Great Island Archives - Tides & Tales

30/09/201606/12/2018

John Seymour – Godfather of self sufficency

We celebrated the Waterford Harvest Festival recently which had a significant input from the local Grow it Yourself GIY project. Its a philosophy that I have subscribed to with my wife Deena for many years, and I have my grandmothers generation to thank for that. But another influence was John Seymour (1914-2004) who has been called the “Godfather of Self Sufficiency” and was the author of the “Bible of Self Sufficiency”. What many apparently didn’t know, was that he lived locally here in the harbour.

A one man rowed prong on Ryans Shore

My first introduction to John was as a teenager standing on Cheekpoint Quay with my Father in autumn time. We stood watching as a Prong approached from Great Island. It was skillfully handled and because of such expertise, it gracefully entered the harbour in the village. My father went forward to take the bow line, which was thrown from out of the Prong, and up onto the quay popped an older man, but how old I could not guess. He had a craggy face, tufty white hair with a flat cap covering a balded dome and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“How are you Bob?” was his first words, and although he nodded towards me by way of a hello, he paid no interest in me but continued a wide ranging chat with my father on his spuds, the weather, local fishing and international shipping. I always marveled at my fathers ability to match anyone for discussion on a topic.

Seymour in later years

Born in England into a wealthy family he got a first class education but “turned his back on it” in favor of agriculture. At 20 he emigrated to Africa where he tried his hand at various ventures and served in WWII. He returned to England after the war, but was said to be appalled at how farming was becoming an industrial process and he rebelled against it, turning to writing and journalism to give voice to his opinions. He started a family in the mid fifties and to sustain them, he set up farming again, but on his own terms and under the principals he held dear. The concepts he espoused were articulated in over 40 books during his lifetime, but I think he is probably best known for his book “The Complete book of Self Sufficency” and here’s a you tube review. It’s claimed the book was an influence for the 70’s BBC comedy series called “The good life”

It was the first book of his that I read, and I’ve read a few since. (A full list here) If I was to try and capture the essence of what he had to say it was probably that you need to live in harmony with nature, and turn it to being your ally in the way you work. Something that is as true for fishing as it is for farming. There were some concepts that I didn’t like, for example he seemed to take a hard line with children in the garden, no messing about, which I would find to be essential. But even if you didn’t like the concept, or the have any interest in the practices, the book itself is remarkable for the images and drawings used, and for capturing a way of life that is now almost extinct.

John came to Kilowen, on the River Barrow (which is just above Great Island on the Wexford side) in 1981 and there he set up another smallholding from where he ran courses and basically lived the good life. He continued to write and make appearances (for example Michael Bance from Woodstwon did a number of pieces with him for Nationwide). But he is perhaps best known at this time for his court appearance with the “Arthurstown Seven”

In 1999, in a direct action response to the growing of genetically modified sugar beet in Wexford, John led a protest against a Monsanto product being trialed in fields near to his home. It was the first of a number of actions. When challenged in court he shrugged his shoulders, tilted his head and quipped – “t’was the fairy’s your honour”. Somehow, I don’t think I’d get away with that defense.

My knowledge of him, his books and the events with Monsanto was yet to come. As we walked to the top of the quay, Seymour headed towards the Suir Inn for a pint and I think he was disappointed we couldn’t join him. Once alone I asked my father the inevitable question, to which my father simply replied “a Brit living the good life”. On further prying they had met whilst sinking a weir up the Barrow and Seymour had rowed across to ask about the process. Walking home that evening what I had yet to realise was that by Seymours terms, we were already living the good life. In many ways including growing our own potatoes and veg, catching and eating our own fish, able to freely gather driftwood to keep the home fires burning.

I would come to live through times that would see that all turned on its head. When as a country we would know the price of everything and the value of nothing. I can only speculate that Seymore came here because he could sense that the life he thought possible, still existed in Waterford harbour. In fighting Monsanto he showed his resolve to try and protect his adopted country. Too bad, those who were born and reared here could not have done likewise.

If you have yet to read Seymour here’s a lovely flavor of his work, titled the Age of Healing
http://thehessiansack.blogspot.ie/2012/06/age-of-healing-by-john-seymour.html

I publish a blog each Friday. If you like this piece or have an interest in the local history or maritime heritage of Waterford harbour and environs you can email me at russianside@gmail.com to receive the blog every week.

My Facebook and Twitter pages are more contemporary and reflect not just heritage

and history but the daily happenings in our beautiful harbour:

F https://www.facebook.com/whtidesntales T https://twitter.com/tidesntales

27/05/201606/12/2018

Rowing to the dance

If any one thread runs between my weekly blogs, it’s the rivers. Being at the meeting place of the three sisters, the Rivers Barrow, Nore and Suir, that’s probably not a surprise. But in all those blogs, one I think has been missing, the social element of the rivers, the connections between its riverside communities and the activities it brought.

