By John Fitzgerald
(Part three)
Swimming in the King’s River was a much-loved pastime in Callan up to the late seventies. Columnist Peter Roughan remembered the swimmers of his childhood in the town at the turn of the century.
And local newspaper correspondent, Seamus O’ Brien chronicled happy days on the river in his own youth, spanning the Emergency Years.
The Paupers; called after poor folk who dwelt and slaved in the Workhouse in times past, was the name given to the spot on the river most favoured by swimmers.
“Sandy Bottom” on Grainger’s land was a stretch of water for infants to paddle or be washed in. Parents carried or rolled them to the river in prams to avail of free open-air bathing. “Sandy Bottom” was separated from The Paupers by a natural division called The Rocks, an accumulation of rock and stone in the river.
The Little Paupers was at the shallow end. Children and teenagers frequented it. Poplar trees stood majestically nearby. Their leaves overshadowed the scores of people who sat or lay down along the riverbank…often affording shelter and protection to them when the skies opened.
About 30 yards from the Little Paupers was the Big Paupers, so-called because it was deeper. The adults of the town swam there.
In the summer months, there was a daily stream of townspeople to this part of the King’s River. Many of them who travelled from the countryside left their bikes parked against the wall of nearby Cahill’s Quarry and made straight for the deep or shallow waters, depending on their preference.
Weekend picnics went hand in hand with the big swimming sessions. Many a Callan person remembers this experience as rivalling a day in Tramore at the seaside.
Further down from the Big Paupers was the Horsehole…reserved for priests, Christian brothers, schoolteachers, auctioneers, solicitors, and certain other business people. The “plebs” had to look on from a distance as the upper crust dived into this “Swimmer’s Heaven”.
Some swimmers at the Horsehole were more important than others. On a summer’s day in the mid-fifties, there was a flurry of excitement on the Moat. An important visitor had arrived in town and a swim at the Horsehole was rumoured to be high on his agenda.
Sean Holden welcomed the Bishop of Ossory to the flat grassy summit of the ancient hill. His Lordship had come to Callan on a low-key visit. The Town Elders had invited him. The sun blazed in an azure blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen on this, the fourth day of a sweltering heat wave.
Sean cracked a joke to the assembled dignitaries to lighten the mood of the occasion. Alluding to a popular ditty of the time, he cracked: “The sun has got his hat on…and so indeed has His Lordship!”
The Bishop may not have got the joke, as he raised an eyebrow and cast a frowning glance in Sean’s direction.
After viewing the Moat and being briefed on its turbulent history, the high-ranking church leader was guided to Callan’s premier swimming spot. Flanked by Gardai and military personnel, he went to the riverbank in solemn procession. He then disrobed, and dived into the unruffled water of the King’s River. His vestments and mitre were guarded on the riverbank.
He spent quite a while in the waters of the Calm Avonree before being helped ashore by soldiers and clerics. Locals who observed His Lordship through binoculars swore that he wore the Bishop’s Mitre on his head in the water, but this was disputed by a spokesman for the Diocese who confirmed that the bishop deemed the wearing of his mitre while swimming “totally impractical and unnecessary”.
The Bishop praised the Horsehole, declaring that it was better than any swimming pool.
The splashing about in the King’s River ended when all the rocks were removed from The Paupers in the course of a flood relief programme in the eighties. The water became shallower and unsuitable for bathing.
The crowds of laughing swimmers, ramblers, and picnic groups have disappeared from the riverbank. Many of them have said goodbye to this world. A new generation has grown up that has never seen a swimmer in the Calm Avonree.
That halcyon age, with its rough-and-tumble fun for all, is gone forever…preserved only in sepia toned photographs.
(to be continued)
