Tag Archives: Architectural Restoration

A Brave Initiative



The story of Dr James Barry – a military surgeon in the British army during the first half of the 19th century who, on his death in 1865, was discovered to have been a woman called Margaret Anne Bulkley – is well-known. However, today’s post concerns another doctor of the same name and period, but who lived in County Kerry. Born in 1800, James Barry settled in Cahersiveen, where he had a successful practice and, despite being a Justice of the Peace, was a supporter of the Fenians: during an unsuccessful uprising in this part of the country in February 1867, it was reported that he had given shelter to a number of Fenians, one of their leaders, John Joseph O’Connor, taking the doctor’s horse when they departed. And an official report into local disturbances during the 1872 elections noted ‘the obstructive attitude of a local J.P., Dr. Barry, when the police were trying to restore the peace’ with the doctor described as ‘a disgrace to the Bench.’ Barry was clearly a man of both influence and affluence: by 1828 he was able to make an offer to Daniel O’Connell to buy the materials of Carhan House (where Daniel O’Connell had been born), although this may have meant just the doors, chimneypieces and so forth: the earliest Ordnance Survey map of 1841 already describes Carhan as being ‘in ruins.’ The same map also shows the first bridge across the river Fertha linking Cahersiveen with the Iveragh Peninsula; hitherto the only way to get across was by ferry. A pedestrian timber structure (it would be replaced in the 1930s with the present concrete bridge), this features on the Ordnance Survey map as ‘Barry’s Bridge (in progress). It was officially opened in 1847. The doctor’s motives for involvement in this project may not have been altogether altruistic because the following decade he built himself a fine new residence on the other side of the river and overlooking Cahersiveen. Access to this property was made easier by the existence of a bridge bearing his name.





In January 1857, Dr Barry married, seemingly for the first time. His bride was Honoria Ponsonby, whose family had, until the previous decade, lived at Crotta House, an important 17th century residence which survived in part until the 1970s. Honoria was a widow, having previously been married to Richard Francis Blennerhassett of Kells, County Kerry. His wedding may have spurred the doctor into building a new house for himself and his wife, because the following year he embarked on just such a project, leasing a site from the Marquess of Lansdowne on the north side of the river, with the land running down to the water’s edge and the marquess contributing £100 towards its construction. The building was given the name Villa Nuova, although, again looking at the earliest Ordnance Survey map, there is no evidence of an older structure here, certainly not one of any substance. As first built, Villa Nuova was of two storeys over raised basement; the rear of the latter looks to be of earlier date, so there may have been some kind of structure here before. The exterior’s most notable feature are the facade’s two steeply pitched gables with a small recessed bay between them. The present entrance porch, accessed at the top of a flight of Valencia slate steps, replaces an earlier one burnt in the 1920s. On either side of the house are two-storey canted bays which may be original or perhaps added later, although they can be seen in an early photograph of Villa Nuova. 





The history of Villa Nuova in the last century is a little unclear. Dr Barry and his wife had no children of their own, and the house thereafter seems to have passed through a variety of hands. In the 1901 Census, it is listed as being occupied by Resident Magistrate Major Ernest Thomas Lloyd, retired from the Bengal Civil Service, together with his four young children and three household servants. Ten years later, the occupant of the building was local solicitor James Shuel. However, by the early 1920s Villa Nuova was owned by one Bartholomew Sheehan, a local merchant who also had commercial premises in Cahersiveen: both these and the house suffered from being attacked and burnt by anti-Treaty forces in 1922. In consequence, Villa Nuova was left gutted and had to be reconstructed, so that much of the interior seen today dates from the mid-1920s. This includes a series of tiled chimneypieces produced by a Devon-based company called Candy and Co, as well as handsome oak doors and architraves, and a fine staircase. Villa Nuova then became home to the Duffy family, a relative of whose was the last to live in the house some 20 years ago. In September 2007, the building, together with some 54 acres, was sold to a local company for €2.35m, but was then left empty and unoccupied. Most recently, together with the immediate land, it has been bought by new owners who have embarked on an ambitious programme of retrieval and restoration, with the intention of bringing the place back to a habitable condition in which they will live. It’s a brave initiative, and – as always with such projects – deserves applause and all possible support.



