At Dromahaire Abbey, in County Leitrim, many years ago there was a man saying his prayers in a part of the sacred enclosure. It is said that, when he rose from his knees, he took an iron spoon that lay under a slab covering a grave and put his hand into a hole up to the shoulder and drew up a spoonful of the clay. This he wrapped up in paper and told people it was for a sick person who subsequently mixed it in water, and he drank it for a remedy. he declared that this was the grave of Father Peter and that he had been a very holy man.
There are many legends and superstitions that surround these beautiful ruins of Ardmore Abbey and its round tower. It was said to be Saint Declan who founded the original abbey and its tower, building the base course in one night, while on the second night he built it up to its second level, carrying it to the third level on the third night. But an angry old woman scolded the saint and asked, “Will you never be done?” Saint Declan immediately completed the final part of the structure finishing it off with a conical cap.
It was also said that Declan went on a pilgrimage to Rome, and on his return, as his ship approached Ardmore some gigantic pagans tried to prevent his landing and ran out to sea threatening him. But Declan transformed them into rocks, and they stand there to this day, forming a reef. At this time also, it is reported, that a large glacial boulder floated behind Declan’s ship all the way from Rome. It followed in the ship’s wake and lodged itself safely on a ridge near the ship and cried out, “The clerk forgot the bell,” whereupon they found the bell and his vestments on the rock although they had been left behind in Rome. The stone lies there until this day, resting upon an outcrop of local rocks on the shore, and it is said to work miraculous cures to those who rub their backs against it, or creep under it in the hollow between two supporting rocks. There is a warning, also, that anyone attempting to gain a cure with a stolen garment or having unabsolved sins on their soul will have the stone press down upon them and prevents their passage through.
At Ardmore, County Waterford, in the churchyard of the ancient and most interesting ruined abbey, they show the spot where it was said Saint Declan, the founder, was buried. It is walled around, but inside the soil has been excavated to a considerable depth in past times and the custodian of the place was selling the earth as a cure for sick people.
Also, in the graveyard the practice of creeping beneath stones is seen when a childless woman creeps under a tombstone in their quest to become mothers. (from ‘Notes on Irish Folklore’, Folklore vol.27, No.4, 1916, pp419-426: JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/ 1255596)
The ‘Mass Rock’ is a structure that is peculiar to Ireland. It is classified as “a rock or earth-fast boulder used as an altar or a stone-built altar used when Mass was being celebrated during Penal times (the 1690s to 1750s AD), though there are some examples which appear to have been used during the Cromwellian period (1650s AD). Some of these rocks/boulders may bear an inscribed cross” (The Archaeological Survey Database of the National Monuments Service for Ireland). They are, for the most part, located in isolated places, because such locations were especially sought so religious ceremonies, such as the Catholic Mass, could be celebrated by the faithful. Such rites had been prohibited as a result of Oliver Cromwell’s decimation of Ireland and the ‘Penal Laws’ enforced after William III’s victories at the Boyne and Limerick. Bishops were banished from Ireland and priests had to register with the authorities to preach, which made the practice of Roman catholicism both difficult and dangerous during these years with ‘Priest Hunters’ being employed to seek out and arrest unregistered priests.
In Irish, the name given to a ‘Mass Rock’ was Carraig an Aifrinn. Other names associated with sites where Mass was celebrated in Penal times include Clais an Aifrinn meaning ‘Mass Ravine’, Páirc an tSéipéil or ‘Chapel field’, Faill an Aifrinn or ‘Mass cliff’, Leaca na hAltora indicating a flat stone or rock altar, Cábán an Aifrinn or ‘Mass Cabin’, Cnocan na hAltorach meaning ‘small hill of the altar’ and Gleann an Aifrinn indicating a ‘Mass Glen’. In many instances, the ‘Mass Rock’ was a stone taken from a ruined church and relocated to an isolated rural area, and a simple cross was carved on top. Because the practice of the Roman Catholic Mass and other rites were illegal, the services were held at random times and places with the parishioners having to spread the word from neighbour to neighbour. By the late 17th century these rites of worship had been generally moved to thatched Mass houses, and the ‘Mass Rock’locations became used as places where the local faithful could make their devotions on the feast day of the patron saint of the parish.
In those dark days of the ‘Penal Laws’ and persecution, the ‘Mass Rocks’ were landmarks for the local Catholic community, but were hidden away from the prying eyes of the authorities and are, therefore, by their very nature, difficult to find. Nevertheless, In Ireland, the locations of these ‘Mass Rocks’ of the Catholic faith remain important religious and historical monuments that provide a tangible and experiential link to the Nation’s heritage and tradition. During his visit to Ireland in 1979, the Pope recognised the continuing importance of the ‘Mass Rock’ as a reminder of the past persecutions that the Irish people faced and, even today, the Mass continues to be celebrated at some of the ‘Mass Rocks’ that are spread throughout the country.
The ‘Penal Laws’ were imposed on the Roman Catholic population of Ireland by the ruling British during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. The reformed Christian faith (Protestantism) was the established faith of those areas controlled by the British Crown and an effort was made to force the Irish Catholic majority to abandon their faith and replace it with the new reformed faith. as a result, the ‘Laws’ enacted against Catholicism were very restrictive and had a long and lasting effect on the daily life of Irish Catholics, which continues to this day. These restrictive laws included –
Restrictions on how children of Catholics were educated
Banning Catholics from holding public office or serving in the army
Expelling Catholic clergy from the country, or executing them
Taking the land and distributing it among British Lords
Dividing inherited land equally between children, to reduce land size held by individual Catholics
Excluding Catholics from voting
Catholics banned from inheriting Protestant land
A ban imposed on the celebration of the Catholic Mass.
In Ireland, the Catholic faith was banned by the English invaders under Cromwell’s leadership in 1649. With puritanical hatred, the churches were desecrated and closed, and a bounty of ten pounds was placed on the head of every priest. ‘Priest Hunters’ were employed to seek out and arrest Catholic priests, who were subsequently hung, drawn and quartered by the authorities. Moreover, any person caught hiding or giving sustenance to a priest would be hanged immediately. But the faith was strong among the Irish people, and Sunday was still the day when you were obliged to obey the word of God rather than the laws of the English government against what was seen as the ‘True Church’. Often rising from their beds in the middle of the night the family prepared themselves for a long, cold, silent walk in the darkness they would follow narrow, almost hidden trails towards mountains, forests, or bogland, where they would disappear from sight among thickets, trees, and bushes. In this hidden place Irish men, women, and children would kneel on the ground before a massive rock, while others would stand guard, watching for the approach of English troops. A curtain of sorts would be pulled around this makeshift altar, from behind which could be heard the voices of a man and a boy preparing to celebrate the Mass. On the altar would be placed a book, a tablecloth, wine, water, and bread, but none could see those making the preparations and, therefore, could not be forced to identify the person offering them the Eucharist.
Silence prevailed in the darkness with the cries of young children being muffled by the hands of their mothers, while the Mass continued. After the consecration, a line forms quietly behind a protruding rock near the sanctuary curtain. Each takes a turn kneeling on the cold stone, as a voice says, “Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam. Amen.” A hand reaches out from behind the veil and places a Communion Host on every tongue. The, After the reading of the Last Gospel, most scatter in different directions to escape detection. A few stay behind to have their confessions heard. Afterward, only a boy and a man remain, hiding any evidence of what occurred. With the man’s blessing, the youngster heads off into the woods. Finally, the man, his priest’s kit stowed safely under his arm, slips into the forest, disappearing like a thief in the night. Such places are scattered throughout Ireland and are often found hidden deep within lush, green forests in remote mountain areas. Ramblers and adventurers occasionally stumble across what appear to be ancient open-air amphitheaters that have been carved into the mountainside and are the remains of Penal Mass sites and represent the vicious persecution of Irish Catholics by English Protestants from 1536 to 1829, during which the Faith was outlawed and priests hunted down like criminals. It was in these places that the Mass was celebrated in secret for the faithful during several periods in Irish history. But it was at these Mass Rocks that the light of the Faith was kept lit, even in the darkest of times, and for many Irish people these sites still represent ‘Holy Ground’.
England’s long and torturous persecution of the Irish began when Pope Adrian IV bestowed Ireland on King Henry II in 1155 after the King promised to reform the Church there. Almost four-hundred years later King Henry VIII broke with the Church of Rome and launched a terrible attack upon the Catholic Church under English control. In 1536 the Irish Parliament followed the Parliament in England by enacting the ‘Act of Supremacy’, which made Henry head of the Church and brought the Protestant Reformation to Ireland. Many of the Irish chieftains accepted this new situation, but the Catholic clergy and the majority of the ordinary people of Ireland rejected the ‘Act’. After Henry’s death and the succession of his son, Edward VI, the English Church began to attack the Catholic Faith in two main areas. Belief in ‘transubstantiation’ was declared a heresy and was punishable by death, and this attack upon the Holy Eucharist gave parliament courage to pass laws that would exterminate the Mass from England, and from Ireland. This assault, however, was interrupted with the accession of the Catholic Queen Mary, Henry’s daughter. It was a sign of hope when she came to the throne and repealed the ‘Act of Supremacy’ in 1554 and began punishing those who had spread the ‘heretical teachings’ of Protestantism throughout her kingdom.
Unfortunately, Mary’s reign was a short one and in 1558 she was succeeded by her Protestant sister, Elizabeth. The ‘Act of Supremacy’ was reinstated and Queen Elizabeth was made Supreme Head of the Church in England. The great effort to make England a Protestant country continued, but all efforts to remove the religion and culture from Ireland was greatly resisted. Undeterred, the Queen commanded that the Irish be brought under control and submit to her authority, allowing the Protestant religion to replace the Catholic faith of the people. She was, furthermore, prepared to use the strongest measures to enforce her will, including the gibbet, the rack, the axe, and the sword. In 1560 the Parliament in Dublin was persuaded to pass the ‘act of Supremacy’, making Elizabeth head of the Irish Church, and the ‘Act of Uniformity’, abolishing the Mass. Any person that continued to accept the Pope’s claim to spiritual jurisdiction in Ireland was considered to be a traitor, and any priest that was caught saying Mass would equally receive severe punishment for their treachery. In addition, any Catholic who refused to attend the new Protestant services would be subject to severe financial penalties for their disobedience.
