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Robbie McMahon(1926-2012)-The Man from Spancil Hill, Ennis, Co. Clare

When Robbie McMahon sings “Spancil Hill”, it all falls into place. There have been so many versions of this powerful ballad that it becomes easy to forget who was there first.

Spancil Hill is a small cross-roads on the road between Ennis and Tulla in East Clare.

In 1870, a young man from the neighbourhood called Michael Considine took leave of his childhood sweetheart Mary McNamara and voyaged for America. It was his intention to earn sufficient money to enable Mary to join him in due course.

Tragically Michael fell mortally ill in California and died in 1873. Before he passed away, he wrote an extraordinary poem, dedicated to Mary, which he posted back to his 6-year-old nephew John in Spancil Hill. The poem began:

 Last night as I lay dreaming of the pleasant days gone by,

My mind being bent on rambling, to Erin’s Isle I did fly.

I stepped on board a vision and sailed out with a will,

Till I gladly came to anchor at the Cross of Spancil Hill.

Fast forward to 1943 and 16-year-old Robbie McMahon is enjoying a musical evening with friends. Moira Keane, the woman of the house, calls him aside and shows him Considine’s words. Robbie reads them, clears his throat and then unleashes his unique rendition of the now immortal ballad. Amongst those listening is an old man by name of John Considine, nephew of the author himself.

The past resurrects itself as we walk around Robbie’s farm and he points out the cottage where ‘the Taylor Quigley lived’, not to mention ‘Mack the Ranger’s daughter’ (aka Mary MacNamara) and the Considines themselves. Back at the house and our bellies full of hot tea and soda bread, we are treated to the spectacle of Robbie belting out all eleven verses of the ballad. The sky outside is black and wet. Robbie’s voice is spine-rattlingly hypnotic, like pebbles skittering across the water. As verse after verse sets sail from his lips, the epic, entrancing effect is heightened by the persistent rat-a-tat-tat of his palm on his thigh.

Not a lot goes on in Spancil Hill these days but it’s where Robbie has always lived. He is the third youngest of eleven children. His father was a farmer from the Clooney parish outside Ennis. His mother hailed from Crusheen, a village on the Clare – Galway border. Aside from a sister who died young, the family grew up close and happy. Robbie was a passionate hurler and loved the music. ‘The whole lot of us could sing’, says Robbie. He was always the mischief maker of the family, ultimately providing him with the title for his album ‘The Black Sheep’.

There can be little doubting Robbie’s legendary status in the world of traditional Irish music. With his 80th birthday looming into sight, he maintains plenty enough sparkle in his eyes for radio stations and billboards to delight in announcing his anticipated presence at festivals throughout the west. The awards and acclamations have been rolling in at least since 1956 when he won his first All-Ireland title for singing. He recalls the subsequent evening with a hearty laugh – a raucous session of pints in Duggan’s and an old man growling ‘why can’t you sing like your father’. He has since won a further sixteen All Ireland titles for both singing and lilting. “The Fleadh down in Ennis”, his anthemic song about the 1956 Fleadh Ceol, is nearly as well known as his rendition of ‘Spancil Hill’.

During the 50s, 60s and 70s, Robbie spent several months at a time touring dancehalls, theatres and pubs across the British Isles and North America. ‘There was a group of about twenty of us that would go around. Musicians and maybe a story-teller or two. I always did the solo’. There is something particularly wonderful when this quiet Clare farmer recounts memories of Montreal, Minnesota, Detroit and New York. His eyes have taken in a good deal in their time.

He revels in his role as guardian to Considine’s ballad. ‘How many times have I sung it? Well, it must be getting close to ten thousands times?’ One senses he’s never far from breaking into a lilt. He frequently cracks jokes, some hilarious, a few unprintable. His anecdotes are filled with memories of the greats – Willie Clancy, for whom the Miltown Malbay Festival is named; the Pecker Dunn who sang about “The Myxomatosis Rabbit”; the concertina Chris Droney; the Tulla Céilí Band; Willie Keane of Doonbeg and so forth.

But for all that he is a bashful, modest soul and he actually blushes when recalling the time in October 2002 when he came home to find his entire community turning out for a weekend of traditional singing in his honour. ‘I saw thousands of cars parked everywhere and I wondered what was it all about!’

Robbie is married to Maura and has four children, two of whom now live in New Zealand. He goes for a walk every day, lilting as he strolls, his dog Macko running ahead, across the land he inherited from his father. Robbie leases the farm out now but retains a small patch for growing vegetables – carrots, onions, potatoes and parsnips. On occasion he will venture to the pubs in the county to hear a session and ‘I suppose I might sing “Spancil Hill” again if they ask me’.

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The legend that was Robbie McMahon passed away on 13th December 2012. He was buried in Kilraghtas Cemetery, following a funeral mass at Clooney Church.

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All four ‘Vanishing Ireland’ are available via Amazon.

 Last night as I lay dreaming, of the pleasant days gone by,

My mind being bent on rambling and to Erin’s Isle I did fly.

I stepped on board a vision and sailed out with a will,

‘Till I gladly came to anchor at the Cross of Spancilhill.

