Letter from Edmond Woulfe White (1906)

“In this letter, published in the Kerry People newspaper on September 29, 1906, Edmond Woulfe White (1854–1922) notes the sale of the Verschoyle-Goold estate to its tenant farmers and tells the history of the Goold family and their sometimes contentious relationship with the people who worked their land. White was the son of Michael White (d. after 1903) and Bridget Woulfe White (ca. 1829–1911) and practiced law in Belfast, a perspective he brings to this letter.

Veraschoyle Goold Estate, West Limerick.

To the Editor.

Ulster Buildings, Waring Street,

Belfast, 5th September, 1906.

Dear Sir,—In the North of Ireland we do not realise the extraordinary revolution that is silently and peacefully taking place in the South under the Land Purchase Acts. Of all the estates in Munster, the history of the Veraschoyle Goold estate in West Limerick the sale of which has just concluded, [1] is probably the most interesting, and I should say the most instructive; and with you[r] indulgence I shall refer to it briefly for a twofold purpose viz:—(a) to refute the charges of bigotry and intolerance levelled time and again against the Catholics of the South, and (b) to exemplify the changes that are passing over the face of that province. The estate was purchased in 1817 by Serjeant Goold, who was a master in Chancery, a co-temporary of O’Connell, and a professional rival not unworthy of that great man. [2] Both were engaged in most of the important cases of the time on opposite sides. One of the oldest surviving tenants on the estate, as venerable in years as he is tenacious of memory, remembers meeting O’Connell and Goold, and can recall many interesting incidents in their careers. [3] One I shall mention, as it has reference to the estate to which I am referring. In the early thirties O’Connell was engaged in defending prisoners charged with conspiracy and sedition at the Cork Assizes, and Goold, who was prosecuting for the Crown, was having the best of O’Connell, and convictions seemed inevitable. O’Connell, knowing that the serjeant was irascible, frequently interrupted him for the purpose of irritating him and throwing him off the trend of his arguments, and ultimately, after Goold had referred to certain estates with which the prisoners were connected, O’Connell interjected:—“What about that property you purchased in West Limerick from Lord Courtenay, where, if you turn out a two year old in May it comes in a yearling in November with the horns of a four year old?” This inflamed the serjeant, and enabled O’Connell to pull off his prisoners. [4] Both were life-long friends, and I quote the following incident to show how intimate their friendship was. The serjeant was notoriously “near,” and on one occasion O’Connell was walking through a dark passage in the serjeant’s house when the latter said—“O’Connell, be careful, or you will break your neck.” The reply was—“It would be more difficult, Tom, to break the fast here than one’s neck.” Goold, although a Crown official, boldly avowed to Castlereagh his hostility to the Union, and to the last opposed it. He was a brilliant speaker, and was known as “Goold of the silver tongue.” The serjeant was an excellent landlord. When the estate was purchased Europe was held in flames by war and exorbitant prices were paid for farm produce. After Waterloo the prices went down with a bang, and the rents then payable became impossible. The tenants requested the serjeant to have them readjusted, and this he willingly consented to do. He appointed an arbitrator in his behalf and asked the tenants to appoint one to represent them. Both fixed the rents without even the intervention of an umpire, and so moderate were they, the rents remained practically undisturbed until the sale of the estate a few weeks ago. The estate passed in succession to the serjeant’s three sons in the order of age, and ultimately to his great-grandson, Mr. Goold Versachoyle, who has just sold, as already explained. [5]

His father, who is long since dead, was a carpenter to trade, and had his workshop in one of the Archdeacon’s outhouses in Athea.