For readers interested in following the restoration of Villa Nuova, the owners are chronicling progress on YouTube ((1) Villa Nuova – YouTube) and Instagram (@villa_nuova_)

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A Prize for Bravery


August 2015

March 2018

April 2023

Regular readers of this site may remember that five years ago, the Irish Aesthete established an annual prize for owners of historic houses here, kindly sponsored by the O’Flynn Group and organised in conjunction with Historic Houses of Ireland (HHI). This year’s recipients of the prize are the owners of Dromdiah, County Cork, about which more can be read here: The Age of Austerity « The Irish Aesthete.
When first visited almost a decade ago, the house was a roofless shell, smothered with vegetation both inside and out, and widely regarded as beyond salvation. Not long afterwards it was bought and since then has undergone a painstaking restoration that now nears completion (the owners hope to move into the building later this year). The work at Dromdiah shows that no property is beyond salvation and once again demonstrates a new wave of interest in bringing Ireland’s historic houses back to life. As such it is a very worthy recipient of the 2025 HHI-O’Fynn Group Heritage Prize.







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An Occurrence of a Very Extraordinary Kind


Originally from Cornwall, the Codd family is thought to have come to Ireland as part of the Cambro-Norman invasion. One Hivelot Cod witnessed a charter of Raymond FitzGerald (otherwise known as Raymond le Gros) at some date between 1175-1185, and within a decade or so Hugh Cod who attested a grant to Dunbrody Abbey before 1200, indicating that by then the Codds already had become established in what is now County Wexford where they built and occupied a number of castles. So it remained until the upheavals of the 17th century when, while some branches of the family converted to the Anglican faith, others remained resolutely members of the Roman Catholic church and suffered in consequence. One of them, James Codd of Clougheast Castle near Carne, a captain in the Confederate army, was killed at Duncannon in 1643, seemingly leaving one daughter. The Down Survey of 1655 notes that in 1641 James Codd, an Irish Papist, had owned 194 acres in Carne parish 186 of which, including Clougheast Castle, were then granted to Edmond Waddy, a cornet in the Cromwellian army. His descendants lived in the old building until the late 18th century when Dr Richard Waddy, described as a physician and yeoman, began constructing a new three-storey house to one side of the castle.  It has been proposed that this building was burnt by insurgents during the 1798 Rising.





Perhaps because of the assault on his property, Dr Waddy became a loyal supporter of the British government and following the collapse of the rising in June 1798, he led a search party that discovered two key figures in the Wexford rebellion, John Henry Colclough and Bagenal Harvey, who had been hiding on the Greater Saltee Island several miles off the coast: both men were subsequently hanged. While toasted by government authorities for his actions, Waddy then attracted widespread opprobrium in the area, so much so that he retreated to Clougheast Castle and barricaded himself there with a handful of servants. However, in February 1800, the
Gentleman’s Magazine carried a report of ‘an occurrence of a very extraordinary kind’ which had occurred there some time before. According to the article, Dr Waddy was in such fear for his own security that the entrance to his bedroom was secured by an antique portcullis. It then explained that ‘A few days ago, a mendicant popish friar of Taghmon, named Burn, visited the doctor in his castle, and was hospitably entertained at dinner – in the evening, when it was time to part, Burn begged to be allowed to remain, and after some difficulty on the part of his host, was permitted to lie in a second bed in the vaulted chamber. While the Doctor and the friar were going to their beds, the friar expressed great anxiety that his host should say his prayers, a duty which the Doctor, who had drank freely, seemed disposed to neglect; in the middle of the night, Doctor Waddy heard somebody drawing his cavalry sword, which hung at his bed’s head, and immediately after was attacked by the friar, and was now endeavouring to murder his host; the latter received several wounds in the head and arm, and at length the friar supposing that he had accomplished his purpose, attempted escape under the portcullis. Doctor Waddy had just strength enough remaining to loose the cord which supported it, and it fell on the priest with such violence, almost to sever his body, which fell down lifeless into the apartment below. The next morning the body of the friar was found, and the servants, going into their master’s apartment, found him covered in his own blood – Immediate medical aid was had, and we have the satisfaction of hearing that Doctor Waddy is now out of danger. A Coroner’s Inquest was held on the body of Burn, and the jury (composed of the Roman Catholic inhabitants of the neighbourhood) found a verdict of “accidental death”.’ Several decades later, in the first volume of his entertaining but unreliable Personal Reminiscences, Sir Jonah Barrington told the story of Dr Waddy and the friar but embellished it by describing how half of the deceased (that part which lay inside the portcullis) was eaten by the castle’s occupant, too fearful to leave his home in search of other food. A fanciful story, but quite without basis in fact. Dr Waddy remained in possession of Clougheast Castle until his death in 1826 when it was inherited by his only son John, also a physician and a local Justice of the Peace.