Enchanted by the novelty, delighted with the scenes,

Where in my early childhood, I often times have been.

I thought I heard a murmur, I think I hear it still,

‘Tis that little stream of water at the Cross of Spancilhill.

And to amuse my fancy, I lay upon the ground,

Where all my school companions, in crowds assembled ’round.

Some have grown to manhood, while more their graves did fill,

Oh I thought we were all young again, at the Cross of Spancilhill.

It being on a Sabbath morning, I thought I heard a bell,

O’er hills and valleys sounded, in notes that seemed to tell,

That Father Dan was coming, his duty to fulfill,

At the parish church of Clooney, just one mile from Spancilhill.

And when the sermon ended, we all knelt down in prayer,

In hopes for to be ready, to climb the Golden Stair.

And when back home returning, we danced with right good will,

To Martin Moilens music, at the Cross of Spancilhill.

It being on the twenty third of June, the day before the fair,

Sure Erin’s sons and daughters, they all assembled there.

The young, the old, the stout and the bold, they came to sport and kill,

What a curious combination, at the Fair of Spancilhill.

I went into my old home, as every stone can tell,

The old boreen was just the same, and the apple tree over the well,

I miss my sister Ellen, my brothers Pat and Bill,

Sure I only met my strange faces at my home in Spancilhill.

I called to see my neighbors, to hear what they might say,

The old were getting feeble, and the young ones turning grey.

I met with tailor Quigley, he’s as brave as ever still,

Sure he always made my breeches when I lived in Spancilhill.

I paid a flying visit, to my first and only love,

She’s as pure as any lilly, and as gentle as a dove.

She threw her arms around me, saying Mike I love you still,

She is Mack the Rangers daughter, the Pride of Spancilhill.

I thought I stooped to kiss her, as I did in days of yore,

Says she Mike you’re only joking, as you often were before,

The cock crew on the roost again, he crew both loud and shrill,

And I awoke in California, far far from Spancilhill.

But when my vision faded, the tears came in my eyes,

In hope to see that dear old spot, some day before I die.

May the Joyous King of Angels, His Choicest Blessings spill,

On that Glorious spot of Nature, the Cross of Spancilhill.

 

Permission to post this article was given by the Clooneydevelopement Group who can be reached on facebook –  @clooneyspancilhillcommunitydevelopmentgroup

What did the Anglo Normans ever do for us?

We are well aware of the impact of the Anglo-Norman invasion on our history, the undermining of Gaelic society and the replacement of our native structures. Poor old Diarmuid MacMurrough takes a lot of blame for all of this, despite the fact that Henry II in England had already sought and had been given approval by Pope Adrian to invade and civilise us. Henry was just waiting to finish his war in France before sorting us out!

Anyway, in they came, conquered, settled, married and eventually becoming more Irish than even ourselves, ‘níos gaelaí ná na Gaeil féin’! But besides building towns and castles, robbing our women (and probably taking our jobs!), what did the Anglo-Normans do for us – if anything?

Well, for one, they gave us a whole new suite of names, both forename and surname, to choose from.

The Norman influence on Irish surnames

Following the invasion of 1169, a large number of Anglo-French first and last names entered into Ireland. Many, such as Power, Browne, Fleming, Joyce, Burke, Barry, Costello, Nagle, Nugent, D’arcy, Roche and Walsh/Welsh/Wallace, are nowadays considered Irish and are commonly found in Clare. So, too, are those with the Fitz prefix such as Fitzmaurice, Fitzgerald, Fitzgibbon and Fitzpatrick which most people would regard as Irish as the shamrock. Fitz, meaning ‘son of’, can be considered the Norman version of Mac (it derives from the Latin/French ‘fils de’, meaning ‘son of’). Burke came from de Burgh, Roche from de Roiste, Power from de Paor.

In 1366, a law was passed that “Every Englishman do use the English language, and be named by an English name, leaving off entirely the manner of naming used by the Irish.” This was introduced to dissuade the settlers from adopting Celtic prefixes or forms of surname. It didn’t have much affect as many settler families added Mac or ‘O’ and Norman names evolved into an Irish form (eg McHenry, McArthur).

In 1465 a law was passed enacting “that every Irishman that dwells betwixt or amongst Englishmen in the County of Dublin, Myeth, Vriell, and Kildare … shall take to him an English Surname of one town, as Sutton, Chester, Trym, Skryne, Corke, Kinsale; or colour, as white, blacke, browne; or arte or science, as smith or carpenter; or office, as cooke, butler ….”

Many of the trades of the early medieval period such as Archer, Butler, Cooper, Carpenter, Draper, Skinner, Tanner found their way into our surnames. Other introductions from this period came from the mercenary soldiers who accompanied the Norman invasion: Walsh (meaning Welsh), Joyce and Fleming (from Flemish mercenaries) are examples.

Incidentally, the Normans usually took their surnames from the place of their family origins. So, D’arcy originates in Arcy in Normandy. De Clare originates in Clare in Suffolk where the Anglo-Norman family were based. While De indicated their place of origin, Le was used to describe them, eg Le Poer meant ‘a poor person’.

