A Heron's View

My February Moan

2012-02-07T07:03:00.000-08:00

an afternoon nap

There are times when in the warmth of a good fire I sit in an easy chair with a cap pulled over my eyes to cut out the light and take an afternoon nap. The images that flow into the front of my mind

are nought but an omelette of thoughts mixed with memories. The half to one hours relaxation or rather recuperation from this insanely troubled land energises me.

There are negative things happening on this island for our political servants are behaving in ways that increasingly create conditions that are socially subversive.

Medical services have been cut to the bare bones, lots of people on trollies and many operations delayed.

Unemployment is currently 439,600 out of a population of 4.5 million plus the shocking news is that 15% of the population are suffering from food poverty.

Emigration is currently running at about 3,000 per month.

I was dismayed to learn the other day of an "under the radar" increase of 62% to the dog licence rising from €12.50 to €20.00 per annum. Now we are penalised for having guard dogs or pets.

I am seriously wondering how much more deprivation the people here will accept.

PORTARLINGTON -The French Quarter Café

2012-01-10T12:56:00.000-08:00

Portarlington is a small town of about 6,000 people divided by two counties Laois and Offaly. The division is provided by the River Barrow, the same river that flows near our home. According to my researches, Portarlington is a relatively new town founded in 1666 by Sir Henry Bennett and has experienced, like a lot of communities, various vagaries; one in particular being an influx of fifteen or more Huguenot families driven from France as religious refugees. One of the main thoroughfares in Portarlington is still named French Church Street complete with it's French Church built in 1694 and situated adjacent to the market square.

It was to the above street and to an aptly named restaurant called "The French" that we made our way for my birthday celebration lunch.

I would not consider myself to be a gourmet by any means, though to be honest in my earlier life

when I dining out on a regular basis the best of restaurants were chosen. In those far off days both the Michelin & Routier were the guides that soothed the trencherman within.

Today, life is far more modest and a pension is not an alternative to an expense account however

when a good friend asks "have you tried such & such a place?" Then my mouth waters, my taste buds jangle at an alarming rate and a mental note is made of the location.

Thus I am very appreciative of the standards of 'The French' where good wholesome food is served by the courteous staff in a warm and friendly atmosphere.

The Proprietors

The proprietors Eamon & Richard have a set menu and a specials board of wonderful meals, I confess that it is my fault that I cannot relate to you all that they serve. I am though hooked on one of the breakfast meals consisting of pancakes, rashers and bananas with a goodly topping of maple syrup - Delicious.

This time I broke the mould to dine on fish and chips. My meal was two fillets of cod cooked in a soft batter with hand cut chips, a ramekin of chopped mixed salad and a serving of herbs in a tartar sauce. The dessert that I chose was banoffee pie with cream, lightly dusted with cocoa.

In all sincerity this was the best banoffee pie that I have ever had the pleasure to eat and I have sampled several in my time.

Just as this was not my first visit to "The French" it will not be the last and I am happy to recommend it to my friends. I left the café filled with delicious food and the warmth that comes from spending time with good people in a convivial atmosphere.

A sample of the decor

Mrs H makes them laugh

January the 9th

2012-01-09T01:25:00.000-08:00

Photo taken night of 8th after having be shorn !

I am 69 years young today and was born in Loveday Street Children's Hospital, Birmingham on January 9th at 5.20 a.m. in1943. Memories of that achievement no longer remain - that's if they ever existed.

My earliest memory is of sitting in my pram and a young girl asking my mother if she could push it, my mother said "no" but she could assist her by holding on to the side.

A very distinct and perhaps dark memory is of being carried past the walls of a bombed out building, which I believe was the Prince of Wales Theatre which was destroyed in April 1941. Another is of seeing a tin helmet with a khaki gas mask bag hanging on the newel post at the foot of my parents stairs, on the floor adjacent to the post was a large canvas bag full of rosy red apples and next to them stood an army rifle. I also remember sitting on my mother's lap at the children's street party that celebrated the end of the war.

Strangely, after all those years, there is one noise at night that wakens me in seconds: that of a propeller driven aircraft flying overhead.

