Maggie, I appreciate your explanation very much...a very clear way to understand it all. Thank you! Susan On Sep 14, 2012, at 9:55 AM, Margaret Duffy wrote: > These are geographical locations and, consequently, they most certainly > still exist. Both are parts of Eyeries. > > The whole area is a pretty small area so they are VERY close together. You > can probably walk from one to the other in under 10 minutes. No car needed. > > In American terms townlands are like a couple of blocks within a > neighborhood. They are not large areas. Even Eyeries isn't a town in the > American sense. > > To give you a sense of the geographic size I will give my own location > within Manhattan (New York City) as a comparison. My "county" is > Manhattan, my "town" is the Upper East Side, my "parish" is Yorkville (area > within the Upper East Side) and my "townland" is the block I live on (East > 82nd between First and Second Avenues). Hope that helps a bit. > > Maggie Duffy > NYC > > -

>From the maps these townlands seem about 5km apart. Both of these seem to be in the old Kilcatherine civil parish. Believe this is now Eyeries parish. So... to answer your question- it is quite possible that records could be under either townland names. Is there some one specifically you are looking for? Reg ----- Original Message ----- From: "Cathy Cottone" <irisha20@aol.com> To: <beara@rootsweb.com> Sent: Friday, September 14, 2012 7:17 AM Subject: [BEARA] Ballycrovane and Faunkill & the woods > > Hi, > > I have a question about the above to town lands - does anyone know how > close these two towns are to each other? If someone said they were from > Ballycrovane, could they possibly be listed in some records in Faunkill? > > Does Faunkill still exist? > > Thanks for any help, > > Cathy in Michigan > > > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message

Thanks Riobard with keeping us informed even on the little things. Dot -----Original Message----- From: beara-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:beara-bounces@rootsweb.com] On Behalf Of Riobard O' Dwyer Sent: Sunday, September 09, 2012 5:12 PM To: beara@rootsweb.com Subject: Re: [BEARA] BEARA Digest, Vol 7, Issue 184 Aileen is onlt a version of Eileen (= Eibhlin (Gaelic of Eileen. Eibhlin is pronounced like Eileen) --- Riobard. On 6 September 2012 21:11, Dot Leinhauser <Dot@teqknow.com> wrote: > Lovely story of love forever. One wuestion. I have a daqughter, May > Eileen. Is Aileen the Celtic spelling? DOT > > -----Original Message----- > From: beara-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:beara-bounces@rootsweb.com] > On Behalf Of Riobard O' Dwyer > Sent: Wednesday, September 05, 2012 4:51 AM > To: beara@rootsweb.com > Subject: Re: [BEARA] BEARA Digest, Vol 7, Issue 184 > > Hi Jane, > Very glad you enjoyed it. It is only one of the many, many > things that happened our poor ancestors in years gone by. Many books > could be written about them. > All the best, > Riobard, > > > > On 4 September 2012 23:01, Jane Harrington <janefharrington@gmail.com > >wrote: > > > Great tale, Riobard. Enchanting, but sad. (I know--you warned us!) > > The details you include are always so interesting to me. I can > > picture my ancestors in the landscape, in the story. > > > > Jane Harrington > > > > ------------------------------- > > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > > quotes in the subject and the body of the message > > > > > > -- > *Riobard (O'Dwyer)* > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)* ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

In the account of the raid on Ballycrovane Coast Station in the War of Independence, the surname which was given for one of the British/Coastguard officers should, I have been told, have been SNEWIN. ---- Riobard. -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

Aileen is onlt a version of Eileen (= Eibhlin (Gaelic of Eileen. Eibhlin is pronounced like Eileen) --- Riobard. On 6 September 2012 21:11, Dot Leinhauser <Dot@teqknow.com> wrote: > Lovely story of love forever. One wuestion. I have a daqughter, May > Eileen. Is Aileen the Celtic spelling? DOT > > -----Original Message----- > From: beara-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:beara-bounces@rootsweb.com] On > Behalf Of Riobard O' Dwyer > Sent: Wednesday, September 05, 2012 4:51 AM > To: beara@rootsweb.com > Subject: Re: [BEARA] BEARA Digest, Vol 7, Issue 184 > > Hi Jane, > Very glad you enjoyed it. It is only one of the many, many > things > that happened our poor ancestors in years gone by. Many books could be > written about them. > All the best, > Riobard, > > > > On 4 September 2012 23:01, Jane Harrington <janefharrington@gmail.com > >wrote: > > > Great tale, Riobard. Enchanting, but sad. (I know--you warned us!) The > > details you include are always so interesting to me. I can picture my > > ancestors in the landscape, in the story. > > > > Jane Harrington > > > > ------------------------------- > > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > > quotes in the subject and the body of the message > > > > > > -- > *Riobard (O'Dwyer)* > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in > the subject and the body of the message > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

