibit in other areas.
 

All For Nought

During her period in Cashel, Sarah has succeeded in selling her work and getting recognition for her craft. Why then should she decide to up and go to the South of France?

The answer is simple and sickening. A combination of many things – the huge electricity bill, telephone, postal and transport charges, V.A.T., the unavailability of suitable workplaces, the general inefficiency and unreliability one has to cope with and the decline in the tourist industry, etc., make it very difficult and discouraging for people to establish their own business, especially anything of a creative nature, which doesn't show an instant profit.

For Sarah the last straw was a demand for rates for £245 on her rented premises, which she could not afford to pay at the present time. Anything she managed to save after rent, work and living expenses went to repay people from whom she had borrowed in the spring, and to tide her over the off-peak season.

At the beginning of summer she offered to pay £20 down and so much at intervals if business wasn't as good as anticipated. Due to the bad location in the town and the fact that there wasn't even a proper footpath leading to her studio, she missed out on the majority of tourists. Most of her customers were direct contacts of her own, or potters, artists or collectors themselves, who particularly sought her out. The last of the tourists had gone by the end of September and she had to dip into her savings for the first week's rent in October.

However, the county manager would not relent. He wanted £50 down and £8 per week, which Sarah says she could not pay on top of her £30 rent. He gave her until December 31 to pay up or be summoned. She realised there was no option but to quit and start anew in some more desirable place. She paid £40 and offered the rent in kind but it wasn't acceptable. As she has had to close her studio, she was obliged to return to the I.D.A. the £402 she managed to get a year after she started.
 

Shattered Dream

So, Sarah Ryan of Glenough, Rossmore, a much-travelled girl, is to begin her travels again. But this time, in contrast with her previous peregrinations, it is against her will. Her dream was to make it in her home town and, with that end in view, she shook the dust of many countries off her feet. She has the consolation of knowing that there will be many material benefits from her move. She will be financially much better off in the south of France. She will be able to enjoy the good life. She won't have to do fifteen hours a day to survive. She'll have plenty of customers and they'll be well able to pay. But none of this will compensate for a shattered dream.

<span class="postTitle">Dr John Lanigan</span> Post Advertiser, 1985, Vol. 1 No. 16

Dr John Lanigan

Post Advertiser, 1985, Vol. 1 No. 16

Fr. Christy O'Dwyer's otherwise excellent Outline History of the Archdiocese of Cashel and Emly for schools contains one glaring omission - there is no mention of Dr. John Lanigan, the famous ecclesiastical historian from Cashel who lived between 1758 and 1828. 

He was born in the Moor Lane-Chapel Lane area of Cashel, where his father Thomas Lanigan, who had been evicted from his mother's farm near Dundrum by the notorious landlord, Sir Thomas Maude, reared sixteen children. Of the four girls in the family, Catherine, was considered the belle of Cashel and Ann, Mrs. Ann Kennedy, died in. Clonmel on October 30, 1860. The mother of this large family was Mary Anne Dorkan from Beakstown, Holycross, She was a very superior woman whose mind was as original as her appearance was beautiful. 

Thomas Lanigan had as a boy intended to be a priest but family circumstances prevented. it. However, with that intention he had received a tolerably good classical education. After arriving in Cashel, therefore, he started a school and instructed son, John, in the rudiments of general knowledge. Later, in order thoroughly to cultivate his son's high talents, he placed him under the care of Rev. Patrick Hare, a Protestant clergyman who for many years kept an academy of considerable repute in John St.,Cashel.

The Hare Academy

Hare of O'Hehir was a most interesting character. From Corofin, Co. Clare he went to Trinity College where he obtained college honours and distinctions. He finally became,a clergyman, having converted to Protestantism. He became Vicar-General of the Diocese of Cashel under Archbishop Agar but threw up the office under his successor and started a school. 

There is an anecdote about Lanigan from his time at the Hare Academy. Mrs. Hare had a son and the Reverend was so delighted he brought the squalling babe into the classroom. 'I have to introduce you to a new scholar,' he said, 'but I am sorry to say he has not as yet got a name. '

'Call the young Hare, Leveret,' exclaimed Lanigan with a flash of impulsive humour that occasionally characterised him in later life. Hare was awed and the boys amused and for some time after he enjoyed the name of Leveret Lanigan. 

From what we read Lanigan possessed a solidity of intellect and, a steadiness in the pursuit of excellence as a student. He used to read books at night by the light of the moon which, probably accounts for the fact that in later life he was nearly blind. But, we also hear that he learned to dance the Irish reel 

Journey to Rome 

He decided to become a priest and in 1776 he went to Rome with letters of introduction from the Most Rev. Dr. James Butler, Archbishop of Cashel and Emly. He sailed from Cork and befriended a passenger on the journey. They got on well and Lanigan revealed the purpose of his journey. He was informed that, his friend was also going, to Calais. They stayed in the same hotel near St. Pauls and in the same roam. When Lanigan woke in the morning he, found his 'friend' gone and the hour of sailing past. He was informed by the waiter that.he had to pay the bill. He put his hand in his pocket to discover his money was taken during the night. In great distress he, cntacted ,the Administrator of the diocese, who came to the hotel and befriended Lanigan. He paid the bill and brought him to his house, where he remained 'until a remittance came from home. 

