Friday 25 April 2014


The following is taken from Romantic Slievenamon which was edited by the late James Maher of Kickham Street, Mullinahone, Co.Tipperary:
There's a little winding road in Tipperary,
Where the cobble-stones protrude and hurt your feet,
But I'd rather walk that road in Tipperary
Than the smoothest and widest city street.
There's a little singing stream in Tipperary,
And it chatters and it gurgles on its way;
Oh! I'd sit beside that stream in Tipperary
And listen to its music all the day.
There's a mountain, grand and noble, in Tipperary
My heart's delightromantic Slievenamon;
It's matchless grace adorns you, Tipperary,
As the rose adorns the bush it grows upon. 
There are kindly folk in homely Tipperary,
And the stranger's always welcome on the hearth;
The heart is never lonely in Tipperary—
'Tis the home of sweet content and wholesome mirth. 
So God's blessing be upon you, Tipperary,
May your joys be many and your ills be few;
May you ever thrive and prosper, Tipperary,
And your sons and daughters e'er prove staunch and true. 
- M.J. Costelloe

Friday 18 April 2014

The Handigrippers of Kilcash

 Following the founding of the GAA in Thurles in 1884, one of the first clubs to affiliate was Kilcash—my own native place. Kilcash had been engaged in football contests for some years prior to 1884.

The following is an extract from Tipperary's GAA Story written by the late Canon Philip Fogarty, and published in 1960:
All Star Handigrippers—Kilcash "Redoubtables" 
The handigrippers of Kilcash, the most dreaded team in Tipperary, disappeared in 1888 because of the parish rule, but up to then they were: Tom and Ned Kelly, Pat Ryan, Jim and John Kehoe, Tom and James Butler, William and James Shea, Mick and Peter Tobin, Tom and Pat Lawless, Pat and Tom Stokes, Mick Dee, Jim Slattery, Tom Carey, Jack Commins, Tom Prendergast, Mick Fleming, William Gibbs, Dick Crotty, Phil Callanan, Mick Lyons, Jim Hennessy, John Harney, Patsy Neill and Pat Foran.

Friday 11 April 2014

The Legacy of Kickham

Charles Kickham's gravestone in St. Michael's Churchyard, Mullinahone carries the following tribute from his friend Rose Kavanagh:
Rare loyal heart and stately head of grey,
Wise with the wisdom wrested out of pain,
We miss the slender hand, the brave bright brain,
All faith and hope to point and light the way,
Our land should go, oh surely not in vain,
That beacon burned for us, for we can lay,
Fast hold of the fair life without a stain
And mould our own upon it—we can weigh
Full well his fate who suffered, sang and died
As nobly as he lived ah nought could tame
The truth in him, for nought could trust aside,
His lifelong love, the land whose sacred name
Throbbed to the last though his life's ebbing tide,
And lit the face of death with love's white flame.

Thursday 10 April 2014

Disappointment for Tipp Footballers

Munster Under-21 Football Final:

Cork 1-18; Tipperary 3-08

Once again defeat was the lot of Tipperary in a football final against Cork. Following the magnificent, and wonderful, All-Ireland win by Tipperary minor footballers in 2011, there was confidence among the true followers that an Under-21 title would be won during the following three years. The Tipperary Under-21's were very impressive in their two previous championship games this year but, as often in the past, a final against Cork at Páirc Uí Rinn proved a bridge too far.

The great people who continue to work hard to improve the standard of the game in the county should not lose heart; progress has been made. A renewed effort should be made to improve the standard of the game at club level. The divisional and county championships should be graded more tightly so that teams of a similar quality are competing against each other—close scoring games bring up the standard. Outside coaches should be brought in to work with teams at club level; and to make greater use of videos.

Wednesday 2 April 2014

From Othello

By William Shakespeare

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls;
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something,
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

Love of Country

Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

Sir Walter Scott