MOLLYS HOUSE (TIGH MHOLLY) A Social History

by Peadar Mille
The following is a translation into English based on an article published in the 2004
edition of the local magazine, Biseach.
I am going down home, my mother, Winnie Mholly, used to answer when asked by
the people of Clifden about where she was going on holiday. As it was for Tigh
Mholly we were headed, Tigh Mholly of Loughanbeg, therefore, was neither a shop
nor a pub for us but a home that manifested for us our history, antiquity and roots,
aspects that we did not experience back in Clifden.
Originally, it was a small thatched house but towards the end of the 1800s another
floor was added and an extension was added also. The photograph with this article
was taken in the year 1900. The Tuairisceacha or Waters were sawyers who came
down from Oughterard initially with connections with Corr na Mna also. Pdraig
Tuairisg (Patrick Waters), my grandfather was descended from these sawyers, but it
seems he did not have what it takes to ply this particular trade, at all.

Tigh Mholly in the year 1900

Pdraig, a tall strapping man, who had a passionate desire for reading, married Molly
N Allmhrin (Halloran), a young girl from Oughterard who was about ten years his
junior. As can be gleaned from the photograph, she was a small wee woman but it
was for Molly the local people had the greatest affection. When the shop and pub was
opened the local people named it Tigh Mholly (Mollys House) especially as it was
mostly Molly who served them. Mollys Trojan attempt at speaking Irish as best she
could was a great source of amusement for the locals.

Molly Halloran U Thuairisg

go wore day urn, (a bad pronunciation of Go bhfire Dia orainn in Irish or in

English, May God help us) was the most common saying she used when sympathising
with or expressing pity for someone from the locality. Were there quarrelling and
bickering in the pub, Molly, despite her low stature, would be the one right in the
middle of them trying to mediate between the combatant giants!
After a few years, Pdraig emigrated to America and it seems he was quite successful
there because when Molly refused to follow him over and settle down there with him,
he sold 150 acres of Jamaica Plain which he had purchased there and returned to
Loughanbeg. They always had the understanding that there is a wealth above and
beyond worldly wealth and that is the wealth of the family rooted in the native place.
If my grandfather had the reputation for being parsimonious this was not always the
case, because, on his return, he shared half of his own lands with his brother, Sen.

Pdraig Tuairisg
It is clear from the account books that we possess, written in Mollys handwriting and
that go back to 1896, that Tigh Mholly was very much connected with the local
community and that Tigh Mholly was very much intertwined with their lives. The
various pages bear the names of the grandparents and great-grandparents of those
families now living in the locality and surrounding area and the social history of those
times just bubbles up from each single page.
The usual retail goods were to be found there, those items that used to be sold to rural
dwellers at that time, items that pertained to working the land, to sowing, to the bog
and to the sea as well as beer, stout and spirits. The sale of oranges and bananas by
them in the 1890s is worthy of remark. 2d (two old pennies) was the price of the pint
at that time. For fear that there may be a nostalgic longing for olden times, 5/- (five
old shillings) was the price of a gallon of oil during that period! It seems that both
Molly and Pdraig made sufficient funds from the business that kept their family alive
without too much hardship and all of this from a shop and pub that measured 16 feet
by 12 feet!
Mollys Family
They had nine in family, Nora, May, Thomas, Delia, John, Annie, Kathleen, Michael,
and Winnie. Molly possessed that particular personality that suited business and the
locals were extremely fond of her and held her in high esteem. She had the gift of
being able to put every single person at his/her ease and all felt very much at home in
Tigh Mholly because of her. Along with that she was extremely charitable. If
Pdraig had a reputation for being parsimonius, the polar opposite was true about
Molly. It was not long before she had given out so much credit on the basis of you

