My Captor’s brother and his wife invited us to visit Ireland. While briefly offended we weren’t their first choice – they went bowling instead – we immediately said Yes!
It was a big moment – it would remove my greatest failing as a husband, and allow My Captor to complete her bucket list. It was also a pilgrimage to the “Mother land”, which our parents never made. I was mildly concerned about the hiking involved, as you might remember I left my kidneys on the AT, but My Captor’s rosary kept us safe.
At Shannon airport, we were presented with Boiled Potato leis, a sign of sides to come. Asked what I had to declare, I admitted I liked Sinead O’ Connor.
While driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road sounds terrifying, it actually was. Fortunately, My Captor’s rosary let us avoid serious incident.
There’s lots to do in Ireland: Food, Incredible views, Music, possible relatives, Guinness, and hospitality.
Food begins with the fabulous chowder, featuring a variety of fish, and chunks of octopus. Or it may have been an IRA informant.
Beef is incredible too, which makes sense given the number of cows one sees. Based on the look one gave me, we might have been related on me mother’s side.
And the pork! Irish breakfasts came with black and white sausage, ham, and bacon. What is this magical animal? And more white toast than the early ‘60s.
The odd news: No corned beef. That’s what I thought too.
Incredible views everywhere, with sheer cliffs in abundance – is this an island, or what? And the castles were plentiful and really old. The word of the day: crumbling.
We toured by boat, train, horse drawn carriage, bike – I hadn’t ridden a bike since the Eisenhower administration -taxis, and even an 8 seat prop plane to the Aran Islands. We boarded for the 8 minute flight, and fortunately My Captor’s rosary delivered a calm day. It was worth it to see the fort (crumbling) and views (incredible).
In Dublin we saw Christ Church, St. Patricks Cathedral, and Trinity College – but the line for the Book of Kells was too long, so we decided to read it on Kindle.
We were relieved to return the rental car, with its odor of fear and confusion.
The music is live nightly, and traditional. We heard a lot of Irish pipes, which are nearly as creepy as AT banjos. They are said to take 21 years to perfect, but we weren’t there long enough to verify.
I may never get the tin whistle out of my head…
Unfortunately, we didn’t find any relatives, despite rolling down our windows and asking passers-by “Are you my relative?”
The B&Bs are the best part of Ireland and personify Ireland’s motto: “No worries, no bother”. A favorite was the Half Door B&B. Business had been good, and they were hoping to purchase the other half of the door.
Guinness is on tap everywhere, including churches, pharmacies and hotel showers.
Many pubs are older than the U.S., with the added joke: “Yes, with many of the original wait staff”.
We visited the Guinness Brewery in Dublin. The tour was very slick – like the World of Coke, with hops. But the top floor made the tour: A free pint, and city views (incredible).
And a gift shop – imagine! We bought plenty of Guinness body wash, for that fresh Guinness scent all day long.
Good news: Stolen bar glasses are duty free!
But the best part of our amazing week: the Irish people, who were warm and welcoming.
Me Mother would have been completely in her element…
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Songs and Tunes a recently released album from Eddie Costello
A recommendation from a (the?) reader who saw him live in Doolin on a recent trip to Ireland.
Believe Me Sligo Eddie Costello
On the road that runs from Sligo, Back to town again,
Round Knocknarea,, By Strandhill and the Glen,
In March, when sidelong twilight, Sets the land aflame
I used to wander: tell me,, Where’s the blame?
For I could not walk the town, For fear my heart would drown,
Half-sunk a hundred times, By girlish frowns.
A stranger there, No stranger you will ever see
Than me, who loves, All that in Sligo be.
Now, half the world between me, And that side-lit land,
I bless all those, In Sligo’s dreaming stands
Of sycamore and whin, Likewise the lucky man
Who finds, as I,, His heart at her command.
I was born to walk the road, That runs from there to here,
To learn to love, And never have to fear,
For when I die, I shall have reached the common span
And learned the lessons, God has made for man.
Though time has turned my face, Away from Knocknarea
And brought me far, From there and better days, So long as I’ve a mind
For loving memory, Believe me, Sligo, I will drink to thee.
So long as I’ve a mind, For loving memory,
Believe me, Sligo, I will drink to thee.
Kathy’s Song Teresa Horgan and Matt Griffin
A duo we saw in Dingle, and this is a cover of a Simon & Garfarckle classic, from the album “Brightest Blue Sky”. Very Irish and worth checking out.