Interestingly the vessel on which· his 'friend' had gone was wrecked. soon after sailing. The administrator put Lanigan in touch with a party of priests on their way to Rome and finally he arrived at his destination. 

He started his studies at the Irish College and his progress in theological and philosophical studies was brilliant and rapid. One Bishop Black said of his stay in the College - I can say with certainty that his talents and extraordinary acquirements as welI as his amiable, natural disposion gained for him the love and admiration of all who knew him. By a special dispensation he was ordained to the priesthood before the canonical age.

Recognition

The extraordinary. reputation for learning and ability he had acquired brought him, soon after his ordination, the Professorship in Hebrew, Eccclesiastical History and Divinity at the University of Paris. In 1794, in recognition of his character, writings, and learning he was granted a doctorate by the University of Sacred Theology and Canonical Jurisprudence. On one occasion the Emperor, Joseph II attended a Latin oration by Lanigan, which was received with unbounded applause. The Emperor remarked that so young and so enlightened a professor reflected new lustre on the Irish nation and reminded him of the ancient literary glory of that people. A sign of his fame was that he received the freedom of the city during his stay in Paris. 

Lanigans sojourn in Paris came to an end after nine years with the dispersal of the university which followed the arrival of Napoleon in the city in 1796. Lanigan fled to Ireland, leaving behind many valuable books. Plundered and penniless, haggard and hungry he arrived in Cork to a cold reception from the Bishop of Cork, who suspected him of Jansenism. That suspicion was to prevent him from getting the Professorship of Sacred Scripture and Hebrew at the new Seminary of Maynooth. 

Unable to get a parish in the Archdiocese of Cashel and Emly he proceeded to Dublin where he became attached to the old Francis St. Chapel. Here his rooms were searched by Major Sirr in 1798. Through the influence of General Vallancey,  whom he had  known in Italy and who had been sent to Ireland as an architect and engineer to erect fortifications around the coast, Lanigan got a job  as an assistant librarian in the Royal Dublin Society. First appointed for three months he was to stay for 20 years. His  job involved the translation of speciaist papers from other languages into English.  His pay was thirty shillings a week and this was raised to three pounds in 1808 when he was appointed  librarian. 

Church History

This job was a blessing in disguise and gave Dr. Lanigan the time to write and to engage in the controvercies of the period. The latter he did with relish and the former with erudition. His greatest work is undoubtedly the Ecclesiastical History of Ireland, published in 1822 in four volumes. This is a work of immense scholarship which Rev. J. Brennan claimed to have placed the ecclesiastical antiquities of Ireland on a solid and imperishable basis. But, it is impossible to do justice to a man  of the stature of Dr. John Lanigan in this short letter.  

Among his other claims to fame was his belief in a pagan origin for the Round Towers of Ireland. He was an ecumenist before the word was thought of. In one place he wrote: '..and were I ambitious of having my tomb distinguished by any peculiar epitaph, I should prefer' Here lies an advocate for the union of Christians. He took a lively interest in the Gaelic Society of Dublin, established in 1808, not only for the investigation and revival of ancient Irish literature, but also for the development of the history and literature of this island. 

As well as intellectual and spiritual  delights Dr. Lanigan was also fond of the pleasures of the table. He was a rigid observer of the fasts and abstinences from flesh meats on fast days. He loved fish.  One account has this to say of his love of  the finny tribe - 'I knew Lanigan in later  life - a great wall-faced, overgrown mass of antiquarian erudition, who moved on his course as if he had fins. I saw him eat more fish on a Friday in Lent than probably any other Christian could  devour during the whole. seven weeks. Cod, eels, haddock, sole  - all were masked on his plate with mustard,  vinegar, red - very red pepper, catsup, oil and soy, and this he  seemed to get through at the rate of a hundred weight an hour, if he could have held out. Daniel Maclise celebrated etching of old Fr. Prout, devouring the endless succession  of fish dishes in Lent, might well pass, for a portrait of Lanigan.  

Insanity 

Premonitions of insanity in Dr. Lanigan appeared first in 1813 and though he recovered somewhat as a result of a three-month stay with his sister in Cashel the softening of the brain continued and he ultimately became a permanent patient at Dr. Harty's asylum at Finglas. The Rev. P.J. O'Hanlon gives a very sad picture of this great man during this period. Calling on him one day Dr. Lanigan said to him - 'I know not what I had for breakfast and except that I feel no craving, I do not even know what I have breakfasted. I, who could formerly grasp any course of study, how obstruse soever, cannot now apply my mind to a recollection of the simplist event of yesterday: I know that I am now speaking.to you but in ten minutes, after you have left the house, 1 shall have no remembrance of our conversation or of you. 

And so this man of many talents and undoubted genius passed away on July7, 1828. He had been so long out of the world that even his friends seemed to forget him. He got no obituary notices. Two days later he was buried and for 33 years not even a headstone marked his grave. He was buried in the old churchyard of Finglas. Not until 1861 as a result of a national collection was a monument erected over his grave. A twelve foot high cross in Tullamore imestone designed by Petrie, rescued Dr. Lanigan from obscurity. 

