Attendance Awards


Today we gave out attendance awards and over 90 children received a certificate and a badge or pencil. They attended school every day …thats 182 days this year.  We also picked the class with the best overall attendance and this year it was Ms Costello’s 2nd class that had a  STAGGERING 98% attendance overall  . Well done to all.

Click the images  below  for a better look!



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Graduation Photos 2015

6th class 2015 Graduation

Graduation Day os always a special day in our school, when the outgoing 6th class get to hear what their teachers really think of them!  This year they had only wonderful things to say. We wish all our pupils leaving this year a happy and prosperous future.

[trx_quote title=”Dr Suess”]Congratulations! Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away![/trx_quote]

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6th Class Concert

We were treated to a wonderful afternoon of music on Tuesday from the Junior and Senior Choirs and several soloists from 6th class. Mrs. Williams conducted the Senior Choir and helped Caoimhe, Aoife, Sean, Romey , Mia and Eva per are their pieces. Mrs. Collins prepared the Junior Choir. Everyone really enjoyed the concert.

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Eabha Mac Donagh


A smouldering, dying turf fire flickered wearily in the grubby, rusty pot-bellied stove at the top of the schoolroom, barely illuminating the dingy room. An enormous fir-framed blackboard towered over the front row of benches. It was coated in a layer of dusty chalk over which an English poem, some Arithmetic and a map of the world had been immaculately scribed by the master.

         Well-used, battered slates sat perched in two preca

rious piles on the master’s sturdy desk. Coverless copies rested neatly on various children’s benches; some forlorn and dog-eared, others immaculate and pristine. An array of Grey goose quills nestled in ink-wells hollowed into the wooden benches (made mostly from fir, as it was the cheapest and most accessible wood at that time).

         A dreaded sally rod hung menacingly from an ancient rusty hook at the top of the schoolroom. It was used as often as you and I would blink…and a method of discipline favoured by most at that time! Nailed to the floor in rows were straight-backed wooden benches. Despite the fact that the benches were made to accommodate only two pupils, frequently three children were forced to work side by side in this crammed space.

         The schoolroom was crawling with vermin. Everything from scrawny rats to grotesque insects scuttled and slithered furtively across the earthy floor. Peeling, white washed walls encased the schoolroom, decorated only by the dark patches of soot and grime that emanated from the countless turf fires that had burned in the room. A large wicker basket that nestled beside the master’s desk was home to even more rodents and creepy crawlies than it was to sods of turf. It was festooned with lacy spider webs and piles of scraps scavenged by the rats. Frayed, leather bound books sat primly in neat piles on a shelf above the master’s desk. A battered attendance book rested on its little podium. A school bell chimed loudly as the children filed noisily into the crowded schoolroom. Those fortunate enough to be wearing boots scraped them clean on the murky, stone steps that led to the schoolroom door. As a payment to the master, each child dropped a sod of turf into the wicker basket at the top of the room. The master pulled back the tattered cloths that covered the murky panes and broad beams of sunlight poured in as the children hung their tweed caps and knitted or crocheted shawls on little rows of rusty hooks. Reaching for a cross woven from reeds, the master led the class in reciting the prayers for the day.

         The master then resumed his position on a rush woven chair as the pupils set down their tin pails. One of the older pupils each day was chosen to empty the tin buckets, that had collected the raindrops that had seeped through the ceiling overnight, down the gurgling drain outside.

         Out of his top drawer, the master produced a neat pile of blotting paper and proceeded to hand it out, genuflecting as he passed the statue of Our Lady that adorned a tiny shelf above the door. A large wooden clock, complete with swinging pendulum, ticked and chimed to the children’s chanting and reciting. Chanting and reciting from the girls’ schoolroom next door could often be heard reverberating around the crammed room. At times the muffled sound of footsteps could be heard overhead as the master made an attempt to repair the leak in the roof. Upon his return his loud, booming voice could be heard, silencing the class of boys so he could take the attendance. It was the very first day in the ‘new’ school building and the very first name registered for the boys was a fifteen year old farmer’s son named Michael McKenna. Next door in the classroom of girls, the first pupil registered by Mistress Friel was Mary Healy.

As the day drew to a close and the children finished their work, the schoolroom was quiet once more!



Max Glennon

A large, sooty fire glowed in the pot-bellied stove at the top of the schoolroom. An enormous, dilapidated blackboard stood next to the stove. Every inch of its surface had been written on. It was covered with nathanna Gaeilge, lots of Arithmetic and an English poem for the pupils to copy and recite. Miniature, rough slates squatted uncomfortably on each child’s bench. Coverless, dog-eared copies perched primly on the master’s desk, like soldiers standing to attention before entering battle. A myriad of long Grey goose quills nestled in an ink-well on top of each child’s bench. A long, flexible, intimidating cane hung from a lone hook behind the master’s desk, casting an aura of fear across the crowded room.

