Tag Archives: Rathkeale

Rathkeale District Marriage Records, Co. Limerick

This page features civil Marriage Records for the district of Rathkeale in Co. Limerick and includes full names (where possible), the year of marriage, and the quarter in which the marriage occurred. A searchable index of all available marriage records is available here.

Name Year Quarter
Abbert Mary Anne 1848
Ahern Mary 1845
Alfred Elizabeth 1848
Ashmore Frances Louisa 1899 1st
Bishop William Henry 1847
Buckley Catherine 1896 1st
Cahill Patrick 1895 4th
Clanchy Catherine 1858
Cleary Patrick 1864
Cleary Patrick 1864
Daly James 1880 2nd
Doody Jeremiah 1867
Doody John 1845
Doody Patrick 1866
Doody Thomas 1868
Dore Cornelius 1866
Dore Mary 1894 2nd
Fowley Matthew 1870
Frawley Patrick 1865
Frawly John 1865
Gallivin Jeremia 1870
Galvin Bridget 1872
Galvin Catherine 1869
Galvin Owen 1873
Higgins Michael 1867
Hinchey Anne 1865
Hogan Anne 1864
Keefe Kate 1874
Keeffe Honora 1870
Kelly Mary Anne 1849
Kenealy Alice 1864
Kenneally Honorah 1865
Kennealy John 1872
Kennealy Michl 1867
Kennedy Catherine 1867
Kennedy John 1865
Kennedy Patrick 1867
Kennedy Patrick 1873
Kennedy Peter 1879 4th
Kenny Edmond 1865
Kenny John 1865
Kenny Thomas 1867
Kenny William 1867
Keogh Edmond 1879 1st
Kerigan Margaret 1879 1st
Kinark Mary A. 1865
Kirby David 1879 1st
Lowe Philip William 1846
Lowes Eliza 1845
Lowis Eliza 1845
Maher Michael 1849
McNamara Mary 1847
McNamara Mary 1851
Neilan Margaret 1898 3rd
Nunan John 1864
Terry ors Johnson Jane 1847
Teskey Emily 1849
Teskey William 1847
Thomas Stephen 1847

Civil Registration Records

Labourer’s Rent, Rate Collection, Rathkeale, 1887

Rents of Labourer’s Cottages

The Clerk reported that there were some arrears on the rents of labourer’s cottages, generally from one to five weeks, but there are about 12 weeks due on one woman in Iverus, whose uhsband had died. He wished to know would there be proceedings taken against her.
Mr.Naughton said that the woman in question was very poor and had a large family.
Mr. Hewson thought the rule they had made could not be broken. The money had been given them to provide house for the labourers and he thought it their duty to see that the rent was collected. It was agreed to adhere to their usual rule of proceeding against any tenant who owed more than four weeks rent.

Unsatisfactory State of the Rate Collection

The Clerk drew the attention of the Board to the state of the rate collection, which he described as being in a most unsatisfactory condition. As the time would expire in a very short time, there were very many reasons why the rates should be collected. In the first place they were in debt and they could not pay all their bills today. This was the first time they could not meet their liabilities. The Treasurer he believed, would honour their cheques to the extent of four or five hundred pounds., but there were some £500 more
which could not be paid for the present. The collectors had been requested to have a sum collected, but apparently they had disregarded the order of the board.

Mr. Maunsell: How much is outstanding?
The Clerk: There are £4,000 outstanding.
Mr. Hewson: I think the collectors are running about the country in a way I never saw them before.
The Clerk : I think they ought to do much more than they have done.
Mr. Switzer: There are plenty fellows now swaggering around and paying nothing at all, and I don’t see why those fellows should be swaggering around while we pay the rates.
The Clerk : The collectors ought to be requested to collect the rates.
A Guardian said that the people would be better able to pay in a month’s time.
Mr. hewson said he would be in favour of not issuing cheques to these people to whome they owed money, and who were not pressing for payment. Everybody had to wait for money now, and h did no t see why the people there , any of them who could afford to wait, should not wait for a fortnight or a month instead of pressing the ratepayers as they were doing. He would rather do that than increase their indebtedness to the bank.
Mr. Maunsell: I think pressure ought to be put on the collectors.
Mr. Switzer: Of course we are supposed to represent the people in a certain sense, as elected Guardians from the people themselves. Now, there are some of those you know who won’t pay any rates. They are schemers, don’t you see – they will do nothing, and when we represent them I don’t see why we should not compel them to be equal to every other honest man.
The Chairman : How is it they are not compelled to pay rates?
Mr. Switzer: That is what I want to come to. They won’t pay anything. I am full sure that many of them are able to pay, and hey swagger around and won’t pay.
Mr. Hewson said that the persons referred to, though they might have plenty of money in their pockets, might not at the same time possess any goods capable of being seized in satisfaction for the rates.
Mr. Switzer; But idlers and schemers won’t pay anything.
Mr. Maunsell: Are you going to bring any pressure to bear on the collectors?
The Clerk said he had made an order urgently requesting them to collect the outstanding rates.

