Our Lady of Thomastown, as a true Virgin of Charity, is more than just a religious statue. She is part of a lineage—of vows kept, of faith carried across borders in secret, of the feminine spirit refusing to be erased.
Helena B. Scott
When I first began researching this Madonna, no one locally knew her story. Even in Irish academic circles, information was scarce. The only facts were that she had been imported by a 17th-century wine merchant, Patrick Lincoln, and that his wife, Mary Dobbyn (daughter of William Dobbyn, of Ballinakill House, Waterford), donated her to the parish of Thomastown—various sources cite different dates, often around 1705-1709, when she died. With no other information available in Ireland or in English, I had to think “outside the box”, following threads across genealogical records and traveling through archives in Spain and France. Only through my fluency in Spanish and French could I unlock the family’s story, tracing the Madonna’s journey from her origins and uncovering the remarkable path that would otherwise have remained hidden in history’s shadows.
In early spring of 2024, I arranged to meet father Daniel Bollard P.P., then priest of the Church of the Assuption in Thomastown, Co. Kilkenny, to meet what I believed could be Ireland’s second Black Madonna. On entering the church, to my surprise, I found her tucked into a corner —almost as though she had been put there for being a “naughty little girl.” In truth, it’s an image that mirrors what has happened to the feminine through the centuries: pushed aside, marginalised, yet never silenced. And now, as we enter the Age of Aquarius—the water bearer who pours wisdom into the world (a healer, identified with Mary Magdalene, but that lives within all women)—the feminine is slowly, steadily, being embraced again.
LEFT: Church of the Assumption, Thomastown, Co. Kilkenny, photo by Helena B. Scott. RIGHT: Our Lady of Thomastown, a Spanish Virgin of Charity, alternate view, all images of Our Lady of Thomastown by Philip Devereux for Helena B. Scott.
Uncovering the Story of the Madonna
To truly understand this forgotten Madonna, I had to journey back to Spain—the land that birthed us both—following her hidden trail through the Lincoln-Dobbyn family and their daughter Margaret (Margarita), whose marriage into the Murphy line carried her story forward. Their descendants would eventually emigrate due to the harsh conditions imposed by Protestants on families who followed the Old Faith in Ireland as part of the Wild Geese diaspora linked to Jacobites. Genealogical research in Spain revealed that the Lincolns—members of Waterford’s merchant class—and the Dobbyns (D’Aubin, originating from Aubin in France’s Languedoc, a region steeped in the tradition of Black Madonnas) interwove their lineage with the Murphys and later with the Spanish-Irish Porro family, establishing themselves in Málaga as the Murphy-Porro line, where they established a shipping company, rose to the rank of hidalgos and through marriage, entered the circles of Spanish nobility.
Our Lady of Thomastown is, in truth, a reflection of Spain’s Virgin of Charity; a Black Madonna whose origins reach back to antiquity. Tradition holds that her first dark-carved image was created by Saint Luke in Antioch and brought to Toledo (Spain) by Saint Peter between 50 and 60 A.D., later entrusted to Saint Ildefonso, Archbishop of Toledo, who enshrined her in a Benedictine monastery at Illescas in the 7th century. For centuries, she was venerated there as a wellspring of devotion, hope, and protection. It was this legacy that the Murphy-Porro family of Málaga—descendants of Patrick Lincoln and Mary Dobbyn—carried with them when they brought to Ireland a Spanish Madonna modelled on Illescas’ Virgin of Charity. Their influence extended far beyond Ireland: with branches of their shipping company in Veracruz (Mexico), Cádiz (Spain), and London, they wove Europe and the Americas into a living web of exchange, mirroring the way the Virgin herself crossed borders, oceans, and centuries, uniting distant peoples in her embrace. It is no coincidence that, in those same years, across the Atlantic, a sister image emerged—the Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre in Cuba, now the nation’s beloved patron saint. Both trace their lineage to the ancient Virgin of Charity of Illescas, Toledo, as if the spirit of this Madonna was destined to cross oceans, carrying her message of hope and protection to distant shores. Her presence in Ireland speaks to the country’s historical ties with Spain, and to a continuity of reverence for the sacred feminine that survived even under persecution.
Our Lady of Charity (La Virgen de La Caridad), image from circa 1898 by unknown author, based on the work of Antoni Ferran (1786-1857). In Latin America, it is common to find other versions of this image, influenced by Santería, which portray a black Mary holding a black baby Jesus.
In the early 16th century, Cardinal Cisneros founded a sanctuary and hospital in Illescas, transferring the Virgin of Charity to her new home. There, her fame spread after a miraculous healing in 1562, when Francisca de la Cruz rose from paralysis at her feet—one of many wonders attributed to her intercession. The image we see today—a 17th-century Virgin enthroned with the Child—veils a more ancient mystery: tradition holds that within her rests the first Madonna, carved by Saint Luke and carried to Toledo by Saint Peter between 50 and 60 A.D., her dark radiance concealed yet still pulsing at the heart of the statue, like a secret soul within stone. Though later lightened to accommodate jeweled robes and rich vestments, she remains rooted in her origin as a Black Madonna.