can pay me again without there ever being an again, that Tigh Mholly had to be
shut down for a certain period. They re-opened it again under the everwatchful eye of
Pdraig and within a short time the business was at full sail and in full swing again.
I do not know why he had the nickname, Captain Jones and, indeed, he used to sign
personal correspondence with that nickname. It was always his wont to wear a very
fine suit of clothes with a waistcoat and his well-greased moustache was clearly to be
seen. Might this be the reason for his nickname? It was obvious that he had the
astuteness of a ships captain as he steered Tigh Mholly on a safe and steady course
thereafter.
Tigh Mholly was a great visiting house then and oftentimes the kitchen was packed to
capacity with the locals, with each person having his/her particular story or news to
tell Molly. Pdraig had the reputation of being an avid reader with a particular
interest in reading the stories of Zane Grey. Pdraig had his own audience who would
attend in order to hear the next segment of the story from him. He used to be so
engrossed in his reading that some of his family used to smoke cigarettes in his
presence and would blow the tobacco smoke up the open chimney right out in front of
him as he read. He was totally oblivious to what was going on. However, when he
would leave his spectacles aside and close his book, there would be hell to pay if he
caught them smoking cigarettes.
From a business point of view, everything went fantastically well in the aftermath of
the First World War and thereafter until Pdraig died at 64 years of age in the year
1927 and Molly the following year at the age of 52 years. That horrific disease,
cancer, sent them from this earth and, according to my mother, both suffered a
distressful death. The elder ones of the family had already emigrated to America
before the deaths of the old couple, but circumstances were proving so difficult for the
young ones at home that relatives took some of the children with them to Oughterard
and to Glann, beside Oughterard, in order to rear them there. Michael now became
the man of the house and he a mere youngster. A storeroom was made of the pub and
potatoes and general junk pertaining to farming were thrown in there. That put paid
to the shop and the pub in the late twenties.
Just like everyone else in the townland, it was not easy to keep a bite on the table
especially while depending on farming alone. As well as working with the County
Council, with a horse and cart, the Mollies rented out rooms. National
schoolteachers used to rent out the two best rooms in the house. Miss Hession stayed
there initially and after her Miss OConnell stayed there for quite a number of years.
They also kept Irish students, among them were Colm and Mary Gavan-Duffy, two
children of the historical personage, Charles Gavan-Duffy; Liam Buachalla,
Professor of Business Studies, University College Galway and Chairman of the Irish
Senate; Liam Riain, father of the former Senator Brendan Ryan and others that we
shall not reckon here.
Father Eric Mac Fhinn (a noted Irish scholar, teacher and University lecturer) spent
some periods of time there. Interestingly enough, Winnie Toole, a daughter of
Noonie, Mollys sister, from Oughterard and Brendan a member of the McDonagh
family from Glann spent long years in Tigh Mholly when things were difficult for
themselves. Since some of the Mollies were raised in both Oughterard and Glann

