Lynch's Castle, Galway

Lynch's Castle in Galway is probably the most iconic image of the city's rich Medieval and Norman past.

Judging on the photo, (perhaps by Warner) it is from the close of the 19th century, maybe c. 1890, four decades before the Munster Bank opened up their branch there around 1930, which in time became Allied Irish Bank, which it still is today at the intersection of Shop Street and Abbeygate Street in Galway City.

Other than the chimney, and the shops downstairs, nothing much has changed. A truly beautiful building, covered in carved stonework, coats of arms, memorials, gargoyles, and even a turtle being eaten by an otter. All this embellishment on what was originally a fortified 'tower house' aptly epitomises the fabulous wealth of the Anglo-Norman and Norman-Irish Trading 'Tribes of Galway' between the 15th and 17th centuries.

The beautiful scroll-work over the window above the main doorway is clearly visible here, though covered now in timber shuttering, since it was damaged during the cleaning of the castle's stonework last year. Hopefully we will soon be able to see the restored window.

On another note, I would love to be able to view the castle's garden, which I believe contains a Lynch burial vault. (no money in that bank vault, just the bones of the noble Lynch families). It would be cool to have a video of the castle, front, back and inside, with historical perspective and views from the roof etc, showing on a screen in the bank.

Personally, I love the 'shawlies' on the path in this photo. they are wearing a traditional shawl, perhaps a paisley or other design, so popular in Galway and in the Claddagh in the 19th century, and indeed right up to the 1960's, was not an uncommon sight here on the streets of Galway. I wonder what the name over the door is? Was it a bar, or a grocery perhaps?

For more of these stories come join me on one of my Galway Walks.
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An Easter Tale from County Galway

Nine million chocolate eggs were consumed over Easter in Ireland. Watching the children searching the garden on a Easter Egg Hunt this weekend reminded me that Easter Eggs were not always chocolate or dyed, or even common. In fact, eggs were a commodity, that most households sold, not ate. That brought me to my grand-father's shop in Killimor, County Galway, which he opened exactly a hundred years ago this year.

M. A. Brody and Co, Killimor, County Galway. C. 1914

My grandfather, Michael Brody, and his family, operated a general store, offering grocery, hardware, builders providers, drapery, apothecary, as well as glass, timber, fertiliser and fuels in Killimor, near Portumna, Co.Galway, for nearly eighty years. He was also a master tea-blender having trained in Liptons in London, and finally, for over fifty years, he also traded as a licensed egg wholesaler. 

From the time he opened the shop in 1914, each day his 'travelling shop' or a lorry went around the countryside, from country story to village shop, all over the Sliabh Aughty mountains, in south Galway and north Clare, buying eggs from the local shops, who in turn had bought them from local farms, almost exclusively from the womenfolk, whose responsibility the farms' chickens were. The women earned their 'pin-money' from the eggs, and that was so important for funding the daily necessities of the farming household, before the advent of 'The Childrens' Allowance', which was introduced in the 1950's

Back in Killimor, 'Boss Brody' would have the thousands of eggs washed, graded, checked for freshness, dated and stamped with his 'Egg Dearer's registered number', packed onto cardboard trays, and then layered carefully in wooden crates, each crate holding several 'gross' of eggs (a gross was 144). When he had a full load, his lorry would be driven, carefully, to the Port of Dublin, for onward shipment to Liverpool or Hollyhead via the mail-boat, from where the eggs would be brought by train to the 'Egg Exchange Market', at Covent Garden, in London, to be sold. 

It was a good business, but with plenty of hassles, including getting paid by his London agent, which often left my grand-father in a precarious financial position, especially during The Emergency, during WWII. Cash was king during the war, but Grandad's cash was already spent, paying the smaller shops for their eggs, while his dealer might take 30 days or even more credit before paying him. My mum told me this was a regular difficulty for Grandad. 

