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Irish Examiner
19-05-2025
- Irish Examiner
Ireland's curious places — from an ancient sundial to a beach with 1,000 seals on it
My travels all over the country in the early 90s while researching another book inevitably brought me through rural areas off the beaten track and for the first time, gave me an intimate view of my home country, its villages, its ever-changing landscapes and the rich variety of people who live here. Along the way I came across many curious and often quirky places and I noted and often photographed them. These are extracts from Michael Fewer's latest book. The grey seal capital of Ireland Trá Bán, Great Blasket Island, County Kerry Basking on the Blaskets…The Blasket Islands are the grey seal capital of Ireland, seals come from as far away as Scotland and the British Isles to breed around the Blaskets. Picture:Valerie O'Sullivan There are not many places in Ireland where you can come across a wildlife scene that could be straight out of one of David Attenborough's TV extravaganzas. The Blasket Islands, and particularly Trá Bán, the broad beach on the landward shore of Great Blasket, are the grey seal capital of Ireland. In late summer and early autumn seals from around the Irish coast, and from as far away as Scotland and elsewhere in the British Isles, come together here in great numbers to breed. They stay here through the winter, spring and early summer before departing again with their pups, leaving 'the locals' with a bit more space. There can be as many as a thousand of the animals, lounging tightly packed on the sand, some of them on their backs comically scratching their bellies, while dominant males fight for the favour of females. When the Blasket Islands were inhabited, as they were up until 1954, the seals were hunted for meat, blubber oil and their skins. The Great Blasket author Tomás Ó Criomhtháin wrote that the people of the islands would prefer to eat a seal than a pig. The oil was used for rush lights, and as a beneficial rub for rheumatism sufferers. It wasn't until after the human population had departed that the seal population returned, coming back to Trá Bán to mate, producing pups on a large scale. Today they have protected species status under Special Areas of Conservation legislation. There are ferry trips to Great Blasket from Dingle and from Dunquin Pier. Ireland's only cable car Dursey Island, County Cork Ireland's only cable car. Picture: Brian Lougheed/Cork County Council Dursey Island, off the south-west coast of Cork, is a 6.5km-long and 1.5km wide wonderland of rolling grassy boreens between stone walls wreathed in herbs and wildflowers, exuding a heady perfume in summertime. Only a few people live on Dursey today so it's a quiet place with only a symphony of calls from stonechats, choughs and wheatears breaking the silence. It was not always quiet: O'Sullivan Beare, the local chieftain in medieval times, had a castle here, which was captured by the English after the Battle of Kinsale in 1602. The 300 men, women and children who had taken refuge in the castle were put to death: their bodies are said to lie under a pyramidic monument in the old churchyard. Nearby is the grave of Dursey islander Timothy Harrington, who died in 1904 at the age of 104, a testament to the healthy air of the island. The island is separated from the mainland by Dursey Sound, which has a very strong tidal race, a reef in the centre of the channel making access to the island by boat hazardous at times. Ireland's only cable car was established here in 1969 to ferry people and farm stock back and forth 250m above the sea, and it remains the most used means of transport across the turbulent waters. It is also the only European cable car that travels over the open sea and it has become one of the attractions of the island. When I travelled on the original cable car many years ago there was a sign dictating the maximum loads: six persons, or one person and one cow, or one person and four sheep. A Lady of Lourdes holy water bottle hung by a string inside the door and a prayer to St Christopher was Sellotaped to the wall. The Kilmalkedar sundial Dingle Peninsula, County Kerry Kilmalkedar sundial, Dingle Peninsula. Picture: Michael Fewer The Dingle peninsula, pushing out into the Atlantic, is rich in prehistoric and early Christian remains. Christianity came to the area in the early fifth century, and was embraced enthusiastically by the people (there is no tradition of martyrs in Ireland in the early Christian period). By the early sixth century they began to organise themselves, establishing monastic centres such as this one at Kilmalkedar, and those at Reask and Gallerus. Each monastic community operated independently and was ruled over by an abbot, a system that served well for the next five hundred years until 'reformed' by the European church. The graveyard here at Kilmalkedar has been in use since the first church was founded in the sixth or seventh century, and here you will find a sundial that doesn't tell the hours of the day. It is a 1.2m-high standing stone with a goblet-shaped top, on which the radiating lines of a dial are carved. There is a central hole in which the gnomon, the projecting rod that casts the sun's shadow on the dial, would have been set. This is very much a monastic object and harks back to those early Christian times when religion was people's main preoccupation. It tells not the hours of the day as such, but the times of the principal prayer periods of a monk's day — Prime, Terce, Sext, None and Vespers. The other side