years previously, this was almost undertaken on a return the favour basis. Just in
case it might be considered that all that was involved in life during those times was
hardship, distress and misery one might be reminded of the athletic games and
competitions that were organised annually in Mollys Field (the field where the carpark is presently and the field above that), competitions that surpassed the Olympic
Games, if the truth be told!
Re-opening
The best part of twenty years passed before Tigh Mholly, as a pub and as a shop, was
re-opened again. Michael had returned back home from England and Annie, Kathleen
and Winnie were at home at that time. Tigh Mholly as a business was re-opened in
1950. Joe Kenny from An Cnoc (Knock) was the man who wrote Michaels name in
the old Gaelic script over the door of the pub and and has been kept looking afresh
thanks to Maidhc Mhirtn Mhir.
Beairtln Pheatsa made the high counter that is still in the old bar. The most notable
event on opening night was a row between two men. Unlike his mother, Michael took
this very badly and he vowed that this type of occurence would never happen ever
again in his pub. Those of you who are middle aged will remember that he was quite
strict on anybody who would give the slightest indication that he might start a row.
There was an old pub clock hanging on the kitchen wall, that is still there, that used to
chime out the time five minutes before the hour, a feature of the clock that was well
used to the pubs definite advantage. Of course, his mantra where he informed his
customers that it was time to go home, It wont be long now till I have to call ye
Gentlemen, has gone into the local folklore. According to the accounts, written out
in both Annie and Kathleens handwriting, 10d (ten old pennies) was the price of the
pint on re-opening night.
Annie was the one who possessed the better head for business and consequently she
left her own indelible mark on the place. She never had the best of health, however.
She was extremely pious and she used to fill the little Sacred Heart lamp with oil
every single night so that the red light from the lamp would illuminate her bedroom
right throughout the night in honour of the Son of God. The Garda (Irish Police)
never ever raided Tigh Mholly but Annie was extremely lucky one night of thunder
and lightning that she did not end up in court because of her piety.
The air lit up with a flash of lightning and a terrible bolt of thunder rumbled
threateningly that night. Annie ran out to the porch to get the bottle of holy water that
was always left on the porch window cill. To ensure that none of her customers
would be struck by lightning she doused everyone in the bar with the holy water. She
started praying out loud but was perplexed to find people were smelling their hands
and clothes and were laughing instead of giving due reverence to the praying that was
being done.
When the praying was finished one of the two Garda who was in the bar that night
having a drink came up to her and whispered to her Like a good woman, Annie, if
you are going to save us ever again from lightning we would much prefer that you do
it with holy water, and he stretched out his sleeve and put it under her nose so that
she could smell it. There were two bottles left on the porch window cill that night but
poor Annie was so panicked because of her fear of lightning that she grabbed the

bottle closest to hand. Instead of taking the bottle of holy water she grabbed the bottle
of poitn (poteen, illicit whiskey) that Michael had left there to mix through the milk
that he was giving to a sick calf!
Renovation
Annie was the one who renovated and put shape on Tigh Mholly in the 1950s. Duffy
from East Galway completed the construction work. Up in the haggard was where the
privy was at that time, just as was the case everywhere else also. It was extremely
difficult for anyone in ill health to toil his/her way outside in the cold weather and so
a toilet and bathroom were badly needed inside the house. The result of this
renovation was that a lounge, as Michael called it, was attached to the bar below on
foot of building a bathroom upstairs. The interior walls of the house were very wide
and made of natural stone and badly needed plastering. The old plasterwork on the
exterior walls and gables was also picked and were re-plastered, and pebble dash, of
white and black pebbles that was very much in fashion at that time, was plastered on
the exterior south facing wall.
God did not allot poor Annie a lot of time to get much satisfaction from her
renovation work as she was taken into Merlin Park Hospital where she spent many
long days on the broad of her back and very ill. In the very early hours of Good
Friday morning, 1959, while in Annies bed in Tigh Mholly, my mother witnessed the
little Sacred Heart Lamp rise from the dressing table. The lamp made the sign of the
cross in the air and went straight out through the window. It is important to
understand that telecommunications and travel were not like they are today. Indeed,
one would not expect the youth of today to understand the solemnity pertaining to
Good Friday at that time either.
My mother got up very early that morning and said to Michael that a taxi would have
to be hired to go to the hospital because she reckoned, in view of what she witnessed,
that Annie died during the night. The taxi was delayed arriving to Tigh Mholly but in
the meantime a telegram was sent over from Tigh Ned (Neds House), where the post
office was at that time, saying that Annie Mholly had died at the exact same time
that my mother saw the little Sacred Heart Lamp rise from the table in her bedroom.
Memories
My earliest memory of Tigh Mholly is as a young child in the 1950s on holidays there
from Clifden. I was in the bedroom right over the bar listening to the craic and the
witty conversation in the bar below me. It did not take me long to realise that the fun
and the craic, the wit and the repartee, the gentility and the affability, the friendliness
and the honesty pertained to the owners of the house and to the customers in equal
measure.
If they all possessed the richness of language, culture and faith that is not to say that
they had any excess of richness in worldly goods. There was farming and some were
involved with the sea but there was very little reward to be gotten from either of
those. Emigration was rampant then and it often happened that the person spinning a
yarn in Tigh Mholly today was considering the Bd Bn (the white boat the
nickname for the emigrants boat to Britain) or the USA the following week.