Lovely story of love forever. One wuestion. I have a daqughter, May Eileen. Is Aileen the Celtic spelling? DOT -----Original Message----- From: beara-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:beara-bounces@rootsweb.com] On Behalf Of Riobard O' Dwyer Sent: Wednesday, September 05, 2012 4:51 AM To: beara@rootsweb.com Subject: Re: [BEARA] BEARA Digest, Vol 7, Issue 184 Hi Jane, Very glad you enjoyed it. It is only one of the many, many things that happened our poor ancestors in years gone by. Many books could be written about them. All the best, Riobard, On 4 September 2012 23:01, Jane Harrington <janefharrington@gmail.com>wrote: > Great tale, Riobard. Enchanting, but sad. (I know--you warned us!) The > details you include are always so interesting to me. I can picture my > ancestors in the landscape, in the story. > > Jane Harrington > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)* ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

Hi Jane, Very glad you enjoyed it. It is only one of the many, many things that happened our poor ancestors in years gone by. Many books could be written about them. All the best, Riobard, On 4 September 2012 23:01, Jane Harrington <janefharrington@gmail.com>wrote: > Great tale, Riobard. Enchanting, but sad. (I know--you warned us!) The > details you include are always so interesting to me. I can picture my > ancestors in the landscape, in the story. > > Jane Harrington > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

Great tale, Riobard. Enchanting, but sad. (I know--you warned us!) The details you include are always so interesting to me. I can picture my ancestors in the landscape, in the story. Jane Harrington

Thank you, Marge! Very recently my cousin and I visited the county library of our grandfather's birth place and found a couple old atlas maps showing the ownership of the various land plots of the township. Using an 1874 map as a guide I was able to locate the 150 year old home of our 2x great grandmother. Imagine my glee when the house was still standing and readily identifiable. (I have old photos from the turn of the last century.) The current owner is "into" heritage preservation so he has maintained the home pretty much in its original condition. He blessed me with a tour of the house. Now, a 150 year old home may not impress those of you in Beara, but for someone brought up "out west" it is a rare find indeed. You can be certain I will be visiting the website searching for more treasures. Hope this encourages some others to do the same. Thank you again, Coletta in Arizona -----Original Message----- From: beara-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:beara-bounces@rootsweb.com] On Behalf Of kerrykuzzin @dslextreme.com Sent: Monday, September 03, 2012 10:55 AM To: irl-kerry-l Subject: [BEARA] Historical Topographic Maps - Preserving the Past My husband came across this website and I thought you all might like to see it: *Historical Topographic Maps - Preserving the Past* http://nationalmap.gov/historical/ If you wanted to make a map of your town before Google Maps, satellite imaging, planes, or even cars existed, you had to walk there and chart the landscape by hand. Now, all that decades-old topological hard work is available online thanks to a United States Geological Survey <http://www.usgs.gov/> (USGS) project to digitize over 200,000 old topographic maps of the United States. The USGS Historical Topographic Map Collection <http://nationalmap.gov/historical/>is a free, searchable online portal to historic maps that were previously only accessible by physically going to the USGS archives in Virginia. Slán, Marge in Southern California Searching: Golden, Sullivan, Kelly, Shea, in Kerry and Connecticut O'Connor in Kerry Fee, Cassidy, Gilbride in Fermanagh, Cavan, Kildare and Connecticut Lynch in Limerick and Connecticut Walsh, Stackpole, Garry/Garrey/McGarrey, Donovan, Doyle, Clowney/Clooney, King in Kildare ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

