Category Archives: Tipperary

Little Changed


The origins of the Baker family in Ireland are unclear, but it would seem that Thomas Baker, an Englishman, came here and settled, likely in the first decades of the 17th century. Based in Knockordan, County Tipperary, he came to rent large areas of farmland in the vicinity, running to more than 3,730 acres, from local Roman Catholic owners. Disaster befell both them and their tenant in 1641 with the onset of the Confederate Wars: in the case of Baker and his family, they were besieged by the rebels and, following his death in February 1642, forced to surrender everything they had, down to their ‘wearing apparel’, before the family – a widow with six children – were turned out of doors. As for the owners of the land that Baker had rented, they too lost their property, divided up following the Down Survey in the following decade. However, because Thomas had loaned money to some of his landlords on the security of mortgages they had taken out against the properties he rented from them, his son Walter was able to lay claim to some of what had been lost and, in the years after the Restoration of 1660, the Bakers regained outright some of what had once been held only in leasehold. Thereafter they seem to have prospered and in October 1704, William Baker, a great-grandson of the original Thomas, purchased from Charles Blount – a grandson of one of the Down Survey commissioners – the lands on which Lismacue House now stands for the sum of £923. The original residence, long since gone, was one of the largest in this part of the country and with five hearths incurring a tax of 10 shillings, according to the 1665 hearth-money records.





Approached at the end of a long avenue of lime trees planted in the mid-18th century by Hugh Baker, the present house at Lismacue replaced an earlier residence elsewhere on the estate. This building was commissioned in 1813 by Hugh’s grandson William from Kilkenny architect William Robertson. However, the owner was not able to enjoy his new home for long because a short time later he was murdered. As reported by the Rev. William Burke in his History of Clonmel (1907), ‘The event, however, which stirred the county to its depths was the murder of William Baker of Lismacue. Returning from Cashel Sessions, November 27th, 1815, he was met by two men at the gates of Thomastown Park and shot through the head. Though a reward of £5,000 was offered, and though scores of suspected persons were lodged in the bridewells, the secret which was known to hundreds, was long kept and the efforts of the Crown baffled.’ Eventually, it seems, two men called Keating and Maher were imprisoned in Cahir where the former ‘through connivance or otherwise’, obtained some whisky which apparently loosened tongues. Their conversation being overheard, Keating was subsequently induced to give evidence, and Maher was hanged. Since the murdered man had no children, Lismacue was then inherited by his nephew, Hugh Baker who was still a minor at the time. He and his wife Marion Conyers were responsible for finishing the interiors now seen in the house. After his death in 1868, he was succeeded by his son, also called Hugh, but when the latter in turn died in 1887, the family almost lost everything as a result of needful land sales. Fortunately, the third Hugh’s widow, Frances Massy, remarried and her second husband, Major Ralph Bunbury, was able to buy Lismacue and the surrounding lands for what was described as a ‘low price’ so that the Bakers could continue to live there. Eventually, following the major’s death, his siblings transferred the place ‘on generous terms’ to one of the third Hugh’s sons, Charles Conyers Massy Baker. Today, Lismacue continues to be occupied by his descendants. 





Designed in a mildly Tudorbethan style, Lismacue’s exterior is ornamented with hood mouldings over the windows, and dainty crenellations and pinnacles along the roofline. Of two storeys over-basement, the facade is three bays wide, the centre bay distinguished by a single-storey limestone Gothick porch supported by columns. A service wing to the immediate north looks as though it concludes in a chapel, since the gable here holds a large arched window with Gothick tracery. However, this is illusory, since the interior is divided into several floors. Inside, the same restrained use of Gothick ornament prevails, but the overall tone is late Georgian classical. Many of the main reception rooms still contain wallpapers first hung in the 1830s and indeed, the charm of Lismacue is precisely that, ever since built, successive owners have never been in a position to undertake largescale alterations. Little changed since first constructed, in spirit and style, it still retains the style and spirit of an early 19th century Irish country house.

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In Circles



Synone Castle is another cylindrical tower house found in County Tipperary, not unlike that at Balief (see Beyond Balief « The Irish Aesthete) and Ballynahow (see Encircled « The Irish Aesthete). Surrounded by the remains of a bawn wall (within which stands a relatively new residence) and rising some 50 feet, the building is of four storeys with small openings on each floor and three machiolations at the top. There appears to be little information about the castle, said to have been built by the Butler family. 