Elizabeth and her advisers were convinced that the surest way to eliminate the Mass from the religious life of the Irish was to eliminate the priests who served them. But, despite imprisoning, starving, torturing and executing these men, the English authorities could not stop the tide of new priests rushing to replace them from various seminaries established in Europe. Young Irish men wanting to train for the priesthood attended seminaries in France, Italy, and Spain that were specifically set up to provide priests for the persecuted Catholics of Ireland. In the knowledge that their lives would constantly be in grave danger, these men returned to Ireland. It was the zeal and determination of such men that brought them to the fore as leaders of the great ‘Counter-Reformation’ that would recover Ireland and other nations for the Catholic faith.
Those priests returning to Ireland now found an ‘underground’ network of supporters ready to assist and sustain them in their work. They hid the priests in their homes and provided them with all their materials needs. By using secret places and subterfuges these priests were able to offer the sacraments to the faithful in various private houses. However, there arose a need for places where the sacraments could be delivered to larger groups of people, and thus arose the use of Mass Rocks. Because of the continuing persecution of all Catholics, the banned sacraments would have to be celebrated outdoors on some remote mountainside or field. In secret, these places were prepared and the faithful were clandestinely notified of their location, where they would have their Confessions heard, celebrate Mass, and receive the Blessed Sacrament. The practice spread quickly throughout Ireland and almost every parish in Ireland can lay claim to a Mass Rock from these times, especially in Northern Ireland where the ‘Plantation’ of farmers took hold. As you can imagine, these secret locations varied. They were far from the main roads, hidden on rugged mountainsides, or in rough wooded glens, or even in noted landmarks like the ruins of forts, abbeys, and churches. Many locations were sited near streams so that no tracks would be left for the enemy to follow. At the same time, however, some locations were close to one another so that the priest and people could move during bad weather to give respite from the elements. There were some locations, also, that were hidden away in naturally formed grottoes, while nearby others were ‘holy wells’ that might be used for baptisms.
By the end of the sixteenth century, Protestantism had become the established religion of England. While, in Ireland, it was clear to the authorities that all their attempts to impose the new religion were a failure, because of the strength of local resistance. Queen Elizabeth was succeeded after her death by James VI of Scotland, who became James I of England in 1603. Under the rule of James, and his son, Charles I, despite the latter’s efforts to seek toleration for Catholics, there was little improvement in the lives of Irish Catholics. But, after the defeat of English forces at the ‘Battle of Benburb’, the Irish people once again gained a taste of religious freedom and their ‘Mass Houses’ were tolerated and the priests were permitted to go about their business without hindrance. This, however, was only a brief respite and quickly ended when the rabidly anti-Catholic Puritans took control of the English government, and the subsequent arrival of Oliver Cromwell to Ireland in 1846 heralded the greatest onslaught yet on Irish Catholics. They were to be shown no mercy under Cromwell’s rule, with entire towns razed to the ground and populations massacred. There were entire areas of fertile Irish land confiscated and given to Cromwell’s soldiers, Protestant adventurers and farmers, and Cromwell’s stated aim was to ensure that there would be no Catholic Irish east of the Shannon River. He gave them the option of going “to Hell or to Connacht.” All Catholic clergy were ordered to leave Ireland and put to death if they refused alongside any who would give them shelter. As a result, it is said – “To such an extent was the persecution carried that Catholic churches were soon in ruins, a thousand priests driven into exile, and not a single bishop remained in Ireland but the old and helpless Bishop of Kilmore.” Again, the use of ‘Mass Rocks’ became common and the faithful kept watch for the approach of ‘Priest Hunters’ and English soldiers. there were occasions, however, when the soldiers came, catching the worshippers unawares as they prayed and slaughtered them, splattering the blood of men, women, and children across the makeshift altars.
When the ‘Williamite War’ in Ireland came to an end after the Battle of the Boyne in 1691, the subsequent ‘Treaty of Limerick’ promised Catholics the freedom to exercise their religion, but very soon afterward the Protestant Lords and lawmakers tore up these guarantees. They persuaded the King, William of Orange, that implementing a substantial number of anti-Catholic laws, known as the ‘Penal Laws’ were the only way to subdue the native Irish. Some of these laws have been outlined above and under their authority, the Catholic faith was banned and the priests exiled under pain of death. Life was not much better for the ordinary Catholic Irish who could not teach or attend Catholic schools and were excluded from serving in Parliament, the legal profession or the armed forces. They could not vote, carry arms, own a horse worth more than five pounds, and could not act as a guardian or marry a Protestant. More importantly, they could not acquire land or hold a mortgage, but if the wife or son of a Catholic should become Protestant all things changed in their favour.
There have been many thoughts about what purpose the ‘Penal Laws’ actually served. Some have argued that they were not intended to exterminate Catholicism but to neutralise them as a political threat to the Protestant ascendancy in Ireland. Others have argued that their purpose was, in fact, to eliminate Catholicism from Ireland. Nevertheless, both parties agree that the ‘Laws’ failed in part because of the remarkable tenacity of the Catholic clergy and laity, and to the difficulties encountered in enforcing them over a period of time when sectarian passions grew and then fell away. It is my opinion, however, that the Protestant Ascendancy in Ireland had intended for the ‘Laws’ to completely eradicate Catholicism but, because of the resistance encountered, were forced to settle for them being a support for their own power and privilege. Meanwhile, renewed oppression caused to adapt once again. ‘Mass Rocks’ became the centre of worship and, because they were denied official education, young Irish Catholics were taught literature and religion in secret hedge schools that were often taught by fugitive priests. At the same time, the Irish Catholic peasantry formed themselves into secret agrarian societies to protect themselves against the Protestant landlords and their punitive rents.
The people again attended the ‘Mass Rocks’ to receive the sacraments and have their faith sustained. Ordinations were also held in such places, despite the prohibitions, when Bishops with several other attendees laid hands on the priests to avoid the discovery of member of the Catholic episcopacy. These leaders of the Church would wander on foot, dressed in rough clothing that made them almost indiscernible from the peasantry among whom they lived, ate and slept in broken down turf cabins, or holes in the ground covered with turf roofs. Masses were now often confined to the secret ‘Mass Rocks’ in lonely valleys or the hidden places on the hillsides, and once again these places proved to be essential in sustaining the ‘old faith’ in Ireland. By 1730, the active persecution of Roman Catholics in Ireland had greatly decreased and it became clear, even to the most hardened Protestants in the land, that the ‘Penal Laws’ had been a total failure. In 1829 ‘Catholic Emancipation’ came to Ireland and the faithful were finally permitted to use their ‘Mass Houses’ without fear. But, even after emancipation, the ‘Mass Rocks’ continued as the main places to celebrate the sacraments because many of the major Protestant landlords refused to allow Catholic churches to be built on their property. Interestingly, ‘Mass Rocks’ are undergoing a bit of a revival as people visit them as a place of pilgrimage and pray there for those men, women, and children who kept the faith alive in our beloved Ireland.
For any who would like to read more about this particular subject I would recommend ;
S.J. Connolly, Religion, law, and power: the making of Protestant Ireland, 1660–1760 (Oxford, 1992).
P. Corish, The Catholic community in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (Dublin, 1981).
H.A. Jefferies, ‘The early penal days: Clogher under the administration of Hugh MacMahon (1701–1715)’, in H.A. Jefferies (ed.), History of the Diocese of Clogher (Dublin, 2005).
All over the island of Ireland there are ruins from past ages spread everywhere, which give us all a wonderful insight into the mysterious lives of our ancestors who built these monumental structures. There are few of these structures, however, that are more remarkable than the round towers that are found in almost every historically renowned locality. At one time there were a great number of these towers, but some were destroyed by the ravages of time, some of them were used as convenient sources of ready shaped stone, and some suffered from the intentional destruction carried out by intolerant or thoughtless people. Whatever the reason for their demise, these structures have gradually disappeared from the landscape until only about eighty remain, and out of these less than twenty-per-cent are in almost perfect condition. The remaining towers exist only in various stages of dilapidation.
The round towers stand at varying heights to each other. Those towers that remain in perfect, or near perfect, condition reach up to somewhere between seventy to two hundred feet in height, and their bases vary from eighty to thirty feet in diameter. The entrance into the towers themselves are usually twelve to eighteen feet from the ground, while inside the tower there are several stories, each averaging a height of about ten feet. Each of these stories illuminated by a single narrow window, with the highest level invariably having four slender pointed arched windows (Lancet Windows) which are open to the cardinal points of the compass. The roof of the tower is conical, made of overlapping stone slabs, and beneath the projecting cornice it is encircled by grotesquely carved heads and type of zig-zag ornamentation. The masonry is of granite stone, cut and chiselled into shape but, without the least regularity the size of the blocks. In one single round tower, some stones are very large, others small, and even more shaped into every geometrical shape known.
All the round towers that remain standing, as previously stated, occupy sites of special historical note. This could be considered as sufficient evidence to suggest that almost every historic spot in Ireland, at one time or another, could boast of being the site of one or more of these interesting structures. As further evidence of this can be added the fact that the existing towers are generally to be found close by the ruins of churches, abbeys, or other ecclesiastical buildings. The effect on the landscape of these massed ruins being surmounted by a single tall shaft is often picturesque, and almost a symbol of Ireland in tourist brochures. In fact, the proximity of the tower to the ecclesiastical ruin is so common, that many writers on Irish historical sites put forward the theory that the tower was built by the monks who had built the church. Many of those who advocate just such an origin of the round tower also put forward the theory that they were built, either as a place of safekeeping for valuable property, as a belfry for the church, or for the purpose of providing accommodation for the monks. But closer examination of these theories show that none are truly acceptable. In all the troubled ages of Ireland, and, unfortunately, they have not been few in number, the monasteries and ecclesiastical buildings of every description were generally spared. If this had not been the case, those monasteries, abbeys, and Cathedrals that possessed valuable property, which they wanted to hide from the most ruthless marauders, would not have advertised their wealth by erecting a tower. They would have been far more likely to seek out an inconspicuous hiding place for their treasures rather than erect a tower that was the most conspicuous feature of the landscape. These towers were not built to provide belfries, either. This is evident from the fact that, in almost every case, the nearby churches had been built with belltowers, which formed a part of the sacred building. This would not have been the case if the round towers had been conceived and built as a place in which to locate bells.
