Summer is here, and amongst my favourite activities is doing nothing on a beach. Not exactly an activity so. Brittas Bay is a regular haunt. Thanks to good friends, we can spend a few weeks in a mobile on Wicklow’s wonderful coast. The mobile park is separated from the rising coast by a small river, and from the bay itself by a range of high sand dunes.
In this painting, we are approaching the beach through the dunes along one of several stepped ways. It’s something of an oasis of isolation and quiet, between the domestic suburbia of the mobile park and the windswept leisure activity of the beach.
This time I am using oils, which I have not done in a long long time. Since I went to art college in the summer of 77 I have tended towards faster graphic media such as watercolour, gouache and acrylics. One Dublin cityscape and a mountain landscape is all I can recall. So it was a bit of a struggle to begin with, and I was as much absorbed in the physicality of the whole thing, the texture and smell of the materials as I would normally be in the detail and composition of the finished work. There’s something of the wild and unkempt in this and the process. A sensual saturation that takes its own form.
And so the song that suggests itself is rough and ready too. It’s from the summer of 77 which I remember for sandy days with M in Llandudno, Wales and a holiday hut on the beach in Skerries, North Dublin. It kicks off with a to-die-for bass riff. What follows is a young ruffian gorging himself on the visual pleasures of the beach. It’s called Peaches and was the first hit for the Stranglers from their debut album Rattus Norvegicus. You might also know it from the opening credits of the 2000 geezer flick Sexy Beast, where reformed lout, Ray Winstone, soaks up the sun in a villa in Spain. Oh, I can relate to it in all sorts of ways.
Well there goes another one just lying down on the sand dunes
I’d better go take a swim and see if I can cool down a little bit
Coz you and me woman, we got a lotta things on our minds
Bray’s Harbour Bar is a favourite watering hole, and I have posted on it before. Drinking Outside the Harbour Bar was painted in the bright sunshine of a summer’s evening. Here, we are huddled inside the original bar in early November. There’s a music session, with three hombres giving it yards. Ballads and folk in the bar, with rock off in the back lounge. I’m in the snug, in between, swaying from one to the other.
This was originally the Harbourmaster’s cottage when built in 1831. The harbour itself was only a small dock then, the full harbour arriving in the 1890s. The bar has been licensed since the 1860s or so. The O’Toole Bros ran the show until ten years ago when the Duggan family added it to their fleet. Throughout its century and a half, it has kept its traditional vibe; seafarin’, rough hewn, crammed with bric a brac and all the ancient, and tyro, mariners adrift on the sea of life. It’s cosy in winter, with the log fires lit and the mellow glow of lights in the timbered shadows. And the music starts to play.
Tonight, I might get loaded
On a bottle of wine, on a bottle of wine,
Gonna feel alright, gonna feel alright,
Yeah, I feel alright!
I Got Loaded is a song for the good times. Listen to Los Lobos howling. Spanish for ‘the wolves’, the band formed in East LA in the mid seventies. Their second album, How Will the Wolf Survive, appeared in 1984 and includes this track. It was written by Camille Bob, and was first released in 1965 by his band L’il Bob and the Lollipops.
At Heuston Station I flash my ticket for the guard. Where to? Galway, I say. Ceannt? Ah, there’s no call for that now.
The journey from Dublin to Galway takes about two and a half hours. Passing through the midlands via Athlone, we cross the Shannon into the West, heading on to Galway by way of Ballinasloe and Athenry. Galway Ceannt is under renovation. Trains are operating normally, but otherwise it is a building site. I have a pint at O’Connell’s on Eyre Square, from where it’s just a ten minute walk to my BnB on College Road.
Galway was founded by Norman adventurer Richard de Burgh in the early thirteenth century. It is known as the City of the Tribes. The Tribes in question were not the Wilde Irishe, but Norman merchant families who rose to prominence from the thirteenth century on. Blake, French, Browne, Bodkin, Deane, Font, Joyce, Lynch, Martin, Morris and Skerrit are Norman French in origin. D’Arcy, though it looks French, was an affected spelling of an Irish clan, O Dorchaidhe, dressed up as posh. Kirwan were another tribe of Gaelic ancestry. Their power waned after Cromwell took the city in the seventeenth century; from whence the term tribes was applied, disparagingly, at first.
I learned all of this at the Galway City museum, by the Spanish Arch on the quayside. It’s an excellent museum outlining the colourful history of the city, its people and its many idiosyncrasies. It is flooded with light, and upstairs there are panoramic views across the city and bay. A large Galway Hooker dominates the central atrium, and is a constant reminder that you are in a city floating on water. There’s an account of the Claddagh, a history of the Claddagh Ring and a section on the Independence and Civil War era.