That wasn't the only problem with eggs. You could be 'had' too, as lots of eggs were already 'off' when bought by the shops, as back then, hens laid their eggs under hedges or in outhouses around the farmyard, so sometimes the eggs might be old, or less than fresh, by the time they were found, or they might even be half-hatched. Buying fresh eggs was an art. Grandad had to suffer a government 'Egg-inspector's' visit each week, whose job it was to ensure standards were adhered to. As chickens don't lay eggs much in the winter-time, and owing to a lack of refrigeration back then, in order to keep eggs fresh for use over the winter months, eggs were preserved before shipping, by coating them in a Vaseline solution before packing. Yes, eggs could be a messy business indeed.

Grandad loved to spin a good story to us, his grand-children. He often told me the story of how back in the 'forties, his truck took a bend near Eyrecourt, just a little too too fast and ended up tipping over into the field, with egg crates tossed everywhere, though miraculously, hardly a one broke. They heeled the truck back on its axles, reloaded the eggs and took off for the boat. 

Another time he got an urgent call to bring eggs to an American liner in Galway Bay. He was delighted with the wind-fall order and hurriedly loaded the new lorry that he had just taken delivery of. It was a little bigger than the old one and a little higher, and a little shinier and my grandad was really proud of it. So proud was he that he decided to drive the lorry to Galway himself, though with very little time to spare to catch the ship before she sailed with the tide. He took off at a mighty pace, in through Gurtymadden to Loughrea, on to Craughwell and Oranmore, then in by the old Galway road behind Merlin Park, under the railway bridge, for which the truck was just 8 inches too high. The bridge took the top row of egg crates clean off the top of the truck, leaving the biggest omelette in Galway in the middle of the road. Despite the mishap, and his embarrassment, he made the ship, and then hit straight over to to Athenry to have a new creel made or the truck, one that was a foot lower.

This little story posted by a friend of mine, Karin Joyce who lives in Boston, about her mother's memories of Easter eggs in the 'thirties, brought a smile to my face, and right back to Grandad's shop in Killimor. How different things were back then, our children cannot even imagine what austerity was.

'Happy Easter to you all. I think of my mother on Easter as she loved to have an egg and especially on Easter morning. Once she was in the hospital and was delighted to tell us that all the patients got a dyed egg that morning. It stemmed from her childhood. As a child in Ballacurra, Co. Galway, she never had a whole egg except on Easter. Being one of 17, her mother sold the eggs to Glynn's shop. Her granny was the only one to get an egg during the year. Granny would give the children turns and give them the top of her egg. I told my mother she must have had to wait her turn for two weeks. My mother, Katie Monahan and her sisters were so happy and proud to have an egg on Easter morning that they dribbled the yolk on their chins and went to mass to show everyone they got an egg'.

An Easter tale from County Galway, one you might hear on my walking tours of Galway, or on the shortest walking tour of Ireland, 'the fifty foot tour of O'Connors Bar Galway.'For more on the Walking Tours of Galway or to book a tour, see www.galwaywalks.com 

To Hell or to Connacht

'To Hell or to Connacht! Connacht, where there is not enough trees to hang a man, water to drown him, nor soil to bury him'.

Such was Oliver Cromwell's dire dictate to Catholic landowners during the Cromwellian wars in Ireland 1641-1653, after which 90% of all land-ownership was transferred, at the point of a sword, on pain of death, from Irish and Anglo-Norman, mainly Catholic ownership, to English Soldier/Dissenter/Opportunist, mainly Protestant ownership. Dispossessed families from all over conquered Ireland, many previously wealthy and important, found themselves forced as ethniclly-cleansed refugees, into the margins of Connacht, mainly Clare, Galway and Mayo, onto land that was at best marginal, hillsides and bogs. And so began the enforced impoverishment of the last great civilisation of Europe, an impoverishment that peaked with the deliberate dispossession of the Catholic landed class after the Treaty of Limerick in 1692, proscription against the practice of the Catholic religion, the outlawing of the Irish Language and Culture and the emasculation of the Irish as a people.