As a child the bomb sites were one of our favourite places to play as long as they were out of our parents' sight . Each and every site seemed to be covered in Buddleia, so much so that the plant & place became associated; in my mind and I thought that the authorities had deliberately planted them there. A great surprise awaited me some years later, to find the plant growing profusely on the banks of a river in a country that had not been in the war.

We departed from the Birmingham area in 1946 and moved to live in Somerset. That move heralded a whole host of further moves in which we lived in different places and many houses, some only for a few weeks and some for a few years; I did a count up and found I had lived in 14 houses and six places between the time I was born and fourteen years of age, I often wonder if one of my parents had gypsy blood.

It was hardly any wonder therefore that roaming became a way of life for me too later in life. Even today I get the urge to go off in the car and travel to somewhere different, the journey itself is as much part of the cure as arriving at a destination.

Today I shall celebrate this special occasion by having lunch with Mrs H and a friend, in one of our favourite restaurants by driving across the countryside to a near by town.

The Sparrow Hawk

2012-01-01T13:48:00.000-08:00

After writing the last blog I became rather caught up in various other aspects of my life and as a consequence needed some R & R to collect my thoughts. I am pleased to say that I have recharged and am back into blogging again.

I wish all of my readers A Very Happy & Peaceful New Year for 2012.

A Sparrow Hawk

This morning, 1st January, I looked out of the front window at the clear blue sky and noted that none of the small birds were at the feeders. On looking around the garden I saw a brown bird sitting on one of the shrubs, I did not recognise it at first and then realised that it was a sparrow-hawk and before I could reach for the camera it spied me and flew off in a westerly direction.

This then gave me inspiration, it being the day that was in it, that perhaps we need to take a feather of an idea and journey in the same direction as the hawk - to the West of Ireland!

The harbour at Kinvara

One of our favourite & closest places is Kinvara (Irish Gaelic : Cinn Mhara meaning "head of the sea") in Co. Galway. It is roughly a two and half hour drive through some very scenic countryside crossing the River Shannon at Portumna and onwards, across the high points of the Slieve Aughty mountains then dropping down to the small town of Gort, which I by-pass by using a narrow country road, twisting and undulating to our destination.

I could write a blog on each of the places that we pass through.

I have had a romance with Kinvara ever since my first visit in 1987 and she is like a lot of beautiful women, in that I am not certain I could live with her permanently. I choose instead to make several enjoyable visits a year. I believe that I am right for on some occasions in the summer the place is over flowing with visitors and I'm not a lover of crowds.

After having taken a few photos and gazed at the seascape for sufficient time, a cup of freshly made coffee was called for and as our usual cafe was closed, we tried another. We chose a table by the window that looked out across the harbour. Mrs H started up a conversation with the proprietor having both lived in northern English cities; as they chatted I peered out of the window with my back to the other customers, then a couple stepped out of the cafe and passed the window in front of me. Lo and behold I recognised them as a pair of ancient associates of mine, G & N, who own a B&B a few miles south of Kinvara. I rushed out to intercept them hotly followed by Mrs H and they like me were also pleasantly surprised.

Evidently G had kept looking at Mrs H while in the cafe thinking that there was something familiar about her and then inwardly saying "no"; G has to be forgiven for Mrs H used to be a red head and several pounds heavier.

After saying goodbye to our friends, with promises to visit, we made our journey home to light the fire and sip tea in its' warmth.

For this wonderful day, of which most was spent in sunshine, we can thank the Sparrow Hawk.

Faery at Large

2011-11-24T15:00:00.001-08:00

Lough Graney © Gina Dean

http://bt-thecraftygardener.blogspot.com/

I have met and spoken with others who have seen the Faeries. One man told me that he was strolling through the woodlands that border Lough Graney, (Lake of the Sun) in Co. Clare, when he saw colourful, lithe figures swinging in the branches of the trees. He said that some were as small as children, others as large as himself (he was about 5ft 6") and most were much larger. As he neared to them they swiftly vanished except for the feeling that the air felt as if it were electrically charged.

One night during a ritual a friend and myself became aware of a stream of miniature, multi-coloured lights flowing up and out of an old boreen to fix on to the branches of a hawthorn tree. Those lights twinkled away throughout the ceremony and only disappeared when we were finished.

