Jonathan Cherry is a very good friend of mine. We have much in common. We both attended Cavan’s Royal School where the teachers, not least Douglas Anderson and Ivan Bolton, imparted that spirit of civility, combined with a thirst for knowledge, which has served us both so well. We have both been “doctored” in history. We are both scholars,  motivated by a deep and sincere respect for each other’s work.  What is more we both come from well-respected families in our respective communities.

 Dr Cherry’s book is a history of a small, vibrant and tenacious rural community. He traces its history, using written sources, maps and folklore, as well as less traditional sources. But this is more than just another history book, as Dr Cherry brings the unique perspective of an historical geographer to his task. He tells the story of the locality, but never forgets that its story unfolds in a far wider context.

 Cloverhill was, for over two centuries, synonymous with the local landholding family of the Sandersons. Dr Cherry sympathetically describes their relationship with the community, and what emerges is a picture, not of exploitation, but of co-operation. The Sanderson demesne lands at the centre of the parish were a considerable employer, while the rents collected didn’t feed the gaming habits of some far-off and ambivalent absentee proprietor. Instead they were used by a series of landlords, including the indomitable Mary Ann Sanderson, who was deeply committed to Cloverhill.

 The central aspect of this community is without doubt St John’s parish church. It was built by the aforementioned Mary Ann Sanderson. Like many people I had been misled into thinking that the church had been consecrated in December 1856 by a centenary service reported in the Anglo-Celt in December 1956. The formal consecration took place in 1860. This may help in identifying the architect. Dr Cherry repeats Jeremy Williams’ assertion that one of the Wellands may have been responsible. Why I felt that it was NOT the work of William Hague Jar (1836-99) was that, in 1856 Hague was only twenty years of age and not a qualified architect. If the building work only began say in 1857 or 1858 it Hague might have had a hand in drawing up the plans for his father who built the church, although he was as yet still too young and inexperienced to be credited with the work.

 In an introductory chapter Dr Cherry outlines the various sources he used. He outlines one which is probably the most important, and which is all too easily overlooked: an intimate knowledge of the location.  He writes:

 An often understated but hugely important source in understanding the sense of a place or the place as lived is personal experience. As a native of the area … I have been immersed in the history of the place since an early age. My own personal interest in the evolution of the village and district, coupled with strong familial ties to the area, have been of significant value in charting the history and understanding Cloverhill past and present. Speaking with local people and simply observing change has given me a greater understanding of what Cloverhill means to those who live there.

 This is a local study par excellence. It is of value on many different, though parallel levels, first as a local history, and then as a volume that gives keen and erudite insights into rural and religious history, as well as the history of landscape. All these elements are deftly brought together by Dr Cherry through his engaging and pellucid style.

 The name was said by some to come from a shadowy Anglo-Saxon nun called St. Walburga. However, there was a much longer cult among the German tribes of worshipping a forest deity called Waldborg. This traditionally occurred on May Eve. So deeply entrenched was the belief that the Christian authorities dealt with it by making Waldborg into St Walburga, whose relics were moved to the German town of Eichstatt on … 30 April which then became her feast in the Christian rite.

 The Sabbath on the Trocken wax always marked by excess. The witches met there with their master, the Devil or as they say in these parts, the lad with the horns. They engaged in wild and delirium-inducing dances, and after being laid prostrate by constant circular motions the Devil would have beastly carnal knowledge of them. Once awaken again they would compete with each other to satisfy his voracious lustful appetite, by taking his manhood in their mouths. At the moment of consummation they would allow the diabolical seed to spurt out onto the ground. Tradition held that wherever the Devil’s semen landed would be devoid of crops for seven generations.

 The air was often permeated by frightful growling sounds like thunder. This was caused by the gargling of other witches as they allowed the diabolical essence to course through their bodies. No matter how many times they gave head to their master, he remained unsalted.

 Similar Sabbaths were held in parts of Ireland. It was held that the locations where the witches spat out the Devil’s seed were marked by the plant long known in Irish as the Bohillan bui. This had poisonous effects on the soil and was also toxic to livestock.

 Walpurgis night falls fatefully this year on a Friday night, and so young Irish males returning at late hours from discos should be on their guard against the temptations of disguised witches. They should remember that these ladies have experiences and kills of sucking men dry with far bigger tanks than theirs.

 |As a lapsed Catholic, I am reluctant to give the Catholic Church advice. I would urge it to try and free itself from the fetters of its un-human theology. Pope Benno has spent his life and his considerable intellect wedded to this theology, to the extent that he thinks he knows God. Part of his worldview is that the priesthood, no matter what its sins, is superior to the laity. Party of the church’s problems in Ireland have arisen from people forgetting that the clergy are, at the end of the day, only men.