         A lone, scrawny, coal-black, evil-eyed rat scurried furtively across the ashy timber floor, on its way back from a fruitless scavenge through the ‘dry’ toilets and adjoining outhouse, desperate for food. A myriad of frost-trimmed spider webs festooned the tiny mildewed window panes like pieces of delicate lace, hand-stitched onto a beautiful gown. Slivers of warm sunlight made their way into an otherwise darkened room, brightening up everything in sight.

         Thick stone walls encased the schoolroom, walls that were sooty and black from the countless turf fires that burned daily in the room. A wicker basket of turf slumped lazily beside the stove and was replenished daily with the sods of turf the children carried to school. A series of three high stone stones, worn and marked from years of treading and scraping the mud and dirt off their boots, led to the schoolroom door. A class register and corporal discipline record book sat side by side in the centre of the master’s desk.

         A battered half-door creaked and groaned in the wind, much to the annoyance of the pupils, especially those who sat in the benches nearby. A St. Brigid’s cross nestled neatly in the frame of the door while a statue of Our Lady adorned a window sill near the entrance to the room.

        At lunchtime, most of the children devoured bread and jam sandwiches and slurped glass bottles of cold tea or milk that had been warmed in the glowing embers of the fire. The girls, from the neighbouring schoolroom, busied themselves with chanting and skipping games while the boys lost themselves in chasing games and football until the master returned with the bell after break.

         Two or three older, more responsible boys were given the jobs of bringing several buckets of fresh water from the pump in the village every day, for flushing the ‘dry ‘ toilets, before returning with a smaller pail of spring water for the master to make his tea.

         At times, the chanting and reciting of the girls in the neighbouring schoolroom filtered through the stone walls and the muffled sound of footsteps overhead as Mistress Friel scurried about in her lodgings overhead for something she had forgotten earlier on in the day.        


Gareth Corpuz

A massive, sooty fire kindled in the pot-bellied stove at the top of the schoolroom. An enormous, dilapidated blackboard stood straight and tall, commanding attention, next to the stove. Shrouded in a layer of fine, powdery, white chalk, the board was covered with nathanna Gaeilge, Arithmetic and poems, English and Gaeilge, for the children to copy and recite. A single stub of chalk rested forlornly on its rim.

         Miniature, rough slates perched awkwardly on each child’s bench having been wiped clean from the previous lesson. Coverless, battered copies rested primly in piles on the master’s desk, like soldiers awaiting orders and ready to launch an attack. A plethora of Grey goose quills of differing lengths nestled in ink-wells at the top of each child’s bench. Blotting paper for the older pupils was as precious as the ink the master made himself from a store of powered ink he kept locked away. A long, flexible, sally rod lounged precariously on a cruel, iron hook, gazing menacingly at the children below, like an evil- troublesome predator waiting to pounce on the next calloused palm. An orderly roll-book lay open on the teacher’s desk. This time of the year attendance was low because most of the older boys were needed to work on the farms or in the fields. A small, polished bell rested on a shelf above the master’s desk, waiting to be chimed/ peeled. The pupils’ favourite sound of the day was the clang of an even bigger brass bell that the master kept on his desk.

         A lone, scrawny rat scurried frantically across the Arctic-cold, dusty timber floor, weary from a futile scavenge through the sodden and murky, moulding turf-pile that leaned against the back of the old school house wall. A myriad of intricately- woven spider webs festooned the high, sooty window frames, like pieces of delicate lace on an expensive handkerchief. Draughty, mildewed panes allowed only slivers of bright daylight to penetrate through into an otherwise smoky and darkened room. High, thick, white-washed stone walls encased the crowded schoolroom, sooty and dark from the countless smoky turf fires that raged and smouldered on many a freezing cold Irish morning.

A large wicker basket, brimful with turf, crouched wearily beside the master’s desk. An old dented, tin bucket lay forgotten at the back of the class. It would not be needed until the end of the day when one of the older boys would fill it with water from the barrel of rainwater outside the door and use it to ‘flush’ the ‘dry’ toilets outside. An antique clock hung above the schoolroom door, its weighty pendulum swaying back and forth. A statue of Our Lady stood on a high window sill, Her head bent in prayer. A series of well-worn, mud-splattered stone steps, often forgotten, led to the entrance of the schoolhouse, where the majestic old door creaked and groaned with every push and pull. The master’s chair, high-backed and cushioned with a seat of horse-hair lounged squarely near the fire, most definitely the best seat in the room!



Grace Hutchinson

An enormous, sooty turf fire blazed in the pot-bellied stove at the top of the schoolroom. A gigantic, oak-framed blackboard rested on an equally impressive easel next to the stove. It was covered with poems, History, Arithmetic and nathanna Gaeilge the children were expected to copy and recite.

