Latest news with #FamousFive
Irish Independent
11-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
How ‘mini Downton Abbey' in Cork offered quirky childhood with coach house, priest holes and over six acres
Price: €795,000 Agent: Sherry FitzGerald O'Donovan (021) 4621166 'Growing up here, we were just like the Famous Five,' Carrie Horgan says of her family home: Ballynona Cottage, just outside Midleton in Co Cork, which Horgan says was perfect for children. With its church windows, hidden doors, priest holes, bells, gun room and 6.15 acres of idyllic tree-filled land, she says the five siblings grew up like the titular characters from the well-loved Enid Blyton novels. 'It was an endless journey of discovery. We made tree houses, discovered hidden doors, and played in the courtyard, outhouses and land around." Dating back to 1842 in its current form, the house was designed for more adult pursuits of the gentry. The Victorian-era hunting lodge was built for the esteemed Wigmore family, who lived in the surrounding 400-acre Ballynona estate. Despite being over 180 years old, the house has only changed hands four times. Captain Anthony John Charles Donelan, an Irish nationalist politician is believed to have been connected to it at one point in time. 'The lodge was used seasonally for entertaining and hunting deer, pheasant and foxes. No one from the family lived here permanently, but people would come and stay during hunting season. They'd have dinner parties and keep their guns in the gun room. It's real landed gentry stuff,' says Horgan. 'My dad kept guns there too. He had a room full of shooting rifles. We did clay pigeon shooting here, so we kept the tradition.' Their father Liam Horgan bought the property back in 1976. 'I was two when we moved here. It was pretty derelict, and he spent almost four decades working on it until he died,' she says. 'By day he was an accountant and by night, he'd restore all the original features – the sash windows, shutters, wooden beams, flooring and doors. I don't know how much he spent on it, but it was a labour of love.' Horgan says the five children found lots of hidden treasures along the way. 'There are little cubby holes, old medicine bottles, old fashioned hot water bottles...' 'One day, when we ripped off wallpaper, we found a priest hole in one of the bedrooms, just above the bedroom door." The man-sized hiding spots were used to conceal Catholic priests from the authorities in penal times. These were constructed when priests faced persecution, including imprisonment and execution. While the house is believed to have dated from later, with the country in turmoil during this period, there might still have been a need to hide away. There's a porch with Doric columns, cast-iron chimney pieces, ornate cornices and tiled flooring. The ecclesiastical ceilings and gothic arched windows are from the same architect who designed Midleton church. "In the hallway, there's a random door just floating alongside the stairs, which looks like something from Alice in Wonderland. My mum used to keep her clothes in here.' In the dining room, there's an egg collection from her dad, which he gathered and recorded over years. "The dining room also still has the old servants' bells, which you ring to tell everyone dinner is ready. There are so many fun quirks." Spanning well over 2,600 sq ft, the main house comes with three double bedrooms and a main bathroom upstairs, with a living room, formal dining room, study, sunroom, and a grand entrance hall with vaulted ceilings and marble fireplace on the ground floor. 'The three reception rooms all have fireplaces, and it's so cosy around Christmas time when they're all lit. It's like a stately home, but cosy. Like a mini Downton Abbey. The kitchen is really cosy, with an Aga and stable door leading on to the courtyard. 'All rooms have doors leading from them, which opens up the house," Horgan says. The coach house is separate from the main property and has a kitchen, bathroom and spiral staircase to a double bedroom. There is also a garage, sheds and a stone-walled courtyard which 'really catches the sun,' according to Horgan. Outside, the long driveway boasts mature trees including ash, oak, sycamore, Scots pine and Spanish chestnut. 'Dad loved his privacy, so no one could look in. We were surrounded by trees, but Storm Ophelia knocked some of them down, revealing an incredible view." The well-maintained garden is helped by Herby the goat, also known as the organic lawn mower. "Herby is a fantastic goat, who looks after the grass and the property. He's our third goat and such a valuable addition because he's munches the grass and weeds." A short distance away from the main house, there are stables with two possible floors for renovation. "Anyone who wants to buy the place could turn the stables into an Airbnb. You could also get horses. There are so many possibilities." Now it's time for the family to move on, and the house is up for sale. "We'd love someone who appreciates it and is sensitive to the preservation of the house,' Horgan says. 'It's not a listed building, but there are lovely architectural aspects to it." "When I was younger, my brother scared me that the place is haunted, but it isn't. Often these houses are filled with mildew, but this is really warm and welcoming. It's got really good vibes. You can update it, but it's really cosy. "We had an amazing childhood here,' she continues. 'There's a fantastic school in Midleton too, and it's really close to places like Kinsale, Crosshaven and the five-star Castlemartyr Resort.' Midleton is an eight-minute drive, and Cork city is only around 35 minutes away. Whiskey fans will be close to the distillery, which has been producing whiskey since 1825. It's also close to the world famous Ballymaloe cookery school. Ballynona Cottage, set on 6.15 acres, is on the market with an asking price of €795,000 through Sherry FitzGerald O'Donovan.
