Friday, September 23, 2011
Day Three
Woke up this morning to a light misty rain. The Irish have all been complaining that they did not get a summer this year and today looks like they will still be denied one. But a good Irish breakfast of sausages, fried tomatoes, eggs, blood sausage, rashers and beans can get one all the inner sunshine necessary. Now Irish sausage is not like American sausage. It is more of a mixture of meat and meal, with a slightly sweet taste. Brown sauce, which is a mild mustard-ketchup combination, goes great with it. Blood sausage is not bad in spite of its name. It is indeed made from pig blood and mixed with barley. Grilled, it tastes close to sausage patties back home without all the greasiness. Rashers are nothing but bacon closer in style to Canadian bacon. There is really no such thing as American bacon, and in fact the Irish would look upon such bacon with disdain, as it is filled with fat and very little meat. Rashers are somewhat thicker and have a good, meaty quality. Add to it a pot of tea and your Irish breakfast can keep you running pretty much all day, which was a good thing for us as we headed down toward Leenane and a tour across the Killary Fjord.
We all got on the coach that Dave was driving this morning. He has lived in the south of Ireland near Cork since 1972 and grew up in England. It turns out he has a great affinity for plants and history, the former suiting my wife Annie, who is an herbalist and the latter myself, a history buff. We rolled through the back roads of the northernmost reach of the Connemara. There in the distance looming over the other mountains stood Croagh Patrick. The reek (an Irish word for mountain) has a slash up its side, which is in fact the final shale pathway up to the top of the mountain. My cousin Mike used to climb it in his bare feet every Reek Sunday, which occurs in August. For now, it stood in the distance, the top of it obscured in cloud.
We pulled into Killary Harbor and got on the boat. We were running a bit late, in part as a result of our policy that no activity takes place until 10 a.m., so everyone can get a restful night of sleep. Already there were some couples waiting on the ship, but for the most part the ship belonged to our tour group. We started out in the only fjord in Ireland. On both sides of the fjord, the mountains reared up, showing on their lower slopes the old lines of the “lazy beds,” the spots where the pre-famine Irish lived and raised the chief crop of the peasantry, the potato. The boat pulled into a pretty strong wind and we all worked our way to a bit of shelter, with a few of our group determined to hold out in the gale. I took out a video camera and captured some of the clouds being dragged along the mountaintops. The area here is very dramatic and desolate looking which has drawn a lot of artists, writers, and philosophers to it as it is a welcome respite from the rest of bustling Europe.
As we sailed toward the mouth of the fjord, we were told about the mussel farming that takes place along its banks. On a bit of the shore there would be 40 to 50 floats with a rope and little floats between each. Under each float runs a rope that is anchored to the bottom of the fjord. On it little mussels are placed and there they grow. When they reach maturity, they are pulled up and cleaned off the ropes. They are then bagged and dragged to the side of the road where they sit waiting to be brought to a shop or restaurant. (In fact a few hours later we drove by about 20 such sacks sitting alongside the road. Ron asked Dave, “How long can those mussels sit there?” Dave looked back and said, “Well, as long as they like I guess.”)
We passed next a bunch of salmon farms. I was surprised to hear that they were farming salmon on Killary Fjord as early at the 1870’s. I had thought this was a recent development, but here we were, going past these large cages that were about 10 feet above the water and completely covered in mesh. These go straight down into the water and are about 150 feet across. In each are hundreds of good-sized salmon that would break out of the water and leap into the air as they heard the sound of the boats motors. Obviously they were expecting to be fed. Being an avid fisherman, it was quite a shock to see such trophy-sized fish all in one spot. It also made me think about how wonderful Irish salmon is to eat. I was hoping that the ship would have that or mussels for lunch.
