Fir-House, Firhouse
Fir-House The small, dirty village of Fir-House [Mr. Handcock says that the house of this name was bought in 1800 by Mr. James Johnson. He sol...
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Fir-House The small, dirty village of Fir-House [Mr. Handcock says that the house of this name was bought in 1800 by Mr. James Johnson. He sol...
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475 words
Fir-House
The small, dirty village of Fir-House [Mr. Handcock says that the house of this name was bought in 1800 by Mr. James Johnson. He sold it to Mr. Beresford Burston, who lived there about eight years, and was succeeded by his son-in-law, Mr. Smith. It was subsequently bought for a Carmelite Convent. The approach, which originally faced the back entrance to Sally Park, has been moved higher up the road, near to the chapel, which adjoins the dwelling-house. A wall has been built along the road.] is at the end of the cross-road from Balrothery Hill to the Bohernabreena Road. It is just outside the demesne wall of Sally Park, and is principally inhabited by stone-breakers. They earn good wages by breaking the whinstone brought down from Mont Pelier for the roads. They get 1s. 6d. a ton, and can, if expert, break two tons or more in the day. Not many years ago, Saturday night and Sunday were spent in drinking and fighting. In my early days, no Sunday passed without one or more regular fights. The Fir-House boys, having drunk up to a proper pitch, were wont to issue from the public-house. Stripping off all their clothes except their trousers, they used to challenge the mountain boys, or anyone else. Many a hard fight have I seen from our shrubbery wall, which overlooks the village.
On one occasion I was looking at a grand battle between a Fir-House boy and a Dublin pugilist. Many rounds had been fought, and the excitement of the crowd was at its height, when word was brought that the priest was coming. Father Doolin, at that time priest at Fir-House, kept some kind of order in the village, and was the terror of evil-doers. At the sound of his name the crowd dispersed in a moment. The Fir-House pugilist crept up a sewer, and escaped. The Dublin man, who was told to run for his life, had just time to put on his coat over his naked back and do so. He crossed the wall of Delaford. Father Doolin spied him, and, bringing his horse alongside the wall, vaulted over after him. After a smart chase he collared him, and then and there gave him a fine horsewhipping, until he roared for mercy. “I’ll teach you,” said the priest, “not to come out here disturbing the peace of the town.” This Father Doolin was a powerful man, fond of horses, and quite the old-fashioned style of priest, and was a great loss when moved from here.
[The village is much improved since this account was written. The present inhabitants are orderly and hard-working, and wrestling matches and fights are traditions of times long gone by. Many of the cottages have been rebuilt, and the village no longer presents a dirty and neglected appearance.]