of the stone is decorated with a marigold cross: just imagine how beautiful this stone was when the carving was new, perhaps 1,200 years ago. Crotty's Den: The hideout of Waterford's Robin Hood Crotty's Lough, Comeragh Mountains, County Waterford Crotty's Den: The hideout of Waterford's Robin Hood. Picture: Michael Fewer William Crotty (1712–1742) was the son of a smallholder in rural Waterford who turned to crime when his father was wrongly evicted. In his short life he achieved widespread fame, and stories about him and his exploits still live on in the Comeragh Mountains area. He joined the numbers of highwayman and rapparees who were common in Ireland at that time, ambushing the coaches of the rich and relieving them of their money. He is said to have shared his loot with the poor, and became quite a celebrity in County Waterford, turning up at fairs and markets, taking part in dances and playing football and hurling with the locals. He was renowned for his dramatic escapes from the law, was an expert shot with pistols but claimed he only killed in self-defence. He had many hideouts, but the most famous was Crotty's Den, an almost inaccessible cave at the back of Crotty's Lough, in the Comeragh Mountains. He was eventually betrayed by the wife of his trusted companion, David Norris, and captured after a shootout. Taken to Waterford Gaol in March 1742, he was hanged there, and his head affixed to the gaol gate. The authorities also attempted to capture Crotty's wife, but she is said to have climbed to a crag over the lake called Crotty's Rock, and thrown herself to her death. Crotty's Lake can be accessed on foot from the R676: it is 2.3km and a climb of 300m from the road. Ireland's Curious Places: 100 fascinating, lesser-known treasures to discover. By Michael Fewer Ireland's Curious Places: 100 fascinating lesser-known treasures to discover (Gill Books) by Michael Fewer is available now
Irish Times
27-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Cormac Begley in Vicar Street review: milestone performance from concertina master
Cormac Begley Vicar Street, Dublin ★★★★☆ West Kerry has yielded more than its share of fine musicians and influenced many others far beyond its bounds. Its riotous polkas and slides have so often been sent skywards by box players whose formative years were spent propelling set dancers across dance floors from Ballyferriter to Ballydavid. Cormac Begley has chosen the concertina as his instrument and digs deep into the well of the tradition, mining new depths and scaling innumerable heights along his picaresque way. Lemoncello support with equal parts apprehension and delight. Laura Quirke on lead guitar and vocals brings an unhurried, quietly confident tone to their short set of original songs, with Claire Kinsella on cello and vocals adding judicious and spacious colours to Dopamine, the product of Quirke's attempt at writing possibly 'the worst song ever written'. It's a cool-headed, often ironic take on the tsunami of social media that defines these times, and a fine calling card for a duo who pepper each of their songs with insightful observations on life's incidental moments. READ MORE Cormac Begley's performance took flight against a backdrop of carefully chosen visuals, with the concertina itself the recurring image, amplifying the visual aesthetic of this diminutive instrument that in his hands transmogrifies into a gargantuan, muscular propulsive force. From the outset he lets the concertina bellows breathe deep and free, the lungs offering not only their notes but their breathy silence on O'Neill's Cavalcade, referencing the Battle of Kinsale in 1601. The concertina reaches deep into the heart of the tune, every turn in the tune amplified by Begley's expressive shoulders moving in concert with the notes. The trademark Begley wit is undeniable and threaded throughout his performance. Drawing deep from the family well, he references his colourful ancestry, revelling in their innate rebelliousness and in his own inheritance of the family gene. The gifts of his bilingualism are woven seamlessly into the mix, with punning plays on his name, his lineage and his mischievousness. Cormac's mastery of not only the treble and piccolo concertinas, but the robust bass and baritone ones too, imbues his tune sets with a remarkable spectrum of colour, with left and right hands bringing a strapping percussive force to the mix. The addition of a foot-controlled harmonium is a smart addition of a simple drone, bringing further heft to his sound palette. His special guest, sean-nós dancer Stephanie Keane, is an able compadre, matching Begley's raw energy with her equally unfettered yet precision-engineered rhythms that find humour and grace within the notes. Later, Breanndán Begley, Cormac's father, joins him on accordion for a gorgeously delicate take on Beauty Deas An Oileáin. Fiddle player Liam O'Connor magnifies the boldness of the music even further with a set of tunes opened by Ryan's Rant, a nod to the late, extraordinary fiddle player Tommie Potts, allowing us a sneak preview of the pair's forthcoming album, which promises more feral music that traces a clear thread back to its roots, but with its sights firmly set on the future. Cormac Begley's musicianship is akin to Flann O'Brien's policeman whose molecules had merged with his bicycle. At times, it was difficult to recognise the boundaries between musician and concertina, so fluid, freewheeling and unerring were the tunes. This performance was yet another milestone in Begley's musical journey, filled with hairpin bends and delirious adventures.
