23 May 2026 Saturday, Tour of Shannonbridge depart at 10 a.m. from Offaly History Centre (let us know if you can share or need a lift). To meet at Shannonbridge at the Old Fort across the Bridge at 11 a.m. Our guide is Declan Ryan. Starting with coffee, followed by tours of the forts, the river and the town. To conclude about 1.30 p.m. with lunch at Killeen’s (you need to book this yourself). This is an excellent venue so why not make it a day out and bring the family and friends. Declan will be an excellent guide Note Sturdy Footwear required for uneven ground and long wet grass. And on Friday evening in Banagher….
TALK ON ARMSTRONG FAMILY HISTORY 22 May 5 p.mby Eduardo M. Garcia Fernandez Saenz from Buenos Aires
Local history enthusiasts are in for a real treat next week when Eduardo M. Garcia Fernandez Saenz from Buenos Aires will give an important talk on his Armstrong ancestors, in particular Thomas St. George Armstrong who was born in Garrycastle, Banagher, in 1797. At the early age of twenty Thomas went to Argentina and between then and his death in 1875 he became a very successful businessman, married into aristocratic society and also became an adviser to the rulers of Argentina. The talk will be held in Crank House, Lower Main Street, Banagher at 5 p.m. on Friday 22nd May. The event is organised by Offaly History and all are welcome. Enquiries to James Scully at 085 710 7569.
I grew up on a small farm beside Lemanaghan Bog, and to this day I can still feel the rhythm of those summers spent wandering up and down the lane that led from our 150 year old farm house to the bog. It wasn’t just a lane, it was an enchanted corridor. The hedges were alive with native flora and fauna, and as children we were convinced there was something mystical about that stretch of road. Maybe it was the way the light filtered through the trees and hedges or the rustle of wings from creatures we could never quite see. Whatever it was, it shaped our imaginations long before we understood the world beyond it.
From the top of the lane, the view swept across the bog all the way to the Kinnitty Mountains which is what we called them then, though of course they are the Slieve Blooms. Their colour changed with the weather: soft blues on warm days, deep purples in the evenings, and that unmistakable dark, heavy shade that meant rain was on the way. Some days they felt close enough to touch, other days they drifted away like a dream. That shifting landscape was the backdrop of our childhood.
I was lucky, truly lucky, to grow up with my grandparents. Not everyone gets that gift. They filled our days with stories, traditions, and the kind of work that didn’t feel like work until you were old enough to realise it was. As a small children on the bog, we were more of a hindrance than a help, too busy chasing frogs, spotting bog lizards, or watching butterflies and dragonflies dance over the bog waters. If you had to go in evening, you would get ate alive by midges and it would cause great distress but of course knowing that they are a vital food source in a healthy ecosystem, was good reason enough to put up. It was magical, and we didn’t know it then, but those were the moments that would stay with us for life.
Of course, when you got older, the magic didn’t excuse you from the reality of saving turf. As the saying went, “If you want to keep your arse warm for the winter, you need to help save the turf.” At the time, I thought it was hardship. Other families didn’t have to go to the bog, and I envied them. But looking back now, I see it differently. Those balmy summer days, the laughter, the bottles of water buried in a bog hole to keep cool, the quiet companionship, they were some of the happiest times of my life.
A Landscape Layered with Time
What makes Lemanaghan truly extraordinary is not just its beauty or its wildlife, but the sheer depth of history held within its soil. This landscape is a tapestry woven from thousands of years of human presence — Mesolithic hunter‑gatherers, Neolithic farmers, early Christian monks, medieval pilgrims, and the families who still live here today. All of these eras sit side by side, layered gently through the bog, preserved in a way that few places in Ireland can match.
Across the bog, the old toghers still lie beneath the surface — wooden trackways built by our ancestors to cross the wetlands long before roads existed. Some date back to prehistory, others to the early Christian period. In recent years they’ve been called pilgrim paths or mass paths, but whatever name they carry, they are proof of continuous life, movement, and devotion across this landscape. These paths connect us to places of deep significance like Clonmacnoise and the Hill of Tara and are the only remaining paths from our past that we have. They need to be protected. Generations walked these routes with purpose: to travel, to worship, to trade, to survive. When you stand on the bog today, you are standing on the same ground they crossed.
