James “Jim the Weaver” Walsh (1870- c. 1960) of Glenmore Village: Looking Back

Sixty-one years ago today an article appeared in the Kilkenny People entitled “Glenmore Man Looks Back” written by Peter Roughhan. This 1959 article is packed full of interesting details and names of Glenmore people including early football players and brick makers. Special thanks to Glenmore-History.com reader Kelvin Johnson Treacy who found the article and sent it on so we could share it. At the end of the article information that Danny Dowling collected over the years concerning the Weaver Walsh family is provided.

GLENMORE MAN LOOKS BACK—Often it makes me wonder if one old custom, or pastime, if you like to call it, is dead and gone in the country, for you never hear anyone using the word “cuardeact” now at all, and you scarcely ever hear anyone saying in the heel of the evening, “I’m going ‘cuardeact’ for an hour or two.” Well, I know one place around here where you needn’t wait for the heel of the evening to go and have a chat; you need only ramble into Jim Walsh’s beyond in Glenmore any time of the day and you can sit and listen to Jim ‘until the cows come home, and the last thing he’ll tell you is “don’t be long before you come again.”

When I first heard about Jim Walsh and where I could find him, it put me in mind of the story we used to hear about the lad who was going to New York to a sister of his, and his mother kept reminding of where she lived, “in the first house on the left as you go in,” Well, that’s where I happened to find Jim over in Glenmore — in the first house on the left as I went in! Honest to Goodness, I thought I went to the wrong house for I never expected him to have his coat off, and his sleeves rolled up, chopping up a skeagh tree for firing.

“Hold on a minute ’till I put this hatchet away, I don’t like leaving sharp tools lying about the place, and we’ll sit up in the haggard and have a nice quiet chat for ourselves.” And upon my word, a nice quiet chat it was. I could sit and listen to him all day, and so could anyone that’s fond of a bit of ” cuardeact.” Well, now, no one can tell a fellow’s life story better than himself, but Jim Walsh caps ’em all, for his memory can nearly take him back to the day he was born, and that was November 21, 1870.

“Aye, please God, I’ll be 89 on my next birthday, and there’s plenty of work in me yet.” And, I couldn’t say “no” to that, for he looks as fresh and healthy as a lad half his age, and still able to shave himself. “I worked hard ever since I was a lad,” says he to me, “and thank God, I never had much sickness in my life. Now would you believe it, I was born in this house where I’m living, and my father lived in the same house since he was a lad. God be good to him, Pat Walsh, he was one of the old Glenmore weavers, and my mother was Mary Haberlin of Rochestown, her father was Johnnie Haberlin, the blacksmith.”

MASTER CURRAN

IT was a Father Edward Walsh that baptised me, and Johnnie Cody and Bridget Hanrahan from the village here who stood for me. God be good to them all, sure they’re dead years and years. And so is my old schoolmaster — Master Curran — a great man to handle children, and he turned out some great scholars in the village here.”

Like a lot of the lads in Jim’s young days, he left school early. ” Aye,” says he, ” I was only nine when I had to turn out to work, and the first job I ever got was over at Denis Maher’s of Ballyvarring, I was put minding cows for a bob a week. I was living over there at the farm, and they looked after me in great style. We had plenty of good, wholesome food to eat, oaten stirabout for breakfast, no tea in those days at all, spuds and bacon for our dinner, but Friday was a devil of a day, we used to get red herrings, and then we got spuds and plenty butter, and new milk in the evening”

“I stayed there for about two years, and I can remember the boss going into Waterford one day and bringing me back a pair of boots. Sure I never wore a boot in my life ’till then, always went barefooted, and when I got them on my feet, I couldn’t walk at all in them. I used to come home every Saturday night with my bob to my mother, and as soon as I got out on the road with the new boots on I took ’em off and slung ’em around my neck and trotted the whole of the five miles home. If I kept the boots on, I wouldn’t be home yet!
They nearly made a cripple of me. I got used to ’em, but it took a long time, they were like ton weights on my feet.”

When Jim said good-bye to cowminding, he took to brickmaking in the brickyard beyond at Pill. “My father was working there” says he to me, “and he managed to get me a job over there with him. The bricks were baked in what we called clamps, and there were ten arches in each clamp, and anything between three and four thousand bricks in an arch. We used to set the fires with about five hundredweight of Welsh coal, and a bed of furze, get that going in the evening after sealing up the clamp with blue mud, and then we had to look after the fires all-night until about four in the morning. We’d draw the bricks our about dinner time, and then the whole gamut had to start again.”

MADE BY HAND

“All the bricks were made by hand. We used what they called a breastboard, and ’twas a good lad who could make about twenty bricks in half an hour. Oh, there was a great gang of lads working down there at Pill in my Days, I can remember the most of ’em; Dick Rockett of Slieverue; Dan Cody of Carrickcroney; Tom and Bill Forristal of Ballyverneen; Robin Irish of Ballinalammy; Dick Hennessey of Moulerstown; George Young; Paddy Doherty; Ned and Mick Phelan of Bigwood; Pat Murphy of Killivory, and Mickey Power of Carrickcroney.”