Irish Examiner
22-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
'A few pound and free drink was a good encouragement':Cormac Begley on Kerry sessions and Páidí Ó Sé
Music is the family business for Cormac Begley. The West Kerry concertina player was born into it – his dad, Breanndán, is an accordionist and singer, his uncle the late, great Séamus Begley, a sweet singer and accordion player, Tommy 'An Lord' O'Connor, an uncle on his mother's side, also an accordian player. Begley got into music in earnest as a 16-year-old, playing gigs around the Dingle Peninsula. 'My brother, who's about two years older, started playing guitar,' explains Begley. 'We learnt a good few tunes. My cousins, Séamus Begley's sons, Eoin and Níall, were playing around at the same time. We were offered gigs along the peninsula. It was a case of under-age drinking, free drink, a few pound. "They talk about the importance of the tradition, but a few pound and free drink was a good encouragement and central to our musical development!' The penny had dropped. Begley went off to university shortly afterwards to study psychology. Although he didn't practice as a psychotherapist, his training into the workings of the mind attracted the attention of the late Páidí Ó Sé, the legendary Kerry footballer and manager, who hired Begley for music gigs in his Ventry pub. 'Páidí knew I did psychology,' says Begley. 'He was going through a bad patch. He thought I was some kind of a counsellor. He'd be chatting away to me, and he'd go, 'Come over to me someday now and we'll go walk the beach. I need someone to chat to.' I didn't feel in any way qualified to chat to him. I was green, in my early twenties. 'I liked him. He was a character. He'd often double-book you, booking you to do a gig, then he'd forget about it and he'd ask someone else to be there. We showed up a few times and there'd be other musicians there. "We'd be like, oh, is this happening again? Or on a night when it was so quiet. He'd be like, 'Oh, did you not get my message?' He'd look at you saying it. You'd know it wasn't true, but you'd admire it all the same. He was a rogue.' Begley, 40, penned his tune, To War, as a gift for his godson's birthday. It became a viral sensation, with north of 40 million views on social media. O'Neill's March is a signature tune, which has personal resonance – his ancestors, the Begleys, fought on the side of Owen Roe O'Neill, the legendary Ulster general. 'The Begleys came from Scotland originally,' he says. 'They were up in Donegal for a few generations. They were mercenaries, gallowglasses. They'd fight for cash. They fought on behalf of the O'Neills in the Battle of Kinsale in 1601. 'O'Neill's March was documented first in an old book from the 1790s where it noted it was an old tune going back a few hundred years. Folklore has it that the tune was played as O'Neill's Army marched into battle as a signal of who they were, to intimidate the opposition, and to psyche up their warriors for battle. It's a powerful tune.' After years on the road gigging, Begley set up a residential arts space, Airt, which offers week-long retreats for artists. John Spillane and the firecracker Californian cellist Rushad Eggleston are amongst those who've put on courses there, which cater for arts and crafts, including knitting, stone-wall building and videography. Begley also runs secret concerts, a concept he devised during the covid lockdowns. He'll advertise a concert within a 15-kilometre radius of Dingle. The day of the gig, the audience discovers its location – it could be by a pier, a river, a lake or the side of a mountain. He heads to the gig in 'Beauty', his 1979 campervan. 'It's a bit of a Ryanair job,' says Begley. 'I ask the audience to bring their own chairs. They sit around in a semicircular. I might do an hour's concert, and chat away to people afterwards. People enjoy it because of the anticipation; they don't know where they're going. 'You hear birds. You can hear the waves, the river. The location informs the setlist I play. I talk about local history and how it relates to a certain tune. I encourage questions. "Often at a gig like, say, my upcoming gig at the Cork Opera House there's a barrier between the audience. I love concerts where people ask questions, where it's a two-way thing. 'What's my favourite question? 'Are you single?' ' Cormac Begley will play at Cork Opera House, Friday, May 2. He will be supported by Lemoncello. See:
