046 - Chapter 46

(Illustration: My 'old church door' painting from Stranraer)

Both my great-great grandparents, and Bob’s, hailed from Ireland, all of whom probably came to England, looking for work, at what was then a time of great hardship, famine and poverty.

When I first visited Northern Ireland, it was with United Folk, (Chapter 37) but that was a visit to Londonderry (or Derry), an inner city area, to stay at a Roman Catholic retreat house. On our journey home from there, we had visited the well-established centre for healing and reconciliation at Corrymeela, where people, mainly from marginalised communities explore their differences and discover ways to live together in peace and harmony. While we were there, we were told a touching story about one child, who had recently spent time there with others from his inner-city community. When he was about to board a bus to return home, he took one last look at the retreat centre, and whispered, “Goodbye God!”

In Stranraer, before Bob and I took the ferry to Ireland, we went on a short walk the night before, and the doorway of an old church along the path caught my eye. It reminded me of a picture by William Holman Hunt, called ‘The Light of the World’ where Jesus stands knocking at a door, which is covered in thorns. This church door was covered in brambles, so I took a photo of it, so that I could paint it later on. (see illustration)

In order to reach Sligo on the west coast, Bob and I had to pass straight through Belfast, once we got off the ferry. This city was similar to where I’d stayed before with United Folk in Derry, but it felt a little more oppressive, and not all that welcoming. Its grey walls and houses seemed hard and cold, the flags depicting loyalties, and its graffiti of local heroes on the end of rows of houses, seemed to me to demand,

“Which side are YOU on?”

Once we drove out into the countryside, on the other hand, Ireland reminded me of the fifties in the UK. It seemed idyllic and serene. What a contrast.

So what can I say about Ireland, to do it justice?

It was so beautiful, its towns sleepy and peaceful, its people seemingly busy going nowhere in particular. We reached Sligo, as the sun was setting over the North Atlantic in the West, and being from the North East of England we weren’t familiar with the sun descending behind the horizon, but rather rising up from it.

Our plan was to make our way down south from Sligo, all the way to Bantry Bay, to ‘suss out’ where our daughter Sarah was due to take a hospital placement as part of her medical studies. Bob had done his holiday research carefully beforehand as usual, and had made a note of all the places of interest we could visit on our way there.

There were three really interesting places at the top of Bob’s list, which formed a ‘Holy Triangle’. These were the Basilica at Knock, a mountain called Croagh Patrick, , and Ballintubber Abbey, all of which had links to St Patrick, patron saint of Ireland.

First of these was the Basilica of Knock, where villagers once saw apparitions of the Virgin Mary, St Joseph, St John the Evangelist, and also John the Baptist, beside the Lamb of God. These apparitions, according to witnesses, hovered there silently, without movement for two hours. The priest was notified, but he didn’t want to be disturbed by the fuss they were making, so he kept on working and refused to come out. The villagers, on the other hand, all stood quietly, in awe, praying until the visions disappeared.

I’m sure the priest regretted his busyness afterwards! From that time on healings began to occur, and many miracles took place on that spot. Many pilgrims travel there today, especially on the anniversary of the ‘visions’. When we visited Knock, we saw a wall at the end of the church, which had been rubbed smooth by those who had touched it. Many callipers, and walking sticks hung on the wall abandoned, following the healings of those who had owned them. It was an amazing place, full of atmosphere, and pilgrims were plentiful. However, the surrounding streets were like Newcastle Quayside on a busy Sunday morning. This commercial side spoiled it somewhat, with statues, rosaries and artefacts on sale, and also bottles in the shape of Mary or some saint, which could then be taken and filled from a water source nearby. There were also colourful pictures of Jesus for sale, where his eyes followed you as you walked by!

Croagh Patrick was our next port of call. This is the same mountain where St Patrick would climb, in order to fast in prayer for forty days. Now tens of thousands of pilgrims follow suit, to honour him, particularly on the last Sunday of July.

As we travelled in its direction, I saw a massive mountain ahead of us, and since we had both agreed we would climb it, I was hoping that this was not Croagh Patrick as it was so high, besides it was on the wrong side of the road ahead. But as we journeyed along the very winding road, the mountain, ‘transferred itself’ slowly to the other side! Not literally!

It was Croagh Patrick after all, and what a mountain it was to climb! Its path was covered in rocks of all shapes and sizes, and as you made your way up three steps, you slid back two, so climbing was really hard work. Visitors were asked to carry a bottle of water up for someone who was already there doing a forty day fast. One elderly couple impressed us, because others, who were our ‘young’ age, were giving up and going back down, but these two elderly folk plodded on regardless. They climbed a few steps and then stopped for a breather, then they began again, and so on, onwards and upwards, holding hands as they went, so neither would fall!