If there was no hope of somebody returning from the grave, there was hope, immense
hope, that someone might return from the sea as it was always a great social occasion
when somebody who had emigrated returned home. It did not matter a whit if it was
merely a return for a holiday. The only aspect that perturbed the locals at that time
was to hear strong Yankee or English verbal expressions in the emigrants Irish.
There was utter contempt for the Yanks I guess or Really, and for Oh my word
or a pint of bitter from the man returning from John Bulls land. There was the dole
(social welfare payment) as well as grants of every ilk, two aspects of life in the area
about which, oftentimes, those from outside the Gaeltacht (Irish speaking areas)
would speak slightingly. In truth, however, that same money was well earned by
them.
The bog and cutting turf entailed slavery but despite that, the bog helped to keep food
on the table. The drivers of the turf lorries and their helpers used to stand at Tigh
Mholly on their way to Galway. Very often you would find four or five turf lorries
pulled up on the street outside the pub with each group parched with the thirst because
of the turf dust. In 1959 the local man earned about 12 for a lorry of turf. The rows
above the crib of the lorry were counted on the QT and the upstairs windows provided
a great opportunity to see how well the lorries used to be filled. Watch the hole in
the middle, lads, was the mantra of one of the lorry drivers when he would try to
ensure that the lorry was being filled to his satisfaction. Of note at that time were
Sonny Heavey and Johnny Brennan, but it was a great sense of pride for the Mollies
when they witnessed some of the locals dealing in turf lorries, e.g. Tommy Donoghue
and Ruaid Mrs family (Big Roger Waters)
Facilities
It was not as easy to fill a pint then when compared with present times and the use of
modern methods. Guinness used to have wooden barrels back then that had to be
tapped by striking the tap with a huge wooden mallet on the exact spot on the tap so
that it could be driven home into the barrel forcing the cork plug into the barrel before
it. If it was not struck correctly at the first attempt half the barrels contents would
spurt out of it as froth, drowning you, the pub and half your customers. Two jugs
were used to fill the pint, one with high porter in it and the other with porter that was
much more flat.
As bad as things were in winter, porter was bedevilled in summer due to it being
high because of the heat! Michael and Kathleen used to spend a lot of time tending
to the pints so that they would be of a standard that they would desire. At that time
people were extremely patient waiting for their pints. Tigh Mholly had a great
reputation for having a good pint and often there was banter to be heard about how
slow the two were at filling pints.
The requirements of farmers and housewives were well served by the shop in the
1950s. On the food side, various foodstuffs were sold in the shop in the 1950s a lot of
which were unsophisticated and rudimentary such as Bexitartar (sic), bread soda,
flour to make homemade griddlecakes or tarts. Bon Bons were in great demand by
school kids, red jelly and red jam were to be found side by side on the shelf, snuff,
plugs of tobacco and cigarettes without tips and that have since disappeared from the
market place were sold. For the person who wanted to enhance his appearance coal
tar soap, 2d (two old pennies) Macs Smile and Gillette blades were available. For the

