Community News

 

A few weeks ago I had a piece in this column relating to our native Parish writer's account of a picnic out at Thomas' Island. Mae Leonard, originally Clancy from the Sandmall, painted a delightful visual picture of the wonders of the said Island, that can be seen in the distance if you walk down to the very end of the Mill Road, close to where the famous cosy huts once stood, and look across the river. Like many unique nuggets of Limerick's history, this particular Island has a myth. Yes, a myth, sure where would we be without myths and legends? we might all become far too serious, and as any true-born parishioner will tell you, that is not allowed! And so, as I was engaged in browsing through 'Stories of Limerick' (2006) by Denis O'Shaughnessey's, very early one morning recently (I wake just after six) I happened upon an interesting piece of local lore on page three. Below is the writer's account of yet another myth..

 

 

'St. Thomas' Island in Corbally in our youth was a magical place to explore, with the castle at one end and the ruins of a red-bricked mansion owned by the Tutill family at the other end. In the middle of the ruins, was the entrance to a cellar, which legend had it, contained a secret passage going all the way under the river, and coming out at a secret spot in St. Mary's Cathedral. The fact that the tunnel, reputed to be used by the Dominicans, (who had a monastery on the Island in the middle ages), was blocked, added more to the myth. Needless to say, we never found the tunnel, nor did anybody else as far as I know.' (From 'Stories of Limerick' page three, by Denis O'Shaughnessy, 2006)

 

 

This is my final trip to Michael Hogan's abode, 'Whelan's Pub' on New Road, Thomondgate. I feel it is important due to the historic nature of the said building, that was recently in danger of being knocked. He stated in his autobiographical notes, penned about ten years prior to his demise in 1899, that he purchased a plot for £12, and paid Lord Limerick £1 annually from then on. He had a fine house built. Following his being settled with wife, Nannie, his mother pestered him to convert the ground floor into a pub, that both she and Nannie would run, so as to leave him free to pursue his literary endeavours and whatever else he may be interested in. Hogan continued at length to expose the treachery and robbery that ensued, his own mother, unfortunately, beiing the chief offender. I could expand, but this is not the space in wich to do so, except to mention that our poet suffered badly. It was a case of a good-hearted person trusting too much! Well done to Maurice Quinlivan, TD, the neighbours and friends who recently campaigned for the retention of this prized building! We cannot be forever be dismissing the past, can we? It may be precious.