When we reached the top, we were exhausted, but the view from the top made all the effort worthwhile. Someone pointed out the 365 islands you can see from the top, one for every day of the year. ‘Was this true?’ I wondered. We stayed for quite some time gazing at the incredible view, and just as we were about to descend, the elderly couple arrived at the summit, looking elated. They’d made it! I felt like clapping for them!

Ballintubber Abbey was our final destination, the third point of the Holy Triangle. ‘Baile an Tobair’, was its ancient name, the place where St Patrick used to baptise converts in an old Druidic well. It is known as ‘the abbey that refused to die!’ because of the loyalty of those parishioners who saved it and kept on worshipping there, despite attempts by Oliver Cromwell's soldiers, to destroy it in 1653. Despite having no roof, people had continued to pray, kneeling on the ground in all weathers for many years. The site marks the beginning of the ancient pilgrim route to Croagh Patrick. I loved it, as it was in remarkable condition, with many features of the old abbey preserved; the night stairs, parts of the cloisters and the east chapels. But even more special was the external lay out, of life-sized stations of the cross, which the local villagers had created. We visited the Judas tree, Elizabeth’s house, the Mount of Crucifixion, with three large crosses and a gentle waterfall, there was a small hedge lined avenue called the Road to Emmaus. There was even a Resurrection Cave, with a linen cloth folded up on a stone inside.

Then along came the priest, Fr Fahey, who greeted some people he knew standing by. It was near the end of the day, and he was inviting them to see the abbey’s very latest project: the ‘Celtic Furrow’ as it wasn’t far away. He saw us standing nearby, and invited us to go along too,

The project was really interesting, but way back then it was unfinished, so we felt so privileged to have a peep at it before the project opened up to the public. It mapped out Ireland’s spiritual, cultural and historical roots in Ireland over 5,000 years, particularly the journey of Christianity in Ireland. But then the road map came to a halt; there was a fork in the road, where a choice had to be made. Would Christianity go the way of the world, or take the more difficult route, by choosing not to embrace the four ‘P’s’ of possessions, pride, power, and prejudice.

If it took the route of humility and poverty it would survive, and be there for future generations, if it took the other route, it was heading for a fall.

I felt this was very challenging for future visitors to see. It certainly stuck in my mind.

High on the list of places to visit for Bob, was ‘Claire Island’ being a Saw Doctor’s fan. So we ‘took the ferry out from Roonagh’ and stayed overnight on this beautiful island. We didn’t, however, go ‘skinny dipping there, hand in hand’, but we may have ‘kissed upon the Strand!’ We also travelled on the ‘N17’, and so we ticked off another title of one of their songs.

I’d been playing my guitar and singing on a campsite, and a passer-by pointed out that there was music that evening in the local pub, so we went along. We were disappointed to find that the place was totally deserted, but the barman said that there would be music later. We waited and nothing happened, but just as we were getting up to go back to our caravan at about 10.30, in came singers and musicians, with their pipes, guitars and skin drums or ‘bodhrans’. The night was young for them, and what a marvellous sound they all made.

Irish music is the heart and soul of Ireland’s culture, it reflects its sad history of colonisation, famine and emigration, but the beats, the melodies and the strong voices make the heart soar!

I sang too, a song called ‘From a distance’ which has a line in it, ‘From a distance, I can’t understand what all this war is for’. One lad struck up a militant sounding rebel song straight afterwards, he was probably going to sing it anyway, but I thought it best to keep any more talk of war out of it.

We continued our journey south with our car and caravan, and it seemed that we had gone the wrong way round the very narrow circular road of the ‘Ring of Kerry’. It was one of the scariest journeys I’ve known, towing a caravan, and seeing so many tourist buses coming at us from the opposite direction, careering round tight corners! But we survived.

Ireland is such a homely place to visit, and in villages pubs all along the way, we enjoyed traditional meals such as Pan Haggerty and Irish stew. While we were waiting for our Coddle to arrive in a pub in Dublin at the end of our holiday, some people surprised us by gathering up their musical instruments after they’d eaten, and they played as we, and others, ate, delighting everyone there. Towards the end of our holiday, travelling north, we visited a town called Carrickmacross, in county Monaghan, before going back over the border, which was where Bob’s great-great grandfather came from, and we were delighted to see the word ‘Hamil’ above a shop there! We even studied the local phone book in a telephone booth, and found there not just a few Hamils, but hundreds of them; the name was not as rare as we thought.Iit was a name as common as Smith is over here.

There’s a word in Ireland called 'craic'; we have the exact same word in the North-East of England, but it’s spelt differently, as ‘crack’. It means ‘easy going, with constant laughter and chatter!

In Ireland, we totally embraced the craic, and found the people there to be so warm and welcoming.

Here’s a song with an Irish connection for you:

St Patrick’s Breastplate:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaZbTzqgsqY&list=PLnUh_ZGnZNfUlV8HEyppRIv8FLBtyEY65&index=17