Entrance is free. In the lobby is the Padraic O Conaire statue. This originally stood, or sat, in Eyre Square. Decapitated at the Millennium, it is stored here for safekeeping. A bronze replica now presides over the square. An author and journalist, O Conaire wrote mostly in Irish. He was a figure in the Gaelic League in London before the Great War and then back in Ireland. He was only forty six when he died in 1928, although somehow the statue always seems of an older man to me. His story, M’asal Beag Dubh, concerns a chancer looking for big bucks for his shiftless donkey. It inspired an ornate hoax by Irish journalist Declan Varley. In satirising the soccer transfer market he created Masal Bugduv, a Moldovan prodigy who attracted outrageous bids from top premiership clubs. One imagines the mythical youth telling the bidders, it will take a few dollars more to shift Masal Bugduv.
The award winning building was designed by OPW architects, Ciaran O’Connor and Ger Harvey. It’s a bright, three story L-shaped building, forming an attractive, varied plaza with the Arch and Comerford House. Comerford House, a late eighteenth century residence, housed the original city museum from 1976 until the new building thirty years later. The Spanish Arch itself is notoriously underwhelming. There are two arches; the outer one closed, the inner being the Spanish Arch itself. Overall, this is an extension of the city walls built along the old fish market in 1584. The quayside was then extended to form the Long Walk, and the arches were added to give access from the city to the new quays. Originally Eyre’s Arch, it was later named the Spanish Arch to note the extensive contact between Galway and Spain in medieval times.
A couple of town castles of the period remain in the city centre. At the foot of Quay Street, Blake’s Castle looks out on the Corrib. Built in 1470 it is a typical medieval tower house. For a time it was used as the city jail, later a grainstore, and then a coffee house. The Blakes descended from Richard Caddell, Sheriff of Galway in 1300. His nickname, Negar, for his dark complexion, was Black in English, from which the Blake name derives.
Lynch’s Castle, further on, is another fine remnant of medieval Galway. A four storey Gothic tower from the late fifteenth century, its facade is adorned with ornate stone carvings. It is now a bank. Lynch’s window is nearby, outside St Nicholas Collegiate Church. And thereby hangs a tale, if you pardon the pun. The window commemorates James Lynch Fitzstephen, Galway mayor in 1493. One version has it that Walter his son admitted to killing a Spanish merchant called Gomez in a dispute over the favours of a girl. Failing to find a hangman willing to carry out the sentence, the Mayor carried it out himself from the upstairs window of his own residence. Three and a half centuries later, the window was installed here as a memorial to stern justice showing neither fear nor favour. The word Lynch since became synonymous with ad hoc hanging, though this doesn’t quite tally with the story.
The church dates back to 1320 and is dedicated to St Nicholas of Myra, the patron saint of seafarers. Christopher Columbus is said to have attended mass here in 1477. Whether or no he also called into the Quays Bar, I always do. It traces its history back to the 13th century when it was a banqueting hall. Upstair is the Music Hall, dominated by a raised stage with a piped organ backdrop. On a seat outside sits a bronze statue known as the Galway Girl. The young woman wears traditional Irish garb so is not the same girl of the famed song. Or songs.
I took a stroll down the old Long Walk
Of the day I-ay-I-ay
I met a little girl and we stopped to talk
On a grand soft day I-ay
Written by American Country Rock musician, Steve Earle, the version by Mundy (Edmond Enright) and Sharon Shannon in 2006 became one of the best selling singles of all time in Ireland. In fact, the Galway Girl is Joyce Redmond, from Howth in Dublin, who plays bodhran on Earle’s original version on his 2000 album, Transcendental Blues.
And I ask you friends, whats a fella to do?
Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue
And I knew right then, I’d be takin a whirl
Down the Salthill Prom with a Galway Girl.
In Ed Sheeran’s song, from his 2017 album +, the Galway Girl is met in Dublin where she plays a fiddle on Grafton Street. Sheeran before his fame had busked the streets of Galway. Across the street is another famed pub, Tigh Neachtain’s, with its traditional interior and terrace seating to front and side. The junction forms a small plaza for a succession of buskers to entertain. Good busking is a notable feature of Galway’s Latin Quarter and the area is thronged with a happy promenade of local and visitor from morning till night.
The fast flowing Corrib marks the edge of the medieval city. It pours down from Lough Corrib, just 6K inland. Besides the powerful main channel, there are other branches winding through the west of the city. Crossing the Wolfe Tone Bridge, the Claddagh and Salthill are off to your left. Further upstream there’s a tangle of riverside walks leading to the open surrounds of the Cathedral and University.
Galway Cathedral, or Our Lady Assumed into Heaven and St Nicholas as it’s officially known, was designed by John J. Robinson. Work began in 1958 and it was completed in 1965. Grimly imposing, the massive structure of limestone blocks attempts to evoke a more ancient age. Its central dome, rising to 145 feet, is its most attractive feature. Within, the bare blocks make for a Stygian atmosphere, encouraging prayers of escape. There is a Marian shrine to the side, and I light a candle there.
Galway University, across from the Cathedral, was founded in 1845. Its original, signature building, the Quadrangle, is a replica of Christ Church College, Oxford in the Tudor Gothic style. The campus expanded in the seventies, with a modern complex designed by Scott Tallon Walker and is growing still. It now has twenty thousand students, almost a quarter of the city’s population. Entering the campus there’s a cluster of building’s from Galway’s industrial past including a disused distillery. A branch of the Corrib here has moorings for river craft and there’s a lively bar along the bank.