Faery Paths are very like ley-lines in that they carry energy and respond to a divining rod or to a pendulum. It is not a good idea to build on them for very often people who move into such homes live a very disturbed life and generally end up moving elsewhere. There is an old place a few miles from me that has been sold at least twice and nobody lives in it more than a few weeks. It has now stood empty for several years.

During the recent building boom a new property was built in our locality. The architects visited me to talk about water and whilst we were conversing I told them about a faery path that runs diagonally through the field the new house was to be built in. I actually showed them its route and a few strange looks passed between them, although they did say to me they would try to avoid the path.

Well, by the time the ground floor was built my wife had seen figures moving about at night time and when the top floor was erected I too saw figures moving past the window openings and also heard doors being slammed from inside the building, all very well except that there were not any doors in the place at that stage and nor was the roof on.

This is the third winter now the completed house has stood empty and that is bad luck, more so because the builder was taken ill just after he had finished building and has since died.

The Faery Tree ©

A painting by Jane Brideson

In similar fashion faery trees ought never to be cut down because it is said the person who does so will have bad luck. I have been told that years ago if one of those trees needed to be cut then a man from England would be invited over and paid extremely well to do the job!

Today we, who are pagans, have no fear of the faerie. In fact rather the opposite is true, for we welcome them to be with us when doing ritual, accepting and acknowledging their presence as being part of the normal order of nature as much as the birds that fly overhead. Consequently we have no iron or steel in our rituals or in the circle for the faerie abhors that metal and I will never do anything which is against them.

A Visit to Faery

2011-11-18T10:03:00.000-08:00

I am starting off with an apology to those of you who are very sensible and aware that the subject I will shortly write about is a sign of insanity on my part, except that it is not and was conducted to explore possible life in other realms.

Some years ago I used to spend a lot of time doing trance channeling. This came about by using certain cerebral skills that I learnt from the practice of transcendental meditation, something which I still practise for a few minutes twice a day.

Channeling brought in a considerable amount of information on variety of topics that I could not have learned from any other source.

The immediate area where we live is well known locally as being Red Cap Country (The Folk/Faery) with numerous faery paths criss-crossing the fields. The Folk have been seen playing hurling along their own roads and tales abound about who has seen them and who has not.

So it seemed to me that here was a subject that needed to be investigated.

Communication with Faery took a little while to establish, even though I had been involved with some healing work for a Welsh druid friend that bordered on that area some years previously. This time I had the assistance of a colleague who would switch on and off the tape recorder whilst I was in trance and would ask a set of questions which we had agreed on earlier.

The information gained was that The Folk stand between homo sapiens and creation, in fact they belong to Nature much more so than we do. Similarly, at the opposite end of the spectrum Angels, for those members of the major religions, stand between their God & homo sapiens. Just as people don't often see angels, the Folk are likewise hidden from our general sight living as they do on a plane of existence that borders our own and only rarely merges.

The Folk have a mentality which can best be described as 'playful' when in contact with us, however within their own domains the business of life and it's politics is just as serious as ours. During the channeling sessions the Folk would make use of puns in a light hearted manner; one of which was to describe another member of the Folk as being Terry Ibble - terrible!

On occasions, for reasons best known to themselves, they have been known to cross the division between the two planes of existence and live with a human. There is a story in my locality of a Faery woman who while her husband was assisting his neighbours to cut corn, ran across the field and jumped into a lake. Voices were heard rising out of the lake welcoming her back saying

" Hooray and Welcome home, Meela Moor as long as you didn't tell the verge about the egg water"

The complete meaning of this sentence is lost to us apart from the phonetic 'Moor' which may be the Gaelic mór meaning 'big' and 'Meela' or míle in Gaelic, meaning 'thousand'. Perhaps they were saying 'A thousand big welcomes'.

What we don't know is the language The Folk themselves use. Unfortunately the story was not told to me until long after I had stopped channeling and this is something that I am now loathe to resume practicing.

A Samhain's Eve

2011-11-09T03:07:00.000-08:00

On Samhain' Eve

a fire burned and candles flamed

under a waxing moon in a starlit sky.

