Last year the balloons arrived in Tullamore to celebrate the 4th Phoenix Festival Hot Air Balloon Meet. Spectators were treated to a feast of flying as the balloons launched from the Town Park and from the spacious grounds of Charleville Castle which is about two miles from Tullamore.

The Phoenix Festival Meet celebrates the phoenix like rise of Tullamore from the ashes resulting from Ireland's first aviation disaster of 1785 when a balloon caught fire and destroyed much of the town. The fire started when a hot air balloon collided with the barracks chimney. It then crashed into a house in Barrack Street and proceeded to burn over a hundred houses and buildings which comprised about one third of the town at the time. The disaster marked a turning point in the history of Tullamore.

Only two contemporary reports of the fire have been recovered. One in "Faulkner's Dublin Journal" for May 14th 1785 and one in the Kilkenny based "Finn's Leinster Journal".

By a letter from Tullamore, of the 12th instant, we learn that a most dreadful fire took place there on the fair day, by which near a hundred houses and offices were totally consumed. This melancholy accident was occasioned by the liberation of a fire balloon, or Montgolfier, which two gentleman of that quarter encouraged and English adventurer to prepare for the amusement of their friends. Having been launched from Doctor Bleakley's yard, it took its direction with a small wind towards the barrack, where its progress was interrupted by a chimney, and having on the shock taken fire it communicated to Christopher Beck's house and raged with such ungovernable fury, notwithstanding the utmost efforts and assistance of a number of people collected by the circumstance of fair, till every house, front and rere, in Barrack Street, (except one thatched and four slated houses) was entirely destroyed. The utmost distress has been experienced by the miserable inhabitants, whom the remaining houses are scarcely sufficient to afford shelter, and several of the wealthier residents have suffered losses nearly to their total ruin, particularly Mr. Norris whose dwelling-house, offices and malting-house containing a considerable quantity of grain were destroyed. The dreadful calamity, rendered more poignant, perhaps from the absurd and dangerous practice from which it proceeded, has overwhelmed this ill-fated town with inconceivable distress and inconvenience.

Fortunately no such disasters have occurred over the last couple of years and those who have flown at the Phoenix Festival have had many wonderful flights over the beautiful countryside and enjoyed the post flight celebrations in the numerous local hostelries.

In the following verse poet Jim Brennan recalls one such occasion at the 2002 event.

It was morning again

The dew rested itself white

over the fields of Charleville.

Their wide canopies spread each other

all in their own bright colours

A blast of flame shoots up to warm the oval air

Our rope snaps loose and we rise skywards the Sun to meet

The ground, the trees, the castle down below our feet

The Slieve Blooms called us to itself

We soared above its beauty

Then landing in a farmer's field

His wife she did to her duty

With tea and biscuits we nearly fainted

When we found out the farmer painted

Watercolors to beat the band

And in his hand with pen could frame of poem

Time moved on and we departed

Hoping to reach home

But on the bridge in Clonaslee

Mary nearby sleeping gently sleeping

A gentle knock and in the door

A nod a wink and say no more

Time waits for no one they say

But that day something magic happened

Time not only stopped

It decided to go backwards

And afterwards

You could step across the meridian to France

And chance a pint or two in Ireland

Mary greeting with a smile

And all the while us laughing

All together in Clonaslee

Where you met me

One sunny Sunday morning.