Crumbling relic in Clogher is forgotten monument to complex past

On the outskirts of Clogher, a crumbling relic of the past stands forgotten, its walls whispering stories of hardship, resilience, and unexpected luxury.

Once a beacon of relief for the impoverished, the Clogher workhouse is a testament to a bygone era when poverty was institutionalised, and charity came with conditions.

Established under the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834, the workhouse system was designed to provide shelter and sustenance to the destitute in exchange for labour. In south Tyrone, the Clogher Poor Law Union was formally declared on April 17, 1841, covering 158 square miles.

The institution was governed by a 32-member Board of Guardians, who convened regularly at the courthouse before shifting meetings to the workhouse itself.

Construction on the Clogher workhouse began in 1843 on a nine-and-a-half-acre site to the north of town. Designed by renowned Poor Law Commissioners’ architect George Wilkinson, the complex followed a standard layout seen across Ireland.

With space for 500 inmates, the facility cost £4,900 to build, with an additional £885 spent on furnishings.

The layout included an entrance and administrative block, male and female dormitories, a chapel, and a dining hall. Essential services such as a bakehouse and washhouse were linked to an infirmary and what was then termed the ‘idiots’ ward’.

By March 9, 1844, the workhouse was declared fit for use, admitting its first residents the same day.

During the Great Famine, the workhouse expanded to meet soaring demand. A 32-bed fever hospital was erected, attic spaces were converted into dormitories, and additional housing was rented to accommodate 100 boys.

Unlike many institutions of the time, Clogher’s workhouse did not enforce religious segregation.

A local newspaper reported at the time, “Immediately in rear of the house is the cemetery, consisting of sufficient ground for about a hundred graves; and the Episcopalians, the Presbyterians, and the Roman Catholics have each their own burying ground particularly allotted to them.”

However, despite its intended purpose as a place of hardship, the workhouse gained an unusual reputation for its well-kept grounds and unexpected luxuries. The same newspaper noted that its gardens, abundant with vegetables and neatly maintained walkways, rivalled some of the finest cultivated spaces in the North.

Perhaps most remarkably, in 1889, a Turkish bath was installed – an uncommon feature for an institution meant for the destitute. This addition sparked controversy when the workhouse master was caught allowing unauthorized visitors to use it, leading to censure by the Board of Guardians.

By the early 20th century, the workhouse had become an attractive refuge for some.

In 1912, a woman named Mary Kelly was jailed for falsely claiming destitution to gain entry. In a sensational courtroom twist, she alleged that the father of her child was none other than the workhouse master – leading him to attempt to sue her for slander.

The workhouse officially closed its doors in 1916, with its main building sold for £400 to local MP William Coote, who repurposed it as a woollen goods factory.

Over the following decades, the site changed hands multiple times, serving as a mushroom-growing plant, cattle shelter, council offices, and eventually, a cottage hospital until 1948.

By 1953, it was converted into an old people’s home, which remained operational until 1990.

Today, much of the original structure remains, battered by time and neglect. A forgotten monument to a complex past, the ruins of Clogher’s workhouse stand as a silent reminder of an era where charity and hardship walked hand-in-hand.