<span class="postTitle">Tommie Ryan - The Runner 1900</span> The Post, 5th June, 1980

Tommie Ryan - The Runner 1900

The Post, 5th June, 1980

One of the sprightliest walkers up and down the streets of Cashel these days is Tommie Ryan, He looks so lively, so fresh in the face and his hair is still very much there, that it is difficult to believe his age. . Tommie Ryan was eighty years of age on January 18th last:
‘People have remarked on the fact,’ says Tommie. ‘It’s not that my life was easy. But I have the health and I’m glad of it.’

Tommie was born in Doorish, Rossmore and the family name was ‘Dalton’, to distinguish them from all the other Ryans. He was one of six children. His mother was a dressmaker and his father a handyman. Tommie’s memories of his early days include family involvement in the National Movement and their house was a refuge for men on the run.

He remembers walking the eight miles to Cashel to get his shoes made: ‘Ah, there were great tradesmen out in those days. A trade was a great thing – much better than it is today.’
Cutting turf in the bog is an abiding memory. ‘The neighbours collected to give you a hand and the work was tough. The bog was a great place for the feet. It hardened them. I never had trouble with my feet when I was running and I put it down to working in the bog in the bare feet.’

Sometime around sixteen years, Tommie met the great runner, Tim Crowe. ‘He was a very competitive man. He cycled to Cork and he cycled to Dublin and of you walked to a match with him he was always a yard in front of you.’ Tim Crowe took him on his first race from Templemore to Milestone and Tommie performed reasonable well. Following that he took up running in a big way, running five mile and ten mile races, as well as marathons. At that time there were just two kind of races, unxder-16 and over-16.

Tommie’s first job was cheese-making in the co-operative creamery in Rossmore. Later he worked in a bar in Dungarvan and eventually he got a job in a bar in Dublin in 1923, where he was to spend seven years..

One of his great memories from that period is running and particularly one marathon race from Navan to the Phoenix Park. An ambulance man accompanied each runner on a bicycle to ensure he obeyed the rules. ‘After about eighteen miles I was ahead of my man and I came to this house, very hot and thirsty. It was a bar. I put my head in over the door and asked for a drink. ‘Do you want some brandy?. ‘No! A tumbler of water.’

As I drank it the smell of bacon and cabbage came to my nose. I looked at my man and the place the smell came from. ‘Would you like a bit?’ he asked. ‘I would’. So, he made me a huge bacon and cabbage sandwich.

In the meantime my watcher was catching up. ‘What have you got there?’ he shouted. ‘Nothing!’ I said. ‘I took off running and by the time he caught up with me I had it eaten’.

Soon after this the sole came off my shoe and I  had to run the remaining miles in my bare feet. I never got a blister!. I think I came in third.
Dr. John Ryan, a Tipperary man in charge of  some of the runners, head about the sandwich. ‘It could have killed you,’ he said. ‘I’m the man who ate it,’ I replied.

Tommie never drank and instead of getting the usual bottle from the bar owner at Christmas, he used to get a five-pound note. He played hurling with Young Irelands and won a Dublin county intermediate title with them in 1927. He got the name, the Electric Hare, from his speed on the hurling field. Of small build, Tommie made up for his lack of physique by the speed of his feet.

Everybody has heard of the famous race between Tommie and the Irish marathon champion, David McKeon from Gouldscross to Cashel in 1929. A cup was put up by the New Ireland Assurance for the winner. The man who immortalised it in song was Willie Quinlan from Donohill, who worked in the Irish Press. It is not commonly known that Quinlan didn’t see the race at all: he was somewhere else that day.  The poem was first published in the Cork Weekly Examiner. One verse of it went like this:

Then comes the final struggle
‘Tis the grandest sight of all
As mid the cheering thousands
Raced the wee man and the tall.
With scarce a yard between them
Hats in the air were thrown
When gallant little Tommie
Beat the champion, D. McKeon.