Dr John Waddy appears not to have lived in Clougheast Castle but instead to have built a new residence nearby, a two-storey thatched house. Through his mother, Oscar Wilde was related to the Waddys and is said to have visited Clougheast Cottage, as the building was called, on several occasions. Dr John Waddy died without issue in 1875, and while his widow remained there for at least a decade, the property was later sold and passed through a succession of hands before being bought by the present owner more than 20 years ago. By then, the adjacent house, built by Dr Richard Waddy but then left a shell, had been turned into a family home (and the courtyard converted into a number of residences) but the castle itself needed the complete renovation it has since received.  Thought to date from the 15th century when constructed by the Codds, it rises three storeys over a barrel-vaulted chamber, climbing to the attic gable which incorporates a dovecote. Above, this a walled walk around the pitched roof provides superlative views across the surrounding landscape. Many of the rooms below, given new floors and ceilings, still retain their fireplace and window openings. During the course of the restoration, many items were discovered spanning the centuries since the castle was first raised; these have been carefully preserved and help to explain the building’s evolution. This has been a long and carefully considered enterprise, as so often embarked upon by the owner without necessarily appreciating how much time and effort (and indeed cost) would be involved. An philanthropic undertaking that merits everyone’s gratitude.


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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.


When the Wheel (Re)Turns


Last week, the Irish Times carried a feature on how an old mill complex at Kilmainham, Dublin was to be restored and given new life as a ‘major tourist attraction.’ (see The former Dublin mill set to become the city’s next major tourist attraction – The Irish Times). There is always an element of surprise about such articles, as though the existence of such a site would be unknown to readers, and so information about it would come as a revelation. In fact, Kilmainham Mill, which in its present form dates from c.1800  but may have been the site of much older buildings serving the same purpose, has been in and out of the news for many years. The mill ceased to function in 2000 and three years later a development company called Charona Ltd applied for permission to convert the place into 48 one, two and three-bedroom apartments in a mixture of new and refurbished buildings. When Dublin City Council approved the scheme, the decision was appealed by a number of local residents and the director of Kilmainham Gaol to the planning authority, An Bord Pleanála. The latter body gave its assent to the developers’ proposals in February 2005, subject to some modifications, but then nothing happened, the economic recession came and the buildings, subject to the inevitable assaults by vandals, were left to fall into dereliction. Finally and following a long campaign by the aforementioned local residents, in December 2018, the site was purchased by the Dublin City Council, and in March 2021, the Irish Times carried a lengthy article announcing that building work would soon commence on the mill buildings: the authority’s project manager declaring that the restoration would be “a game changer in terms of visitor attractions.’  Presumably in another couple of years, the same newspaper will carry another piece announcing the mill’s imminent refurbishment as a major tourist attraction, especially since last week’s article noted that Dublin City Council did not at present have the funds required to carry out the job and would need to turn to central government for assistance. The price tag for this work? Presently estimated to be between €25 million and €30 million.




An admirable website run by Mills and Millers of Ireland (www.millsofireland.org) lists more than thirty mill sites across the country which are at present open to the public. One of these is Fancroft Mill which literally straddles Counties Tipperary and Offaly since the Little Brosna river, which runs right through the property, marks the dividing line between the two counties.  The present complex was constructed over a number of different periods but originally dated back to the late 18th century when owned by the Pims, a Quaker family from Mountmellick, County Laois. The mill was re-equipped and enlarged from 1883 onwards, with further extensions added later. It remained in use well into the second half of the 19th century, but then fell into disrepair until the place was bought by the present owners, Marcus and Irene Sweeney. 