However, even after a further 200 years of enslavement and colonisation, the subjugation of the once proud Irish people was still incomplete.Despite all their hardships, failed rebellions, evictions, deportations, forced emigration, discrimination and racism, despite all that, the Irish continued to thrive, so that by 1839, there were 8 million of us,  impoverished and demeaned,  yes, but proud and stoic too. The deliberate anti-Irish policies of successive English regimes culminated with the willful genocide that was 'The Great Hunger'. A heretofore unknown potato blight devastated the potato crop for over a decade, depriving this large population of their staple food. Sky-rocketing corn prices, mass evictions and ten years of famine in Ireland in the 1840's and 1850's, resulted in 1.5 million people dead and 2.5 million emigrated, in particular from the over-crowded, western wetlands of Connacht. Picturesque the land here is, but arable it is not.

Most families subsisted on holdings of less than 5 acres in County Galway, with an artificially crowded density of over 500 people per square mile in some areas, totally unsustainable when one considers that they could only grow potatoes on the land, no cereal and had few animals. What animals they had, a pig and maybe a few sheep and rough cattle were kept to pay the rents on their small-holdings. Rack-rents were exorbitant and if the tenant farmer made any improvements he was punished for his industry by having to pay a higher rent the following year. It was a dire, precarious lifestyle, one that came crashing down when the potato crop failed.

Yet life continued. People continued to live on the land, get married, have children, many still emigrated. There was a pride in being a Connacht person. That pride is always stirring just below the surface, a kind of spartan and indomitable spirit. Today Connacht still has the largest rural population and the poorest land in ireland but industry is thriving and tourism is particularly healthy, mainly because of the stark and beautiful landscape. Perhaps Cromwell did us a favour after all. But it was a high price to pay, no doubt about that.

For more stories like this, check out http://www.galwaywalks.com, or on Facebook see 'Walking Tours of Galway', or come along on one of my daily 'Galway Walks', 'Galway's Horrible History Tours', or 'The Fireside Tour of Galway'. Delighted to show you around!
Brian

Erin’s Lament, Galway’s Gain - A Titanic Tale

Erin’s Lament, Galway’s Gain - A Titanic Tale

In April 1912, Eugene Patrick Daly, then aged 29, (born 1883), a weaver from Athlone, County Westmeath, Ireland, was travelling to New York City, just one of 113 Irish passengers who unfortunately chose the Titanic to emigrate to the USA. He boarded the Titanic on the 11^th of April, 1912, at Queenstown (ticket number 382651). The ticket cost him £7. 15s, or almost 6 months pay for a working man.

It has been confirmed in eye witness accounts of the Titanic’s call to Cobh, that Daly played "Erin's Lament", "A Nation Once Again", "Boolavogue" and other well known nationalist tunes on his uilleann (elbow) pipes (a traditional Irish instrument) for his fellow steerage passengers, as America, one of the two tenders to the Titanic steamed away from Queenstown harbour, bound for the gleaming liner that lay at anchor far out in Cork harbour, near Roches Point. It was both a heartening and a poignant moment listening to those traditional airs as the passengers left Ireland, most of them for the last time.

Amazingly Daly survived the Titanic’s tragic sinking by clinging to an upturned collapsible lifeboat (Collapsible 2). He credited his survival to his heavy overcoat. Though frost-bitten and near death, he was rescued, but he lost his precious uileann pipes, which he claimed he'd played as the ship sank, saying he'd never heard the orchestra play. He would later file a claim against the White Star Line’ for $50 for their loss. Similar pipes, possibly Eugene Daly's, were recently salvaged from the Titanic wreck and are now in the Titanic Museum collection.

Eugene Daly got married in America to Lil Caulfield from Co. Mayo, and whether he was homesick or inspired by the Irish Free State, he returned to Ireland in 1921. He suffered terribly from paranoia on the return ship journey, so much so that his wife paid a crew-member to sit with him at night while the others slept and he vowed never again to set foot aboard a ship once they arrived home. 

With his new wife he moved to Galway where he found work in the Galway Woolen Mills and later in Palmers Mill, now the Bridge mill, which was then a busy flour mill. He lived with his wife and daughter, (born in 1925) Mary Kate, but known as Marion, at 7 St. Johns Terrace in Galway and was a popular musician in the city, playing pipes and flute in ceili bands around the city.