 I know Sean Brady, though not well, and I would hope that the name Ciaran Parker is familiar to him. Personally he has never done me any harm, and this counts for a lot with me. I invited him to a book launch in 2008 and I put down his non-attendance to pressures of work. This was not tokenism on my part. I certainly would have preferred to see him there than many of those I made damn sure remained uninvited. He was the first person, apart from myself, to teach me French. Perhaps he can take some credit for the fact that I now read French very well. My experience of him is that he is largely free from the pomposity of some members of the hierarchy, a weakness which I personally believe is often fed by the fawning sycophancy of sections of the laity.

 As for his continued role as Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland, that’s a decision for him.

 I’ve always been a bit uneasy with ethical relativism. For me the foundations of ethics are unchanging. What is more as a Christian I have never felt that the sermon preached by Jesus Christ on the Mount had a time embargo on it. It was good to go then and will be valid until the end of time. In other words, if it was good enough for Jesus Christ, it is certainly good enough for the rest of us, especially those who hold offices of ministry in any Christian church, To hell with the casuistry: if any action causes gratuitous pain or suffering, surely that is wrong. For that reason I find some of the excuses being put forward by leading figures in the Irish Catholic church for their non-actions when confronted with paedophilia to be intellectually feeble.

 I do feel that there is an element of shadow-boxing, maybe even dishonesty, about this issue. Some church figures are condemned for not informing the civil authorities, which they should have done. But let’s just ask what might have happened had they done so. I very much doubt that An Gardai Siochana would have known how to deal with the issue. Back in 1975 they were far busier looking for Dr Herrema or chasing after Dr Rose Dugdale to worry about paedophiles. The Murphy inquiry uncovered numerous instances of active collusion between the police and the church authorities in covering up child abuse in the archdiocese of Dublin. Many senior policemen viewed the Catholic Church as a type of religious police force, enforcing law and order, and generally keeping everyone in their place while some may have owed their promotion to membership of certain Catholic lay groups. Even younger police officers just out of Templemore tended to come from rural backgrounds, traditionally deferential to the more authoritarian aspects of religion. You never gave cheek to a priest, and if you did he could put a pig’s head on you or make you stick to the chair. Such police officers were reluctant to prosecute priests for minor traffic infringements, so how would they have approached the idea of a priest potentially committing something far more serious?

I suppose what I am trying to say here is: let’s not get fixated with attaching blame to a mere handful of individuals in the Catholic church’s past. These were not the only demons in Ireland’s society.

 The Catholic hierarchy is I believe partly responsible for much of the crisis currently affecting the church, but I believe in giving credit where credit is due. What would happen if, at important feasts in the Church calendar like Christmas or Easter, the hierarchy announced that it was heading off abroad for “deserved” holidays at the mass goers’ expense? Of course they wouldn’t be called holidays. No, they’d be described as trips to observe missionary activity. Now apart from a handful of globe-trotting prelates, including a deceased bishop recently in the news who used to love visit his diocesan priests in a place called Minna, none of them do this. They remain at their posts. It is often said that Catholic bishops aren’t elected, yet the Catholic church has never claimed to be a democracy. Those whom we elect democratically, who crawl on their fat bellies to win our confidence no sooner get elected than they depart on holidays at our expense and smirk at us that they’re able to get away with it because there is nothing we can do.

 Is it true that Aer Lingus cabin crew seek danger money” at this time of the year, as compensation for having to deal with returning county councillors who demand extra alcohol even when they’ve already had more than enough? Readers will know the incident I’m referring to. They will also know the political party the individual belonged to. They may not know that soon after his return he received a standing ovation from the local branch of his party. What was that for? Good on ya mate for acting the cunt?

Drumcalpin's finest

same to me what he does. It’s no skin off my prick. In the words that Clark Gable would have used had Gone With the Wind been filmed in Cavan, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a shite!”

 Once again those well-informed canines have known about McKiernan for years, but it is only now that the truth is seeping out, but it will not really affect the near saint-like devotion in which he is held by certain sections here in Cavan. He was such a great historian, they say, the world’s greatest living expert on the O’Reillys – until he died, and why wouldn’t he be? – sure he was the bishop.

 Brendan Scott is the same person who organised a conference on the medieval and early modern history of Cavan to which were invited specialists from as far away as the UK and America, though an expert who resided in Cavan, namely myself, was not invited. This was a deliberate snub, motivated by Dr Scott’s perception that there had been “trouble” between me and the museum, though it had been before his time.

