The Hell Fire Club on Mount Pelier Hill
William Conolly’s Hunting Lodge
The building now known as the Hell Fire Club was built around 1725 as a hunting lodge by William Conolly, the Speaker of the Irish House of Commons. It was named Mount Pelier by Conolly but over the years has also been known as “The Haunted House”, “The Shooting Lodge”, “The Kennel”, and “Conolly’s Folly”. It was one of several exclusive establishments using the name Hellfire Club that existed in Britain and Ireland in the 18th century.
While the building has a rough appearance today, the architecture is of a Palladian design. The upper floor consists of a hall and two reception rooms. On the eastern side, there was a third, timber-floored, level where the sleeping quarters were located. On the ground floor is a kitchen, servants’ quarters and stairs to the upper floors. The entrance, which is on the upper floor, was reached by a long flight of stairs which is now missing. At each side of the building is a room with a lean-to roof which may have been used to stable horses. A stone mounting block to assist people onto their horses can be seen on the eastern side. To the front there was a semi-circular courtyard, enclosed by a low stone wall and entered by a gate.
The house faces to the north, looking over Dublin and the plains of Meath and Kildare, including Conolly’s primary residence at Castletown House in Celbridge. The grounds around the lodge consisted of a 1,000-acre (4.0 km2; 1.6 sq mi) deer park. The identity of the architect is unknown: the author Michael Fewer has suggested it may have been Edward Lovett Pearce (1699–1733) who was employed by Conolly to carry out works at Castletown in 1724.
There was a prehistoric burial site at the summit of Mount Pelier Hill and stones from it were used in the construction of the lodge. A nearby standing stone was also used for the lintel over the fireplace. Shortly after its completion, a great storm blew the original slate roof off. Local superstition held that this was the work of the Devil, an act of revenge for disturbing the ancient cairn. Conolly had the roof replaced with an arched stone roof constructed in a similar fashion to that of a bridge. This roof has remained intact to the present day, even though the building has been abandoned for over two centuries and despite the roof being set alight with tar barrels during the visit of Queen Victoria to Ireland in 1849. There is little evidence that the lodge was put to much use. Conolly himself died in 1729.
Light is a way,
Light is a zone,
Light is a past,
Which shows the future.
Light is a mountain,
Light is a hurdle,
Light is a debt,
Which leads to the quest.
Light is a beginning,
Light is a end,
Light is a truth,
Which gives us a fruit.
Light is a flower,
Light is a fragrance,
Light is a life,
Which gives hope to survive.
This Morning while walking through our local woods, I came across a Gorse bush and noticed that its was decorated with spiders webs. Each web was covered in early morning dew, so I started to take a few photographs, while doing so I noticed that the spider who had most likely spent most of the night creating these amazing structures was still at work.
It was a great moment! just to stop and watch her as she continued to work on finishing just another one of so many of her webs, I managed to captures some close up images , some of which I share here – 🙂 🙂
“The Spiders web” by E.B. White
The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.
And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.
Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider’s web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.
Spiders web Gallery
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Charcoal black tip of arrowhead,
among these ancient, stones – stained red
Heartbeats share rhythms of ghostly drums..
Winds carry haunting, chanting hums
I feel your blood, flow here with mine,
outlasting, even decaying time
I’ve been told the stories, told to you,
I know we’re just spirits, passing through
When thunder, shakes awake the night,
I vision warriors by firelight
Their voices echo, around mountain’s soul,
while moon and stars watch us below
Respect the sky, and mother earth,
borrow the beauty, from time of birth
Then give in death peacefully
yourself, to rest eternally
Among these ancient, stones – stained red,
my mirror reflects traces, of those long………..
The Rise Of The Blue Swan
He hid in the shadows of his life
For the world hurt him and all that he wanted
A mind shattered into the shards of hurt that burned
His skin at the merest thought
The blue swan laid low
Like a sunset hidden in the midday sun
Or a full moon ready in the depths of the darkest hollow
His time would come
The blossom would break and his beating wings would soon rise
For he was the blue swan
His pen ready yet she was hidden in the clouds of his uncleared mind
A mate for his remainder
Swan so blue please wake from your bitter
Shine like the kindred spirit you had before the storm
Swan of the day
Love of the night
Your future is waiting
So bright is your fire
The day has come for the blue swan to fly
So beat like the earth on the run
Rise to the mountains
Shout to the sky
Feb 23, 2014
Monday the 5th of October !
Monday Mornings are always a little like stepping onto a beach in the early Morning light, you wonder what you will find as you walk through the dunes and take your first steps into the sand. Many – many times you have been here before but seeing the beach again each morning you never now what has changed over night.
New drift wood, the ripples in the sand from the overnight tide and foot steps left by other early morning walkers, all these things will change the path you have to take as you take your own walk!
By : sainche micano
Waking up to routine
craving for a new thing
the broken life still clinging
and the hopeful soul still living
says the thoughtful me
says the faithful side
..to face the replay of last week
one more time
..only that this time..
i won’t have you for a while
You Haven’t Seen The Last Of Us
By : Lady Ravenwolf
Do as you will and harm none, ever mind the rule of three
Is one of the most important rules of the wiccan reed
Lets take a look back in history
Ways of the old lost within time
All but forgotten, shrouded in mystery
They were a peaceful kind
Yet thousands met such an untimely demise
The ultimate betrayal of mankind
She’s a witch, they’d point and scream
Those were the burning times
You mortals forever ignorant
She is one of many
With blood line ever strong
Her daughters are alive and well
Apparently you missed a few
The witch seen before you
Is a new kind of breed
Dressed completely in black
Morning the death of sisters past
I will forget my own path
Dancing between the worlds
Choosing to walk the in the gray
My magic is powerful
Though I seek not to harm
I will protect what is me and mine
This will be a finial warning
It is most unwise to cross me
With the flick of my hand
A curse will be placed
With a piercing cackle heard
Monday Poetry , Time along a rivers ……
I walk along a River of Time,
do I move or is it the waters?
Can I match its pace?
It flows by, driving my very thoughts,
without any meaning, in my reality,
for that I need to jump in !
What day is this, what hour?
this flow has no meaning,
is it without power?
A cause without effect?
For me the water flows by eternally
It’s end is out at sea.
I Stand aware of my place in the Universe,
forever alive, outside of good or bad,
changing form so many times,
did I not come from this water?
I cannot remember!
Neutral I stand, judging not,
Just watching this River.
It flows by,
with my fingers pushed in,
Momentarily touching me,
It’s power drives me on!
This river is all about the giver …
The Universe of power ….
The one without time…