Community website for Millstreet, Co. Cork, Ireland
Bill Brien bought and sold hens and eggs and ducks and chickens
Turkeys, guinea fowl and geese and rabbits too
And in his van he drove around Duhallow
And with him went his faithful kerry blue.
One of the last of an old breed of dealers
A stocky fellow with a husky voice
You ask him for ten bob for skin of fox or badger
And Bill was sure to beat you down in price.
Sligo may have Yeats, England may have Wordsworth … but Millstreet is doubly blessed to have two such gifted Poets as Karen O’Connor (Mulqueen) in Tralee and Francis Duggan in Australia, both of whom are supremely proud of their Millstreet roots and are truly marvellous Ambassadors not only for Millstreet but for the Irish nation. Cullen, of course, are blessed to have renowned poet Bernard O’Donoghue who works in Oxford. With Doghouse Publication’s splendid MC, Noel King who has edited Karen’s two books it was a wonderful [read more …] “Official Launch of Karen O’Connor’s Magnificent Book of Poetry”
The fastest dog in Millstreet when I was a young boy
Was owned and bred by Maurice Connors his name was Black July
Trained by Paddy O Keeffe at Dooneen a leading trainer then
In the Kennedy cup at Limerick he had a famous win.
A son of Cheeky Tippy and Maddest Lily the striking black and white
Was Ireland’s fastest greyhound when he was in full flight
The Irish Derby favourite he was the one to beat
And one of the fastest greyhounds to come out of Millstreet.
He was only a small sized man at a guess five foot four
Nine stone perhaps of slender build if that then not much more
And I still have the memories from sunny summer’s day
Of watching Peter Carroll as he built a rick of hay.
He more than earnt what he was paid well worthy of his hire
And he piked for hours in the hot sun and never seemed to tire
He worked with fellows half his age and more than held his own
One of Duhallow’s great workmen and better I’ve not known.
The Finnow river bank high in flood waters of brown
Is flowing in the flat fields west of Millstreet Town
To join with the Cails and into a bigger river grow
And on to Drishane to the Blackwater flow
Brown storm water gurgling in the roadside drain
Though the sun out and shining after heavy thunder rain
In mid June to the prime of the Summer quite near
The weather is quite wet for the time of the year
[read more …] “For The Time Of The Year”
A century of years and two World Wars her life thus far has spanned
She has to be one of the oldest people in Ireland
Margaret the widow of the late Millstreet Chemist Frank Reen
Four hundred Seasons of living she has seen
At Noel C Duggan’s Green Glens arena her family and friends did congregate
Her one hundreth birthday party for to celebrate
Millstreet’s oldest person was in the limelight
For Margaret and her family a memorable night
When I was young she was an ageing woman
She lived in her small house in the West End
And she was much loved in and around Millstreet
Sue Dennehy was everybodys friend.
A daughter of Denny Dennehy the greyhound owner breeder
At Cork and Shelbourne park his dogs raced to renown
He became famous far beyond Duhallow
His name was known distant from Millstreet Town. [read more …] “Sue Dennehy”
He could tell the weather by the sky he was a wise old fellow
And he’d say tomorrow it will rain the sun has gone down yellow
And sure enough next day ‘twould rain and we’d laud our forecaster
Who needed radio forecasts in those days when we had ‘Pad the Master’.
A wise old man with silver hair he told us heaps of stories [read more …] “Memories Of Pad The Master”
Some people have this inborn yearn for travel
For wanderlust there is not any cure
But I still envy all those stay at home types
And I still miss the fields of Annagloor.
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The robin piping early in the morning
By the old home high on the cypress tree
And the pheasant cuck in the rank grass by the hedgerow
His voice you hear though the bird you seldom see. [read more …] “And I Still Miss The Fields Of Annagloor”
One of the famed Kippagh O Connors of athletics and gaelic football
So many marvellous memories of Michael to recall
Like that sunny afternoon in early Spring in Pound Hill in Millstreet
That he won a six mile road race he was so quick on his feet
His foxy hair blowing in the breeze as he raced down Pound Hill
We cheered him on to victory the memory with me still [read more …] “Michael O Connor”
They must be into drinking lunatic juice or smoking wizzy weed
The Millstreet Town Park vandals are head cases indeed
Perhaps venting their frustration on society
But their vandalizing of a beautiful timber fence does seem all wrong to me
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The praises of such people none ever do sing
Any honour to their towns their type never do bring
[read more …] “Head Cases Indeed”
In Knocknapogue and Millstreet in the flesh never more to be seen
Quite a likeable fellow was Paddy Dineen
He lived to a good age in time time quite a span
One can say of him quite an honorable man
He will be remembered where card players meet
At forty five drives in and near Millstreet
He and Clement Kelleher were a formidable pair
[read more …] “Paddy Dineen”
The weather it was cold and windy the rain steadily drifted down
From the gray clouds above old Duhallow on the March Horse Fair in Millstreet Town
Of the calendar Spring the first day though Winter was still in the air
The sun seldom does shine in Millstreet on March the first at the horse fair
Farmers and dealers and travelling people from Cork and Kerry with and for horses to buy and sell
[read more …] “At The March Horse Fair”
Love of place in most people transcends love of Country by their old memories some are moved to tears
The old nostalgia does remain with them for where they lived in their younger years
Jim Cashman is one i remember he did have a strong sense of place
Though in Claraghatlea the Townland he was raised in his had become a stranger’s face
[read more …] “Jim Cashman’s Love Of Place”
Con Linehan and his wife a Sliabh Luachra Hickey raised their children on their farm in Dooneen
By the Blackwater near the Town of Millstreet in a countryside flat lush and green
An outstanding traditional musician so many old tunes he did know
And in his children and grandchildren the Dooneen Linehan legend does grow
[read more …] “Con Linehan”
The late Ben Hartnett one of the cattle dealing Hartnetts from Knocknagree
An easy going fellow he did seem carefree
He married a Millstreet woman and with her settled down
And they raised their sons and their daughters at The Bridge Millstreet Town
His sons the late Noel and Con and Vincent a chip of the old block
Like their ancestral Hartnetts traded in livestock
[read more …] “Ben Hartnett”
Of the past we have only our memories time does become everyone’s foe
My thoughts take me back many Seasons to half of a century ago
When Annabell Reen was All Ireland singing Champion the beautiful teenager with hair of dark brown
That grew in ringlets to her shoulders she was the Pride of Millstreet Town
[read more …] “The Sweet Singing Voice Of Annabell Reen”
The first ever Millstreet hurler A Cork senior red jersey to wear
For to do so young Mark Ellis has to be quite a good player
For no average hurler ever makes a senior Cork team
For to line out for Cork many young Cork boys daydream.
