I was hesitant to write about the West Cork railway. There are many local experts and train enthusiasts who know so much more than me about this topic and it has appeared in journals, books and newspapers, so I don’t feel I can add anything radically new to what has been a well-documented area. My first introduction to the history of the West Cork railway was from Clonakilty man, Maurice McCarthy. For years Maurice thrilled audiences, including many of my own students, with his vast collection of slides, and stories from many characters he encountered. But what has heartened me to write about it in this month’s issue of the West Cork People was the buzz I got from exploring sections of it in recent weeks, something I would encourage you, or indeed the tourists who arrive to us in June, to do. [Remember, if possible look for permission to cross farmland and adhere to the hiker’s code of ‘leave no trace’].
How many times have all of us passed under the magnificent four-arched Chetwynd Viaduct or marvelled at the vast stone structure that looks down from the hillside at Halfway? How often has one travelled to the city, for work, shopping, matches, a night out, and thought how so convenient and fun it would have been, if it was possible to start your journey at Bantry, Durrus, Baltimore, Skibbereen, Kinsale, Enniskeane, Dunmanway, to name but a few of the wide geographical spread of stations. Imagine the glee for Leesiders, to be able to enjoy a languid and lazy day out, enjoying the delights of West Cork, and not having to worry about driving, parking, petrol prices, and penalty points!
It’s easy to say in hindsight that it was a foolish move to close it in 1961, but given that Ireland had reached its lowest population ebb, at a meagre 2.8 million, the tide looked like it was receding permanently. The growth of motor transportation, particularly for goods, was another reasonable factor that was considered. When goods did arrive at stations, shopkeepers would have to incur a second cost to get it from the station to their premises. Why bother when one lorry could do it all? The rail companies were also operating at a significant loss. The writing had been on the wall for decades. The Kinsale line had been shut in 1931; Schull to Skibbereen in 1947; and other lines too. Yet still, thousands signed a petition pleading for it to remain open and thousands more protested at its closure, which no doubt is still a living memory for many West Cork people.
And so to the adventure. It began years ago when growing up in the city, we used to play, along the old railway line ‘track’ that used to run through Togher, where the countryside meets the city. But most of all it began with a tale from my mother, when I was kid. She would recall when herself and a few of her friends (she was about twelve) walked across the Chetwynd Viaduct in the early fifties. It amazed me even more, because mum grew up in Blackpool, in the north side. That story in itself, is a little microcosm into a world of childhood in that era. After all, what parent today would leave their 12-year-old to wander across the city, to test one’s vertigo over the awe-inspiring but jaw-dropping height of that viaduct, while it was still an active line!
Like a lot of you, I have explored many of the remaining stations, where there are still buildings and platforms to see, such as Drimoleague, Clonakilty, Upton, Baltimore. Whatever about the Halfway and Chetwynd viaducts, is there anything more eye-catching than the multi-arched stone rail bridge in Ballydehob, which today forms part of a picturesque walkway by the water? These days, we can traverse the old lines where now there are footpaths and greenways such as the Courtmacsherry line, parallel to that wondrous inlet and hot-bed of bird life, or the Bandon – Innishannon walkway, which is currently being revamped and extended into another a greenway.
So last week I decided to embark on a trip of exploration on part of the line that I had read about but longed to see: The mysterious Goggin Hill tunnel, once the longest railway tunnel in Ireland, close to a kilometre long. We began with a stop at the stone railway bridge at Halfway. Despite passing it a million times, I never went up previously, and I bet most of you are the same. It’s a beautiful stone structure that is very well-preserved, and you can walk onto part of it, before the overgrowth engulfs you. It’s a marvellous feeling, imagining the vista from the train, as it gently chugged high and parallel to the valley, where the N71 now thunders with the roar of motor traffic. But the best was to come. Looking at Google maps, one can see mention of a ‘disused tunnel’ in the fields around Goggin Hill. Getting there was not as straightforward. A friendly local farmer directed us to a laneway where we walked down to the valley floor that runs from there, to Waterfall. I felt like Henry Stanley in Africa, pushing aside the foliage and briars, until we fell upon the magnificent east entrance of the tunnel. It’s hard to believe such a finely-built structure was fashioned by hand, rudimentary tools and explosives, by 300 poor souls between 1850-51, many of whom had just survived the Famine and must have been desperate for work. For a brief period, it held the title of Ireland’s longest rail tunnel, until the Glanmire Road, station (now Kent station) to Blackpool one took that honour on its completion in 1855.
Like bold children we walked step by step into the darkness towards a shard of light. On closer inspection, we discovered it was the light from one of three ventilation shafts that are built into the tunnel. My cousin Jim McCabe, told me that my great-grandfather used to walk the Blackpool tunnel daily, from the railway cottages at Dublin Hill back after his shift. Armed with that story and my mother’s bravery as a 12-year-old, daring to walk the Chetwynd viaduct, I gritted my teeth and walked into a chamber of blackness, only armed with the faintest light from our phones. It was occasionally punctuated by the light from the other two shafts, but the tunnel follows a curious curve, so it’s totally dark for most of the near kilometre walk. The west side is blocked by a gate, but as long as you are not afraid of getting dirty and let the teenager roam in you again, pushing oneself under the fence before being stung by a thousand nettles, was worth the victory to get to the other side.
From there, the plan was to see if we could retrace the line from above, using the ventilation shafts as guides. With a bit of guesswork and some map reading, we retraced our steps overland, passing all the stone shafts that are remarkably well-preserved. We arrived back to the east side, filthy, torn, stung to pieces, but extremely satisfied. (All can be avoided with long trousers, a good flashlight and a good walking stick to beat down some vegetation). We saw what looked like a water ‘tower’ a few hundred metres from this spot and it seemed like there was a trail that enthusiasts have no doubt tread, heading north east to the Waterfall station direction – an adventure for the future I hope. On our return we took the back road to Crossbarry on the advice from the local farmer who told us one of the big old stone bridges had been rescued from the vegetation, and so it was. The day wasn’t long off becoming dusk, so I had to resist the urge to look for the Kilpatrick tunnel outside Innishannon and instead we settled for an ice cream in the evening’s last warm breath. Up ahead, as we voyaged west on the N71, are the reminders of this mechanical ghost train that still haunts us today: the site of the Bandon rail house; the vanished tunnel that once ran under the road at St Mary’s RC; the bridge where the train crossed from left to right over the N71, near that back entrance into Castle Bernard. Most of it has been erased, but we get reminders. The sign at Gaggin that says ‘Clonakilty Junction’, where one could change for Bantry; the curious no-man’s-land (now occupied by a fuel depot) at Ballinascarthy where the line, once more, invited you to Timoleague and Courtmacsheery or remain onward to Clonakilty; another viaduct near Shannonvale to traverse the river Bandon, until it finally terminated at the top of McCurtain hill, where the platform still exists.
It’s not without its historic tragedy. There was an ambush at the Chetwynd Viaduct in the War of Independence in 1920, resulting in the death of IRA man, Jerimiah O’Herlihy. The rail ambush at Upton in 1921 was one of the IRA’s most disastrous moments after an ill-advised attack on the carriages carrying some British troops led to the death of eleven innocent civilians. There is a memorial at the old station that marks the death of four IRA men who lost their lives, but nothing for the civilians.
Historically, the British gave us war and destruction. They also gave us the railroads and how we lament their loss but marvel in their history.
Over the summer get out, explore, have fun and be safe, walking the line, wherever you might chance upon it. We are all historians so be sure to photograph and document it for posterity. And by the way, the ‘dock leaves’ didn’t work – but every nettle sting I received, I wore like a badge of honour.
