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Irish Times
4 days ago
- Irish Times
Remembering Ballinspittle and the moving statue
Queuing for flat whites and skinny lattes being served through a street-facing hatch from a 'boutique' bakery in the small village of Ballinspittle, customers were there on a recent Saturday morning for their coffee fix rather than a gawk at the statue of Our Lady. Mention the 'moving statue' in the village and folk smile benignly but don't seem interested in talking about the phenomenon. Forty years ago, on July 22, 1985, a 17-year-old local girl, who was in the company of family members and a few neighbours, said she saw the statue of Our Lady, in the grotto just outside Ballinspittle at Sheehy's Cross, move. It was shortly after 10pm. Little did Claire O'Mahony know what she had unleashed while on a walk with a stop-off for prayers at the grotto. Thousands of both the curious, and the religious, descended on Ballinspittle, close to Kinsale in south west County Cork, to witness for themselves this oddity. READ MORE It was the start of a bizarre summer (also remembered for its poor weather) with at least another 30 sightings around the country of statues of Our Lady and other venerables 'moving'. On August 15th, the feast of the Assumption, gardaí estimated more than15,000 people came to Ballinspittle. I was working in the newsroom (a desultory portakabin) of ERI, a Cork pirate radio station at the time. We drove down in the station's van to the scene of the headline-grabbing silly story one evening to report on it. The place was thronged. The grotto is in a natural amphitheatre and the source of all the fuss stands 30 feet above eye-level with a halo of light bulbs around her head. Opposite the grotto is a sloping hill where we perched up among the hordes, recording vox pops. The next morning, live on air, chatting to presenter John Creedon (who was to go onto better things at RTÉ) I declared that I had seen the statue move. It wasn't a complete bid for attention. I actually did experience what the psychology department at Univesity College Cork(yes, the heavy hitters were roped in by the media) described as an optical illusion. Stare at something static long enough at dusk and you will perceive what appears to be movement. And those twinkling lights around the Blessed Virgin's head helped. But that didn't dampen spirits. A letter writer to the then Cork Examiner bemoaned the 'atheist mods' who dismissed the religious fervour and said that the moving statue was a sign sent to strengthen the nation's faith. Psychiatrist Dr Anthony Clare gave his opinion in the Irish Press, saying that the sighting in Ballinspittle 'occurs late in the evening to women of great religious devotion'. Others argued that the phenomenon was a response to an existential angst, exacerbated by the Cold War. And there was the stark reality of unemployment in Ireland at the time at 17per cent. Sociological factors explaining moving statues can be as relevant as deeply held religious conviction. Whatever the reasons, the world's media was enthralled by the story at Ballinspittle. Locals featured on the BBC's Newsnight. And in 2010, Terry Wogan visited the grotto to record a piece about it for a BBC show. Not everyone was charmed by the goings-on at the site of religious fervour and, no doubt, some mockery too. The Ballinspittle statue was vandalised by protestors against idolatry, led by Robert Draper who was found guilty of smashing other statues and went on to do six months in prison. The Ballinspittle statue was repaired. Today, the well-tended grotto includes a rail on which dozens of sets of Rosary beads hang. There is a caretaker's hut but no sign of life in it. There is out-of-date information about rosary gatherings for the month of May. A woman I spoke to who lives in Ballinspittle said that she sometimes hears the rosary being recited from the grotto, relayed by loudhailers. It sure makes a change from having your evening punctuated by social media alerts. Can you imagine the level of digital manipulation that would have been applied to photographs of statues of Our Lady had the internet been around four decades ago? After dropping into a few shops in Ballinspittle (including two great craft stores), and annoying the staff as I tried to extract moving statue lore from them, my companion said she needed to use the loo, so we left. First though, we drove back to the grotto where toilets had been installed to cater for pilgrims. They are in a grim grey-painted concrete building but a sign says they are out of service. A metaphor, perhaps, for the waning faith of the populace?