Taken from “The Munster News and Limerick and Clare Advocate”,
April 2, 1887

Rathkeale Union, The Labourer’s Act, 1887

The Labourer’s Act

Regarding the application received for the amount of the expenses connected with the enquiry recently held under the Labourer’s Act, the alleged exorbitance of the charge was strongly commented on by the Guardians, particularly the amount claimed by the shorthand writer, £59.10s.10d.
Mr. O’Conor said the Board did not ask shorthand writers to be present.
Mr. Casey – What value did he give us? None.
Mr. Pigott : It seems the Local Government Board Inspector could not do without a shorthand writer.
A Guardian: I think in cases like that, a local shorthand writer ought to be employed. I don’t see why they should be going for strangers, while there are plenty of capable writers in Limerick.
The Board soon afterwards adjourned.
Taken from “The Munster News and Limerick and Clare Advocate”,
April 2, 1887

Rathkeale Dispensary Committee, 1887

There was one vacancy in the Committee of the Rathkeale Dispensary District, caused by the death of Mr. Blennerhasset, and it was filled up by the election of Mr. Keating.
Mr. Naughton was subsequently about to propose another man on the Committee when
The Chairman stated that Mr. Naughton was too late, the vacancy that existed having been filled up.

Mr. Naughton held that his proposition was quite in order and ought to be received.
The Chairman said that if his ruling on the matter were questioned he would put it to a poll.
Mr. Hewson hoped the Chairman would stick to his ruling, and not put the matter to the board.

The Chairman was about pressing the next business, when Mr. Curtin said : You are after saying this minute you would put it to a division, Mr. Chairman.
The Chairman: I will put it to a division now.
A Guardian : I beg your pardon Mr. Chairman, I don’t think you can do that.
The Chairman : It is quite uncalled for, Mr. Curtin, to be going on in this manner.
Mr. Maunsell : It is a question entirely for the Chairman. If he decides to put it to a division h can.
Mr. Hewson said if this question were opened now, it might be that in half an hour’s time again another guardian would raise the matter on the new when most of the members of the board would have left.
The Clerk: I think it would be tantamount to a vote of censure on the Chairman –
Mr. Piggott (sic) Go on to the next business, Mr. Chairman.
A Guardian: I think whatever the Chairman has done, he has done properly.
The matter then ended.

Taken from “The Munster News and Limerick and Clare Advocate”, April 2, 1887

Irish Folk Tales: The Tailor of Rathkeale

There was a little tailor once upon a time in the town of Rathkeale, a small weak little man like a lot of the tailors of his time. He was working away at his trade, but he was never satisfied with it and always saying to himself what a great fellow he would be if he only got a chance. And the neighbours used to joke him about it. Well, it happened one day when he sat down to his dinner, to a big bowl of porridge, that there was a great cloud of flies and midges flying around his head and perching on the table and on the porridge. And the tailor – his name was Jack – hated flies and midges, and he made a slash with the wooden spoon that he had eating the stirabout and he hit a whole lot of flies and midges. The next thing he did was to start counting how many of them he had killed, and he made out that he had seventy of them dead. ‘That is three score and ten,’ says Jack, ‘and it is the great man that would kill three score and ten at one blow!’

Well, he started boasting about it among the neighbours, and before long the prime boys were all praising him up to the moon for his great deed, so that his head was turned by all the flattery. What did he do but go to the blacksmith and tell him to make a sword. And when it was made, the blacksmith was told to write along the blade: ‘Three score and ten at every blow.’ And away with Jack, sword and all, to seek his fortune.