I hope that this information will rescue him from the obscurity that Fr. O'Dwyer's account would commit him. Otherwise a grave injustice would have been done to a man who used to style himself Joannes Lanigan, Hibernus Cassiliensis.

<span class="postTitle">Ned Grogan</span> The Post, Nov 20th, 1980

Ned Grogan

The longest standing member of the Fianna Fail Party in Cashel is Ned Grogan. To date he has been a member for fifty-four years and, if his present foot problem comes right, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be a member for many more years. The reason is that Ned is perky and alert still and, although he claims not to remember as much as he’d like, he is very much alive and well. Although house bound as the result of a recent operation, he gets out for the occasional drink and is looking forward to the Old IRA Mass and get-together in Rosegreen on November 8th.

Born in New York

Ned was born Edmund Grogan in New York on May 13th, 1899. His father, from Shanballa, had emigrated to the U.S. at the age of 17 years, and his mother came from Tipperary Town. He went to school in New York but has no memories of those days. He had an older brother, William, who is still in the U.S. When his father died in 1908, Ned came home to be reared by his uncles, Jim and Jack, and Auntie Statia in Shanballa.

He went to school in Templenoe to teachers, Michael O’Grady and Mrs. Halpin. There were fifty to fifty-five children in the school, and no Irish was taught. Ned remembers a man who used to cycle out from Cashel in the evenings to teach them Irish: ‘We used to try to puncture his bicycle!’ revealing their lack of enthusiasm. Later in gaol Ned got another opportunity to learn the language but didn’t regard it as a priority.

There was plenty of cane in the school and Mr. O’Grady was indiscriminate in its use. His son, who had an impediment, exasperated the father so much one day that the latter threw a pointer at him. The pointer missed and hit Ned in the leg. He was out of school for a fortnight!

Among his companions were the Hennessy family, including the famous Dr. Jack. They played hurling and football. Ned was a bright student and did not finish until he was sixteen years of age. He and Phil Hennessy were the only boys to stay on until that age. Most left at 14 and many earlier.

Went to Work on the Farm

When he left school, he worked with his uncles on the farm in Shanballa. World War 1 began in 1914 and the Rising took place in 1916. He stayed on the farm. In the following year he joined the IRA in Cashel. He was then 18 years of age. He was sworn in by Seamus O’Neill, who was a teacher in Rockwell. O’Neill later lost his job as a teacher, joined the Guards, and became a superintendent. Other to join at the time with Ned were Paddy Hogan, Paddy Casey and Paddy Philips. They took the oath and promised to defend Ireland and help he get her freedom: ‘It was and impressive occasion. Membership involved attendance at meetings, which took place at the back of the school in Ladyswell (where the Little Chef is at present) and drilling. The membership increased to nearly fifty, but when times got hot, many dropped out.’ Starting as a Private, Ned rose through the ranks to Section Leader and, later, to Quartermaster of A Company, Cashel. Afterwards he rose to the rank of Vice-Commandant.

Cashel Politics

Cashel politics at the time were mostly British: ‘The National inspiration came from the country rather than the town.’ Socially there wasn’t much to do: ‘For a country fellow it was a question of cycling into the town and walking up and down in the hope of meeting a girl.’

Occasionally there was a play to go to. Ned had a bicycle with a back pedal brake - you pedalled backwards in order to stop it!

The first car in the town was in Hannigan’s garage in Ladyswell. There were two butcher’s stalls, Maher’s, where Walsh’s is at the present, and Skehan’s, where Buckley’s is now. Matt Hanley had a bakery at the back of Walsh’s butcher’s shop and Corby’s had one in Mikey Ryan’s. There was a cheese factory and a creamery, McCluskey’s on the Cahir Road. There were four hotels, Ryan’s, at the top of Main Street, which was burned down in 1958, Corcoran’s, where Jackie still lives, Grady’s, where the Capitol Bar now stands, and Stewart’s where Halla ana Feile is today. Dean Kinane was in charge of the Catholic flock, ably assisted by ‘black’ Fr. Ryan, because of the colour of his hair, and Fr. Condon. The military were garrisoned in Hogan Square and, for a while, occupied St. Patrick’s Hospital, which was then known as the County Home. There was a Fever Hospital where Our Lady’s Hospital stands today. It was an old, gaunt building of three storeys and John Feehan knocked it, when it was decided the build the present hospital. The streets were unpaved and made of broken stone. The town was lit by gaslights, and Fr. Condon followed thee hounds.

Golf Course

There was a nine-hole golf course on the Clonmel Road, where John English’s place is today. It had a membership of about fifty. At the time the land was leased from a man called Stapleton. Marshal William Hackett used to look after it. The District Inspector’s wife, Mrs. Norris, was a captain. Miss Corby played off a handicap of four. Pakie Purcell was one of the best golfers. Other players included bank manager, Mr. Doran, and a Mr. Spain, a Customs and Excise man, who used to live in John Street. John Feehan and Mick Davern, as well as some of the priests from Rockwell College, also played in it. The club house was burned down during the troubles in 1920-21 ‘because the I.R.A. wanted the timber in it.’ It put an end to golfing in Cashel.