“I couldn’t say which of ’em dug up a full branch of deer’s antlers down below in the clay pit one day, and another of the lads came across a boar’s tusk about half-a-foot long. You’d never know what you might dig up in old places like that, but we never came across any gold at all.”

“The wages in those days making bricks wasn’t too bad. On piecework a good lad could earn about thirty shillings, but you had to keep hard at it all day to earn that. It used to be a long day working from seven in the morn ’till six in the evening, still, we were all happy down there. At dinnertime we used to have many a great hunt doing tricks and giving out riddles to good eight miles from here each other. My father was a great hand at some of the questions. I remember one day, some lad asked him how many pounds in a million farthings, and he gave him the right answer in less than no time.” Jim’s memory, of course, couldn’t go back to the time in Glenmore when the weaving was done there, but he was able to tell me a lot about what he used to hear from his father who worked at the trade. They spun for blankets and sheets in the ould days, and right opposite his door he pointed out to me the spot where the old weaving sheds stood. All the spinning of flax was done there, even for bags and sacks of all sizes.”

“This village was a lively spot in my young days,” he told me, ” we had a couple of tailors working here, and one or two shoemakers as well, there was a lot of firkin making in the village too. I often walked to the sally bogs in Kilfane to cut sallies, and the firkins were made in Furlong’s yard, but that trade is gone out now, you never hear of ’em using a butter firkin now at all.”

“I often walked from here to Coolroe bogs with my father to foot sod turf. We thought nothing of walking nine or ten miles to work then, but when I was over in England at the time of the first war, I thought I was in heaven when I used to get on a bus or a tram to go to work. Aye, I remember the time I was in a shell factory in Sheffield, and we earned great money there too. But I must tell you a good story about that factory. ‘Twas in winter time, and we couldn’t stir for snow, ’twas about four feet thick on the roads, and this Saturday night I couldn’t get back to my lodgings, so I went into a pub, and had a couple of hours there with the boys, back into the factory with me, and got into one of the furnaces where I was nice and warm. They used to let the furnaces cool down every Saturday. ‘Twas the luck of God that I had my billycan with me that night. I woke up the next morn, and I was just after stepping out of the furnace when who should walk up behind me but one of the bosses.” “Now then, Walsh,” says he to me, “what are you doing in there?” “Oh, I was only climbing jn to get my billycan out, I left it in there last night when I was finished working,” says I to him, and he believed me. “If it wasn’t for that billycan. I’d be sacked on the spot. In any case, I didn’t stay long in Sheffield after that, I went to Birmingham, and had a grand job helping a couple of fitters for a few months, I got tired of England and came back home, and got a job on the Co. Council.”

STONE-BREAKING

Well, Jim’s time on the ‘ county’ must have been nearly half his lifetime — a good forty years or so. “You know Jim Robinson, don’t you,” says he to me, “well, the man who had his job then as road surveyor was a man named Bowers, and ’twas he set me on first, and put me stonebreaking over on the side of the road near Carriganurra for fourteen bob a week. I was on that job for a long time, and then I was sent over to the quarries in Christendom to work. I used to walk there, and back every day a good eight miles from here. I went scraping the roads over at The Rower as well, and that was a good ten miles. I did every kind of a job on the roads, cleaning out ditches, cutting gullies, and the last bit of work I did on the ‘county’ was to clean out a drain beyond at the Skough bridge, and I was eighty-one years and one month then. That’s nearly nine years ago, and I had to retire then, even though I was still able to do a good day’s work. I saw some great times on the ‘ county,’ but I can tell you ’twas a devil during the last war to be out on the roads all day without a smoke of a pipe, but, I made my own tobacco, Peter, I used to dry the skin, of a furze bush, and fill my pipe with that, and I didn’t feel so bad at all, I had something to pull at anyway.”

In Jim’s spotless little kitchen he showed me a few old heirlooms, which he thought the world of. “Just look at that clock” he says to me, “do you know that ’tis hanging there for the last seventy years, and ’tis one of the first two clocks — eight-day ones — that came into Glenmore, and before my father bought that clock, he had a wall-wagger that he bought from a travelling German watchmaker for four shillings.  There’s a dresser there and as ould as I am, I never remember it to be made, for ’tis over a 100 years ‘ould, and that glass press was made before I was born by a man named Sullivan over in Kearney Bay.” I couldn’t make anything like a good guess at the age of a three-legged skillet, that Jim thought the world of. Honestly, it could either be 40 or 4,000 years old. You don’t see many skillets now, butJim’s is still in good condition. Well, no chat with an old Glenmore man would ever finish without something said about football, and Jim’s not the only one who likes to rake up all the great men who used to kick for the village years ago.