The relations between landlord and tenant were harmonious and satisfactory until the youngest son, the Archdeacon, came on the scene, and the scene then changed, and the change was swift. Steeped in feudalism, the Archdeacon regarded himself a demigod and his tenants serfs, whose chief duties, in his view, were to earn rents and worship at the shrine of the feudal deity. Shortly after succeeding to the estate he built a dwelling-house at the head of Athea village, which is situated in the heart of the property. He also erected a church within two hundred yards of the house, and simultaneously distributed Bibles among the tenants on the estate, and scattered broadcast among them polemical literature and religious tracts. Up to this no Protestant had settled on the estate, and there was no Protestant church within a radius of eight miles. No person could or ever would take exception to the Archdeacon introducing members of his denomination to the parish and erecting a church for them at which to worship, and no misunderstanding or feeling would follow if he had not tampered with the religious convictions of the Catholics. A few Protestant families came to reside on the estate, and from the time they settled there to the present the relations between them and the Catholics have been of the most exemplary character, as will be seen later on. The archdeacon inaugurated a system, I won’t say of proselytism, but akin to it, which led to feuds and demoralisation over the estate. He did not in time realise the harm he was doing, nor did he see until too late that he might as well have attempted to alter against the laws of gravitation the courses of brooks and rivulets that meander over his property as to seduce the Catholics from the fold of their Church. Men were employed at different centres to distribute tracts and take the names of persons who were willing to read them. They were paid in proportion to the numbers enrolled, and once each month those enrolled marched to Listowel, a town eight miles distant, entered the Protestant church, underwent some examination, after which they “drew their pay,” and went off smiling, “winking the other eye,” to the nearest public-house, and that which they received for “soup” they handed to the publican for a drink. Thus the demoralisation proceeded, and only for the fact the thing would have been ludicrous and laughable in the extreme. The society which the archdeacon induced thus to operate on his Catholic tenantry soon saw they there being humbugged, and the ungodly thing fizzled into the air, where it still dwells, and will until the day of judgment, awaiting its reward. It was inevitable that procedure of that kind would exercise the minds of the spiritual directors of the people and hot controversies followed for years, until they culminated in a number of charges being preferred by the archdeacon against the Reverend Martin Ryan, administrator of the parish, and one of the finest priests Munster ever gave the Church. An ecclesiastical court was duly formed, and a day appointed to hear the charges. The priest accompanied by his parishioners in hundreds proceeded on the day appointed to Newcastle West, where the court was held, prepared to refute the calumnies in which for the moment he was shrouded. But the archdeacon and the “creatures” who were playing and fattening on his fanaticism were non est. [6] Father Ryan was cheered along the road to his home, where he met with a reception unparalleled in the annals of the parish. The archdeacon did a still more extraordinary thing. The Sunday after the court was held he marched into the chapel bearing a wand which was symbolic of his visit to the Holy Land, while celebrating Mass, and forced his way through the congregation to the altar steps. It would be difficult to conceive anything more trying to the patience of a Catholic than an intrusion like this during the celebration of a function so solemn and dear to them. The archdeacon wanted to vindicate before the congregation certain Catholic ladies from trivial aspersions which neither Father Ryan nor the archdeacon should have noticed. Those ladies were altogether too elevated for the tongue of maligner to hurt them. In justice to the archdeacon it must be said he entered the church between the Gospels, and his demeanour was most respectful. He was kindhearted, of imposing presence, a perfect gentleman and the frailties forgotten when his good parts will be remembered. And those frailties I should not now exhume only that I want to point out how much the Catholics endured while the feeling of amity between them and the Protestants remained unbroken. Now, what I want to emphasise is that during all those troublous times the good relations between the Protestant and their Catholics neighbours never waned, as already stated. There are just two Protestant families in that wide estate, and not others with a radius of many miles. I met the head of one of these families (Mr. Gleeson) a few days ago, and he told me that during the fifty years his family have been living in the parish they received nothing but kindness and consideration from their neighbours; that the Catholics always brought home his hay and turf, and that his difficulty was to make a selection from those who volunteered to assist him, they came in such numbers. In the parish there are not two families more respected or more popular, and there is no distinction between Protestants and Catholics in the South except where the Protestant ranges himself on the side of the oppressor or attempts to make inroads on people’s faith. There they cannot understand why there should be any strife over religious matters, and one very intelligent man said to me—“It would be nearly as good as Home Rule if the Boyne would be blotted out of the map. If it could Derry, apprehending the same fate, would probably fall into line with the people and stop their nonsense.” The two Protestant families live adjacent to the districts from which most of the moonlighters radiated, and though these men raided every house in Kerry, Limerick and Cork where they suspected there were firearms, they never interfered with the Protestants, and so secure did Mr. Gleeson’s family feel that when retiring for the night they didn’t even lock their doors. [7] Not only so, but that gentleman tells me that five men unknown to him spoke to him at a fair in Douagh, and told him he need have on apprehension, and added, “We won’t interfere with your sort.” Nor did they. Mr. Gleeson also informed me that when moonlighting was rampant he went with a local Protestant landlord to Kerry for a week’s shooting. They stayed at a farmhouse in the district over which the moonlighters rambled mightily, but were not interfered with, and what I am writing of Limerick and Kerry holds good over Munster. Gleeson himself said, “We were as safe as if on board a battleship, and we knew it.” The worthy clergyman (Canon Vance), who has for upwards of forty years been officiating at the handsome church built by Archdeacon Goold, and who is one of the most popular clergymen in Ireland, experiences as much respect from the Catholics as they extend to their priests. That venerable gentleman’s heart is filled with charity and kindness towards Catholics, and what he has done for struggling Catholics from time to time would take more space to describe than I could reasonably demand. I wish now to give an example of the wonderful confidence the Catholics place in Protestants. Mr. Gleeson, to whom I have already referred, has revealed a little secret to me, now for the first time made public. His father, who is long since dead, was a carpenter to trade, and had his workshop in one of the Archdeacon’s outhouses in Athea. He was engaged one evening in 1867, when Fenianism was raging throughout the country, making a coffin, when a man named McMahon, locally known as the “Marshal,” and who was the leader of Fenians in the district, came to him and said he intended to camp with this men that night in the Archdeacon’s out-offices. The son says when his father heard this daring resolve of MacMahon he stood almost petrified over the unfinished coffin. He was powerless to stop them, and would go into exile before he would betray them. That night the Marshal and his men slept serenely within thirty yards of the room where the Archdeacon slept, and within 200 yards of the nearest police station. Gleeson kept the secret—and he was right—for if the police were warned they would have been overwhelmed by superior numbers, all well armed, trained and fearless. [8] MacMahon was a powerful man, with as little regard for his life as a Japanese soldier once he sniffed the battle breeze. I have just visited the Goold estate, and the changes that have taken place there nobody would have the temerity to tell even twenty years ago. The house erected by the Archdeacon—and which he regarded almost as a sacred temple—has passed into the possession of one of the tenants, having been purchased by him, and the bailiffs, rent warders, understrappers, eavesdroppers, and all the baleful concomitants of feudalism are gone, gone for ever, and their reigns over the estate a feeling of comfort, and confidence and independence such as has not been experienced since feudalism was first forced on a hapless people. It is only fair to add that the last of the Goolds was stripped of all feudal trappings, and left the property after the completion of the sale, leaving behind him memories that will be cherished, and two Protestant families his grandfather brought to the parish half a century ago and whose welfare and happiness every man in that vast estate heartily desires.

