But He Wore Shoes!

The view from the window of our upstairs sitting area here in “Old Schoolhouse”, offers a delightful panorama over the ocean inlet and a mountain. The  mountain is a rather famous destination for pilgrims called Croagh Patrick.

 It is 765 metres high. And it is Ireland’s holy mountain. In 441 AD St. Patrick spent 40 days and 40 nights on its summit praying and fasting for the people of Ireland. So, naturally, John wanted to go up it. Now according to tradition, John was supposed to do this barefoot. I would have if I’d had the time. But I had to go to the coffee shop. I just couldn’t fit it in. So I guess I can give him credit for doing it. But he did have his shoes on. Tut tut tut. All jokes aside, we were very proud of Ratty for heading off at about 9:30 am

 and making it all the way up and back by 2pm. What a guy. I would have too, but, you know, the coffee shop and all. In truth, we were waiting for John in another coffee shop and Von had just ordered her dessert and said “I don’t have to share.” when…. That John can smell a dessert 765 metres away.

In Newport, close to our place, is St patrick’s Church which has some very beautiful stained glass. 

A chap named Harry Clarke has done some stellar work here creating these wonderful depictions of Judgement Day, and Christ’s salvation. He was/is a world famous stained glass artist. I was interested to see that, “The old IRA” paid for two of these windows in honour of a fallen comrade. 

Near the starting place for the climb is a sculpture called, “The Coffin Ship”.

 It was unveiled in the ’90’s as a tribute to the victims of the Great Famine. Over a million died in Ireland during the famine. Many more died aboard the “coffin ships” taking starving Irish to North America, Australia or anywhere where they might be allowed in. It is said that as many people died on these ships as died here on land. The “Famine” is referred to here as “The Hunger”. There was food to be had. But it was a decision of the land owners to sell it abroad, or to those that could pay, rather than to help those in need. Does this whole story sound familiar?

After picking John up from his little walk, ( really he was supposed to be barefoot, but never mind ), we went to see Westport House.

 This is something along the lines of Downton Abby. It was built in 1732 and has been owned ever since by the Browne family. In fact some of the latest owners were just leaving the house as we arrived. There are five sisters that own it now. It’s one of those stories where there was no son to whom the title could be passed. So the title, Marquis of Sligo, is now held by a cousin in  Australia. Through legal tussles, the girls still own the house and land. Though heaven knows why they would want to. The place needs tons of work. 

We had a good look round and then, for some reason, John wanted to go home. I still had plenty of pep. But then I’m in pretty good nick as they say over here. So we had a quiet evening eating pizza and watching an episode of Morse. I dosed off during the last bit. But John told me what happened. I believe he watched as he did one armed pushups or something.

To Dad

We have arrived in Westport, county Mayo. We are sad here. We have lost Grandad. A call arrived from Sheelagh’s brother,Adrian, that Sheelagh’s wonderful Dad has been called home. Being here, so far from Sheelagh’s Mum and family, is really hard. Grandad’s long fight with dementia has been hard on all of us. But Sheelagh’s dear Mum has had to bear the greatest burden. Her faithful visits to Morgan Heights each day were an inspiration to all. We miss you, Grandad. Sheelagh and I went out and had 11sies in your honour. Cream teas and scones all around. 

When these times come in families, little things bring you to tears. When Sheelagh saw the blackberries surrounding our cottage, we both thought “Berries Grandad, berries.” That was Liam from the back seat as Grandad drove him around the lanes in England. Grandad loved picking berries.

Here are a few pictures from the area.

Show Me The Money

Saturday is moving day. We drove from Quilty in Co Clare to Westport in Co Mayo. Our one stop was in Galway which is a lively, busy city on a Saturday. We went on a walking tour and that's when Sheelagh learned she is a Norman from France.

The Martin family were one of the 14 Norman families that ran Galway for about 400 years, from the 13th century when they arrived, until the 1650's when Oliver Cromwell arrived. They had very lucrative trade routes with France and Spain which made them and the city very wealthy.

The family home in the centre of the city is now a restaurant but you can still see the medieval 

window. Sheelagh and I had our lunch in the ancestral home. So what we want to know now, Mutti and Dad is, 'Where's the money?'

In Search Of The Bloody Cranesbill

It helped when we discovered it was a flower. Von was on the hunt for all the wild flowers she could photograph.

 The Burren is a very unique area with both flowers from cold, northerly regions brought by the glaciers and flowers from warm, Mediterranean regions brought by ?.The eastern part of the Burren, called Mullaghmore, is more rugged and wild than the western part.

 We all enjoyed wandering over this lunar landscape peering into nooks and crannies in the gray rocks. Some of the tiny spaces held beautiful and some bizarre. 

In the 1640’s, Oliver Cromwell’s surveyor wrote “a savage land, yielding neither water enough to drown a man, nor tree to hang him, nor soil enough to bury him”. But then old Oliver wasn’t too interested in wild flowers. 