In 1961, after his wife had died, and after he'd retired from the now obsolete flour mill, he emigrated one last time to the USA, but this time by plane, to Washington Heights in New York, to live out his last days there with his only child, his now married daughter Marion Joyce. 

Marion had emigrated some ten years earlier with her husband, a locally renowned tenor, John Joyce. He worked in Manhattan and Marion looked after her growing family, where she also was superintendent of the building they lived in. While living with his daughter, Eugene was a regular mass-goer, a volunteer at the church and a doting grand-father to his grand-children. He was tight-lipped about his near-death experience. He died there age 82, in 1965. 

His daughter and her husband later moved to Branson Missouri, to be near their youngest son, who was serving as a police officer there. They are buried in Branson.

To his credit, Eugene testified at the Titanic Hearings in New York and his description of the sinking, the inadequate lifeboats and especially his eye witness testimony of a ship’s officer shooting third class passengers who were trying to board a lifeboat has been relied on heavily by historians of the Titanic and is the stuff of film legend now. 

His credible eye witness testimony of the chaotic scenes and passenger discrimination onboard Titanic was instrumental in the passing of new Lifeboat laws for passenger ships.  He helped save many lives in subsequent ship wrecks because of the new Lifeboat laws.

His account of the tragedy was used as research in many movies and stories about the great liner. He was interviewed by Walter Lord while he was writing his book on Titanic, 'A night to remember', which was later in 1958 made into the famous movie of the same name. That book and movie informed the makers of the modern movie 'Titanic'. 

Initially Eugene was unique amongst survivors in his willingness to recount the story whenever asked, as most other survivors, no doubt suffering from post-traumatic shock, or grief, rarely ever uttered a word on their brush with death when Titanic sank. Later as he grew older, he stopped talking about Titanic entirely, so painful was the memory.

Eugene Daly died on 30 October 1965 aged 82. He is buried in St. Raymond’s Cemetery in the Bronx

I tell the stories of the Irish Titanic passengers from Galway on my Walking Tours of Galway. I also recount Eugene's story on my Fireside Tales, in O'Connors bar in Salthill. For more information check out http://www.galwaywalks.com 

Thanks for reading. Brian Nolan

galwaywalks@gmail.com 

086-3273560

Galway's Connection To Titanic

GALWAY'S CONNECTION TO TITANIC

RMS Titanic was the greatest ship of her age. Thought to be unsinkable, Titanic was 882 feet long and represented the very finest furnishing and the most advanced technology of it's day. 

This replica model, pictured above on the Promenade in Salthill, Galway, was built by a 'Men's Shed' project in Lahardane, County Mayo, to mark Titanic's 100th anniversary in 2012. It is a 1/10th scale model, measuring 88.2 feet long and is faithful to the origina Titanic in almost every detail, right down to the portholes and stacks. 

The real Titanic was built in Belfast to be the fastest liner in the world. While on her maiden voyage to New York, from Southampton, England, via Cherbourg, France and Cobh (Queenstown), Ireland. and in the process of setting a new record for the fastest Atlantic crossing, Titanic struck an iceberg some 200 miles off Newfoundland, at 11.20pm on the night of the 14th of April 1912. She sank at 2.20 am on the morning of 15th April 1912.

There were 2,223 passengers and crew aboard Titanic when she sailed from Queenstown (899 crew and 1,324 passengers) on the morning 12th of April 1912.

In total, 1,517 people died when Titanic sank (685 crew and 832 passengers). 120 Irish passengers boarded Titanic at Queenstown (42 survived, 78 died). 37 of the Irish passengers were from Connacht.

Nine passengers on Titanic were from County Galway. 2 others aboard had a very strong Galway connection.

Hanora "Nora" Healy, 29, of Athenry, Co Galway boarded the Titanic at Queenstown as a third class passenger. Her ticket cost £7-15s. Nora escaped the sinking in lifeboat 16. She died 11 March 1919 aged 36.