Daily Mail
06-07-2025
- Daily Mail
Mother-of-two dies after being knocked down and run over by 'parked car that unexpectedly moved'
An Irish mother-of-two who was hit by a parked car that 'unexpectedly' moved has died after 11 days in hospital. Denise Morey, from Knocknaheeney, County Cork, was severely injured after she was struck on Popham's Road in Farranree, Cork City on June 23. Ms Morey, who was in her 60s, had parked her SUV on Pophams Road, which is on a steep hill, but the car suddenly moved and ran over her. Emergency services rushed to the scene where they treated Ms Morey before taking her to Cork University Hospital. She was later transferred to the Intensive Care Unit, where she succumbed to her injuries on Friday. A death notice issued by her family said Ms Morey died 'peacefully, after a tragic accident, in the presence of her loving family and in the tender and in the tender and exceptional care of the ICU Ward at Cork University Hospital'. She was described as the 'dearly beloved wife of Billy, much loved mother of Samantha and the late Bernard and adored nan of Nicole, Reece, Zach and Jake.' 'Sadly missed by her loving husband, family, brothers, sisters, relatives, neighbours and a close circle of friends', the notice added. Tributes have poured in for the mother-of-two from her loved ones. One mourning friend said: 'Denis was salt of the earth and such a lovely, lovely person. May she rest in peace.' Another said: 'Denise was a kind lay with a big heart, may er gentle soul rest in eternal peace'.
The Guardian
27-06-2025
- The Guardian
Giving back to the land: an off-grid eco-guesthouse in a ‘quietly radical corner' of south-west Ireland
The drive south through County Cork grew prettier with every turn. From Gougane Barra, where a tiny chapel sits at the lake's edge, the road winds through old rebel country, into deep forests where foxgloves bloom along the mountainside. Bantry House – a magnificent estate overlooking a lovely bay – marked our path toward Ballydehob, West Cork's boho village just north of the Mizen Head peninsula. It's a suitably impressive setting for Native, a new off-grid eco-guesthouse just a stone's throw from the village. The brainchild of Didi Ronan (who previously worked in public policy and the music industry) and husband Simon (who runs the sustainable landscape architect studio SRLA), the aim was to create somewhere that has a positive impact on both the environment and local community. Previously a derelict farmhouse, the chic three-bedroom B&B, set in beautiful gardens, celebrates Ireland's craft heritage, too. From the communal living room – with its art books and antique maps – to the timber-clad garden sauna, every element is carefully considered. The bedrooms lean into a modern-meets-vernacular aesthetic, with muted tones and tactile textures. Ours opens on to a private patio, and above the bed are hundreds of vintage National Geographic magazines – collected by Didi's grandmother – arranged in artful symmetry across a bespoke bookshelf. Over dinner, a delicate crab risotto with fresh farm greens (evening meals, booked in advance, are intimate home-cooked affairs), the couple share their vision. Sparked by a flash of clarity Simon had while designing high-end eco-resorts in the Maldives, when the true cost of tourism on Indigenous land and ecology became unavoidable, they began dreaming of a new kind of hospitality. 'Could a hotel not only tread lightly, but also give back to the land?' they wondered. Sustainability is baked into the whole project, from the build to what they do with their profits. Instead of conventional plaster, Didi chose hemp – a more natural alternative – while Simon ensured that every existing material was reused, from the original foundations to the retaining walls. Two new cabins opening this summer aim to be the 'gold standard in sustainable architecture', made of local timber, hemp and wood wool fibre. A newly restored barn will open as a creative hub for workshops, natural wine tastings, and collaborations with foragers and craftspeople, too. But perhaps most impressive of all is that 20% of Native's profits go directly to their 75-acre rewilding site nearby – a living laboratory of native tree planting, invasive species removal, and ecological education. Guests are encouraged to visit – and the next day we drive 10 minutes along winding roads and walk across fields, their dog, Peig, darting ahead through rushes and briars, to learn more. 