The cloisters are strangely deserted but then the rain is falling and this is something of an island in time. The student population is a vibrant force in the pervasive exuberance of Galway. Also, Irish culture is more pronounced here than in other cities, we are way out West, after all. But, while careful to cultivate and preserve the ancient, even invent it, Galway is also modern and receptive; a true melting pot of cultural heritage, ideas and expression. The perfect place to find your tribe, or form a new one.
The Dublin to Cork train leaves Dublin Heuston every hour on the hour. The journey takes two and a half hours via Portlaoise, Thurles, Limerick Junction and Mallow. I took it last year, celebrating my recent elevation to the free Travel Pass. We barrel through west and south Leinster before leaving County Laois past Portlaoise and crossing into Munster
To the south east the mountains of Slievenamon mark the moutainy territory beyond Ireland’s Central Plain. Slievenamon itself rises 2,365 feet above the floor of County Tipperary. The name is from the Gaeilic for Mountain of the Women. Legend is that Fionn Mac Cumhail, mighty warrior and fierce popular with the women, decreed his pursuers should race to the top of the mountain in order to claim God’s gift, as it were. Grainne won, at least as far as Fionn was concerned. She herself might have preferred a leisurely stroll, or cable car ride, and she eloped with more youthful hero Diarmuid during the marriage feast.
The Pursuit of Diarmaid and Grainne is the epic love tale depicting Fionn’s pursuit of the young lovers. I read it in the Gaelic, Toraiocht Diarmuid agus Grainne, for my Leaving Cert fifty years before. I spent a lot of time looking out windows then, too.
This is a painting of two young lovers lounging on the train as it passes the famed mountain. I tried to be discreet in taking the reference photograph, but typically was spotted. The man, ever on guard, has raised his eyes from his mobile device and is looking at me daggers. She is oblivious. In a way it is a meditation on modern love, neither sweet nothings nor spooning intruding on the current obsession with the smartphone. Still, there is an obvious sense of comfort amongst the duo; striking a tableau worthy of Venus and Mars. The two are well cast in their roles, Mars worryingly so. And I am old with wandering, through hollow lands and hilly lands.
The mountain and the moment passes. I can play with the lover scenario in my head. Are they heroes? Are they pursued? Will they change at Limerick junction, or accompany me to Cork, and all other matters arising? Such questions should stall, allowing myth to arise.
The acrylic painting is, as usual, a labour of love. The subjects classically beautiful and statuesque. An intriguing still life is briefly grouped on the table. Beyond, the world whips by at dizzying speed.We are suspended in a fragile bubble in the vast explosion of life.
Well, pistons keep on churnin’
And the wheels go ’round and ’round
And the steel rails lie cold and hard
On the mountains they go down
Without love
Where would you be right now
Without love, oh -oh.
Long Train Running by the Doobie Brothers from their 1973 album The Captain and Me. Tom Johnston wrote it, providing vocals, harmonica solo and the distinctive rhythm guitar backing. I first heard the song after my Leaving Cert that year, covered by Irish band Rodeo at Kevin Street Tech. About that time I figured why the American Band didn’t actually feature siblings with the surname Doobie.
The Dart has been taking commuters, daytrippers and various wanderers around the Bay for forty years. Dart is a clever acronym for Dublin Area Rapid Transit. It runs from Malahide or Howth in the north to Greystones in the south. The last two stops are outside of County Dublin. Reaching the Dargle River we are in County Wicklow. The town of Bray has been established here since the Norman invasion, building on earlier Gaelic settlements.
This view is taken from the window of a southbound Dart, about to cross the bridge over the Dargle. I am returning from Dublin city where it has been raining, but now the sun’s coming out and Bray rises steaming out of the gloom. The Sugarloaf Mountains appear on the horizon, and the land is marked by the tower of the Catholic Church of the Most Holy Redeemer, and the spire of Christchurch (CofI). Bray Daly Station is my stop. Opened in 1854, the line was quickly extended to Greystones and runs parallel to the seafront behind the hotels and houses lining the Esplanade which was newly established then.
This painting is acrylic on canvas and has been accepted by the Signal Open Art Exhibition of 2024. I am delighted to be chosen and looking forward to seeing all the other works on show. The exhibition runs from Tuesday 6th August until Sunday 18th August. Should be fun. Give it a dekko!
Every time it rains
You’re here in my head
Like the sun coming out
I just know that something good is going to happen
I don’t know when
But just saying it could even make it happen
Cloudbusting by Kate Bush is guaranteed to lift the heart, without reneging on past sadness. It is on her 1985 album Hounds of Love.
It’s a long way to Tipperary, they say, but the roads are good. We left Bray late morning, arranging to hook up with our travelling companions in Cahir. The simplest route from Bray is to take the M50 through south Dublin, turn southwest along the M7 then veer on to the M8 down to Cahir. It’s a distance of two hundred kilometres which Google reckons can be done in two hours. But what’s the rush?