One discovery in particular brought this ancient world sharply into focus. In 1998, part of a bog body was uncovered in the townland of Tumbeagh. It was a remarkable archaeological find — a direct connection to a person who lived and died here centuries or even millennia ago. Maybe a native to the are or a pilgrim who lost their way. But the circumstances of the discovery were a stark reminder of the cost of industrial peat extraction. The body was found during the milling of peat, and some of the remains had already been sent to a power station and burned as fuel before anyone realised what they were. It was heartbreaking, and it showed clearly that these peatlands are not wastelands or empty spaces waiting to be exploited. They are sacred ground, holding the stories and the bones of our ancestors, much like the recent discovery back in January 2025 at Mella’s Cell when storm Éowyn swept through the land and with it, it brought down trees in Mellas Cell. Yet another discovery was made. Human remains from over a thousand years ago were uncovered. This was the first time it was realised that this was in fact a sacred burial grounds. These ancient trees had managed to fall but avoided falling on the remaining structure of Mella’s Cell as luck would truly have it.
The Changing Bog
When Bord na Móna took over the bogs, the land began to shift in ways we didn’t fully understand at the time. Drains were cut long before harvesting began. My granddad was deeply uneasy about it. He knew — instinctively, from a lifetime on the land, that this kind of change wasn’t good for the landscape. But compulsory purchase orders came, and people had no choice. You accepted it and got on with it, because that’s what rural people did.
Over the years, natural springs and wells that had flowed for generations dried up. Water tables dropped. Getting water to cattle became a more difficult task. The land we knew began to alter under our feet. And yet, for many families, Bord na Móna meant jobs, stability, a way to support children. It was a trade-off that people felt they had to endure it seems.
But there were other consequences too. Fires on the bog were not unusual, especially during long hot spells. Many of them were never acknowledged by Bord na Móna, even when the community knew exactly how they had started. The most recent major fire in the late 2010s is still fresh in people’s minds. We were not long moved into our new house when it happened. Homes were filled with smoke, belongings destroyed, and yet when people reached out for help, nothing was done. That memory lingers — not just the damage, but the feeling of being dismissed.
A Community Under Threat Again
And now, here we are again.
The community around Lemanaghan Bog is facing another upheaval, this time in the form of a proposed wind farm: fifteen turbines, each 220 metres tall, right through the heart of the bog. People are angry, upset, and deeply worried. The consultation process felt deceitful from the start. A semi‑state body has enormous power, and they know it. They can pressure, divide, and buy silence. What was once a company rooted in community has become something unrecognisable, one determined in causing division and willing to fracture the very places and people it once relied on. These places have helped people heal in the greatest time of need and I can vouch for that personally. In times of grief, all one needs sometimes is solace and time to reflect and remember in peace. Lemanaghan Bog gives us all of that reminding us each of our life times are short and that we are connected through generations that went before us and their presence is still there it just appears in a different form. In that there is comfort.
For many of us, especially during COVID, the bog was our sanctuary. It was the one place we could walk freely, breathe deeply, and feel grounded. It is still the most peaceful place you could wander. But if the machinery comes — the diggers, the cranes, the convoys of lorries — that peace will be shattered. The wildlife that has survived generations of change will be displaced. The delicate ecology of the bog will be torn apart. And all the “surveys” carried out over a few rushed days here and there will never capture the depth of local knowledge that has been passed down through families like in our communities.
Our fear is simple: that once again, the people who live here — who love this place, who understand it — will be ignored. And if the project becomes inconvenient, BnM will simply sell it on, as they have done in other areas, leaving the community to deal with the consequences. There are some things that money simply can not buy and connection is one.
Growing up beside Lemanaghan Bog taught me the value of land, heritage, and memory. It taught me that these landscapes hold stories, and that communities are shaped by the places they belong to. What worries me now is that those stories — our stories rich in heritage— are at risk of being drowned out by decisions made far away by people who will never walk that enchanted lane or watch the Slieve Blooms change colour with the weather.
All we want is to protect the place that shaped us. You don’t need to be deeply religious or even believe in anything in particular, but when you have a deep connection with the land that you live upon, you just know that an area is not suitable for what is being forced upon it. I believe that our ancestors will rise to help us whether it is to show people that they need to lay off and choose more suitable places to build their energy plants. This is not suitable or natural place for industrial wind farms. We need to protect our peatlands.