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So Ruin’d by ye Wars


‘Of ye Cathedral at present ye Choir only is roof’d & in repair, which is indeed long & lofty; ye Stalls &c. plain; They were put up by Archbishop Palliser, who was in other particulars a Benefactor to this Fabrick, before His time so ruin’d by ye Wars, as to be unfit for divine Service. And even now, there is not above twice a year any Use made of it, that It is not kept so neat & clean as might be otherwise expected.’ This extract from the diary kept by John Loveday during a tour through parts of Ireland (as well as England, Wales and Scotland) in 1732 gives an account of the condition of the Rock of Cashel in County Tipperary at that time. St Patrick’s Rock, an outcrop erupting above the surrounding plains, was for many centuries both a stronghold of the Kings of Munster and the site of a great cathedral, the whole surrounded by stone walls. Like many religious buildings, it suffered neglect during the 16th century so that by 1607 it was described as being in a state of decay. Repair work on the building was then undertaken but all of these improvements would be undone during the Confederate Wars. 





In 1647 Murrough O’Brien, first Earl of Inchiquin, president of Munster and commander of the parliamentary forces in that province, sought to bring it under his authority by embarking on a scorched earth policy. This would lead to him being known as ‘Murchadh na dTóiteán’ (Murrough of the Burnings). By September, Inchiquin and his army had reached Cashel where the citizenry – having received reports of terrible assaults inflicted by the force elsewhere in the surrounding area – took refuge within the walls of the Rock. When Inchiquin arrived, he called for those inside the enclosure to surrender within an hour. Believing it impregnable, they refused to do so, and accordingly an assault on the Rock began, with the parliamentary army gaining access inside the main compound, thereby forcing the defenders, estimated to number around 1,000, to take refuge within the church. Although held off at the doors, Inchiquin’s troops swarmed in through the building’s windows and then engaged in appalling acts of slaughter, so that only a handful of those inside survived. The church itself was stripped of anything valuable and according to legend, Inchiquin – whose forebear Brian Boru had been crowned High King of Ireland in the same place – made a mockery of the Roman Catholic faith by parading around in the bishop’s mitre. According to a contemporary, the Jesuit Provincial Fr Andrew Sall, ‘The large crucifix that towered above the entrance to the choir had its head, hands and feet cut off, the organ was broken, and the bells, whose chimes cheered our soldiers as they fought, were deprived of their clappers and their beautiful tone…All the passages, even the altars, chapels, sacristies, bell-tower steps, and seats were so thickly covered with corpses, that one could not walk a step without treading on a dead body.’ 





Some twenty years would pass before any work was undertaken on the Rock’s buildings: extant Chapter minutes for June 1667 record that timber should be procured ‘to rebuild the chancel or quire’ of the cathedral, the intention being to restore for Divine worship, not the entire fabric of the structure but just the choir and chancel. Gradually, over the next few decades, improvements were made to this part of the site. In 1674, for example, accounts show that £20 was spent on roofing the steeple but then the upheavals of the late 1680s caused further disruption and a halt to any further improvements here. Only in the second half of the 1690s did serious restoration commence again, with £80 being committed for the arching of the cathedral choir and other work, along with a contract being issued for the glazing and painting of the windows in this part of the old building. By the 1720s, regular services were taking place in the cathedral, or at least at its east end in the chancel and choir. In 1723 two silk curtains were provided for the stalls of the Dean and Precentor, and the following year £4 8s. was paid for a large Bible as well as two Books of Common Prayer for the Communion Table. Finally in 1730, Theophilus Bolton was officially enthroned in the building, seemingly the first Archbishop to do so in a long time. Bolton took a particular interest in the cathedral, writing to Jonathan Swift in April 1735, ‘I am now wholly employed in digging up rocks and making the way easier to the church, which if I can succeed in I design to repair a very venerable old fabric that was built here in the time of our ignorant (as we are pleased to call them) ancestors. I really intend to lay out a thousand pounds to preserve this old church ; and I am sure you would be of service to posterity if you assisted me in the doing of it.’ Whether Bolton actually embarked on this repair is unclear, but in any case, following his death in 1744 he was succeeded by Arthur Price, remembered as the man responsible for ensuring the cathedral would no longer be used for religious services. Price’s motivation for doing so is unclear: popular belief has it that his coach and four had trouble with the ascent and he therefore decided to embark on building a new cathedral on flat ground close to his palace. In any case, in September 1748, the Chapter met with the archbishop and drew up a memorial for presentation to the Lords Justices and Irish Privy Council. Amongst other points, this document noted that the cathedral was not only ‘so incommodiously situated that resort to it for Service was always difficult, and in tempestuous weather scarcely practicable’ but also that ‘There was no likelihood of it ever being repaired, owing to the inconvenience of the site, and also because there was no fund belonging to it sufficient thereto.’ Instead, it was proposed that the parish church of St John the Baptist be raised to cathedral status and thereby assume the role hitherto held by the building on the Rock. The Privy Council duly authorised this change, and in September, 1750, the Chapter ordered that the timber of the roof ‘and the other necessaries belonging to the old cathedral’ be taken down and deposited in some safe place, until the same could conveniently be employed for the enlargement and use of the new one only. It appears at least some of this wood was used as piles under the foundations of the new cathedral. But one last religious service was held in the building on the Rock, because on October 12th 1752, following Price’s death, his successor John Whitcombe ‘was this day enthroned as well in the ancient Cathedral- on the Rock as in the present Cathedral and Parochial Church.’ Thereafter, it was left to fall into disrepair.