He was travelling before him a very long distance until finally he came to a great big castle. He asked who lived there, and they told him it was the King of Ireland, and that this King had great need of brave fighting men. And nothing would do the tailor but to face up to the gate of the castle with the sword in his hand so that everybody could read what was written on it. And the soldiers at the gate were half afraid of the little man with the big sword. And when they read what was written on the blade of the sword, they sent word in to the King to come out and see this great warrior. And the King invited Jack to come in to the castle and sit down to the table alongside him to eat his dinner. And after a while of talking about the weather and the crops, the King drew down the question of the sword. ‘You seem to be a brave fighting man,’ says the King. ‘Ah, no!’ says Jack, ‘but one of the worst men that ever left the town of Rathkeale.’ And the King began to tell all his troubles to Jack. He was building a new castle, and the builders could make no progress, for what they built during the day was always thrown down the same night. And he put soldiers to guard it, but when he came in the morning some of the soldiers were dead and the rest of them after running away, and he did not know what was doing the damage. ‘And, maybe,’ says he to Jack, ‘you would stay up a night at the castle, you are such a brave man. And maybe you won’t be able to beat whatever it is that is knocking my castle, but – at least you will be able to tell me what kind of a monster is doing the damage.’ They made a bargain. Jack would watch the castle for the night, and when he brought the word to the King in the morning he would get fifty pounds.

Well Jack, being a small little man, was able to hide himself in a place where no ordinary man would fit. And where he hid himself was up in the fork of a tree. Out in the night he heard this great noise coming, and what was it but three big giants with sledgehammers. ‘It is built again tonight,’ says one of them, ‘and it is spoiling the view on us and on our mother. Come on, Lads, and we’ll knock it.’ ‘Easy with that sledge,’ says the second giant, ‘and take care not to hit me with it like you did last night, or you’ll earn it!’ ‘Hold your tongues,’ says the third one, ‘you are doing nothing but talking. Go on now, and knock it.’ And one of them made a swing of the sledge, and with that Jack aimed with a paving stone and hit the second one. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to hit me”. says he. ‘And I won’t warn you again.’ It was no good for the first fellow to be denying it; he wouldn’t listen to any reason. Finally, they turned to the castle again and if they did, Jack met the second fellow with another paving stone. He did nothing but swing the sledge on his brother and stretch him dead on the ground. The third giant was inclined to argue, but the second giant roared at him that that is what would happen to him as well as to the brother if he did not leave him alone. And away home with them, quarrelling and arguing. Jack came down and after a lot of slashing and sawing with the sword he got the head off of the giant and dragged it along with him, he was not able to lift it, to the King’s door. The King was greatly pleased, and praised Jack to the skies, and it was not fifty pounds he gave him but a hundred. ‘And maybe,’ says the King, ‘that you will stay up and mind the castle again tonight.’ And they made the bargain, for a hundred pounds this night.

So Jack was up in the tree again by the fall of dark, and a good supply of paving stones in a bag by him. And it was not long until the giants came and began to level the castle. Jack aimed a stone, the same as the night before. And the row started between the giants, and you can be sure that Jack helped it on as well as he could. ‘Stop your annoying me now,’ says one of the giants, ‘and let you remember what happened to the other fellow last night, because I would do for you as quick as I did for him.’ With that, Jack met the other giant with a big stone., ‘Who is starting the trouble now?’ says the giant that was hit, ‘or who is hitting who!” With that the row rose in earnest between them, and before it was over one of them was stretched dead on the ground, and his head split with a hedgehammer. Away home with the giant who was still living, and down with Jack out of the tree, and he cut off the giant’s head and away with him back to the king’s castle, dragging the head after him, and I can tell you he had enough to do to bring it. Of course the king was delighted.. ‘Oh Jack,’ says he, “What is written on your sword isn’t a word of a lie. And maybe you would go the third night and finish off the third giant, as you are about” And it was not a hundred pounds he gave him for the second night’s work, but two hundred. And he promised him the same amount for the third night.

Off with Jack at the fall of night, and up on the tree the same as before. And when the giant came, Jack met him with a big rock in the side of the head. ‘Are the two of you there again, up to your old tricks?’ says the giant, thinking it was the two brothers. ‘Indeed it is not the two of them, but me,’ says Jack. ‘And who might you be, little man?’ says the giant. ‘Don’t mind your ‘little man’ to me,’ says Jack, ‘but go over there behind the castle, and you’ll see what happened to your two brothers when they got cheeky with me!’ The giant was a simple sort of a poor fellow, and over he went and looked at the corpses of the two brothers, and no heads on them. ‘Where are their heads, little man?’ says he. ‘Don’t mind your ‘little man’ to me!’ says Jack, ‘but look at my sword and you will see what kind of a man I am.’ The giant read what was on the sword, and he got very much in dread. ‘Oh, sir, do not kill me, but come home with me and explain to my mother what happened to the two brothers, for she is blaming me for it,’ says he. Well and good, Jack consented to come home with him. And when they came to the giant’s house, inside in a big wood, and the mother was there, a frightful looking old hag; she had two big long teeth sticking down out of her jaw like the handles of two sweeping brushes, and, by the same token, not another tooth in her head, but every time she talked her nose and her chin were hitting off each other, making a noise like a bodhrán.

