Below are extracts from the “Handbook for Travellers in Ireland (with Maps) 1866″ which refer to the Millstreet area.

Note: the spelling is not great because a computer was used to scan it and copy to text, but the information of the time is interesting.
Coal:
… the only practicable coal being in Clare, where there are thin beds of culm, from which, however, one colliery-owner clears his 4000?. a year. This exception is in the barony pf Duhallow, in the neighbourhood of Kanturk and Millstreet. Here are six veins of anthracite coal, three of which, known as the Bulk-vein, Rock- vein, and Sweet-vein, are of tolerable thickness and have been pretty extensively
worked. ” The coals of the Munster field lie in a series of troughs, the hills usually striking from E. to W., and the strata dipping on either side, N. and S., at considerable angles, often perpendicular.” — Kane,
The coal rocks in Clare are of an estimated thickness of 3350 ft., and consist of limestone band …

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The eldest daughter of Denis and Elizabeth McCarthy her beauty I recall
When she was young in Pound Hill the fairest one of all
Though the years go by so quickly and fleeting is our prime
The memories of her beauty remain undimmed by time
Tall and blond and young and graceful in my mind she remain
Such lovely mental pictures of Phil to retain
She rests at peace in Dublin well north of Millstreet Town
Far from the streets where with her young friends she often walked up and down
Unaffected by her beauty she was free of conceit
What was a win for Dublin was a loss to Millstreet
She would have been in her sixties as far as I know
One can only hope her end was peaceful and not painful and slow
The years go by so quickly and time does not stand still
May she rest in peace in Dublin far from the Town by Clara Hill.

by Francis Duggan

A member of the Irish Workers Party and a Socialist and a true Republican
And he loved Ireland and the Irish Language Neil Healy was a very special man
A family person and a quiet achiever he was one worthy of far greater note
I’d like to write a poem in his honour were I born with the genius of a poet.
.
One who did speak the Irish Language fluently not many like him that seems sad to say
In the changing face of twenty first century Ireland in the ever changing World of today
A loyal supporter of Joe Sherlock of the Workers Party to the colours he believed in he was true
To many one who did choose to be different for that alone great credit is his due.
.
People like he was make a case for re-incarnation I’m only saying how it does seem to me
He did love places distant from Duhallow old towns in France in Celtic Brittany
His passing a huge loss to Celtic Culture he is one who will be hard to replace
In Millstreet he will always be remembered where his will live as a remembered face.
.
He always stood for what he did believe in one who was as honest as the word can be
And ’tis sad to think that on the streets of Millstreet he is one that in the flesh we never more will see
But the World was better for him living in it of him that would be a fair thing to say
Conchubar O hEalaithe is one well worth remembering and good memories of him will live for many a day.

by Francis Duggan

He works hard and he has drunk many a beer
And he has lived in Australia for many a year
As good a person as one could wish to meet
But Mick Kelleher’s heart it is still in Millstreet.
.
In Claraghatlea in Millstreet he first saw light of day
And he often recalls old friends and places far away
Where the old Finnow river it babbles on down
To the mighty Blackwater close to Millstreet Town.
.
He talks of Claraghatlea, Inchaleigh and Claramore
So many miles inland from Hibernia’s shore
But distant from Duhallow he may live out his life
With his children and grandchildren and Rosemary his wife.
.
What is a great loss to Ireland is surely Australia’s gain
But loyal to Duhallow Mick Kelleher remain
And though here he may live out his last night and day
His heart is by Clara Mountain far away.

by Francis Duggan

The stream from Kippagh mountain downhill babbles it’s way
Through the fields of Ballydaly by overnight frost made gray
Along by the brown hedgerows by Winter winds stripped bare
The coldness of late February is in the morning air.
.
The water is flowing bank high in river, stream and drain
And dark clouds above the mountain give promise of more rain
Yet on the naked birch tree the territorial robin sing
Despite the Wintery weather he senses the coming Spring.
.
Of Ballydaly in late February the memories remain
In my nostalgic flights of fancy I walk the old fields again
Across the bare and wet and frosted fields the freshening cold winds blow
Yet the frost resistant daisies bloom where grass refuse to grow.
.
In quiet old Ballydaly in late February of the year
The wild cries of the hunting fox in the moonlit fields one hear
Her cubs too old to suckle and too young to hunt in their den are crying for meat
A rabbit, hare, pheasant or chicken they would feel glad to eat.
.
From the lake in Kippagh mountain the stream through the bracken flow
And bank high it babbles it’s way Inland down by the bare hedgerow
Yet the robin he is singing on a cold and wintery day
And from old Ballydaly Spring cannot be far away.