Tiny, rough, ash-grey slates rested solidly on each of the younger children’s benches, with sticks of white chalk by their sides. Coverless, dog-eared copies squatted squarely on the master’s desk, like soldiers standing to attention waiting for their next order or request. A myriad of Grey goose quills sat in inkwells at various desks around the schoolroom. An ancient, birch cane hung restlessly from a cruel, rusty metal hook high above the master’s desk, glaring slyly like a vicious predator lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.

         As if out of nowhere, a scrawny, ash-grey rat appeared and scurried frantically across the Arctic-cold, dusty timber floor, on its way back from a fruitless scavenge through the outside toilets. Food was scarce… and even the tiniest of scraps or crumbs were difficult to find, even for a rat!

         The window sills towered high above the ground, preventing the children from looking out. A plethora of expertly-woven, frost-trimmed spider webs festooned the draughty window frames, like pieces of exotic lace on an expensive vintage wedding gown. On warmer days, radiant beams of bright sunshine made their way through the smoky, mildewed panes, lighting up an otherwise darkened room, much to the delight of the attentive pupils. White- washed stone walls, darkened by the soot and smoke from numerous smouldering turf fires, surrounded the schoolroom.

         A hand woven straw basket of turf crouched beside the blazing hearth. A patch on the timber floor in front of the fire had worn away. This was a spot in front of the fire where the master loved to stand!

        The three steep steps that led to the schoolhouse were strewn with tufts of grass, mud and muck from children scraping their boots and their shoes, before entering the schoolroom. Many of the children had trudged through muddy fields and murky lanes to reach the schoolhouse. A pile of battered old schoolbooks resided under each child’s desk. A very old, antique brass sat at the corner of the master’s desk, like a knight ready to do battle. A long, slate-grey covered roll book lay open in the middle of the desk for when the master returned from fetching a book in his lodgings in the rooms above the two schoolrooms.

         Each child’s pail perched on a shelf at the back of the freezing school room. A huge, mud-brown framed clock hung above the schoolroom door, its pendulum swaying relentlessly from side to side, in tandem with the busy ‘hum’ of the children at work.


Gavin Lang

A gigantic, sooty turf fire blazed brightly in an old cast iron fireplace at the top of the schoolroom. Two huge wooden blackboards leaned proudly against their sturdy easels, taking commanding positions at the front of the class. Clean, gleaming slates rested neatly on each child’s bench, accompanied by small sticks of dusty, white chalk. Uncovered copies sat in a neat pile on the edge of the master’s desk, waiting to be corrected. A clay pot of Grey goose quills perched primly on a corner of the high window-sill beside a tiny, almost-empty glass bottle of ink. The larger reserves of powdered ink were kept locked away in the master’s cabinet, out of sight.

         Rows of varnished, wooden benches gleamed as slivers of bright sunlight filtered through the dark cloths draped across the dusty panes.   A long, narrow cane balanced precariously across a row of hooks at the top of the schoolroom, glaring intently, intimidating every pupil in sight. Expertly-woven, delicate cobwebs filled every nook, crack and crevice in sight as industrious spiders careered and spun merrily, morning, noon and night!

         An ancient, brass, hand-held bell waited silently for the start of the school day when two of the older boys would shuffle in to tend to the onerous task of cleaning out the fine, dusty ashes and lighting the fires in both schoolrooms for the day. An impressive, wooden clock ticked loudly, as its weighted, tarnished pendulum swung from side to side, counting down the last few minutes before classes began. To the left of the sturdy schoolroom door lay a row of curved metal hooks where the children hung their tattered, and frequently muddy, caps, shawls, coats and pails, at the start of the day.

The master took his position at the top of the schoolroom, in front of the fire, and with his finest nipped quill, turned a new page in the roll book and proceeded to tick those present. A fresh, wafer thin sheet of blotting paper rested to his right hand side. The roll book had the digits 6 9 7 in thick black print across the cover. A new day in the schoolroom had dawned! The small attendance board would be filled in and the lessons for the day would begin.

The broad floorboards, swept and polished from the day before, gleamed flawlessly before the children arrived. From the outside, the two-storey, white-washed building looked very impressive and modern with its neatly tiled roof. This was a building that was going to test the tide of the times. Master Friel stood at the entrance, reminding the children to scrape the mud and muck off their shoes before entering the ‘new’ school building.

Michael McKenna, one of the older pupils, bustled past. He was late and, judging by the stern look on the master’s face, he would have to work swiftly. Michael had had to help milk the cows before leaving for school and this had delayed him. Gingerly, he scooped up the ashes in the fire places in both schoolrooms and proceeded to light a fire in each. Fortunately for him, on this occasion, the sun shone brightly and the schoolrooms were already warm and bright.

As he finished sweeping round the hearth in the girls’ schoolroom, Mary Healy, another pupil, entered with a tin pail of fresh water from the pump in the village. This water would used to make cups of tea for Mistress Friel’s during the day. Larger buckets of water, taken from a barrel of rainwater outside the schoolhouse door, would be used to ‘flush’ the ‘dry’ toilets.