Assylinn: More than a Graveyard

Assylinn: More than a Graveyard 

For many Boyle people the name Assylinn rings of death and the final resting place of a loved one. For an older generation, however, it can trigger memories of a much different kind. Death, the great leveller, brings us all together there lying side-by-side under a headstone bearing a name, date of birth, death and a prayer or little quotation reflecting the person’s philosophy of life. 

Assylinn graveyard is as old as time itself. An historic place, it is mentioned in the annals written sixteen centuries ago by St. Patrick himself when he arrived on the shores of Hibernia with the good news of Christ and his gospel of hope. According to the same annals, St. Patrick is said to have had a little tumble with his horse and chariot when crossing the river ford at Eas-mac-nEirc, the ancient name for Assylinn. The setback is said to have resulted in our National Saint being slow to give old Boyle his unbridled blessing; the jury is still out on that one? The graveyard as we know it today goes back three centuries, having a few headstones recording deaths as far back as the early years of the eighteenth century. She spreads out across a vast sloping hill gazing on the river below, snugly hidden away from the madding crowd and the never-ending traffic. As the river meanders her way down from Lough Gara she builds up steam as she thunders by Bob Stewart’s old sawmill at Glebe, becoming a torrent as she crashes beneath the railway bridge in the shadow of the old graveyard! 

Eas-Mac-nEirc means ‘waterfall of the sons of Erc’. He hailed from the family of Mochanna-Mac-Erc, the first Abbot of the monastery founded there by St. Colmcille around 530 A.D.. That name lasted up to the 12th century when a Flaherty O’Flynn became Warden of the Oratory. He was followed by a kinsman Maolissa O’Flynn, who then became Prior. He died in the year 1223 A.D., so for the next 800 years it would be known as Assylinn or Flynn’s Waterfall. A single wall is all that now remains of the old oratory, half hidden in ivy and still standing. A reminder of a more noble age when Irish Monks carried the faith across central Europe and the known world. Its closest neighbour today happens to be the first ‘recorded’ resident of Assylinn, a James Johnston who died and was buried there in the year 1702 A.D.. The impressive headstone which incorporates a gate and surrounding railings would suggest he was a man of importance in his day, although no record survives to prove or disprove that theory! Many another poor soul lies buried roundabout without a name; little heaps of solid earth heavy with grass without a record to show who they were or whence they came? A line from ‘Greys Elegy’ might be appropriate: “Fame smiled not on their humble birth and Melancholy made them for her own”. Further down river, one comes to Tobar Padraig; not a holy well as such or a place of pilgrimage but a spot remembered and revisited by many an emigrant home after years on foreign soil. They love to visit the spot that was once part of their childhood; memories of the fun and the picnics at Patrick’s Well, catching ‘Cailleogs’ in Bo Peep jam jars in the river nearby, or swimming in the crystal clear waters of The Pound (river) as it feeds into Stewart’s Millrace. 

Assylinn was also a place of worship for the Presbyterian and Church of Ireland communities in the early 17th Century, with the little oratory used as a house of prayer and a small area of the graveyard is still used as a burial ground for some members of old established families of the Presbyterian, Methodist and Church of Ireland communities. Towards the end of the 18th Century they built their new House of Prayer at the top of Green Street at Bellspark, which is used to the present day. Further down river stands the shell of old St. Patrick’s R.C. Church. The edifice, built in the year 1823, was used as a place of worship before, during and after The Great Famine of 1847. Later, a new church of Gothic design was built at Abbeytown and consecrated to St. Joseph in the year 1882. Old St. Patrick’s ceased to be a place of worship and fell into disrepair, but not for long. It became a music hall for concerts, dances, indoor amusements and was used as such for many years. It continued to operate until the year 1957 when it closed its doors we thought (again) for the last time. A new state of the art dancehall had been built on the Crescent and so began a new chapter in the life of Boyle. Old St Patrick’s refused to die, however, and became a factory manufacturing shop windows and fronts, metal shelving and fittings for offices and warehouses and libraries nationwide. Countless stories linger of the great events that took place within the old walls. If they could speak they’d have countless stories to tell of the great dances and ceilidhs that took place there, the musical events and the concerts staged by Miss Nancy O’Connor or E. C. McGee, the dramas and plays produced by Fr. Tiernan C.C. (the local curate), the annual Feis Ceoil, and the never to be forgotten annual winter indoor amusements that ran for a fortnight in December each year. That event was eagerly looked forward to by every man, woman and child in the parish since there was a form of entertainment or a game to suit everyone. To name a few of the renowned entertainers who graced the old stage, who could forget the hilarious Jimmy O’Dea and Harry O’Donovan of Gaiety Theatre fame, playing to a packed hall for three or four nights in a row, staying in Lynch’s Hotel on Main Street, not to mention walking the streets of Boyle during the daylight hours. Anew McMaster, the great Shakespearean actor, also graced the stage of the old Hall on a number of occasions. Last, but not least, was the memorable arrival of ‘Question Time’ with Joe Linnane of Radio Eireann fame. Six knowledgeable gentlemen offered themselves up for the fun and the craic and what a memorable night it was, the winner being Dominic Lydon the assistant Station Master. What a night of banter, humour and fun, with Boyle Town the centre of attraction for the nation on a Sunday night. Joe Linnane was the Gay Byrne of his day with his famous ‘Question Time’ show every Sunday night, which was as popular then as The Late Late Show today, and tuned into every household in the country that was lucky to own a ‘wireless. We’re talking about the year 1945/46. A fine slice of Boyle’s coloured history is surely embedded in the stonework of the grand old building.