War of Independence

The War of Independence had now arrived and I.R.A. activity increased. Ned’s duties as a member included raiding for arms: “Anyone whom we suspected of keeping guns in the house we raided.” There was also despatch riding to keep in contact with surrounding units. Ambushes had to be planned and barracks raided: “We used to do our drilling in Pierce McCan’s place in Dualla.” Among the ambushes carried out was one on Drangan Barracks in 1921. Paul Mulcahy was another who was very prominent during these times.

Finally, July 1921 brought the Truce: ‘We took over the barracks in the town.” There was a big influx into the I.R.A. after that. Ned was now Vice-Commandant, 2nd Battalion, Third Tipperary Brigade. His Commandant was Sean Downey. When the Treaty was signed and the division took place withing the ranks, more that three to one were in favour of the Free State. Why did he take the republican side? Ned’s answer is simple: “I had taken the oath to the Republic, and we had got less than that,” He doesn’t agree that personalities played a big part in members’ decisions but does admit that “We were in favour of the side taken by Dev.”

Imprisonment

Ned was arrested after the taking of the Four Courts in June 1922, and interned at Templemore. Not long afterwards he escaped: “We sent out one of the guards to the canteen for stout. The other was on our side, so we tied him up and left him in the cell.”

Six or seven escaped. Three were recaptured. They were Burke, Russell and O’Shea, all from North Tipperary. Russell was an uncle of Fr. Russell, who was chaplain in the convent. They were later executed for raiding a mail train, after being caught armed. Ned was on the run for some time but was eventually captured. He escaped execution because he was captured without arms. He was sent to Limerick jail and later to the Curragh, where he was to remain until Christmas 1923.

There wasn’t much to do in the Curragh: “We spent our time making rings out of two-shilling, one-shilling, and half-crown pieces. We also had the opportunity to learn Irish, but not many availed of the opportunity. We could play all the games we liked.” Another occupation was making McCrammie bags. These were made from Scottish twine and were really knot bags: “I made a good few of them, and there’s one of them around still, owned by Mai Stapleton.”

While in jail Ned was one of the prisoners who went on hunger strike for fourteen days. Some stayed on strike longer. “We did it to try to be released but it was no use, and we gave up.” Not long after getting out he was arrested again, this time for taking over Hannigan’s garage in Ladyswell: “They were Free State and we wanted the cars for I.R.A. activity.

<span class="postTitle">Tommie Ryan - The Runner 1900</span> The Post, 5th June, 1980

Tommie Ryan - The Runner 1900

The Post, 5th June, 1980

One of the sprightliest walkers up and down the streets of Cashel these days is Tommie Ryan, He looks so lively, so fresh in the face and his hair is still very much there, that it is difficult to believe his age. . Tommie Ryan was eighty years of age on January 18th last:
‘People have remarked on the fact,’ says Tommie. ‘It’s not that my life was easy. But I have the health and I’m glad of it.’

Tommie was born in Doorish, Rossmore and the family name was ‘Dalton’, to distinguish them from all the other Ryans. He was one of six children. His mother was a dressmaker and his father a handyman. Tommie’s memories of his early days include family involvement in the National Movement and their house was a refuge for men on the run.

He remembers walking the eight miles to Cashel to get his shoes made: ‘Ah, there were great tradesmen out in those days. A trade was a great thing – much better than it is today.’
Cutting turf in the bog is an abiding memory. ‘The neighbours collected to give you a hand and the work was tough. The bog was a great place for the feet. It hardened them. I never had trouble with my feet when I was running and I put it down to working in the bog in the bare feet.’

Sometime around sixteen years, Tommie met the great runner, Tim Crowe. ‘He was a very competitive man. He cycled to Cork and he cycled to Dublin and of you walked to a match with him he was always a yard in front of you.’ Tim Crowe took him on his first race from Templemore to Milestone and Tommie performed reasonable well. Following that he took up running in a big way, running five mile and ten mile races, as well as marathons. At that time there were just two kind of races, unxder-16 and over-16.

Tommie’s first job was cheese-making in the co-operative creamery in Rossmore. Later he worked in a bar in Dungarvan and eventually he got a job in a bar in Dublin in 1923, where he was to spend seven years..

One of his great memories from that period is running and particularly one marathon race from Navan to the Phoenix Park. An ambulance man accompanied each runner on a bicycle to ensure he obeyed the rules. ‘After about eighteen miles I was ahead of my man and I came to this house, very hot and thirsty. It was a bar. I put my head in over the door and asked for a drink. ‘Do you want some brandy?. ‘No! A tumbler of water.’

As I drank it the smell of bacon and cabbage came to my nose. I looked at my man and the place the smell came from. ‘Would you like a bit?’ he asked. ‘I would’. So, he made me a huge bacon and cabbage sandwich.

In the meantime my watcher was catching up. ‘What have you got there?’ he shouted. ‘Nothing!’ I said. ‘I took off running and by the time he caught up with me I had it eaten’.

