Marshs Auctioneers was founded by William Marsh in 1835 and has been based in the heart of Cork city on the South Mall ever since. We have built up many loyal relationships with many clients going back generations.
An extract from Strattens Directory – A Literary, Commercial, & Social Review
“As an establishment notable for having been in existence a considerable number of years, as well as for the tact and judgement which has always characterised their business transactions, the house of Messers. W. Marsh and Sons, Auctioneers and Valuers, South Mall, Cork, is especially deserving of mention in these notices. Established so long ago as 1835 by the late Mr. William Marsh, and now carried on by his eldest son, Mr. W. J. Marsh – assisted by his two sons, Mr. R. H. Marsh and Mr. Josuah H. Marsh – the business has achieved an uninterrupted carer of success extending over a period of half a century, and today the development and extension of the trade is still going on. The business premises of the firm are finely appointed, and comprise a handsome suite of general and private offices, in the rear of which is a commodious apartment, measuring some 50ft. by 20ft., used as a general and property saleroom. This is well lighted and ventilated and suitably furnished, the excellent arrangements leaving nothing to be desired.”
On the death of William Marsh of Cork, who died on 5th of September, 1875.
Composed in Riccarton Glen, on 10th September.
On the death of William Marsh of Cork, who died on 5th of September, 1875. Composed in Riccarton Glen, on 10th September.
The Borders hills surround me, and the din
Of stirring city life is far away;
The burnie wimples down the sounding linn,
And lambs are bounding on the grassy brae.
Afar upon the fell the sportsman’s gun
Reports the death of moorfowl or of hare,
While near the frightened connies twinkling run
To find a shelter in their earthly lair.
Why is the wilderness profoundly sad?
How fails all out-world beauty to inspire
Ah ! me ! This morning told my friend is dead,
And quenched for ever in his social fire.
Flow sadly, Lee, and sing a dirge for him
Who loved to wander on thy rippling shore ;
Thou always wert to him pleasant theme,
But he will muse upon thy banks no more.
Ring sadly, Bells of Shandon, o’er the Lee—
He loved to listen to thy pleasant chimes ;
His genial eyes were fired with ecstasy
When chaunting or reciting Mahony’s rhymes.
Mourn, men of Cork—he was thy favourite son ;
He led the dance—the song—the harmless glee ;
But now his active earthly race is run—
A better fellow you will never see.
His beautiful white head is in the grave—
His gentle courtesy is of the past ;
But fond remembrance will his presence save
To those who knew him, while their senses last.
Peace to thy memory my worthy friend,
No man of thee can have a wish that’s harsh ;
Ah ! surely all that knew him will defend
The name and fame of honest William Marsh.
William Irving