To fail to mention the annual swimming gala at Assylinn would be to do it a disservice. This was one of the great events of the year, looked forward to for months in advance and what a day it was! A short distance below ‘the sounding cataract’, the river runs smooth and deep with a high rise bank on each side created by Mother Nature herself for such an occasion. The young contestants lined up at the river’s edge awaiting the bang of a starting gun to set them on their way across. Cheers and shouts rose from the crowds on the embankments as the contestants pushed themselves to the limit to win the eagerly sought-after medal of victory. Another keenly fought competition was the underwater swim across the full width of the river, with the crowd holding their breath as well. Could there be a budding Johnny Weissmuller among this bunch of young Boyle lads about to stretch their lungs to the limit? For a young ten-year-old brought along for the day this was a scene not to be forgotten, a moment of pause even for a seasoned observer; who or how many would fall by the way and surface for a life-saving intake of breath? Would there be a winner? ‘Walk the Greasy Pole’ brought explosions of laughter from the crowd as one contestant after another slithered from their slippery perch like skittles tumbling in an amusement hall. The diving competition was broken into age categories, each one keenly fought with an ultimate winner. Then came the Grand Finale, the highlight of the Gala! This involved the local ‘Stuntman’ who staged a rather unique type of high dive each year, followed by an exhibition of a swimmer who suffers a sudden stomach cramp and struggles bravely to survive it. The diving board stood twenty feet above the river level, with a ramp on which a bicycle could be wheeled forward...yes, a bicycle! As the daredevil pedalled (with some assistance) to the edge of the ramp, he stood up and balanced himself on the handlebars and plunged into the depths below. The hushed crowd sat in shock and awe awaiting his reappearance from the depths. The burst of applause that met him could have awakened the residents of Assylinn Graveyard. He then followed up with his own special take on the swimmer severely hit by a stomach cramp. Writhing in pain he gathered himself into a foetal position on his back struggling with a back stroke to guide himself painfully and slowly to the river bank accompanied by periodic moans and groans. The crowd lapped it up as the stuntman made it look so real from beginning to end. The gala was an integral part of the annual calendar of events, a topic of conversation that would be talked about over many a drink, part of the local history, a happy memory, a forgotten happiness. 

In rounding off Assylinn’s long and varied history it would be a serious oversight to neglect to mention the area once reverberated to the sound of industry; small perhaps, but real. The colourful Robert (Bob) Stewart, a member of the Stewart dynasty, ran a successful saw mill in the townland of Glebe on the upper stretch of the river; while Michael Dwyer Snr. and his two sons, Mark and Michael, ran their saw mill a short distance below the railway bridge. Both operated very successfully into the early 1950s, supplying native timber to the local building trade, the freelance carpenter or joiner. 

Frank O’Mahoney, the very popular Cork man who made his home in Boyle in the early 1970s, ran a very successful iron foundry business within the walls of an old Georgian building (beside the graveyard) that was once occupied by the O’Connors (a highly respected family in the locality). Besides Frank’s skills in wrought iron, he also manufactured gates and different kinds of accessories for the agricultural business. Frank was also a specialist in moulding pieces of iron into fine delicate works of art, which he would have on display during the Boyle Arts Festival each year. Boyle’s adopted son also had a deep love of music and produced a musical show every year in the local hall for almost three decades, until his retirement a few years ago; a unique contribution to the town of Boyle. The ancient O’Connor residence where Frank’s skills were brought to fruition still operates under new management, an abiding symbol of an historic past. 

Further on one comes to the power plant founded by another member of the Stewart dynasty, John Stewart Ltd., in the 1870’s. The family supplied electricity to Boyle town and its precincts for the best part of a hundred years, producing D.C. direct current, and was among the first in Ireland to generate electricity on a commercial scale.  It is a proud feather in her cap that Boyle can boast being one of the first towns in Ireland to have an electricity supply. In 1965, the E.S.B. (the national network) bought over the plant as a result of a much greater demand for electricity and a need for alternating current (A.C.). Another member of the same family, Joseph Stewart Ltd., ran a highly successful flour mill from the late 19th century until very recently. Today it has turned its attention to oil distribution, with a fleet of oil tankers forever on the move. A much-anticipated addition to the local economy by this highly entrepreneurial family is at present in the pipeline (we’re informed) and at an advanced stage of planning. Hopefully it will soon come to fruition (i.e. a whiskey distillery) for Boyle town. We await it ‘with baited breath’.

The final little pearl in Assylinn’s crown is the variety of fish that inhabit its waters. Pike, perch, trout and eel swim there in abundance. All one requires is a fishing rod, the humble worm, a Blue or Brown Devon minnow, a wet or dry fly and a sprinkle of patience (a vital part of the sport). A very special stretch of water beyond Bob Stewart’s old sawmill, known as ‘The Cut’, has forever been known as the real testing ground for a true fly fisherman. Here is the spot where the fly fisherman’s casting skills are put to the ultimate test against the wily trout, to challenge a maze of cross currents ‘where rapids collide and converge’, ‘where stone is dark under froth’ and the trout breaks the surface for a fleeting moment to snatch a luscious Golden Olive, Brown Sedge or August Dun fly. All come together, the wily trout, the keen eye of the angler, the downturn of the wrist, the fly sitting where X might mark the spot on a war map; a challenge between two daring adversaries! 

So ends the story of Assylinn, a place that begins and ends with memories, in every sense of the word; an ocean of dreams, a balm for the soul, a hidden paradise.

Christy Wynne