Moreover, that these towers were not built for providing hermit-cells is apparent from the fact that hermit-caves and cells are abundant throughout Ireland, and, almost without exception, they are to be found in secluded spots. There is nothing to suggest that, on occasion, some of the round towers were not adapted to each of these uses. But, in every case, the monks and church builders’ only reason to change the use of an existing structure was to meet an urgent need. In fact, there is evidence to suggest that these round towers were not built by the monks at all. It is a well-known fact that Irish monks were fond of writing and they recorded, in detail, every action of their daily life and, to date, there is no passage in which they record the building of a round tower. Whenever church historians make a reference to these structures, even those who mention the raising of churches at the foot of a round tower, they demonstrate that quite clearly that the tower pre-dates the introduction of Christianity into Ireland. Most historians in Ireland agree that the round towers were pagan constructions, and that they are so old that they even precede written history in this land. There is no doubt that the early people of Ireland worshipped fire and the sun, and this fact alone gives us many reasons to believe that the round towers were built by the Druids for purposes of religion. Every tower has an extensive view to the East, which gives the observer and excellent early sight of the rising sun, with the dawn being the favourite hour for celebrating sun-worship. Furthermore, every tower has, at its base, the remnants of an extraordinary quantity of ashes and embers that suggest that, in each of these towers, a sacred or perpetual fire was kept burning. Adding to this evidence is, that in every locality where a round tower stands, there still exists among local folklore and traditions suggestions that these structures were for sacred use, but not Christian. Among these traditions are indications of their former use as places sacred to sun and fire-worship, namely the names by which they commonly known among the local people. The generic Irish name for the round tower is Colcagh, ‘Fire-God’, but the proper names designating individual towers are still more characteristic. E.g. Turaghan, the ‘Tower of Fire’; Aidhne, the ‘Circle of Fire’; Aghadoe, the ‘Field of Fire’; Teghadoe, the ‘Fire House’; Arddoe, the ‘Height of Fire’; Kennegh, the ‘Chief Fire’; Lusk, the ‘Flame’; Fertagh, the ‘Burial Fire Tower’; Fertagh na Guara, the ‘Burial Fire Tower of the Fire Worshippers’; Gall-Ti-mor, the ‘Flame of the Great Circle’; Gall-Baal, the ‘Flame of the Community’; Baal-Tinne, the ‘Fire of the Community’, and many similar names, retain the memory and worship of the Druids when no written records have been left to us. In addition to such important information the names of the hills, mountains, or islands on which the towers are situated have designations that refer either to the circle, a favourite and sacred figure in Druidical holy places, or to the sun or fire worship. Yet another curious circumstance strengthening the round tower’s relationship to the rites of sun worship, can be found in the fact that wherever this form of religion held sway, it has been accompanied by well or spring worship, and, generally, by the veneration of the ox as a sacred animal. Close to most of the Irish round towers there are springs or wells, which are still regarded as being holy. Of these places many tales are told of miraculous cures, while in many places there remains, in the same neighbourhoods, legends concerning sacred cows that were usually the property of some famous local saint or hero.
The round towers of Ireland are, in fact, only a part of a vast system of towers of identical construction. If you follow the geographical locations of these structures, you will find the advance of fire worship from the East may be accurately tracked. If you travel from Ireland to Brittany, in France, you will see, in the mountainous or hilly districts, several towers that exactly like those of Ireland. In the north of Spain several remain, while in Portugal, there is one, and in the south of Spain there are numerous similar towers. Cross from Spain to north of Africa and you will discover that there are numerous towers, which are to be found in such places as Morocco, Algeria, Tunis, and Tripoli. Meanwhile, in Sardinia, several hundred are still standing; and written testimony as to their original purpose abundant among the Sardinian records and are readily available. In Minorca, among the Balearic Isles, is the famous Tower of Allaior, and the mountain districts of southern Italy, as well as Sicily’s hills, contain numbers of them. Malta has the Giant’s Tower, which in its appearance and construction is identical with the ‘Tower of Cashel’ in Ireland. Cyprus has several, and they remain on the coast of Asia Minor. In Palestine none have yet been found, which might indicate just how the Hebrews of old destroyed every vestige of Canaanite idolatry. But it is probable that the “high places” broken down may have been towers of the sun, for the Canaanites were fire worshippers, and the name Baal is found in Palestine and in Ireland. In Armenia, and in the Caucasus, they are so numerous that they seem to crown almost every hilltop. But, returning to the Mediterranean shores, we mentioned their existence on the northern coast of Africa, while in Arabia and on the Egyptian shore of the Red Sea, they stand in considerable numbers. They are to be found in Persia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Ceylon, and Sumatra, where, in some places they are apparently still used for fire worship. Throughout this vast extent of territory there is no material difference in the shape, appearance, or construction of the round tower. In Sumatra and Java, as in Ireland, the door is elevated, and the building divided into stories. The walls are constructed of many-sided hewn stones, the upper story is lighted by four windows looking to the cardinal points, the cornice has the same kind of zigzag ornamentation, and the roof is constructed in the same manner, with overlapping stones. Even the names of these structures are nearly the same, for in India and Ireland these buildings are Fire-Towers, Fire-Circles, or Sun-Houses. Yet, another bit of circumstantial evidence that goes to prove that the round towers of Ireland were erected by a people who had the same religion, and similar religious observances, as the natives of India is apparent in the legends around Indian towers. In India, the local traditions tell how each of these towers was built in one night by some notable character who was afterwards buried in it. In Ireland, the same legend is also found, while the local folklore tells us the tower was built overnight. The ‘Tower Tulloherin’, for instance, was allegedly built in one night by a monk who came to the neighbourhood as a missionary. But, finding the local people inhospitable, and unwilling to give him lodging for the night, he decided he would remain since there was no place in Ireland that was in more need of his missionary work. So, on the evening he arrived, he began to build the tower, and by morning it was finished. In that place he the monk now set up his residence and began to preach to the crowds of people attracted by the wide-spread fame of the miracle. The story of the Tower of Aghagower is similar, except that the saint in this case was aided by angels. Kilmackduagh, on the other hand, was built in one night by angels without human assistance, the work being undertaken after the pleas of a saint, who watched and prayed while the angels toiled. Ballygaddy’s history is somewhat different in that the local folklore attributes its origin to a local “giant” who, having received a challenge from another “giant,” decided to take his stand on Ballygaddy hill to watch for the coming of his enemy, declaring that he was ready, “to beat the head off the bragging blackguard if he was to say as much as Boo.” It is said that he stood upon that hill for seven days and nights, at the end of which time, “his legs were that tired he thought they’d drop off him.” To rest those legs, the giant raised the tower as a means of support. The challenger finally came to the site and the story says that the tower-building giant “didn’t leave a whole bone in the blackguard’s ugly body.” When the battle was over, the winner began to dismantle the tower, but stopped and decided that he would put a roof on it and “leave it as a memorial to himself that those mortals who followed him would wonder at. The Tower of Ardpatrick was, according to tradition, built under the auspices of Ireland’s great saint, while the high tower on the Rock of Cashel is attributed, by the same authority to Cormac Macarthy. He was the king and archbishop of Cashel, who, being at war with a neighbouring potentate, needed a watchtower. The entire tribe was summoned and, working together, they managed to build the tower in a single, and, at sunrise, Cormac was able by its help to ascertain the whereabouts of the opposing army, allowing him to inflict an overwhelming defeat of the enemy. Meanwhile, the Glendalough Tower is reputed to have been built by a demon, at the command of Saint Kevin. In a previous encounter with the saint, Satan had been soundly defeated and from that moment he and all his well-informed subjects kept at a safe distance from Glendalough. Although all of Satan’s regular followers did not want to risk another encounter with Kevin, there was one cunning snake of a devil, who had come from foreign parts and had not heard anything about the saint. One evening he was caught by the blessed saint, who immediately set him to work in building that tower. So, under the watchful gaze of the saint, the rogue went to work as hard as he knew how and was as busy as an ant. He was certain that before sunrise he would have the tower built so high that it would collapse by itself. But Kevin had beaten Satan himself, and was not about to be fooled by one of his underlings. He kept his two eyes on the devil every minute of the day, so when he felt that the devil had the tower built high enough, he threw his bishop’s cap at it, and it became stone to make a roof, so making a fool of the devil. The round tower, however, is not without a touch of romance. One of the most notable of these structures, Monasterboice, is said to have been built by a woman under peculiar circumstances. According to the legend, this woman was young, beautiful, and good of heart. Although she should have been happy also, she was not, because she was persecuted by the attentions of a suitor chieftain. This suitor’s reputation must have been far from irreproachable, since he was said by the storytellers to be an outrageously disgraceful villain, or a smooth-talking deceiving, murdering villain. The young woman loved another chieftain who was of good character, and she was determined to escape from the attentions of the villainous one, having learned that he was determined to carry her off. She employed two men to help her escape, the night before the proposed abduction, and, before morning they had built the tower allowing her to take refuge in the uppermost chamber. As expected, the villainous chieftain came with his gang of thieves, but was disappointed in his efforts to seize the woman and steal away her virtue, and he was left to besiege the tower. But, having taken the precaution to provide herself with a good supply of heavy stones, the lady pelted her besiegers vigorously, cracking their thick skulls as if they were just eggshells. Her bravery was quickly rewarded by her lover who, when he heard of her desperate situation, came to her relief and attacked the besiegers of the tower. With the lady throwing stones at the front of them, and her lover’s group attacking them from behind, the wicked chieftain became scared that they would be trapped, and so they scattered so quickly that you would have thought there was a thousand devils after them. So, the lady was saved and was able to descend the tower into the arms of her lover, and the young couple were married the next Sunday. This is the way that the tower came to be built and demonstrates that those who try to win a lady against her will always come off worse. For you can be sure if she cannot beat such people with her tongue, she will always find some other way to beat them. Be sure of one thing, a woman can always get what she’s after, and there’s many a man who has discovered the truth of that.
There was a time in Ireland when the speech and manners of the Irish man were simple, rural, and kindly. They did not, in the least resemble the manners and speech that fill the lives of modern-day Irishmen. But, in those old times, dancing was cultivated as one of life’s chief amusements and the ‘dancing-master’ was a vital part of a community, if it was to enjoy this recreation activity to its full.
Storytelling, dancing and singing are popular among the Irish people. But it was dancing that was by far the most important recreation, although much less so now in these modern times. Nevertheless, Irish traditional dancing is an indication of the spirit and character of the Irish people, who may not have experienced the best things in life but are apparently filled with a joyous hope for their future. Being Irish, it is not surprising that I believe that no people dance as well as us and enjoy it as much as us. Dancing, most will agree, is a delightful amusement for the people, but Irish dancing is not a simple recreational activity. It is, instead, a very distinct form of dance that belongs to the people of our nation, providing its people with a happy and agreeable way of enjoying Irish music. In the dance the person feels the music in their heart and move their body and limbs in time with its rhythm. Not only Ireland, however, but every nation has a feeling for music and, through it, a love of dance. Music and dance, therefore, dependent on each other, and I am confident in my opinion that the Irish nation excels at both.