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In Need of Amendment


In 1779 Charles Agar, hitherto Bishop of Cloyne, was appointed Archbishop of Cashel, following the death of the previous incumbent, Dr Michael Cox. The latter, although he had occupied the archiepiscopal seat for the previous quarter-century, had spent little time in Cashel, preferring to live in the splendid residence he commissioned in County Kilkenny, Castletown Cox. As a result, when Agar arrived in Cashel, he discovered that the palace there ‘certainly had undergone no alterations, and probably received but few repairs from the time it was built…and as the house is wainscotted throughout the parlour and bedchamber stories, and much of the former had originally been painted of a dark brown colour, it made at this time but a dismal appearance.’ Today an hotel, Cashel Palace was designed by Sir Edward Lovett Pearce around 1727 for the then-archbishop Timothy Godwin but he died two years later and the building was completed by his successor Theophilus Bolton who, as is well-known, constructed a library beside his residence, bequeathing a collection of  more than 8,000 volumes to the archdiocese. The Rev Henry Cotton in his Fasti ecclesiae Hibernicae (1847) estimated that the construction cost £3,730, while more recently Anthony Malcomson, in his magisterial Archbishop Charles Agar: Churchmanship and Politics in Ireland, 1760-1810 (2002) has proposed a figure of £3,611. This was an expensive project but by the time Agar arrived, further expenditure was required to bring the palace up to date. The building seems to have been in such poor condition that Sir Cornwallis Maude, who lived not far away at Dundrum, offered the archbishop his own house while he ordered the repairs ‘which I believe necessary before it can be fit for your accommodation.’ Working with the architect Oliver Grace, Agar embarked on a programme of improvements to the palace, which in total would cost him £1,123. 





Recording his time in Cashel, Archbishop Agar noted that when he arrived ‘The door from the hall into the salon was exactly opposite the hall door, and there was in the salon a door into the garden exactly opposite to the door of the room; which not only cut the room, as it were, in two, but rendered it so cold that, as often as any one of the three doors was opened, the room was not habitable with comfort, for no company could be so situated as not to feel the wind. The Archbishop therefore stopped up the door in the centre of the room, and took away entirely that which opened into the garden. He placed the door in the hall at the end of the south side, let all of the windows of the salon down to the ground, and put double doors to this and every room on the parlour storey, and new-sashed the parlour and bed-chamber stories in front and rear. He…put the best species of register grates in the hall, salon and eating parlour, and in all the other rooms of the house. He also painted the whole house once and in some parts twice since he has inhabited it.’ Today, the salon (ie. the drawing room) retains the alterations made to it by Agar, although French windows once again allow access to the gardens. Of the interiors from the time of the palace’s original construction, the staircase hall still has its splendid staircase and the entrance hall retains its panelling. A room to the immediate right of the latter, now used as an office, is also panelled but this decoration may have been recycled when the house underwent reordering by Agar (or even more recently) because until his arrival it served as the main dining room…