individual who was sick Mrs. Cullens Powder, Castor Oil and Linseed Oil were there
to cure all ills.
Do any of you remember Reckitts Blue? It was put on the market to bleach blankets
but the people of Connemara used to mix it through whitewash to paint their thatched
houses blue. The person who would mix too much of it through whitewash ended up
with a deep purple coloured house that would surpass any house in foreign lands.
Talking about colours, many a Gaeilgeoir (learner of the Irish language) was left
baffled when he/she would ask for shoe polish and be asked Is it black blackin or
brown blackin you want?
The Sixties and early Seventies
The world was quite changeable during the 1960s and so it was for the locals and for
Tigh Mholly also. One could say that there was a lot more wealth allocated to the
community on this side of the country during the 60s. Education was much sought
after, as were the jobs that derived from it. This was also the period when the
Gaeilgeoir (Irish language students) began to arrive in droves. There was a demand
now for certain type of foodstuffs and the women in charge of the households did not
have the time to spend readying things that were easily available in the shops, new
items such as white/brown loaves (or sliced pans as they were called), creamery
butter, biscuits of all sorts or crackers as they were called, Corn Flakes, tins, cans
and boxes with all types of food in them, jars of marmalade, jam of every hue, and
green jelly that took some time for people to become used to.
There were two periods during the day when the shop came under pressure: at three
oclock when the National School closed and at four when the Tech. (Vocational
School) students came by the way. It was a positive sign of progress when another
period of pressure was added i.e. when the Hydro factory commenced business the
pressure began at one oclock. Sweets were in great demand, as were Coke/Fanta, all
things in the freezer that bore the most peculiar names, 3d shocolate (sic) and 6d
shocolate, crisps or cripes that a few brave individuals used to call them in an
effort to poke fun.
When the money changed from the Irish Pound (which was aligned with Sterling) to
decimilisation, the Penny Bar created some problems. Worse still, some of the older
folk used to ask Kathleen to make out their bills in old money so that they might
understand the exact cost of every item. It must be remembered that that there were
no ready reckoners/calculators at that time to assist in working all of that out and one
had to rely on the pen only, which left Kathleen drained.
The influence of the 1960s was felt in the bar also. I remember the first time Vodka
was allowed into the pub. There was some arguing to and fro about its introduction as
it was known as a womans drink and it was almost going within an ace of
decadence to sell such. Bit by bit other spirits were allowed and various bottles of
beer and lager could be seen on the shelves. Lancer caused a lot of discussion
because it was supposed to be very strong and it had the reputation that only women
imbibed this lager. It did not become quite a question of conscience but it was with
huge relief for the two that Lancer disappeared from the market place without trace.
Smithwicks in barrels appeared and there was a certain number of customers who
used to ask for half and half or black and tan (half Smithwicks and half Guinness).

Oftentimes, they would pray that it would not be requested as there was so much
messing about with filling this drink during the summer months.
Aspro would cure headaches and toothaches, and Germolene would heal every
wound. Those who wanted to impress to get a man or a woman, there was Silvikrin
to put shape on any shock of hair and Lux soap with a strong aroma that would entice
even Sarah Jessica Parker.
There was a dartboard in the snug and some of the customers were amazing dart
players. There was one aspect about it at which I marvelled, with regards to putting
figures together in their heads in order to work out how many darts would be required
to finish the game, most of those who did not go past primary school education were
much more adept at it than those who had the reputation of being educated. The
school of life grew in my estimation because of that same dartboard. The dartboard
is still there and why would not it be? Did it not spend a long fortnight being steeped
in poteen before it was hung on the wall as it was considered that it would last longer
because of the poteen!
Even if the 60s culture affected the great wide world, the fun and the craic, the witty
and timely speech that prevailed in former times was still to be heard in the pub.
Perhaps the reason for this was that the television was never allowed in the bar and so
hence television was not given pride of place in the social milieu, it was this that
forced customers and the proprietors to conjure up their own fun. Even though there
was a television set down in the kitchen, it was switched off immediately whenever
somebody arrived for a visit and Kathleen would put a scarf over it. The kitchen used
to be jam-packed whenever there was an All-Ireland final match or famous horse race
meeting being shown. The stairs was known as Hill 16 (a reference to the Hill in
Croke Park, Irelands premier stadium). One aspect of note was that Kathleen was
more knowledgeable about sporting matters than any man however knowledgeable he
might be.
Paddy Costelloe was the first person that used to come in the back door first thing in
the morning whistling away for himself out of a joyful heart. Oftentimes, he would
have the fire raked and ablaze for the two who would not even have gotten out of their
beds yet. Shortly after him Beartla Beag used to arrive and so the locals would arrive
individually for a visit to narrate the major news of the day until the evening time.
Interestingly, there was never any backbiting and I noticed neither Kathleen nor
Michael ever allowed gossip. The kitchen resembled a dance hall every night, full of
people on a visit. I remember towards the end of the 60s when Gluaiseacht Chearta
Sibhialta na Gaeltachta (The Civil Rights Movement for the Irish Speaking Areas)
was in vogue, many a night was spent poking fun and teasing the Fianna Fil
supporters and they, in turn, responding to the challenge of the hen supporters (a
play on the word Cearta meaning rights sounding like Cearca meaning hens.)
Everything will be hunky dory when the Civil Rights Movement gets into power,
one of them would declare with a smirk, nobody from Connemara will have to pay
tax. What are you saying? another would say. By God then, you riff raff, those are
the boys that are keen on tacks. Ask poor Jack Lynch about it? (A play on the words
tax/tacks where the Taoiseach of the day, a Fianna Fil leader, had tacks put under his
car while on a general election rally around Connemara.)