De Burgh – Burke – from a placename in Suffolk, France

Le Botilier – Butler – Occupation bottle steward

De Barra – Barry – from an estate in Wales

Le Waleys – Walsh – the Welshmen

De Angulo – Costello/Nangle – from Nangle Pembrokeshire

What of their influence on forenames?

 Many of the Normans forenames introduced here were of a biblical or European saintly origin.

 In 1922, Reverend Patrick Woulfe wrote extensively on the topic of Irish name origins as follows:

In the same manner Norman and English names became current in Irish families during the thirteenth and subsequent centuries. These have now almost completely supplanted the old Gaelic names. The names borne by the Normans and by them introduced into Ireland, were of three kinds :

 (1) names of Scandinavian origin which their ancestors had carried with them to Normandy ;

(2) names of Germanic origin which the Frankish conquerors had brought across the Rhine and which had ousted the old Celtic and Latin names from France ; and

(3) Biblical names and Latin and Greek names of saints,, which the Normans began to adopt about the beginning of the eleventh century.

Together with these came in a few Celtic names from Brittany, a small number of Anglo-Saxon names, some Danish and Norse names from England, and one or two British or Welsh names. These were nearly all very rare and most of them soon died out. Of the Anglo-Saxon names, only two, Edmund and Edward, survived. Alfred has been revived in recent times. At the period of the Invasion, Frankish names were by far the most popular among the Normans, but Biblical and saintly names were coming rapidly into favour.

The following is a list, in order of frequency, of the more common names borne by the early Anglo- Norman invaders, the Biblical and saintly names of Latin and Greek origin being printed in italics :

William, Robert, Richard, John, Walter, Roger, Ralph, Adam, Hugh, Henry, Thomas, Nicholas, Gilbert, Geoffrey, Elias, Peter (Piers), Osbert, Reginald, Jordan, Simon, Alan, Stephen, Philip, David, Arnold, Alexander, Laurence, Baldwin, Herbert, Martin, Maurice, Godfrey, Andrew, Alfred, James, Samson, Turstein, Warin, Ailward, Daniel, Edward, Gregory, Bernard, Benedict, Hamon, Matthias, Michael, Gerard, Gervase, Lambert, Wilkin, Patrick, Edmund, Edwin, Hubert, Ivor, Joseph, Oliver, Mark.

 The following in alphabetical order were rare :

 Abraham, Adelard, Ailmer, Antony, Augustine, Brian, Clement, Constantine, Estmund, Eustace, Everard, Gocelin, Isaac, Leonard, Luke, Matthew, Miles, Milo, Odo, Osbern, Osmund, Pagan, Ponce, Randulf, Redmund, Rodulf, Silvester, Turold, Ulf, Vincent.

 The following names only came in, or at least became popular, at a later period :

Bartholomew, Christopher, Francis, Gerald, George, Paul, Roland, Theobald.

 Women’s names among the Normans were nearly all of the Biblical or saintly class:

 Agnes, Alice, Amelina, Anastasia, Annabella, Catherine, Cecily, Christina, Dorothy, Egidia, Eleanor, Evelyn, Frances, Honora, Isabella, Johanna, Matilda, Margaret, Susanna.

 The name Mary does not seem to have come into use in Ireland before the end of the16th century. Brigid only began to be used about the same period.

 

Extracted from ‘Sloinnte Gaedheal is Gall’, Patrick Woulfe 1922

Out with the old, in with the new

The Anglo-Normans also brought with them new animal species such as the rabbit and fallow deer, new foods such as wheat, orchard fruits, mutton and farming practices such as hay-making. They introduced us to continental European religious saints and practices of the Roman Church. European religious orders soon followed such as the Franciscans, Augustinians, Cistercians, Dominicans etc. These replaced the structures of the native Irish Christian Church.

Up to then, the Irish natives did not adopt the name of saints as they considered this to be placing themselves on a par with the saint. Such naming convention was reserved for those of higher status in the monasteries. This was circumvented by use of the prefix Maol or Giolla meaning follower or servant. The Normans changed all of that and it was now acceptable to be called Peter, James, Michael, John, Mary, Brigid or Margaret.

Very few of us to this day do not have either a forename or surname that is not of Norman origin. Eventually, arising from the Gaelic Revival in the late 19th century, new Irish language versions of these forenames appeared such as Séan, Seamus, Peadar, Máire, Bríd, Mícheál, Cathal and many more appeared.

The Irish Church did not condemn the practice of slave-trading by the Irish until the invasion by the Anglo-Normans and the encroachment of the Roman Church. The story of Patrick (Patricius, son of a Roman administrator), which was introduced here after the Norman conquest, presents the native Irish as uncivilised pagan slavers who needed to be brought to heel. So the Normans inadvertently gave us our native saint and a forename for a good chunk of our population for generations following.

Out with the new, in with the old

Children are rarely given these European saint names today. Authentic Gaelic forenames are much more popular. We are nevertheless, unlikely to see the demise of the Anglo-Normans surnames that were introduced here. But all of us Mikes, Jimmies, Johnnys, Paddys, Kittys, Cathys, Maggies and Bridies can thank the Normans for what they brought us!