A Perfect Dozen

Irish Architectural Archive, Merrion Square, Dublin, September 2012

Belan, County Kildare, September 2013

Dawson Mausoleum, Dartrey, County Monaghan, September 2014

See House, Kilmore, County Cavan, September 2015

Kilfane, County Kilkenny, September 2016

Mount Panther, County Down, September 2017

This week, the Irish Aesthete marks its 12th birthday. As always, such an anniversary always surprise, not least because when this site was inaugurated, the question most often asked was ‘How long before you run out of material?’ There was no answer to that query at the time, and there isn’t one now. Since 2012, the Irish Aesthete has covered a considerable range of buildings, eras and styles across all 32 of the island’s counties; herewith a dozen images from previous Septembers to illustrate this point. Some of them are in perfect condition, others in varying stages of Ireland (as is so often the case here). But so much of the country’s architectural heritage remains to be discovered and discussed, and that’s what lies ahead: whether for one or 12 years, the journey goes on. As always, thank you to all friends and followers for continuing to travel around Ireland with the Irish Aesthete. Your company and interest remains enormously important and greatly appreciated. And so we go forward.

Clonony Castle, County Offaly, September 2018

Castle Cuffe, County Laois, September 2019

St Brigid’s Hospital, Ballinasloe, County Galway, September 2020

Castle Oliver, County Limerick, September 2021

Coolamber, County Westmeath, September 2022

Edmondstown, County Roscommon, September 2023

The Irish Aesthete is generously supported by

 

A Little Crazy



Hard to believe this is all that remains of Gallen Priory, County Offaly, a once-great religious house founded in 492AD by Saint Cadoc. After being badly damaged in the 9th century, the monastery here was restored by Welsh monks but several hundred years later, it came under the authority of the Augustinian order, remaining so until the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the 1540s and thereafter falling into decay. Excavations of the site in the 1930s revealed parts of over 200 early Christian burial monuments and these have since been unsympathetically and randomly set in cement walls on the locations of what would have been the east and west gables of the church here, suggesting the inspiration was crazy paving.


A Fine Specimen


Handsomely set against a background of woodland, the 16th century tower house at Castlegrove, County Galway is known as both Feartagar Castle and Jennings Castle, the latter name derived from a family believed to have lived there for a period. The building is thought to have been constructed by the de Burgos (otherwise Burkes) who controlled much of the land in this part of the country, but the Jennings may indeed have been responsible, since the two families were related to each other. The surname Jennings originally McSeonins, or sons of John (de Burgo), which was first anglicised to Jonine and then to Jennings, sometimes spelled Jenings.




The castle comprises a rectangular, five-storey tower measuring some 12 by 10 metres. Both the eastern and west roof gables survive, as do chimney stacks on either end as well as on the northern side. At the top of each of the four corners are well-preserved curved bartizans, while above the pointed arch doorway on the eastern wall is a further machicolation. At various levels on every side are a series of arrow slits as well as a number of mullion windows with hood mouldings. Although apparently unoccupied since the mid-17th century, the building is in an excellent state of repair, certainly when compared with many other tower houses found elsewhere around the country. 




The castle is believed to have remained in the hands of the de Burgo or Jennings family until the 1650s when, like so many other such properties, it was taken from the owners by the Cromwellian government in the aftermath of the Confederate Wars. It was then granted to the Blakes, members of another well-known County Galway family who had likewise been displaced from their original land holdings. Successive generations of Blakes lived on the property until the mid-19th century, a new house being erected here in the 1830s. However, in the aftermath of the Great Famine, the entire estate was sold through the Encumbered Estates Court, bought for £15,750 by John Cannon. Following his death, it was sold again to Frederick Lewin and was inherited by his son Thomas before being burnt July 1922, seemingly by anti-Treaty forces. The remains are now lost in nearby woodland, with the older tower house today in better condition than its successor. 

State-Sponsored Neglect


Above are the front and rear elevations of Towerhill, County Mayo, a house believed to date from the close of the 18th century when built for Isidore Blake, whose descendants continued to own the property until 1948 when the building’s contents were auctioned and the place itself subsequently stripped of everything that might be removed, slates from the roof, floorboards and doorcases, chimneypieces and so forth. Of six bays and two storeys over basement, Towerhill is unusual in that all four sides of the house are pedimented, and finished to the same high standard; the architect responsible for this work is unknown. The property is now owned by the state’s forestry body, Coillte, which accounts for its neglected condition.