A beautiful young woman with blue eyes and shoulder length wavy hair of brown
She lives between Banteer Village and Millstreet Town
The Pride of Rathcoole Annmarie
One who does sing so beautifully.
.
She is surely a princess of song
One could listen to her all night long
Her voice so soulful, melodious and clear
More of her doubtless we will hear.
.
Annmarie O Riordan remember her name
For her’s will be more than a Duhallow wide fame
With youth and beauty and a great voice and time on her side
She could become famed Worldwide.
.
The gift of song is a marvellous thing
The songstress who does love to sing
And she is not yet in her prime
She will only get better with time.
.
How could one with her but not feel impressed
To possess such a singing voice she is truly blessed
In her fan club she now does have me
Go sing it again Annmarie.

by Francis Duggan
Visit Annmarie’s website

She was Breda O Connor before becoming Pat Broderick’s wife
In Millstreet she raised her children and lived there for the most of her life
But a heart that was full of kindness sad to say forever still
And she will be missed by many in the Town by Clara Hill,
In Millstreet in Duhallow the changes happening fast
And memories of times gone by are all that seem to last
Yet in memory she has not died as she was she does remain
And in our mental pictures of her she looks well and young again
I last saw Breda Broderick years ago and far away
In the West End of Millstreet Town on a cold November day
A harsh wind blew from Clara Hill quite cold enough to snow
But as ever she was happy she possessed the inner glow
In the minds of those who knew her she’s still living and she hasn’t aged a day
‘Tis only her mortal remains in the Millstreet graveyard lay.

by Francis Duggan

She was mother of Billy and John Coleman two Millstreet sportsmen of sporting renown
And wife of Paddy of the Coleman Brothers reputable business men of Millstreet Town
A family woman devoted to her husband and children in life her friends in numbers they did grow
Peg Coleman will be missed by all who knew her and by her many friends in Minor Row,
She lived to be a good age in her nineties in nine decades there’s many a night and day
Amongst the dead of Millstreet Town and Parish Peg Coleman now at peace forever lay
A good person she deserves to be remembered memories of her will outlive this simple rhyme
When I was a boy she was a mature woman and that is going back many years in time
Most of the adults of my childhood are now deceased and our biological clocks on our lives tick away
It would be great if we could live forever but for all of us a final night and day
Yes it would be nice if we could live forever but only Nature lives forever more
Peg Coleman she did live to be a great age for a decade of years at least with four score
To live that long in itself an achievement but she did live quite a successful life
A good mother to her sons John and Billy and to Paddy Coleman a devoted wife.

by Francis Duggan

A cold start to another cold Winter’s day
From the overnight frost the old fields looking gray
A cold wind is blowing from Caherbarnagh Hill
And the Cails bank high from Kippagh flows with a will
To join with Finnow In flood waters of brown
In Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
As a result of yesterday’s heavy rain
Flood waters are babbling in the roadside drain
And hungry redwings chirping on the leafless trees
In temperatures of minus one degrees
In the farmyard in galvanize cattle shed
The hungry cows and bullocks bellow to be fed
And February is blowing out a cold chill
In the harsh wind from Caherbarnagh Hill.

from Francis Duggan

The gift of memory is a marvellous thing
I still remember Mary Brigid Ring
In all weather sunny, windy, wet and cold and cool
From Coolinarne she cycled to and from the Millstreet Secondary Convent School.
.
A few years older than me far as I know
Her wavy hair dark as wing of a crow
She had great warmth in her cheerful hello
I am going back some fifty years ago.
.
Back then a budding rose of beauty rare
Yet of such she did not seem aware
Untainted by conceit and free of guile
I do recall she had a lovely smile.
.
When she left Coolinarne her I never more did see
But she does live on in my memory
And sad to read her remains at rest lay
Far from Coolinarne in the U S A.

by Francis Duggan

Two good people who in Millstreet Parish will never more be seen
But amongst friends and families and those who knew them memories of them evergreen
Kathleen Corcoran a good woman who lived in Dooneen
And a quiet man from Cloghoula likeable Peter Dineen.
.
In their Townlands by Millstreet Town they had lived for many years
And doubtless their funeral services did give rise to parting tears
For death is very final that does seem sad to say
And by Cashman’s Hill in St Mary’s their remains forever lay.
.
They are only dead physically in spirit they remain
And in our mental pictures we do see them again
From Cloghoula and from Dooneen they may well be gone
But in the minds of friends and families and those who knew them they are living on.
.
What can anyone ask of any human being only to live as their best
And what it takes to live as a good person Kathleen and Peter passed that test
One can only hope their departure from life was a painless release
And by Cashman’s Hill forever their remains rest in peace.

by Francis Duggan

A woman who was indeed larger than life
Lily, John Justice’s daughter who became Dan Guerin’s wife
A beautiful down to earth person untainted by guile
She had such great warmth in her wonderful smile.
.
One might say of her in a class of her own
The woman of the shop there was well liked and well known
By all in Ballydaly three miles from Millstreet
As nice a person as one could wish to meet.
.
One known for her kindness and generosity
In Ballydaly she raised her family
Her family and friends will farewell her in tears
But good memories of her will outlive her by years.
.
In the shop where for many years she did reside
Amongst family and friends and relations Mrs Guerin died
To be kind and loving and hospitable her claim to fame
A Lily by nature and a Lily by name.

by Francis Duggan

The Aubane Historical Society have released a new publication. The third in a series of collections of historical items which contain some very interesting historical items on Millstreet’s past. It is dedicated to Sean Radley in recognition of his services to Millstreet, and is currently available in local shops.