‘A very funny incident happened in that famous race. I was coming up the Kiln Road and there was an enormous crowd. I was leading and McKeon was at my heels. There was a man in the crowd who wasn’t too aware of what was going on and when I passed and the cheers went up, he kept looking to see when Tommie ‘Dalton’ was coming: he had come to cheer HIM.’

That race saw the end of Tommie as a runner: his legs were never the same again.

By now Tommie had returned from Dublin to live in Cashel, where he helped his sister set up a dressmaking business in Canopy Street. He got a job in the local cinema and started to organise the N.A.C.A. in Tipperary. ‘There were great men everywhere; all that was necessary was to contact them. He started a club called the Galteemore, which became outstanding in a few years. Other Tipperary clubs developed as a result. Tommie was elected secretary of the Tipperary N.A.C.A. and was responsible for getting the organisation to stage the National Championships outside of Dublin. ‘They were held in Clonmel. There was such a crowd that the gates were broken down. We took in £500 whereas not more than £100 was ever taken in Dublin..

Later Tommie started a cycle shop in Canopy Street but, with the outbreak of the war, there was a shortage of spare parts and Tommie, now married with two daughters, went to England. He went first to Birmingham and later to London, where he worked in the railways until he retired in 1965.

He was one of those responsible for forming the Tipperarymen’s Association. His wife had a dancing school and his children danced at the London Palladium and the Royal Albert Hall. He liked the English and has many happy memories of his residence there. He supported all things Irish. He played hurling until he was 49 years of age. He was secretary of the Provincial Council of the G.A.A. in Britain. When he retired he got another job and didn’t return to Ireland until 1975.

Tommie has been a ramblin’ man since he was 18 years old. He has travelled widely in Ireland and England and met many people, made many friends. He has returned to live in Boherclough Street, Cashel, quite close to where he set out on his first journey. He likes Cashel and continues to make friends because he is still a very much involved in society.

<span class="postTitle">Bill 'Bob' O'Dwyer (1896-1982)</span> The Post on 29th May, 1980

Bill 'Bob' O'Dwyer (1896-1982)

The Post on 29th May, 1980

The time was June 1916 and the place a field hospital in France. The Great War was nearly two years old and Cashel man, Bill 'Bob' O'Dwyer, was lying on his back suffering from dysentery. Doing the rounds of the wards was a Canadian doctor, whose task it was to boost numbers for the impending Battle of the Somme.. He came to Bill:
'What's your name?'         'O'Dwyer'.
'From where?'                 'Co. Tipperary'.
'What part?'                    'Cashel'.
'Are you a native of the town?'       'No! I'm from Kilshenane'.
'So was my father and his name was O'Dwyer!'.

Bill 'Bob' didn't get a clean bill of health from his first cousin and so escaped the Battle of the Somme, where total British losses amounted to 419,654 men! Had Bill 'Bob' taken part in that battle his chances of being alive today would be slim.

In fact he is alive and well and amazingly hale and hearty for a man of 84 years. Perhaps his health is due to hard work which he began in the home place at Kilshenane. In 1913 he was working for a local farmer at 24 shillings a quarter! Imagine what it would get for you today, three and a half loaves of bread or two and a half pints, whichever way you're inclined! But, at that time Bill 'Bob' was able to spare a few shillings to send to is father, who had hit on poor times through a series of misfortunes on the farm.

When the local Volunters split in 1914, on whether to support England in the war, the majority sided with John Redmond. Two didn't, Mick Davern and Bill 'Bob'. Bill later changed his mind, joined up and was shipped out from Queenstown to Palestine.

He spent some time there until he was shipped back to France. He remembers the sand, the malaria and the dysentery. But, during all the time until he was demobbed in 1919, he was never wounded. The pay was a shilling a day but increased to £1 per week. His brother, Mick, was in the Dublin Fusiliers and after he was demobbed, went to Australia and hasn't been heard about since.

