I was tempted to begin this post with Nicky Rackard, because a bronze statue of him intrigued me from the start. Instead, I chose to follow my journey chronologically. So, I’ll begin with a charming, slender pocket garden and finish this post with Rackard in the Selskar area.
A banker’s holiday for May Day took me by surprise on Monday, the 4th of May, when I took a taxi back to Wexford town for one last visit. I liked that they made it a holiday, even though it meant most shops, some restaurants, and coffee places had closed for the day.
May Day was a pre-Christian holiday with roots in the ancient Celtic festival of Bealtaine that honored the sun god Bel and the beginning of summer. People gathered with an abundance of flowers and lit bonfires to celebrate the end of winter and the return of the sun. They danced around a maypole or a bonfire to celebrate their community. In one of the dances, the men and women joined hands, formed a circle, then weaved in and out, ducking under each other’s arms. Other dancers joined in after them. The dance represented the sun’s movements in anticipation of summer.
Although I didn’t mind the holiday, some places where I planned to go were closed, including the little coffee shop I had grown to love. That’s how I ended up trying Frank’s Place for my chai latte, which I wrote about in my last post. The holiday also meant the streets weren’t as busy as the last time I strolled through the area.
Stumbling upon this pocket garden, I couldn’t resist capturing its delightful character. Bicycles adorned with baskets of flowers always enchant me. I never pass up the chance to photograph such a whimsical display. The idea of pedaling a garden along the street is appealing.
In the bronze sculpture, a woman rests on a bench amid the flowers; she must be inhaling the surrounding fragrances. Her tilted face and closed eyes give away her utter bliss in the moment. With stress left behind, she’s now floating.
It’s curious how the garden drew me in. After I finished exploring it through my lens, my attention shifted to the building behind it: Green Acres, marked 1894. Old, but not ancient by Wexford standards. With its restaurant, wine shop, and art gallery shuttered for the holiday, I could only peer through the windows and admire the stately brick façade from outside.
What fascinated me most was the link between Frank’s Place and the enterprises tucked behind Green Acres’ doors. I focused my camera on two: one celebrated for its food, the other for its garden. James O’Connor, Green Acres’ founder, is the sixth generation in his family’s long business tradition in Wexford. It all began with M J O’Connor, his great-great-grandfather, who established Frank O’Connor & Co Ltd, now known as Frank’s Place. One day, I hope to step inside and explore for myself.
Across the street from the Green Acres building, on the opposite corner of Selskar Street and Selskar Avenue, stood a statue. I had to know what the bronze statue commemorated. It only gave the name. What I know about Nicky Rackard at the moment I typed this is absolutely nothing. But that changed as I dove into a part of the story of my visit to Wexford, Ireland. My first guess? He must have been a sports legend, surely worthy of a bronze statue in the heart of town.
The statue is the work of English artist Mark Richards, who also sculpted Bill Gannon, an All-Ireland winning captain. (You’ll have to look that one up as he’s not part of my story.) Thirteen years before this photograph, Richards completed the statue and placed it in the Selskar area, where I stood in Wexford town.
An Irish hurler, Nicky Rackard (1922–1976), was regarded as one of the greatest players of his era. He is most widely known for his scoring prowess in the 1950s. He helped lead the revival of hurling in County Wexford.
What is hurling? I had to find out. It’s an outdoor team game of ancient Gaelic Irish origin. From Wikipedia: “The objective of the game is for players to use an ash wood stick called a hurl or hurley… to hit a small ball called a sliotar between the opponent’s goalposts either over the crossbar for one point or under the crossbar into a net guarded by a goalkeeper for three points.” There’s more to it than that, with a complicated set of rules a player must follow. I’m grateful I paused to photograph the statue and discovered a story entirely new to me. I’ll make a point to watch some games.
On Saturday, October 27th, 1956, the Irish Times published, “… for Wexford, perhaps because it lies out in its own corner of Ireland, not on the way to anywhere or from anywhere, has cultivated down the centuries a strongly independent outlook. The very aspect of its narrow streets is a reminder of its history; here have lived and fought the Viking and the Norman, the Cromwellian and the Irish Rebel. Like the country behind it, it is a warm town with an air of busy prosperity”.
Traveling overseas has offered me my first real taste of ancient histories far older than those I grew up with, in a place where time seems to stretch back endlessly. The deep, often overlooked history of indigenous peoples in my country was nearly erased, and now is mostly forgotten. Yet it deserves to be woven into the fabric of our heritage, a reminder that the so-called new world is anything but new, and the first people thrived under many cultures. Ireland with their historical buildings and rich history, sadly reminds me how much we’ve thrown away.
When I decided to stay in Wexford, my main goal was to be near the Rosslare ferry for my journey to Fishguard, Wales, where I’d continue my book research. Originally, I planned just a day or two at the castle, but I ended up lingering for six days. I’m so glad I did. Having never heard of this area before I arrived, it felt like I was taking a leap of faith. I’m glad I did.
In my next segment, I’ll share more about some of Wexford town’s historic gems, plus a shout-out to a building with a trophy, the harbor and a harp. Afterwards I’ll set sail for Wales across the open Sea.