A New Vision


The narrative of the Irish country house as a place of dishevelment and decay has a long and melancholic history, stretching back to the publication of Maria Edgeworth’s seminal novel Castle Rackrent in 1800. Her vision of properties and their owners both being hopelessly atrophied found many fictional heirs for almost two centuries, continuing as late as Caroline Blackwood’s Great Granny Webster, which appeared in 1977 and Molly Keane’s Good Behaviour published four years later. These accounts present variations on the same theme: that the Irish country house, dank, gloomy and bitterly cold, has no viable future and is doomed to sink into ruin. In truth, the notion of the Big House – as such buildings are traditionally known in Ireland – being in terminal decline frequently had its basis in fact. In March 1912, Violet Martin, one half of the writing duo Somerville and Ross, informed her c0-author Edith Somerville about a recent visit to Tyrone House, County Galway which she found ‘rather dilapidated and ‘where rioted three or four generations of St. Georges – living with country-women, occasionally marrying them, all illegitimate four times over. No so long ago eight of these awful half-peasant families roosted together in that lovely house, and fought, and barricaded and drank, till the police had to intervene.’ Tyrone House duly served as the inspiration for Somerville and Ross’s 1925 novel, The Big House of Inver.





Fortunately, in recent decades there have been other, and happier, stories deserving to be told, as will be discovered in The Irish Country House: A New Vision. The fifteen houses featured offer an alternative narrative, not just about historic Irish properties but about Ireland herself. Once dogged by persistent poverty and a pervasive atmosphere of dejection, since the 1990s the country has undergone something of a transformation. This change of circumstances has brought with it fresh opportunities and the promise of a better future for Irish country houses. Formerly, the sale and abandonment of big old properties was a common occurrence, but this is no longer the only or even most frequent option. Instead, the possibility of a new life has become viable. Which is not to suggest that every historic house can be assured of a secure future; there are still buildings being lost, like so many of their equivalents in the past. But the chances of salvation are now much better than used to be the case.





Almost all the properties featured in The Irish Country House: A New Vision have had to undergo extensive restoration since the start of the present century, some of them are still in the process of being restored. Had they not been acquired or inherited by the present generation of owners it is probable that at least some of them would have been lost forever.
It takes a particular kind of pluck, or perhaps madness, to assume responsibility for a house much larger than the average family home, and constructed in an era when staff to maintain the building were plentiful and cheap. Fortunately, there are people gifted with this kind of pluck, along with generous quantities of imagination and determination. These traits are particularly necessary when the house in question is currently in poor condition, sometimes even downright ruinous. Not everyone possesses the character required for the task, just as not everyone wants to take on the challenge of bringing an old house back to life. Providentially, Ireland is blessed that there are increasing numbers of them who relish the opportunity, with all its potential highs and lows. Some of them feature in the book, but there are many more who are at different stages of the journey towards the creation of a viable, comfortable family home. The hazards of taking on an historic house are obvious, cost being just one of them. But there are advantages too, not least the chance to put your own stamp on a building. Along with installing new plumbing and electric wiring, with repairing gutters and replacing damaged windows, comes the possibility of further enhancing the character of a place, of adding another distinctive chapter to its story. This is what sets apart these properties. They disprove the long-standing narrative of the Irish country house as being in irremediable decline and instead inform us that these buildings have been blessed with an irresistible and dynamic new spirit.


The Irish Country House: A New Vision is published by Rizzoli

 

Buried but Not Forgotten



A short distance to the west of the ruins of Aghadoe Cathedral, County Kerry stands the now-disused Church of Ireland church. Work on the building, designed by an unknown architect, began in 1837, the land on which it stands being given by Charles Winn-Allanson, second Lord Headley who during the previous decade had built a new residence nearby. Lord Headley’s somewhat eccentric and spendthrift successors to the title have featured here before (see From Kerry to Mecca « The Irish Aesthete) but he seems to have been a model landlord, his death in 1840 much lamented in the area. Surviving him by more than 20 years, his widow Anne did much to relieve the suffering of local tenants during the years of the Great Famine and after. The large Headley tomb behind the church appropriately carries the words ‘Buried But Not Forgotten.’ The church ceased to be used for services in 1989 and now stands looking rather desolate in the midst of the graveyard.


Pagan Inspiration


On 6th-7th January 1839 Ireland was struck by what subsequently became known as the Night of the Big Wind. Such was the ferocity of the hurricane-force gales that many buildings throughout the country suffered damage, one of these being the Presbyterian Church in Portaferry, County Down. Originally dating from 1694 but almost entirely rebuilt in 1751, in the aftermath of the storm this structure was left in such a poor state of repair that services could no longer be held there. Accordingly the decision was taken to demolish the older church and erect a new one of the same site. The architect given the task was Belfast-born John Millar, known to have spent time in the office of Thomas Hopper in London before returning to this country. Millar’s brother was a Presbyterian minister, which explains why, between 1829 and 1839, he had been given commissions to design a number of other Presbyterian churches in Ulster. His later life seems to have been blighted by misfortune. According to an entry in the online Dictionary of Irish Architects (www.dia.ie) , after being declared bankrupt in 1854 he went to Australia, then returned home before leaving again for Australia the following year: on this second voyage, his ship was wrecked off the coast. Moving to New Zealand, he was appointed engineer to the town board of Dunedin, dismissed from the post in 1864, reinstated and then dismissed again. That same year he also lost all his possessions when his house was burned down. He died in 1876, of ‘hepatic disease, dropsy and exhaustion’. The DIA describes him as ‘a man of extravagant claims, exuberant schemes and quixotic behaviour.’  