Walked a single silent file of druids

thrice around a standing stone

each round a blade of the awen.

Forward then to a ritual home

breasted by elder,rowan and oak

a sacred circle awaited secrets.

Each hooded figure called

across the winds of time

ancestors, gods and fae folk

to bring their speciality

wisdom, history and humour

with old tales now forgotten

of mystery and magic.

The ancient ones live on

alive in their memory

they wander to imbue the land

and through the veil inspire

open minds with gifts.

(Let this then be a tribute!)

©MRL 08-11- 2011

The Samhain Fire

The Standing Stone

Dancing Candlelights

Months of the year in Gaelic & Manx

2011-11-07T10:20:00.000-08:00

I have noticed when surfing the world wide web that there is often a mix up between Irish & Scots Gaelic so I had the idea of putting some of my research to good use by listing the months in these languages. For good measure I have also listed Manx which arguably seems to be close to both Irish and Scots with a smattering of something else which might possibly be either Welsh, Norse or a blend of both?

As Gaeilge (Irish Gaelic)

Eanáir (January)

Feabhra [aka Imbolc] (February)

Márta (March)

Aibreán (April)

Bealtaine (May)

Meitheamh (June)

Lúil (July)

Lúghnasa (August)

Meán Fómhair (September)

Deireadh Fómhair) October

Samhain (November)

Nollaig (December)

Scots Gaelic

Am Faoilleach

An Gearran

Am Márt

An Giblean

An Céitean

An t-Ógmhios

An t-Luchar

An Lúnasdal

An t-Sulcain

An Dámhair

An t-Samain (Samhuin in Old Scots Gaelic)

An Dúbhlachd

Scots Gaelic is not the same as Irish Gaelic however similar. The two languages are distinct so an Irish translation is not a substitute for a Scottish Gaelic translation.

Manx

JANUARY. Mee s’jerree yn-gheurey. The end of the winter month.

FEBRUARY. Yn-chied vee jeh’n arragh. The first of spring, or vernal quarter.

MARCH. Mee-veanagh yn arree; also called yn-mart. The middle of Spring month.

APRIL. Mee s'jerree yn arree; also, Yn Avril. The end of Spring month.

MAY. Yn Baaltin; or, Yn-chied vee jeh’n tourey. The Beltein ; or, The first month of Summer.

JUNE. Mee-veanagh yn touree. The middle month of Summer.

JULY. Mee s’jerree yn touree. The end of Summer month.

AUGUST. Yn-chied-vee jeh’n ouyr. The first month of harvest.

SEPTEMBER. Mee-veanagh yn-ouyr. The middle month of harvest.

OCTOBER. Mee s’jerree yn ouyr. The end of the harvest month.

NOVEMBER. Yn-chied vee jeh’n gheurey. The first of the. Winter month or,

Yn Tauin, or Sauin, Hollantide month.

DECEMBER. Mee-meanagh yn-gheurey. The middle of the Winter month.

Oliver at 1 year old !

2011-11-06T01:54:00.001-07:00

His first hair cut

Attempting the stairs ?

Oíche Shamhna - Hallowe'en

2011-10-30T08:31:00.000-07:00

Bairín Breac

Irish folk lore puts great emphasis on Oíche Shamhna - Hallowe'en - as a time when ghosts are about and the fairies are moving from their summer to their winter quarters. The traditional food at this time of the year is the Bairín Breac otherwise known as the Hallowe'en Brack, a white, bread fruit loaf with a brown glazing containing: wheat, sultanas, citrus peel, yeast, sugar, cinnamon, coriander, ginger and cloves. Traditionally the brack had a divination purpose as well as being something nice to eat for hidden within the dough were :-

A piece of wood: to signify a beating by a partner

A button: signified that you will remain a bachelor

A coin: for wealth

A rag or a bean: meaning poverty

A ring or small circle of withy: meaning an early marriage

A religious medal signified that you would join Holy Orders

A thimble: signifying spinsterhood

Unfortunately today's Hallowe'en Brack only contains a small silver or gold coloured ring.