I am reminded of another bull, or rather bullock story from the War Of Independence period, or from the Civil War period in late 1923 to be exact. By this time a 'National' Free State Army with its ranks enormously expanded with ex- British Army WW1 Irish servicemen was in military control over most Irish villages, towns and cities. In most Republican areas the Free State Army was boycotted and local shops would not sell them food or drink. This was the situation in Rathmore Co. Kerry also. The local Free State Army bought a bullock for food and as 'townies' they knew little about killing or butchering animals. One of the soldiers attempted to shoot the bullock with a revolver outside the barracks, he aimed for the skull area but hit a horn base, the bullet ricochet and hit the soldier in the chest and he died instantly. A very tragic story for his family, God rest the poor misfortune but given the times that were in it and the passions roused in what was mainly a 'Townie' v 'Rural' Free State war of attrition, the manner of the poor soldiers passing provoked more merriment than sympathy in the locality. Slan is beannacht, Donal O' On Mon, Sep 3, 2012 at 1:53 PM, Bill Gawne <gawne@cesmail.net> wrote: > Thanks for the stories, Riobard. I wonder if you ever have nightmares > of meeting a giant duck? > > You were hardly the only boy to ever conduct such ad hoc amateur > scientific experiments with animals. My boyhood friend Jim Doherty, > my brother Jim, and I, were all into model rocketry back in the late > 60s and early 70s. Somehow Jim D convinced our biology teacher to > allow us to borrow the school's gerbils for use as astronauts. We > built a special padded cargo module, and commenced one fine Saturday > to launching the poor dumb creatures. The one requirement Sister had > was that we must write up each flight with a proper experiment report. > > So the first gerbil survived his rocket flight, but was so ungrateful > that he bit Jim D on the thumb as soon as the nosecone was taken off > the cargo capsule. The second gerbil proved as much an ingrate, > oblivious to the honor we were bestowing. The third gerbil, alas, > seems to have been extra flexible. Because even though we put him > into the capsule tail down and head up, when we removed the nose cone > after the rocket flight, the poor creature was head down with a broken > neck. We supposed he tried to burrow out, and was caught by the > acceleration of launch with his weight bearing on his neck. > > Of course we wrote our sad little experiment report for the nun, > speculating on the likely cause of death for the poor unfortunate > gerbil. But when Jim took the gerbils back to school on Monday, with > two alive and one obviously not, his glib tongue failed him. Handing > the cage over to Sister, she asked what had happened, and all he could > manage was, "It broke." > > Riobard O' Dwyer <bearariobard@gmail.com> writes: > > > Hi Bill, > > As the say: "No rest for the wicked" !!. People must be tired > well > > of me spouting for the past, I suppose, 3 years or so ---- and maybe > more > > ---- but, seeing that you are a fine old soul, I'll stretch the torment > for > > a few minutes more, and then I'll have to take a break. I have tormented > > you all with so many yarns that I don't know if I have told you these two > > before. If I have, then sentence me to the depths of oblivion. > > -- Bill > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message >

Hi Bill, As the say: "No rest for the wicked" !!. People must be tired well of me spouting for the past, I suppose, 3 years or so ---- and maybe more ---- but, seeing that you are a fine old soul, I'll stretch the torment for a few minutes more, and then I'll have to take a break. I have tormented you all with so many yarns that I don't know if I have told you these two before. If I have, then sentence me to the depths of oblivion. In my father's time, he was involved very much in the Fight for Freedom. He happened to be "on the run" this particular evening when he and another Volunteer named Jer O'Connor were crossing a field in Glenmore. To put it mildly, Jer was carrying an amount of avoirdupois, and, let us say, would never win a 100 metres race in the Olympic Games. They were carrying their guns, when a big bull, blessed with long horns, took off after them up the field. My father, who (like myself), was carrying very little weight and was fairly fast with the feet, reached the fence before Jer. Just as the bull was almost upon him, ready to drive his horns through him, Jer pulled out his revolver and "gave it" to the bull between the two eyes. With the bull lying dead at his feet, Jer looked down at him and said "Stay there now, you mongerly bast--d ------ and mind your own business in future !!". Once upon a time, at the age of 10, my pal Vincie Jer Denny Harrington and myself, living in the Village of Ardgroom, were full of devilment. Our Teacher in Ardgroom School, Mrs. Crowley, told us in the Religion Class, that Our Lord died on the Cross, but that He arose again on the 3rd Day. Vincie and I thought that what Our Lord did was a mighty achievement. We decided to try out to see if somebody, or something else could achieve what Our Lord was able to do. So we took a duck from behind Kate O'Hara's shop in the Village, brought it up to the field at the back of Paddy Flor Jack's house, dug a hole, buried the duck in it, to see if the duck could arise again on the 3rd day like Our Lord ---- and away we went. After the 3rd day, we went back to the hole in the field to find out if the duck had risen like Our Lord ---- but we weren't long finding out. The duck was as dead as the day we put her into the hole !!!". May God forgive us our sins. Poor Vincie is now under the sod, may he rest in peace ----- but I still have to "face the fire". ----- Riobard. On 30 August 2012 21:35, Bill Gawne <gawne@cesmail.net> wrote: > I'm wondering what it would take to convince Riobard to share a few > stories from his own younger days. Is that something you'd consider, > Riobard? I know you're great with the stories from long ago, but what > about the stories from times past, but not so far past? > > Of course, if modesty prevents such accounts, I'll reluctantly understand. > > Riobard O' Dwyer <bearariobard@gmail.com> writes: > > > ... Those are the types of stories that I heard long ago before there > > were any televisions around our part of the country ---- and very few > > radios. And we used go to school barefooted in the summer. That's why I > > was sort of handy at the hop, step, and jump (or triple jump) when I grew > > up !! > > -- Bill > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

