Castlewarden, County Kildare
Castlewarden is a townland, monastic site and former parish situated between Ardclough and Kill, County Kildare just off the N7 in Ireland. The district is home to a golf club and a riding school today.
Etymology and History
After the Anglo-Norman invasion some time before 1173, Leinster was inherited by Strongbow Richard Fitz Gilbert de Clare "Strongbow", 2nd Earl of Pembroke, through his marriage to Aoife of Leinster, daughter of Diarmait MacMurrough, one of the Kings of Leinster. The name Castlewarden appears to be derived from Warinus, Abbott of St Thomas’ Abbey in 1268 - Castellum Warin (Latin). Adam de Hereford had bestowed the lands on the Abbey of St Thomas, along with Wochtred (Oughter Ard) after being given large territories of land by Strongow. In 1377 John Leche, nephew of Ewa de L’Leche, wife of Hugh de Warin, and physician to Edward III, was grantee by patent of Castle Warin and other lands in Kildare. He was a son of John Leche of Ghattisworth, esq. and Lucy de L’Leche. The church was vacated by the early 17th century. The castle remained in good repair until the 18th century.
Podcasts:
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by Arcane Grail
Ghostly Retinue
by: Arcane GrailLo, the majestical phantasmic horde is scudding
furtively in the passless wildwood enveloped by
calefying silvern moonlight, which permeates far
and wide and scathes the newborn lurid flowers of
fern so as the ferny seeds scatter into the
gossamer hands of warriors, they embalm themselves
by the pulp of seeds and their horrifying vision
dissolves in the phosphoric vapour-perfumed night
air. These darksome warriors are the ghostly
retinue of Germanareh The Reborn Gothic King. They
are all ready to serve and obey their dark lord,
they don’t remember their past life, their human
names which their beloved mothers have given them,
they love and know only their grandest king now.
He is their faith, motherland, blood and
uncontrollable will. Full many of warriors
vestured in the opalescent hauberk as if tissued
from the myriads of lunar webs, its glister is
brighter than the Sun and dazzles the morbid
glance. Ancient golden swords, spears and maces
are ready to mangle, stab and grind the abject
deathling people. This fell revenge of Goths is
causeless, it is only duty. The spirits haven’t
got thoughts, either they execute someone’s design
or inanely exist. But now they crave to kill,
excruciate the bodies by hands, reave the eyes and
crunch the guts for the lifeful blood to fill the
ground; and they sensate that their powers guarded
by the daemons of Hel. And so this host gallops
astride the snow-white bewitched wolves under the
chieftaincy of bloodthirsting iron-hearted ghost
in the impenetrable night.
“Weary-disillusioned death hovereth aboon His
whole-eyed ruthless-inglorious host Their ancient
swords are swathed with sacred runes And lifeless
hearts are squashed by wrath, because [sigh]