It is my contention that, unless you have seen it and taken part in it, you cannot truly know the fantastic exhilaration that Irish dancing gives to the people of Ireland. This exhilaration was caused by an emotion much deeper than enthusiasm and to properly understand you should put yourself in the place of a person among those who are gathered at a house-dance, or Ceilidh, and feel the change which occurs in the temperament of an Irish man. When the dance was called, he would lazily get to his feet, select a girl for whom he may have some romantic attachment, and would then place himself and his partner on the dance floor with both facing the fiddle player as he begins his tune. The dance would begin, quietly at first, and gradually the man’s steps would become even more lively. Then, his right hand would rise a little and his fingers would crack, to be followed a short time later with the raising of both hands and the sound of two cracks. His eyes would brighten as his enjoyment of the moment increased, and he tried hard to keep pace with the tempo of the music and the others on the floor. His eyes would be lovingly fixed on his partner who, in her modesty, would not return his gaze. She would, however, give her partner a quick glance which encourages him to dance more enthusiastically, aided by a little kindness, love, pride in his own ability, and whiskey. Encouraged by this he would begin dancing at a constantly increasing pace, flinging himself about, cracking his fingers, cutting and trebling his feet, heel and toe, right and left. You would see him fling the right heel up to the buttock, up again the left, the whole face reddening as if in a blast-furnace fed with the ecstasy of delight. “Yo! Ho! Ye boy ye! Move your elbow a little quicker, Mickey!” he would call to the fiddle player. “Quicker! Quicker! man dear, or you’ll have me ahead of you! That’s it, Jenny! That’s my girl! move your feet, my darling. That’s it, sweetheart! Keep up with me! Yahoo for us!”
And in this manner, he would proceed with renewed vigour, and an agility, that incredibly keeps in time with the music, especially when we consider the great burst of excitement that he would have to direct through his body. Meanwhile, his partner’s face would be lit up with enthusiasm to a modest blush. Who could resist her partner’s great joy, though she demonstrates her own with great natural grace, that is combined with a delicate liveliness? Her movements are equally gentle and animated, which is precisely the way in which ladies ought to dance i.e. with a blend of healthful exercise and innocent enjoyment.
It is not that long ago that I witnessed a dance by a very talented young man, and it was good, except for the performance of his female partner. The entire programme of the dance was, sadly, made to look amateurish by her actions, to say the least. She did not dance with the modesty that is expected of the female Irish dancers but performed some of the unseemly movements of a drunken hellcat, or one of those unfortunate women from the red-light areas of the city. Her face had a maliciously desirous expression on it that would remind you of posters you may find outside places of ill-repute. Such things cannot be allowed, and we must always endeavour to portray in our dances the most chaste and modest females.
There are a considerable variety of dances in Ireland, from the simple “reel of two”, to the team dance, and the step dance, all of which are filled with fun. But there are, however, other dances of a more serious note, which could be considered to have had their origins in the sad times that are a great part of our small country’s history. It is a sad fact that the difficulty of communications in previous times and the remoteness of many areas has led to the loss of many of these less joyful dances, some of which may only have been danced on mournful occasions. With the state-sponsored efforts of the English overlords to suppress Gaelic culture and language it was only at wakes and other funereal rites held in the remote parts of the country where these old dances were stubbornly clung to. At the present time, I believe, that the only remnant of these old dances can be seen in some of the Slip-jigs and hornpipes that are danced. These dances of ancient days may not have been performed to music but depended upon the steps of the dancer to tap out the rhythm, and were symbolic dances used in various pre-Christian rites. But, having said this, I must make it clear that this is just a thought on my part without real evidence to support it. But, the old dancing masters of past years would probably have more knowledge about such things. Unfortunately, like the old dances, none of these old masters remain.
The old dancing-masters of past generations were itinerants, having no settled home or family, but lived from place to place within a specified area, beyond which he would seldom or never go. The farming community were his patrons, and when he visited their houses the old bachelor brought with him a holiday spirit that brightened the lives of all. When he arrived at a farm you could be sure that there would be a dance that night, after the working day came to an end. The crowd would be gathered, and the old dancing-master would good-naturedly supply the music and, in return for this, they would have a little underhand collection for him. This collection would amount to no more than a couple of shillings or half-a-crown which, under some pretence or other, would be ingeniously and delicately slipped into his pocket. The covert action was so that the dancing-master would know that his patron thought him to be on a higher level than a mere fiddle player. To show his own kindness and generosity, at the end of the dance, he would ask for a door, or other hard surface to be laid down on the floor, on which he would dance several popular hornpipes accompanied by his own fiddle. This would demonstrate to his audience just how great a dance-master he was and further build up his reputation within his chosen area.
The dancing-master was a peculiar character who stood out in the community within which he lived. His dress was peculiar to him and, because it made him stand out in the crowd, he always had an air of self-pride about him. He almost always wore a ‘fedora’-style or ‘bobble’-type hat, whether it made him look good or bad. He also appeared in public carrying an ornamental staff, made from ebony, hickory, mahogany, or some other rare type of cane, which almost always had a silver head and a silk tassel, or other adornment. This staff or cane was seen by the dancing-master, and others, as a type of baton or staff of office, without which he would never be seen in public. Yet another necessary adornment that was so much a part of the dancing-master’s dress code was a gold, or gold-plated, ornately decorated pocket watch which he was always ready to produce when asked for the time of day by anyone. But of all the items of dress that he chose to wear, and which made him stand-out from a fiddler or piper, were the dancing-master’s pumps and stockings, for the man seldom wore shoes. They would always keep themselves in a neat and tidy condition, and constantly able to demonstrate his lightness of foot that their customers would expect of them. In those far off days among the ordinary rural people of Ireland the man wearing the finest of stockings, and the lightest shoe, upon the most symmetrical legs usually denoted the most accomplished of dance teachers.
Though dancing was the main business of the dancing-master he would also have a side-line in the business of matchmaking. Indeed, it was not uncommon for a dance-master to be employed as a negotiator between families, as well as individual lovers. He had practised the use of his eyes to detect the slight mistakes in a dancer’s feet, and this talent would serve him well at the dances. After all, during a dance, there is always opportunities for a keen observer to notice any signs of passion between the assembled dancers. Even in today’s dancing clubs and parties you can witness the blushing, admiring glances, squeezes of the hand, and stealthy whisperings between couples that would signal a strong affection between the two. It is no wonder, therefore, that a knowledgeable observer, such as the dancing-master, could offer his experience as a go-between for a price. He would soon become a necessary part of the marriage of the two people in a time when arranged marriages, dowries, and matchmakers were common. More strangely, there are earlier reports that the dancing-master would also advertise himself to be a skilled teacher in the art of fencing. In a time when duelling was common, fencing-schools of this class were almost as numerous as dancing-schools and, therefore, it was not unusual for one man to teach both.
While, for the most part, dancing-masters were bachelors there were exceptions to the rule. My grandfather recalled having been taught Irish dancing by an old, married dancing-master who had to face a heart-breaking tragedy in his life. Tuberculosis (TB) was a deadly disease and it had been rife during the during the spring of the year when this tragedy occurred and had brought death to many. Grandfather told me that this poor man’s only daughter was taken from him by this terrible disease and he was forced to close his dancing school to mourn her passing. This period lasted for a month before he felt able to call all his pupils together again one evening, and my grandfather also returned to the class. The dancing-master’s daughter, a beautiful and intelligent young girl of sixteen years, was also a pupil at her father’s school until that terrible sickness cut her down like a blooming flower. The dancing classes began again much the same way that they had ended, until a certain young man who had been the dancing partner of the young girl came to the floor to dance. The old dancing-master tried to play as he had for the others, but his music was unsteady and erratic. He paused for a moment or two so that he could gather himself, and the dancing ceased as he wiped away a few hot tears from his eyes. The man tried to resume the class, but all he could see was the partner of his beloved daughter now standing with the hand of another girl in his. “I’m sorry,” said the old man as he lay aside his fiddle and burst into tears. “She was all that I had, and I loved her deep in my heart and now you are all here but her. Please, just go home, boys and girls. Go home and say a prayer for me, for you all know what she was to me. Allow me another two weeks to mourn her, for Our Lady’s sake! I am her heart-broken father and, as I see you all here, I know I will never, ever see her again on this floor. I miss the light sound of her foot, the sweetness of her voice, and the smile of those bright eyes that spoke to me, saying how much she loved me as her father and her teacher. Just two more weeks and we shall all meet again in less sorrowful circumstances” There was a wave of sympathy that filled the room, leaving few dry eyes among those who were present, and not a heart that did not feel deeply and sincerely for his sense of terrible loss.
In the local communities the dancing-master, despite his most strenuous efforts to the contrary, bore, in his habits and manners similar level of respect as that given to the fiddler. It was this struggle of superiority among these two characters that was the cause of there being no good feeling existing between them. One looked up at the other as someone a man who was unnecessarily and unjustly placed above him, while the other looked down upon him as being no more than a servant, who provided the music for those whom he taught practise their skills. It was a very petty rivalry, which was very amusing to neutral observers and neither of them did anything that might put an end to competition. While the fiddler had the best of the argument being the more loved, the dancing-master had the advantage of a higher professional position and being more respected. It was particularly amusing to watch the great skill employed by the dancing-master, when travelling, to carry his fiddle in a manner that it would not be seen and, therefore, he would not be mistaken for a fiddler. To be regarded as such would have been the greatest insult that his vanity could have received and would be a source of endless anger. In our modern times, however, things are different and neither the fiddler nor the dancing-master have the same influences in society.
My grandfather told me that one of the most amusing dancing-masters was a man who had started as a fiddler and travelled under the nickname of ‘Dodger’. This man had started life as an army musician, where he had also learned to play the fiddle. But, typical of many Irishmen, life in the British Army did not suit a free-thinking, free-drinking man, and he chose to leave without thought of informing anyone. Some, including the army authorities, would consider him to be a deserter, but he preferred to be known as a person who was ‘dodging’ the crown forces, which endeared him to many in the country and earned him his nickname.