Bill 'Bob's' attitude to the North was formed at that time. 'The I.R.A. will never be beaten but you'll never get the Orangemen to come into a United Ireland.' He is rather vague on the actual date but on one occasion in 1916 or 1917 there was close to a mutiny in his regiment when a number of Orangemen raised the Union Jack in provocation after hearing of an event in Ireland. The quick action of some general prevented a free-for-all. Nothing was ever made public of the episode.

Back in Ireland in 1919 was not a great place to be. Thre was a depression and too many men chasing too few jobs. A good man got six or seven shillings a week. Bill 'Bob' worked on the buildings, cycling as far as Bansha for work. He worked at Rockwell and in the building of Cathal Brugha Street. He wroked in Feehans for £1 per week, hauling stuff from the railway station. Times were tough but he got married and reared a family of eight and is very proud of how they turned out,

The thirties were an exciting time in Ireland at large but particularly in Cashel. The Blueshirts were very strong in Cashel. Bill 'Bob' decided to wear one after falling out with Mick Davern. He was working on Cathal Brugha Street when he was let go because he lived outside the urban boundaries. He went to Mick Davern with his complaint but Mick told him he was powerless to do anything. However, another councillor came to his aid as a result of which he got his job back. So he put on the 'shirt' to get his own back on Mick!

Bill 'Bob' worked until he was 70 years. He enjoyed working and is concerned today with the way machines are taking away jobs and leaving the young unemployed.

He's very sorry they don't have (Church) Missions anymore: 'They were great for getting people together. Sure, there's no religion now!'

The Government should do something about keeping prices down. Rising prices don't give the poor people a chance.

Bill 'Bob's' wife died five years ago. His faithful dog, Shane, is seventeen years old and on his last legs. He's no longer able to go down town but he still growls at strangers, who may wander near his master's door. He bought him for £5.

Bill 'Bob' has no regrets in his life. He has a comfortable house, built by the British Army over fifty years ago. The latter body looks after old soldiers well in ensuring that they are in need of nothing. He retires about 10.30 at night and his only prayer is that God leaves him his legs to walk up and down to the town and do a few jobs around the house.

<span class="postTitle">Dr Pat Donohue</span> The Post, May 8th, 1980

Dr Pat Donohue

Kampuchea has a population of about six million and, besides the natives, you will find Vietnamese, Chams, Chinese and Europeans living there. Among the latter at this moment is at least one Irishman, Dr. Pat Donohue from Cashel, who has departed to this far-off country, to spend three months giving medical attention to the needy.

Before he departed, I asked him if he felt noble and great undertaking such a long and distant separation from his wife, his four children, his town and country.

‘Not in the least. I see this as a medical challenge. I am going to get the opportunity to return to the basics of my profession, the primary care of people, who have greater needs than twentieth-century man.’

Bur surely the motivation must be greater, something more personal than a vocational challenge?

‘Well, there is the humanitarian side to it. I am acquainted with history and our own people suffered a national cataclysm similar to the Cambodians, not much more than a hundred years ago. It is only proper that the better-off states should look after those stricken with disaster. You know how we remember England for her failure to look after us: everyone knows about Queen Victoria and her £5! Whether it is true or not.’

Are you not a romantic at heart?

‘I’m going to feel loneliness and separation but I believe I’m strong-willed enough not to succumb.’

Came to Cashel in 1972

Dr. Donohue came to Cashel in 1972 and has made an impact in the town in the meantime. An extrovert by nature, he communicates easily with people and doesn’t stand on ceremony. The nature of his job is helping people, and there is a social commitment in his character that leads him to adopt causes.

He has been a member of Cashel Lions Club almost since he came to town. This gave him scope to serve the community beyond their purely medical needs. At the same time, it is an extension of his vocational training. This year he is President of the club, and his accomplishment must be unique in the history of Lionism, because he is putting into practice the motto of the organisation: We Serve!

