Category Archives: Offaly

Of a Very Superior Character


‘The monastery of Rahan…was founded by St Carthach or St Mochuda about the year 580. A king of Cornwall, named Constantine, abandoned his throne in 588, and became a monk there, whence it would seem the name Constantine became a favourite one with the family of Molloy, who were princes of Fercall, the district around Rahan. Under St Carthach, Rahan marvellously prospered, so that 867 monks were said to have been gathered under his rule at one time, and his followers formed one of the four great orders into which the Irish monasteries were divided…The monastery of Durrow, however, became jealous of the success of Rahan, and so in 636 roused King Blaethmac to expel Carthach, who took refuge in Lismore, where he founded the see but died the next year.’
From The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland Part III, Third Quarter, 1896.





‘The ancient Irish church at Rahan – repaired for Protestant worship – has a remarkable round window, measuring about seven feet six inches in the external diameter of the circle, and it is placed about twenty-two feet from the level of the ground. It formerly lighted a chamber placed between the chancel and the stone roof. It has a circle of bead ornaments and chevron carving within the outer band-line. The ornamental sculpture is in low relief are inciso or hollow. The stone and masonry of this church are of a very superior character.’
From Lives of the Irish Saints Vol.X, by the Rev. John O’Hanlon, (Dublin, 1905)






‘The Abbey of Rahin [is] partly restored as a parish ch. It was founded in the 6th century by St Carthach or Mochuda, afterwards Bp. of Lismore, and is remarkable for its archaeological details. The visitor should notice the chancel archway, which consists of 3 rectangular piers on each side, rounded at their angles into semi-columns, and adorned with capitals elaborately sculptured with human heads. The original E. window is gone, but lighting a chamber between the chancel and the roof is a remarkably beautiful round window with ornaments in low relief. The antiquary should compare the decorations of the capitals with those at Timahoe. There are also ruins of 2 other chs., one of them containing a doorway with inclined jambs (indicative of early Irish architecture) and an arch adorned with the characteristic moulding so like Norman.’
From A Handbook for Travellers in Ireland by John Murray (London, 1866)

Setting an Example



Drayton Villa in Clara, County Offaly dates from 1849 when built for Lewis Goodbody at the time of his marriage to Rebecca Clibborn. The Goodbodys were a Quaker family who had moved into this part of the country in 1825 and established a number of industries in the town, including a milling business and a jute factory, taking advantage of the river Brosna, The original block was of three bays and two storeys over basement, but in the mid-1860s another two-storey bay was added to the west side of the house, while a conservatory (since lost) was built on the building’s east side. Drayton Villa remained home to successive generations of Goodbodys until 1934 when it was sold to the Roman Catholic church for use as the parish priest’s residence. In February 2020, the house and 25 acres of land were offered for sale for €675,000 and subsequently bought by Offaly County Council ‘for public purposes’. Local media reports suggest that the land might be used for building a new school but nothing seems to have happened and in the meantime Drayton Villa has sat empty and boarded up. Is this the kind of example a local authority wants to set for the maintenance of its architectural heritage?


 

Unhappy Statistics


For many visitors to Ireland, spending time in a local pub – sampling whatever is on offer, engaging in conversation with local residents, perhaps listening to live musicians – is a memorable experience. As indeed it is, and long has been, for the same local residents. However, in many instances, that experience is no longer available. Figures released last year show that an average 152 pubs have closed annually since 2019 and that the number of such licensed premises has declined by 22.5 per cent since 2005. A survey published in August 2022 showed that counties suffering the highest percentage reduction in the number of pubs since 2005 were Laois (30.6%), Offaly (29.9%), Limerick (29.1%), Roscommon (28.3%) and Cork (28.5%). County Meath suffered the least reduction, with just three pubs closing their doors during this period. But the trend is nationwide, as can be testified by anyone who travels around Ireland; wherever you go, there are shuttered premises falling into dereliction, another aspect of Ireland’s heritage slowly disappearing. 




It is easy, too easy, to wax sentimental over the Irish pub and its supposed charms. Certainly some of them are places of great character, well-designed, well-maintained, well-run and a pleasure to visit. A number of them, especially those in the larger cities and towns, are repositories of 19th century craftsmanship, marvels of mahogany, brass and glass. These are the premises that deservedly feature in advertisements and tourist promotions. But there are plenty of other pubs in Ireland devoid of any aesthetic merit, with worn linoleum on the floor, tatty plastic seating and facilities that might most politely be described as grubby. However, whether objects of beauty or not, they all serve the same purpose: providing a venue where people can assemble and enjoy each other’s company. Remove such places, especially in non-urban areas, and you remove the opportunity for those people to meet, thereby increasing the likelihood of isolation. Last June, the European Commission’s Joint Research Centre published a report proposing that Ireland has the highest levels of loneliness in Europe. 