Hallowe'en is an abbreviation of Hallowed Eve which is held at night on 31st October and is the first part of a three day Christian festival which was followed by All Souls Day and then by All Saints Day.

Hallowe'en is not Samhain, however there are people who believe that the Christian Church adopted the festival and made it their own and that may well have been the case. Over the last few hundred years Hallowed Eve has become secularised into Hallowe'en and dare I say it, has been commercialised in much the same way as has happened to Christmas.

My understanding of Samhain is that the word means 'summers end' and it is a fire festival.

The timing of fire festivals are exactly mid way between an equinox & a solstice or a solstice and an equinox.

This year the true date of Samhain is 7th November and is further confirmed by data from the U.S. Naval Observatory, Washington DC. who tell us - "Cross-Quarter moments are interpolated as the midway points between the Solstices and Equinoxes"

Historic confirmation also comes from our ancient ancestors who when building the tombs and mounds such as the Mound of the Hostages on the Hill of Tara which is aligned to Sun on the midway point.

Thus Halloween cannot be Samhain.

I would like to wish all of my readers a Fun Filled Celebration!

So that all may enjoy the delicacy of Hallowe'en Brack please visit

http://shamrockfoods.ie/Recipes/Halloween-Brack-71.aspx

BALLYTASPY

2011-10-26T03:16:00.001-07:00

Ballytaspy.

Ballytaspy: there are not too many songs about this place, that would make it popular or even familiar, though to the three dozen or so people who live within in it's boundaries Ballytaspy is unique. On weekend nights a rendition of 'There's no place like Ballytaspy' or 'It's a long way to Ballytaspy' can be heard echoing across the narrow street from both of it's two pubs as each drinking house tries to out sing or drown out the other.

Now it would be easy to believe that drinkers are well catered for with two establishments to choose from, without knowing the about the subtle inclinations of the proprietors. For example, the other night I decided to visit the Clancy's for a quiet drink and so to confuse my neighbours I parked my car outside of Burke's Bar and stepped across the street to drink in salubrious surroundings. Only to find the place locked, shuttered and in total darkness, now I knew that this was hours too early for a lock in; So I returned to my car and moved it further along the street and left it outside of the Priest's house and rapidly walked to Burke's Bar.

I chose the public bar rather than the lounge because the sound of clicking balls from the pool table disturbs my thoughts. Burke's is not known for wastage of any kind and the lighting inside the public bar is extremely dim, giving it a Dickensian appearance, not a place for doing deals unless of the nefarious kind. My eyes gradually accustomed to the shaded lights and there on the corner of the bar was the huddled shape and cut of a familiar figure, surrounded by several empty pint glasses complete with Guinness stains in various stages of drying. A slurred voice ordered two more pints loudly explaining: that one would keep the other one company because God had made everything in pairs.

Six customers stood at right angles to him, I joined them to make it seven and ordered my pint to stand quietly as I listened to their friendly banter. Eventually my nearest neighbour informed me that Clancy had been here for the last two days and was liable to be here for a week barring an accident or Burke's running short of stout. Such is the inclination of a Ballytapsy publican.

BIRTHDAY BOY!

2011-10-20T11:31:00.000-07:00

I could not possibly let this special day pass by without showing off a couple of photos of my grandson Oliver on this his 1st birthday

Just take one look at his eyes and imagine the wonderful mischief he is going to enjoy when he gets older :) ?

Oliver 1 year old today

20th October 2011

Oliver in his first car.

Unavoidable Quietness

2011-10-14T10:35:00.000-07:00

I feel the need to explain to my Followers and Readers of this blog that my absence from the world of blogging, is due to my participation as canvasser for my favourite Irish presidential candidate in the forth coming election on the 27th October.

Until then take care of yourselves for I most definitely will return with renewed vigour.

DEATH of A GENIUS

2011-10-06T01:49:00.000-07:00

Steve Jobs 1955 - 2011

After struggling for years with pc’s I bought an Apple-Mac. What I did not know at that time that I was

buying into a family - that my chief relative was Steve Jobs, a man whose gentle humour and spirituality

steered my life and many millions of others by his creative drive, not just in design but also in selecting the

right quality of engineers to bring his dreams into fruition.