My husband came across this website and I thought you all might like to see it: *Historical Topographic Maps - Preserving the Past* http://nationalmap.gov/historical/ If you wanted to make a map of your town before Google Maps, satellite imaging, planes, or even cars existed, you had to walk there and chart the landscape by hand. Now, all that decades-old topological hard work is available online thanks to a United States Geological Survey <http://www.usgs.gov/> (USGS) project to digitize over 200,000 old topographic maps of the United States. The USGS Historical Topographic Map Collection <http://nationalmap.gov/historical/>is a free, searchable online portal to historic maps that were previously only accessible by physically going to the USGS archives in Virginia. Slán, Marge in Southern California Searching: Golden, Sullivan, Kelly, Shea, in Kerry and Connecticut O'Connor in Kerry Fee, Cassidy, Gilbride in Fermanagh, Cavan, Kildare and Connecticut Lynch in Limerick and Connecticut Walsh, Stackpole, Garry/Garrey/McGarrey, Donovan, Doyle, Clowney/Clooney, King in Kildare

Thanks for the stories, Riobard. I wonder if you ever have nightmares of meeting a giant duck? You were hardly the only boy to ever conduct such ad hoc amateur scientific experiments with animals. My boyhood friend Jim Doherty, my brother Jim, and I, were all into model rocketry back in the late 60s and early 70s. Somehow Jim D convinced our biology teacher to allow us to borrow the school's gerbils for use as astronauts. We built a special padded cargo module, and commenced one fine Saturday to launching the poor dumb creatures. The one requirement Sister had was that we must write up each flight with a proper experiment report. So the first gerbil survived his rocket flight, but was so ungrateful that he bit Jim D on the thumb as soon as the nosecone was taken off the cargo capsule. The second gerbil proved as much an ingrate, oblivious to the honor we were bestowing. The third gerbil, alas, seems to have been extra flexible. Because even though we put him into the capsule tail down and head up, when we removed the nose cone after the rocket flight, the poor creature was head down with a broken neck. We supposed he tried to burrow out, and was caught by the acceleration of launch with his weight bearing on his neck. Of course we wrote our sad little experiment report for the nun, speculating on the likely cause of death for the poor unfortunate gerbil. But when Jim took the gerbils back to school on Monday, with two alive and one obviously not, his glib tongue failed him. Handing the cage over to Sister, she asked what had happened, and all he could manage was, "It broke." Riobard O' Dwyer <bearariobard@gmail.com> writes: > Hi Bill, > As the say: "No rest for the wicked" !!. People must be tired well > of me spouting for the past, I suppose, 3 years or so ---- and maybe more > ---- but, seeing that you are a fine old soul, I'll stretch the torment for > a few minutes more, and then I'll have to take a break. I have tormented > you all with so many yarns that I don't know if I have told you these two > before. If I have, then sentence me to the depths of oblivion. -- Bill

*The news was in the glen before them, and a cart was in readiness at thr foot of the cliff to receive the remains. The crown increased as the funeral moveds along. A rough table was placed in the middle of the road opposite the home she had left the day before forever. On this they placed the body, and all knelt in silent prayer, with uncovered heads. [In that locality the corpse of a person who dies away from home is never brought to the house. It is left in the Parish Church until it is removed to the cemetery]. Further on they came to the Lauragh cross-roads, and here again, according to ancient custom, a halt was made while the people prayed on the damp ground for Aileen's soul. People began to wonder where Jack was. At first they thought he was somewhere in the funerak, but it was soon seen that he was not with them. The intention was to bury her on Monday, but the coffin was not sent out in time, and so, the funeral had to be postponed 'til the following day. His friends were very anxious about poor Jack. Nobody had seen him since they left Clogher on Sunday afternoon. On the morning of Tuesday ---- the anniversary of the wedding day --- vgast numbers of people were seen on all the roads wending their way towards Lauragh Church. Down they came from every hill, from the top of Carriganine, by the rugged road from Bawrs. They crossed in their boats from Ardgroom and from Sneem. They walked, or drove, or rode from every village; by the road from Eyeries; by the mountain road from Adrigole. They started before sunrise from her native Coomnamona away in the western hills to be in time. They thronged from Castletown(bere) in the southh, and from Kenmare in the north. They rowed in from the islands. They swarmed out from the glens ---- from Kilcatherine, from Glenbeg, and, of course, from Glenmore. The funeral left the Church at noon for the old graveyard in Kilmackillogue. Everybody spoke of Aileen's death. As they went on to the cemetery, they conversed in low tones and with sorrowful countenances. "A bride this day last year; dead today". As the funeral approached the cemetery, one of the grave-diggers came out and whispered a word in the ear of the Priest. "May God comfort him, the poor man", said the Priest. "l'll speak to him". A wild-looking emaciated man, mud-stained, wet and unkempt, sat by an open grave. Poor Jack. The Priest spoke to him, but Jack looked vacantly at the blue hills in the distance. "Nobody broughht me here, I came myself", he answered when the question was put to him three or four times. "But I saw her, Father. I saw her" he continued in a strange whisper. "They told me that she was dead, but I didn't believe them. I saw her last night on the rock in Clogher, and she spoke to me. She said to wait there 'til she would come. Oh, yes, Aileen is coming back to me again. She won't desert me, my darling". And Jack strode off with a wild laugh of a madman. Many years have passed since Aileen was laid to rest. The sportsmen and the tourist are often surprised when wandering by the babbling brook that flows down the valley of Clogher, to meet an old man seated upon a rock just where the stream falls into Glenmore. When they speak to him, they find that his mind is gone. He scarcely understands the simplest questions. He says that his name is Jack, and that he is waiting for Aileen who is coming home from town with some dainties for the feast on the anniversary of their wedding day. Now, when people are together, they never pass the place where she was lost without going down on bended knees and saying a prayer for the soul of gentle, loving Aileen. THE END. ---- Riobard. *