Andrew ‘Andy’ Keane, 20, Derrydonnell, Athenry, Co. Galway. He was a keen hurler and brought 2 county medals and a dozen hurley sticks with him on Titanic. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Margaret Mannion, Loughanboy, Caltra. Co. Galway. She survived the sinking and returned to Ireland in 1919. She married Martin Hopkins of Ahascaragh. She died in Clontuskert on 15 May 1970.

Ellie Mockler, 23, Caltra, Co. Galway. She survived the sinking and in 1917 became a Mercy Nun in New York. She died in 1984, aged 95.

Martin Gallagher - Currafarry, Caltra, Co. Galway. A hero of the tragedy, he saved several women to escape certain death by helping them into lifeboats. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Thomas Smyth – Chapelfinnerty, Caltra, Co Galway. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Thomas Kilgannon - Currafarry, Caltra, Co Galway. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

John Flynn, Carrowhakin, Clonbur, County Galway. He emigrated to America some years previously and was only home on a visit. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Patrick Shaughnessy, 24, Tynagh, Co Galway. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Other Galway Connections;

Bruce Ismay, head of the White Star Line, the company that owned ‘Titanic’, was a captain of industry, an extraordinary entrepreneur, and the driving force behind the new breed of luxury liners purpose built to race across the Atlantic. He was villified after Titanic sank. He left his life in London and moved to Connemara where he mostly lived from 1913 

Eugene Daly -Athlone, Co.Westmeath. A weaver and a talented piper, sailed on Titanic. Luckily he survived the sinking by clinging to an upturned liferaft. He testified at the Titanic hearings in New York. He married in New York and in 1921 returned to Ireland. He settled in Galway city and after his wife died in 1961, he flew back to America where he lived with his only child, Marion Joyce, in Missouri. He died on 30 October 1965. (see his story, Erin's Lament, in the next blog entry)

The above notes were prepared by me for a daily talk I gave at the exibit of the replica Titanic at the Prom opposite the Aquarium during August 2012. I tell these and other Titanic Stories on my Galway Walking Tours, www.galwaywalks.com 

Here's what was on show;

From Mayo to Galway - with love, ' The Titanic' on the Prom!

Visitors to Galway, and locals alike, might be surprised this week by the graceful presence of the Titanic, 'moored' on Salthill's promenade, one of Ireland's best known seaside resorts. The replica 1/10 scale model of the famous ship, is on loan to Galway from the Mayo community of Addergoole, who celebrated the centenary of the ship's sinking last April. The commemorative events in the tiny Mayo village of  Laherdane were the focus of national and international media coverage, and 'the boat on the bay' is already attracting hundreds of curious onlookers to Salthill. The Titanic replica is 88 feet long, and is accurate in every detail, down to the portholes, smokestacks and anchors, and the decks are fully illuminated at night. 

Eleven young emigrants from Mayo lost their lives on the ship, a tragedy which devastated the local community, and prompted a group of local men from Addergoole to build a model of the liner. They worked tirelessly and in secret over a period of eight weeks, to ensure that the replica was in place for the opening ceremony in April this year. The 'gift' from Mayo is an acknowledgement and mark of respect to the nine Galwegians who boarded the Titanic at Cobh in April 1912, six of whom lost their lives. "It was a real labour of love," according to Brian Nolan from Salthill, who is also a founding member of the Addergoole Titanic Society, "and while the locals are missing it terribly, it's great to be able to recognise Galway's loss on the Titanic too," he said.

Martin Gallagher, from Galway, was one of those who selflessly helped up to nine women into lifeboats before he lost his life. Another of the more well known Galway connections to the ship is Eugene Patrick Daly, a weaver, originally from Athlone, but who subsequently settled in St John's Terrace, Galway., where he worked at the Galway Woolen Mills, and was also a popular local musician.  Eugene testified at the Titanic Hearings in New York, and his credible eye witness testimony of the chaotic scenes and passenger discrimination onboard the Titanic was instrumental in the passing of new Lifeboat laws for passenger ships. 

The West of Ireland connection to the ship extends to Connemara where Bruce Ismay, owner of the White Star Line, lived for thirty years.  He escaped the stricken ship on the last lifeboat, but his reputation never recovered.