‘Though the house was substantially built,’ Archbishop Agar later wrote, ‘and the plan originally a good one in most respects, in some it stood in great need of amendment. The eating parlour was only 19 feet 6 inches by 17 feet, a room certainly altogether too small for such a purpose in such a house. This room was on the east side of the great hall of entrance and could not be enlarged. On the west side of the hall was a room of the same dimensions, at the north end of which, and between it and the breakfast parlour, was a dark passage from the hall to the gallery, leading to the library, in which there was a staircase which communicated by a trap door with the north end of the corridor in the bedroom story. Dr Agar removed this staircase entirely, took down the wall of partition and threw the passage into the eating room, which made it 30 feet long by 19 feet 6 inches broad, and placed a window over the door leading to the library, in order to render that part of the eating room more light.’ After it became an hotel in the 1960s, Agar’s eating room was further opened into the adjacent breakfast parlour to the south to create one large dining room; a divider marks the former division between the two spaces. While many of his alterations were felicitous and have survived, one addition to the building – the construction of a study perched to the rear – proved unsuccessful, not least due to damp, and was taken down by his successor, Charles Brodrick. He is believed to have carried out further alterations to the palace, not least the insertion of dormer windows on the top floor but consideration of Brodrick’s interventions here must wait for another time. 


On May 19th next, I shall be giving a paper on ‘Diocesan domesticity: daily life in Cashel Palace during the episcopacy of Charles Agar, 1779-1801’ at the 23rd Historic Houses Conference held in Maynooth University. For more information, please see: CSHIHE 2025 conference programme Final.pdf

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Visionary



After Monday’s melancholic post about the former bishop’s palace in Clonfert, here is a more cheering story. More than eight years ago, in May 2016, the Irish Aesthete was taken to see a house called Solsborough in County Tipperary. Dating from the first half of the 19th century, although likely on the site of an older property, the place had long since been unroofed and abandoned, and like so many other buildings of its kind, left a shell on the landscape. But in 2014 Solsborough was bought by the present owners who gradually embarked on an ambitious and thorough restoration programme: as can be seen in the photographs above, this was only beginning to get underway at the time of the 2016. Today the house has been fully and wonderfully brought back to use, a further demonstration that no such building is beyond salvation – and re-use – provided there is sufficient vision on the part of those responsible.


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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.

A Gentle Gothick



Lismacue, County Tipperary, a property which has remained in the same family since the land on which it stands was bought by William Baker in 1704 for £923. Standing at the end of an exceptionally long avenue of lime trees planted c.1760, the building acquired its present, mildly Tudorbethan appearance at the start of the 19th century thanks to Kilkenny architect William Robertson. Of three bays and two storeys, the entrance front’s most notable feature is a single-storey limestone Gothick open porch; a lower service wing to the north concludes in a gable with traceried window, which suggests a chapel (but was probably once a kitchen).  The other two sides looking across the gardens are of five bays, that to the rear having two blind bays as the original intention was for the building to be further extended here. 


Empty Aisle, Deserted Chancel


Lone and weary as I wander’d by the bleak shore of the sea,
Meditating and reflecting on the world’s hard destiny,
Forth the moon and stars ‘gan glimmer, in the quiet tide beneath,
For on slumbering spring and blossom breathed not out of heaven a breath.

On I went in sad dejection, careless where my footsteps bore,
Till a ruined church before me opened wide its ancient door,
Till I stood before the portals, where of old were wont to be,
For the blind, the halt, and leper, alms and hospitality.

Still the ancient seat was standing, built against the buttress grey,
Where the clergy used to welcome weary trav’llers on their way;
There I sat me down in sadness, ‘neath my cheek I placed my hand,
Till the tears fell hot and briny down upon the grassy land.





There, I said in woful sorrow, weeping bitterly the while,
Was a time when joy and gladness reigned within this ruined pile;
Was a time when bells were tinkling, clergy preaching peace abroad,
Psalms a-singing, music ringing praises to the mighty God.

Empty aisle, deserted chancel, tower tottering to your fall,
Many a storm since then has beaten on the grey head of your wall!
Many a bitter storm and tempest has your roof-tree turned away,
Since you first were formed a temple to the Lord of night and day.

