By John Fitzgerald
(Part two)
(Carmel Kealy’s recollections of life in early 20th century Callan provide a fascinating insight for people of present and future generations. Part one can be read on the Observer website.)
It was Carmel’s father, Pat Maher, who built the houses on the Callan Green in 1914-at the behest of the Town Commissioners. He used limestone from Pattie Phelan’s quarry in Physicianstown, all of which had to be carried to Callan in horses and carts supplied by Paddy Bergin of West Street, Jim O’ Brien of the Cottages, and Paddy Byrne of Mill Street.
The new houses put the kybosh on local hurlers who enjoyed honing their skills on the Green. But they persisted, and tenants complained of hurling balls landing in their backyards and back bedrooms. Glasscutters in the town made a fortune supplying new panes every second day to replace broken ones.
To alleviate the situation, the hurlers agreed to move their goalposts further away from the houses, but then the balls started flying through the Academy windows. Eventually, the hurlers had to move again, bringing them close to Cahill’s meadow.
This proved a real challenge to them, as they kept losing balls in the meadow. They were squeezed between glass on one side of the Green and long grass on the other, making a carefree game of hurling rather difficult on what used to be one of the best pitches in Ireland.
Patrick Cody’s Tannery in West Street had been a hive of industry, giving a lot of employment. In 1912, Pilsworths acquired the building and turned it into a corn store that was managed for a while by Mr. Cody. It dealt in flour, wheaten meal, Indian meal, cattle foodstuffs, cotton cake and oil cake.
Farmers brought their corn to Pilsworths and it was transported to Grennan Mills in Thomastown by horse and car. Four horses and three car men were available to do the runs. For night time travel, the horse drawn cars had lamps lit by candles. Lamps attached to hearses and holiday carriages were decorated with fanciful designs and motifs.
The Callan Carmen also conveyed beer, flour, and wholemeal to Kilkenny Station, Thomastown, and Carrick-on-Suir. There were three livery and posting establishments in the town operating a variety of carriages and cover cars. There were Long Cars, Side Cars, and beautifully designed hearses.
An adequate supply of horses was always available to keep this vital service operational. Horse-drawn transport was hired out to farmers who could ill afford to own the two horses required to pull a plough or to assist in the cutting of corn or hay.
Carmel recalled the big names in the Callan transport business, and the local travelling routine: “The Gormans, the Walshes-Jenny Hourigan was a Walsh- the Kealys and the Casses. Kealy’s Long Car, which could carry up to a dozen passengers-drove people to picnics and other outings.
“One of the scenic places I remember driving to was Ballyknocken lodge on the slopes of Slievenamon. I just loved its natural waterfall, rustic bridges and flowering shrubs.
“Kealy’s ran a Day Car to Kilkenny. Officially, it was the 9 o’ clock car, but the driver was a very obliging man and would wait for a customer. People would ask: When is the 9 o’ clock car going, Johnnie? -It seldom left at 9 o’ clock. The gentry hired cars regularly.
“The Kealy account books show orders from Lord Clifton, Lord Desert, Major Gregory, the Poes of Harleypark, Major Poe of Graigue House, Samuel Lane of Ship house, Major Grant, and so on. The Augustinian friars travelled far and wide doing the Quest, and the Long Car took the Friary choir on many a well-deserved outing to historic sites where they had their picnics.
“The hearse was decorated with black plumes on each corner, though if an unmarried female or a child had died, white plumes were used. At that time, people were nursed and waked at home. The community was close knit and there was great solidarity. People looked out for each other.”
Peter Roughan had his own recollection of horse-drawn transport: “I can still picture those drives from Callan in Kealy’s and Gorman’s waggonettes, with such great old characters as Danny Molloy, Garrett Freaney, Paddy Moore and ‘Deaf’ Reilly in the driver’s box. God be good to them all.
“I remember Deaf’s mare always getting dry at the first pub on the road. She was never able to manage without a bucket of water- according to Reilly-especially at Catherine Whelan’s of Modeshill. And what about the speed then? -Five and a half hours to go to Fethard, three to come back-and the pubs were shut at ten!”
Coachmen worked tirelessly in the livery stables, grooming the horses, polishing the harnesses and looking after the cushions. Oil covers were given to passengers to protect them from the wind and rain.
1912 also witnessed the advent of electric light in Callan. Carmel explained: “At that time there was a light at the Cross, and another at Molloy’s corner: A beam shone across the river, up our field…there was a pole there. It came from Gregory’s. Before that I remember a man who went around with a ladder and an oil can to fill the streetlamps.”
The town’s 27 pubs ensured that nobody had too far to walk to have a jar. And Callan had its own hospital in the workhouse building up until 1922, which attracted business to the town.
Carmel sheds an interesting light on the workhouse in its final years. She found the building itself attractive from the outside, its facade concealing a terrible past. To enter the workhouse, she recalled, you had to get past Bob Wall, a stern-faced man who had a lodge “right out on the street”. There was no admittance to the building after 4 pm for “God or man.”When Carmel went to visit her sister, who had scarlet fever, at the workhouse, she was denied admission and her parcel bearing a gift was delivered to the patient. Bob Wall had strict orders to refuse entry once the clock struck four.
Carmel paints a clear picture of the Workhouse routine: “It was a well-run establishment, more or less, in the years leading up to its closure. There was the boardroom, the Master’s House, an operating theatre, a chapel, and a school. There were separate quarters for men and women.
“Girls who had babies had to stay in the house until their children were at least two years old. The young mothers had to clean and cook, scrubbing floors, washing, peeling spuds and doing laundry seven days and nights a week. But at least they had a roof over their heads.
“The Workhouse had a water tower and I used to see an old man, Tierney I think his name was, driving a horse round in a circle to pump the water. He also drove a horse drawn ambulance to and from the hospital.”
Carmel knew three of the nuns at the Workhouse, Sister Baptist Kerwick, Mother Leo (who liked to wear dark glasses and was always in good humour) and her own favourite, Sister Claire.
When the workhouse closed in 1922, another use was found for this relic of the bad old days: Once occupying Free State troops had moved out of the building, some enterprising locals grew mushrooms in it for sale at the Market House and in the groceries.
(To be continued)