One of my earliest memories of this interconnection was as a nipper going in the punt with my Father, Bob and Uncle Sonny to a wake in Great Island, directly across the river in Co Wexford. On reaching the quayside, I recall the fear of walking on the timber slated jetty, expecting I’d trip or fall down between the gaps. Next along the old road and under the Barrow Bridge, towering above me and worrying a train might come along. All new and wondrous. Then a concreted driveway, and a sweep down to an old two storey house, the driveway of which was lined with groups, predominately of men, and we stopped and talked to all. Into the house then and I have a memory of being wrapped up in female hospitality, ushered into a kitchen and a huge fuss being made, while the men went elsewhere. Although only snatches of memory, the overall feeling was of acceptance and welcome.

My grandmother often talked about boating trips on the river and visiting “neighbours”. In her glass case she kept her mementos amongst which for years was a carefully folded piece of newspaper, upon which was a poem. Occasionally she’d take it out as she reminisced about these trips, and at some point would include her reciting these lines called Dunbrody by Kathy Leach, a contemporary of hers, who lived in the High Street, Cheekpoint.

In the springtime and in the summer, autumn
and winter too.

I can see Dunbrody Abbey, nestling close
beside the Suir;

I can see Dunbrody Abbey standing there so
quiet and still,

sorrounded by the green fields, and the
banks of Campile Pill.

How we loved the Sunday evenings in the
summer long ago;

We urged the boys to get a boat, we coaxed
them for to row.

They were great navigators, we never had a
spill.

But sure we were delighted when we got
through Campile Pill.

Then we went to see the Abbey, it looked so
peaceful there.

It is a sacred place, where holy monks did
pray.

We thought it part of heaven as we went on
our way.

Up to Horeswood Chapel, where the bell rings
every day.

When I hear the angelus bell ring, now
calling all to pray,

it brings back golden memories of bygone
happy days;

The old friends are all scattered now, some
are dead and gone.

But rememberance of Dunbrody will forever
linger on.

And of course there were events such as the regattas which I covered recently and the dances in the village. Not just in the Reading Room, but also at the cross roads and on the village green and on the strand road. I haven’t a notion how they were organised, but have no doubt but that was as easy to promote and we would find it now. Passed by boat to boat, person to person, or maybe prearranged and agreed in a cyclical fashion. Apparently they would try to match the prevailing tides and would travel the rivers to Glass house, Ballinlaw, Great Island, Campile, Ballyhack and beyond. My father told me he could recall the stage being brought from the Reading Room to the Green. Apparently a great fuss was made to have the village looking at its best. And then via the river they came, in punt prong and sailing yawl and pleasure craft and an evening of song, music and dancing was enjoyed long into the summer nights. I’ve never seen a photo of it, but below is one I came across in a book called Lismore by Eugene F Dennis, which might give a sense.

As a consequence of the fishing, the travel and the social outings the communities of the river were much closer in the past. Marriage between the villages was more common and those ties strengthened the bonds between us. My Grandmother (her Grandfather was a Malone of Clearystown below New Ross) was often to be heard commenting on the happenings over in Nuke(directly across from the Russianside, in Co Wexford). Maybe it was the Whitty’s and whether the boats were moored off, or fishing. Or compliment Mrs Murphy having the smoke out early in the morning, or maybe that there was a light on overnight in Shalloes and wondering if anyone was sick. I can often recall Josie Whitty of Nuke, who died earlier this year herself, attending local funerals in Faithlegg.

But this last generation has seen a dramatic shift in this connection to the rivers. The loss of the fishing has certainly played a decisive role, but already the old traditional ways were under threat. Perhaps even more so its being faced with so many options and activities, that the simpler pleasures have been lost. Odd when you think that we have never had such great opportunities to communicate, that those that are a little more than a half mile away now feel so distant.

My Facebook and Twitter pages are more contemporary and reflect not just heritage

and history but the daily happenings in our beautiful harbour:

F https://www.facebook.com/whtidesntales T https://twitter.com/tidesntales

04/12/201506/12/2018

Cheekpoints most notable landmark

Growing up in the Mount Avenue in the 1970’s the most notable and invasive feature on our young lives was neither the magnificent Barrow Railway viaduct, or the colliding waters of the three rivers as they met below our home. That honour, if that phrase is appropriate at all, was given to the blue and grey superstructure of Great Island Power Station, which lay directly across from our bedroom windows on the Wexford shore, and the twin chimneys that raised to 450 feet.