Tigh Mholly had a great gift of being able to make everyone feel at home there and
that everyone felt himself/herself as being a member of the family rather than just a
customer.
The Seventies
The 70s were very much like the 60s except that Michael and Kathleen began to draw
back from the business. They reduced the hours when the shop and pub were open.
The business was run accoding to what they decided, or even on impulse one could
say. This was a time when the Mollies that were over in America began to return
home in order to show their families the auld sod.
Even during the 70s, there was still something almost supernatural about having a
priest or a nun in the family. Delia returned with her daughter, Catherine, who was a
nun with the Dominican Order. The Second Vatican Council, by then, had made a big
impact in America whereas in Ireland it was merely talked about. Hence, Catherine
was not wearing the nuns garb. She was in the bar one morning when Padda Bn
became inquisitve about the wedding ring she was wearing on her finger.
You are married despite you being very young in age, God bless you, he said to her
in a very friendly and folksy manner.
Michael translated for her what Padda Bn said in Irish. Oh yes, she answered, I am
married but the man I am married to is in Heaven.
Oh my poor child, I am sorry for your trouble, and you so young, extending his hand
in sympathy.
Oh no! she said and her eyes showing the heavenly kindliness that you might see in
the eyes of a saint, I am married to God.
As he rubbed his index finger on his nose which was his wont whenever he was going
to pass a remark, he declared, Oh God bless us and save us, Michael auld stock, but
wasnt she badly stuck for a man?
Michael was scarcely able to utter a word because of the remark but whatever he said
Padda Bns Irish and Michaels translation were not within an asss roar of one
another.
There was an improvement in the economic affairs of the region in the 70s thanks, in
some peoples estimation, to the Hens that forced Fianna Fil (the governing party at
the time) to provide for the people of Connemara. Because of this improvement there
were many travelling salesmen who touted in the area in order to sell their wares.
Tierney, Melody, Maloney, Horan, Connaughton, Walsh, Dolan, Kenny, Quinn were
included among these. Funnily enough they were known by their surnames. If the
Christian name was used a qualifying word would have to be included: Eugene the
Milkman, Tony the Breadman, Mirtn the Busman who, for years, used to throw
The Irish Press from the bus and onto the street for them every single day and, of
course, Ciarn the Bankman. In the case where neither Christian names nor surnames
were used, then they were of no advantage for you. The Ratesman visited annually
and every single house owner in the electoral area would have to come to Tigh
Mholly and pay him his/her own annual instalment of the rates due on the property. I
do not think anyone knew his name or the name of the Gauger who might feel his
ears rather hot by times because of the conversations about him in the pub. (The
Guager was an official who would gauge how much social welfare payments would