In spite of it's tragic history, the Titanic and it's present-day replica continue to fascinate and attract the interest of passersby. Managing Director of Salthill Tourist Board Roger O' Sullivan, was impressed by the efforts of the Mayo community to keep the story alive, and he took the initative to bring the ship to Salthill in memory of the lost Galwegians. "The Titanic is just one of many welcome visitors to Galway this week, and is a continued boost for local business who are delighted with the increase in trade," he said. The arrival of the ship was celebrated at a launch in the Galway Business School in Salthill on Friday, where the Mayor of Galway Terry O'Flaherty welcomed the local tourist initiative.

Situated on the prom, opposite the Aquarium, it's an ideal spot for a fun day out, with many visitors already enjoying close access to the ship for family photos. Titanic memorabilia and souvenirs are available from 10 am in the adjoining tent where talks on the boat's history will take place each evening at 7.pm, beginning on Saturday August 4th,and continuing until August 20th. 

Volunteers who would like to take part in promoting Galway's historic link with the ship, are invited to contact Brian Nolan directly on 086 327 3560.

ENDS

The replica Titanic is now housed in a warehouse in Castlebar, County Mayo, awaiting sailing orders. 
Who knows where it will go next? (after necessary repairs and refurbishment of course!)

Mairgead Mor - The Winter Solstice

Mairgead Mór  “Big Fair Day”

Over most of Western Europe, particularly in those areas connected with the ancient Celts, December 21, the shortest day of the year fell during the Druidic festival of 'Yule'. Today it is better known as the festival of the ‘Winter Solstice’.

‘Thoul’, an ancient word for wheel, has been handed down to us as Yule. The sun was likened by the Celts to a wheel, traversing the heavens, giving long and short days. The shortest day, and thus a good reason to be of good cheer in anticipation of longer days ahead, was known as Yule. This celebration of light survives in many of our Christmas traditions with the hanging of mistletoe (a white berry), Holly (a red berry) and the lighting of the Yule-log, whose faint light kick-started the longer days Spring. It was an exciting festival for the ancient Celts, coming as it did at the darkest time of year.

In Ireland Yule was eventually replaced by the Catholic traditions surround the religious feast-day of the Immaculate Conception, on the 8th of December and the longer festival of Christmas. However, outside the city, the old pagan traditions continued to be marked by the holding of the Mairgead Mór or the "Big Fair Day, in country towns all around Ireland.

"Brian Nolan, a Loughrea, County Galway native, remembers it as a day of great celebration, when farmers would converge on town to sell their crops, livestock, and poultry, and women would come with them to spend their "butter and egg money" on holiday gifts and goodies.

According to Nolan, "Mairgead Mór was an amazing sight to me as a child in the early 60s before marts and supermarkets modernized everything. On that day, everyone came to town — the ruddy-faced, wool-capped men with their sturdy womenfolk; the too-thin gaggles of wide-eyed children — on horses, in donkey and cart, on bicycles, and on foot, and everyone carried something for the fair. They arrived before dawn, and left, a mess of straw and leavings behind them, after dark".

"Geese by the hundred, turkeys and chickens by the thousand, all 'live,' tied to the back of upturned donkey carts between loads of turf. Mounds of potato sacks brimmed with Kerrs Pinks and Banners from Clare; huge heads of cabbage and turnips; bunches of parsnip and carrots, and the very rare bushel of brussels sprouts. Wheels of hardy cheddar, and what seemed like acres of flats of eggs in hues of brown and white, with the bigger duck-eggs, bluish in the winter sunlight".

"The fowl would be raucous, hog-tied or closeted in bushel baskets with their heads poking out, or in more modern times, poking their heads out of car-boots, and all cackling and clucking and gobbling away to their hearts' content. The 'townies' and some city market buyers made their canny way, back and forth between the rows of sellers, examining here, feeling there, commenting on the size and weight, and what they were fed on, and whether they were spring or summer birds".