‘Dodger’ was stylishly dressed, small, thin, man with a rich Southern brogue, whose language could be described as being ‘rich’ with words and phrases undoubtedly learned while he was in the army. His dress, though stylish, were as tight as they could be without splitting and appeared to be second-hand. His creased thin face appeared to be just as second-hand as creased, closely fitting black coat. On his feet he wore his little pumps, with little white stockings, his neatly attended breeches, his hat, and his tight coloured gloves. It was said that he was the jauntiest wee man that ever lived. He stood ready to fight any man and was a great defender of the female sex, whom he always addressed in a flattering manner that was very agreeable to most of them. He was also a man who enjoyed the public spotlight and was involved in almost everything. He could be seen at every fair, where he would only have time to give you a wink of recognition as he passed, because he was engaged in some deep discussion with another person. At races and cockfights, he was a very busy, and very angry, gambler waging whatever he had on the result. At these competitions he was always appeared to be a knowing fellow, shaking hands with the winning owner or jockey, and then looked about the crowd to ensure that people saw him in the company of those who were in the know.
The house where ‘Dodger’ kept his school, which was only open after working hours, was an uninhabited cabin, the roof of which was supported by a post that stood upright from the floor. This cabin was built upon a small hill that gave a fine view of the whole countryside for miles about it. My grandfather recalled how pleasant it was to see the modest and pretty girls, dressed in their best frocks and ribbons, coming in little groups from all directions. Often, they would be accompanied by their partners or boyfriends as they made their way through the fragrant summer fields of a calm cloudless evening, toward this place of happy and innocent amusement. But such scenes were also a picture of the general life in the community that was filled with passions, jealousies, plots, lies, and disagreements! Among those pretty girls could be found the shrew, the slovenly, the flirt, and the excessively modest, just as sharply obvious within their community as they would appear in the wider world with all its temptations to bring out such characteristics. Among the crowd, too, was the bully, the promiscuous, the liar, the pretentious, and the coward, each as perfect and distinct in his type as if he had spent a fortune in acquiring his particular character.
‘Dodger’s’ system, in originality of design, in comic conception, and in the ease with which it could be taught was something that would have been difficult to equal, much less surpass. Had the impudent little rascal restricted himself to dancing as it was usually taught, there would have been nothing uncommon about it. But ‘Dodger’ always insisted in teaching by example, and he would not entertain any other manner of instruction. Moreover, dancing was only one of the things that ‘Dodger’ taught or professed to teach. At one time he undertook to teach everyone in his school how they should enter a room in the most correct and fashionable way. He also insisted that he was the only man who could teach a gentleman how he should greet a lady in the most agreeable and socially acceptable style. The man insisted that he had already taught this important lesson to many others and with great success, as he had the art of the curtsy or bow. He professed to be able to teach every lady and gentleman how to make the most beautiful bow or curtsey, by imitating him. So confident was he of this boast that he said if there was a great crowd present each would think it had been intended for them! In fact, according to ‘Dodger’, he could teach the entire art of courtship with all the grace and success of any Frenchman or Italian. He could teach how love-letters and valentine cards should be written, containing every compliment ever invented by that great lover ‘Casanova’. But he insisted that only he could teach a person a magical dance which would allow a gentleman to lead a lady to wherever he wished, and for a lady to feel free to go wherever she was being led.
With such instruction on offer and delivered in a most agreeable, his school quickly became the most popular in the county. The truth of his system was that he had contrived to make sure every gentleman would salute his lady as often as possible, and to ensure this he invented dances, in which every gentleman saluted every lady but, at the same time, every lady would return the compliment, by saluting every gentleman. But he did not allow his male pupils to have all the saluting to themselves, for the amorous little blackguard always started first and ended last. This, ‘Dodger’ said, was so that they might all catch the method from himself. “Ladies and gentlemen, I do this as an example for you, and because it forms an important part of system!” Then he produce a meagre attempt at a smile before twirling over the floor in a way that he thought was totally irresistible.
The one thing ‘Dodger’s’ system did not affect was the honour of our Irish women. My grandfather could not recall one single occasion when the system was shown to be incompatible with virtue to our countrywomen. This, of course, was a great advantage to the respect he had within the community, and a woman’s virtue was much prized the country. Several weddings, that might otherwise not have taken place, were unquestionably a result of ‘Dodger’s’ system, but in not one instance have we heard that such a union was brought about because a woman had suffered shame or misfortune. According to my grandfather ‘Dodger’s’ way of teaching was conducted in the following way:-
“Now, Paddy Curran, walk you out and enter the parlour, and Jenny Horan can go out with you and come in as Mrs. Curran.” ‘Dodger’ would direct.
“Ah, sure, Master, I’m afraid that I’ll make an awful mess of it, but at least I will Jenny here to help me through it,” Paddy replied.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment, Paddy?” asked the Master. “For Mr. Curran, you should always speak to a lady in a smooth tone.”
Paddy and Judy left as instructed and the ‘Dodger’ turned to Micky Scullion, directing him, “Micky Scullion, come up here, now that we’re breathing a little, and you, Grainne Mulholland, come up along with him. Miss Mulholland, you can master your five positions and your fifteen attitudes, I believe?”
“Yes, sir! But you remember I got stuck at the eleventh attitude.”
“Don’t worry about that. But, Mister Scullion, do you know how to salute a lady, Micky?”
“Sure, it’s hard to say, sir, ‘til we try. But I’m very willin’ to learn it. I’ll do my best, and, sure, I can do no more.” Replied Micky
“Alright! Now mark me and what I do, Mister Scullion. You approach your lady in this style, bowing politely, as I do. Miss Mulholland, will you allow me the honour of a heavenly salute? Don’t bow, ma’am, you’re to curtsy, you know. Just a little lower ifyou please. Now you say, ‘With the greatest pleasure in life, sir, and many thanks for the favour.’ There, now, you are to make another polite curtsy, and say, ‘Thank you, kind sir, I owe you one.’ Now, Mister Scanlan, proceed.”
“I’m to imitate you, master, as well as I can, sir, I believe?”
“Yes, sir, you are to imitate me. But hold on a minute, sir! Did you see me lick my lips or pull up my trousers? By God, but that’s shockingly unromantic. First make a curtsy, a bow I mean, to Miss Grainne. Stop again, sir! Are you going to strangle the poor lady? Why, one would think that you were about to take leave of her for ever! Gently, Mister Scullion! Jaysus, gently, Micky! There now, that’s an improvement. Practice, Mister Scullion, practice will do all. But don’t smack so loud, though. Hello, gentlemen! where’s our parlour-room folk? Go out, one of you, for Mister an’ Mrs Paddy Curran.”
Curran’s face peeped in at the door, lit up with a comic expression, from whatever had cause it. “Easy, Mister Corcoran, and where’s Mrs Curran, sir?”
“Are we both to come in together, master?”
“Certainly. Turn out both your toes—turn them out, I say.”
“Sure, sir, that’s easier said than done with some of us.”
“I know that, Mister Curran, but practice is everything. The bowed-legs are against you, Mister Curran. Sure, if your toes were where your heels are, you’d be exactly in the first position, Paddy. Well, both of you turn out your toes, look straight forward, clasp your beret, put it under your arm, and walk into the middle of the floor, with your head up. Stop! Take up your post. Now, take your beret, in your right hand, and give it a flourish. Easy, Mrs Horan, I mean Curran, it’s notyouthat is to flourish. Well, flourish your hat, Paddy, and then make a graceful bow to the company. Ladies and gentlemen.”
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
“I’m your most obedient servant.”
“I’m your most obedient servant.”
“Jaysus, man alive! that’s not a bow. Look at this –there’sa bow for you. Why, instead of making a bow, you appear as if you were going to sit down with lumbago in your back. Well, practice is everything, for there’s only luck in leisure. Now, Dick Doran, will you come up, and try if you can make anything of that trebling step. You’re a pretty lad, Dick! Yes, a pretty lad, Mister Doran, with a pair of left legs, and you expect to learn to dance. But, don’t despair, man. I’m not afraid and I’ll make a graceful slip of a boy out you yet. Now, Can you make a curtsy?”
“Not right, now. I doubt.”
“Well, sir, I know that. But, Mister Doran, you ought to know how to make both a bow and a curtsy. When you marry a wife, Misther Doran, it mightn’t be a bad thing if you could teach her a curtsy. Have you the ‘gutty’ and ‘pump’ with you?”
“Very well, on with them! The ‘pump’ on the right foot, or what ought to be the right foot, and the ‘gutty’ upon what ought to be the left. Are you ready?”
“Come on, then, do as I bid you. Rise up on the ‘pump’ and sink on the ‘gutty’; rise up on the ‘pump’ and sink on the ‘gutty’; rise up on – Hold on, sir! You’re sinking on ‘pump’ and rising up on the ‘gutty’, the very thing you oughtnotto do. But God help you! sure you’re left-legged! Ah, Mister Doran.it would be a long time before you’d be able to dance a Jig or a Hornpipe. However, don’t despair, Mister Doran. If I could only get you to know your right leg, but God help you! Sure, you haven’t such a thing! From your left, I’ll make something of you yet, Dick.”
Competition between the Dancing-masters was rife and, although they seldom met each other, they still abused each other albeit from a distance. But distance did not lessen the virulence and disparagement that was spread. Now, ‘Dodger’ had just such a rival, who proved to be a constant thorn in his side. His name was Harry Fitzpatrick who, at one-time had been a jockey, but he gave up horse-racing and took the less injurious course of being a dancing-master. ‘Dodger’ once sent Harry a message, which said that, “if he could not dance ‘The Humours of Ballymanus’ (Slip Jig) on the head of a drum, then he would be better holding his tongue for ever.” To this insult Harry replied, by asking if he was a man able to dance the ‘Jockey to the Fair’ upon the saddle of a racing horse, with it travelling at a three-quarter gallop.
As the insults thickened, friends on each side prevailed upon them to settle their claims in a competition. The idea was for each master, with twelve of his pupils, to dance against his rival with twelve of his. The competition was to take place on top of ‘Kilberry Hill’, which had a commanding view of the entire parish. As previously mentioned, in ‘Dodger’s’ school there stood near the middle of the floor a post. In a new manoeuvre developed by ‘Dodger’ this post was convenient as a guide to the dancers when going through the figure in their dance. At the spot where this post stood it was necessary for the dancers to make a curve, in order to form part of the figure of eight, which they were to follow. But, as many of them couldn’t quite get it into their heads what he wanted, he forced them to turn around the post rather than make an acute angle of it, which several of them managed to achieve.
