Recently, while visiting my family near Thurles, Co. Tipperary, Ireland, we decided to do a bit of sightseeing in the local area. And where better to go than the Rock of Cashel, former home of the Kings of Munster. It’s a spectacular ruin with wonderful views across the surrounding countryside. Now, it has to be said that the weather recently, both in the UK and Ireland, has been a little bit on the humid side. Everyone we spoke to was completely fed up with all the rain and desperate for a bit of sunshine. But this is Ireland, the Emerald Isle, and a spot of rain is never far away. Still,  you don’t visit Ireland for the weather. Pubs, pints, green fields, warm welcome yes, but not the weather. Visitors flock to Ireland from all over the world. And from other worlds too as it turns out.

Before setting off for Cashel I remembered that of the eight officially recognized meteorites to have fallen in Ireland, two had landed in Tipperary. And both but a stone’s throw from Cashel. There was Mooresfort in 1810 and Dundrum in 1865. For the record, the other Irish meteorite falls are Pettiswood 1779, Limerick 1813, Killeter 1844, Crumlin 1902, Bovedy 1968 and Leighlinbridge 1999. Based on these statistics, Ireland must be due another meteorite very shortly!

I couldn’t really ask the other members of my family to visit two meteorite fall locations in one day, and as Dundrum was the closest to our route, I tentatively suggested we could make a quick detour to take a look. As I explained my plans to the team there was a resigned shrug of the shoulders. “How long is it going to take?”, my wife asked. She is used to my proposed meteorite detours while on holiday. “It’s on the way to Cashel, honest” I showed her on the map. To my surprise everyone seemed to be up for it (a bit). So, off we set.  

I had already done a very quick internet search  and came across an article in the Proceedings of the Irish Academy from 1866. It contained the following eyewitness account of the Dundrum meteorite’s arrival: I, John Johnson, of the parish of Clonoulty, near Cashel, county Tipperary, was walking across my potato garden, at the back of my house, in company with Michael Fahy and William Furlong, on the 12th of August, 1865, at seven pm, when I heard a clap, like the shot out of a cannon, very quick, and not like thunder; this was followed by a buzzing noise, which continued for about a quarter of an hour, when it came over our heads; and on looking up, we saw an object falling down in a slanting direction. We were frightened at its speed, which was so great that we could scarcely notice it; but after it fell, we proceeded to look for it, and found it at a distance of forty yards, half buried in the ground, where it had struck the top of a potato drill. We were some time in looking for it (a longer time than that during which we had heard the noise). On taking up the stone, we found it warm, milk warm, but not hot enough to be inconvenient The next day it was given up to Lord Hawarden”. “John Johnson.”

This made me look again at the map. Yes, not far from the village of Dundrum was another village called Clonoulty. It had a church, a school, a post office (more on that in a second) and most importantly, a rather attractive looking pub. When we got there, we had a quick wander around and took a few photos. And that got me thinking. Why hadn’t the meteorite been called Clonoulty? This was clearly a reasonable-sized village. You often hear it said that meteorites are named after the nearest post office and Clonoulty had one of those, and perhaps had one back in 1865.

Tony Brennan’s Bar and Lounge in Clonoulty, Co. Tipperary. Just one of the features that make Clonoulty a reasonable place to name a meteorite after.

Actually, the post office story is apocryphal. The principal global authority on all things related to meteorites is the Meteoritical Society. They have a committee that oversees how meteorites should be named. It’s called the Nomenclature Committee. And they issue some clear guidelines. Section 3.1 states: “A new meteorite shall be named after a geographical locality near to the location of its initial recovery. Every effort should be made to avoid unnecessary duplication or ambiguity, and to select a permanent feature which appears on widely used maps and is sufficiently close to the recovery site to convey meaningful locality information. Acceptable names include physiographic features such as rivers, mountains, lakes, bays, capes, and islands, political features such as towns, counties, states, and provinces, and sites of human activity such as parks, mines, historical sites, and railroad stations.”  However, you can tell the committee members are a bit fed up with the post office red herring, thingy, because the guidelines state specifically:  “Two common misconceptions about meteorite names are widespread: that meteorites should be named for the nearest post office; and, that meteorites should be named for populated places such as towns. Neither of these is correct.”