From the start, the Portico Church won plaudits. In 1842, barely a year after it had opened for services, the local Down Recorder enthused, ‘The style of architecture which Mr Millar has adopted is that which prevailed in Greece during the architectural age of Pericles; its dimensions are sufficiently large to produce an impression of grandeur and sublimity.’ More recently, in 1970 J.S Curl commented that the building ‘would not look out of place in Helsinki or Leningrad [St Petersburg]. Indeed, this marvellous Greek temple is one of the most distinguished Neoclassical buildings in Ulster, and is in the first rank of Neoclassical designs in the whole of the British Isles.’ Various alterations have been made to the building since first constructed, not all of them necessarily beneficial; for example, at some date in the early 20th century, probably owing a problem with damp, the exterior was painted. Also in the last century, coloured glass was introduced into the windows, thereby disrupting the purity of the interior’s light. Clearly the local congregation in the 1840s must have been substantial, given the scale of the church (its predecessor seemingly had 90 seats in the aisle and another 14 in a gallery). However, in more recent decades the number attending services declined sharply and in consequence the building began to suffer from neglect. Happily in 2015 responsibility for the church was taken on by a charity, ‘Portico Ards’, which then raised £1.6 million for its complete restoration (thanks to support from the Heritage Lottery Fund and over 30 other grant raiders). While it continues to serve its original purpose on Sunday mornings, holding services for members of the Presbyterian faith, today the building also functions as an arts and heritage centre, hosting a wide variety of cultural activities.
Built at a cost of £1,999 and formally opened by Rev. Henry Cooke in September 1841, Portaferry’s Portico Church, as it’s known, is a building of very distinctive and rather unexpected character. Many of Millar’s designs for other Presbyterian communities had been classical in style, but this is something else again. The primary source of inspiration was the Temple of Nemesis, built c.460-420 BC in Rhamnous, an ancient Greek city on the north-eastern coast of Attica. The church’s north-west and south-east pedimented facades are almost identical, the former providing the main entrance to the interior via steps that lead into a porch set between the Doric columns, derived from those of the Temple of Apollo at Delos.  Six monumental columns, tapered and showing entasis, rest on top of the ground floor and rise unfluted to the entablature which encircles the structure. Clearly not based on ancient models but meeting the requirements of the congregation, the building’s glazed enclosures accommodate a vestibule for the gallery at one end and an organ chamber at the other. The church’s base takes the form of a battered podium. On the south-east side, the two outermost columns rest on battered corners bases separate from the main support; the open portion thus created by these separate bases permits access to smaller doorways into the building. Also on this side and set between the two central columns is what appears to be a miniature temple: inside this accommodates a staircase allowing the minister taking services to ascend to the pulpit. 




From the start, the Portico Church won plaudits. In 1842, barely a year after it had opened for services, the local Down Recorder enthused, ‘The style of architecture which Mr Millar has adopted is that which prevailed in Greece during the architectural age of Pericles; its dimensions are sufficiently large to produce an impression of grandeur and sublimity.’ More recently, in 1970 J.S Curl commented that the building ‘would not look out of place in Helsinki or Leningrad [St Petersburg]. Indeed, this marvellous Greek temple is one of the most distinguished Neoclassical buildings in Ulster, and is in the first rank of Neoclassical designs in the whole of the British Isles.’ Various alterations have been made to the building since first constructed, not all of them necessarily beneficial; for example, at some date in the early 20th century, probably owing a problem with damp, the exterior was painted. Also in the last century, coloured glass was introduced into the windows, thereby disrupting the purity of the interior’s light and the first organ installed. Clearly the local congregation in the 1840s must have been substantial, given the scale of the church (its predecessor seemingly had 90 seats in the aisle and another 14 in a gallery). However, in more recent decades the number attending services declined sharply and in consequence the building began to suffer from neglect. Happily in 2015 responsibility for the church was taken on by a charity, ‘Portico Ards’, which then raised £1.6 million for its complete restoration (thanks to support from the Heritage Lottery Fund and over 30 other grant raiders). While it continues to serve its original purpose on Sunday mornings, holding services for members of the Presbyterian faith, today the building also functions as an arts and heritage centre, hosting a wide variety of cultural activities and thereby ensuring that it has a viable future.  

