![Aran Islands: on the road to Synge’s Chair, on Inishmaan. Photograph: Andy Haslam/New York Times Aran Islands: on the road to Synge’s Chair, on Inishmaan. Photograph: Andy Haslam/New York Times](https://www.irishtimes.com/polopoly_fs/1.3626912.1536763406!/image/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/box_620_330/image.jpg)
Aran Islands: on the road to Synge’s Chair, on Inishmaan. Photograph: Andy Haslam/New York Times
Aran Islands: on the road to Synge’s Chair, on Inishmaan. Photograph: Andy Haslam/New York Times
Aran Islands: on the road to Synge’s Chair, on Inishmaan. Photograph: Andy Haslam/New York Times
It was Richie Connor in the early 1990s who first introduced me to the concept. For the Offaly team he captained, ultimately to the 1982 All-Ireland, beating Dublin in the 1980 Leinster final had he said been their most significant achievement.
This was because winning the province represented a longer journey from where the team under Eugene McGee had started than the distance from there to the Sam Maguire.
Maybe the reasoning was slightly different in Clare but it amounted to the same thing. In the few weeks that shimmered in the radiant summer of 1995 between winning Munster and the All-Ireland semi-final against Galway, manager Ger Loughnane was certainly of that view.
“In Clare, Munster is the Mount Everest. All along Munster was what was talked about. I remember stopping Nenagh on the way back from the League final and a man saying, ‘if only we could win Munster once, it would make up for everything’.
“The reaction to our winning Munster has been far greater than what would happen in other counties if they won an All-Ireland.”
Clare had got to the stage where they were being upstaged by their footballers whose first Munster title since 1917 had been sensationally won in 1992 leaving the hurlers by-passed.
Anthony Daly, prominent in 1995 as the exuberant captain of the hurlers, remembered the big-ball community’s notions. He went to support the footballers in their All-Ireland semi-final against Dublin three years previously. In a bar beforehand he was mocked for band-wagoning.
“Do you go to our matches at all,” asks Daly.
“I do, I do,” comes the response.
“And when you do, does anyone ever tell you to f*** off back to west Clare?”
Boom, boom.
Twenty-five years ago today (Thursday) the county hurlers climbed Everest and in unexpected style. Clare had qualified for a third successive Munster final but the previous two, against Limerick and Tipperary had ended in heavy defeats.
This season would be different. Loughnane’s elevation from selector to manager crystallised the potential that his predecessor Len Gaynor had harnessed to reach Munster finals in 1993 and ‘94. They had taken the lessons of losing to a Zen level.
I remember seeing Loughnane and his selectors Mike McNamara and Tony Considine sitting in the Queens Hotel in Ennis after a league match with a fairly full-strength Tipperary.
They were super-pleased with the win, one of a number of markers laid down in a season that ended with defeat in the final against Kilkenny after which the manager famously declared that they would win Munster. The approach had been clear: find some new players, get incredibly fit and start beating likely rivals.
The winter had been a time of slog under McNamara’s fundamentalist training but the late spring with its brightening nights would be a time for sharpening the hurling and adding speed to their playbook.
“In a way the League final was the best thing that happened us,” said Loughnane after the provincial success. “All the old failings were there. We were too tense: all frenzy, no method. We were going to have to use our heads. If we’d won the League we definitely wouldn’t have won the Munster championship.”
Limerick were in a valley season between two demoralising All-Ireland final defeats but were raging favourites, having beaten Tipperary while Clare had laboured to get past Cork.
Clare also had their past, 11 Munster final defeats since the previous win in 1932 and well beaten by Limerick the previous year. The League final defeat a mere two months previously didn’t help the argument that the team had the ability to win big matches.
As a match it doesn’t look great these days. There are too many errors and too much imprecision in the play. Limerick look lethargic and off-key. They play the first half with the advantage of a strong wind but trail at half-time.
In a low-scoring, scrappy affair Clare aren’t doing themselves justice either but for a team,who had been trimmed in their previous finals they’re hanging in there for most of the first half. In other words the match isn’t getting away from them, either - which is an improvement on the recent past.
Goalkeeper Davy Fitzgerald’s expertly hit penalty edges Clare in front and tactically they have taken a grip. Fitzgerald is also excellent in goal producing a couple of saves that prevent Limerick from getting too involved.
