Category: Ballydaly

From Kippagh Mountain Lake downhill it does travel
It splashes around rocks and scurries down the gravel
In fields of Ballydaly swelled by rills and drains it grows to a small river
As onwards it does flow with a babble in it’s quiver.
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Through Feirm and Annagloor in Millstreet in Duhallow
It’s natural destiny it is destined for to follow
Through Shannaknock, Liscreagh and Claraghatlea to a bigger river growing
Where it joins the Finnow to the Blackwater flowing.
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The Cails is not renowned in song and in story
To be born in Kippagh is it’s great claim to glory
But long before the first human, beast or bird came to Ballydaly
The Cails from the hills to the Finnow has babbled on gaily.
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Unlike the great waterways it does not have a rating
But I feel that the Cails is one worth celebrating
With the Finnow it flows to the Blackwater to it’s sea destination
A very old river in a very old Nation.

by Francis Duggan

I’ve heard that Ballydaly does not have a football team
Which puts a cloud on Tommy Tucker’s dream
That they might win Duhallow for third time
And give some bard another chance to rhyme.
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They won their first Duhallow title more than forty years ago
Some time back in the fifties that I know
Though of my dates I’m not too very clear
I think ’twas fifty seven was the year.
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When Ballydaly had their first big win
And their footballers were celebtated men
And John Twomey wrote of Ballydaly Boys
And west of Millstreet bonfires lit the skies.
[read more …] “Ballydaly’s Gaelic Football Glory Days”

A cold start to another cold Winter’s day
From the overnight frost the old fields looking gray
A cold wind is blowing from Caherbarnagh Hill
And the Cails bank high from Kippagh flows with a will
To join with Finnow In flood waters of brown
In Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
As a result of yesterday’s heavy rain
Flood waters are babbling in the roadside drain
And hungry redwings chirping on the leafless trees
In temperatures of minus one degrees
In the farmyard in galvanize cattle shed
The hungry cows and bullocks bellow to be fed
And February is blowing out a cold chill
In the harsh wind from Caherbarnagh Hill.

from Francis Duggan

A woman who was indeed larger than life
Lily, John Justice’s daughter who became Dan Guerin’s wife
A beautiful down to earth person untainted by guile
She had such great warmth in her wonderful smile.
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One might say of her in a class of her own
The woman of the shop there was well liked and well known
By all in Ballydaly three miles from Millstreet
As nice a person as one could wish to meet.
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One known for her kindness and generosity
In Ballydaly she raised her family
Her family and friends will farewell her in tears
But good memories of her will outlive her by years.
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In the shop where for many years she did reside
Amongst family and friends and relations Mrs Guerin died
To be kind and loving and hospitable her claim to fame
A Lily by nature and a Lily by name.

by Francis Duggan