Another area of his community endeavour is the Old Cashel Society. This has been very much his baby since it came into existence about four years ago. “Any person should know about his community. What he is today is due to what his ancestors did in the past. He has a duty to know that past, in order to know himself better. The Old Cashel Society helps the people of Cashel to know their past and to have a greater understanding of the present.”

Lanesboro upbringing

This is interesting because Dr. Donohue is not a native of Cashel. He was born in Cappoquin, where his father was a general practitioner. However, he moved to Lanesboro, Co. Longford when Pat was a baby, and he identifies with Lanesboro rather than Cappoquin. He is probably the only person in Cashel, who will tell you when Longford won the National Football League!

After primary school in Lanesboro, he went to secondary in Roscommon CBS: ‘Great credit is due to the Christian Brothers who provided education to so many for so little. They have often been criticised for corporal punishment, but I don’t think it ever did anybody much harm. If one were to criticize them one could crib about the little emphasis they put on cultural activities and sporting facilities.’

He studied medicine at University College, Galway: ‘It was a very intimate place in those days, fewer that fifteen hundred students. Everybody knew everybody and you didn’t confine your interest to your own faculty. There was also a marvellous relationship between town and gown and the university was very well integrated into the community.” He was interested in sport, particularly boxing and the G.A.A.: ‘There are no dangers in boxing provided it is well managed by responsible people. In fact, it can develop great discipline.’

The Great Outdoors

Today, Dr. Donohue is a lover of the great outdoors. He enjoys mountaineering and orienteering. Walking the hills and mountains of Tipperary gives him great pleasure: “Orienteering is a very cheap way of using the natural features of the country. It relieves the boredom of long-distance running. Tipperary county is ideally suited because of its many suitable mountain ranges.”

For him we have a great country, but we must use it wisely. There is danger of abusing what we have gained. There is need for youth leadership and development of character. There is also the question of how we as Irish are going to react to the constant stream of rules and regulations coming from the EEC and the multi-national companies. Will Irish people continue to accept them all without cavil, or will there be a social revolution?

But, this if of the future. For the present, Dr. Donohue is living with a different revolution and the results of it. His present work is really an extension of his life’s work, caring for the community, extended for the next three months to include Cambodia.

<span class="postTitle">Heligoland - From Where Roger Casement Set Out On His Ill-fated Mission</span> The Irish Press, May 4 1966

Heligoland - From Where Roger Casement Set Out On His Ill-fated Mission

The Irish Press, May 4 1966

The reaction to the atmosphere is so strong and the resulting tiredness of the first few days after arrival so unbearable, that the visitor to Heligoland is advised to take a long sleep. The island is also advertised as 'dust-free', which is rather strange at first hearing, but is catching because much of Germany suffers from dust during the hay-season, with resulting hay-fever.

Heligoland, rising up strong and defiant in the North Sea about 40 miles from the German coast, looks from the distance like an uneven mound with houses perched at various levels. On coming closer it gives the impression of a huddle of buildings cuddling together before a backdrop of red rock rising out of the harbour and glowing like a sunset in the rising sun.

The harbour is busy with small fishing boats, touring boats, and even some respectable cargo boats unloading all that is needed to serve the requirements 2,000 inhabitants.

A crowd of people waits on the pier to greet the new arrivals: natives returning after business on the mainland, officials from customs and excise, but the majority visitors. Standing on the pier you are approached by accommodating porters with their push carts to carry your luggage. It is a relief to be able to look around and take in the scene unheeded. The sky is perfectly blue and a hard morning sun lights up the island.

Built or repaired

Everything is in a state of being built or repaired. A crane raises up mouthfuls of gravel from the bottom of a boat and deposits them in the belly of a lorry, as the driver of the lorry watches the new arrivals with vacant stare. The porter has finally collected enough baggage to make the journey worthwhile (boats do not come often enough and each porter can get only one load) and we proceed.