Holy house of ivied gables, that were once the country’s boast,
Houseless now in weary wandering are you scattered, saintly host;
Lone you are to-day, and dismal,— joyful psalms no more are heard,
Where, within your choir, her vesper screeches the cat-headed bird.

Ivy from your eaves is growing, nettles round your green hearth-stone,
Foxes howl, where, in your corners, dropping waters make their moan.
Where the lark to early matins used your clergy forth to call,
There, alas! no tongue is stirring, save the daw’s upon the wall.





Refectory cold and empty, dormitory bleak and bare,
Where are now your pious uses, simple bed and frugal fare?
Gone your abbot, rule and order, broken down your altar stones;
Nought see I beneath your shelter, save a heap of clayey bones.

O! the hardship, O! the hatred, tyranny, and cruel war,
Persecution and oppression, that have left you as you are!
I myself once also prosper’d; — mine is, too, an alter’d plight;
Trouble, care, and age have left me good for nought but grief to-night.

Gone my motion and my vigour — gone the use of eye and ear,
At my feet lie friends and children, powerless and corrupting here;
Woe is written on my visage, in a nut my heart could lie —
Death’s deliverance were welcome — Father, let the old man die.


Translation by Sir Samuel Ferguson of the Irish poem Machtnamh an Duine Dhoilghíosaigh (‘The Melancholy Mortal’s Reflections’) or, Caoineadh ar Mhainistir Thigh Molaige (‘Lament Over the Monastery House of Molaga’) by Seághan Ó CoileáinPictures of the 15th century Franciscan friary known as Moor Abbey, County Tipperary. 

 

A Picturesque Feature in the Landscape


Seemingly there are some 100 places around the world called Newcastle, six of them located in Ireland (one of these, in County Meath, is a couple of miles away from the more substantial settlement of Oldcastle). Newcastle, County Tipperary is one of the smaller holders of the name, being a small village seemingly of little note. But it contains two substantial mediaeval ruins, one being a large 12th/13th century church and the other the castle from which Newcastle takes its name. 




The ‘new’ castle in County Tipperary presumably replaced an older one, but there does not appear to be any information about the latter. What remains can be seen close to the banks of the river Suir, the navigable possibilities of which was one reason for the choice of this site. The castle is believed to have been built for the Prendergast family, the first of whom Maurice de Prendergast, was among the Cambro-Norman knights who accompanied Richard de Clare (otherwise known as Strongbow) to Ireland and then settled here.  Around 1230 his grandson, William de Prendergast exchanged lands he had inherited in what is now County Limerick with Jeffrey de Marisco for those in this part of Tipperary. There may already have been some kind of castle already erected but the ruins seen today were certainly enhanced and enlarged by the Prendergasts who remained in occupation until the mid-17th century. In the aftermath of the Confederate Wars, Edmond Prendergast’s estates were taken from him by the Cromwellian government and the link with Newcastle broken. Edmond Prendergast’s grandson, Sir Thomas Prendergast, who grew up in poverty, led an extraordinarily adventurous life. Having fought in the service of James II, he allied himself to William III after the Treaty of Limerick. A Roman Catholic, he was involved in a Jacobite plot to kill the king, but then switched sides and provided evidence that helped to convict many of his former fellow-plotters. He then seems to have conformed to the Established Church and was rewarded with lands around Gort,  County Galway that provided an annual income of £500. Created a baronet in 1699, he acted as MP for Monaghan borough, 1703-09 while also serving in the army, rising to the rank of brigadier-general in February 1709. However, the following September he was killed at the Battle of Malplaquet.




The castle at Newcastle consists of a number of buildings enclosed within what remains of a bawn wall; among the more notable extant structures is a large vaulted hall and a circular tower, both relatively intact although much of the rest of the property is in poor condition. Quite when the castle was abandoned is unclear. One suggestion is that it was badly damaged in the late 1640s/early 1650s at a time when the Prendergasts were displaced. But the ruin of so many buildings in Ireland is attributed to Cromwellian forces that it is hard to know whether or not such was the case in this instance. Whatever the truth, the lands on which it stands were eventually granted to the Perry family, whose main residence from the early 18th century onwards was some ten miles north at Woodrooff, County Tipperary. In 1837 Samuel Lewis wrote that the old castle ‘forms a very picturesque feature in the landscape.’ Such remains the case today. 

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.