'First, you eradicate invasive species. Then you conserve what you have, protect it from overgrazing, and then plant native trees to help things along,' Simon says. At the ridge, the land opens into a sweep of sea and scattered islands. Below us lies Roaringwater Bay; behind, the skeletal remains of an old cottage clings to the earth. Didi gestures toward a patch of young trees. 'The problem is huge – biodiversity, climate – but the solution's simple: trees, wetlands, space.' We carry on down towards an artificial lake, where dragonflies hover and moorhens skitter through the reeds. There we meet Sam Keane, a coastal forager and artist who runs immersive coastal tours guests can book, unlocking the powers of the sea, and demonstrating the tastes and powerful healing properties of seaweed and other ocean plant life. Native is just a short stroll from the heart of Ballydehob, a village of just a few hundred but with plenty of pubs, and later that day I wander the pretty streets, soaking up a different kind of energy: human, social, alive. It's a place that over-delivers, not in size but in spirit. At Levis Corner House the Wednesday market spills out on to the street. The heart of a thriving community, Levis is a pub, concert venue that hosts live performances from behind the old shop counter, and essentially a welcoming village living room. There's a lively art scene here too. The late potters Christa Reichel and Nora Golden helped found the local craft movement in the 1970s, still seen in venues like The Working Artist Studios on Main Street, and in the homegrown ceramics, textiles and artisan food shops crammed between colourful pub fronts and gable-end murals. It's a village that's hard to leave, but the next day I set out to explore the area further. A 12-arch viaduct from the old rail line arcs across the estuary at the town's edge. Pastel shop fronts curl along the hill. The 17th-century Butter Road leads from Ballydehob to Schull, a bright little harbour village. I stop and follow a walking trail through green lanes and quiet country roads, a soft scenic route, edged by hedgerows and sea glimpses, once used to carry churns of West Cork butter to market. From here, Mizen Head begins, a tapering peninsula where the past is never far away. A Neolithic portal tomb lies accessible, close to the roadside overlooking the bay. I follow a path to Three Castle Head. Fields give way to a wide sweep of jagged coastline, steep tufty hills rising and falling in tandem with the Atlantic. The hike climbs gradually, then steeply, and the ruins of three weather-beaten towers, 15th-century remnants of a defensive castle on a limestone ridge, come into view. From a distance, they seem almost grown from the rock itself, overlooking an indigo bay cupped in a lush green valley. Back in the car, the road dips and rises again toward Mizen Head Signal Station, mainland Ireland's most southwesterly point. The footbridge to Fastnet signal station arches across sheer cliffs, a solid span above the Atlantic, cinematic in scale. That evening, back in Ballydehob, I discover Chestnut, a Michelin-starred restaurant, where former pub walls now host a dining room led by chef Rob Krawczyk. His tasting menu captures the season with clear flavours: preserved, foraged and grown. Everything is impeccable and in keeping with the narrative I've uncovered in this progressive, ecologically minded, quietly radical corner of West Cork. As Didi put it, 'Sustainability is only part of the story – regeneration is the next step.' The trip was provided by Native. Double rooms from €200 a night B&B (two-night minimum). Exclusive hire of the guesthouse, sleeping six, from €650 per night, and garden sauna experience €75. Cabins, sleeping two, from €350. For more inspiration visit
The Guardian
26-06-2025
- The Guardian
Giving back to the land: an off-grid eco-guesthouse in a ‘quietly radical corner' of south-west Ireland