be allowed to families in view of the assets they might be considered by him to hold.)
It seems to me that this was the period when many of the old stock that frequented
Tigh Mholly died. Many of the nearest neighbours passed away, the Gabha Rua (red
haired blacksmith), Tom Khate, Cil Phaddy, Paddy Costelloe on the east side and
Seinn Beag, Mirtn Mr, Pdraig Sheinn, Jeaic Seoighe, Michael an Tillira,
Mary Phadda Bn, Mire Bheartla Tom, Bid Bheartla towards the west. Michael
himself died after a major operation on 8th June 1981. His death was a major loss for
Tigh Mholly. I have no doubt but that would have marked the end of Tigh Mholly at
that time were it not for Kathleens strong personality as well as how kind and helpful
both neighbours and relations were to her.
Since then
The locals kept on visiting Kathleen on a regular basis and there was always someone
in at all times during the day and indeed, at night. Two years after Michaels death
Kathleen used to close the bar at about seven oclock. She would then go down to the
kitchen at her ease and watch whatever TV programme that would interest her,
especially comedy programmes. Anybody who wanted a pint after that would have to
go into the kitchen where he would have an engaging conversation with her.
Kathleen was a marvelous speaker and raconteur and her conversation was always
prudent and sagacious. Young people used to come to her for her advice, which she
shared generously. She had a great gift of seeing both sides lucidly and she would
outline for the person who sought her advice the easiest way out of a difficult
situation. She used to do this in such a particular way so as to coax and persuade the
listener. It would take a professional psychologist many years to learn such a method.
She was in no way diffident about confronting someone if she thought the person
deserved it. She used to come out with a very apt saying that would leave the most
sharptongued and quick-witted men speechless. Arrogance, she could not abide and if
she saw you had that streak in you, you could expect a verbal lashing from her. She
had a consummate sense of humour which she did not display to many save those
who came to visit her.
The women used to come to visit her during the daytime and, down at the fire, they
engaged in enthralling, cheerful conversation. When the Travelling Bank began to
stop on the street outside in 1968, every Tuesday morning was a visiting session or a
pantomine (sic) as one lady called it. Kathleen used to ready the tea and it would
not be long before the kitchen would be overflowing with women waiting for the
bank. Shopping was also done but that was really only a secondary aspect to the
occasion. Usually one of the neighbours would have baked an apple or a blackberry
tart. The tart would be divided, a great deal would be made of how well it was baked
and the tea would be imbibed. One would swear that it was a meeting of the ICA
(Irish Country Womens Association) that was taking place in the kitchen, animated
chatting, everybody roaring laughing, witty talk, poking fun, young kids bawling,
Kathleen threatening hell fire if she saw a mother spoiling the kids too much, fags
(cigarettes!) being smoked and of course, the tea being drunk.
Kathleen had the reputation of not even letting the smoke from the match go astray
when she was smoking a cigarette and that she would inhale, swallow even, every