Steve Jobs you will not be forgotten.

You can email your thoughts and condolences to rememberingsteve@apple.com

The Mermaid & A Big Eared Lady (part 4)

2011-09-29T09:08:00.000-07:00

Across the Shannon, in the eastern part of County Galway, lies the historical townland* of Clonfert (As Gaeilge "Cluain Feart" meaning 'meadow of the grave') which formerly had one of the many Celtic Christian monastic settlements of the 5th/6th century. Today all that remains is a lovely, small cathedral whose founder was Saint Brendan the Navigator; it is said to be the oldest living church in Ireland with an unbroken history of public worship.

The Cathedral of St Brendan with its' monastery college was founded in the 6th century and flourished for hundreds of years, suffering many raids by the Vikings who frequently sailed up the River Shannon from Limerick. It was burnt down in 1016, 1164, and again in 1179.

The monastery and most of the church were destroyed in 1541 and the monastery was not rebuilt after this final assault. Prior to the destruction of the monastery college in the early sixteenth century it flourished with as many as three thousand students being educated here at one time. Recorded in a state paper of Queen Elizabeth the First is a proposal to found a University at Clonfert, it being a celebrated seat of learning in the centre of Ireland and a convenient place for Irish students. The proposition was rejected however and Dublin obtained the Charter leading to the foundation of Trinity College Dublin in 1592.

It is here in the cathedral, on the entrance to chancel, that we discovered the mermaid.

About 10 inches high she is complete with comb and mirror and has been rubbed to a shine by visitors.

Next to the cathedral lies a small woodland and we stopped to pay a visit to the rag tree where people leave offerings to their god(s) in the hope of cures and the fulfilment of wishes or prayers.

We travelled south of Clonfert and across one of the few Shannon bridges to the ancient town of Banagher ( Beannchar na Sionna meaning 'place of the pointed rocks'), County Offaly. From here the 'big eared lady' is about 3km away though not visible from the road. She is a Sheela na Gig sitting 20metres up on the end wall of the ruins of Garry Castle whose ancient owners, the MacCoughlans, had many strongholds in the area.

GARRY CASTLE

Ireland has hundreds of 'sheelas' many of which are stored in the National Museum though their

purpose is unknown. Sheelas that are still in situ and accessible are often rubbed by women

wishing to conceive and are often known as hags or the witch on the wall.

For more info visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sheela_na_gig

*Footnote.

Townland: is the smallest geographical unit in the Irish census returns and are still in use today. Anything from 5 to 30 townlands may be grouped together to form a civil parish. A townland can vary in size from the smallest, of less than an acre to over 7,000 acres (an average size is 200-400 acres ) There are over 62,000 townlands in Ireland and are generally named after natural or geological features.

The Jewel of Clonmacnoise (part 3)

2011-09-23T12:44:00.000-07:00

The Route to the Nun's Church

©GoogleEarth

The jewel of Clonmacnoise sits about a quarter of a mile north, beyond the boundary of the monastery, with easy access via the modern cemetery leading to a narrow road. Walking this road we were very fortunate that it was a fine dry day, for it allowed us to take note of what was around us and our friend Fred (who is often seen on this blog) said 'Hey is this a ballaun stone?' We stopped, looked and were not totally sure. The words from a former job came into my mind - "investigation will reveal". So I knelt down and dug with my hands into the soft earth at the roadside to clear half of the debris away, then to feel gently under the remainder to find smooth stone, this was indeed an unmarked ballaun stone.

(See previous post.)

Down on my knees

With my hands in the mud trying to discover whether this was a ballaun stone. I was thinking on whose jacket I was going to wipe them if this just a stone drain!

A Ballaun Stone

The notice board account is not perhaps accurate

nor does it give the full story

The story of Dermot MacMurrough during the Anglo Norman conquest of Ireland resembles a soap opera, pitting the wily, deceitful villain (Dermot) against the well meaning but hapless incompetent (Tiernan O'Rourke).

MacMurrough and O'Rourke were mortal enemies. The antagonism between them dated to 1152, when O'Rourke had been humiliated by MacMurrough's abduction of O'Rourke's wife, Dervorgilla. But MacMurrough may not have been as culpable as it seemed.

