LENNON WYLIE
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Page 1 - Newspaper Clippings, all Belfast News-Letter and all 1935  (in chronological order)
Page 2 -
Journal of the Institute of Bankers in Ireland 1927
Page 3 - Lisburn Bazaar Book 1906
Page 4 - Northern Banking Centenary Volume 1824 -1924

Page 5 - Northern Bengal Mounted Rifles Journal 1926-1927
Page 6 - Pilkington Bros. Ltd., St. Helen's Roll of Honour - History of St. Michael's Church, Castlecaulfield - Ritz Theatre, Belfast - Memoirs of an Irish Manse
Pages 7 & 8 - John Irvine, elocutionist pt1   John Irvine, elocutionist pt2

STREET DIRECTORIES TRANSCRIBED
1805 - 1806 - 1807 - 1808 - 1819 - 1843 - 1852 - 1861 - 1868 - 1877 - 1880 - 1890 - 1894
1901 - 1907 - 1908 - 1909 - 1910 - 1912 - 1918 - 1924 - 1932 - 1939 - 1943 - 1951 - 1960
1913 Tel. directory    1824 Pigots (Belfast)  &  (Bangor)   1894 Waterford Directory
1898 Newry Directory      Bangor Spectator Directory 1970


Lisburn Bazaar Book 1906 - Object of the Bazaar
The object of the Bazaar is to raise Funds to help to pay off a heavy Parochial Debt due by the Parish of Lisburn.  This debt (9,000) is part of a much larger sum, which was incurred in the erection of new Church, Presbytery, Schools, etc. etc.
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Lisburn Bazaar
In golden robes of splendour the sun had sunk to rest,
His parting smiles still lingered - a halo in the West;
The ev'ning hours were calm and still, and far on high, a lark,
Was warbling forth his vesper hymn to sojourners in the park.

I wandered on a little while, and then I sought a seat,
To conjure up the long ago with all its memories sweet;
But, ah! alas! for human joys and human hopes as well,
A crazy mortal sought my seat, and banished fancy's spell.

His garb was faultless in its make; a cloth of sombre hue,
His eyes were bright and sparkling, and such as pierce you through;
His hair dishevelled somewhat, his features cold and wan;
He looked to me as there he sat, a sorrow-stricken man.

"What ails thee, friend?" I gently asked, "and why so sad oppressed?
Perhaps some loved-one called away to her eternal rest?"
"Ah! 'tis not that," he fiercely cries, "my joys in life which mar,
I'm suffering from that plague of ills - the Lisburn Bazaar."

"Not peace, nor rest, is there for me, from morning until night,
They come and go, they go and come, they're still before my sight;
And when to Church on Sundays, I go to say my prayers,
They're lined, like soldiers on parade, on the ascending stairs.

And should I wander forth, as now, to view the beauties here,
Some member of the Light Brigade is certain to appear,
Ah! friend, my peace on earth is done.  'Tis a most unholy war,
Tho' glorified in saintly phrase, as St. Patrick's Bazaar.

There's number one comes gaily up, and stops me on the street,"
'Good morning, sir, you're just the one, I've fondly hoped to meet;
I've books for, oh! so many things for raffling at our stall:
How many tickets will you have?  You'll take a few of all?

There's watches made of purest gold, and silver watches too,
And knives and forks and silver sets, we have exposed on view.'
"Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks, I'm off to get this car;
I'll see you in St. Joseph's Hall the days of the Bazaar."

"And scarcely have I entered on the business of the day,
When number two comes smiling in, like to a Queen of May;
She gently bends her feathered head, and in tones angelic sweet,
She asks me if I'm 'So-and-So,' 'tis he she'd like to meet."

"Ah! then," she cries, "how glad I am, how fortunate my call:
You'll buy a pair of tickets for a concert and a ball.
They're just the last, the rest have gone to friends both near and far;
The object's good, you've heard of it - the Lisburn Bazaar."


Old Catholic Church, Lisburn - Retreat by Fr. Hunt October 1932, To Nora, From Kathleen (McD.)
     
                             Interior of Old Catholic Church           The Late Rev. Edward Kelly, P.P.




Present Curates - Rev. Jas. McGrath, C.C.  Rev. J. F. Fullen, C.C.   Rev. John Macaulay, C.C.
     
Reilly's Trench or Hillsborough Catholic Church      Reilly's Trench National School & teacher's Residence
   
                             Magherafelt Catholic Church                Ballyellough National School and Teacher's Residence

Past Curates
top left, Rev. Wm. Dempsey, Nov., 1868, Oct. to 1870 - top right, Rev. M. Hamill, May 1878 to June 1885.
Rev. D. H. Burke, Nov., 1870 to March 1871 - Rev. M. O'Malley, Dec. 1870 to Feb. 1875.
Rev. P. Convery, Feb. 1873 to August 1874 - Rev. P. Magee, March 1878 to January 1879.
bottom left, Rev. B. McCartan, Feb. 1882 to May 1886 - bottom right, Rev. John McAlister, June 1882 to August 1885.

Past Curates
top left, Rev. R. J. Murphy, May 1886 to Oct. 1890 - top right, Rev. J. Lennon, Oct. 1890 to July 1893.
Rev. G. Crolly, August 1885 to October 1890 - Rev. Jas. Greene, October 1890 to July 1893.
bottom left, Rev. C. McDonnell, Oct. 1890 to May 1892 - bottom right, Rev. C. Malone, July 1893 to March 1896.

Past Curates
top left, Rev. J. O'Boyle, July 1893 to November 1895 - top right, Rev. M. Leahy, November 1895 to Aug. 1898.
Rev. John Rooney, August 1896 to February 1899 - Rev. D. McEvoy, January 1899 to August 1899.
bottom left, Rev. P. Mullan, Aug. 1896 to July 1898 - bottom right, Rev. John McLaverty, July 1898 to Aug. 1899.

Past Curates
top left, Rev. H. Murray, March 1900 to Aug. 1903 - top right, Rev. C. McFaul, Sept. 1900 to Sept. 1901
Rev. A. J. Neeson, August 1899 to September 1901
bottom left, Rev. C. O'Loan, Sept. 1901 to 1905 - bottom right, Rev. D. McWilliams, Sept. 1901 to Feb. 1904




"Blaney, You're Dry."
by Kittie O'Connor, Lisburn's Local Poet.

As I was going home one evening thro' sweet Lisnatrunk,
I knew not the reason my spirits quite sunk,
And all things around me, I couldn't tell why,
But they seemed to be saying: "Poor Blaney, you're dry."

At the top of the Clogher I heard the same call,
Ringing through the bog meadows and round by Hillhall,
And green Ballymullen kept up the same cry,
And it echoed the answer: "Poor Blaney, your dry."

'Twas the call of the wild birds that came out of the moss,
And the black troops of Hilden, as they flew across,
The quail in the meadow, and the lark in the sky,
And the birds in the bushes sang: "Blaney, you're dry."

Och! my friends they invited me at home I should stay,
And not go to Lisburn at least for that day;
But they might as well ask me to lie down and die,
With my burning head aching: "Poor Blaney, you're dry."

I met with a man who knew me before,
And I told him my case, for he knew I was poor;
"Come in, my old hagar," he said, with a sigh,
"And I'll wet your ould whistle:" "Poor Blaney, you're dry."

Then here's to that man that took pity on me;
Bad luck to ould Harcourt where e'er he may be,
That his word may deceive him, and his truth prove a lie,
With his high tax on whiskey, and poor Blaney dry.


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