While Clonoulty does have a very nice post office it turns out this is not really an important feature in terms of naming a meteorite.

So, you name a meteorite after a well-defined and well-documented locality close to the place where it was first recovered. And as Clonoulty is a clearly defined place, and would have been back in 1865, why wasn’t the meteorite called Clonoulty, rather than Dundrum? Had there been something underhand going on? In John Johnson’s account he says: “The next day it was given up to Lord Hawarden.”  This seemed a bit puzzling. I started to wonder who was this Lord Hawarden, why was he given the meteorite and did his intervention have anything to do with the confusion about the name?

Portrait of Lord Hawarden 1856, Tipperary Museum.

The Lord Hawarden in question was Cornwallis Maude, Earl de Montalt and 4th Viscount Hawarden (1817 -1905). He would have been in residence at Dundrum House, County Tipperary at the time of the meteorite fall. He was one of the richest landowners in Ireland, with an estate that comprised 15,000 acres of prime Tipperary farmland. Well, perhaps that’s an exaggeration, I am sure it wasn’t all prime farmland, but you get the gist. He was a pretty wealthy guy. Perhaps Viscount Hawarden would not have been happy with the meteorite being named Clonoulty. Perhaps he suggested it should be called Dundrum after his ancestral home? Total conjecture of course! Anyway, after being given to Viscount (Lord) Hawarden the meteorite eventually ended up in the collection of the Natural History Museum in London. Back in the day it was the repository for all the space rocks that fell on lands under British jurisdiction.

Meteorites are not all the same, far from it. In fact, they are a very diverse bunch of objects. So, what type is Dundrum? The Meteoritical Bulletin Database gives its official classification as  H5. Let’s unpack that a bit. The H part tells you that it is a member of one of the three main groups that comprise the ordinary chondrites. The H group are more fully designated as the high-iron group. The other two principal ordinary chondrites groups are the L (low-iron) and LL (low-iron, low-metal). H group ordinary chondrites typically contain abundant Fe-Ni metal. In common with all the ordinary chondrites, they are pieces from asteroids that are located in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. Early in Solar System history these asteroids heated up due to the decay of short-lived radioactive elements. That’s what the “5” in H5 is all about. It gives you an idea of how much heating Dundrum experienced. Not very logically, the scale goes from 3 (unheated/lightly heated) to 6 (very heated, close to melting). So, Dundrum was thoroughly baked before it arrived on Earth.

You can take a close look at the Dundrum meteorite by visiting the Virtual Microscope. There is a very nice object image that you can rotate and zoom into.

But back to that mystery about its name. Why Dundrum, why not Clonoulty? We were having a family get together the same evening as our visit to Clonoulty. After a refreshing beer, or two, I was expounding my newly minted theory about the possible role played by Viscount (Lord) Hawarden in naming the meteorite after his ancestral home. But having read through John Johnson’s eyewitness account it was pointed out by my Irish relatives that there was a much more straightforward explanation. Based on the names mentioned in the account it was suggested that they likely lived closer to Dundrum village than Clonoulty. So, while they may have actually lived in Clonoulty parish, it would have been more reasonable to name the newly arrived space rock Dundrum, which they did. All’s well that ends well, or so it would seem.

But there is a catch. Isn’t there always. The Meteoritical Bulletin Database provides a grid reference and a handy map of the location where the Dundrum meteorite was picked up. I only looked it up when I got back from my holiday. It shows the meteorite as having been recovered from the golf course in the grounds of Dundrum House. I am sure the golf course wasn’t there back in 1856 but there is also no sign of John Johnson’s house or potato patch. And as far as I can make out Dundrum House has never been in the Parish of Clonoulty. Odd! I am sure there must be a simple explanation.

Dundrum House Hotel, Golf and Leisure Resort. This was the residence of Viscount Hawarden when the Dundrum meteorite was recovered in 1856. The Meteoritical Bulletin Database suggests that this is where the meteorite landed. The account of John Johnson is difficult to reconcile with this location. More research needed perhaps!