trace of smoke until she would throw the butt into the glowing embers. When she was
in charge of the visiting proceedings, she would be always standing erect with her
back to the fire and, of course, pouring forth. Interestingly, Ciarn the Bankman
informed us that Kathleen used to come out to them in the Travelling Bank, always as
the last customer, with chocolate bars and tins of Coke or Fanta and would give them
to the bank staff on the QT.
Tony the Breadman used to arrive a few times a week, but on a Tuesday morning both
he and the bank staff used to be treading on one anothers heels on the street outside.
Kathleen would put pressure on Tony to bring in a sweet cake for the women who
were visiting.
Lydon House (the bakery company) wont feel it, by dad! the women inside would
parrot in unison. There would be a lot of uproar and poking fun when Tony would
apportion the cake to his own benefit leaving himself the biggest piece.
Kathleen was an extremely levelheaded person and for a person of her advanced age
she had ultramodern ideas about life. She was never diffident in taking on political
leaders or Church personages. From a political and social point of view Kathleen was
a feminist long before Germaine Greer came to prominence. She had the reputation
of being cranky, and she herself was the one who got most enjoyment out of it
because she understood that all who really knew her well, knew that this was not the
case.
One evening an old man, as she said herself, despite the fact that she was much older
than him, came into the bar just as she was about to close the pub. Both she and my
mother had arranged that they would go to Mass every evening on account of it being
the Month of the Dead (November).
Isnt it damn timely that you are coming to me now, says she, and me just about to
close the pub.
Give me a pint, like a good woman, says your man.
I wont, I will give you a medium (half a pint). And with a certain affectation but
certainly not to impress, she left the medium on the counter.
Dont be sipping out of that now like a child. I am in a hurry I want you to know.
Winnie and myself are going over to Mass and we dont want to be late because of
you.
Sure thats it, of course says your man as he looked up into the rafters and speaking,
you would think, as if there was nobody present except himself. God save us and
bless us but there are people running over to Gods Mass every evening and they
would be a heck of a lot better off if they stayed at home and were nice to people.
She came down from the bar weak with laughter and was scarcely able to tell Winnie,
because of the laughing, what your man fired at her. But when she looked at the
clock and saw how late it was, she put her on her public face and with a grimace she
roared from the bar door, Dont tell me you havent that medium finished yet!
When Kathleen died on 11 December 1998 it was the end of an era as far as it
pertained to Tigh Mholly.

Now (2004/5)
But the end of one era does not necessarily mean that a new era cannot follow. We
kept Tigh Mholly open on Wednesday nights and on Sunday mornings since Kathleen
died in honour of those who passed on before us and with respect to those who used
to come into Tigh Mholly and to their relatives and friends who are alive today.

Tigh Mholly under renovation 2004

A new era does not mean that the bond with the old era is broken. It can be said
without correction that the fun and the craic, the wit and timely retort, the nobility and
the friendliness, the friendship and the honesty pertains to the customers who come
into us at present just as much as the same traits pertained to their relatives who have
passed before them. We are presently extending Tigh Mholly for the sake of our
customers and even though there will be major changes involved upstairs, we will be
keeping the appearance of the old bar as it was. It was our customers who advised us
to keep the appearance of the old bar as it was and not to touch it. They advised this as
this is what they preferred as they had a natural affinity for the old place.
The greatest aim we have set for ourselves is to do up the old place so that an
excellent pint and the best of company can be had in Tigh Mholly as always, and that
every single person will be treated under the Tigh Mholly roof in such a manner that
they feel that they are held in high esteem and that they feel at home here as always
happened Tigh Mholly.
Postscript - 2016
On completion of the construction work, we re-opened Tigh Mholly on Friday, the
29th July 2005. In the early hours of Saturday morning, after bidding good night to our
faithful customers and having cleaned up the pub for the morrow, just as we were
about to leave, I asked Barbara and Gearid, Well, take a look around at what we
have done. What do ye think the Mollies might say if they saw the huge changes we
have made to Tigh Mholly? Before they had a chance to answer, the clock that had
not worked for almost two years, that had not been wound for the same period, that
hung silent on the wall all night, moved its pendulum over and back, over and back

and the tick tock that was heard for the first time in 1901 was to be heard ticking
loudly again, eerily even, that broke the silence of that early morn.
During the renovations in 2005, my mother, Winnie Mholly who was born in the
small turf shed (an cr beag) came to me and said, About Tigh Mholly, will you do
just one thing for me? I would like you to put my fathers name over the door. You
see, the pub is synonymous with my mother, Molly, but there is nothing to note my
father, Pdraigs part in it. It was our greatest pleasure to adhere to her request.
Over the door is written P. Tuairisg stir, in Winnies words, the man who
started it all. Winnie died just a little over a month short of her 97th birthday in
March 2014.

Tigh Mholly as it is today