Beginning in 2006, the Sweeneys embarked on an extensive and thorough restoration of the Fancroft Mill complex. The stone work was cleaned, conserved and repaired, 90  new sash windows installed, the four-storey bay re-roofed and ogee details over the doors enhanced. Internally, repairs to floors and the installation of new stairs permitted safe access to virtually all areas for visitors on guided tours. The water wheel, still for more than 60 years, revolved once more in 2009 and the following year a set of new mill stones was installed, permitting milling capability to be restored for domestic purposes: more recently, a generator was installed and contributes to the household heating system. A tea room and lecture/performance space have also been created inside the complex, a section of the space set aside to house the archives of Mills and Millers of Ireland. Acknowledgement of the work undertaken here was made in 2017 when the Irish Georgian Society awarded the Sweeneys with a Conservation Awards; two years later, Fancroft Mill won the Norman Campion Award Best Museum/Industrial Heritage Site presented by the Industrial Heritage Association of Ireland. Dublin City Council should have a word with the plucky owners of this property. They have shown what can be achieved without a series of headlines in the Irish Times – and for considerably less than €25-€30 million.

Fancroft Mill is open at certain times to the public. For information, please see: Fancroft Mill

An Excellent Example





Dromdihy – otherwise Dromdiah – County Cork has featured here a couple of times, the first occasion almost eight years ago, when the building was in a very poor condition and looked as though it were destined to go the way of so many other abandoned Irish country houses: into oblivion (see pictures above). However, a couple of years later, the property was bought by a couple determined to bring it back to life and when the Irish Aesthete revisited in 2018 (see pictures immediately below) work had begun on clearing the site and parts of Dromdihy hitherto submerged in vegetation had re-emerged. The interior also, much of it previously inaccessible, was likewise visible and even possible to explore (albeit only at basement level, the upper floors having long-since been lost). Further progress was made, but then the pandemic intervened, putting something of a halt to proceedings. Now, however, work on the site has resumed and considerable changes occurred, as can be seen by the latest number of photographs (see bottom series). All being well, within another year or two, Dromdihy will habitable and once more be a family home. 





As was noted here back in 2015, Dromdihy dates from the early 1830s when constructed for Roger Green Davis, agent for the absentee landlord Sir Arthur de Capell-Brooke. A description of the house thirty years after being built noted that it ‘consists of a centre and two wings, ornamented with Doric columns and with a portico at the eastern end, by the hall is entered, and off which are hot, cold, vapour and shower baths. The first floor comprises five sitting-rooms; on the second floor are four best bedrooms, with dressing-rooms and water-closet…’ Evidently Green Davis spared no expense on the property: it is said that the stone was cut by craftsmen brought from Italy for the purpose. But if the design was admirable, its execution left something to be desired: seemingly from the start Dromdihy suffered from damp, the roof leaking and the interior manifesting both dry and wet rot. Green Davis’ son John, a barrister, sold the place to William Stopford Hunt, an Assistant Land Commissioner and well-known cricketer. He retained ownership of the estate until 1923, at which time the house and surrounding ninety acres were purchased by the O’Mahony family. They ran a manufacturing and timber business on the estate but by 1944 the house was deemed uninhabitable and its roof removed. It went into decline thereafter, one that until recently looked irreversible. But, as has already been mentioned and as these pictures demonstrate, provided sufficient determination and imagination exist, no building is beyond salvation. Dromdihy deserves to be held up as an example of what can – and should – be done in this country.