For according to Irish folklore, it was Dervorgilla herself, then aged 44, who arranged the abduction, with MacMurrough, aged 42, simply going along. Nevertheless, MacMurrough was hardly an innocent bystander, having eagerly accepted the invitation, and having staged a realistic abduction, with horsemen and screaming victim. O'Rourke recovered Dervorgilla the following year (1153), but he never got the revenge he wanted.

The subsequent hostilities between O'Rourke and MacMurrough were played out in the context of a larger battle between Rory O'Connor and Murtaugh MacLochlain for the high kingship of Ireland. O'Rourke was allied with O'Connor, the eventual winner, while MacMurrough supported, and more importantly was protected by, MacLochlain.

In 1166, finally, after a 10 year war, O'Connor defeated MacLochlain once and for all. O'Connor was magnanimous in victory. He reduced MacLochlain's petit-kingdom to a small area, and took hostages, but otherwise permitted him to live out his reign.

O'Rourke had no intention of extending similar generosity to MacMurrough. He got his revenge later that same year when MacLochlain (MacMurrough's long time protector) died, and O'Rourke, along with several cohorts, forced MacMurrough to flee Ireland.

But MacMurrough quickly regrouped. He sought help from Henry II, the aforementioned Norman ruler of the Angevin empire. To Henry, MacMurrough represented opportunity knocking. Henry had no enthusiasm for personally leading an expedition to Ireland but he had nothing to lose by encouraging MacMurrough. Thus Henry issued an open letter to his subjects, authorizing them to render military assistance to MacMurrough.

MacMurrough then contacted one of the great Anglo Norman leaders in Wales, the legendary "Strongbow" Initially, Strongbow was reluctant, but then MacMurrough offered Strongbow his eldest daughter, Aoife (Eva), in marriage, together with the right to succeed MacMurrough as king of Leinster. Finally, Strongbow agreed to lead an army into Ireland to restore MacMurrough to power.

The consequences of the above: led to the British occupation of Ireland for nearly 800 years !

Dervogilla died at the age of 86 in Mellifont Abbey, Co. Louth.

With thanks to Desmond's Concise History of Ireland

Ruins of the Nun's Church

This was my first ever visit to the Nun's Church as I only knew about it from reading a novel even though I had visited the ruins of the monastery many times before. The church doesn't seem to be as popular and even on that day the number of visitor's could be counted on one hand. Beyond the hedge on the right hand side of the road there is a long mound, which I feel may well have been an ancient dry route that connected the two sites in times of flood.

The Front Arch

I refer to the Nun's Church as a jewel because of the 'energy' that is so very tangible there, in such places I feel and leave invigorated. I enjoy re-visiting places where the 'energy' strengthens my inner being and this is the only church that has done this for me.

pics

In part 4 we cross the River Shannon to visit a mermaid and later we meet a big eared lady.

River and Stone

2011-09-18T09:52:00.000-07:00

The previous blog about Lough Boora Parklands and the next four blogs (including this one) are of places that we visited on the same day.

This is number two.

Moving from the bog lands of the big sky at LBP our route took us across open countryside and along straight, narrow roads that seemed to last forever. We chose to have lunch in Ferbane, the largest, small town in the locality where The Black Boot Restaurant catered for our needs. Mine were simple: a large pot of tea which provided me with several cupfuls, followed by a dish of jelly,custard and cream. It was delicious. My companions made up for my meagreness and had a decent sized lunch each.

Our next destination was the ruins of Clonmacnoise, an ancient monastic settlement that sits on the banks of the River Shannon and where, in my mind, the river becomes a serpent as it twists first one way and then another. From the Shannon Pot in County Cavan through thirteen counties of Ireland the river travels 390km to enter the Atlantic Ocean in the Shannon estuary.

The Shannon Pot, in the shadow of the Cuilcagh Mountains, has a famous legend: A granddaughter of Manannán mac Lír visited the mystical pool to eat fruit from the forbidden tree, or The Tree of Knowledge, which was planted by the Druids. As she began to eat, the waters of the pool sprang up and drowned her. The name of this young woman was Sionainn, Goddess of the River Shannon. Senuna is her earlier name meaning 'the old honoured one'.