With the retirement of Mr. Goold Veraschoyle comes the verification of the prophecy of Father Ryan, to whom I have already alluded. Stung by the encroachment of the Archdeacon on his spiritual domain, he said, pointing to the grove in which stands the church, erected by the Archdeacon—“The thrush will be heard warbling there when the blackbirds are gone”—(i.e., landlords). But fifty years, and with them the faithful priest, passed away before those words were put to the test.—Faithfully yours,

— E. W. White

Top of the page: farm enclosure, Athea, County Limerick, 1940, by Caoimhín Ó Danachair, National Folklore Collection

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[1] White helped negotiate the sale between about 200 tenants and the landlord, Hamilton Frederick Stuart Goold Verschoyle. Tenants on the estate, which encompassed nearly all of the parish of Athea and the townland of Cratloe, included James Patrick “Paddy” Woulfe (1842–1922), Richard James “Brown Dick” Woulfe (1853–1915), Richard Edmond “Dicky Ned” Woulfe (1824–1910), and Edmond Woulfe White’s parents.

[2] Thomas Goold (ca. 1766–1846) was an Irish Protestant lawyer who supported Daniel O’Connell’s attempts to repeal the Act of Union (1801), which created the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

[3] This may have been a reference to Richard E. “Dicky Ned” Woulfe.

[4] A longer version of this story appears in Folktales from the Irish Countryside (1998), edited by the folklorist Kevin Danaher, a native of Athea, County Limerick. Its teller was Richard “Old Dick” Denihan, who had been “a parish priest’s servant and general factotum.”

[5] Thomas Goold died in 1846, and by the early 1850s his son Wyndham Goold, a member of Parliament for Limerick, had inherited the estate. He died in 1854, after which the Very Reverend Frederic-Falkener Goold, archdeacon of Raphoe (1808–1877), became landlord of about 10,966 acres. His wife, Caroline-Newcomen Goold, inherited after him and eventually their grandson, H. F. S. Goold Verschoyle.

[6] In his report on the case, reprinted in the Evening Freeman newspaper on January 31, 1867, the Very Reverend Denn O’Brien describes the charges against Father Ryan as “truly grave,” but then describes the conduct of the archdeacon as “very singular.” “The very rev. gentleman made all the accusations just laid down,” O’Brien wrote. “He made them publicly in the newspapers, and to your lordship by private letter. He called very loudly for inquiry, and complained vehemently when inquiry was necessarily delayed. He pledged himself to prove ‘everyone of the charges’ before an ecclesiastical tribunal, and to ‘vindicate his poor tenantry,’ who, he said, ‘had been victims of Mr. Ryan’s abuse.’ He ‘thanked God’ that he did not belong to a church where such things were permitted to disgrace the ministry, and he appealed to the public, over and over again, for sympathy. And after all this, when the inquiry, instituted at his instance, opened the doors and invited him to prove the accusations he had made, Very Rev. Mr. Goold is not there—nor anyone to represent him, or to explain his absence.”

[7] The Moonlighters were vigilantes engaged in a long-term and often violent social agitation lasting from the 1870s to around the turn of the century that came to be known as the Land War. They collected weapons—including from Thomas Woulfe (1841–1915) of Beale Hill, near Ballybunion, County Kerry—and enforced boycotts, even murdering landlords or those who defied them. The Land War ended with the passage of legislation in Parliament that made the purchase of land such as the Goold estate possible.

[8] On September 23, 1867, the Irish Examiner newspaper reported that Archdeacon Goold held a “splendid banquet” for the Athea station of the Royal Irish Constabulary “in appreciation of their valued services during the late Fenian outbreak.” The uprising, led by the Irish Republican Brotherhood and funded in large part from America, began on March 5 and failed in short order.