At last, the time came for the competition and it was, everyone agreed, a matter of great difficulty to decide who was best, for each was as good as the other. When ‘Dodger’s’ pupils came to perform their dance, however, they found that the absence of the post was an insurmountable problem. They had carried out all their training with the post in place and were accustomed to it. With the post they could dance, but without the post they pranced about like so many ships at sea without rudders or compasses. It fast became a scene of hilarious confusion, which caused some laughter. ‘Dodger’ stood, looking on, like he was about to explode with shame and anger. But, in fact, the man was in agony. “Gentlemen turn the post!” he shouted, stamping on the ground, and clenching his little hands in fury. “Ladies remember the post! Oh, for the honour of the school don’t let them beat you. The post! Gentlemen, ladies, the post if you love me! In the name of God, the post!”
“By Jaysus, master, that jockey will out distance us,” replied Bob Megarity, “it’s likely he’ll be winning!”
“Any money,” shouted the ‘Dodger’, “any money for long Sam Callaghan, for he’s be able to stand-in for the post. Mind it, boys dear Jaysus, mind it or we’re lost. The Devil a bit do they heed me! They’re more like a swarm of bees or a flock of sheep. Sam Callaghan, where are the hell are you? The post, you blackguards!”
“Oh, master, if we only we had a fishing-rod, or a crow-bar, or a poker, we might yet get it done. But, sure, we would be better giving in, for we’re only getting worse at it.”
At this stage of the proceedings Harry came over to ‘Dodger’, and making a low bow, asked him, “Ah, now, how do you feel, Mister Doherty?” which was ‘Dodger’s true name.
“Sir,” ‘Dodger replied, “I’ll take the shine out of you yet. Can you salute a lady with me?—that’s the game! Come, gentlemen, show them what’s better than fifty posts, salute your partners like proper Irishmen!”
My grandfather described the calamitous scene that now followed. ‘Dodger’ had his people trained to kiss in platoons, and those watching the spectacle were literally convulsed with laughter. No one could quite believe that ‘Dodger’ would introduce such ludicrous ceremony in an attempt to stem the defeat he faced. But he turned the laughter completely against his rival, and swaggered off the ground in high spirits, exclaiming loudly, “He doesn’t know how to salute a lady! Sure, that poor eejit never kissed any woman but his mother, and that only when the poor woman was dying!”
Such, friend, is the manner in which my grandfather, God rest his soul, described the character of an Irish dancing-master. There few if any of these men left in Ireland and yet the competition between the current crop of Irish dancing-teachers is the same, though they try very hard not to show it. Whether your child does ‘Traditional’ or ‘Feis’ dancing just watch the next competition that they attend and you will be able to see for yourselves just how close the characters described by my grandfather still carry on the customs.
Ask most people what they think of when they think of Ireland, you would probably be answered with “Shamrocks, Harps, and Thatched Cottages”, and probably in that order. But, sadly that iconic symbol of Ireland, the Thatched Cottage, have been disappearing from the Irish landscape for generations. The plague of emigration has struck many parts of the island and hundreds of these one-time homes have been left to ruination. The thatched roofs have been allowed to rot and disintegrate, the rain to wash the mortar out from between the stones and leaving only house-shaped piles of dry stones. It is these that have become such a familiar sight in Ireland’s rural landscape. Those old cottages that have not been allowed to fall to wreck and ruin have been given a modern conversion for the roofing, such as corrugated-iron, slate, and tile.
Nowadays, there are less than 1,500 traditionally thatched cottages left in the whole of Ireland, which make it more vital than ever that we preserve them. Although they have proved themselves, over the generations, to be durable and environmentally friendly, in our modern technical age they are seen to be obsolete products of Irish history and tradition.
Though in some places, people are restoring old cottages or thatching new cottages built in the style of the old, less than 1 in 100 of the population live in them. It is quite a difference from the days of 19th century Ireland when over 50% of the population slept under the security of a thatched roof.
Thatching is one of the greatest symbols of our traditional building in Ireland and it has been around since prehistoric times. A thatched roof was the key part of any traditional building for it was the thatched roof that provided the family with shelter and protection at a very cheap cost. These buildings were usually constructed by local tradesmen, who used locally sourced materials to complete the work. These men were plentiful in number in years gone by and their trade had been handed down from father to son. The buildings themselves were, however, usually small in size (traditionally one room), simple in their design (usually rectangular in shape) and were built from local materials such as mud or rocks for the walls and thatch for the roof.
The availability of these building materials in sufficient quantities was vital to the creation of the cottages. The idea of bringing in materials from other areas could not be considered, especially before the introduction of modern transport such as railways, lorries, or canals. The transportation of large, heavy loads was impossible also because of affordability. Even if adequate transport systems had been in operation it was beyond the means of the ordinary Irishman and peasant to pay for the materials, their transportation, and the employment of skilled builders to construct the cottage.
Naturally, the materials used in the building of rural cottages varied across the years, and from region to region. The materials employed would depend on the financial resources of the family, and also on what was available locally. The walls of the building were the most important parts of the construction but could prove to be the most expensive. Poorer families, for the most part, used mud that was tempered with strengthening agents such as straw, reeds or animal matter. Lime mortar, however, was the most desirable material for walls but it was the most expensive.
For many hundreds of years, the most indispensable material in creating the roofs of Irish cottages was thatch. In normal circumstances these roofs began with overlapping layers of sod were placed on the timbers. Then, on top of this layer, the straw thatch was laid. This thatch was derived from a variety of natural materials such as wheat and flax, which was carefully cut and threaded by the Thatcher until every part of the roof was covered and protected from the elements. In most cases, it would take the thatcher to place over 5,000 handfuls of straw to complete the work on the roof. This craft was a skilled trade and was passed down through the generations from father to son, and for the thatcher, the work was regular, since the thatched roof, depending on the material and its condition, would require replacing anywhere from five to twenty years.
Thatch had been the main roofing material for centuries in Ireland, but this began to change after Ireland won its independence from Britain. The new ‘Free State’ government, when it was established in Dublin, began to offer grants to the people for home improvements. Thatch now began to fall out of favour as Ireland’s homeowners took advantage of the funding to replace thatch with slates or tiles, which did not need to be repaired or replaced as often. The side-effect of all this was the virtual disappearance of the Thatcher’s craft, that had been handed down from one generation to the next. Lack of work in their trade saw the Thatcher move from rural Ireland into the towns or emigrate to other countries. Becoming a rarity in Ireland, where it was once so common, gradually made thatched roofs an expensive option for homeowners and the exorbitant cost of repairing thatch caused many cottages to be abandoned to decay or used to house livestock. Sadly, in our more modern times the decline in the popularity of thatched cottages, thatching has become rare as a family trade. But it has not totally disappeared, and several groups and individuals are continuing the craft throughout Ireland by helping to restore existing cottages and to assist in building new ones.
From various records and research, the thatched roof in nineteenth-century Ireland was a sign of poverty. The grand houses of the Landlords had slated or tiled roofs while the peasantry occupied the thatched, mud-walled cottages. Perhaps it was the stigma of poverty that was attached to thatched roofs in Ireland that helped in its demise when materials such as tiles and slated became more available. As new slated roofs sprang up throughout the country many people may have become ashamed of their poor-looking homes, so when the time came and modern materials became more easily available and affordable, they had no hesitation in abandoning their thatched roofs.
This is a genuine portrait of an Irish piper, for the face of the man, and the instrument on which he is playing, are both characteristic of our Nation, genuine Irish. In the well-proportioned oval face you can recognise his years of wisdom, good sense, and gentleness, which is a common trait found among the ordinary people of Ireland, in town or countryside. As for the bagpipes, they are of the most approved Irish kind, beautifully finished, and from which we hear the delicious, relaxing strains traditional Irish music in these modern times of electric guitars and computerised tunes. Pipes such as these have been handed down from generation to generation unto the present time. As a family heirloom they are treated well, taken good care of, and used in a manner that does justice to their powers.
The cause of this apparent deficiency of feeling or talent, many believe, is due to the fact that Paddy, a genuine musical genius, never had the opportunity of hearing any of the great performers of the past and, therefore, had not the chance of improving his considerable talents further. Those whom he did hear he can imitate and outplay very successfully, but in every Irish County there is always one musician of one instrument or another more eminent than the rest, who is recognised as the best in his locality.
In this work we only wish to present a few traits in the character of an individual Irish Piper, which after all relate more to the man than the musician. At the same time, we want let our foreign readers and lovers of Ireland to realise that the true Irish Pipers are not at all like the story of the piper who made his living with only three tunes that he played for the farmers in the land for Paddy could play not three tunes, but three thousand. When he played, they say that your feet could not keep still and your spirit would rise in great joy as the strains of the Irish jig, the reel, and the country dance. This was the way it was in days past, and is slowly becoming so once again, and thank God for it.
But Paddy was more than just an exceptional piper, for he was also a very exceptional man, made even more exceptional when we are told that he had been deprived of his eyesight. He was still a kind and caring person whose path through life was marked by the regard that others felt for him, for he was respected. We had heard enough of the qualities that he had and which had gained him this respect, independently of his musical renown, before we had met with him, to make us want to get to know him better. It was while we were on a visit to Galway with some friends last summer that we tried for two or three days to get him to our hotel for an evening, but in vain. He was away from his playing his music in various locations and could not be found until, on making our way towards Connemara, we met a blind man coming along the road, whom we immediately thought was the ‘Galway Piper’, and discovered we were correct. It was Paddy Connolly himself, who had returned home for a change of clothes, and was on his way back to Galway to spend the evening with a party of gentlemen by whom he had been employed to play during the Regatta. It was not convenient for us to return to the city with him, and so we very wisely decided to carry him off with us. After we seized his pipes from him the rest was easy to do by first taking his pipes, after which we soon had him, a quiet though for a while an upset captive. “Oh! in the name of God, what will Mr Kennedy and the gentlemen think of me at all at all?” exclaimed Paddy.
“Never mind, Paddy,” we told him, “they can hear you often, but we may never have another opportunity of doing so again. So, come along with us, and rest assured that you will be as happy with us as you would have been with those gentlemen at the Regatta.” Only a few minutes later, we had Paddy crooning old Irish songs for us, and pointing out all the objects of any interest or beauty on either side of the road, and this with a correctness and accuracy which perfectly astounded us.