The official launch of the publication will take place in mid-February in the Aubane Community Centre (details to follow).

Amongst a number of publications that have been made available to the public, the two earlier publications in the series can be read on the Aubane Historical Society website. These are:

A Millstreet Miscellany and, A Millstreet Miscellany (2)

In the fields of Claraghatlea North far north and far away
The migrant redwings chirping in the dawning cold and gray
And the salmon swim upstream to spawn as yesterday’s flood goes down
In the river known as Finnow within sight of Millstreet Town
On a wintery sort of morning with a high of four degrees
The wind from Clara mountain soughs in the windswept trees
The birds of song are silent on the wind ravaged hedgerow
And on the leafless beech tree the ill famed grey backed crow
One disliked by sheep farmers who lives by Nature’s law
Birds that are recognizable by the harshness of their caw
In weather that is chilly quite cold enough to snow
A cold wind from Clara mountain across the old fields blow
And the cattle in the farm shed are bellowing for hay
Far north in old Duhallow from this Land far away.

by Francis Duggan

I was born and raised in Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town
Though that hardly would rate as a claim to renown
Far north even by the short route as the birds choose to fly
From where I live now thousands of miles of sky
Where the Cails from Kippagh to the Finnow does flow
By ditches and through old fields where rank rushes grow
In that old countryside mine was a known face
But now I might be a stranger in the old Homeplace
A countryside that inspired the long dead bards to rhyme
Years before I was born that is going back in time
Through green Ballydaly by night and by day
The Cails from Kippagh ever babbles it’s way
Through Feirm, Annagloor, Shannaknock, Liscreagh and Clarghatlea where Finnow it does meet
In the old rushy fields near the Town of Millstreet.

by Francis Duggan

I was there that night in eighty three as one of the massive crowd
For to celebrate our great athlete he made us all so proud
The speeches were made in the Town Square the band played up and down
From San Juan he had brought a World Championship medal with him to Millstreet his Hometown.
.
The Town Square full of people it was an amazing sight
Surrounded by friends and family it was Willie Neenan’s night
We felt honoured for to honour him in the old Town of Millstreet
In a place of many sporting greats he was our best athlete.
.
One who worked so hard for his success and fame the miles of road he ran
Cork County, Munster, All Ireland and World Championship medals he was a mighty man
Yet he was always down to earth untainted by conceit
At cross country meetings when I was young he was the one to beat.
.
How often he ran up and down to and from the cross on Clara Hill
Will Millstreet see his likes again I doubt it ever will
In five hundred years or more from now with the life from him long gone
The legend of Willie Neenan will still be living on.

by Francis Duggan

‘Tis something that one should not do in a whim
To participate in the Boeing New Year’s Day swim
In dark icy waters swollen by rain and sleet
In the river Blackwater near the Town of Millstreet.
.
In the depths of Winter in zero degrees
With frost on the ground in the cold gusty breeze
Just thinking about it does make me feel cold
But then again time has left me feeling old.
.
There must be great inner warmth in the Duhallow grog
For the Blackwater in Winter would freeze a hairy dog
Those who took part in the swim medals for bravery are due
To their Glacial Gods they would have to be true.
.
It was for a good cause that much I do know
But in weather that’s even too cold for to snow
Without a single leaf on any deciduous tree
To swim in the Blackwater seems beyond brave to me.
.
Of the coldness of the Blackwater in Winter I do have an idea
And after such a swim one would need something stronger than tea
‘Tis not for the faint-hearted is all I can say
And for the Boeing New Year’s Day swimmers lets hear the hooray.

by Francis Duggan

To get to the article and pictures of the New Years Day pictures, follow this link.

I am not a poet I never said I was I just pen doggerel
The sort of stuff that few bother to read and I cannot hope to sell
I’ve been rhyming for many years and though my better days long gone
Until the Reaper claims the life from me I will keep penning on
I’ve written reams and reams of rhymes one might say more than most
But that’s not something I’m proud of or of which one should boast
Though every day and every night more new rhymes come to me
I’m addicted to penning rhyme or so ‘twould seem to be
When I was in my late twenties and my hair was dark brown
I penned my first rhymes years ago back home near Millstreet Town
In my many walks in the old fields I made up rhymes on my way
I was in love with Nature then and I still love her today
And if I said I’d give up rhyming I’d be telling a lie
For I will keep penning doggerel until the day I die.

by Francis Duggan

He was a man we used to celebrate
A Millstreet and a Cork footballing great
A fearless fellow in his younger years
His passing would have been a source for tears.
.
Born on the Cork and Kerry border near Rathmore
The green of Millstreet and the red Of Cork he wore
And memories of him remain evergreen
In Millstreet only one Cormac Dineen.
.
As a person for his integrity respect to him was shown
A Millstreet vet one admired and well known
One in the flesh we never more will see
He will be missed by friends and family.
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Another article on the returning Millstreet Horse Show in 2010, this time on the Horse and Hound magazine. It carries more details than previous articles and we find out that the show has been renamed the Millstreet All-Ireland Championship Horse and Pony Show. The full article can be read  below:

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