The Rude dwelling of an Embarrassed Gentleman



‘In the year 1791, George Hartpole, of Shrewl Castle, Queen’s County, Ireland, had just come of age. He was the last surviving male of that name, which belonged to a popular family, highly respectable, and long established in the county. Few private gentlemen commenced life with better promise, and none better merited esteem and happiness. He was my relative by blood; and though considerably younger, the most intimate and dearest friend I had.
His father, Robert, had married a sister of the late and present Earls of Aldborough. She was the mother of George; and through this connexion originated my intercourse with that eccentric nobleman and his family.
A singular fatality had attended the Hartpole family from time immemorial. The fathers seldom survived the attainment of the age of 23 years by their elder sons, which circumstance gave rise to numerous traditionary tales of sprites and warnings.
Robert, as usual with the gentlemen of his day, was the dupe of agents, and the victim of indolence and hospitality. He had deposited his consort in the tomb of her fathers, and had continued merrily enjoying the convivialities of the world (principally in the night-time) till his son George had passed his 22nd year, and then punctually made way for the succession, leaving George inheritor of a large territory, a moderate income, a tattered mansion, an embarrassed rent-roll, and a profound ignorance (without the consciousness of it) of business in all departments.
George, though not at all handsome, had completely the mien and manners of a gentleman. His features accorded well with his address, bespeaking the cordiality of a friend and the ardour of an Irishman. His disposition was mild—his nature brave, generous, and sincere: on some occasions he was obstinate and peevish; on others, somewhat sullen and suspicious; but in his friendships, George Hartpole was immutable.
His stature was of the middle height, and his figure exhibited no appearance either of personal strength or constitutional vigour: his slender form and the languid fire of his eye indicated excitation without energy; yet his spirits were moderately good, and the most careless observer might feel convinced that he had sprung from no ordinary parentage—a circumstance which then had due influence in Ireland, where agents, artisans, and attorneys had not as yet supplanted the ancient nobility and gentry of the country.’





‘Shrewl Castle, the hereditary residence of the Hartpoles, was in no way distinguishable from the numerous other castellated edifices now in a state of dilapidation throughout the whole island—ruins which invariably excite a retrospect of happier times, when the resident landlord, reverenced and beloved, and the cheerful tenant, fostered and protected, felt the natural advantages of their reciprocal attachment; a reflection which leads us to a sad comparison with modern usages, when the absent lord and the mercenary agent have no consideration but the rents, no solicitude but for their collection; when the deserted tenantry keep pace in decline with the deserted mansion; when the ragged cottager has no master to employ, no guardian to protect him!—pining, and sunk in the lowest state of want and wretchedness,—sans work, sans food, sans covering, sans everything,—he rushes forlorn and desperate into the arms of destruction, which in all its various shapes stands ready to receive him. The reflection is miserable, but true:—such is Ireland since the year 1800.
Hartpole’s family residence, picturesquely seated on a verdant bank of the smooth and beautiful Barrow, had, during the revolutions of time, entirely lost the character of a fortress: patched and pieced after all the numberless orders of village architecture, it had long resigned the dignity of a castle without acquiring the comforts of a mansion: yet its gradual descent, from the stronghold of powerful chieftains to the rude dwelling of an embarrassed gentleman, could be traced even by a superficial observer. Its half-levelled battlements, its solitary and decrepit tower, and its rough, dingy walls, (giving it the appearance of a sort of habitable buttress,) combined to portray the downfall of an ancient family.’





‘George had received but a moderate education, far inadequate to his rank and expectations; and the country life of his careless father had afforded him too few conveniences for cultivating his capacity. His near alliance, however, and intercourse  with the Aldborough family, gave him considerable opportunities to counteract, in a better class of society, that tendency to rustic dissipation to which his situation had exposed him, and which, at first seductive, soon becomes habitual, and ruinous in every way to youthful morals…Hartpole’s fortune on the death of his father was not large; but its increase would be great and certain, and this rendered his adoption of any money-making profession or employment unnecessary. He accordingly purchased a commission in the army, and commenced his entré into a military life and general society with all the advantages of birth, property, manners, and character.
A cursory observation of the world must convince us of one painful and inexplicable truth;—that there are some men (and frequently the best) who, even from their earliest youth, appear born to be the victims of undeviating misfortune; whom Providence seems to have gifted with free-agency only to lead them to unhappiness and ruin. Ever disappointed in his most ardent hopes—frustrated in his dearest objects—his best intentions overthrown—his purest motives calumniated and abused,—no rank or station suffices to shelter such an unfortunate:—ennui creeps upon his hopeless mind, communicates a listless languor to a sinking constitution, and at length he almost joyfully surrenders an existence which he finds too burdensome to be supported.
Such nearly was the lot of the last of the Hartpoles. He had scarcely commenced a flattering entrance into public life, when one false and fatal step, to which he was led first by a dreadful accident, and subsequently by his own benevolent disposition, worked on by the chicanery of others, laid the foundation of all his future miseries.
While quartered with his regiment at Galway, in Ireland, his gun, on a shooting party, burst in his hand, which was so shattered, that it was long before his surgeon could decide that amputation might be dispensed with.’