On the left a large collection of huts offering everything from accommodation for the workers in the building site behind, to weather-forecasting for the fishermen on the area, stand drowsily in the sun. The rattle of a jack-hammer beats against the ear. On the right the fishermen mend their boats, rev their engines or dry their nets.

The porter chugs along with his load and refuses a cigarette, Guesthouses and hotels come nearer, all bright and airy, exposing their tablecloths and bed linen. People promenade at breakfast time and the wind rustles the flags. A man offers trips around the island in h his boat, but money is not mentioned. We arrive at our guest house where the luggage is deposited and the porter paid and the landlady, smiling, exhibits an antiseptic room and hopes that her guest is contented.

The best way to become acquainted with Heligoland is to walk around it. The island is small and the walk can be completed in less that an hour. Also, there are no cars and that makes the island a perfect children's playground. To wander along the shore takes you away from the houses and opens up beautiful vistas of water and rock. The rocks, gigantic red masses like the 'Long Anna' give the impression of being about to topple.

Place of worship

In early history the red rocks of Heligoland – then known as Forsites Land – were a Frisian place of worship, centuries later a refuge for Claus Stoertebaker and his corsairs. These rocks are also said to have made a home for the daughter of an English king, named Ursula, who came here to live with 11,000 thousand virgins. History does say whether she encountered the corsairs! Gulls and guillemots dot the sides of the cliffs, diving towards the water only to halt at the surface or keep up a continuous cry that echoes in the canyons.

Further on boys practise mountain climbing on the less precipitous reaches, and workers build a wall as a defence against the ravages of the sea. To get to the upper part of the island the easiest way to is take a lift which serves a a general carrier for people and goods. The ascent of 1000 feet opens up a new panorama. The wind topples your balance with a direct blast or swirls around you in a drunken daze.

A small flat sand dune looms across the rough shore waves, the Heligoland beach-isle which was connected with the Heligoland rocks up to the 18th century. The division was caused by the swamping of a passage between by the sea as a result of a terrible storm. The passage had been sunk during the previous centuries after the sale of the rock to the burghers of Hamburg.

Rising up among the houses is the spire of the church culminating in its point, a work of beauty. (An interesting feature of this church is the existence of a public footpath through its porch. It insinuates itself into the life of the people and encourages a sense of involvement.) Behind it bomb scarred and the sole surviving building of pre-1947 Heligoland, the light tower sends out its beams of direction at night. Exposed earth and half-built houses suggest hope for the future while the blurred forms of bunkers with tangled steel and broken concrete suggest other days.

Chequered history

Heligoland has had a chequered history, whose fate lay at different times in the hands of Denmark, England and Germany, and in the fortunes of the political game. In 1890 Germany got it from England in exchange for rights in East Africa. In spite of these changes in ownership the people, of Frisian origin, developed along their own lines with their own culture, their own customs and their own language, a Frisian dialect. During the first world war the island served as a harbour from which attacks were launched against England.

After the defeat of Germany all military installations on the island were destroyed. The development of the submarine gave importance to the island in 1939. First class workshops were built underground for the servicing of the submarines and, until it was bombed in 1944, it served as an important base in the execution of the war.

It lay in the English zone of control after the partition of Germany. In 1947 the English made an all-out effort to wipe it from the map. The inhabitants were evacuated to the mainland and the workshops, bunkers and everything else were blown up. The result was a mass of rubble.

The natives were forbidden to return and, until 1952, the English used it as a bombing target. However, in that year, students from Heidelberg university sailed to the island and defied the English to bomb them. Their action received much publicity in the press, resulting in a new approach to the island's fate. The inhabitants were allowed back on condition that the island would never have anything to do with war. The condition has no longer any relevance in the context of modern warfare.