A Momentary Lull


Particularly at this time of year, it is hard to catch a picture of Ross Castle, County Kerry without the inclusion of milling crowds since every car, coach and jaunting cart in the area visits the place. Located on the shore of Lough Leane, the castle is a 15th century tower house and keep originally constructed for the the O’Donoghues Mór. It passed to the McCarthys in the 1580s and thence to Sir Valentine Browne, forebear of the Earls of Kenmare. Today it is under the care of the Office of Public Works.

What a Waste


The history of Knockanally, County Kildare is rather opaque, although it is known that the Coates family, the first of whom appears to have arrived in Ireland in the early 1700s, acquired the land on which it stands from the Aylmers who lived not far away at the now-derelict Donadea Castle (see Another Blot on the Landscape « The Irish Aesthete). Some kind of residence was built at Knockanally and in the mid-18th century this was occupied by one William Coates, known to have died in 1766 when the property was inherited by his eldest son, Matthew. When his grandson William Lancake Coates died in the following century, Knockanally was inherited by William Coristine Coates, the son of his cousin. His descendants appear to have continued living on the estate until it was taken over by the Irish Land Commission in 1942 and subsequently divided among various farmers. The immediate demesne and main house were then sold to a Captain Sheppard, who in turn sold it to the Maharani of Baroda. In 1959, ownership passed to the Rehabilitation Institute, which used the house as a convalescent home for the victims of polio.Further changes of ownership seem to have followed before Knockanally was bought in 1983 by Noel Lyons, who turned the land into an 18-hole golf course. 





As it appears today, Knockanally dates from c.1843 when commissioned by William Lancake Coates on a site east of the original house. The architect responsible was Dublin-born William Deane Butler, much of whose work involved designing institutional buildings such as court and market houses, although he did receive commissions for a number of country houses also. As noted by the late Jeremy Williams, Knockanally is almost a cube, ‘if its height is assessed on the three-storied central bay.’ Of two storeys over basement and faced with wonderfully crisp limestone ashlar, the building is entered via an Ionic portico flanked by Venetian windows with a third directly above it. On this level, windows within shallow recesses open onto balconies: these can also be found on each of the four-bay side elevations. Seemingly the interior featured a central, double-height and top-lit hall. Williams has noted that this is a reduced version of the hall in Dublin’s Broadstone station, designed by John Skipton Mulvany who, he suggests, may therefore have had a hand in Knockanally. As for the very substantial and elaborate gatelodge at the entrance to the former estate, J.A.K. Dean dates this to c.1870, too late to have been designed by either Butler (who died in 1857) but may have come from Mulvany as he lived until that date. 




In September 2010 it was reported that one of the country’s banks had appointed a receiver over Knockanally Golf Club, set in 125 acres; this move came a few days after creditors of Ferndale Leisure, the holding company behind the club, had met to appoint a liquidator; at the time, with an economic recession at this height, quite a number of Ireland’s golf clubs were going into receivership. Three years later, the club, the main house, gate lodge and a number of golf ‘lodges’ in the grounds, was sold to a Warwickshire-based company, St Francis Group for  €1.1 million: some years earlier, this portfolio had been valued at €3.5 to €4 million. Quite what has happened since then seems to be unclear. Refurbishment work was carried out on the house and other buildings on the site, but in September 2018 the local Leinster Leader reported that the golf club had again closed down and was to be offered for sale. Since then, both the house and gate lodge have remained closed and boarded up, with inevitable deterioration in the fabric of both buildings. A dreadful waste.

A Missed Opportunity




In her marvellous memoir Bricks and Flower, Katherine Everett described how, in August 1922 and at the age of 50, she had cycled from Limerick to Macroom, County Cork at the request of her distant cousin and godmother Olive, Lady Ardilaun to see what remained of the latter’s property, a castle in the centre of the town which had just been burned by anti-Treaty forces. Located above the river Sullane, the castle dates back to the 12th century and for several hundred years was occupied by the McCarthys before eventually passing into the ownership of the Hedges Eyre family before eventually being inherited by Lady Ardilaun. Two years after the fire, she sold the castle to a group of local businessmen; the main part of the building was demolished in the 1960s, with just the outer walls remaining, a series of mediocre school buildings erected within them. What survives suffers badly from neglect (as indeed does the river and the nine-arch bridge crossing which dates from c.1800) with the local county council failing to make the most of what has potential to be a popular visitor attraction. Instead, Macroom’s most significant piece of architectural heritage as been left to moulder: a missed opportunity.