Today’s text is taken from Personal Sketches of His Own Times by Sir Jonah Barrington (1830), and the pictures show Shrule Castle, County Laois, ancestral home of Sir Jonah’s friend George Hartpole. Alas, following his shooting accident in Galway, Hartpole’s circumstances deteriorated rapidly; he managed to contract two marriages, the first with the daughter of a local innkeeper and then with the daughter of a neighbouring landowner, both of which soon ended unhappily, as did his own life since after just a few years, his health declined and he died, still a young man. Shrule Castle subsequently passed to the Lecky family and either they, or Hartpole added a large house to one side of the old castle. This, however, was badly damaged by fire in 1940 and its remains then demolished. Some years ago, the current owners embarked on an ambitious restoration of the old building but following an intervention by the local authority the work came to a halt, leaving the castle as it can be seen today. 

The Old Man of Lismore



Located in the nave of one of the Irish Aesthete’s favourite buildings, St Carthage’s Cathedral, Lismore, this early Christian carving of a man holding a book was discovered in the 19th century when the old well near Lismore Castle was being cleared. The figure likely formed some part of a support for the monastery that once stood on that site. St Carthage’s needs funds at present to improve the lighting, heating and sound and so, determined to ensure the cathedral has a viable future, not just as a place of worship but also a venue for other events, a number of locals have come together with a clever initiative. Verso Arts is an online auction which will be held two weeks’ hence on Saturday November 6th and feature more than 800 postcard-sized works by artists, some well-known (who would have guessed Joanna Lumley was such a dab hand with the paintbrush), others less familiar. All are being offered for the same price of €50 and all are listed anonymously, on a first-bid, first-secure basis. (They are all on exhibition at present in Lismore Castle Art Gallery). Absolutely all proceeds from the auction will go to St Carthage’s Cathedral, thereby helping to guarantee the old man above will still be visible for many years to come, as well as the wonderful McGrath Tomb below, dating from 1543 and without doubt one of the finest surviving examples of 16th century carving in Ireland.



All works included in the Verso Art auction are currently on view in Lismore Castle Arts Gallery, County Waterford until October 31st. For more information on the auction and how to bid, please see: Verso Art – VersoArt

Festina Lente


The Plunket family has been mentioned here before, not least the Hon Brinsley Plunket who in November 1927 married Aileen Guinness, eldest daughter of Ernest Guinness (see Temps Perdu « The Irish Aesthete). The couple were related: the grandmother of Brinsley (always known as Brinny) Plunket had been a Guinness, sister to Aileen’s grandfather. Another curiosity: the groom’s great-great aunt, the Hon Katherine Plunket, who died in 1932 when a month short of her 112the birthday, is recorded as the longest-living person in Ireland. Brinny Plunket was younger brother of Terence (known as Teddy), sixth Lord Plunket. A talented cartoonist who later turned to painting portraits, in 1922 Teddy had married Dorothé Mabel Lewis, illegitimate daughter of the 7th Marquess of Londonderry and American actress Fannie Ward. Teddy and Dorothé were intimate friends of the Duke of York (later George VI) and his wife Elizabeth; the latter was godmother to the couple’s second son Robin in 1925 while the Duke was godfather to their third child Shaun six years later. Both Teddy and Dorothé would be killed in a plane crash in California in February 1938 while on their way to attend a party at William Randolph Hearst’s San Simeon estate. Their close links to the royal family meant the couple’s eldest son Patrick, seventh Baron Plunket, would serve as Equerry to Elizabeth II and Deputy Master of the Royal Household until his death in 1975.