We kept Paddy with us for two weeks before we brought him back safely to Galway. But, during that time, as well as since, we had many opportunities to. But of all his talents, Paddy’s greatest asset was his constant benevolence toward others. There are many examples of this characteristic, which his friends and neighbours will eagerly tell you about his efforts to assist those who are poorer than himself. In his home village, about two miles from Galway, we asked him about the poverty in which his neighbours lived. “Poor? Indeed they are, Sir, very,” he replied, “they have been very badly off this year because of the wet weather, the want of heat, and the high price of potatoes.”
“And how,” I asked, “have they managed to keep body and soul together?”
“Ah, sure, just with the help of those who are a little better off than themselves.”
Paddy never said that he was the person who helped them willingly, but when he was asked was he able to give them any help he confessed that he had, saying he had lent thirty shillings to one family so they could buy seed for their bit of ground, ten shillings to another to buy meal, and so on. “And will they ever pay you back, Paddy?” he was asked.
“Och! they will, to be sure, Sir,” Paddy replied in an unconvincing manner, adding, “if they can, and if they can’t, Sir, why, please God, I’ll get over it. Sure, one couldn’t see the creatures starve!”
Then, we heard that Paddy’s turf had been stolen from him, perhaps by some of the very people whom he had helped and we were curious to ascertain how he took his loss. So, he was asked, “How were you off for turf last winter, Paddy?”
“And how did it happen that you had no turf of your own?”
“Because, Sir, it was all stolen from me, after I had paid two pounds for cutting and drying it.”
“Did you ever,” he was asked, “discover who were the robbers?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied.
“And could you prove the theft against them?”
“I could, to be sure.”
“Did you prosecute them?”
“Sure, what good would that do me?” and Paddy added, in a tone of pity, “the creatures! Sure, they were poor rogues, or they would not have taken every bit away.”
“Well, then, Paddy, did you ever speak to them about it?”
“I did, indeed.”
“And what was their answer?”
“They said, that they wouldn’t have touched it if they had known it was mine.”
“Did they ever return any of it?”
Paddy replied with a laugh, “Oh, no!”
Another story tells that one day, while Paddy was stopping at Mr O’Flaherty’s, who was blind in one eye, was walking two horses, one of which was also similarly disabled, and the other completely blind. A man who was present remarked that here were four animals, two men and two horses, that had but two eyes among them, and he proposed a race, to which Paddy and O’Flaherty agreed. Paddy was placed upon the horse which could see a little, and O’Flaherty got up on the blind one. Off they started with whip and spur, and to his great delight, Paddy won, and he was delighted at having achieved this feat.
Another day, we were standing in the kitchen, listening to Paddy telling his stories to a happy group of young people, when he was spoken to by a middle-aged woman, who, from her lack of English, misunderstood what he was saying, and imagined that he was making a pass at a lovely young girl, representing himself as an unmarried man. Paddy, therefore, was very surprised to hear himself attacked viciously in Irish and broken English, about his terrible conduct. Before the woman had stopped her tirade, Paddy’s face showed that the man would now carry on this joke. So, when he was allowed to reply, he in turn scolded her for being stupid in supposing that she knew him, denied having ever seen her before, and declared that he was not Paddy Connolly at all, and never had heard of or seen such a person. He further added, that “it was a shame for a woman with her two eyes to be so foolish.” The woman could only look at him in mute bewilderment, and actually seemed to doubt her own senses. But she gradually became satisfied as to his identity, and, excited into a virtuous rage, she rushed out of the house, declaring that she would never stop until she told his wife of his misconduct, and she kept her word.
Yes, Paddy was like many others in the county, an ardent lover of field sports. Sitting at breakfast in the local hotel our peace and quiet was suddenly disturbed by a loud din of barking dogs and shouting men. From the main window we could see the road beyond the bridge fore a mile or more and you can imagine our astonishment at seeing Paddy Connolly and Paddy McKee hand in hand and running at top speed, both shouting joyfully and accompanied by a host of greyhounds and terriers barking in chorus, and quickly racing out of sight. Looking at the hotel manager we asked, ” What in the world is the meaning of that?“
“It’s Paddy and McKee going off to course, after borrowing my dogs.”
When all is said and done we must state Paddy was both a temperate and prudent man. He was asked once, “You don’t drink hard, Paddy?”
In conclusion we will admit that Paddy appears to be in comfortable circumstances, farming a bit of ground. His cottage is neat and tidy, and he has a high opinion and decent pride in his own undoubted musical talents. He only plays for the gentry or for the more comfortable farmers. He will not lower his professional standards to play in the pubs for the ordinary folks, except on rare occasions, when he does it for free and for the sole pleasure of making them happy.
Craic agus Ceoil agus Rince – The three pillars of Irish society, which make us such a happy, fun-loving race. This blog concerns Rince (Dance) – Irish Dancing through the years.
I am a traditionalist at heart. I love traditional music and traditional Irish Dancing, Step-Dancing and Ceilidh. I know it will horrify some people but I am not a fan of Feis Dancing with all those wigs, make-up, false-tan. In my opinion, it is more about a beauty pageant than what is traditionally Irish. But it is my opinion…
Is this what they called a ‘Hooley’ – Is it why the church suppressed House Ceilidhs, because the people would go to a dance quicker than they would go to Mass? What has changed in Ireland?
Ireland is well-known for its whiskey, its Poitin, Turf, Storytelling, the Music and the Craic. But, as well as the remote mountains, peat bogs, lakes, and country roads, there is the sight of Irish Travellers, who make up just under 30,000 people or one percent of the country’s population. Being a ‘Traveller’ is a recognised status within Ireland’s social strata, and to be considered a member of the ‘Traveller’ community an individual must have at least one ‘Traveller’ parent. What is also striking about the ‘Traveller’ community in the country is that they have their own language, formally known as ‘Shelta’, which the ‘Travellers’, themselves, call ‘Gammon’ or ‘Cant’. An analysis of ‘Shelta’ has led some scholars to conclude that it came to the fore when the use of the Irish language was prohibited by English conquerors, some 350 years ago.
Although a distinct nomadic group of people they are in a unique position in Ireland because the ‘Travellers’ are native to this land. Over the centuries they have had to face many internal and external influences working against them, which have left their present sociological status is a precarious condition. They have been considered a ‘problem’ by many generations of Irish men and women and have had to suffer repression, suppression and discrimination to varying degrees, leaving them be currently viewed by many in ‘settled’ population as second-class Irish citizens.
The true origins of Irish Travelling People is a continuous source of debate in Ireland, but four main causes behind how ‘Irish Travellers’ came into being. One theory suggests that their direct descendants became nomadic for some economic, social, or cultural reason that caused them to prefer living outside the ‘Brehon Laws’, which were an ancient body of ‘Common Law’ dating from pre-historic times in Ireland. The wandering habits of the people within Gaelic Ireland have also been advanced as a possible explanation for nomadic metalworkers or ‘plain tinkers’. Some researchers have emphasised the mobile, nomadic nature of Gaelic society, believing that the suppression of this lifestyle during the sixteenth-century Tudor reconquest laid the colonial foundations of anti-Traveller racism. Despite such actions by the English elements of the Gaelic pastoral economy continued, the best-known example being ‘booleying’. This is basically the practice of people living in temporary shelters moving herds of cattle from winter to summer pastures. ‘Booleying’ is an important factor in the context of nomadism because it was an agricultural practice demanding seasonal movement that survived within Ireland in some form until the nineteenth century. Its persistence illustrates the difficulty of describing all agriculture as being carried out on settled farmland when the pastoral economy favoured by the Irish cattle farmer could be described as partly nomadic.
The theory that ‘Travellers’ emerged from such a nomadic population has three distinct aspects i.e. craftsmen, the poor and dispossessed, and social misfits. It is believed that craftsmen in metal work and their families were the original nomadic population, and date from the pre-Christian days in this land. A second theory suggests that the ‘Travellers’ are the direct descendants of native Irish chieftains who were dispossessed of their lands and property by the English during the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, and ‘planted’ with English and Scottish protestant farmers. There is another theory that claims that the ‘Travellers’ were the result of intermarriage between the ‘Romany’ Gypsies and Irish peasants. However, it is more likely that the ‘Travellers’ are the descendants of peasants and labourers who were driven from their land by the political and economic upheaval caused by the Great Irish Famine (1845-1850).
In prior centuries, great poverty, Cromwellian wars, and dispossession, evictions and pressure upon the land all combined to produce ‘the crisis of the Irish peasantry’, which drove thousands to wander the roads of Ireland. Researchers have been very careful to say that it is not possible to put an accurate figure on the number of dispossessed tenants and labourers joined the ranks of itinerant craftsmen, and eventually became permanent Travellers. All that we have are theories even today we cannot accurately place their origin of ‘Travellers’ within a certain and credible historical context. Nevertheless, the scholars cannot resist making a link between contemporary ‘Traveller’ surnames and the poverty-stricken population of the west of Ireland, encouraged by the fact that we do know that forty percent of the ‘Travellers’ share ten common surnames.
Over the centuries, ‘Travellers’ became a separate group because they were permanently nomadic and were able to distance themselves from the numerous male tramps and vagabonds who were always on the roads in these times. This distancing other itinerant people is a strange contradiction, but it demonstrates that the similarity in their lifestyles was not the most important factor in bringing about the ‘Traveller’ population. This difficulty has only added to the problems that scholars have had in placing ‘Travellers’ within the historical records as a distinct cultural minority. We cannot, therefore, presume that ‘Travellers’ in the past were the same as the ‘Travellers’ we know today. In the same way, the well-understood boundaries between ‘Travellers’ and settled people are evident in the recent past, based on family structure, work patterns, religious beliefs, and gender roles, cannot be presumed to have existed in earlier societies. Some researchers claim that after the end of the ‘Great Famine’ in 1850, the antipathy which is shown in present-day attitudes towards itinerants appears to have begun to develop’, although there is little evidence to support such a claim. But we do know that life in twenty-first century Ireland is as different to the Ireland of the mid-nineteenth century as it is to the Ireland of the ninth century.
The ‘Travelling People’ are so much a part of Ireland today, but we cannot definitively state that they emerged as a result of dispossession, and colonial oppression. Historians have not directly blamed Anglo-Irish relations for the existence of homeless individuals and families who subsisted on begging and seasonal employment. However, epidemic disease, the lack of organised welfare, economic crises, poor harvests, and demobilisation do seem to feature as causes. Local studies of efforts to improve the status of the homeless poor do show that institutional confinement was the method most favoured by eighteenth-century society. But, since there was no statutory, nationwide system of poor relief in Ireland until 1838, urban and rural dwellers who could not earn or produce enough to support themselves frequently resorted to begging and vagrancy.