Soon after this the sole came off my shoe and I  had to run the remaining miles in my bare feet. I never got a blister!. I think I came in third.
Dr. John Ryan, a Tipperary man in charge of  some of the runners, head about the sandwich. ‘It could have killed you,’ he said. ‘I’m the man who ate it,’ I replied.

Tommie never drank and instead of getting the usual bottle from the bar owner at Christmas, he used to get a five-pound note. He played hurling with Young Irelands and won a Dublin county intermediate title with them in 1927. He got the name, the Electric Hare, from his speed on the hurling field. Of small build, Tommie made up for his lack of physique by the speed of his feet.

Everybody has heard of the famous race between Tommie and the Irish marathon champion, David McKeon from Gouldscross to Cashel in 1929. A cup was put up by the New Ireland Assurance for the winner. The man who immortalised it in song was Willie Quinlan from Donohill, who worked in the Irish Press. It is not commonly known that Quinlan didn’t see the race at all: he was somewhere else that day.  The poem was first published in the Cork Weekly Examiner. One verse of it went like this:

Then comes the final struggle
‘Tis the grandest sight of all
As mid the cheering thousands
Raced the wee man and the tall.
With scarce a yard between them
Hats in the air were thrown
When gallant little Tommie
Beat the champion, D. McKeon.

‘A very funny incident happened in that famous race. I was coming up the Kiln Road and there was an enormous crowd. I was leading and McKeon was at my heels. There was a man in the crowd who wasn’t too aware of what was going on and when I passed and the cheers went up, he kept looking to see when Tommie ‘Dalton’ was coming: he had come to cheer HIM.’

That race saw the end of Tommie as a runner: his legs were never the same again.

By now Tommie had returned from Dublin to live in Cashel, where he helped his sister set up a dressmaking business in Canopy Street. He got a job in the local cinema and started to organise the N.A.C.A. in Tipperary. ‘There were great men everywhere; all that was necessary was to contact them. He started a club called the Galteemore, which became outstanding in a few years. Other Tipperary clubs developed as a result. Tommie was elected secretary of the Tipperary N.A.C.A. and was responsible for getting the organisation to stage the National Championships outside of Dublin. ‘They were held in Clonmel. There was such a crowd that the gates were broken down. We took in £500 whereas not more than £100 was ever taken in Dublin..

Later Tommie started a cycle shop in Canopy Street but, with the outbreak of the war, there was a shortage of spare parts and Tommie, now married with two daughters, went to England. He went first to Birmingham and later to London, where he worked in the railways until he retired in 1965.

He was one of those responsible for forming the Tipperarymen’s Association. His wife had a dancing school and his children danced at the London Palladium and the Royal Albert Hall. He liked the English and has many happy memories of his residence there. He supported all things Irish. He played hurling until he was 49 years of age. He was secretary of the Provincial Council of the G.A.A. in Britain. When he retired he got another job and didn’t return to Ireland until 1975.

Tommie has been a ramblin’ man since he was 18 years old. He has travelled widely in Ireland and England and met many people, made many friends. He has returned to live in Boherclough Street, Cashel, quite close to where he set out on his first journey. He likes Cashel and continues to make friends because he is still a very much involved in society.

<span class="postTitle">Bill 'Bob' O'Dwyer (1896-1982)</span> The Post on 29th May, 1980

Bill 'Bob' O'Dwyer (1896-1982)

The Post on 29th May, 1980

The time was June 1916 and the place a field hospital in France. The Great War was nearly two years old and Cashel man, Bill 'Bob' O'Dwyer, was lying on his back suffering from dysentery. Doing the rounds of the wards was a Canadian doctor, whose task it was to boost numbers for the impending Battle of the Somme.. He came to Bill:
'What's your name?'         'O'Dwyer'.
'From where?'                 'Co. Tipperary'.
'What part?'                    'Cashel'.
'Are you a native of the town?'       'No! I'm from Kilshenane'.
'So was my father and his name was O'Dwyer!'.

Bill 'Bob' didn't get a clean bill of health from his first cousin and so escaped the Battle of the Somme, where total British losses amounted to 419,654 men! Had Bill 'Bob' taken part in that battle his chances of being alive today would be slim.

In fact he is alive and well and amazingly hale and hearty for a man of 84 years. Perhaps his health is due to hard work which he began in the home place at Kilshenane. In 1913 he was working for a local farmer at 24 shillings a quarter! Imagine what it would get for you today, three and a half loaves of bread or two and a half pints, whichever way you're inclined! But, at that time Bill 'Bob' was able to spare a few shillings to send to is father, who had hit on poor times through a series of misfortunes on the farm.

When the local Volunters split in 1914, on whether to support England in the war, the majority sided with John Redmond. Two didn't, Mick Davern and Bill 'Bob'. Bill later changed his mind, joined up and was shipped out from Queenstown to Palestine.

He spent some time there until he was shipped back to France. He remembers the sand, the malaria and the dysentery. But, during all the time until he was demobbed in 1919, he was never wounded. The pay was a shilling a day but increased to £1 per week. His brother, Mick, was in the Dublin Fusiliers and after he was demobbed, went to Australia and hasn't been heard about since.