"Amid all that was the excitement of the shops, the bustle of the women going in to settle their account with the harvest, butter, and turkey money enabling them to pav down their tab and get some new clothes for themselves and the children, now wide-eyed in expectation and appreciation of the beautiful goods and sweet chocolates they were able to see and touch now and maybe even take home".

December 21st was one of the most important dates in the Celtic calendar as it marked the celebration of a farmer's success and the approach of the New Year. The Mairgead Mór did not always co-incide with December 21, in fact it was usually held on the Wednesday or Thursday that fell in the week after the next Sunday after December the 8th, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.  So it was held approximately a week or so before Christmas, giving folks enough time to kill, hang and pluck their turkey or goose.

These days In modern Ireland, the Mairgead Mór is no longer held, it's now just another big shopping day before Christmas, but in country folks’ minds, the time for cutting mistletoe is nigh and they’d best be getting the turkey ready for market’ Today, the 18th of December would have been a perfect Mairgead Mór.

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This story  is typical of the stories I tell on my Galway's Horrible History Walking Tours. Check out www.galwaywalks.com or contact me at galwaywalks@gmail.com 

This particular story 'Mairgead Mór', which I mostly wrote over a decade ago, appears in edited form in Margaret Johnson’s latest cook book, ‘Christmas Flavors of Ireland’ which is available now through her website or on Amazon.  The book is delightfully written and presented and would make a lovely gift anytime.

It is published by Ambassador International., Belfast, N. Ireland 

Margaret M. Johnson www.irishcook.com  or www.margaretmjohnson.com

Snuff at a Wake and other Pipe Dreams

While yet a teenager, I collected most of these clay pipes around Loughrea, in county Galway, some from the lake shore, some from under the water using a snorkel and mask, the smallest ones from the bottom of a hole I was digging in Elephant and Castle, while working as a student in London. 

I cannot say if any of them were made in Knockrockery, the little village in Roscommon, that was destroyed by the Black and Tans in 1921 in reprisal for a fatal ambush on a British officer in Athlone. While the blame for the ambush was laid at the feet of the people of Knockrockery, it is unlikely that anyone from that village had anything much to do with the attack. Unfortunately however, the only business of note in the village, that of Clay Pipe-making, which had been carried out there for over a hundred years, was destroyed by the rampaging Black and Tan soldiers. The entire village was burned to the ground that fateful night. The kilns were destroyed and the factory was never re-built. Knockrockery's clay pipe-making tradition died,  there and then.

My clay pipes are all incomplete. While the bowls were robust,  the long, white, swan-necked stems were delicate and were easily broken. Two of the stems are marked Waterford and Wexford. One is marked Hanley Brothers. One bowl is marked 6 High Street, Sligo. An eclectic mix one might say. Why they all ended up in the lake at the back of the old famine work-house is anyone's guess.

In local parlance the pipes were known as 'Duidins' (dude-eens) and were the poor man's or poor woman's smoking pipe. Women especially favoured them, being able to secret them away in their bosoms, safely, without fear of burning, unlike a cigarette.

My grand-father's shop, a grocery, drapery, apothecary and general store, M A Brody and Co, in Killimor, Co. Galway, used to supply the local 'Wakes' with the 'wake order'. The typical wake order included a 'Habit' (for the deceased), wax candles (for the vigil), a pound of Brody's Best Tea, (especially blended by my grand-dad Michael Brody), a half gallon (or more) of whiskey, several ounces of snuff, and a gross (144) of filled pipes or duidins.

A 'flaithuilach' or 'fliurseach' of these ingredients made for a good wake. A dearth of them did the deceased no honour at all and no self-respecting family would let the house down by being 'mean' with the necessities. 'Like snuff at a wake' was the catchphrase for a generous helping of anything in life, or death, whether it be drink, food or any other freely given delight. Plenty of snuff at a wake really meant that the odours emanating from the deceased's body needed to be disguised, but even so, a little snuff was never enuff!

