Galway Advertiser 2003/2003_05_08/GA_08052003_E1_024.pdf 

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Where have all the butchers gone?
One of the aspects of Galway life that has been slow ly disappearing over the last generation or so is the family butcher - the local victualler in the small shop. When you think of it, it does not seem so long ago that Jimmy Horan had his premises in Bohermore; Jack Diviily was on Prospect Hill before he sold the busi ness to Tommy Pierce; across the street was Martin Nohilly's before he sold on to John Jordan. Sean Loughnane was in Forster St, Maloney's butcher shop was in Woodquay. In William Street there was Joyce's, and also Eugene Horan (next to Powell's). Abbeygate Street was a hub starting with Eddie Shea - later Matty Kiernan: then Billy Horan, Jim McGrath, Paul Heaney, Tommy Hopkins who passed the business on to his son Manin. and Tommy Small whose business was carried on by his son Gerry. John Colleran had small premises next to Lillis' Drapery Shop for several months while his Mainguard Street premises was being built. Paul Heaney's shop was in Bowling Green, and around the comer in Lombard Street was Tommy and Willy McNamara's, and Fred Herterich's pork butcher shop, later run by his son George, now run by his grandson George. Herterich' also had premises on Shop Street, as did Martin Diviily whose business later passed on to his son Brian. Eddie Shea had a small shop where the snug in TaafTe's pub was later. People remember seeing tripe in his window. Quite a long time ago there was the River Plate Company at the Four Comers, which sold American Bacon. Jim Kit-man was in Mainguard Street, as was John Colleran whose business went to his son Paul, and is now being run by his grandson Raymond. Joyce's of Shop Street also had a shop in Cross Street. In Dominick St there were Willy Jordan, Jim Kirwan, Mick Talbot, Sean Loughnane and the Heaney Brothers. PJ Kenny had a shop on Henry Street, and Jimmy Tiemey (later the Grains) was on Henry Street. Shantalla Road had Paddy's Lamb - Remember the slogan: 'When Paddy's Lamb came to town, the price of meat came tumbling down.' Davoren's also had a shop on Shantalla Road. "Out the west" there were Willy Jordan. Martin Diviily, Paddy Jordan. Sean Dolan, John Booth, and Tom O'Sullivan whose business was later run by his sons Tony ("The Green Ghost') and Vinnie. Jimmy Horan had a business opposite Salthill church. Sean Dolan sold his meat in Lenaboy Gardens, and Frank Hallinan's shop was opposite Seapoint. There were others of course, people like Martin Kelly of High Street who sold bacon, as did the nextdoor neighbour Philip Murphy the publican. And then you could buy chickens in the market and of course turkeys at the Christmas market. The abattoir was for many years in Bowling Green in premises given to the city by Queen Victoria. It later moved to the Fairgreen. Most butchers had "factories" where they processed meat - Eddie Shea's was in Middle Street, where the Kenny Gallery is today, Collerans was in Kirwans Lane. Tommy Jennings in Dominick Street, and Herterich's was at the back of the Spanish Arch, where Nimmo's is today. People today might think that these were dirty places but in fact regular use of lime white wash and tar kept them very clean. So where have they all gone? Today there are only three family butcher shops left in town, Collerans, Herterichs, and Kiemans. The rest seem to have been absorbed into supermarkets, which may be very nice and efficient, but they lack the per sonal touch, the chat, the sound of the blade being sharpened on leather, being able to watch the master butcher at work chopping and slicing and presenting your meat, before wrapping it in paper and string. Butchers could always break the twine with just a flick of the wrist. Our photograph today shows what probably was an Easter display outside Jordan's shop "back the west". The main feature were the sides of lamb which wasespecially dressed. They were wrapped in a protective caul, which was a layer of fat around a sheep's stom ach. Holes were cut in the caul to show the lambs kid

neys and liver, which were usually the first to sell. The meat was hung on hooks which could be swung into the shop at night, and outside during the day. It was often handled by the customers as they pushed their way in and out of the shop. And there were flies too, but it did not affect the meat, people were healthy and there were no drugs in die meat, mind you, and no plastic bags, the display in our photograph would probably seriously test the heartbeat of any health inspector today. In the photograph we see brothers Willy, Paddy, and Mick Jordan, together with Mick's wife May. Willy and Mick were married to two sisters. Our thanks to Paul Colleran and Sean Jordan for the above.