Ollie Baker, of whom a lot had been expected when he was drafted into the team for the league, has a non-stop match, physically overshadowing the powerful Limerick pairing of Mike Houlihan and Seán O’Neill and beside him James O’Connor overcomes a difficult start and is on to everything, fast and fluent.
His six points include four from play and his only failure of marksmanship is a shot that hits the post late in the match. PJ O’Connell also gets four from play but is selected as MOTM for the job done on disorientating Ciarán Carey with his constant movement.
“I knew I had to keep Ciarán Carey away from the puck-outs,” he says afterwards, “so I kept him running around. I had done a lot of work for this and I knew I would not get winded or caught for pace. I just kept running him and I could see it was having an effect.”
Seán McMahon broke his collarbone in the semi-final against Cork and returns for the final a week earlier than ideal but thrives as Gary Kirby, who had destroyed him a year previously, falters.
Clare’s grip tightens. Limerick manage just four points in the second half, as the winners pull away steadily.
It’s a stunning win - a tribute to Loughnane, who in the years before the acid erosion of controversies and fallings-out is a charismatic leader, whose prescriptions were single-mindedly adopted by the players and embraced by the Clare public.
“The feeling was that at long last a barrier had been broken,” he said before the All-Ireland semi-final. “The atmosphere in the county was incredible. It was great for the footballers a couple of years ago but they hadn’t been waiting and failing the way the hurlers had for years and years and years. It was very emotional, more because it was so unexpected after Limerick trouncing Clare last year. A good few didn’t even go to Thurles because they were afraid.”
For those few weeks, they are on the cusp of history, something almost spiritual. In the week before the Galway semi-final, Loughnane recounted how he had happened upon a car accident.
He hurries to check on the elderly motorist, who is shaken but not injured. They are joined by a third man.
“This other fella is looking at me and says, ‘Ger, isn’t it?’ I said, ‘yes’ and he says to the poor old man: ‘It’s Ger Loughnane! Isn’t that enough to make you better?’”
A nurse arrives with the ambulance and pauses to comment.
“I hope everything’s right for Sunday.”
Need she have asked in that summer of summers?
Bunratty Mead is a traditional wine, produced from an ancient Irish recipe of pure honey, fruit of the vine and natural herbs. It's a medium sweet wine, with a wide taste appeal, and suitable for all important occasions. As the drink of the ancient Celts, Mead derives much of its appeal through Irish Folklore, which is legendary of this mystical drink with strong attachments to Ireland.
In the days of old when knights were bold, the drink of choice was mead. Much more than an extraordinary legendary drink with strong attachments to Ireland, mead can be traced back as many centuries before Christ. It became the chief drink of the Irish and was often referred to in Gaelic poetry. Mead's influence was so great that the halls of Tara, where the High Kings of Ireland ruled, were called the house of the Mead Circle. Its fame spread quickly and soon a medieval banquet was not complete without it. |
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Even the church recognised the value of this fabulous drink. Legend has it that St. Finian lived for six days a week on bread and water, but on Sundays ate salmon and drank a full sup of mead. In addition, St. Bridget performed a miracle when mead could not be located for the king of Leinster. She blessed an empty vessel, which miraculously filled with Mead. |
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The ballad is named after a crossroads between Ennis and Tulla in east Clare, the site of a centuries-old horse fair held every June. In 1870 a young man from the locality, Michael Considine, bade farewell to his sweetheart Mary McNamara and left for the US. He hoped to earn sufficient money to enable her to join him.
However, he died in California in 1873. Before his death he wrote a poem dedicated to Mary which he posted to his six-year-old nephew, John, back home.
Seventy years later McMahon was given the words at a house party. His singing of the ballad was warmly received by those in attendance, who included the author’s nephew, then an elderly man.
Many singers have recorded the ballad, but McMahon insisted his was the authentic version. He told The Irish Times in 2006: “Nowadays the song is not sung correctly. Many singers put words that are not in it [at] all, singing stuff like ‘Johnny, I love you still’. There’s no ‘Johnny’ in that song.” The late writer Bryan MacMahon was an early admirer of his namesake’s talent and had high praise for his ability as a performer and entertainer.