 Some months earlier Dr Scott had unsuccessfully sought to replace me as a contributor to the Cavan Echo. I think it is obvious that Dr Scott has same issues regarding me. Though I’m damned if I know what they are as I’ve never even met him.

 This is the person the NCBI has invited as a special guest. Now it is bad enough that the NCBI does sweet FA to promote the interests of the blind, but quite another when they are siding with those who attack them. The invitation has cleared Dr Scott at a stroke of any accusation of discriminating against a partially sighted and disabled scholar. How could he have done such a thing he can say, when the National Council for the Blind itself invites him as a special guest – and in clear preference to the person whom he discriminated against.

 I am reproducing here an article I wrote for the Cavan Echo about Cavan’s Franciscan Friary, that I wrote in October 2007. But how silly and impudent of me to make such a claim when it is obvious I never wrote this at all. I have merely dreamed that I have written this, when in fact my hand and brain were in fact being directed by my double Dr Brendan Scott. It’s copyrighted. It was Francis Bacon who said “Opportunity makes the thief.”

 Given my expertise on the areas I have offered to give the talk instead, based on my own material, but the NCBI has responded to my offer with deafening silence. No doubt they are part of the voluntary sector in Cavan who are captives of the County Council, their members cowed into silence and acquiescence of discrimination by the promise of council grouses. While Whacko Jack presents himself as a guardian of disabled rights as he poses with yet another group of expensive, external consultants.

 By the way Brendan, does it make yo0u feel big and macho to pick on a disabled person and to steal from a cripple? You’ll have no luck you miserable bastard.

 Cavan’s Franciscan Friary

 Cavan Echo, October 19^th 2007

With the break-neck level of building development in Cavan town it can often seem as if the oldest surviving structure is a post-box or a petrol-tank. This accolade belongs however to the tower of the Franciscan Friary in the town’s Abbey Street, formerly known as Church Lane.

 Founding father

 The foundation of the friary, for monks from the Franciscan order or Ordo Fratrum Minorum (OFM) was the first surviving reference to Cavan in any of the surviving annals. The person who founded the friary was the recently-installed chieftain of East Breifne, Giolla Iosa ruadh O’Reilly, who more than anyone helped to re-establish the power of his family after the debacle of Magh Slecht half a century earlier which had seen the death of his father, grandfather, half-brother and many other relatives.

 Poorest of the poor

 The Franciscan order had been founded by St Francis in Italy in 1209. Their members were dedicated to rigorous and absolute poverty. At first they renounced even the principle of holding property in common. They spread like wild-fire throughout Europe, even reaching remote parts of Ireland, Scotland and Scandinavia within a century of their foundation.

 The Franciscans had been particularly successful in urban areas, so their success in the north of Ireland, which was still devoid of towns, was unusual. The first monks may have come from Dundalk or Drogheda, or from friaries elsewhere in Ulster, such as Downpatrick and Carrickfergus. These were under the control of the Anglo-Norman earl of Ulster Richard de Burgh. The earl was generally on friendly terms with Giolla Iosa, who named one of his sons Risteard after him.

 Nothing survives today from this foundation. An eighteenth-century antiquary wrote that Giolla Iosa built a chapel and marble mausoleum at the friary. This might have been too ostentatious for the friars though who were wedded to simplicity in all aspects of life.

 Arson around

 Many of the buildings were of wood. In 1452 much of the abbey was destroyed in a fire caused by a careless monk called O Mothlain who was reading his breviary by candle-light, although The Annals of Ulster infer that he had partaken too freely of wine. In May 1575 the friary, with much of the town of Cavan went up in flames, though on this occasion a highly-placed arsonist was to blame. The wife of the then ruler of Erfast Breifne, Aodh Conallach, had a grudge against one of the residents of Cavan and set fire to their house. Alas for the town and the friary the flames spread. .

 Old peoples’ home with a difference

 The friary soon developed a rather non-religious aspect closely linked to the ruling house; it became a strange mixture of a retirement home and political refuge. Fifteen years after its foundation Giolla Iosa gave up the reins of power to become a monk in the friary where he died and was buried in 1330. His son Cu Chonnacht (whose descendants eventually settled in the Munterconnaght area of Co. Cavan) also retired there to die in 1366. His time at the top had been marked by tension with his brother Pilip, and Cu Chonnacht’s act of renunciation of the world may have been all the sweeter because he knew the friary afforded the right of sanctuary to all who lived there.