Some Irish history concerned the grave of Diarmuid and Grainne, who were Irish folk heroes. There up on a cairn looking over the waters was the reported tomb of the great Irish warrior. Some recent history was even more spectacular. Back in World War II, neutral Ireland was visited by both German and British warships. On one occasion, a terrible storm was taking place off the west coast of Ireland, causing both a German submarine and a British destroyer to be drawn into the fjord for safety. There to each other’s surprise they sat. Instead of firing upon each other, they chose the more prudent route and decided to ignore each other, thus avoiding an international incident. After the storm cleared, the sub quietly made its way out of the harbor and well away from the destroyer.
Occasionally the sun would break out of the clouds and race over the mountains and the fjord, which caused a breath-taking change to the cold gray Irish weather. We turned around at the mouth of the fjord and made our way toward the mooring. We all were expecting lunch and were quite surprised to find out lunch was not being served even though the dining area was set for a meal. Everyone including Dave was a bit bewildered at that, and Dave called Mick back at the hotel to see what went wrong with the plans. Turns out the ship forgot about our lunch and everyone was credited for the gaffe. But we were without sustenance and so we headed into Leenane to see what was available for a meal. That in turn was a blessing as it seems that what we were able to get in town was far superior to what the ship could have offered, for there was a bit of a competition between the pubs in Leenane, with each offering a lunch special for around 10 Euros. In fact, we came across Gary and Linda, sitting outside and about to get into big bowls of steaming mussels that were smothered in a creamy garlic sauce. When I found that the meal also included a pint of Guinness, I was hooked. So Annie and I went in and we ordered the same meal. Gary counted his mussels and there turned out to be more than 75 of the tasty little creatures in each mixing bowl-sized serving! We ate that along with thick cuts of home-made Irish brown bread and deep draughts of cool Guinness. Others had the competitions’ fare: for 10 Euros they ate fresh whitefish in a butter broth with home-made brown bread and a pint of choice. It was a great meal and we became very sleepy as we made our way through the historic town of Louisburg and back to Westport.
After about an hour to get freshened up, we all hopped on the buses and headed over to Castlebar for our first concert. The girls from the Kosier Studio of Dance were very excited as we drove toward our venue. Right outside the town at the first roundabout we were flagged down by Michael Feeney, who was the coordinator of the evening’s concert. We parked the buses and walked over to the Mayo Peace Park so that each of us could get a better idea of what the evening was all about.
The Mayo Peace Park was created by Michael, whose grandfather had served in World War I for the British Army. With the creation of the Republic, it became clear to him that there was not a proper way to honor the Irish soldiers who served not only in the British Army, but also the Irish who served in the American, Canadian, Belgian and other armies. His research revealed that County Mayo had contributed a significant number of soldiers and many who lost their lives. They were all heroes, not only for the respective country they served but specifically for Ireland and County Mayo. So the Peace Park was created. The main marble slabs are shaped like an eye on the ground. From each eye flows a tear that becomes the walk that people make along the path. Little “eyes” on each side commemorate the other countries for which the Irish soldiers served. The symbolism of course is weeping over the folly of war and the loss of these men who gave their lives so far away from Mayo. But also, as Michael’s friend Ernie pointed out, “that these children, for they were no more than 16 or so at the time, made it possible for all of us to live in freedom.” The culmination of the visit was to be the placement of a wreath by Brian and myself at the American memorial. Instead, I suggested that we have the youngest of our tour group, Gabby Scott, bring the wreath over and place it. As a nine-year-old, she was skipping around while the talks were going on and so, when I called for her, thought that she was in trouble. But she was a real trouper and brought the wreath over and placed it there. We took some group pictures and headed back to the coaches.
We arrived at the Linenhall and were quite happy with the stage. Oisin was there to meet us and help us with the sound. We were set up quite easily and Takeshi, Brian, Nick and I went through some numbers to make sure we had everything in order. In addition, the Kosier girls ran through some songs. We had to determine whether or not the girls should use their taps for the clogging as they were able to create quite a sound. At first, we thought only one girl should use the taps, but the moms in the audience said that all the girls should tap away with the band. It was that sort of tweaking that helped the show come alive that night.