Millstreet the home of so many great names of Gaelic Football
As well as greats in other sports one can readily recall
But Mark Ellis the only Millstreet hurler to make it in a big way
He is the Millstreet supreme G A A player of today [read more …] “Mark Ellis”
For our memories as ever we go to the past
And the clock on our lives ever ticking on fast
Our memories our gift with others for to share
Of what i say here many would be aware
Old scenes of the past do inspire me to rhyme
I go to the fifties that is going back in time
When young Dan Carroll on the horse drawn milk cart trotted up and down
The quiet streets of morning through old Millstreet Town
[read more …] “Dan Carroll’s Milk Run”
A man who deserves to be in the limelight
On February the nineteenth at Noel C Duggan’s Green Glens Arena ’twill be Sean Radley’s night
A likeable character in every way
We do need more like him is all one can say
A credit to Duhallow and to the Town of Millstreet
A nicer person than him one could not wish to meet
[read more …] “Sean Radley’s Night”
Jack Casey with his dog King of Clara who had won a race at the Cork Track
Had to walk home due to missing out on their car drive a journey of close to forty miles back
To his home on the Clara Road by the Town of Millstreet going back at least six decades in time
When Jack was a hardy young person quite close to the peak of his prime
Phil Cronin is a Millstreet man his wife Kitty is from Kildare
And amongst the Irish Community east of Melbourne they are a well known pair
Kind hearted and good people and surely nice to know
And a credit to that misty green Isle where the tree leaved shamrock grow.
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Phil loves to talk of Millstreet Town and and the people he knew there
Some of the boys and girls he went to school with like he did went to live elsewhere
[read more …] “Phil And Kitty Cronin”
Cockhill’s Hannie Murphy is at rest to day
Her remains in Drishane not far from the Finnow lay
Perhaps she is playing cards in Heaven from Earth far away
In forty drives with Millstreet’s best card players she did hold sway
A wonderful person as i do recall
[read more …] “Hannie Murphy”
The strong boy of the class room as i do recall
He later became a legend of Gaelic Football
In Cork’s All Ireland nineteen seventy three winning team the stalwart full back
In his prime Humphrey Kelleher was a hard nut to crack
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Even as a boy he was as strong as a man
Full of the joys of life and of youthful elan
And what a great character he grew into be
The likeable fellow he did seem carefree
[read more …] “In His Prime Humphrey Kelleher”
Nóra Ní Shíndile was a native of Millstreet, and a professional keener (“bean caoinadh”) in the late 1790’s/early 1800’s. It is thanks to her that the poem Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire survives today. About 1800, the scribe and poet, Éamonn de Bhál, transcribed Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire from her rendering, thus preserving the full version of the caoineadh for posterity.
Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire is one of the greatest love poems of the Irish Language. Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill composed it capturing the life and death of her husband Art on May 4, 1773 in Carriganima.
The Irish tradition of keening over the body at the burial is distinct from the wake (the practice of watching over the corpse – which took place the night before the burial). The “keen” itself is thought to have been constituted of stock poetic elements (the listing of the genealogy of the deceased, praise for the deceased, emphasis on the woeful condition of those left behind etc) set to vocal lament. While generally carried out by one or several women, a chorus may have been intoned by all present. Physical movements involving rocking, kneeling or clapping accompanied the keening woman (“bean caoinadh”) who was often paid for her services. [read more …] “An Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire”
So nice of Sean Radley in his 2010 Millstreet snow tour to mention my name
This well may become my only claim to fame
Such beautiful online images he did create
Whilst being driven around the snow covered countryside by Brendan his good mate
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Fair dues to Brendan Murphy his part in the creation of the images he did play
For driving Sean on his snow tour on such a terrible day [read more …] “On Sean And Brendan’s Snow Tour”
These are things that one would not do in a whim
The Mushera Hill Christmas Day climb or the Boeing New Year’s Day swim
Even the thought of such things leaves me feeling cold
Suppose this is what happens when one is unfit and feeling old
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When bracken clad Mushera is covered in snow
In five or more degrees below zero the harsh Winter winds blow
Across the unsheltered face of old Mushera Hill
Brave men and women, boys and girls climb together in the cold morning chill
[read more …] “Even The Thought Of Such Things”
If you’re Irish and in Melbourne and live up the Preston way
Give a call on Johnny Tarrant it will help to make his day
And he’ll give you a huge welcome as he has a heart of gold
That great man from Gortavehy a few with two score years old.
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He’s worked hard throughout Australia for fifteen long years or more
And he’s still the same John Tarrant as I knew in days of yore
He still speaks with Irish accent and he hasn’t changed one bit
And at heart he’s still a youngster with a mighty sense of wit.
