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John Quealy was born in West Clare in 1926.  He attended Tullabrack N.S., C.B.S., Kilrush and St. Patrick’s Training College, Drumcondra.  Having qualified, he taught in an inner city school in Dublin for a few months and then got a job as a Principal Teacher in Knock, Roscrea, Co Tipperary where he continued to teach for the next forty one years.   He retired in 1989. 


John is an excellent story teller and has an amazing memory for recalling incidents and events from his early life in West Clare.  After his retirement he was persuaded to put pen to paper and  record these recollections in story form.  He has had many of these short stories published in the Clare Champion Newspaper, Ireland’s Own Magazine and other periodicals.





I would be honoured to dedicate this little book to the men and women of my father’s and uncles’ generation: this was the generation that “faced the Auxies and who bate the Black and Tan” and in six bloody and  terrible years, threw off the mantle of four hundred years of slavery.  Heroes and martyrs to whom we owe our freedom and everlasting gratitude.


See other books by John Quealy - ‘Seasons in the Sun’








The Sugán City



The Evening shadows stretch across the street,

John Callanan’s cows come lowing up the hill,

Their milking-time has long since come and gone

And old Shep’s commands have grown quite loud and shrill

In the Sugán City.


Down by the bridge the river murmurs low,

George’s bellows have grown silent and are quiet.

A cheeky trout jumps for an early moth,

As the Summer evening slowly turns to night

In the Sugán City.


Foxy’s Spot is challenging the moon

As it rises pale above the village street.

He’s as cheeky as his boss and almost just as cross

And as busy as a Peeler on the beat

In the Sugán City.


Postman Frank comes racing down Pyne’s Hill

And the wind plays fancy tricks with his wavy hair.

In twelve month’s time or more he’ll be based on Chicago’s shore,

Far from the Chapel gate in Cooraclare

In the grieving Sugán City.


Irving’s new windcharger is humming with the wind,

I climbed its pole last week, the view was fine.

I leant into the pole; ‘twas a terrible mistake

I got splinters in a place the sun don’t shine!

In the Sugán City.


Jacky tightens up the spokes in my front wheel

And he boasts of Bully’s prowess with the fox.

Without his expert care we’d all be on Shank’s Mare.

He has given his best years to our ould crocks

In the Sugán City.


May the sod lie easy on my dear old friends,

Who so long ago walked up this street and down.

Some are resting here at home,

Some across the raging foam,

And poor Shamashìn in far off London town,

Far from the Sugán City.






Down By The Chapel Gate In Cooraclare


By John Quealy


ISBN:  978-1-907107-14-6


Price:  €12.50



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