Yahoo
01-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Princess Diana's Daring Dress for Her Final Birthday Still Holds Significance, 28 Years Later
Though obviously no one knew it at the time, Princess Diana's 36th birthday on July 1, 1997 would tragically be her last. The Princess of Wales died just two months later in a Paris car crash on August 31, 1997. For that final birthday, Diana wore a daring black Jacques Azagury creation to a gala—the last time she attended an official public event of this sort before her she lived to see it, Princess Diana would have turned 64 years old on July 1—but instead, her final birthday was her 36th on this day in 1997. The former Princess of Wales celebrated her final birthday just two months before her life was tragically cut short in a Paris car crash on August 31. Diana spent July 1, 1997 at a gala, attending the Tate Gallery's 100th anniversary party in London wearing one of designer Jacques Azagury's Famous Five dresses, designed for the Princess of Wales at the end of her life and more daring and bold than looks she'd worn before. By her last birthday, Diana's divorce from Prince Charles had, at last, been finalized; that took place on August 28, 1996. It was her first birthday as a fully single woman since her 20th birthday in 1981, just days before she and Charles married that July 29 at St. Paul's Cathedral. Because Diana was beginning to move on from her royal life, Azagury designed a black dress for her—a color normally only worn in times of mourning by royals. The beaded black gown—which is known today as the 36th Birthday Dress—was a gift from Azagury to his friend for her birthday; Diana originally intended to wear another dress to the gala, but loved Azagury's creation so much that she switched her plans at the last minute. The 36th Birthday Dress is made of black Chantilly lace, features satin straps, and is hand-embroidered. It was the last gown Diana wore to a public function before her untimely death. Alongside it, she wore an emerald and diamond choker and matching drop earrings, the choker from the royal family's collection originally gifted to Queen Mary by the Ladies of India in 1911. Queen Elizabeth gave it to Diana on a 'lifetime loan' shortly after she married Charles. At the Chanel sponsored-gala, Diana took time to greet well-wishers who had gathered outside the Tate Gallery. The crowd 'showered her with birthday presents, including cards, flowers, and a small pink balloon featuring a cartoon bear,' People reported. 'Diana had a genius for people,' her brother Charles Spencer told the outlet. (Charles, the 9th Earl Spencer, was actually his older sister's date to the gala that night.) 'She could make any person, whether they were the grandest or the most humble, feel totally at ease in her company.' Tragically, speaking at her funeral on September 6—just two months later—Charles said of his sister, 'The last time I saw Diana was on July 1, her birthday, in London, when, typically, she was not taking time to celebrate her special day with friends, but was the guest of honor at a special charity fundraising evening.' 'She sparkled, of course,' he said in her eulogy. The Mirror reported that on July 1, 1997, Diana received more than 90 bouquets of flowers and countless cards—'a true testament to how loved she was around the world,' the publication wrote. No doubt one of the most touching birthday wishes, though, came from Diana's younger son Prince Harry, who was away at school and called her on the phone, 'making all of his classmates sing 'Happy Birthday' down the phone to her,' according to The Mirror. Of the Princess of Wales on her final birthday, Azagury told Hello!, 'She was happier than I had ever seen her. There was something about the way she carried herself—a certain newfound confidence.' Royal author and former editor-in-chief of Vanity Fair Tina Brown wrote in Tatler on the occasion of Diana's 60th birthday in 2021 that, had she lived a longer life, 'I think she would have achieved it all.' Her final birthday was her first post-divorce. It seems somehow extra cruel that Diana was taken not just so young, but so on the cusp and precipice of all that was to come for her—all the good that lay ahead. 'Her death at 36 left her forever young in a freeze frame of unfinished longing,' Brown wrote—ever so poignantly. Read the original article on InStyle
Scroll.in
26-06-2025
- Scroll.in
For children: Poltu's holiday takes an unexpected turn when a train full of ghosts pulls up