*There was little rest in Glenmore that night. Jim Leary returned at nightfall, and the startling news spread quickly that Aileen had not come home in the cart with him ---- that she must be lost in the fog on the hill !! The distracted husband, Jack, walked to the cliff half-a-dozen times during the night to climb into Clogher, but was forcibly prevented by the others. Morning came at last. It struggled through the dark banks of fog that damped and dulled everything. It was impossible to commence the search until the forenoon when the sun's rays dissipated the heavy vapour. There were very few worshippers in Lauragh Church that morning. The good Priest said Mass for the first time to half-empty seats. All were on the hills, scattered over the rugged sides of Clogher. They searched every cavern. They peered beneath every sloping rock, and moved at short distances through the close heather. Poor Jack ran backward and forward, examining the tussocks and the uneven ground, and occasionally glancing with a shudder into the river, dreading to find her there. A loud shout from one of the men in advance drew the attention of the whole party. He waved a bright red cloth in the air. They all hastened up ---- Jack exclaiming excitedly "'Tis Aileen's shawl. Thank God she's safe. Where is she, man, where is she ?" he demanded, grasping the man by the shoulder. "Did you find her ?". "Take it aisy, Jack; don't be going on that way" his companions remonstrated soothingly. "She can't be far now ---- and she'll be all right in a minute", they said trying to revive in his heart the hopes that were extinguished in their own. In a few minutes they arrived at the spot where she lay. After falling, she had never stirred. They lifted her up gently. There was no mark on the white skin, except one slight wound on her temple. That was sufficient. The cold had done the rest. The people gathered round, and hot tears rolled down as they looked upon all that was left of poor Aileen. Raising the body tenderly, they placed it upon the shawl. Four men took the corners, and the mournful procession moved down towards home. The silence was broken only by the suppressed sobs of strong men. Rough hands were rubbed on eyes that had seldom been moist before. Every heart was heavy, and every eye was wet except of him who had loved her most of all. He was dazed. He seemed not to understand what had happened. The path was uneven until thet arrived at the the stream ---- the stream that Aileen had failed to reach. They rested on the cliff, laying their burthen down on the very rock on which Aileen and Jack had sat and laughed the morning before. Poor Jack spoke for the first time since the body was found. He spoke the words into the ear of the man standing next to hom ----- "Jerry, what is the meaning of all this ? Tell me, for the love of God, am I mad or dreaming, or am I in my right senses at all ?". A little boy, who had lagged behind, ran up, holding in his hand a small parcel. He addressed the bereaved husband, "I think, sir, that this belonged to Aileen*. *I got it near where ye found her". As Jack took the parcel from his hand, it opened, and Aileen's little delicacies, which she had bought for the feast, dropped on the rock beside her body. At this, Jack broke down completely. "My darling, my darling, where will our feast be now ? My poor little Aileen, 'tis little I thought yesterday morning, when you sat on that stone, so happy and innocent, that I'd see you dead and cold there today. Oh God above, isn't it terrible, isn't it awful. Oh where will your feast be now ?" (To be continued). ----- Riobard. *