The drive south through County Cork grew prettier with every turn. From Gougane Barra, where a tiny chapel sits at the lake's edge, the road winds through old rebel country, into deep forests where foxgloves bloom along the mountainside. Bantry House – a magnificent estate overlooking a lovely bay – marked our path toward Ballydehob, West Cork's boho village just north of the Mizen Head peninsula. It's a suitably impressive setting for Native, a new off-grid eco-guesthouse just a stone's throw from the village. The brainchild of Didi Ronan (who previously worked in public policy and the music industry) and husband Simon (who runs the sustainable landscape architect studio SRLA), the aim was to create somewhere that has a positive impact on both the environment and local community. Previously a derelict farmhouse, the chic three-bedroom B&B, set in beautiful gardens, celebrates Ireland's craft heritage, too. From the communal living room – with its art books and antique maps – to the timber-clad garden sauna, every element is carefully considered. The bedrooms lean into a modern-meets-vernacular aesthetic, with muted tones and tactile textures. Ours opens on to a private patio, and above the bed are hundreds of vintage National Geographic magazines – collected by Didi's grandmother – arranged in artful symmetry across a bespoke bookshelf. Over dinner, a delicate crab risotto with fresh farm greens (evening meals, booked in advance, are intimate home-cooked affairs), the couple share their vision. Sparked by a flash of clarity Simon had while designing high-end eco-resorts in the Maldives, when the true cost of tourism on Indigenous land and ecology became unavoidable, they began dreaming of a new kind of hospitality. 'Could a hotel not only tread lightly, but also give back to the land?' they wondered. Sustainability is baked into the whole project, from the build to what they do with their profits. Instead of conventional plaster, Didi chose hemp – a more natural alternative – while Simon ensured that every existing material was reused, from the original foundations to the retaining walls. Three new cabins opening this summer aim to be the 'gold standard in sustainable architecture', made of local timber, hemp and wood wool fibre. A newly restored barn will open as a creative hub for workshops, natural wine tastings, and collaborations with foragers and craftspeople, too. But perhaps most impressive of all is that 20% of Native's profits go directly to their 75-acre rewilding site nearby – a living laboratory of native tree planting, invasive species removal, and ecological education. Guests are encouraged to visit – and the next day we drive 10 minutes along winding roads and walk across fields, their dog, Peig, darting ahead through rushes and briars, to learn more. 'First, you eradicate invasive species. Then you conserve what you have, protect it from overgrazing, and then plant native trees to help things along,' Simon says. At the ridge, the land opens into a sweep of sea and scattered islands. Below us lies Roaringwater Bay; behind, the skeletal remains of an old cottage clings to the earth. Didi gestures toward a patch of young trees. 'The problem is huge – biodiversity, climate – but the solution's simple: trees, wetlands, space.' We carry on down towards an artificial lake, where dragonflies hover and moorhens skitter through the reeds. There we meet Sam Keane, a coastal forager and artist who runs immersive coastal tours guests can book, unlocking the powers of the sea, and demonstrating the tastes and powerful healing properties of seaweed and other ocean plant life. Native is just a short stroll from the heart of Ballydehob, a village of just a few hundred but with plenty of pubs, and later that day I wander the pretty streets, soaking up a different kind of energy: human, social, alive. It's a place that over-delivers, not in size but in spirit. At Levis Corner House the Wednesday market spills out on to the street. The heart of a thriving community, Levis is a pub, concert venue that hosts live performances from behind the old shop counter, and essentially a welcoming village living room. There's a lively art scene here too. The late potters Christa Reichel and Nora Golden helped found the local craft movement in the 1970s, still seen in venues like The Working Artist Studios on Main Street, and in the homegrown ceramics, textiles and artisan food shops crammed between colourful pub fronts and gable-end murals. It's a village that's hard to leave, but the next day I set out to explore the area further. A 12-arch viaduct from the old rail line arcs across the estuary at the town's edge. Pastel shop fronts curl along the hill. The 17th-century Butter Road leads from Ballydehob to Schull, a bright little harbour village. I stop and follow a walking trail through green lanes and quiet country roads, a soft scenic route, edged by hedgerows and sea glimpses, once used to carry churns of West Cork butter to market. From here, Mizen Head begins, a tapering peninsula where the past is never far away. A Neolithic portal tomb lies accessible, close to the roadside overlooking the bay. I follow a path to Three Castle Head. Fields