Friday, 9 January 2026

Séan na Gig

There is abouts these parts a very peculiar fellow called Séan.

Séan na Gig to be precise.

He is a "grotesque".

A carved stone figure representing a male with exposed genitalia.

Séan is the male equivalent of the female Sheela, Sheela na Gig/Síle na Gig.

Another type of "grotesque".

There may be anywhere between 100 or 150 or so Sheela na Gigs dotted about this pleasant land residing in Museums or embedded in Castle and Church walls.

A smaller number are to be found in Blighty.

Enigmatic and elusive of definition and by dint of what they represent remaining shrouded in mystery they defy both explanation and expectation.

Sheela's are but yet open to various and widely differing interpretations, none conclusively proven thus far.

However Séan is an altogether much more elusive creature indeed.

Quite a hard fellow to track down if I do say so myself.

I had happened upon but a single Séan na Gig on my various and varied perambulations throughout the Irish Countryside and he alone located in Ballycloughduff, which itself is located in the Godforsaken wasteland known to many as "Westmeath".

This elusive fellow was quite the exhibitionist, he standing inside a pillar and

proudly displaying yon phallus of which he held tightly grasped in his right hand, and with not a care in the world for the offence he might affect upon any unwary passer-by.

It was I thought, not a little by chance that I should stumble upon him in desolate Westmeath.......a County chiefly inhabited by Rascals, Rapscallions, Ragamuffins, Rapparees and Roustabouts.

Several years had since fleetingly passed as the autumn of my years made me grow weary and tired yet nary one single further scoundrel the likes of Séan had I encountered in the interim.

Until - - - a wandering simpleton chanced upon me one fine afternoon as I made my way home from the local village burdened with fresh victuals, the Sun warming my old and greying head as I made my way.

"Ahoy hoy" said the simpleton to me as he approached me on the walkway.

It was with very little difficulty that I ascertained his mental acuity as being a ball short of the full Brass Monkey, primarily due to his heavily accentuated speech, which was suggestive of the sort of unwashed malcontent born west of the river Shannon.

He asked of me particularly bluntly if I were the "Quare chap interested in Stones, Bones and Ice Cream Cones."

To cut to the tail of the Cat, for an ounce of Tea and two Pennies he offered to reveal to me the whereabouts of a heretofore unknown Séan na Gig.

I, being descendant of Cavan stock, struck the deal for half an ounce of Tea and a Ha'penny.

Lo and behold it was revealed from this uncouth louts salivating and slobbering lips that said Séan na Gig was to be found resting high amongst the corbels of the Grey Abbey in the aptly named town of Greyabbey, lying upon the County of Down.

Without so much as a by your leave I hastily prepared to leave at once for The Grey Abbey.

A Cistercian ruin of which I knew little, I packed a firkin of beer and robust provisions, enough to suffice a day and made ready to travel there.

Steadied feet in dulled brass stirrups and harrying my skinny steed I was away in no fast measure. Up to Down.

Here, at the aforementioned historical antiquity I found a most curious figure, to whit, a "grotesque" quite assuredly but not the ever elusive Séan.

Although this particular fellow was doubled over, backside facing to the world and holding his Gluteus Maximí widely apart with both hands, he probably in times past defecating rainwater,

it was unfortunately not another Séan.

It was possibly a Rupert, maybe even a Tristan, his testes hanging brazenly bared to the world between his legs for all to see.

Just quite what the Monks of times past were contemplating will perchance forever remain a cryptic riddle, their enigmatic "grotesques" surviving in the very remotest of places and imaginations.

Keep the wheels turning.

Nearby Greyabbey/Rosemount House.

Random parts of Grey Abbey.

Sunday, 21 December 2025

The Coombe Hospital, Dublin

The Coombe.

The Coombe Hospital, usually just called the Coombe, is a modern hospital standing in a completely different location from its original namesake and predecessor which was located at 81-84, The Coombe.

The original Coombe Hospital was established by Mrs. Margaret Boyle and other benefactors and it officially opened in 1829, founded in part because two women and their newborn children had perished in a snowstorm while trying to get to the Rotunda Hospital at Parnell Square in 1825.

It was known as The Coombe Lying-In Hospital.

Remarkably the front entrance and Portico are preserved in their original location at the Coombe.

The Coombe Hospital - Our History.

Discover Ireland coombe-memorial

It never ceases to amaze me how much of Ireland's past is hidden in Ireland's present and within plain sight if only we take the time to stop to look.

rte.ie-archives 1976 : Celebrating the Coombe Hospital.

Historically, the Coombe Lying-in Hospital which officially opened in 1829 had itself superseded yet another hospital on this site which had moved elsewhere, The Meath Hospital and County Dublin Infirmary, whose foundation Stone was laid in 1770 by one Lord Brabazon.