Sad, but an excellent tale. thank you! sue

More sadness. ---- Riobard. On 1 September 2012 17:53, Riobard O' Dwyer <bearariobard@gmail.com> wrote: > I'm afraid not, Maggie ---- I'm afraid not. > But, there is more sadness to come. > ---- Riobard. > > > On 1 September 2012 17:40, Margaret Duffy <mmduffy@mindspring.com> wrote: > >> The fog is terrible indeed. I got caught in it once on Miskish and might >> have wandered for days, but I had the dog with me and followed him. A >> good >> nose is better than a pair of eyes in it. I hope she finds the stream or >> help from an unexpected quarter. >> >> Maggie >> >> ----- Original Message ----- >> From: "Riobard O' Dwyer" <bearariobard@gmail.com> >> To: <beara@rootsweb.com>; <bearariobard@gmail.com> >> Sent: Saturday, September 01, 2012 6:34 AM >> Subject: [BEARA] STORY (Continued ---- 9) >> >> >> > *The fog was coming in rapidly from the ocean, devouring all before it. >> It >> > was like the heavy smoke of a bush fire. It advanced as a solid wall. >> The >> > fishing boats far out disappear. The broad expanse of ocean seems to >> > disappear away beneath it. One wing takes a stupendous sweep around by >> the >> > left, and, in a few seconds, envelops miles of capes and bays and >> cliffs. >> > The blue waters of the bay vanish. For a moment the lofty ridge of Bere >> > Island that bars its approach stops the treacherous, all-absorbing fog. >> > But >> > only for a moment. It quickly pours in over the lower parts and blots >> out >> > the fields and houses on the near side. It sweeps through the brown >> > heather. It climbs every cliff. The old Martello towers that crown the >> > hills of Bere Island float like derelict ships in this sea of fog. It >> > surges round their fountains, it flies through their glassless windows, >> > and >> > in a second they are swamped. "Oh, Father in Heaven protect me !" cries >> > the >> > terrified girl, winging her hands in despair. The strip of water >> > connecting >> > the island from the mainland is gone the next instant. The silent >> terrible >> > fog rolls in billows upon the white strand. It leaps the hedges. It >> scuds >> > along the lowlands. It flits across the farms. It rolls up along the >> Coom. >> > It breaks on the cliffs of Maulin, but is not delayed in its course. >> > A thought flashes upon Aileen that may save her yet. "The stream, yes, >> > yes, >> > thank God, the stream !", and she turns and flies down into Clogher >> > towards >> > the mountain brook that flows into Glenmore. If she is there in time, it >> > will save her. 'Twill guide her to the Glen in any fog ! She flies !, >> her >> > flight winged with fear. Rocks, boulders, ravines, are quickly passed. >> > The fog is at the Gap which she has just left !. It rolls up from the >> > rear, >> > sweeps around, encircles the mighty mountain peak of Maulin. Flood-like >> it >> > rises to the summit ! Maulin vanishes ! Aileen rushes headlong towards >> the >> > friendly stream. On overhead rolls the pitiless fog, shutting out the >> blue >> > sky and the sun. It reaches to thr mountain tops on the other side of >> > Clogher. Still on she flies. It creeps down the hillside after her, >> > quickly >> > but silently, save for themoaning of the wind through the heather. Her >> > eyes >> > are on the stream. "Oh God, the stream !" . The terrible pursuer (=the >> > fog) >> > is now only a few hundred yards behind, but still there is hope. On she >> > flies, hoping to get to the stream before the closing-in thick fog. "Oh, >> > Mother of Jesus, save me, save me !" With the wild prayer on her lips, >> the >> > terrified girl struggles on, desperate and panting. >> > (To be continued). >> > Riobard. >> > * >> > >> > ------------------------------- >> > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to >> > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the >> quotes >> > in the subject and the body of the message >> > >> >> >> >> ------------------------------- >> To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to >> BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the >> quotes in the subject and the body of the message >> > > > > -- > *Riobard (O'Dwyer)* > > > > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