Bill 'Bob's' attitude to the North was formed at that time. 'The I.R.A. will never be beaten but you'll never get the Orangemen to come into a United Ireland.' He is rather vague on the actual date but on one occasion in 1916 or 1917 there was close to a mutiny in his regiment when a number of Orangemen raised the Union Jack in provocation after hearing of an event in Ireland. The quick action of some general prevented a free-for-all. Nothing was ever made public of the episode.

Back in Ireland in 1919 was not a great place to be. Thre was a depression and too many men chasing too few jobs. A good man got six or seven shillings a week. Bill 'Bob' worked on the buildings, cycling as far as Bansha for work. He worked at Rockwell and in the building of Cathal Brugha Street. He wroked in Feehans for £1 per week, hauling stuff from the railway station. Times were tough but he got married and reared a family of eight and is very proud of how they turned out,

The thirties were an exciting time in Ireland at large but particularly in Cashel. The Blueshirts were very strong in Cashel. Bill 'Bob' decided to wear one after falling out with Mick Davern. He was working on Cathal Brugha Street when he was let go because he lived outside the urban boundaries. He went to Mick Davern with his complaint but Mick told him he was powerless to do anything. However, another councillor came to his aid as a result of which he got his job back. So he put on the 'shirt' to get his own back on Mick!

Bill 'Bob' worked until he was 70 years. He enjoyed working and is concerned today with the way machines are taking away jobs and leaving the young unemployed.

He's very sorry they don't have (Church) Missions anymore: 'They were great for getting people together. Sure, there's no religion now!'

The Government should do something about keeping prices down. Rising prices don't give the poor people a chance.

Bill 'Bob's' wife died five years ago. His faithful dog, Shane, is seventeen years old and on his last legs. He's no longer able to go down town but he still growls at strangers, who may wander near his master's door. He bought him for £5.

Bill 'Bob' has no regrets in his life. He has a comfortable house, built by the British Army over fifty years ago. The latter body looks after old soldiers well in ensuring that they are in need of nothing. He retires about 10.30 at night and his only prayer is that God leaves him his legs to walk up and down to the town and do a few jobs around the house.

<span class="postTitle">Dr Pat Donohue</span> The Post, May 8th, 1980

Dr Pat Donohue

Kampuchea has a population of about six million and, besides the natives, you will find Vietnamese, Chams, Chinese and Europeans living there. Among the latter at this moment is at least one Irishman, Dr. Pat Donohue from Cashel, who has departed to this far-off country, to spend three months giving medical attention to the needy.

Before he departed, I asked him if he felt noble and great undertaking such a long and distant separation from his wife, his four children, his town and country.

‘Not in the least. I see this as a medical challenge. I am going to get the opportunity to return to the basics of my profession, the primary care of people, who have greater needs than twentieth-century man.’

Bur surely the motivation must be greater, something more personal than a vocational challenge?

‘Well, there is the humanitarian side to it. I am acquainted with history and our own people suffered a national cataclysm similar to the Cambodians, not much more than a hundred years ago. It is only proper that the better-off states should look after those stricken with disaster. You know how we remember England for her failure to look after us: everyone knows about Queen Victoria and her £5! Whether it is true or not.’

Are you not a romantic at heart?

‘I’m going to feel loneliness and separation but I believe I’m strong-willed enough not to succumb.’

Came to Cashel in 1972

Dr. Donohue came to Cashel in 1972 and has made an impact in the town in the meantime. An extrovert by nature, he communicates easily with people and doesn’t stand on ceremony. The nature of his job is helping people, and there is a social commitment in his character that leads him to adopt causes.

He has been a member of Cashel Lions Club almost since he came to town. This gave him scope to serve the community beyond their purely medical needs. At the same time, it is an extension of his vocational training. This year he is President of the club, and his accomplishment must be unique in the history of Lionism, because he is putting into practice the motto of the organisation: We Serve!

Another area of his community endeavour is the Old Cashel Society. This has been very much his baby since it came into existence about four years ago. “Any person should know about his community. What he is today is due to what his ancestors did in the past. He has a duty to know that past, in order to know himself better. The Old Cashel Society helps the people of Cashel to know their past and to have a greater understanding of the present.”

Lanesboro upbringing

This is interesting because Dr. Donohue is not a native of Cashel. He was born in Cappoquin, where his father was a general practitioner. However, he moved to Lanesboro, Co. Longford when Pat was a baby, and he identifies with Lanesboro rather than Cappoquin. He is probably the only person in Cashel, who will tell you when Longford won the National Football League!

After primary school in Lanesboro, he went to secondary in Roscommon CBS: ‘Great credit is due to the Christian Brothers who provided education to so many for so little. They have often been criticised for corporal punishment, but I don’t think it ever did anybody much harm. If one were to criticize them one could crib about the little emphasis they put on cultural activities and sporting facilities.’

He studied medicine at University College, Galway: ‘It was a very intimate place in those days, fewer that fifteen hundred students. Everybody knew everybody and you didn’t confine your interest to your own faculty. There was also a marvellous relationship between town and gown and the university was very well integrated into the community.” He was interested in sport, particularly boxing and the G.A.A.: ‘There are no dangers in boxing provided it is well managed by responsible people. In fact, it can develop great discipline.’