We found the Bloody Cranesbill

 and were lucky enough to spot a Fragrant Orchid.

I became enamoured with the walls of the Burren so now everyone else must too.

Following the suggestion of a guy called Bob that we met in a pub, we followed some signs to the Burren Perfumery.

This is a place where they extract the essential oils from Burren flowers to create a selection of perfumes, lotions and soaps. They also do a mean apple pie. It was a peaceful place to spend the afternoon.

They Need To Mow Their Roads

Amongst the ruins, we are finding High Crosses. Don’t know why they are so named. Our thought is because they are higher than the other graves. We’ve seen a couple of famous ones. The St.Tola Cross is in a cow pasture by Dysert O’Dea Castle. The entrance of the ruined monastery, founded by said saint in the 8th century (there was such a building boom in the 8th C) still has a beautifully carved entrance.

Also the Doorty High Cross at St Fachtnan’s Cathedral in Kilfenora. It is rare because it’s carved on both sides.

As an aside. We stopped in Lisdoonvarna, famous for it’s month long Matchmaking Festival, because we’d been told find see some dancing. Well, we did see dancing but not the Irish sort we were looking for and we had to leave the pub because a man tried out his pick up line on Von. Fortunately she had found her match 43 years ago.

It Was So Windy! How Windy Was It?

It was so windy that the waterfall was blown back up the cliffs into our faces.

We went south to the Loop Head lighthouse and came across the Cliffs of Kilkee, quite as spectacular as the Cliffs of Mohr.

We were especially impressed with the Bridges of Ross.

 While there we were interviewed for a RTE, Ireland's national radio, programme called 'Flanagan's Shenanigan's'. The Wild Atlantic Way, the route we are following up the west coast, is a brand new tourist initiative. We were asked how we were enjoying our trip along this Way. Coming to a station near you.

The Cliffs of Mohr

We could see where we were going from our balcony. It took us 7 hours to get there and back. 

The Cliffs of Mohr is a world famous spot. They were the cliffs used in one of our favourite movies,“The Princess Bride” and have been featured in other movies as well.  They really are quite amazing.

We had decided to start our day at Hag’s Head and then work our way towards the Cliffs. When we had twisted our way to the headland, we found a farmer had built a parking lot next to his house and for 2 euros we could park, walk to the ruin at the top of Hag’s Head

and then continue along the cliffs. Best 2 euros we’ve spent so far.It was a clear, sunny day. The wind was strong when we got to the ruin. Fortunately, the wind was blowing on shore. I’m afraid of heights so, as is said, in some spots my knees smote together.

We’ve become a bit blasé about ruins as they are everywhere. In fact, it has to be something special or we won’t go see it.

The Cliffs were everything we thought they’d be and then some.

Our own little cross roads of Quilty has also had it’s 15 minute of fame. In 1907, a French sailing vessel,caught in a bad storm, was wrecked outside our place. The storm was so bad, the fishing folk of the village couldn’t launch any rescue. All the houses in the village put candles in their windows to let the sailors know that they were being prayed for. The next day was no better but the ship was breaking up so badly that the French tried to get ashore in a raft. They were dumped into the ocean immediately. The village men launched their canvas conahs and, against all odds, the 13 men in the water were saved. The next day, a vessel was able to get to the wreck and rescue the remaining 8. The French were cared for by the villagers until they could get home. They were so appalled by the poverty of Quilty that they started an international appeal back in France. Enough money was raised to also build a church in the community.

(This story about shipwrecks and churches keeps following us) It’s an unusual church because it has a round steeple harking back to the medieval watchtowers built by the monks.

Just down the road is Spanish Point where in 1588, several of the ships of the Spanish Armada were wrecked.

Those that made it ashore were executed by the high sheriff of Co Clare. The Spanish did not build a church.

We have great views from our balcony and are enjoying the sunsets and rainbows.

80 Is The New 20

As we were going up and down and around the Skellig Ring,

 which included the beautiful island of Valencia,

we came across the sign to St Brendan’s Well. We drove down the rough track as far as we could and tramped through the bog BECAUSE, St Brendan is the guy who discovered Canada. That’s his story and we’re sticking to it.

The legend we’ve been told is that St.Brendan, the Navigator, set out one day in his little, leather coracle and ended up in Newfoundland long before the Vikings arrived.

I’ve always imagined this young monk being sent out to catch fish for the evening meal and coming back 3 years later with incredible tales of the new land and the abbott saying “Never mind all that, Brendan. Where’s the fish?”

However, we’ve learned that Brendan was 80 when he set out and he had 60 others with him. That’s one crowded coracle. He died in 577 at the age of 94 having navigated his way around most of the known and unknown world. What a guy.

Oh, there was a perfectly good path to the well. The bog tramping had not been necessary.

And, oh, what do you notice about the distance sign?