*Birdwatch Galway invites you to join them to listen to the dawn chorus at the following venues: Merlin Park Woods (meet at the Hospital main entrance gate car park), and Coole Park, Gort (meet at main car park by the interpretive centre) on Sunday May 11 at 5am. It is well worth the early alarm call and all are wel come! * Western Family History Association: Lecture by Mr Pyres O'Conor Nash on The O'Conor Don Family on Wednesday May 14 at Menlo Park Hotel, Headford Road, Galway at 8pm. New members are welcome. For further information contact Diarmuid O'Cearbhaill at 091-524411 ext 2547 TK

Qafwav THary
The man who brought a village to the world stage

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hen the Emperor of Japan and his young bride visited Galway and Clare in the summer of 1982 their visit included the world famous oyster bar, Moran's of the Weir. Irish Government and Japanese offi cials had impressed upon everyone that the strictest protocol was absolutely essential for the emperor and e m p r e s s of the ancient Chrysanthemum throne. There must be no phys ical contact whatsoever. No one was to speak to the royal couple. Their food would be decided beforehand. No other customers were to be allowed into the pub. When they arrived the Vloran family and staff were told to stand in a line and bow, outside the front door. They were to remain stationary until the couple entered the building. The big day arrived and as the empress stepped out of her limousine. Michael Moran followed his natu ral instincts and stepped forward. He took her hand, held it, and smiling warmly, shook it several times saying: "You are heartily, heartily welcome!" As officials fainted all round the royal couple beamed with pleasure and entered into the spirit of an Irish welcome, talking and laughing and. yes. ordering their own food. Michael Moran, was as straight and as traditional in his way. as the 14-house village the Weir, built hor izontally along a small harbour just off the Clarenbridge/Kilcolgan road where he spent his life. There were three licensed premises in the Weir at the beginning of the last century, and Morans held a licence since the 1700s. It was a busy market place for seaweed and turf, brought from Connemara in the black hulled and red sailed

pucans and gleoiteoigs. As a child he was woken in the early hours of the day by the sound of whipping sails as the boats tied up and men came into his home thirsty for porter. When the roads improved and the lorry took over the delivery trade the boats stopped calling, and only Morans retained the licence. There was little or no bar trade. But the locals had access to the state-owned 700 acre oys ter beds outside the harbour mouth. Michael earned his living on his 20 acre farm, netting salmon on the Dunkellin river, and buying up oysters from the local fishermen, and selling them to Hanlon's Fish Merchants, Dublin. It was hard work in cold winter months but gradually the succulent quality of the Clarenbridge oyster become known and more and more people sought out this hidden away little pub. where the only drink was Sandyman's port and sherry, Power's whiskey and bottled Guinness. Today, thanks to the patient work of Michael, and the energy of his son Willie and daughter Noreen, Moran's of the Weir is known and lauded all over the world. And last Friday, surrounded by his fami ly Michael passed away aged 96. He and his wife Kitty were 56 years married last February. They had eight children, two sets of twins, and sadly two, Thomas and Teresa, predeceased him.

industrialists and horse-trainers that sweep up the harbour, and which must wake the villagers from time to time. But there are no complaints. The Moran family, widely respected as hard working people, have built up an enviable reputation for devising a deceptively simple menu; but one which consistently produces outstanding seafood, cold porter and chilled wines and Kitty's freshly made nutty brown bread. They are blessed with their staff which includes Sheila Moran, Vincent Graham, Martin Kilkelly, Mary Burke, Marion O'Donnell and chefs Geraldine Fallon and Paul McCarthy. In the same way the Allen family have made Ballymaloe a household word throughout the cook ery world, so the Moran family have made the Weir synonymous with the best of Irish seafood. Perhaps the best thing Michael ever did was to marry Kitty Long, of Maree, who could bake up to 20 large roasting tins of brown bread every day. Kitty still has a simple rule of thumb for judging a plate of food before it was sent out to a customer. She would ask Willy or Noreen: "Would you eat that food?" If her children said yes, then out it went! When John Huston lived in St Clarens, Craughwell, he was a regular visitor. One night, during a fright ening thunder and lightning storm, lightning struck the chimney of the adjoining house sending it crashing through the roof, pulling electric cables with it into the children's bedroom. The place burst into flames. The father of the children burst into the pub shouting that his children were all killed. If Michael was woken as a child by the sound of Without thinking, Huston raced into the building sails flapping in the wind, today, it's the sound of and carried the children to safety. helicopters carrying pop stars, directors of airlines.

Paul N e w m a n was hungry
One thing Michael always insisted upon was that come 11 o'clock, the bar had to be cleared. He appeared at the door with his dog Rex, at exactly closing time. Even John Huston was not excused from this rule. He once turned up on a Sunday afternoon a few minutes passed closing. He had Paul Newman with him and they were hungry. Michael would not turn them away but he wouldn't let them into the bar either. Instead he led them into his kitchen, settled them by the range and fed them well with oysters and Guinness. Politicians were not so lucky. A former local Government minister was entertaining an elderly minister from another country, during a thawing of the Cold War. At 11 o'clock as Michael stood with the dog at the door. The local minister explained that it would be appreciated if they could have another couple of pints. Michael said no, adding "and take that lad home with you." On another o c c a s i o n , and even more senior Government representative, foolishly argued that a couple of pints after hours wouldn't do anyone harm. "No," said the bold Michael, "and you go and run the Ddil the way you want it: and I will run Morans the way I want to." There was always a twinkle in his eyes. His last call at 11 o'clock was: "You don't have to go home, ladies and gentlemen, but you can't stay here." May he rest on peace! Ronnie O'Gorman rogorman @ gal wayadvertiser.ie

20 roasting tins of bread