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies
My mind’s distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you’re asleep
And kiss you when you start your day
And a song I was writing is left undone
I don’t know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can’t believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I
Carrickfergus Celtic Woman
I wish I was in Carrickfergus
Only for nights in Ballygrand
I would swim over the deepest ocean
The deepest ocean for my love to find
But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over
Neither have I wings to fly
If I could find me a handsome boatsman
To ferry me over to my love and die
My childhood days bring back sad reflections
Of happy times spent so long ago
My childhood friends and my own relations
Have all passed on now like melting snow
But I’ll spend my days in endless roaming
Soft is the grass, my bed is free
Ah, to be back now in Carrickfergus
On that long road down to the sea
I’ll spend my days in endless roaming
Soft is the grass, my bed is free
But I am sick now, and my days are numbered
Come all you young men and lay me down
When Your Minds made up Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
From the movie “Once”, worth viewing. “Falling Slowly” won Academy Award for Best Song
So, if you want something
And you call, call
Then I’ll come running
To fight and I’ll be at your door
When there’s nothing worth running for
When your mind’s made up
When your mind’s made up
There’s no point trying to stop it, you see
You’re just like everyone
When the shit falls
All you wanna do is run away
And hide all by yourself
When there’s far from, there’s nothing else
When your mind’s made up
When your mind’s made up
There’s no point trying to change it
There’s no point even talking
There’s no point trying to fight it
When your mind’s, your mind
Love, love
There’s no point trying to change it
When your love
So if you ever want something
And you call, call
Then I’ll come running
When Irish Eyes are smiling Bing Crosby
The first thing I noticed when I met My Captor; her best feature
CHORUS
When Irish Eyes are Smiling sure it’s like a morn in spring
In the lilt of Irish laughter you can hear the angels sing
when Irish hearts are happy all the world seems bright and gay
but when Irish eyes are smiling sure they’ll steal your heart away
There’s a tear in your eye and I’m wondering why
that it ever should be there at all
with such power in your smile sure a stone you’d beguile
and there’s never a teardrop should fall
when your sweet lilting laughter’s like some fairy song
and your eyes sparkle bright as can be
Oh then laugh all the while and all other times smile
and then smile a smile for me CHORUS
For your smile is a part of the love in your heart,
And it makes even sunshine more bright.
Like the linnet’s sweet song, crooning all the day long,
Comes your laughter and light for the springtime of life
Is the sweetest of all
There is ne’er a real care or regret; ad while springtime is ours
Throughout all of youth’s hours, let us smile each chance we get.
Famine Sinead O’ Connor
Okay, I want to talk about Ireland
Specifically I want to talk about the “famine”
About the fact that there never really was one
There was no “famine”
See Irish people were only allowed to eat potatoes
All of the other food
Meat fish vegetables
Were shipped out of the country under armed guard
To England while the Irish people starved
And then on the middle of all this
They gave us money not to teach our children Irish
And so we lost our history
And this is what I think is still hurting me
See we’re like a child that’s been battered
Has to drive itself out of it’s head because it’s fightened
Still feels all the painful feelings
But they lose contact with the memory
And this leads to massive self-destruction
Alcoholism drug addiction
All desperate attempts at running
And in it’s worst form
Becomes actual killing
And if there ever is gonna be healing
There has to be remembering
And then grieving
So that there then can be forgiving
There has to be knowledge and understanding
An American army regulation
Says you mustn’t kill more than 10% of a nation
‘Cause to do so causes permanent “psychological damage”
It’s not permanent but they didn’t know that
Anyway during the supposed “famine”
We lost a lot more than 10% of a nation
Through deaths on land or on ships of emigration
But what finally broke us was not starvation
But it’s use in the controlling of our education
School go on about “Black 47”
On and on about “The terrible “famine””
But what they don’t say is in truth
There really never was one
So let’s take a look shall we
The highest statistics of child abuse in the EEC
And we say we’re a Christian country
But we’ve lost contact with our history
See we used to worship God as a mother
We’re sufferin from post traumatic stress disorder
Look at all our old men in the pubs
Look at all our young people on drugs
We used to worship God as a mother
Now look at what we’re doing to each other
We’ve even made killers of ourselves
The most child-like trusting people in the Universe
And this is what’s wrong with us
Our history books the parent figure lied to us
I see the Irish
As a race like a child
That got itself basned in the face
And if there ever is gonna be healing
There has to be remembering
And then grieving
So that there then can be forgiving
There has to be knowledge and understanding