So Jack told her that it was himself that killed the two giants. But would she believe him? ‘A little caistín of a man like you to kill my two big sons!’ says she, ‘It is tricks, that is what it is!’ But the third son would not believe her; he was greatly in dread of Jack all the time.

She started to make the supper. ‘Son,’ says she to, giant, ‘there isn’t a bit of meat in the house. Will you get a bit somewhere for the supper.’ Off with the giant and Jack along with him, to the king’s fields, where there was a big herd of fine bullocks. The giant caught one of them and twisted his neck. ‘You do the same now, Jack, and we will have enough for this evening,’ says he. But Jack drove all the bullocks into the corner of the field. ‘What I am going to do,’ says he, ‘is to take them all, and we won’t have to be coming back every day for them.’ ‘Oh, no, Jack,’ says the giant, ‘the meat would go bad on us. Two of them is plenty,’ and he picked up the second bullock and off home with them. The giant was boasting to his mother what a great man Jack was, how he was going to kill the whole heard of bullocks, but the mother was trying to persuade him that Jack was only making a fool of him. ‘But, look here,’ says she, ‘there isn’t a bit of firing in the house to boil the supper. Let you go out and gather a handful of brosna for me.’

Off with the two of them out into the wood, and the giant pulled up a big dead tree by the roots. ‘Let you pull another one, and we have enough, Jack,’ says he. But that wouldn’t satisfy Jack. He got a bit rope and started to run through the wood with it. ‘I’ll tear up the whole wood,’ says he, ‘and then we will not have to be gathering twigs for the fire every day.’ ‘Oh, no, Jack,’ says the giant, ‘for if you tear up the whole wood, everyone will see where our house is, and I want to keep it hidden: And with that he pulled up the second tree and away home with them. The giant boasted greatly about what a strong man Jack was, but the old hag would not believe a word of it.

She started to make the supper in a big pot. “Will you have enough in the two bullocks men?” says she. “And sure we will,” says Jack, “one bullock apiece is not bad feeding.” The giant was getting more in dread than ever, when he heard the big appetite the small man had, and he hardly able to finish one bullock for his supper of an evening. “Let you go out the two of you, and have sport for yourselves while the supper is boiling” says the old hag. Out with them into the yard. There was a black-smith’s anvil lying in the yard, a lot bigger than the anvil you would see at the forge. The giant picked it up in one hand. ‘This is a little game that my brothers and myself used to play,’ says he. And he tossed the anvil over the top of the house, the same as you might toss your cap in the air. And he ran around the house and caught the anvil before it touched the ground. ‘Now, Jack, it is your turn, says he. Jack took off his coat and trussed up his sleeves. ‘Stand back, and give me a run at it,’ says he, ‘and I’ll fling it from here to County Limerick. It will come in handy for my poor old mother, to iron the clothes with. It is the stone of a mill she was using when I left home, and it was getting a bit heavy for her, the creature.’ But when the giant heard that he wouldn’t have it at all; he did not want to lose the anvil. And he had great boasting to the mother about how strong Jack was. But she was saying all the time that Jack was making a fool of him.

Well, the supper was ready, and the mother put a boiled bullock up before each of them. And Jack made some excuse to go out for a minute, and what did he do but to fold the skin of one of the bullocks like a bag, and put it inside his shirt. And it was into the skin that he put the most of the meat, until he had the table cleared in front of him. And he would not be satisfied until the giant gave him a quarter of his own bullock, and into the bag with that too. ‘And now, my brave giant,’ says Jack, ‘I must show you the way to cure yourself of a surfeit of boiled meat,’ says he, and with that he picked up the carving knife and ripped up the skin, and out with all the meat around the floor. And before the mother could stop him, the giant had himself split up the middle, trying to he as good as Jack. And down with him in a heap on the floor, stone dead. And the old hag let out a screech out of her that nearly split the roof, and away with her running mad through the country and was never heard of again.

But Jack cut the head off the giant, and dragged it away back to the king and told him that the danger was over for good and all. And the king was so delighted that he gave Jack a thousand pounds this time, all gold, in a bag, and a horse to carry himself and all the wealth home to his old mother in the town of Rathkeale. And he minded his money, and never had a day’s want for the rest of his life.

Story from Mrs. Mary Moylan to Kevin Danaher.
Published in ‘Folktales of the Irish Countryside’
published by Mercier Press SBN 85342 056 4