We’re staying near Bansha, on the N24 along the railway line heading for Tipperary town and Limerick beyond. Bansha is familiar to us from olden days and the area is always worth visiting for its heritage and wonderful scenery. We booked three days in Aherlow Cottage, a three bedroom self catering accommodation adjacent to a farm. All mod cons, and many older ones, with a traditional hearth and a private garden flanked by trees and a river.
Bansha itself is a pleasant village. Nellie’s Bar on Main Street is the place to go, packed when we arrive on a Sunday when crowds gathered to watch the football. Hurling is more the sport of choice about here. Tipperary are the third most successful team in the country, with twenty eight titles, behind Kilkenny and Cork though, like everyone else, trailing in Limerick’s wake right now. Tipp were last All Ireland hurling champions in 2019. Throughout the week the pub’s quiet; plenty of space and time to dwell over a pint or two, and study the photographs and clippings on the wall of the bar.
The Glen of Aherlow has a number of marked trails amidst a panorama of wonderful scenery. To the south the Galty Mountains rear into a blue sky and Slievenamuck shelter the valley to the north. The Galty Mountains rise to over three thousand feet and are the highest inland range in Ireland with Galtymore the highest peak outside of Kerry. Slievenamuck means mountain of the pig in Gaelic, referring to a notorious wild boar who once haunted the slopes. He’s long gone and, if you’ll pardon the pun, the place is just as interesting in his absence. The Slievenamuck range features loop walks of varying degrees of difficulty.
We took the trail from the statue of Christ the King heading uphill through Bansha Woods with fabulous panoramic views across the county rewarding us at the summit. Tipperary town is visible in the middle distance. We make downhill through rushing streams and forest paths. It’s well marked and you won’t go astray. There’s a picnic area near the statue where you can enjoy the scenery in a more leisurely fashion
The main town hereabouts is Cahir on the River Suir. The town has a population of three and a half thousand people. Most of it is built on the south bank of the river, centered on a main square. Such squares are a feature of Protestant plantations in Elizabethan and Jacobean Ireland. Quakers established themselves in Ireland in the mid seventeenth century. Cahir and Clonmel became their main centres in south Tipperary where they were prominent in milling and other businesses. Cahir and Clonmel were the first towns in Ireland to be linked by Charles Bianconi’s coach service in 1815. Up till then, the journey could take six hours or more by river. With the coach it could be done in two hours, though Google might claim even less. Charles Bianconi was born in Italy, near Lake Como, in 1786, and moved to Ireland when he was sixteen, fleeing Napoleon’s invasion. He worked in Dublin as an engraver before moving to Clonmel where he set up his transport business.
Screenshot
The most spectacular feature of Cahir is its castle. Cahir Castle is built on a small island in the river. It was first built in the mid twelfth century by the King of Thomond (North Munster) Conor O’Brien. This dynasty was established by Brian Boru, of Battle of Clontarf fame. This was the original stone fort, An Cathair, which gave the town its name. The Butlers of Ormond (East Munster) took over when in1375 James Butler was granted the castle estate as reward for his loyalty to Edward III. Munster, Ireland’s southern province, was then divided into three earldoms Ormond, Thomond and Desmond (South Munster). The new Castle had formidable walls rising sheer from the river, with a towering central keep all guarded by an array of sturdy towers. It was considered impregnable but in the three day siege of 1599 during the Nine Years War the Castle was taken by Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex.and his ally Christopher St Lawrence, Lord Howth. This is the same Howth who, as a boy was kidnapped by pirate queen Grace O’Malley. Eventually released, he grew up to become a renowned warrior, albeit with anger management issues.
Since the death of the last Lord Cahir in the 1960s, the Castle has been the property of the Irish State. Entrance is €5 and there are guided tours. It is free to walk the Inch Field public park which embraces the castle on three sides. In modern times the Castle is much in demand for period productions in the film and tv business. Famous films are noted on a plaque outside. Amongst the roll call are John Boorman’s Excalibur from 1981, TV drama The Tudors and most recently The Last Duel in 2020. The Last Duel was directed by Ridley Scott and based on a nonfiction work by Eric Jager. Matt Damon is producer, co-writer and took the main lead of Jean de Carrouges fighter of the last Judicial Duel in France in the fourteenth century. Filming was delayed with the outbreak of covid and Damon found himself marooned in Dalkey, south of Dublin. The bould Matt didn’t mind, going for swims and coffee and hobnobbing with the locals. What’s not to like about being marooned in Dalkey, rubbing shoulders with Bono, Enya and Van Morrison?