After sound check, we ate some curry that Maggie and Annie picked up at a pub. It was very good and we were eating when my cousin Seamus came backstage with Liam and Kay Lyons. We had a quick hello and pretty soon it was time to go out and do the show. The Mayor of Castlebar Gene McCormack made a nice introduction and there were representatives from the British Armed Forces and the American Armed Forces. It was also noted that we had the senior club from Kiltimagh there as well. When we got on stage I said, “I was nervous when I heard about all these dignitaries, but got really nervous when I heard the Kiltimagh Senior Center was here.”
The high point for me was singing Bolinree and dedicating it to Seamus, but the whole evening was quite wonderful. Mary Babic, who came to join us from Serbia, was moved the most by the song “Far Away from Where the Fighting Is.” She said she cried through it all as it reminded her of the horrible war that she lived through in the Balkans. Other people had songs that meant a lot to them and the Irish were very taken with the American clogging. When I introduced the Kosier dancers, I asked each one a question about their thoughts on Ireland. The first girl got a roar out of the crowd when I asked, “What do you think of the Irish people?” She looked at me and said in a very small voice, “I don’t know!”
We were presented with certificates and a book about the history of the Mayo Peace Park by Michael Feeney. Each Kosier dancer was given a hoodie from the Castlebar Town Youth Soccer League, whose benefit we are to do tomorrow night. If our tour thought the entertainment was over, they were greatly mistaken as we were brought over to a post-party at a nearby hotel. There we had sandwiches as well as drinks. A husband and wife musical team gave our tour quite a show with an introduction to Irish country music which draws mainly on a style that is closer to 1960’s style American country. That era had more ballads and some pretty good entertainers, including Johnny Cash. It was fun to hear everyone start singing, “I’m on the top of the world, looking down on creation and the only explanation I can find…” Just when we thought this duo was going to take a break, out jumped a bald-headed man, who grabbed the mic from the lady and yelled, “How’s everybody doing?” He immediately launched into the song “Where’s Your Momma Gone?” and had everyone clapping along and pretty amused by his antics. He was a one-man cheerleading squad and everyone was really revved up after he finished his act. It was a tired but happy pair of coaches that made their way back to Westport tonight. We sat in the bar at the Clew Bay and drank a couple more whiskies and called it a night because tomorrow, I have to be up rather early to head over to the dedication in Bekan.
Corky was another die-hard lover of life, and like the scooter gals he was the sort of person that you never forget. He was from the High Plains country of Kansas. Perhaps it was those years abroad that gave him a bit of wisdom and made him seem like Gandalf the Grey to me. Or perhaps the wisdom was from living in High Plains country and earning a living from a land that scarcely gets a soaking summer rain. Brian and I met him at Th’ Gatherin’ some years ago. He was about my height, with thinning gray hair and a weather-lined face from being out in the sun and wind. Corky had a great smile that showed a scattering of teeth. A real can-do Westerner, he helped put Th’ Gatherin’ on the map, working alongside Seamus Cleland to create a genuine Scottish Beltaine festival. His crowning glory was the built-from-scratch wooden Viking ship they called “Boudicca” after the famous Celtic battle queen.
Boudicca turned out to be a beautiful boat and they sailed her a few times on the reservoir. But her magnificence can truly be appreciated when she is mounted on an old buckboard wagon frame. The wheels are brightly painted and she rides high above the crowd. When it comes time to light the great bonfire, she is pulled like a true boat of the plains, her sail unfurled and with all the little kids riding on her. The crowd gathers around her and the fire dancers dance and the bonfire is lit. Corky would hang back at times like that and just watch, a grin on his face. He was a magical person and was enjoying the spell he had just cast. Brian and I would look forward to each May and the chance to see Corky.
The grounds were empty of everyone except the die-hard workers who were busy putting away all the effects needed to make Th’ Gatherin’ a success. At last Boudicca was rolled to the old semi-trailer and gently lifted, carriage and all, and placed inside. There she sits, waiting for the next festival.