We finally reached Sealdah station at 9 o'clock. The huge clock on the station wall told the time. As soon as we got off the taxi, we were surrounded by many men in red, asking us if we wanted them to carry our suitcases. But Mama and I were only carrying one small bag each, so we didn't need any help. All the other times I'd been to the station, Ma had hired a coolie. This one time, I could not believe how many items the man had strung up all over his body. Two large suitcases on his head, one bag on his shoulder, and another small bag on the other shoulder! Then he sped off so fast towards the platform that Ma sent me running after him, to keep an eye on our luggage. I thought being a porter was quite a neat job. Imagine being able to carry so many heavy bags at one time, like a superhero! But then later I saw Ma pay the man fifty rupees and he went and joined some of his friends who were drinking tea and eating small, sweet buns. They all looked very tired. So I was happy that I could carry my own bag this time. Mama quickly checked the display board to see where our train was supposed to come and if it was running late. It was indeed late, as he had predicted. 'Poltu, stay by me, okay?' Mama warned. There were so many people rushing around with huge bags, pushing and jostling, it would've been quite easy for us to lose one another. I trotted close to Mama. There was a weird smell hanging in the air. It was the smell of smoke, sweat and food all rolled into each other. I sniffed hard. I thought it smelled of grown-up adventures. Mama and I reached platform 11, from where our train was supposed to leave. We still had a good three hours to go. Mama spotted the edge of a bench that was empty and told me to sit on it. At other times, we just used our luggage as benches, but this time our small bags would not do. 'Where are you going?' I asked, as Mama set off as soon as I sat down, the two bags at my feet. There was a man sleeping on the bench, covered from head to toe in a scratchy old blanket. He was all curled up, so there was some space by his feet where I could sit. 'Thums Up!' was all Mama called out, before vanishing. I sat there quietly, looking around me. I had read enough Feluda, Alex Rider and Famous Five stories to know that one always needed to observe one's surroundings carefully. Who knew what mysteries lay hidden all around! For example, this man, who was sleeping next to me – why was he sleeping right here in the middle of the noisy platform with so many people rushing all around him? A little black dog came sniffing around my feet. I looked at it carefully. Was it a stray? Or was it a detective's sidekick, like Snowy? 'Poltu, take this.' I jumped at Mama's loud voice in my ear. While I had been sitting and observing, he had gone to the refreshment stall. He held a brand-new Phantom comic in his hand! And a packet of Gems! 'What? Are you happy now?' Mama grinned. I was so happy I could barely thank him. 'Arrey, it's your first time away from your mother. You deserve a little gift from your Mama.' As I took the comic and the Gems from him, his eye flickered to the man sleeping by me. Did I imagine it, or did Mama's expression become a little serious? But when I looked at him again, he was back to being my favourite uncle, the one who bought me 5 Star chocolates and told the best/worst knock-knock jokes. 'Won't you sit, Mama?' I asked. 'Umm, no. You keep the seat. Are you going to read the comic now? Okay good, good,' Mama said, a bit absent-mindedly. 'Poltu, keep an eye on the bags. I will be right back. Let me get the Thums Up.' Saying this, Mama disappeared again. How odd! What was he up to? My Mama, or Shankar Das, is usually a fund of stories. He knows everything. He tells me about far-off places in India and outside, from Kashmir to Sri Lanka to Madagascar. He can do magic tricks. He can do huge sums very fast in his head. And best of all, none of us knows exactly what he does. Ma says he needs to get a job in an office. Whenever she says this, Mama laughs very hard. But if I ever ask him, 'Where did you go today, Mama? Office?' he just shakes his head, laughs some more, and produces an egg from my nose. Ma was not too happy about sending me to Siliguri alone with him, muttering that he was 'irresponsible'. Mama has lived with us ever since I can remember. I know my father only from some photos in the house, but Mama has always been there. I had even gone to nursery school perched on his shoulder. But every few months, he disappears without a word. No one knows where he goes, or what he does. When he comes back