A 2 km riverside walk will take you to the Swiss Cottage. This early nineteenth century ornamental cottage is attributed to John Nash, the Regency architect who also designed the Cahir Parish church in 1817. Thatched and deliberately asymmetrical, it is a fabulous mimicry of what it was assumed an Alpine cottage might be. Such follies were for entertaining guests, who dressed, or even undressed, in rustic gear to let it all hang out, as it were. Downstairs there’s a music room to one side and beyond the central staircase the Dufour Room, named for its startling French Dufour wallpaper. This original wallpaper makes a fantastical backdrop, depicting a pleasure ground surrounding the Bosphorus. There’s an excellent guided tour to bring you around the interior which costs just €5, €4 seniors. Here we learned, amongst other things, Richard Butler’s own story which is itself outrageously romantic. He was an obscure teenager with only distant family connections until an unlikely string of aristocratic deaths meant the Cahir lordship became his inheritance. Grasping relatives abducted him to the continent but the plot was foiled by Arabella Jefferys. She rescued Richard and brought him to her home at Blarney Castle in County Cork, where he came of age and married her daughter, Emily in 1793. It was this happy loving couple that commissioned the Swiss Cottage.
Say you don’t need no diamond rings
And I’ll be satisfied
Tell me that you want the kind of things
That money just can’t buy
I don’t care too much for money
Money can’t buy me love
Ow!
Can’t Buy Me Love is a Lennon McCartney song from the Beatles album, A Hard Day’s Night in 1964. McCartney wrote the song in Paris and later mused if the ’t might be omitted.
Myself and M took a couple of days in Leitrim in the middle of June. We booked into the Riversdale B&B just outside Ballinamore. It’s a lovely old house along the Shannon Erne Waterway with moorings for watercraft where there’s a boatyard for barge building and repairs. The property is on a farm with horses gambolling in the nearby fields.There’s a heated swimming pool, a gym, table tennis and a grand piano offering us a diverse range of pursuits. The drive took us about two and a half hours from Bray, with coffee and a snack in Edgeworthstown. We followed the main road as far as Dromod, turning off for Mohill and Fenagh, which is more direct than the backroad route proposed by Google.
In terms of population, Leitrim is Ireland’s smallest county with a population of thirty five thousand people. In pre famine times there were a hundred and fifty thousand people and a thriving mining industry. Ore mining continued from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, with coal mining to the fore in the nineteenth century. The Arigna Mines across Lough Ree in County Roscommon are now a visitor centre. The last mine there closed in 1990. The population had dwindled to a mere twenty five thousand in the 1990s. So things are picking up.
A main attraction for us was the Ballinamore Walkway and Cycling trail, a four and a half kilometre walk to the town, taking about an hour. It’s mostly flat, being along a canal, and is an extremely pleasant route through woodland and farm. Near Ballinamore there’s a weir and lock with an attractive expanse of placid water in the shade of the trees. We come into the town through a small parkland circling the mooring spot for river craft, framed by its multi-arched stone bridge and quayside.
Ballinamore lies on the Yellow River, its main street rising up from the bridge. On the other side there’s a fine modern theatre, The Island, which as the name says occupies an island on the Shannon Erne waterway. The theatre hosts dramatic and musical events. Along Main Street, Smyth’s Pub, Siopa Ol as Gaeilge, is a traditional old pub serving good food and drink; and a lot of it. With friendly service and a relaxed atmosphere, it made for the perfect oasis at the midpoint of our walks along the waterway.
The Shannon Erne waterway connects the Irish and Northern Irish canal and river network. The Shannon thereby becomes part of a navigable network through the midlands and connecting Dublin with Lough Erne and Enniskillen in Northern Ireland. It was built in 1840 but fell into disuse after the coming of the railway and the automobile. The railway once ran through here connecting the Dublin Sligo line to Ulster. It operated from the 1880s to 1959, when much of Ireland’s secondary rail network was decommissioned. The canal, however, came back and the restored waterway reopened in 1994.
It’s a short drive from here to Enniskillen in Northern Ireland. Enniskillen is situated between Lough Enrne Upper and Lower and is located on an island. Enniskillen Castle stands on the Lough shore. It was built in the early fifteenth century by the local chieftains, the Maguires, but fell into English hands at the start of the seventeenth century with the occupation and plantation of Ulster. There is substantial free parking on the edge of town and it’s a short walk up to the main street marked by the spires of the main denomination churches.
The Catholic St Michael’s dates from the 1870s and is built in the Gothic Revival style. It is preparing for mass, and the huge organ blasts into life as we enter, which is very exhilarating. Right across the street, the Protestant (CofI) church is smaller and looks older. St Macartin’s Cathedral is on the site of the first Protestant church built here in 1627. The current building dates from 1842. The main street follows the line of Chruch Street, High Street and Town Hall Street.the Town Hall crowns the island’s highest point. It was built in the 1880s replacing its dilapidated predecessor. The six storey copper domed tower forms a distinct landmark. The Clinton building marks the end of town, built overlooking the site of the Remembrance Day bombing by the IRA which killed twelve people in November 1987. The bombing further alienated the IRA and is often seen as a watershed of the Troules with democratic processes coming to the fore.