Many explanations have been given for the decline in pubs around Ireland, not least the imposition of stricter legislation around driving and alcohol consumption. While the merits of these measures cannot be questioned, they have coincided with a liberalisation of licensing laws, so that it is now possible to buy alcohol in a much greater number of premises (including petrol stations). The onset of Covid-19 and the obligation of residents to remain in their own properties also encouraged greater consumption of alcohol at home rather than in a public setting, and this is thought to have led to a widespread change in drinking habits. Increased operating costs, not least those of lighting and heating, have also made the business increasingly unviable for many pub owners, particularly those outside large centres of population. Running a business of this kind has grown steadily less attractive or feasible. And so the closures are likely to continue and more premises left to fall into ruin. As if Ireland didn’t already have sufficient derelict buildings.

Prominently Located




After Monday’s post about Tikincor Castle, County Waterford (see The House at the Head of the Weir « The Irish Aesthete), here are the remains of another early fortified house: Ballycowan Castle, County Offaly. Prominently sited on a rock outcrop immediately north of the Grand Canal, the building seemingly occupies the site of an earlier castle belonging to the O’Molloys but much of the present structure was erected here by Thomas Morres in 1589. Climbing four storeys to a string course above which soar a series of tall, slender chimneys, the castle displays more visible evidence of its fortified character than does Tikincor, having no windows on the lowest level and a number of bartizans along the roofline. Ballycowan changed hands c.1625 when it came into the possession of Sir Jasper Herbert and his wife Mary Finglas, who extended the building to the east and placed a plaque carrying their arms above a new doorway here. Seemingly the castle suffered damage during the Confederate Wars and their aftermath, which is when the south-west side of the building collapsed. Not least thanks to its location, Ballycowan remains one of the most familiar ruins in this part of the country.



Beyond the Tower House



Graffan House, County Offaly is thought to date from the early 17th century when it may have been constructed as a glebe for the adjacent Ballintemple Church, now also an ivy-drenched ruin. Of three bays and two storeys, the building occupies a fine position on raised ground with views over the surrounding countryside. The house is T-shaped, with the staircase likely occupying the projection, indicating, as Andrew Tierney has noted, ‘the movement beyond the tower house to something more symmetrical.’


Accentuate the Positive




For a great many people, 2023 has not been an easy year, so let’s end it by accentuating the positive, at least as far as Ireland’s architectural heritage is concerned. Here are six good news stories featured here over the past twelve months, the first three private initiatives, the second involving properties in public ownership. In County Offaly, a young couple are pluckily taking on the restoration of Cangort Park, a handsome early 19th century villa designed by Richard Morrison (see: A Work in Progress « The Irish Aesthete). Likewise, the owner of Barntick, thought to be the oldest continuously inhabited house in County Clare, has embarked on ensuring the building has a viable future (see: Of Very Considerable Importance « The Irish Aesthete). And in County Roscommon, another young couple are gradually working hard to turn Edmondstown into both a family home and a viable business (see: Another Cheering Story « The Irish Aesthete).
On the public front, the Office of Public Works continues to make improvements at the Ormond Castle in County Tipperary, a building distinguished by its elaborately plastered 16th century Long Gallery (see: All that is Fantastically Eccentric in Architecture « The Irish Aesthete). In County Wicklow, Coillte (an organisation with which the Irish Aesthete often finds fault) reopened Avondale after an extensive restoration of the house (see: In the Highest Perfection « The Irish Aesthete). And in September it was announced that the Irish state had bought Dowth Hall and its surrounding 550 acres in order to establish a new national park: fingers crossed that essential work is speedily undertaken on the house (with its ravishing rococo stuccowork) at the centre of this estate (see: Second Time Around « The Irish Aesthete).
Occasionally, there is good news to report:: let us all pray much more of it will be forthcoming in 2024.



Tales of the Unexpected



Designed by J.J. McCarthy in 1867, the Church of the Nativity in Kilcormac, County Offaly appears to differ little from a multitude of other such buildings constructed during the same period throughout Ireland. The interior, however, contains a couple of surprises, one of which is a 16th century polychromatic carved oak Pietà, thought to have come from mainland Europe. Local legend has it that at the time of the Cromwellian Wars, when Catholic churches were under attack, the sculpture was hidden for safekeeping in a nearby bog. Many years later, just before the last of those responsible for concealing the work died, he was able to say where it lay. It has remained in Kilcormac ever since, except, apparently for one short period when a curate who was moved to another parish decided to take the sculpture with him: a number of parishioners carried out a rescue mission and returned it to the church.
The Pietà may have come to Kilcormac thanks to the Mac Amhalghaidhs (anglicised as Magawly), once a prominent family in the area who lived at Temora House (destroyed by arson in 1930). A monument at the rear of the church lists the achievements of a number of them, beginning with Philip Magawly who, having left Ireland in the late 17th century joined the Imperial Habsburg army and rose to the rank of Field Marshal before being created a Count of the Holy Roman Empire. This title descended to his great-nephew and so down the line to the fourth count, who, as the monument notes, was assassinated by members of the Young Italy movement in March 1856 in Parma where he was serving as Chamberlain to the Duchess-Regent, her husband having similarly been assassinated two years earlier.


For Gentlemen Farmers



Bloomville, County Offaly is a particularly charming late 18th century gentleman farmer’s residence, of two storeys and five bays with a somewhat anachronistic Gibbsian door at its centre. The original block is just one room deep but a three-bay extension to the rear provides additional accommodation, as do single storey wings on either side: that to the east contains a drawing room with generous bow window and conical roof.