from these mysterious trips, he is tired and sleeps almost all day. Then, in some time, he goes back to being the fun, jokey, absent-minded uncle I love so much. This time, Ma had no choice but to send me off with him. Her own study trip to Finland was coming up and she needed to prepare for it. My mother is a climate scientist, and next year, she's going to the Arctic Circle to study how the shrinking ice is affecting the polar bears. I have seen her reading reports with lots of numbers and graphs. They show how the ice is melting away fast, and the poor bears are not able to hunt like before. She needed this month to read and plan and study, so me going off to my grandparents' house with Mama was the best solution for her. And that's how I ended up at Sealdah station, about to open the new Phantom comic. It had an exciting picture of the 'Ghost Who Walks' on the cover, in his purple bodysuit, surrounded by his wolf and his horse, about to throw a punch at a villain. I opened the box of Gems and shook it till a red one popped up. I always eat a red one first. Then a blue, then a green. The red Gems had almost leapt into my hand. Something sure was strange today! Usually, I really have to look for it. I put it into my mouth and stared at the open page on my lap. Why were the pictures so hazy? I could barely make out the words. I brought the book closer to my eyes. It was still hard to see. Because … everything had gone black. All the lights in the station blinked off as if someone had blown out a candle in one giant breath. All around me was silence and darkness.
The Guardian
25-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
I'd lost my childhood love of reading – but rediscovered it when I set aside my iPhone
Everything changes so everything can stay the same. In the beginning I read a lot. I read paperback books. The Famous Five, the Secret Seven and all that stuff. I had – have, actually – all 21 Famous Five books. They're in paperback, apart from the fifth one, Five Go Off in a Caravan, which is in hardback. A present from my nan. Nice. But I preferred paperbacks. I've never seen the point of hardbacks. They're unwieldy, harder to hold in bed, especially under the sheets when I was supposed to be asleep. In my teens I raced through Agatha Christie, Alistair MacLean and the like, and Reader's Digest too, countless editions of which were lined up beside every toilet in the house. Then schooling started interfering with my tastes and I got into Thomas Hardy in a big way, and other big thick, proper paperback novels. After my A-levels I went cycling in France with a mate, which was a miserable experience, saved only by the enjoyment I got from reading Anna Karenina, the battered doorstop edition of which I still have but am fearful of looking at lest it completely falls apart. Then I went to university to study English literature and had the love of reading sucked out of me. Reading, in my book, was for enjoying, not for studying. I didn't enjoy the studying of it, so I inevitably stopped enjoying the reading of it. Those reading years are a dismaying blur. The only writer to survive the cull in my love of literature was Evelyn Waugh. Everything else seemed to be a struggle. I blamed myself for not being clever enough. When I left university, I all but left reading behind too. I came across Raymond Carver, who I found easy to read and loved very much. And Richard Ford, who I found hard to read but still managed to love. Apart from that, the rest of my 20s and, and my 30s, passed by almost fiction-free. But it all came flooding back, oddly, with the advent of the digital age. The Kindle seemed to free me up to wade back into literature until I was out of my depth and swimming freely again. I'm not sure why this is so. I think it might be that physical books had been triggering strong feelings of intellectual inadequacy from back in the day. Who knows? I didn't care. I was loving reading all over again. But as much as the ebook gave me something beautiful back, slowly but surely it took it all away again. I think the problem has been the smartphone rather than the Kindle. Reading ebooks on the Kindle app on the iPhone rather than on the Kindle itself was too convenient an option. But, just as smartphones relentlessly erode our capacity to focus on life itself, slowly but surely my ability to engage with any one thing on them, certainly anything as long as a novel, drained away as briskly as the phone's battery. So the other week I picked out one of the countless old-style Penguin paperbacks