Discover the Fundación Funcave, its history, and remarkable heritage. Explore the 16th-century Renaissance sanctuary of the Virgin of Charity of Illescas, adorned with an extraordinary series of paintings by El Greco, and filled with artworks and stories that inspire and captivate
The sanctuary complex that enshrines her still bears witness to this legacy and includes a hospital and a church adorned with a notable Baroque altarpiece designed by Mateo de Cibantos between 1652 and 1655. The church also features five luminous paintings by El Greco, commissioned in 1603, which depict scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary, all bearing witness to centuries of unbroken devotion. The Fundación Hospital Nuestra Señora de la Caridad Memoria Benéfica de Vega (FUNCAVE), a private non-profit based in Illescas, Toledo, was established in the late 19th century to safeguard the devotion, traditions, and heritage of the Sanctuary of Nuestra Señora de la Caridad. Over time, FUNCAVE has become a guardian of one of Spain’s most treasured sites, preserving its rich cultural and artistic legacy, including a remarkable ensemble of paintings by El Greco, created between 1600 and 1605. Through restorations, exhibitions—such as the 2020 collaboration with the Museo Nacional del Prado—and careful stewardship, FUNCAVE ensures that the sanctuary, its art, and its sacred history continue to inspire and captivate visitors from around the world. For more information about FUNCAVE and its initiatives, visit their official website at elgrecoillescas.com
Oil on canvas by El Greco, created between 1603-1605, titled The Virgin of Charity; the painting depicts the Virgin Mary sheltering a group of faithful, embodying the virtue of Charity through imagery rooted in medieval depictions of the Virgin of Mercy. At its center, the imposing Virgin opens her mantle over worshippers dressed in the fashion of 16th-century Toledo, some of whom are portraits of local nobles, including Jorge Manuel Theotocópuli, El Greco’s son. Painted to be viewed from below, El Greco’s characteristic elongation is pronounced here, lending Mary a monumental presence that dominates the composition and draws the viewer into her protective embrace. View at the Sanctuary of the Virgin of Charity (Santuario de la Virgen de la Caridad), in Illescas, Toledo (Spain).
Why was the Madonna brought to Thomastown? Why does She matter? And why was Her story forgotten?
The story of Ireland’s Black Madonnas is a testament to faith enduring against relentless persecution. From the turbulence of the Reformation, when Henry VIII’s break with Rome unleashed the destruction of monasteries and the smashing of sacred images, to the brutal restrictions of the Penal Laws, devotion was forced underground. Native medieval statues were nearly all lost. Owning or importing religious images was illegal; those who dared risked confiscation, fines, imprisonment—even death. Therefore, the few remaining medieval religious statues in Ireland owe their survival to secrecy and courage; as Dr. Catriona McLeod notes, “some statues came from France, Flanders and Italy, but the greater number came from Spain.” Across centuries, Irish clergy returning from abroad smuggled treasures hidden in crates, barrels, and cloth, while Spanish patrons sent Madonnas, vestments, and sacred books to sustain a beleaguered faith. Despite spies, confiscation, and exile, these sacred images—gifts from kings, acts of devotion, and quiet acts of reparation—arrived in Ireland, carrying not only artistry and devotion, but the resilient hope of a people determined to keep the divine feminine alive, even in the shadows.
Spain’s devotion to the Virgin had never been interrupted. From the medieval flowering of Marian worship under Alfonso the Wise’s “Cantigas de Santa Maria” (a 13th cent collection of 420 poems to Mary) to Cistercians and Knights Templar, through the Spanish Golden Age of Velázquez and Zurbarán, Marian works and the carving of Madonna and Child statues remained a living art. Andalusia, especially Seville, Málaga and Granada, produced works of exquisite craftsmanship—deeply expressive, richly painted, and imbued with a spirituality that crossed seas and borders. Our Lady of Thomastown belongs to this world. Her journey here was almost certainly a clandestine one, her survival dependent on concealment, her presence a quiet act of defiance. She carries with her not just Spanish artistry, but the memory of a time when to keep the faith was to take a risk—and to risk everything.
Through layers of history, genealogy, devotion, symbolism and alchemy, the story of this Madonna begins to emerge—not just as a religious artifact, but as a living emblem of faith, artistry, resilience, transformation and rebirth that travelled from Málaga in Spain to Thomastown in Ireland, crossing oceans and centuries, carried by those willing to risk everything to keep her safe and symbolising hope. Hope, as father Daniel Bollard tells me, is relevant as a theme to 2025; a snake year imbued with feminine power, wisdom, and the promise of resurrection. Like all Black Madonnas, Our Lady of Thomastown teaches that from darkness comes renewal, from hidden journeys emerges revelation, and in the quietest corners of history, (or in churches!) the sacred persists.
Discover the hidden story of Our Lady of Thomastown—the Black Madonna brought to Ireland by the Lincoln-Dobbyn family—and the remarkable journey that safeguarded her through centuries. Explore her legacy and her Templar ties, along with the stories of Ireland’s other Black Madonnas in Dublin and Waterford, in my podcasts, lectures, and forthcoming book, Dark Trinity: Ireland’s Black Madonnas and the Dark Mother, coming this November—stay tuned for more news!
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Truly grateful to father Daniel Bollard P.P., now hopefully enjoying his retirement and former priest of the Church of the Assumption, in Thomastown, Co. Kilkenny, where this Spanish virgin of charity known as Our Lady of Thomastown can be visited, and to the wonderful history group who engaged with me in my search for her story and the sisters of the Thomastown Mercy Convent, once home to this Madonna. Special thanks to Joseph Doyle and Kilkenny Heritage Officer Regina Fitzpatrick.
Also grateful to my friend and colleague Philip Devereux, a photographer who specialises in capturing the feminine spirit, for accepting my invitation to join my crusade to restore the feminine as part of hidden histories, taking the most amazing portraits of Our Lady of Thomastown, Our Lady of Dublin and the Waterford Nursing Madonna shown here as well as a few photos for my dissertation and upcoming books. His “New Women of Ireland” exhibition with the Wexford Arts Centre was deeply meaningful and featured women, not born in Ireland, but who made our home their home too, expressing gratitude for their contributions to Irish society with their wide-ranging talents, traditions and indeed their beauty.