Although the ‘Travelling’ population in Ireland was large, contemporary observers did not see it clearly as a separate grouping of people. However, research into Irish attitudes to poverty before 1838 shows that most are attempts by society to differentiate between the men, women, and children who travelled the roads seeking work or alms. In eighteenth-century Dublin, those with money and authority attempted to ‘devise specific types of responses to the different types of pauper which they believed existed. These distinctions were made on the basis of origin, health, ability to work, age, gender, and religion. But even within these categories, there were further differences, causing more attempts to better understand the homeless population and a long list of different terms to describe them, including strange beggar, local beggar, habitual beggar, foreign beggar, stroller, mendicant, vagrant, vagabond, badged poor, impotent poor, sturdy poor, idle poor, church poor, foundling. The number of terms and the subtleties of meaning conveyed by their varying uses in different contexts suggests that there was a complex attitude to the homeless in those days. It is not possible for us to say whether the extent of differentiation between the poverty-stricken people included any notice being taken of culturally distinct nomads as separate from, or in addition to, the various categories of homeless poor. However, since the researchers of the time were primarily interested in describing people with no fixed abode who begged for alms, the cultural life of these individuals would have held no importance.
In years past the ‘Traveller’ would be well-known for story-telling, word-of-mouth histories and they travelled from place to place singing, playing music, and telling stories to entertain people. More importantly, however, for the more isolated Irish communities, these itinerants provide a useful social function in bringing the news with them. As their name suggests the ‘Travellers’ were habitual wanderers, moving from place to place and having no fixed abode that they could call home. In more recent times, however, such a definition neglects to include those partially settled travellers who have elected to live in houses, as opposed to Campsites or Halting sites. Nevertheless, their nomadic inclinations remain a key part of the culture of the ‘Travelling People.’ But, even in years past, mobility was not something that was confined to the destitute but was a relatively common feature of agricultural and urban work. Apart from the ‘Booleying’ that has been mentioned, labourers travelled to gather the harvest, and there was an annual migration between Britain and Ireland of labour, which has been well-studied. However, little is known about the internal migration patterns of seasonal labourers in Ireland, who travelled between certain counties or areas on a regular basis. Although Irish agriculture may not have required as many seasonal workers as the farms of England or Scotland, harvest time continued to generate a demand for labour that could not be met by farmers’ families or the local labour force.
Seasonality and its attendant mobility persisted even in industrial occupations. People in the cities and towns also left their fixed homes to become seasonal agricultural labourers, while men employed in the building trade tramped for miles to secure work. The scholars would divide these ‘migrating classes’ into four separate categories, based on the extent and patterns of their mobility. In the first group, there were habitual wanderers who possessed no home base. Second, there were those who spent a large part of the year on country roads, but who kept regular winter quarters in the town. Thirdly, some were ‘fair weather’ travellers, who travelled only in the summer, but stayed in one place for the remainder of the year and, finally, some travelled frequently on short trips to the country, never travelling far from their home. The same scholars point out that the Gypsy population could be similarly differentiated, with some groups having very limited seasonal travel circuits. Today, however, the customs and habits of ‘Travellers’ are, for the most part, at variance to those of the settled population within whose midst they live. Not surprisingly, these differences have often been deliberately misinterpreted by certain sections of the main population, which has resulted in ‘Travellers’ being left isolated on the margins of mainstream society. Moreover, despite advancements among the ‘Traveller’ communities, many continue to suffer from a range of social, health and economic problems. In most cases, they have no direct access to piped water or plumbed toilets. They also suffer the consequences of holding few or no educational qualifications, particularly due to the unfortunate fact that their children are the most likely to suffer social intolerance. Added to these factors, it has been noted that ‘Travellers’ have a high mortality rate. Statistics suggest that a ‘Traveller’ woman lives twelve years, nine years for a ‘traveller’ man when compared to the general population of the country.
There are many within the general population who cannot understand why the ‘Travellers’ have been granted ethnic status by the Irish Government. When one considers ethnicity, this would naturally include national, racial, religious or language differences. But when compared to the settled population of the country all such traits are very similar. There is very little, if any, difference in the way both communities physically appear. They speak English and count themselves as practicing Catholics, which is also in line with the majority settled population. Their uniqueness, therefore, is more subtle than simply skin colour, religion or language, and may lie in their history.
Although they make up only one percent of total national people, the ‘Travellers’ have very high visibility because of their practice of living in caravans by the roadside. This ‘high visibility’ factor and nomadic lifestyle appear to have made the ‘Travellers’ the least likely minority grouping in Ireland to be made welcome by the settled population in either the urban or the rural, setting. Although essentially native to Ireland and having a heritage that is intertwined with Irish history, as a social group, ‘Travellers’ continue to be regarded as second-class Irish citizens by many within the dominant or ‘settled’ population.
In years gone by the traditional way of life in Ireland allowed ‘Travellers’ and the ‘settled community’ to live under a system of mutual tolerance. Historically, Irish dependency on agrarianism and farming created an economic need for migrant labourers in particular areas, and ‘payment in kind’ became the norm. A ‘Traveller’ man would call to a farm, work there for the day and be given food and a place to sleep for the night. The Industrial Revolution, however, would wreak havoc on the traditional trade of ‘Travellers’ and resulted in little work coming into their community. Machinery and efficient methods gradually caused the economic gap between Travellers and settled people to be widened considerably since this period. Moreover, what the ‘Traveller’ defines as employment is not what is traditionally considered as employment by the dominant population. The arrival of the ‘Welfare State’ and the benefits available to the unemployed, large families, disabled, sick, or disadvantaged saw an increase in Traveller uptake of these benefits. At the same time, they would continue working on whatever manual jobs came their way.
I found some old Dublin newspapers in the attic of the Parochial House one night and I browsed through them to see what I could learn about the past. In one newspaper, dated July 1832. I read a report about the ‘Jaunting Car’ as a method of travel. A ‘Jaunting Car’, as all the Irish people know, is a light two-wheeled carriage for a single horse, with a seat in front for the driver. In its most common form, it had seats for two or four persons placed back to back and with the footboards projecting over the wheels and the typical conveyance for persons in Ireland at one time.
The colloquial name for the driver of this type of vehicle was ‘Jarvey’ and there were mainly two types of Jaunting Cat – ‘The outside Jaunting Car’ and ‘Inside Jaunting Car’. The former was the more common type and the passengers faced outward over the wheels. The other type was considered to be the more genteel Jaunting Car, in which the passengers sat with their backs to the sides of the car and faced each other, but some described it as being, “The most uncomfortable kind of vehicle yet invented” (Anthony Trollope). There was a third type of car known as an ‘Inside or Covered Car’ that had oiled canvas arranged on all sides to protect the passengers from the weather, but at the expense of visibility.
Being that these Jaunting Cars are few and far between these days I thought you readers might want to hear what the correspondent of that Dublin newspaper reported, and read about what Dublin was like in those far off days …
“This is properly, an Irish machine. The ‘Jaunting Car’ is almost peculiar to our island. A Scotchman or an Englishman, on first landing at Dublin or Kingstown (Dun Laoghaire), is immediately struck by this peculiarity, but they soon learn to relish so agreeable and handsome a conveyance. It is true that the cars for hire do not present very great temptations, the miserable horses, and too often the squalid, dirty drivers, clamouring for a fare, and underbidding each other with fierce vociferation, while the furious driving and incessant attempts to take advantage of ignorance and inexperience, render the Dublin car-men almost intolerable, (We speak generally) except to those who are content to endure these disadvantages for the pleasure and ease of being conveyed to any part of the city or country. But none who have enjoyed the comforts of that pleasant vehicle, a private car, will quarrel with our designating it agreeable and handsome. Almost every citizen who can afford it, (and we are sorry to add, many who cannot) keeps a car …
“Who has not enjoyed the advantages of the jaunting car: who that has even traversed the beautiful road to Kingstown on the various vehicles denominated ‘DISLOCATORS’, which pass and repass in unremitting whirl; or who that has watched the beautiful daughters of the ‘green isle’ borne through the streets of our extending metropolis on this handsome and commodious vehicle, that will not feel curious to know from what humble principle it has thus risen to perfection. And in good time, have I met with Master Bush’s ‘Hibernia Curiosa’: he was a careful and observant traveller, and feel I cannot do better than amuse you readers with an extract on the above matter from his work:
“They have an odd kind of a machine here, which they call the ‘NODDY’(See above picture); it is nothing more than an old cast-off one-horse chaise or chair; with a kind of stool fixed upon the shafts just before the seat, on which the driver sits, just over the horse, and drives you from one part of the town to another, at stated rates for a ‘set-down’ and a good ‘set-down’ it is sometimes, for you are well off if you are not set-down in a channel, by the breaking of wheels, or an overset-down it is sometimes; nor can you see anything before you but your nod, nod, nodding charioteer, whose situation on the shafts obliges his victim to be conformed to that of the horse, from whence I suppose they have obtained the name ‘Noddy’. I assure you the ease of the fire is not much consulted in the construction of these nodding vehicles. But the drollest and most diverting kind of conveyance for your genteel and ungenteel parties of pleasure is what they call here the ‘Chaise-marine’, which is nothing less or more than any common car with one horse. A simple kind of carriage constructed with a pair of wheels, or thin round blocks, of about twenty inches in diameter, and axle and two shafts, which over the axle are spread out a little wider than the sides of the horse, and framed together with cross pieces in such a manner as to be nearly in a level position for three or four feet across the axle.
These simple constructions are almost the only kind of carts in common use for carrying or moving of goods, merchandise of every kind, hay, corn, etc, through the kingdom. These are, however, used for parties of pleasure, when on the level part a mat is laid for the commonality, and for the genteeler sort of people a bed is put on this, and a half-dozen get on, two behind and two on each side, and away they drive with their feet not above six inches from the ground as they sit, on little jaunts of a few miles out of town; and they are the most sociable carriages in use, for ten or a dozen will take one of the ‘Chaise-marine’ parties on the Sunday we landed coming out of town as we went up to it from Dun Laoghaire.” Such was the ‘Jaunting Car’ in 1764 and could the honest gentleman to whom we are indebted for this description “Revisit the moon,” and see the vehicle of 1832, how great would be his praises, and surprise. I shall take an early opportunity of returning to his pages, from whence I have no fear of being enabled to extract much that will be agreeable, useful, and entertaining.”