There are plenty of bars, cafes and eateries on or off the main street including William Blakes, Crowe’s Nest and Granny Annie’s. We eat at the Firehouse, which is as warm as the name implies and friendly. They serve us from the lunch menu too, although we were late.
Next door to Riversdale, is the Glenview Folk Museum. This was founded at the start of the century and is run by the Kennedy family. It houses a wonderful collection of social and cultural paraphernalia. We popped over in the morning and ran into Brian Kennedy who gave us a personal tour with a few other couples. The collection is grouped around such community focal points as the pub, the general store, transport and farming life. I can actually remember some of these ancient displays, forgotten brands quaint production methods emerging from my X files. For younger viewers it must be mind bogglingly weird. Brian is an affable host, rich in anecdote and with all the enthusiasm you would expect from someone who has so loveingly and skillully prepared these displays.
A section is devoted to writer John McGahern. Born near Ballinamore in 1934, by the end of the century he was seen as one of Ireland’s greatest living authors. But, as Brian points out, it had not always been so. McGahern became a primary school teacher, teaching at Clontarf in Dublin. When his second novel The Dark was banned, he was fired from his post by Archbishop McQuaid. For writers, being banned was something of a badge of honour, Brian O’Nolan complainerd that his career suffered due to the ignominy of never being banned. For Mcahern though, censorship of his book meant that he lost his job. He actually was cancelled. He returned to Leitrim, buying a farm near Fenagh. His last two books Amongst Women and That They May Face the Rising Sun(2002) secured his reputation at home and abroad. He died in 2006.
Brian Kennedy dwells on his marginalisation as a literary figure. A poster on display includes the usual suspects Joyce, Beckett, Yeats and Behan, though not McGahern. As with much artistic pursuits such perspectives change with time, and I imagine most literary fans would include McGahern on their own Rock Dreams poster.
We pass through Carrick on Shannon on our drive home. Carrick is Leitrim’s county town, with a population of 4,700 people. It is one of the fastest growing towns in the country, developng a thriving tourist industry based on the amenity of the River Shannon. There is a palpable buzz about the town during the summer. We stop for a coffee at a colourful pavement cafe, VDA. Down the street we notice a fine gable end mural of the county’s literary heritage. Painted by artist Nik Purdy in 2020 it includes such writers as Susan Mitchel, Canon Slator, Nora Murray, M.J.McManus and, of course, John McGahern.
Athlone lies bang in the centre of Ireland, straddling the mighty River Shannon. It is just a hundred and twenty five kilometres west of Dublin, and about halfway between Dublin and Galway. The railway line opened in the 1850s; the station here dates from 1859. There’s a train every forty minutes from Dublin’s Heuston Station and the trip takes an hour and a half. Galway is just under ninety kilometres further on, a little over an hour by rail. The western expansion of the railway system connects to Galway City and to Westport and Ballina in County Mayo. Athlone station lies north east of the town and it’s a pleasant walk into the centre via the Civic Centre. This is a sleek modernist campus built in 2005, a combination of civic buildings including the town hall and library, retail and housing. Seated at its focal point is a bronze statue of Athlone’s most famous son, Count John McCormack. It was made by Irish artist Rory Breslin in 2014, and very good it is too.
Born in Athlone in 1884 McCormack became Ireland’s most renowned tenor whose repertoire ranged from Classic Italian Opera to Irish popular folk songs. Moving to Dublin, in his early twenties he nurtured James Joyce’s singing ambitions, persuading him to enter the Feis Ceoil in 1904 where Joyce got a bronze medal. Though Joyce would follow a different muse, McCormack became a hugely successful concert and recording artist. The songs of Thomas Moore feature strongly in his recordings, as well as patriotic airs and sentimental Irish ballads. He starred in the film Song o’ My Heart with Maureen O’Sullivan in 1930 and lived in a large estate in Hollywood.
He retired in 1938, but returned to live performance in support of the British and Allied war effort in WWII. Ill health forced his final retirement from the stage and he died at his home in Booterstown in 1945.
There’s a bright gleaming light, guiding me home tonight,
Down the long road of white cobble stone,
Down the road that leads back, to that tumble down shack,
To that tumble down shack in Athlone.
This song was recorded by McCormack in 1919. Penned by Richard Pascoe, Monte Carlo and Alma Sanders it was also recorded by Bridie Gallagher and Bing Crosby
The Town Centre development opens onto Dublin Gate Street, part of the narrow main axis on the East bank leading on to Church Street. Here it contrasts charmingly with St Mary’s Church,(Church of Ireland). The Catholic St Mary’s is farther east heading out of the town. The street winds down to the bridge across the Shannon, the focal point of the town. Lough Ree, the largest lake on the Shannon, lies a few miles upstream to the North. Clonmacnoise, a major monastic site of the Middle Ages, is downriver. Built in the sixth century it flourished until the coming of the Normans, eventually abandoned in the 13th century with the development of Athlone as a defendable settlement. There are boat cruises you can take to visit.