My grandfather, Henry Robinson, was born on the 18th of November 1920 and lived his entire life in the countryside between the villages of Belmont and Cloghan in County Offaly in Ireland.He grew up on a small strip of land between the River Brosna and the Grand Canal.
It was on the Grand Canal where his own father, G.R. worked on the local jetty, unloading goods and acting as an agent for Guinness.The Grand Canal to Shannon Harbour was opened in 1804, and for some 150 years was a vital industrial thoroughfare linking Dublin with Limerick.
The canal ran from the centre of Dublin and through the Irish Midlands until it met the River Shannon.Barges would travel along the canal and then down the Shannon and across the waters of Lough Derg, until they reached the city of Limerick.
Over the course of several months in 2003, my aunt Sandra Robinson sat down with her father, my grandfather, and recorded some 24 hours’ worth of material on cassette tapes detailing his life and his knowledge of farming, milling, the canal trade and the history of the Belmont area of West Offaly.I have digitised and remastered these recordings in order that they be preserved for posterity.Here I present some 35 minutes of cut together with material detailing my grandfather and great grandfather’s experiences working on the Grand Canal.
[This is part four and the final part of a blog article on the 1835 Poor Law Inquiry into the baronies of Philipstown Upper and Lower and is based on the transcripts from the original reports into social conditions in Ireland before the Famine. It provides a fascinating picture of farming in the area before the Famine, Ed.
Enjoy the weekend and sitback. We have the Book Fair on Saturday 4 April from 10 to 4 at Offaly History Centre, Bury Quay, beside the new Aldi.]
Tillage
The general produce of this barony is about equal proportions of tillage and grazing and the average size of the tillage farms is from 10 to 20 Irish acres; the Irish acre [1.62 statute acres] is used throughout the district. The largest farmer in this part of the country is Mr. Rait, who holds 700 Irish acres. In this barony there are no mountain dairy farms. The nature of the soil partakes of all kinds, from rich loam to the poorest clay, and was considered to be deteriorating in quality from the want of means among the farmers, caused by the low price of agricultural produce. It was, however, stated that the entire produce was greater now than formerly, owing to the far greater exertions now made. The farmers who occupy the district are of two classes; some few large farmers very respectable, but the small farmers poor and distressed. Some of the wheat is of the first quality, but in general it is not good in the district.
This is part three of a four-part blog on the 1835 Poor Law Inquiry into the baronies of Philipstown Upper and Lower. The respondents to the questionaries for Philipstown/Daingean were Rev P. Rigney and Roger North. Roger North was a landowner in King’s County. He inherited the Kilduff estate upon the death of his father, Roger North, in 1830. He was involved in estate management, including raising rents, which made him unpopular with local farmers and other landlords.[1] North was shot dead in 1850.
Transcripts of the Poor Law Reports – ContinuedThe questions raised by the Poor Law Commissioners for the local respondents are in the column on the left
Paddy Claffey was born in Noggusboy, Ferbane, on April 17th, 1921, three months before the end of Ireland’s War of Independence. His parents were Sarah (Flaherty) of Gallen and Kieran Claffey, Noggus. The youngest of their ten children, Paddy had six sisters – Maryann, Maggie, Kit, Ellen, Jane, and Sarah – and three brothers – Ned, Kieran, who died aged 27, and Johnny, at birth.
The siblings attended Gallen NS, where Paddy’s teacher was Master Goodwin. In Brendan Ryan’s book, On Gallen Green, a 1927 school photograph on page 122 shows P.J. Claffey in the front row.
For his 90th birthday party in the Bridge House Hotel, I had the pleasure of interviewing my granduncle and writing his story. Paddy was a natural storyteller. Recalling his first time away from home for a long spell, he was thirteen and had taken an awful pain. Doctor Maher advised hiring a car to drive him to Tullamore. The hospital was the very same as a big hayshed, Paddy said, with auld lads smoking; they couldn’t see one another with the smoke. His sister, Ellen, cycled in to see him every day, and the woman who owned Lawless’s shop sent her two daughters with books and sweets. He was glad to go home, but couldn’t get used to the small house in Noggus for the longest time.