Singer Maura O’Connell warmed to Robbie McMahon’s “great big personality”, and said that he made Spancil Hill his own.
Born in 1926, he was the third youngest of 11 children, one of whom died in childhood, and grew up on his father’s farm in Clooney, near Ennis. There was music in the family, and all the children sang. Young Robbie was something of a mischief-maker, hence the title of an album he recorded later in life – The Black Sheep.
He began singing in public at the age of 18, and went on to win 16 all-Ireland titles at fleadhanna around the country. In the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s he toured Britain and the US with a troupe of traditional musicians under the auspices of Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann.
As a songwriter, he is best known for the Fleadh Down in Ennis, which celebrates the 1956 all-Ireland fleadh cheoil. Other compositions include Come on the Banner, the Red Cross Social and the Feakle Hurlers, in honour of the 1988 Clare county champions.
A lilter, he was renowned for his performance of the Mason’s Apron, in which he simulated the sound of both the fiddle and accompanying banjo.
Possessed of a store of jokes, ranging from the hilarious to the unprintable, he was as much a character as a singer and was more comfortable with the craic and banter of casual sessions than with formal concerts.
He was the subject of a film documentary Last Night As I Lay Dreaming. Clare County Council hosted a civic reception in his honour in 2010, and he was the recipient of the Fleadh Nua Gradam Ceoil in 2011.
He is survived by his wife Maura, daughters Fiona, Noleen and Dympna and son Donal.
A quarter of a century after it first aired, Father Ted, one of television’s most loved sitcoms, has officially stamped itself on popular culture.
Ireland’s post service, An Post, issued a set of stamps on Thursday to celebrate its characters and one-liners and to mark the show’s 25thanniversary.
Phrases forever associated with Craggy Island, the fictional home of three wayward priests and their housekeeper, now adorn four stamps: “That’s mad, Ted”, “Will you have a cup of tea, Father?”, “That money was just resting in my account” and “That would be an ecumenical matter”.
Retro wallpaper in the background of each stamp matches different rooms in the parochial house where Fr Ted, Fr Dougal, Fr Jack and Mrs Doyle played out surreal scenes that entered comedy lore.
“I don’t think until today it has sunk in what a huge thing it is, what an honour,” Pauline McLynn, who played Mrs Doyle, told the Guardian. “How many people do you know can say ‘I was once on a stamp’?”
The writers, cast and crew never imagined that the show, which ran for three seasons from 1995 to 1998, would become so popular or enduring, said the actor.
“I often wonder about the staying power. It’s incredibly stupid and properly funny. We made it 25 years ago and now kids are still finding it incredibly funny. You always hope that things you’re proud of will last the test of time.”
Written by Graham Linehan and Arthur Matthews, Father Ted was made by Hat Trick Productions for Channel 4. It won multiple awards including Baftas and rivals Fawlty Towers and Seinfeld for funniest comedy in viewer polls.
In a survey commissioned by An Post, more than a third of respondents said they cited lines from the show on a weekly basis. Best-loved episodes included Hell, Speed 3, Kicking Bishop Brennan up the Arse and A Song For Europe.
Pandemic lockdowns and restrictions had increased appreciation for letters and postcards, said McLynn. “Weirdly now is an excellent time to launch the stamps.”
The actor experienced a Ted-esque moment on Thursday when an RTÉ radio interviewer said the nation looked forward to licking her and putting her on an envelope. She looked forward to it too, she replied.
“I can’t believe he went there,” she said later. The stamps were self-adhesive but McLynn wondered if An Post could issue some lickable ones. “Maybe collectors’ items.”
Period | Sponsor(s) | Name |
---|---|---|
1887−1994 | No main sponsor | The All-Ireland Championship |
1995−2007 | ![]() |
The Guinness Hurling Championship |
2008−2009 | ![]() ![]() ![]() |
The GAA Hurling All-Ireland Championship |
2010−2012 | ![]() ![]() ![]() |
The GAA Hurling All-Ireland Championship |
2013−2016 | ![]() ![]() ![]() |
The GAA Hurling All-Ireland Championship |
2017−2019 | ![]() ![]() ![]() |
The GAA Hurling All-Ireland Championship |