The rise of the Plunkets had begun in the late 18th century with William Conyngham Plunket. The son of a Presbyterian minister, he became a lawyer famous for having been lead prosecutor at Robert Emmet’s trial in 1803. Two years later he was made Attorney-General for Ireland and also became a member of the Irish Privy Council. A supporter of Catholic Emancipation, in 1827 he was created Baron Plunket, became Chief Justice of the Irish Common Pleas and later served as Lord Chancellor of Ireland. Obviously a man of such prominence needed to have a country seat and so in the mid-1780s he took a lease on an estate to the south of Dublin called Old Connaught. Originally there appears to have been a late-medieval tower house on this site, built by a branch of the Walsh family, but this was badly damaged by a fire in 1776 and seven years later the property was leased to an Anglican clergyman, the Rev William Gore, Bishop of Limerick. He embarked on building a new house for himself but died almost as soon as it was finished, and before long the lease was acquired, and then bought out, by William Conyngham Plunket, in whose family it would remain for the next 150 years. As demonstrated by the Hon Katherine, provided they weren’t killed in plane crashes, the Plunkets tended to live long, and the first baron was just six months shy of turning 90 when he died in 1854.  His eldest son, the second baron (father of the aforementioned Hon Katherine Plunket), was a clergyman who rose to become Bishop of Tuam but had no sons, so following his death the title, and Old Connaught, passed to a younger brother. On the third baron’s death, he was succeeded by his eldest son William Plunket who was another clergyman (for generations, male members of this family either joined the church or practised as lawyers). Like several forebears, the fourth baron rose through the ranks of the Church of Ireland, eventually becoming Archbishop of Dublin where he was instrumental in establishing a teacher training school in Kildare Place. That building is long gone (replaced by a mediocre office block housing the Dept of Agriculture) but Archbishop Plunket is commemorated by a statue which depicts him pensively observing his surroundings. In 1863 he married Anne Lee Guinness, and her substantial marriage settlement allowed improvements and extensions to be undertaken at Old Connaught, with both house and gardens benefitting, the former not least by the addition of a large conservatory – since lost – to one side of the building. As mentioned, the archbishop was Brinny Plunket’s grandfather while Anne Lee Guinness was great-aunt of Aileen Guinness, hence the link between the later couple. The archbishop’s eldest son, also William, was a diplomat who served as Governor of New Zealand 1904-10.






What has all the above to do with today’s photographs? These show the restored walled gardens of Old Connaught House. Following his parents’ death in California in 1938, the estate was inherited by their eldest son Patrick, but he and his siblings were raised by a paternal aunt in London and had little to do with Ireland. But even before then the family had largely abandoned the place, leasing it in 1935 to the Christian Brothers who used the house as a senior novitiate school under the name Colaiste Ciaran. The surrounding land was run as a farm and the old gardens used for growing fruit and vegetables. Having subsequently bought the estate from the Plunkets, the order remained there until 1972 when it was decided to close the novitiate school and sell or lease sections of the estate. The house itself remained in the hands of the Christian Brothers until 1999 when finally put on the market with just 12 acres; today the building is divided into a series of flats. Meanwhile, the old walled garden, long cultivated first by the Plunkets and then the brothers, was left to fall into ruin. In 1996 the gardens and stableyard were leased to a charity founded eight years earlier to provide a range of programmes for the disabled and disadvantaged. This body is called Festina Lente (Hurry Slowly) taking its name from the Plunket family motto, and reflects the process whereby the old walled gardens, running to some two and a half acres, were gradually resuscitated, one section reflecting the character of the site in the mid-19th century when Archbishop Plunket and his family would have lived at Old Connaught. Another part of the gardens is largely divided into allotments, filled with vegetables, fruit trees and flowers, just as would once have been the case. Incidentally, the wooden platforms seen on the middle garden’s long ponds are for the sake of terrapins who live here. The gardens (which also feature a shop and cafe) are open daily to the public for free, although donations are always welcome. Well worth supporting, so do consider hurrying along there (and not slowly).

 

 

Sleeping Beauty Wakes Up


Patrick Hennessy’s 1957 portrait of Elizabeth Bowen presides over a room dedicated to her memory in Doneraile Court, County Cork (her own home, nearby Bowen’s Court, was irresponsibly demolished in 1961). After being closed to the public for the past 25 years, Doneraile Court has once more been taken in hand by the Office of Public Works and officially reopens today. The decoration and furnishing of the ground floor rooms displays terrific flair, with a wonderful mixture of items, some in state ownership, others on loan from private collections, all blended together with aplomb. Having woken from its quarter-century slumber, Doneraile Court proves to be the sleeping beauty of Irish country houses: visits are strongly urged.


More on Doneraile Court soon.