You won’t need to be reminded of Cork’s elevated sense of its status, not only in the context of Irish history and culture but western civilisation itself.
For those with this particular world view, all roads eventually lead back to the southern capital.
If those not blessed with a Cork birth cert are bemused by the claims it makes for itself, it doesn’t discourage the natives in the slightest.
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Cork people do lots of things well, but self-awareness isn’t among them.
I’ve heard it described as the Venice of the north and even the Constantinople of the west by irony-free locals who should get out more but don’t feel the need.
They reckon the world should come to them instead.
Being from the city I feel I can admonish and tease out of affection and can’t be accused of casting aspersions out of casual disdain or wilful ignorance. I’m family, so I get to say it.
Speaking to my history tutor last term I noted how I found healthy archival evidence of pro-British sentiment on Leeside as the Irish revolution gathered its children around it.
If it surprised me, it was something he took in his stride. Cork city, after all, had built its considerable wealth in trading with empire and, as he put it, had a convenient sleep-over during Easter 1916.
He didn’t add, though I might now with my tongue slightly in cheek, that Cork got on the winning side just in time and being able to lay claim to Michael Collins certainly looked cool on the revolutionary CV.
That’s not to say that it didn’t have a bloody time of it in the run up to Independence a century ago.
On the one hand, the Tans did their best to burn the place down in December 1920, while the massacre of Protestants in the Bandon Valley, in April 1922, shows again how there are two sides to every story.
But there’s a lot more to Irish history than that one war and a visit to King John’s Castle in Limerick over the new year reminded me about how, across the stretch of two millennia, Cork’s Munster kinsmen have woven a far richer tapestry.
Limerick’s glorious Viking and Norman medieval heritage, through to its pivotal roles in both the Cromwellian and Williamite wars in the early modern period, illustrates just how much more it has to boast about.
But bragging doesn’t come naturally to Shannon-siders as it does to its noisy neighbour.
How do they put up with us?
With admirable forbearance, I’d venture.
Noel is the guest that hangs around too long
It was Nollaig na mBan yesterday and you probably didn’t notice. Let’s be honest, it was nothing more than the first Monday in Broke January.
I was busy taking down decorations, packing and returning them to solitary confinement in the attic.
Glad to see the back of it all, to be honest.
The festive season tends to hang around too long. It’s the guest we’re delighted to greet but are even happier to pour into a taxi and wave off home.
For the past few years a man in a van had called around to take away our dead Christmas tree. But he stood me up this time so I had to stuff our obese Ollie Hardy of a coniferous into the hatchback and deposit it at the local shredders.
It left a trail of chaos in its wake and a trademark carpet of pine needles that will stubbornly hang around no matter how often they’re hoovered up.
Which means we’re going artificial next time. Something flash, sparkly… and too long. Like the season itself.
Source: Read Full Article
Home » Analysis & Comment » Frank Coughlan: 'All roads lead back to Venice of the north'
Frank Coughlan: 'All roads lead back to Venice of the north'
You won’t need to be reminded of Cork’s elevated sense of its status, not only in the context of Irish history and culture but western civilisation itself.
For those with this particular world view, all roads eventually lead back to the southern capital.
If those not blessed with a Cork birth cert are bemused by the claims it makes for itself, it doesn’t discourage the natives in the slightest.
Please log in or register with Independent.ie for free access to this article.
Log In
New to Independent.ie? Create an account
Cork people do lots of things well, but self-awareness isn’t among them.
I’ve heard it described as the Venice of the north and even the Constantinople of the west by irony-free locals who should get out more but don’t feel the need.
They reckon the world should come to them instead.
Being from the city I feel I can admonish and tease out of affection and can’t be accused of casting aspersions out of casual disdain or wilful ignorance. I’m family, so I get to say it.
Speaking to my history tutor last term I noted how I found healthy archival evidence of pro-British sentiment on Leeside as the Irish revolution gathered its children around it.
If it surprised me, it was something he took in his stride. Cork city, after all, had built its considerable wealth in trading with empire and, as he put it, had a convenient sleep-over during Easter 1916.
He didn’t add, though I might now with my tongue slightly in cheek, that Cork got on the winning side just in time and being able to lay claim to Michael Collins certainly looked cool on the revolutionary CV.
That’s not to say that it didn’t have a bloody time of it in the run up to Independence a century ago.
On the one hand, the Tans did their best to burn the place down in December 1920, while the massacre of Protestants in the Bandon Valley, in April 1922, shows again how there are two sides to every story.
But there’s a lot more to Irish history than that one war and a visit to King John’s Castle in Limerick over the new year reminded me about how, across the stretch of two millennia, Cork’s Munster kinsmen have woven a far richer tapestry.
Limerick’s glorious Viking and Norman medieval heritage, through to its pivotal roles in both the Cromwellian and Williamite wars in the early modern period, illustrates just how much more it has to boast about.
But bragging doesn’t come naturally to Shannon-siders as it does to its noisy neighbour.
How do they put up with us?
With admirable forbearance, I’d venture.
Noel is the guest that hangs around too long
It was Nollaig na mBan yesterday and you probably didn’t notice. Let’s be honest, it was nothing more than the first Monday in Broke January.
I was busy taking down decorations, packing and returning them to solitary confinement in the attic.
Glad to see the back of it all, to be honest.
The festive season tends to hang around too long. It’s the guest we’re delighted to greet but are even happier to pour into a taxi and wave off home.
For the past few years a man in a van had called around to take away our dead Christmas tree. But he stood me up this time so I had to stuff our obese Ollie Hardy of a coniferous into the hatchback and deposit it at the local shredders.
It left a trail of chaos in its wake and a trademark carpet of pine needles that will stubbornly hang around no matter how often they’re hoovered up.
Which means we’re going artificial next time. Something flash, sparkly… and too long. Like the season itself.
Source: Read Full Article