A new book charting the fascinating Liebherr story in Killarney will be officially launched at the company owned Europe Hotel and Resort on March 20. Researched and penned by long-term employee Tom Foley, who spent an 46 years with the company, it details Liebherr’s history in the town, from its foundation to the present day, and it is packed with detail, rich with humour and full of anecdotes.
In this engaging excerpt, complete with illustrations, the author (pictured) recalls one local boy’s reaction when the arrival of the Germans in Killarney made him late for school, how the Germans befriended the locals, the nights they piled into the back of a company truck to ferry them for a night of fun and frolics in a local pub and how the no-nonsense parish administrator in Killarney voiced his displeasure on learning that the Germans were becoming over amorous with local colleens
Michael, a local boy, was pedalling his way to school that day. His curiosity was aroused by unusual activity opposite the entrance to Killarney Golf Club. A big man was trying to open a gap in the fence with a spade.
Nothing unusual about that, except for the way he was dressed. An expensive suit, shirt and tie did not seem appropriate attire for the task at hand. Also, Michael wondered why the
group of onlookers seemed unwilling to help. Even more puzzling, a bulldozer, with its engine running, was standing idle nearby.
Michael rested on his bike for a few minutes, one foot on the road and the other on a pedal, trying to make sense of the strange proceedings. Soon, the big man stepped back and allowed the bulldozer to finish the task. Perhaps the job was a bit too much for him?
Michael, now realising he was going to be late for school, scratched his head with bewilderment and moved on. He decided to invent a more credible tale to explain his lateness.
His teacher was an understanding man. However, he wasn’t going to test his patience by spinning him a story that seemed a little bit too far-fetched.
When Michael arrived at school, no excuse was needed. Word had spread like wildfire that the Germans had arrived. Everything now made sense.
The name of the man with the spade was Hans Liebherr and he had been performing a ceremonial opening of the site for his new factory.
Rumours that the Germans were coming had abounded in recent months. Now, on this chilly February morning of 1958, the strange activity at Gortroe proved they were well-founded.
Bonds of friendship quickly developed between the young Germans and the locals. The locals were amused by the Germans shaking hands with them every morning and wishing them, “Guten Morgen”.
Sometimes, the German propensity to interpret things literally made it difficult for them to appreciate Irish humour. Yet, they were always at ease in each other’s company.
Hard work and discipline came naturally to the Germans. Despite this, they also liked to enjoy themselves. It was not long before the Germans acquired a taste for Guinness, and Johnny Doona’s pub in New Street became one of their most popular haunts.
Johnny Doona also worked for Liebherr in the buildings and later as a supervisor in production. His pub was destroyed by fire in later years.
Often, after a hard day’s work, the Germans would pile into the back of a company truck for a wild night out in the town. On the way home they would make their presence known with loud singing and banter. Nevertheless, one local offered a benign opinion of their behaviour:
“They are very well behaved an anyone who gets boisterous or out of hand quickly finds himself sent home. When they first came here quite a few of them were noisy. They would kick dustbins at night and would not hesitate to take a bicycle to get back to their chalets but such people were quickly sent home and others came to take their places. Now we fine they are very well behaved”.
Irish Times, April 4,1960
The young Germans enjoyed their new found freedom. Sometimes, this allowed them to engage in high-spirited behaviour that would not have been tolerated back home.
On one occasion, their familiarity with local girls drew fire from no less than Fr Bobby Murphy, Parish Administrator.
Father Bobby, a cleric of the old style, was certainly no shrinking violet. A red line was crossed when he heard the Germans were becoming over amorous with local colleens. He vented his displeasure to Paul Werner, factory managing director, who reputedly told him, “Ah well now Father, we have the answer, if you look after your flock, there will be no need for me to look after my flock”.
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