The Cockerel, Mouse and Fly.

On Mother's Day we took ourselves off on an adventure to southern Laoise [pronounced as Leesh] and in particular to the picturesque village of Timahoe.

Timahoe, derives its’ name from Saint Tigh Mochua, 

there the houses are built around a large, central piece of common land known as the Goosegreen.  

St. Mochua established a monastery at Timahoe in the seventh century which burnt down in 1142, later it was re-established by the O’Moores.  

A 12th century round tower standing 96ft high is located close by Mochua’s Abbey and there was a monastic community here as late as 1650. It was then that the Franciscan friars were murdered at a spot known locally as "Boher a wurther" or the murdering road, by Colonel Hewson and Cromwell’s army. 

Along the road to Timahoe.

The locals call it 'Goosegreen'

Looking East the River Bauteogue

Looking West along the River Bauteogue

The round tower stands in a lovely setting accessed by a footbridge that crosses the River Bauteogue, Báiteóg, meaning ‘a swamp’. Originally access to the tower and Abbey was via a ford.

Drawing from Laois County Council archive

Detail of the towers entrance.

The Round Tower 

St Mochua had a reputation as a healer, and is said to have cured two other abbots – St Colman Elo of a sudden loss of memory and St Fintan Munnu of ‘leprosy’.

Mochua died in the year 657.

St. Mochua's companions

St. Mochua lived as a hermit without worldly goods except for three pets – a rooster, a mouse and a fly. The rooster wakened him for the hours of Matins; if he didn’t wake up or dozed off during the day weak from his vigils and prayers, the mouse would nibble at his ear not letting him sleep more than three hours a day or night. The fly would walk along each line of his Psalter as he read and when he became tired, the fly would stop at the point where the saint had broken off until he could return again to resume reading the Psalms.

The Little Pets of St. Mochua

When St. Mochua knelt to pray

Each morning at the break of day

There always was about the house

A rooster, fly and little mouse

Three willing slaves to serve him well

And share his solitary cell

The rooster every morn would crow

And waken him for matins, though

When he slept too sound to hear

The mouse came forth and nipped his ear

And though he never had a clock

The mouse would call him or the cock

And if he had to leave a book

From out some dusty hidden nook

A fly, with patience and with grace

Would sit for hours and mark the place.

 © John Irvine

I very much hope that your appetites have been whetted sufficiently enough to make a visit to this breath taking place. Where a on a sunny warm day you can lose yourself in peaceful surroundings and enjoy some wonder filled dreams.