on my bookshelf. It was A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd. Then the peculiarly named Doctor Fischer of Geneva or The Bomb Party by Graham Greene. Then Muriel Spark, Margaret Drabble and anyone else I fancied from shelves at home or in charity shops. I'm back to the paperback format of my childhood and my reading life has begun again. These little beauties are barely 25% bigger than my iPhone and, most importantly, you can't swipe in and out of them. Suddenly I can engage with words again. I put the phone away, open the book, and read, actually read. On the tube, snootily regarding the phone-starers, I feel a bit of a clever dick. This will last until I give in to the temptation to revisit the Famous Five. I can't wait. Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
Irish Examiner
20-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Colm O'Regan: Enid Blyton may be outdated, but my kids are into the adventure
Enid Blyton – or Gnid Blitten as I used to pronounce it when I couldn't make out the cursive. The famous signature that's on the front of about 600 different books is back on a couple of charity shop Famous Five books that are in the house. The signature of a woman who has been given a fair bit of fairly fair criticism over the last 60 years. Time has not been kind to attitudes toward the Famous Five. For decades, they have got a lot of criticism for sexism, racism, classism, outdated stereotypes, and repetitive plots. Just like the Simpsons or Bosco or Rugrats or Glenroe's Dick Moran, none of the Famous Five seem to age. Ian Mander, a contributor to an Enid Blyton fansite, has worked out that by last book 'Five Are Together Again', Julian should be 23, Dick and George 22 and Anne 21. Yet still Anne seems nervous about life in general. But with all that, I'm still reading them to the children. Maybe it's nostalgia, recapturing how I felt. But also, they're still great for an escape. To a land of cycleable rural roads, cream buns and nothing resembling responsibilities. The first rule of many books for children is Kill the Parents so that the children can do some adventuring. But the Famous Five is not just escapism for children. It's also for parents. Aunt Fanny and Uncle Quentin's approach to childcare is refreshing in that they don't seem to do much of it at all. They, along with the childrens' parents, send the children off to boarding school, and then during the holidays, don't mind them at all. Often, the plot hinges on Aunt Fanny and Uncle Quentin allowing four preteen children to head off into the countryside by themselves. Gráinne Seoige digs into a Famous Five book in 2005. Pic: Fennells In Five Get Into Trouble, Uncle Quentin mixes up the date of Easter and attends a conference during the holidays despite all the children coming to visit. The solution? The children will just go cycling and camping for a week. Aunt Fanny is worried, but Quentin just says, 'Oh, Fanny, if Julian can't look after the others, he must be a pretty feeble specimen.' A reminder: Julian is 12. Dick gets kidnapped in this book. I'm not judging Quentin and Fanny, but you'd have to say the two facts are linked. The Famous Five are not exactly strong on DEI programmes. Anyone who is different: Roma, circus folk, foreigners, the working class, are all given short shrift and are really only welcomed into the circle of trust when they've saved their lives. And that's with some of the worst stuff edited out over the years. There is a lack of garda vetting. Both Jo, an orphan with a jailed thief for a father, and Nobby, an orphan with a thief for an uncle, are handed over to other families after the aforementioned blood relatives are jailed without a single bit of paperwork. And yet despite all this, my children like the books. They know the Famous Five, apart from Timmy (who has the best radar of any of them), are sometimes unpleasant children. And the attitudes were different then. But that's fine. Enid Blyton mightn't have noticed that her heroes can sometimes be little shitebags but sometimes very generous with doling out sandwiches. That level of nuance is good for children now. They can appreciate a flawed main character and how the past was a cold place if you were different. Their favourite bits are not always the characters anyway. It's the idyllic countryside, barrelling out the door to go adventuring, the wearing of ragged old shorts and patched up jumpers, placid horses, secret passageways in wood panelling, and swimming in clean rivers. That, at least, is timeless.