Athlone has a population of twenty three thousand people. The name means Ford of Luan, from it’s founder, a shadowy figure. The Gaelic word Luan translates as Monday and may, perhaps, refer to the Moon. The idea of this fording place, midway along the great river, as the ford of the moon is poetic; but I am being fanciful. County Westmeath stretches along the East bank of the Shannon, however Athlone extends onto the West bank. It’s central location has long made Athlone strategically important
Brian Boru massed his forces here and accepted the submission of the High King, Malachy II in 1001. This was the start of Brian’s push for power, culminating in his defeat of the Danes and their Leinster allies. He was killed in the battle’s aftermath, and his crown returned to Malachy. The first bridge was built in the twelfth century and the King Turlough O’Connor established a fort to defend it. The stone fort followed in 1200 in the reign of King John. The twelve sided Donjon, or central tower, survives. The rest of the current castle dates from a reconstruction following he Siege of Athlone in 1691. Then, Athlone Castle was a Jacobite stronghold defending Connaught against the Williamites. Besieged twice, it repulsed the first onslaught of ten thousand men following the defeat of James at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, but fell to William and Mary’s army in July 1691. The invaders were under command of Dutch General Godard Ginkel with Jacobite forces under Patrick Sarsfield and French General St Ruth. One of the defenders, killed in defence of the bridge, Sergeant Custume, is commemorated in the naming of the local army barracks.
The castle is well worth a visit, with a museum covering the area’s rich history, including John McCormack, and interactive exhibits and models in period dress. Fabulous views over the river and town from the top of the tower.
Saints Peter and Paul’s Church is an impressive Athlone landmark on the West bank. Built in the 1930s in the Baroque Revival style by architect Ralph Byrne. The neo classical entrance is framed by twin stepped belltowers and the church is topped with a central copper clad dome. Inside are five stained glass windows from the Harry Clarke studio, made by Richard King after Clarke died in 1931. Adjacent is the Luan Art Gallery, a publicly owned contemporary gallery hugging the western bank of the Shannon below street level.
On the other side of the Castle, Sean’s Bar claims to be the oldest pub in Ireland. A 1970s renovation uncovered a wall of wattle and daub from the tenth century. Artefacts found there including coins have been dated back to 900AD. Apparently Brian Boru used to pop in for the odd pint. Mind, the price of the pint has gone up a bit in the meantime, so if you leave any change lying around it won’t lie around for a millennium. The current building dates back three hundred years. It’s a pleasant, cosy old style bar and a popular music venue. The entrance is in the shadow of the Castle and there’s pavement seating in the summer. The bar steps down a few levels towards the back of the premises, where there’s a beer garden which exits onto the quayside.
Navigation on the Shannon was facilitated by the building of a canal in the eighteenth century. This was replaced by the current system of a weir and lock gates, south of the bridge in the town centre in the 1840s. The line of the old canal forms the western border of the town, and County Westmeath, but the canal itself is no more. The winding streets of the old town are pleasant to poke around and we came across a fine old house once home to the Count himself. It’s a long way from a tumbledown shack.
Returning to the East bank, the town’s gearing up for evening rush hour, comparatively speaking. We make our way out to the Golden Island Shopping Centre which opened in 1997. Nearby, Burgess Park beckons with woodland, walking trails, a playground and memorial garden. Sloping down to the Shannon, it is the ideal urban oasis. Sitting there in the early evening sunshine as people promenaded and relaxed, I was put in mind of Seurat’s great painting the Isle de la Grande Jatte. It just shows, that through the ages and across longitudes, people maintain a continuity, enjoying the pleasure of harmony amongst trees and flowing rivers, in the company of themselves or others.
Time to get the train back to Heuston. As a three hour round trip, the railway trip gives you time for a full day in Athlone. There are plenty of hotels too, and I must stay over sometime. Later in the year I plan to go all the way to the end of the line: Galway. Wow, I feel a song coming on.
Maybe somewhere down the road aways (end of the line)
You’ll think of me, wonder where I am these days (end of the line)
Maybe somewhere down the road when somebody plays (end of the line)
Purple Haze
This song radiates sunshine and love, and time. Most of the ingredients you need. End of the Line was written by George Harrison, and included on the Travelling Wilburys’ eponymous debut album in 1988.
Well, it’s alright (alright), riding around on the breeze
Well, it’s alright (alright), if you live the life you please
Well, it’s alright, even if the sun don’t shine
Well, it’s alright (alright), we’re going to the end of the line
Myself and my friend Paula booked a trip across to Ireland’s Eye. It’s something I had long wanted to do. In fact, I once harboured (ha ha) the ambition to visit all islands off the Irish coast, but that hasn’t happened and probably won’t. Still, it might make a good series. I’ve been on the Aran Islands (Inis Mor and Inis Oir), the Great Blasket, Garnish Island, Achill and Valentia. Attempts on the Skelligs have been jinxed, though I’ve sailed to within touching distance.