My mother, Josephine Brody and my uncle, Padraic Brody, as teenage children in the 1930's, used to have to fill the pipes for the wake order, cutting the hard plug tobacco into shreds with a pen-knife and then packing the 144 clay pipes with a single smokes worth. The pipes were delicate and often broke during the packing, so great care, dexterity and patience was needed, to get the order 'filled'. Mum never smoked, she reckons 'cause of her dislike of the smell of the tobacco from those days. Nor indeed did my uncle smoke either.

In the early 1970's, some 40 years after my mum had filled her last wake order, I worked a summer job in my uncle's shop. The clay pipes were long gone and the half-gallon jugs of whiskey too, but the snuff was still there, in a tightly- capped glass jar behind the counter. I had only three customers that summer for snuff, all older ladies. They came in once a week or once a fortnight for their shopping and when their list was all done, they would ask for their snuff by the 1/4 or 1/2 ounce. There was a special silver scoop for the snuff, a tiny thing, which I would use to measure out a deal of the pepper-like powder into a little white paper bag. I would then weigh the bag and its contents on the brass balance scale, matching the weight of the baggie with the 1/2 ounce brass weight,  Once weighed, I would fold the bag onto itself, at angles, and then full fold, sealing in the fragrant yellow powder.

Only once I had the temerity to ask one lady what snuff was for? I had in mind that it might be like the cayenne pepper that my dad used shake on his fried egg, which naturally, being a child, I never even ventured to taste, assuming it to be on the same par as whiskey, which I had made the mistake of trying once, with predictable results.

She smiled and kindly introduced me to the delicate and secret etiquette of snuff. First one must open one's 'snuff box'....a small indent 2 inches behind one's thumb, if the thumb and index finger are simultaneously extended. A tiny amount of snuff is 'pinched' between the thumb and index finger of the right hand and sprinkled into the 'snuff box' of the left hand. Then while blocking one one nostril at a time with one's right thumb, one sniffed, or snuffed the snuff box with the other 'nose' in one long, deep snort. Repeating the same with the other side, one emptied the snuff box and stood straight, head back, and then it came...the biggest, most violent, most sinus-clearing efficient sneeze ever, bending ones spine to astonishing curvature and the spring-back was capable of launching a sliothar the length of a hurling pitch. 

Aah yes, my first 'snuff' experience...and my last!! My eyes wept for days and my nose ran like a stream in at snow-melt. Such was the force of my sneeze I was unable to pee for two days, not to mind anything else. The little old lady smiled and as she turned to leave the shop, the light caught the yellow powder residue on her jacket sleeve, just above the wrist, where she had stemmed many's a similar sneeze, smothering the explosion with her arm.

Last night, we were invited to a pre-Christmas dinner in a friend's house in Monivea. Barbara and Gabriel are wonderful hosts and their hospitality left us as sated as beached seals on the strand. While I sipped an Irish Coffee, another guest regaled us with tales of Galway in the 1970's and then she talked about a bar her family had owned near the Claddagh in Galway. The bar was called 'The Genoa' after Christopher Columbus, who hailed from that city and apparently visited Galway in 1487, some five years before he discovered America.

We had great fun listening to her telling us in her laconic Galway accent, 'D'je know the Genoa' .Afterwards she told us of all the times the old Claddagh women would come into the bar after selling their fish on the Raven Terrace opposite the Spanish Arch, and how they would sidle quietly into the 'snug' where they would have a small-half-one and a maybe a baby bottle of Guinness, and all the while puffing on their duidins, under their Paisley shawls, their wizened weather-beaten faces, cracked into perpetual smiles, disarmingly obfuscating their hard lives.

I looked again at my little collection of broken clay pipes and wondered at all the tales they might hold and how little we really understand of our not-so-long-gone ancestors. Each pipe has a story to tell, but like the long gone wisps of smoke that curled up from the lit bowls a hundred years ago, those stories have dissipated into the air, wafting around the houses, across the bogs and over the hills and where if we are lucky, the wind occasionally blows back a faint aroma of a time long past, a fragrant flicker of the hint of a life, now gone, scattered, like snuff at a wake.

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I hope you have enjoyed this story. You can hear many more by coming for a walk with me in Galway.

Come join me on one of my 'Galway's Horrible History Walking Tours'. See www.galwaywalks.com