The Great Outdoors

Today, Dr. Donohue is a lover of the great outdoors. He enjoys mountaineering and orienteering. Walking the hills and mountains of Tipperary gives him great pleasure: “Orienteering is a very cheap way of using the natural features of the country. It relieves the boredom of long-distance running. Tipperary county is ideally suited because of its many suitable mountain ranges.”

For him we have a great country, but we must use it wisely. There is danger of abusing what we have gained. There is need for youth leadership and development of character. There is also the question of how we as Irish are going to react to the constant stream of rules and regulations coming from the EEC and the multi-national companies. Will Irish people continue to accept them all without cavil, or will there be a social revolution?

But, this if of the future. For the present, Dr. Donohue is living with a different revolution and the results of it. His present work is really an extension of his life’s work, caring for the community, extended for the next three months to include Cambodia.

<span class="postTitle">Heligoland - From Where Roger Casement Set Out On His Ill-fated Mission</span> The Irish Press, May 4 1966

Heligoland - From Where Roger Casement Set Out On His Ill-fated Mission

The Irish Press, May 4 1966

The reaction to the atmosphere is so strong and the resulting tiredness of the first few days after arrival so unbearable, that the visitor to Heligoland is advised to take a long sleep. The island is also advertised as 'dust-free', which is rather strange at first hearing, but is catching because much of Germany suffers from dust during the hay-season, with resulting hay-fever.

Heligoland, rising up strong and defiant in the North Sea about 40 miles from the German coast, looks from the distance like an uneven mound with houses perched at various levels. On coming closer it gives the impression of a huddle of buildings cuddling together before a backdrop of red rock rising out of the harbour and glowing like a sunset in the rising sun.

The harbour is busy with small fishing boats, touring boats, and even some respectable cargo boats unloading all that is needed to serve the requirements 2,000 inhabitants.

A crowd of people waits on the pier to greet the new arrivals: natives returning after business on the mainland, officials from customs and excise, but the majority visitors. Standing on the pier you are approached by accommodating porters with their push carts to carry your luggage. It is a relief to be able to look around and take in the scene unheeded. The sky is perfectly blue and a hard morning sun lights up the island.

Built or repaired

Everything is in a state of being built or repaired. A crane raises up mouthfuls of gravel from the bottom of a boat and deposits them in the belly of a lorry, as the driver of the lorry watches the new arrivals with vacant stare. The porter has finally collected enough baggage to make the journey worthwhile (boats do not come often enough and each porter can get only one load) and we proceed.

On the left a large collection of huts offering everything from accommodation for the workers in the building site behind, to weather-forecasting for the fishermen on the area, stand drowsily in the sun. The rattle of a jack-hammer beats against the ear. On the right the fishermen mend their boats, rev their engines or dry their nets.

The porter chugs along with his load and refuses a cigarette, Guesthouses and hotels come nearer, all bright and airy, exposing their tablecloths and bed linen. People promenade at breakfast time and the wind rustles the flags. A man offers trips around the island in h his boat, but money is not mentioned. We arrive at our guest house where the luggage is deposited and the porter paid and the landlady, smiling, exhibits an antiseptic room and hopes that her guest is contented.

The best way to become acquainted with Heligoland is to walk around it. The island is small and the walk can be completed in less that an hour. Also, there are no cars and that makes the island a perfect children's playground. To wander along the shore takes you away from the houses and opens up beautiful vistas of water and rock. The rocks, gigantic red masses like the 'Long Anna' give the impression of being about to topple.

Place of worship

In early history the red rocks of Heligoland – then known as Forsites Land – were a Frisian place of worship, centuries later a refuge for Claus Stoertebaker and his corsairs. These rocks are also said to have made a home for the daughter of an English king, named Ursula, who came here to live with 11,000 thousand virgins. History does say whether she encountered the corsairs! Gulls and guillemots dot the sides of the cliffs, diving towards the water only to halt at the surface or keep up a continuous cry that echoes in the canyons.

Further on boys practise mountain climbing on the less precipitous reaches, and workers build a wall as a defence against the ravages of the sea. To get to the upper part of the island the easiest way to is take a lift which serves a a general carrier for people and goods. The ascent of 1000 feet opens up a new panorama. The wind topples your balance with a direct blast or swirls around you in a drunken daze.

A small flat sand dune looms across the rough shore waves, the Heligoland beach-isle which was connected with the Heligoland rocks up to the 18th century. The division was caused by the swamping of a passage between by the sea as a result of a terrible storm. The passage had been sunk during the previous centuries after the sale of the rock to the burghers of Hamburg.

Rising up among the houses is the spire of the church culminating in its point, a work of beauty. (An interesting feature of this church is the existence of a public footpath through its porch. It insinuates itself into the life of the people and encourages a sense of involvement.) Behind it bomb scarred and the sole surviving building of pre-1947 Heligoland, the light tower sends out its beams of direction at night. Exposed earth and half-built houses suggest hope for the future while the blurred forms of bunkers with tangled steel and broken concrete suggest other days.