Howth is served by Dublin Bus and Dart. The train station is adjacent to the harbour. Beneath the station is a pub, the Bloody Stream, serving good food and drink in its traditional interior, or al fresco on patios to front and side. The Bloody Stream plays host to annual birthday celebrations for Phil Lynott. Born on August 20th, 1949, he grew up in Crumlin, Dublin 12. As leader of Thin Lizzy, and sometimes solo, his singing and songwriting made him the top Irish rock star of the seventies. By the early eighties it all began to fade. Thin Lizzy disbanded in 1983. Philip’s solo career didn’t ignite, though the song Old Town, and its Dublin based video became iconic; something of a celebratory epitaph besides. He died in January 1986 and is buried at St Fintan’s Cemetery in nearby Sutton. The next bithday bash will be his seventy fifth.
Ireland’s Eye beckons. The island lies north of the Howth Peninsula, about midway along the coast of County Dublin. The name comes from the Danish for Ireland’s island. Monks built a church there in the eight century and for five hundred years this was the parish church for the inhabitants of Howth. Later a Martello Tower was built in 1803 to protect the coast from Napoleon. These days it’s for the birds, and day trippers.
Ferries to the island, and across the bay to Dun Laoghaire, leave from the West Pier. You can book ahead to secure your seats. The crossing takes ten minutes or so, and sailings are every hour. There are a number of options with different operators, averaging about twenty five euro, but if the weather’s fine plump for landing on and exploring the island.
The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, and Ireland’s Eye is truly an emerald isle sparkling in the choppy waters of the Sound. My friend Paula is waiting, and a busker is playing So Long Marianne as we get on board. Paula is a photographer and it’s amazing how a professional can organise the arbitrary molecules of life into coherent and somehow meaningful visual tableaux. So, I emerge from the pixels looking somewhat mercantile and derring do. There’s no hint of that inner fear in being suspended above a watery chasm while the descendants of predatory dinosaurs circle and dive from the skies. There’s Scandinavian blood in me for sure. Well, Scottish in truth.
I wish I was a fisherman
Tumblin’ on the seas
Far away from dry land
And it’s bitter memories
We transfer to a smaller craft for landing. It’s surprising how much larger the island seems when you set foot on it. Although several disembarked, we were quickly alone. We made for higher ground. It’s a good climb to the top and, once elevated, you get that giddy feeling of being marooned on a small island. We attempted to scale the heights but this old goat wasn’t as sure-footed as of yore. I nearly took the fast route down to the beach. The weather was good for our visit, though not exactly desert island disc good. There are beaches and coves, wonderful views, cliffs and plenty of birds. The enthusiast can search for guillemots, razorbills, kittiwakes, cormorants, puffins, gannets and gulls. Remember, this is their territory, and they know it.
We make it back to the jetty in time to catch the return boat. We’re in an envelope of peaceful blue and sunshine; it feels like floating on forever. There’s grey seals in the sound and the harbour doing just that. Back on dry land, or land anyway, there are plenty opportunities for your drinking and dining pleasure along the West Pier. You can go for the basic, yet always beguiling, fish n chips with a bottle of suds, or perhaps go for more exotic seashell confections. There’s Beshoff’s, Crabby Jo’s, the Brass Monkey, Octopussy’s, the Helm, Baily Bites and Aqua. Howth can be your oyster, quite literally.
Castin’ out my sweet line
With abandonment and love
No ceiling bearin’ down on me
Save the starry sky above
With light in my head
With you in my arms
Fisherman’s Blues was written by Mike Scott and Steve Wickham in early 1986. A busker’s favourite, and one of my own, it was the title track of the Waterboys’ 1988 album.
This has been a wet summer, even by Irish standards. It is a constant perspective here to view life through rain streaked glass; huddled in a cafe shopfront, looking out the kitchen window, scenery rushing through the windscreen of a car. I’ve painted Connemara driving through the rain and more recently, a sodden rush hour from the upstairs front seat of a bus on Amiens Street. The latter I took from a friend’s photo (thanks Paula Nolan!) but this one is all me own work. Taken through the windscreen of our car parked on Florence Road, Bray, looking up towards Main Street and the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer. We are dropping in to Florence Furniture and Antiques in the left foreground. A good antiques shop is a treasure chest of the past, and more. An alternative universe where it is possible to imagine each artefact a living thing, a receptacle for history and craft, and love, and much, much more; hopeful, awaiting its future in another setting. The stories they could tell. The building was previously an art shop, and a printworks before that.
Across the street is Hayes Butchers Shop, a long established family business and friendly with it. Stories and gossip are exchanged here in the old fashioned way. It’s where I get all the beef; if you catch my drift. The Church was established in 1843, funded by subscription including generous donations from Bray’s sizeable Protestant community. It was remodelled in the 1890s by WH Byrne who, around the same time, was supervising the reconstruction of Dublin City Markets on Sth Great George’s Street to the magnificent building we see today. The Holy Redeemer, however, looks very different now to the nineteenth century structure. The mid sixties saw the facade altered to a modernist gabled front with a new plain, soaring bell tower. Surprisingly, you will find the nineteenth century interior remains. The old within the new.
xxharrison 