By Marian Harnett
- JOSEPH’S YOUNG PRIESTS: Meet on the first Tuesday of the month at 7.30pm in the Parish Office except for July and August.
ABBEYFEALE TOURIST OFFICE: Opens on Thursday, June 1 on a trial basis for 2023 at the Work Hub building on Main St. (the old Provincial Bank). Almost twenty Volunteers have kindly offered a few hours a week to cover the hours of 10am-1pm for the months of June, July and Aug. The Tourist Office will be located at the Workbase E-Hub on Main Street, following collaboration between the Management of the Building and Abbeyfeale Community Council. For more info email [email protected]
BBQ: Christy’s Listowel in aid of Kerry Parents and Friends Centre Listowel on 4th June from 6pm.
WEST LIMERICK SINGING CLUB: The first Friday on the month in Philip Enright’s Ramble Inn, Church St.
WRITERS’ WEEKEND: , Begins Wednesday 31 May . More at https://writersweek.ie/programme/
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF IRELAND OF THE 1840’S: A local correspondent on reading a book entitled Annals of the Famine was inspired to put pen to paper and wrote the following piece which he hopes will show us the reality of what our forbearers went through during the Famine “ As the sun timidly peeks over the horizon, casting a faint and ephemeral glow upon the thatched cottages of rural Ireland, the impoverished O’Sullivan family embarks on their arduous journey through another day of the destitution and despair that the Great Famine visited upon the poor and unfortunate citizenry of a nation ruled over by an uncaring colonial power. Inspired by the poignant pages of Annals of the Famine in Ireland by Asenath Nicholson, let us delve into their world and witness the struggles they face at every step. Dawn breaks with a chill in the air, as Maureen O’Sullivan, a weary but resolute mother, rises from her straw mattress. Her heart aches as she contemplates the meagre options available for the days sustenance. With a heavy sigh, she takes a moment to gather her thoughts and summon the strength to face the challenges ahead. A task that becomes more demanding with every passing day. However, she knows that for her childrens’ sake, it is a task that she must bear with stoicism. In their one roomed cottage, Maureen lights a small peat fire, the only source of warmth and cooking heat in their shanty. The acrid scent of burning turf fills the room as she sets a pot to boil, filled with a watery concoction of nettle soup—a tasteless sustenance that has become their daily fare. The O’ Sullivan children, their hollow eyes reflecting the ravages of malnourishment, slowly awaken from their restless sleep. Dermot, the eldest at twelve, has already grown thin and frail, forced to relinquish his dreams of a better future to help provide for his family. The younger ones, Siobhán and Sean, rise with a mix of curiosity and resignation, unaware of the severity of their circumstances. As the family gathers around the makeshift table, Maureen serves the meagre portion of nettle soup, her heart heavy with guilt. It is a silent meal, punctuated only by the scraping of pieces of wood crafted into spoons against scavenged objects that serve as bowls or plates and the occasional muffled cough—a stark reminder of their weakened state. The day’s labour beckons, and Dermot ventures out into the harsh landscape of his immediate surroundings and the uncaring political environment, hoping for a stroke of luck in securing employmentof any kind. The O’Sullivan plot lies fallow, the once-vibrant and harvest-rich field is, now, nothing but barren earth. They watch helplessly as the potato crop, their sole source of sustenance, withers away under the devastating grasp of blight. Maureen, as the sole adult breadwinner and determined to provide for her family, steps out onto the dirt covered boreen. Clutching a worn basket, she walks the five miles to the nearby workhouse — a grim place where destitute families find a glimmer of relief. There, she spends hours toiling alongside other desperate souls, breaking stones under the indifferent gaze of overseers. The wages earned are barely enough to provide a few morsels of bread for her children, but even that meagre gain is a fleeting respite to be grasped and treasured. As there is nothing that gnaws at a mother’s heart more than tosee tears of starvation in the eyes of her children.Meanwhile, Siobhán, the middle child, undertakes the arduous task of gathering sticks and peat for the fire, scrounging for any available resource that can fend off the relentless cold. Her small hands, roughened and reddened, speak of the harshness of her daily routine—a burden no child should bear. As evening falls, the family reconvenes in their sparsely furnished cottage. The flickering light of a single candle, sparingly used, casts eerie shadows on the crumbling and worn walls, a stark reminder of theirhand-to-mouth existence. They huddle together for warmth, seeking solace in each others presence. The night stretches on, marked by the distant sound of wailing wind and the persistent gnawing of hunger in their bellies. In the depths of their suffering, the O’Sullivan family finds strength in unity — a testament to there resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable hardship. Their story, shared through the compassionate words of Asenath Nicholson, serves as an everlasting reminder of the horrors endured during the Great Famine in Ireland — a chapter etched forever in the annals of Irish history. And so, as the moon rises high above the frighteningly desolate landscape, the O’Sullivans drift into restless sleep, clinging to the forlorn hope that a brighter dawn will eventually break, bringing an end to their terror-filled existence. For now, their lives remain etched in the tapestry of a nations’ s struggle with starvation and the indifference of a colonial power to their plight, a resounding testimony to the indomitable spirit of the Irish people. It may be worth remembering that the late Queen of the U.K. once described a particular year as being an “annus horribilis”. Well, we can, now, say with absolute certainty that those famine years were truly “anni horribilis” for those poor souls that had the misfortune to be born into those years. And, finally, let us remember and honour all those who died in abject poverty during those years of excruciating pain and suffering by borrowing from a poem penned by Thomas Moore:“Oh, breathe not their names, let them sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonoured their relics are laid, Sad, silent and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night dew that falls on the grass o’er their heads.”
MAUREEN’S TRIP #2: “Would you like a trip on the Princess Cruiser in Lough Corrib on Sunday, June 18. We will be having a full Irish Breakfast in Ennis and returning in the evening for MAIN course dinner choice of three. There will NOT be a starter or dessert. Boarding the Princess at 2.30am. Fitzpatrick’s bus will be picking up in Listowel at 8.30am, the Abbeyfeale bus stop across from the church at 8.45am, Newcastle West bus stop opposite Longcourt Hse Hotel 9a., Rathkeale House Hotel at 9.15 and the Soutth Court Hotel at 9.40am. in the car park.. Payment must be made at the latest one week prior to departure. For more information and booking please contact Maureen Finnegan 087 9845102.. Thank you for your cooperation. Everyone most welcome.