Chequered history

Heligoland has had a chequered history, whose fate lay at different times in the hands of Denmark, England and Germany, and in the fortunes of the political game. In 1890 Germany got it from England in exchange for rights in East Africa. In spite of these changes in ownership the people, of Frisian origin, developed along their own lines with their own culture, their own customs and their own language, a Frisian dialect. During the first world war the island served as a harbour from which attacks were launched against England.

After the defeat of Germany all military installations on the island were destroyed. The development of the submarine gave importance to the island in 1939. First class workshops were built underground for the servicing of the submarines and, until it was bombed in 1944, it served as an important base in the execution of the war.

It lay in the English zone of control after the partition of Germany. In 1947 the English made an all-out effort to wipe it from the map. The inhabitants were evacuated to the mainland and the workshops, bunkers and everything else were blown up. The result was a mass of rubble.

The natives were forbidden to return and, until 1952, the English used it as a bombing target. However, in that year, students from Heidelberg university sailed to the island and defied the English to bomb them. Their action received much publicity in the press, resulting in a new approach to the island's fate. The inhabitants were allowed back on condition that the island would never have anything to do with war. The condition has no longer any relevance in the context of modern warfare.

Costly business

Since that year the people have returned to rebuild their homes. In the meantime hundreds have been rebuilt and the building program continues apace. It is a costly business when one realises that all materials have to be brought from the mainland. A small five-roomed house costs £25 to £30 a month to rent. The greater number are guesthouses and are built to make the most of the space. Electricity and central heating are laid on to each and the telephone is almost universal.

The inhabitants enjoy some privileges over their brothers on the mainland because they are outside the three-mile limit. Some groceries, alcohol, cigarettes and woollens are duty-free. Personal earnings are free of tax. Many of the islanders spend the holiday season on the island after having worked on the mainland during the winter.

Heligoland is famous for its lobster fishing from which many of the men make their living. The lobster is chiefly for export and the season begins usually in the middle of April. Lobster exports, with the exception of tourism, are the life-blood of the people.

The tourist season begins in May and lasts until September. During this period many Germans take their holidays there and an even greater number visit it as day tourists. At the height of the season about 8,000 people visit the island daily from Hamburg and Bremenhaven. In fact Bremhaven subsidises a ship which sails daily to Heligoland and, although it costs the city about DM1,000,000 a year the money is considered well spent..

The chief reason for the popularity of Heligoland lies in its distance from the German coast. It gives the suggestion of a voyage while still remaining on the doorstep. It offers freedom and endless expanses of water for many inland people. The sand dune provides first class conditions for sun-bathing and if the water is too cold there are heated swimming pools on the island.

It has also gained fame for something that has very little to do with the political game, exploding bombs or bathing. For many who know of Heligoland in no other respect, it is a byword in the world of ornithology. The island was the site of the first
station set up specially for the study of birds. In the last century a painter from Mark Brandenburg, Gaetke, went there to carry on his work. He was a great nature lover and had a detailed knowledge of birds and he began to observe the treasures at his disposal, for the island lies in the route of the two yearly migrations of birds in Europe: in spring from south-west and south to north-east, and in autumn from north-east to south-west.

The island serves as a resting place in the course of the flight between Denmark and Germany, and at night the birds are attracted to the island by the strong beam of the light-tower, visible for 30 miles. Gaetke studied the birds and after his death in 1891 his collection of birds was bought by the German government and his work carried on by the Biological Institute, which carries on research in marine life.

In 1910 the ornithological work became a separate section under an independent director and finally in 1923 a proper building was erected to accommodate the new work. This continued to expand until 1944 when the station was destroyed in an air-attack. In 1953 a new station was built but the administrative work, which had been transferred to Wilhelmshaven during the war, remained there.

The work of the station consists of catching, examining and ringing as many as possible of the birds that land on the island. They are ringed with an aluminium ring bearing the name Heligoland and a number. When the bird is set free it is hoped that someone, somewhere, will catch or find the bird and send back the information to the station. When the information is received, the flight of the bird is plotted and the length of time since the ringing is studied.

Time of ringing

This new information is entered with the earlier information concerning the kind, sex, weight, length of wing and age recorded at time of ringing. The information concerning a particular kind of bird is slowly added to and in the course of time its migratory habits known. The work is of interest to the layman as well as to the ornithologist. The bird he sees in his garden may be more interesting if something is known of where it came from and how it got there.

Many of the birds ringed in Heligoland make their way to Ireland but as yet no official contact has been established between the two places. Apart from the men who work in Heligoland there are also 3,000 amateur ornithologists scattered throughout Germany studying the birds in their areas and sending the information to Heligoland. For them the island is the focal point of their work and many of them visit it every year.

Heligoland is small, exceptionally small, and after a few hours seems to offer only such intangible things as beauty and health. One wants to move on quickly like the birds. However, it evokes an atmosphere of contentment that is experienced but cannot be explained. The people are friendly, give their service and you pay. In the houses one can experience monotony and the recreational opportunities are few, but somehow one is satisfied and each day brings its little changes to embroider the routine. On one of the piers is written the words 'Kumm Weer' dialect for 'Come again'. One has a vague feeling that perhaps one will.