 The old order changes

 For many years a mistaken belief was held by some historians that the friary had been founded not by Franciscans, but by their brother mendicants the Dominicans or Ordo Praedicatorum (OP) There was a change in the rule followed by the monks in 1503 when the then ruler of East Breifne, Sean Mac Cathail O’Reilly, successfully petitioned the Papacy for the friary to change from the mainstream conventual branch of the Franciscans towards the much more rigorous and fundamentalist Observantines, which had been founded in Italy in 1368. but which was sweeping all before it in Ireland.

 A bishop’s residence

 The friary was important in the local secular church, to which in theory it did not belong. The last bishop of the diocese of Tir Bruin before it changed its name to that of Kilmore, was one Donat O Gabhain, and in the 1430s the Franciscan friary was his residence.

 A falling off

 It is probable that, like many other religious institutions in sixteenth-century Ireland it suffered from a falling-off of membership and religious discipline. It seems to have survived the various troubles of the sixteenth century intact. Nettercliff’s map of Cavan town c. 1590 shows a plain rectangular building with a tower on the site of the present tower,

 Kindly move aside

 With the extinction of O Raghailigh power and the advent of English rule this church was pressed into use as a place of Protestant Divine service. During the upheavals of the middle of the century it changed back to being a church of Catholic worship, only to be once more seized by the conflict’s victors for their religious uses.

 A final resting place

 Before this it had, according to tradition, served as the burial place of Eoghan ruadh O Neill, the military leader of the rebellion in Ulster, following his death at Clough Oughter in November 1649. Other traditions in the Clough Oughter area dispute this though. It had certainly been a place of burial for the O’Reilly chieftains throughout the later middle Ages. The late Philip O’Connell recounted another tradition of the unearthing of stone-lined coffins during repaving work in the nineteenth century.

 Going out for a slash

 Some antiquaries also testify to the survival of a tombstone belonging to the legendary Myles the Slasher, but as “Myles” did not die at the Bridge of Finea but passed away in France such a monument must have been a figment of their imagination.

 Continuation

 The church continued to be used as Cavan’s parish church throughout the eighteenth century. The monastery was knocked down and its materials used for the construction of a barracks for horses nearby.  The surviving tower possibly dates from the eighteenth century. The grounds were used as a cemetery until the late nineteenth century; amongst those buried there were the first barons arnham.   

The end of the road

It was obviously too small of a building to act as Cavan’s Parish Church. In 1807 work began on a new structure on land donated by the Farnhams. Construction was delayed by the ongoing Napoleonic wars but by November 1815 sufficient buildings had been completed to allow the first services to be held there, thus condemning the structure in Abbey Street to obsolescence; one of the last services held there took place on Christmas Day 1815.

While still used for burials the site soon became overgrown, a condition only recently reversed.  The inside of the tower itself was used as a dumping ground and alfresco public convenience. Some of the original wooden structures of the church survived until the 1880s, for in December 1888 the Anglo-Celt recorded a fire on the site, which by then had attained the importance of a sanctuary as the burial place of “Owen Roe”.

© Ciaran Parker 2007

I have since learned from among others Dr Eamon McDwyer of a long-current tradition that Eoghan ruadh O Neill was buried in 1649 at a site on the Bridge Street side of the abbey.

Locals still point out the places where the hag’s miserable body fell to earth. These are usually large stones, sometimes relics of the last Ice Age. Opinion is divided though about their exact identity, though everyone agrees that the final quarter of the hag crashed into a lake causing a minor flood, though once again not everyone agrees about exactly which lake was the recipient. Locals also point to another stone with two distinct hollows. This they say was the stone upon which the saint knelt.

This story is interesting because it portrays Patrick as an athletic, action-man saint with his sleeves rolled up fighting the forces of evil. It is interesting that he is portrayed as using his staff like a javelin or a spear. Lugh Lamhfhada (the well-hung), the ancient Celtic God of nearly everything, was also supposed to be a good man with a spear. His was called Gae Assail and came from Persia. An early Irish text relates that Lugh’s spear flashed like lightning and brought instant death to whoever it struck. It would then return to Lugh’s hands if he pronounced the word ibhar (yew) before throwing it. Also the action is set in late summer, near to Lugh’s feast of Lughnasa, maybe in the month of the year called Lughnasa in Irish, though known as August in English.

 In the fifteen hundred odd years since these events Moybolgue has enjoyed a reputation as a quiet and safe place. A legend was long believed that the spot had not seen the last of the hag, and that it would return after thirty-three generations. Now let’s just say an average generation is a little over fifty years, and that the events described in the legend happened around say 450 AD … I’ll let my readers do the math.

© Ciaran Parker