Great Island was an oil fuelled power generation station, owned and operated by the ESB, construction of which commenced in the spring of 1965. It was the first such station to be built outside or Dublin or Cork and at its peak would employ up to 200 people. The station opened in 1967 with one generator and work commenced soon after on a second generator, which necessitated a second chimney. This extension was completed and working by 1972. At its commercial height it would supply 20% of the nations power needs. To the right of the site, are five 17,000 ton capacity tanks for the storage of oil. To fill these tanks, a very fine jetty was installed to which tankers tied up and were unloaded by suction pumps and via pipework to the tanks.

The proposal when first mooted (around 1963) met with considerable disquiet in the community of Cheekpoint. And a deputation of fishermen travelled to Dublin to discuss and negotiate the fishermen’s concerns. The deep water jetty which would be planted smack bang in the centre of some of the best salmon driftnetting waters was the principal concern and fishermen were anxious to communicate the loss that this would bring.

A good sense here of the scale of the jetty, and how it blocked the fishery
accessed from:http://homepage.eircom.net/~horeswoodns/power_station.htm

Fishermen got little footing in Dublin however. The project was a major capital investment for the country and was seen as crucial for the developing industrial base which was a major plank of government policy. The promise of jobs however, was considered to be very real, and assurances were given that Cheekpoint men would be in a favourable position to benefit.

In the end those jobs did materialise and it was one of the reasons for example that my father returned home from sea, and it was also a factor in the return of my mother from London. They were married in the Christmas of 1964 and my father started on the building work on the station in 1965.

The jobs, however, were fleeting. Once the major construction work had ceased so did the work. A bone of contention in the community, probably still felt to this day.

Photo circa 1969 with thanks to Brenda Grogan

In the 1970’s the station was a real invasion into our lives. The lights at night shore through all but the thickest of curtains, and was one of the reasons my father planted a line of trees between the house and the river. There was an ever present humming noise, which we managed to get used to. But there was an extremely loud release of steam occasionally and also ear splitting bangs from time to time. These were bad enough during the day, but they also occurred at night/early morning and were the cause of many a night of lost sleep. (My Uncle John, a river pilot, managed to get the number of the manager of the station at one point. Any night the station started and woke his home, he’d ring up the manager. “what can I do” asked the manager, to which John replied “well if you can’t stop it, you may as well be awoken like everyone else in Cheekpoint” I thought being woken at night was bad enough, but it was only when I started drifting for salmon later in the 70’s and we were right under the station that the noise was really brought home to me.

An advert from the time with an artists sketch of the work in progress

There were several local campaigns to highlight the noise, but in those days we had limited means of recording the racket. Occasionally, a monitoring station was set up outside our home as a result of my father (amongst others) campaigning through Brian O’Shea TD. Coincidentally however, the station lay dormant until the monitoring station had been moved. It didn’t seem to be as big an issue on the Wexford side. However, noise travels more easily across water than land.

grass fire in front of the oil tanks late 1970’s
Photo credit Aidan McAlpin

The chimneys could be seen from almost any part of the area, including town and did become an identifying landmark. The red lights that shone constantly at night became a familiar feature from the river and shore, and were always intrigued to watch the work of steeplejacks scaling up the sides to replace bulbs or do other essential maintenance. However imposing they looked from a distance to be standing under them was awe inspiring, and you felt like the whole structure was tumbling down upon you, when you looked up. I’d never make a steeplejack.

As early as 2000 there was speculation that the station would have to close as a result of deregulation in the power industry and concerns about the commercial viability, pollution and cost of oil, used in stations such as Great Island.

Appropriately named Grizzly at Great Island from News & Star dated Fri 11aug 1995.
In the news following the death of two tug boat men who were helping in berthing the tanker.
Mickey Aspel and Johnny Lacey were their names. RIP

I had a mixed reaction to news that it might close. Along the way there were some concerns that an Incinerator could be located on the site. The fact that it was such a fine site with deep water access made it a very important, strategic location. The announcement of the sale of the station to a Spanish power generation company Endessa sent shivers through the village I think. For the state to sell off such a site made little sense in the long term. Construction of a new gas fired station, which commenced in 2012 and officially opened in June this year brought the possibility that the old station would finally be knocked along with the chimneys. It’s currently owned by Scottish company SSE Airtricity. I wonder how many others will feature in the stations story in the coming years.

Several years back Julian Walton, at the launch of the Development Groups booklet on local history, stated that the chimneys were a local landmark, and would in time become as important as the church to the local built heritage. Many scoffed at the notion. However, after living under their shadow, smoke and warning beacons for most of my life, I think I would miss them not lighting the night sky. In the end, like so much in the Ireland of present, I guess it will all be reduced down to pounds, shilling and pence matters, rather than any thought for built heritage. Mind you, a similar landmark in Dublin, the Poolbeg chimneys, have been retained because of their iconic status.

My Facebook and Twitter pages are more contemporary and reflect not just heritage

and history but the daily happenings in our beautiful harbour:

F https://www.facebook.com/whtidesntales T https://twitter.com/tidesntales