I'm afraid not, Maggie ---- I'm afraid not. But, there is more sadness to come. ---- Riobard. On 1 September 2012 17:40, Margaret Duffy <mmduffy@mindspring.com> wrote: > The fog is terrible indeed. I got caught in it once on Miskish and might > have wandered for days, but I had the dog with me and followed him. A good > nose is better than a pair of eyes in it. I hope she finds the stream or > help from an unexpected quarter. > > Maggie > > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Riobard O' Dwyer" <bearariobard@gmail.com> > To: <beara@rootsweb.com>; <bearariobard@gmail.com> > Sent: Saturday, September 01, 2012 6:34 AM > Subject: [BEARA] STORY (Continued ---- 9) > > > > *The fog was coming in rapidly from the ocean, devouring all before it. > It > > was like the heavy smoke of a bush fire. It advanced as a solid wall. The > > fishing boats far out disappear. The broad expanse of ocean seems to > > disappear away beneath it. One wing takes a stupendous sweep around by > the > > left, and, in a few seconds, envelops miles of capes and bays and cliffs. > > The blue waters of the bay vanish. For a moment the lofty ridge of Bere > > Island that bars its approach stops the treacherous, all-absorbing fog. > > But > > only for a moment. It quickly pours in over the lower parts and blots out > > the fields and houses on the near side. It sweeps through the brown > > heather. It climbs every cliff. The old Martello towers that crown the > > hills of Bere Island float like derelict ships in this sea of fog. It > > surges round their fountains, it flies through their glassless windows, > > and > > in a second they are swamped. "Oh, Father in Heaven protect me !" cries > > the > > terrified girl, winging her hands in despair. The strip of water > > connecting > > the island from the mainland is gone the next instant. The silent > terrible > > fog rolls in billows upon the white strand. It leaps the hedges. It scuds > > along the lowlands. It flits across the farms. It rolls up along the > Coom. > > It breaks on the cliffs of Maulin, but is not delayed in its course. > > A thought flashes upon Aileen that may save her yet. "The stream, yes, > > yes, > > thank God, the stream !", and she turns and flies down into Clogher > > towards > > the mountain brook that flows into Glenmore. If she is there in time, it > > will save her. 'Twill guide her to the Glen in any fog ! She flies !, her > > flight winged with fear. Rocks, boulders, ravines, are quickly passed. > > The fog is at the Gap which she has just left !. It rolls up from the > > rear, > > sweeps around, encircles the mighty mountain peak of Maulin. Flood-like > it > > rises to the summit ! Maulin vanishes ! Aileen rushes headlong towards > the > > friendly stream. On overhead rolls the pitiless fog, shutting out the > blue > > sky and the sun. It reaches to thr mountain tops on the other side of > > Clogher. Still on she flies. It creeps down the hillside after her, > > quickly > > but silently, save for themoaning of the wind through the heather. Her > > eyes > > are on the stream. "Oh God, the stream !" . The terrible pursuer (=the > > fog) > > is now only a few hundred yards behind, but still there is hope. On she > > flies, hoping to get to the stream before the closing-in thick fog. "Oh, > > Mother of Jesus, save me, save me !" With the wild prayer on her lips, > the > > terrified girl struggles on, desperate and panting. > > (To be continued). > > Riobard. > > * > > > > ------------------------------- > > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes > > in the subject and the body of the message > > > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

O.K. Dot, I couldn't have it on my conscience to keep a lovely girl in suspense, so here goes:- STORY (continued ----- part 10):- *She flings the parcel wildly away in terror and rushes on. The stream is still in view far down the valley. The moaning wind that follows seems to be to her terrified imagination as the cry of an evil spirit hunting her to destruction. She stumbles for a moment, but immediately recovers. The scarlet shawl is gone, but she dare not wait to pick it up. The dense pall is slowly settling down from overhead. Never slackening speed, never pausing, she flies along the rugged path. The wind moans louder. It shrieks through the rocks and the heather. She turns her head in alarm ---- sprains her foot on a stone ---- and, with a scream of pain, flings out her arms to save her face as she is flung twenty feet down a nearby cliff. The fog rolls on, covers her over, covers the stream, the rocks, the grass ---- everything. Then, all is still. Aileen lay dead.* (To be continued). *Riobard.* On 1 September 2012 17:02, Dot Leinhauser <Dot@teqknow.com> wrote: > The description of her flight is marvelous but the suspense is killing me. > Dot > > -----Original Message----- > From: beara-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:beara-bounces@rootsweb.com] On > Behalf Of Riobard O' Dwyer > Sent: Saturday, September 01, 2012 6:34 AM > To: beara@rootsweb.com; bearariobard@gmail.com > Subject: [BEARA] STORY (Continued ---- 9) > > *The fog was coming in rapidly from the ocean, devouring all before it. It > was like the heavy smoke of a bush fire. It advanced as a solid wall. The > fishing boats far out disappear. The broad expanse of ocean seems to > disappear away beneath it. One wing takes a stupendous sweep around by the > left, and, in a few seconds, envelops miles of capes and bays and cliffs. > The blue waters of the bay vanish. For a moment the lofty ridge of Bere > Island that bars its approach stops the treacherous, all-absorbing fog. But > only for a moment. It quickly pours in over the lower parts and blots out > the fields and houses on the near side. It sweeps through the brown > heather. > It climbs every cliff. The old Martello towers that crown the hills of Bere > Island float like derelict ships in this sea of fog. It surges round their > fountains, it flies through their glassless windows, and in a second they > are swamped. "Oh, Father in Heaven protect me !" cries the terrified girl, > winging her hands in despair. The strip of water connecting the island from > the mainland is gone the next instant. The silent terrible fog rolls in > billows upon the white strand. It leaps the hedges. It scuds along the > lowlands. It flits across the farms. It rolls up along the Coom. > It breaks on the cliffs of Maulin, but is not delayed in its course. > A thought flashes upon Aileen that may save her yet. "The stream, yes, yes, > thank God, the stream !", and she turns and flies down into Clogher towards > the mountain brook that flows into Glenmore. If she is there in time, it > will save her. 'Twill guide her to the Glen in any fog ! She flies !, her > flight winged with fear. Rocks, boulders, ravines, are quickly passed. > The fog is at the Gap which she has just left !. It rolls up from the rear, > sweeps around, encircles the mighty mountain peak of Maulin. Flood-like it > rises to the summit ! Maulin vanishes ! Aileen rushes headlong towards the > friendly stream. On overhead rolls the pitiless fog, shutting out the blue > sky and the sun. It reaches to thr mountain tops on the other side of > Clogher. Still on she flies. It creeps down the hillside after her, quickly > but silently, save for themoaning of the wind through the heather. Her eyes > are on the stream. "Oh God, the stream !" . The terrible pursuer (=the fog) > is now only a few hundred yards behind, but still there is hope. On she > flies, hoping to get to the stream before the closing-in thick fog. "Oh, > Mother of Jesus, save me, save me !" With the wild prayer on her lips, the > terrified girl struggles on, desperate and panting. > (To be continued). > Riobard. > * > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in > the subject and the body of the message > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > -- *Riobard (O'Dwyer)*