give way to a wide sweep of jagged coastline, steep tufty hills rising and falling in tandem with the Atlantic. The hike climbs gradually, then steeply, and the ruins of three weather-beaten towers, 15th-century remnants of a defensive castle on a limestone ridge, come into view. From a distance, they seem almost grown from the rock itself, overlooking an indigo bay cupped in a lush green valley. Back in the car, the road dips and rises again toward Mizen Head Signal Station, mainland Ireland's most southwesterly point. The footbridge to Fastnet signal station arches across sheer cliffs, a solid span above the Atlantic, cinematic in scale. That evening, back in Ballydehob, I discover Chestnut, a Michelin-starred restaurant, where former pub walls now host a dining room led by chef Rob Krawczyk. His tasting menu captures the season with clear flavours: preserved, foraged and grown. Everything is impeccable and in keeping with the narrative I've uncovered in this progressive, ecologically minded, quietly radical corner of West Cork. As Didi put it, 'Sustainability is only part of the story – regeneration is the next step.' The trip was provided by Native. Double rooms from €200 a night B&B (two-night minimum). Exclusive hire of the guesthouse, sleeping six, from €650 per night, and garden sauna experience €75. Cabins, sleeping two, from €350. For more inspiration visit
National Post
25-06-2025
- General
- National Post
Terry Glavin: Air India terrorist attack was Canada's worst failure in history
On Sunday morning, June 23, 1985, shortly after 8 a.m local time, Air India Flight 182 disappeared from the air traffic control radar screens at Ireland's Shannon Airport. The Boeing 747 Kanishka was heading east towards London at an altitude of 9,400 metres, roughly 100 nautical miles southwest of County Cork's Sheeps Head Peninsula, and then, suddenly, it was gone. Article content Article content In the wheelhouse of the the 23,000- tonne British vessel Laurentian Forest, which was carrying a cargo of Canadian newsprint to London, the radio picked up an SOS broadcast from the Irish Coast Guard station on Valentia Island. Captain Roddy McDougall responded immediately, diverting his ship towards the coordinates where the airliner was reported to have vanished, 37 miles away. Article content Article content Article content Two hours later and first on the scene, McDougall's ship came upon scattered pieces of wreckage and corpses floating in a sheen of jet fuel. Equipped with only a single lifeboat, the 26 officers and crew of the Laurentian Forest spent the next 12 hours frantically searching for survivors and retrieving the dead from the sea, wrapping the corpses in improvised body bags. The Laurentian Forest was soon joined by the Irish naval vessel L.E. Aisling. Eventually 18 ships joined the search, assisted by the Royal Air Force and the U.S. Air Force. Article content There was nothing to do by then but collect the dead and the detritus of the worst mass murder in Canadian history and the bloodiest act of terrorism in the history of aviation prior to the al-Qaida atrocities of September 11, 2001. The bombing of Air India Flight 182 was also the worst failure in security intelligence in Canadian history, the most outrageously bungled police investigation and the most humiliating rupture in the administration of justice in Canadian history. Article content Article content There has never been a full and proper reckoning for any of it. Article content Article content It's not just that the Khalistani terrorists who hid the bomb in luggage placed aboard Air India Flight 182 in Vancouver were well known to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and to Canada's fledgling spy agency, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. That same day, at Narita Airport in Japan, another Khalistani bomb from Vancouver, placed aboard another Air India plane, exploded prematurely, killing two baggage handlers. Article content It's not just that the operation was carried out by Babbar Khalsa, which Ottawa preferred to leave unmolested as a perfectly legal terrorist organization, or that Babbar Khalsa godfather Talwinder Singh Parmar and his accomplices were under active surveillance as they planned and carried out their plot. It's not just that in the weeks before the SOS call went out from the Coast Guard station on Valentia Island, the RCMP and CSIS and the Communications Security Establishment were well aware that a terror attack targeting Air India was in the works.