Remembering a Valiant Woman


In 1598, at the age of 18 Lettice FitzGerald married Sir Robert Digby, a Warwickshire landowner. Born in 1580, Lettice was the only child of Gerald FitzGerald, eldest son of the 11th Earl of Kildare. However, her father died around the time of her birth, leaving her, she would claim, as heir general to the great FitzGerald estates. Her cousin, who had become 14th Earl of Kildare, begged to differ and so in 1602 Lettice and her husband embarked on a long and costly law suit – the Jacobean equivalent of Jarndyce v Jarndyce – in pursuit of her entitlements. During the course of a legal battle that lasted almost two decades, they were able to prove that the will of Lettice’s grandfather had been fraudulently altered after his death in order to disinherit her, but still the fight continued. Eventually, in 1619 King James I, while rejecting Lettice’s claim to be the 11th Earl’s heir general, granted her and her heirs the manor of Geashill, comprising some 30,000 acres in King’s County (now Offaly), thereby partitioning the FitzGerald patrimony. The following year, the king recognised Lettice as Baroness Offaly for life, on the understanding that after her death the title would revert to the Earls of Kildare.





At the centre of the Geashill estate lay a castle, originally erected in the late 12th or early 13th century by Maurice FitzGerald, second Baron Offaly. For a considerable period during the Middle Ages, this property had been in the hands of the O’Dempsey clan, but was back under the control of the FitzGeralds by the time Lettice was born. It is here that she chose to live following the death of her husband, Sir Robert Digby, in 1618 and the confirmation by the crown of her right to the estate soon afterwards. By then in her early 60s, Lettice was in residence at Geashill Castle at the onset of the Confederate Wars in 1641 and that found herself besieged by the O’Dempseys, to whom she was related. They offered her and her family safe passage if the castle was surrendered, otherwise it would be burnt down. In the face of this threat, she replied ‘Being free from offending His Majesty, or doing wrong to any of you, I will live and die innocently, and will do my best to defend my own, leaving the issue to God.’ The siege was eventually lifted, but renewed the following spring when the attackers arrived with a make-shift cannon: it exploded at the first shot, as did a second attempt using the same device. Meanwhile, as Terry Clain notes in the Dictionary of Irish Biography, Lettice  ‘affected an aristocratic sang-froid in the face of imminent peril.’ Eventually, in October 1642 she was persuaded by allies to leave the property and subsequently retired to live on her late husband’s property in Warwickshire, where she died in 1658. Geashill Castle and the surrounding estate was inherited by her grandson, the second Baron Digby (her eldest son having predeceased her), whose heirs continued to own the property until the last century. 





At some date, perhaps as early as the 17th century, the Digbys built a new house to the immediate east of the old castle, part of which was most likely incorporated into the structure, where material from the abandoned building was probably also reused. The house appears to have been substantial but somewhat plain, of seven bays and two storeys, with a series of service extensions and yards further to the east. The south front had short projecting wings on either side of the central three bays creating a shallow forecourt. In 1860, Dublin architect James Rawson Carroll remodelled the house, adding a porch on the south side, a canted bay window on the ground floor of the north side and cambered arches over the windows on the west. The Digbys chose to live on their English estate, Sherborne Castle in Dorset, so the house at Geashill was occupied by a succession of agents who looked after the family’s Irish property; in the opening decades of the last century, the agent was Reginald Digby, a cousin of Lord Digby. In 1922, Mr Digby needed to go to London for an operation, but was unwilling to leave Geashill Castle unattended, aware that the place would be vulnerable to assault, this being at the height of the Civil War. However, eventually he was required to leave and on August 19th 1922, the building was attacked and burnt. Like other house owners whose property suffered in this way, the Digbys applied for compensation from the courts but because nobody was resident in Geashill Castle at the time, it was argued that the family was entitled to only minimal funding. In consequence, the house was not rebuilt but left as a ruin. Under the terms of the Wyndham Act of 1903, most of the ancient estate had already been sold to tenants and in 1926 the Land Commission took over the demesne, thereby ending a link with this part of the country that stretched back not just to plucky Lettice Digby in the 17th century but as far as the O’Dempseys in the 14th century. 

A Work in Progress



Currently undergoing restoration, this is Cangort Park, County Offaly. Dating from 1807 when designed by Richard Morrison for William Trench (a younger brother of the first Lord Ashtown), the house is more substantial than the initial impression of a three-bay, two-storey villa might suggest. The eastern elevation reveals just how substantial is the building, its centre occupied by a three-bay segmental bow flanked by single bay windows set inside shallow relieving arches. Meanwhile, the ground floor rear is dominated by two equally grandiose tripartite windows. Returning to the facade – which, like the rest of the house is faced in lined-and-ruled plaster – much of this is given over to an impressively over-scaled main entrance, set within a recessed arched porch and approached by a flight of stone steps. Over the door is a rectangular plaster panel depicting putti riding a dolphin, a curious detail for a house located about as far away from the sea as is possible in Ireland.