The fog is terrible indeed. I got caught in it once on Miskish and might have wandered for days, but I had the dog with me and followed him. A good nose is better than a pair of eyes in it. I hope she finds the stream or help from an unexpected quarter. Maggie ----- Original Message ----- From: "Riobard O' Dwyer" <bearariobard@gmail.com> To: <beara@rootsweb.com>; <bearariobard@gmail.com> Sent: Saturday, September 01, 2012 6:34 AM Subject: [BEARA] STORY (Continued ---- 9) > *The fog was coming in rapidly from the ocean, devouring all before it. It > was like the heavy smoke of a bush fire. It advanced as a solid wall. The > fishing boats far out disappear. The broad expanse of ocean seems to > disappear away beneath it. One wing takes a stupendous sweep around by the > left, and, in a few seconds, envelops miles of capes and bays and cliffs. > The blue waters of the bay vanish. For a moment the lofty ridge of Bere > Island that bars its approach stops the treacherous, all-absorbing fog. > But > only for a moment. It quickly pours in over the lower parts and blots out > the fields and houses on the near side. It sweeps through the brown > heather. It climbs every cliff. The old Martello towers that crown the > hills of Bere Island float like derelict ships in this sea of fog. It > surges round their fountains, it flies through their glassless windows, > and > in a second they are swamped. "Oh, Father in Heaven protect me !" cries > the > terrified girl, winging her hands in despair. The strip of water > connecting > the island from the mainland is gone the next instant. The silent terrible > fog rolls in billows upon the white strand. It leaps the hedges. It scuds > along the lowlands. It flits across the farms. It rolls up along the Coom. > It breaks on the cliffs of Maulin, but is not delayed in its course. > A thought flashes upon Aileen that may save her yet. "The stream, yes, > yes, > thank God, the stream !", and she turns and flies down into Clogher > towards > the mountain brook that flows into Glenmore. If she is there in time, it > will save her. 'Twill guide her to the Glen in any fog ! She flies !, her > flight winged with fear. Rocks, boulders, ravines, are quickly passed. > The fog is at the Gap which she has just left !. It rolls up from the > rear, > sweeps around, encircles the mighty mountain peak of Maulin. Flood-like it > rises to the summit ! Maulin vanishes ! Aileen rushes headlong towards the > friendly stream. On overhead rolls the pitiless fog, shutting out the blue > sky and the sun. It reaches to thr mountain tops on the other side of > Clogher. Still on she flies. It creeps down the hillside after her, > quickly > but silently, save for themoaning of the wind through the heather. Her > eyes > are on the stream. "Oh God, the stream !" . The terrible pursuer (=the > fog) > is now only a few hundred yards behind, but still there is hope. On she > flies, hoping to get to the stream before the closing-in thick fog. "Oh, > Mother of Jesus, save me, save me !" With the wild prayer on her lips, the > terrified girl struggles on, desperate and panting. > (To be continued). > Riobard. > * > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BEARA-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message >