By John Fitzgerald
(Part One)
Carmel Kealy’s memories of Callan in the first part of the 20th century provide a valuable record for present and future generations of townspeople. She has inspired young and old alike with her multi-faceted word pictures.
Carmel Maher was born in 1906 in Modeshill, located halfway between Callan and Mullinahone. Her father, Pat “The Slater” Maher, was a small farmer and builder and her mother a Dublin woman, Mary Duff. Casting her mind back, Carmel recalled as a child watching her mother cooking and baking on a traditional culm fire.
Culm ball makers, Mag Corcoran and Moll Quigley, made this essential fuel: Carmel saw Moll a few times sitting in a dark, dusty culm shed, a basin of water on the floor to wash her hands after the work was done. Moll, a gifted ball maker, went from house to house in Modeshill to supply culm for the fires.
Mag Corcoran could be seen hard at work in Carrolls of West Street, Callan. In later life, Carmel could still visualise the mountain of culm behind Mag as she toiled day and night to fashion the blobs of fuel.
At the age of 14, Carmel moved to Callan, where she has lived since. In 1937, she married Pat Kealy, the War of Independence hero who served as driver for senior rebel figures on the run from the British. Among his passengers were Liam Lynch and Eamon De Valera.
The Callan Carmel arrived in, as a teenager, was part of Lady Annely’s vast estate. She was a rich and powerful woman. All the land extending from Callan to Bowers wood had been hers prior to the Land Commission takeover in 1904. After that, she managed to hold on to the town itself.
On September 29th each year-“Gale Day” as it was called-a demand letter for rent and taxes was delivered to the Maher household and other homes within the town boundary. Carmel remembered the estate agent, a Mr. Maude, as a “considerate and patient man” who avoided pressuring people on payments.
At the Town Hall, he had a benevolent smile and tried to soften the financial blow with a recitation of the latest jokes he had heard. While not everyone appreciated his sense of humour, he was tolerated as a man whose heart was more or less in the right place. If poor people couldn’t afford to pay rent, Mr. Maude encouraged their next-door neighbours to pay it for them.
In addition to rent, the hard-pressed townspeople had to fork out Borough Rates to the Town Commissioners for street cleaning and lighting, and a levy of a penny from every pound they earned towards the cost of building Waterford Bridge.
Callan was a busy town in Carmel’s youth: It had nine bakeries, six boot and shoe makers, a few cobblers, four blacksmiths, four confectioners, six draperies, four tailors, and six dress makers.
The dressmakers were run off their feet, supplying elegant dresses for all occasions, especially to the ladies of the Big Houses in the locality. The gentry, though envied and resented for their wealth and superior status, were appreciated in equal measure since they employed quite a few local groomsmen, herdsmen, ploughmen, as well as scores of servants. The housemaids served “upstairs and downstairs”, Carmel recalled.
Nell Walton, an adept dressmaker in Green Street was married to stone cutter, Joe Dunne. “I do the rocks while Nell does the frocks”, Joe boasted. Nell was a local agent for Spirella Corsets, the ones that were laced from the back.
Wheelwrights, coopers, and saddlers abounded in Callan. McLeans and Dooleys were the much sought after saddlers. Jack Cass, the cooper, had a dormitory in West Street where he made barrels and casks. Jackie O’ Neill of Ballyduggan built coaches in his zinc workshop outside Callan.
A hobby of his was vaulting over high walls in the town. He was very athletic. One day, he gave a running jump at a house in Mill Street whose front door was open and managed to kick two plum puddings that were hanging from a ceiling inside- a considerable achievement. He paid the irate householder for the damage, explaining he just wanted to prove to himself that he could “reach that high”!
Locals looked forward to the frequent visits of a German band that played in the town, especially on St. Patrick’s’ Day and other festive occasions. Children loved the band, but people of all ages gathered to hear it. They were born musicians, Carmel thought, as she listened on the street to their recitals and rousing Germanic marches. And she noticed that they always carried what seemed to her like “a whole library of music” with them to Callan.
On the Cross, she and other children enjoyed the Punch and Judy shows and the antics of a strongman, “Mr. Atlas”, who performed outside McLean’s shop. He had a length of rope and a sledgehammer. He would dare people to tie him up, shouting: “Do it how you like, and how you fancy, black knots, bow knots, any kind of knots”, and swearing that he would always break free. Hundreds of times he was tied up, but no combination of knots could restrain him and he was never beaten.
For his other act, he lay on the footpath with a flagstone on his chest. He challenged passers-by to take the sledge and smash the stone if they could. The only man ever to succeed in this venture was Sergeant Troy’s son, Bill, who cracked the stone though he had never held a sledge in his life.
The Fair Green in pre-war Callan looked vastly different from today: If she stood at the Workhouse gate, Carmel would see none of the houses that are there now, just a long row of chestnut trees. The Green wall went as far as the Academy, and there was a small hand gate next to the school wall.
(To be continued…)