We had some of the best in the country here in Glenmore,” he told me, “lads like Dick Delahunty of Aylwardstown; Ned Hartley of Weatherstown; Ned Roche of Coolnaleen; Jack Morrissey of Aylwardstown; Jack Grant of Ballinahara; Peter Flannery of Ballyhobuck; Jack Power of Robinstown; Andy Freyne of Kilbride; the two Briens from Carriganurra, John and Tom; Dick and Larry Curran from The Rower, they were sons, of old schoolmaster Curran, two great men no doubt, and two powerful lads, Pat and Dick Reddy from Kilbride. I was about 17 or 18 years of age when I saw them play in a match over in Ross, and they fisted the ball from one goal to the other. It never touched the ground, and nearly everyone of them had a clout at it, and then they scored! Sure the men in those days would walk ten or twelve miles on a Sunday to kick a football, and walk it back home again, and think nothing of it, and be up the morn after at cock-crow to do a hard day’s work. But the lads today don’t eat oaten porridge that we used to be reared on. ‘Tis all tea today, but, still, Peter, we’ll have a cup before you go,” and we did, and a good cup it was.

Well, before I leave Jim Walsh, I must say that he is one of the most interesting chaps you could have a chat with, God bless him, he is wonderful for his eighty-nine years, as happy as the day is long, and sure, we all wish him many more long years with us. God be with you, Jim, and ’twas great to sit above in your haggard, and listen to you talking about ould times.

_____

Thanks to the details in the article it was easy to locate the birth records for Jim Walsh.  James Walsh was born on the 21^st of November 1870 the son of Patrick Walsh, weaver, of Graiguenakill and Mary Walsh née Haberlin. He was baptized at Glenmore and his Godparents were John Cody & Bridget Hanrahan. He was the second son and one of six siblings (two boys and four girls).

His parents were married on the 16^th of February 1863 at Glenmore. Witnesses to the marriage were Michael Walsh and Catherine Bolger. Mary Habberlan (sic) was baptized on the 25^th of July 1845 at Rochestown and was the daughter of John Habberlan (sic) and Margaret Mackey. No birth cert could be located in the Glenmore Parish records for Patrick Walsh. According to Danny Dowling, Patrick’s father, Old Jack “the Weaver” Walsh came from the Campile are of Co. Wexford to work in Gaffney’s linen mill. The birth of Patrick’s children reveals that he worked as a weaver and sometimes as a labourer.

The known children of Paddy “The Weaver” Walsh and his wife Mary Walsh née Haberlin include:

[1] Anastatia Walsh was born on the 4^th of December 1863. Godparents: Martin Kelly & Ellen Bulger. [2] Alice “Ally” Walsh was born and baptized on the 20^th of July 1866. Godparents: James Kelly & Bridget Ennett. The child’s grandfather, John Walsh of Gregnakill (sic) registered this birth. The father’s occupation was listed as weaver. [3] John Walsh was born on the 30^th of  April 1869 and baptized on the 2^nd of May 1869. Godparents: Columb Halley & Mary Maher. At the civil registration Patrick Walsh was listed as a labourer. Margaret Wallace, nurse was present at birth and registered it on the 6^th of May 1869. [4] James was born in 1870. [5] Margaret Walshe born 20 Nov. 1874, baptized the following day. Godparents James Murphy & Catherine Walsh. Civil registers records father’s occupation as weaver, and Catherine Butler was present at birth and registered it on 1 Dec. 1874. [6] Mary Walshe was born 18 Aug. 1878, and baptized the following day. Godparents: William Walsh &  Catherine Dunne. Mary’s birth was registered by her father on the 17^th of August and he recorded his occupation as farm labourer.

“The Weaver” Walsh family lived in the first house on the left on the Churns hill road when entering the Village. In the featured photo the darker house on the left of the three attached houses is the former home of “The Weaver Walsh” family. For a rough drawing of the Village see, Glenmore Village in the 1930’s https://glenmore-history.com/glenmore-village-in-the-1930s/. Although Jim Walsh did not mention his wife or children we believe that he did marry and did have at least one child Walter Walsh and also raised a couple of step-daughters.

Unfortunately, the public death register ends in 1966. Only one James Walsh died over the age of 89 died between 1959-1966. As lively as James Walsh appeared to be when interviewed on 31 October 1959 it is difficult to believe that he died in less than a year. A 90 year old James Walsh died in the Waterford hospital in January 1960. His address was recorded as 41 Costello Place, Waterford and the Munster Express of 5 February 1960 provided that the deceased who died on that date had a son and daughters. Unfortunately, the names of the son and daughters is not provided. This James Walsh was buried in Ramsgrange, Co Wexford.

We hope that someone can provide the missing information concerning the colourful James “the Weaver” Walsh.

Special thanks to Jacqueline Walsh for the old photo of the Churns hill road in the Village of Glenmore. The photo was taken before the 1960’s when the Glenmore Pub opened. The old Village pump can be seen in the photo now where the pub is located.

Dr. Kathleen Moore Walsh