Costly business

Since that year the people have returned to rebuild their homes. In the meantime hundreds have been rebuilt and the building program continues apace. It is a costly business when one realises that all materials have to be brought from the mainland. A small five-roomed house costs £25 to £30 a month to rent. The greater number are guesthouses and are built to make the most of the space. Electricity and central heating are laid on to each and the telephone is almost universal.

The inhabitants enjoy some privileges over their brothers on the mainland because they are outside the three-mile limit. Some groceries, alcohol, cigarettes and woollens are duty-free. Personal earnings are free of tax. Many of the islanders spend the holiday season on the island after having worked on the mainland during the winter.

Heligoland is famous for its lobster fishing from which many of the men make their living. The lobster is chiefly for export and the season begins usually in the middle of April. Lobster exports, with the exception of tourism, are the life-blood of the people.

The tourist season begins in May and lasts until September. During this period many Germans take their holidays there and an even greater number visit it as day tourists. At the height of the season about 8,000 people visit the island daily from Hamburg and Bremenhaven. In fact Bremhaven subsidises a ship which sails daily to Heligoland and, although it costs the city about DM1,000,000 a year the money is considered well spent..

The chief reason for the popularity of Heligoland lies in its distance from the German coast. It gives the suggestion of a voyage while still remaining on the doorstep. It offers freedom and endless expanses of water for many inland people. The sand dune provides first class conditions for sun-bathing and if the water is too cold there are heated swimming pools on the island.

It has also gained fame for something that has very little to do with the political game, exploding bombs or bathing. For many who know of Heligoland in no other respect, it is a byword in the world of ornithology. The island was the site of the first
station set up specially for the study of birds. In the last century a painter from Mark Brandenburg, Gaetke, went there to carry on his work. He was a great nature lover and had a detailed knowledge of birds and he began to observe the treasures at his disposal, for the island lies in the route of the two yearly migrations of birds in Europe: in spring from south-west and south to north-east, and in autumn from north-east to south-west.

The island serves as a resting place in the course of the flight between Denmark and Germany, and at night the birds are attracted to the island by the strong beam of the light-tower, visible for 30 miles. Gaetke studied the birds and after his death in 1891 his collection of birds was bought by the German government and his work carried on by the Biological Institute, which carries on research in marine life.

In 1910 the ornithological work became a separate section under an independent director and finally in 1923 a proper building was erected to accommodate the new work. This continued to expand until 1944 when the station was destroyed in an air-attack. In 1953 a new station was built but the administrative work, which had been transferred to Wilhelmshaven during the war, remained there.

The work of the station consists of catching, examining and ringing as many as possible of the birds that land on the island. They are ringed with an aluminium ring bearing the name Heligoland and a number. When the bird is set free it is hoped that someone, somewhere, will catch or find the bird and send back the information to the station. When the information is received, the flight of the bird is plotted and the length of time since the ringing is studied.

Time of ringing

This new information is entered with the earlier information concerning the kind, sex, weight, length of wing and age recorded at time of ringing. The information concerning a particular kind of bird is slowly added to and in the course of time its migratory habits known. The work is of interest to the layman as well as to the ornithologist. The bird he sees in his garden may be more interesting if something is known of where it came from and how it got there.

Many of the birds ringed in Heligoland make their way to Ireland but as yet no official contact has been established between the two places. Apart from the men who work in Heligoland there are also 3,000 amateur ornithologists scattered throughout Germany studying the birds in their areas and sending the information to Heligoland. For them the island is the focal point of their work and many of them visit it every year.

Heligoland is small, exceptionally small, and after a few hours seems to offer only such intangible things as beauty and health. One wants to move on quickly like the birds. However, it evokes an atmosphere of contentment that is experienced but cannot be explained. The people are friendly, give their service and you pay. In the houses one can experience monotony and the recreational opportunities are few, but somehow one is satisfied and each day brings its little changes to embroider the routine. On one of the piers is written the words 'Kumm Weer' dialect for 'Come again'. One has a vague feeling that perhaps one will.