This is part two of a three-part blog on the 1835 Poor Law Inquiry into the baronies of Philipstown Upper and Lower. The respondents to the questionnaires for Philipstown were Rev P. Rigney and Roger North. Roger North was a landowner in King’s County. He inherited the Kilduff estate upon the death of his father, Roger North, in 1830. He was involved in estate management, including raising rents, which made him unpopular with local farmers and other landlords.[i] Roger North was shot dead in September 1850.
The Commission of Enquiry into the Poorer Classes in Ireland was the result of the United Kingdom government’s investigation of rapid increases in population living in extreme poverty. From their official reports in the post-Napoleonic period Ireland’s growth-rate had remained high. In the 1831 census Ireland returned a population of 7.8 million up from 6.8 million in 1821. In the year 1831 the population baronies of the Upper and Lower Philipstown was 17,311. The town of Daingean had a population of 1,454.[i] For King’s County in general please see our previous blog.[ii]
In the baronies of Philipstown Upper and Lower two commissioners were appointed: Jonathan Binns and James O’Hea. It should be noted, previous to the dissolution of the Parliament of Ireland in 1800, Philipstown returned two members to that legislature.[iii] In 1835 Tullamore became the county town and with that the assizes were moved there from Philipstown.[iv] As the Poor Law Commissioner Jonathan Binns reflected:
‘Its trade has disappeared – many of its houses are in ruins – its shops are falling into decay – and its population, as these signs sufficiently indicate, are poor and wretched.’[v]
The demesne of Charleville must rank as one of the last unspoilt areas of tranquillity in the vicinity of Tullamore and is much loved by the inhabitants of the town who are proud of the great oaks still surviving after hundreds of years and of the great Gothic mansion of Charleville Forest. The demesne is about one mile south of Tullamore on the Birr Road and encloses some 1,142 acres, most of which is planted with oaks, ash, elms and some conifers.
Charles William Bury, then Lord Tullamore and soon to be earl of Charleville (1806), commenced building his castle in 1801 and completed the work of fashioning the demesne in the gothic sturm und drang manner by 1812. It was then the romantic period in literature and still is for many who walk in the demesne today. The old pre 1740 name for Charleville was Redwood and the first mansion house of Redwood was erected in 1641. When Charles Moore, Lord Tullamore, purchased the house and demesne in 1740 he called it Charleville. The old house was close to the existing farmhouse with the grotto of 1741 to the rear of the reconfigured river Clodiagh flowing through the demesne.
The map of c. 1809 of the demesne with the original road direct from Tullamore to Mucklagh and before the new winding avenue was laid out by J. C. Loudon.No houses were permitted on Charleville Road until 1900 (save that for the agent. This house was called Elmfield, built in 1795 and demolished by OCC for the new Aras in 2000-02.
Perhaps in deference to the oak trees in the vicinity Charles William Bury called his new house ‘not Charleville Castle but Charleville Forest. Already there was one giant tree known as the “King Oak” dominating like a watch tower the carriage drive to the town’. Look at the span of its gigantic arms. One branch on the right of the photograph stretches 30 yards parallel to the ground. The Bury family believed that if a branch fell, one of the Burys would die, so they supported the great arms with wooden props. Of course there was nothing they could do to protect the trunk. In late 1963 a thunderbolt splintered the main trunk from top to bottom. The tree survived, but the head of the family, Colonel Charles Howard-Bury, then of Belvedere, Mullingar dropped dead a few weeks later.
Ireland’s peatlands have long been a defining feature of the country’s landscape and identity—vast, open expanses that have shaped communities, powered homes, and inspired generations. But in recent years, these peatlands have entered a new chapter. TRANSITION, a striking new photographic book, captures this moment of profound change with sensitivity and depth.
In 2019, a High Court ruling mandated that commercial peat harvesting on bogs over 30 hectares would now require planning permission. This shift accelerated the decline of industrial peat extraction, a process already underway as awareness grew of the ecological importance of peatlands. These landscapes, once seen primarily as fuel sources, are now recognised as vital carbon sinks and havens for biodiversity.
TRANSITION captures this story through objects in time – each one a tangible link to the past, a marker of the present, or a symbol of the future. Structured in a unique A–Z format, the book presents a curated collection of items that reflect the evolving relationship between people and peatlands. These objects are thoughtfully juxtaposed to highlight the dramatic changes in land use, environmental values, and cultural identity. Each item occupies a liminal space, bridging the industrial legacy of peat harvesting with the emerging ecological renewal.
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