On approaching Clonmacnoise, from the Shannonbridge direction, we first saw the toppled ruins of an Anglo-Norman castle built in 1214. It was the second such structure here and replaced a wooden castle destroyed by fire and possibly by Viking marauders.

The primary function of the castle was to enable the Anglo-Normans to gain control over the midlands and guard an adjacent bridge which spanned the Shannon. This castle too was destroyed in the late 13th to early 14th century.

The Anglo-Norman ruins

The pilgrims to Clonmacnoise would mainly have walked or have rode on their small horses.

A sculpture of a pilgrim

(I wonder if he was shocked by the entrance fee!)

Alternatively were he or she a person of means then they may well have travelled here by boat

Moorings for the Clonmacnoise visitors of today

All around Ireland at the ancient monastic sites round towers are to be found, some are very well preserved others are not. As to why they were built there are as many ideas as there are towers.

One proposition is that they were a refuge

from unwanted visitors!

The monastery was founded between 545 & 548 AD and built in wood, these were replaced with stone buildings in the 9th century. Its' greatest period of growth came between the 8th & 12th centuries during which time it was attacked frequently mostly by the Irish (at least 27 times), also by the Vikings (approx. 7 times) and the Anglo-Normans (approx. 6 times).

Well preserved ruins of chapels & churches.

A balluan stone.

Once again ideas abound on what the original use was wether it was for the grinding of grain or for toning. Though certainly not as a wishing well as can be seen here. On a personal level I abhorr the idea of throwing coins into water from which humans or animals might drink from and become poisoned.

The great Shannon flows past the Clonmacnoise lands

and separates the Midlands from the West of Ireland

for on the opposite bank is Co.Galway.

Close to the monastery is what I feel is the 'jewel in the crown' and it is that gem that the next blog will be about.

Art on The Bog

2011-09-13T12:55:00.000-07:00

Following on from the previous blog about turf it seemed right to show one of the uses of bogland after commercial exploitation has finally ceased. The Lough Boora Parklands of 5,437 acres, being a particularly good example of providing a public amenity for all age groups at different levels of interest; consisting of Finnamore Lakes with it's fishing & birdlife, a sculpture park, a mesolithic site and Farmland.

On the day that we visited the weather was just right, for Boora is a vast area and ideally it needs to be nether to hot or cold. We chose to walk although bicycles are for hire, some of the bikes are equipped with small buggies for children to sit in. I was hoping that they would have one I might fit into but no such luck !

The lakes are plentiful and the distant hills are

the Slieve Blooms of our home

Boys of all ages like to play trains given the chance..

The transport of the bogs was a narrow gauge railway with small diesel engines that

pulled trucks loaded with turf. Above is the remains of that trackway and if you enlarge the picture you will see the trucks, that remain here as silent sentinels.

As we walked my eye caught on a strange building, that in the distance appeared to be a stack of grey logs. It was only as we got closer that a triangular shaped, strange roofless structure appeared in front of me, my curiosity was heightened as to what exactly it was and so the camera came out to make a capture.

A place to dwell within and view land, sky or both.

A notice board close to this practical piece of art invited the reader to sit within and experience a different energy. The walls are made of blocks of bog oak trees cut to shape. The wood preserved in peat that had been retrieved from the bog. Can be as much as three and a half thousand of years old. The happy person seen inside is relatively young.

I appreciated these words & felt the desire to share them with you.

Just a few of the sculptures.

The water in this drain seemed to be devoid of fishy creatures, for none of the usual signs were at all apparent, as per rings on the surface of the water. I was all but convinced, until a large Heron or perhaps it was a Crane flew over our heads to landed on the bank and then we knew that this fisher bird only visits for food.

A uniquely thatched hide.

A viewing place from which to view the birdlife of the lakes, without causing any fright to flight for them. The hide is made of wood, open viewing slits and a reed thatched roof. Access to the hut is via a bridge on stilts that sits above the marsh grass.

Inside: the conical point of the roof had been used by swallows, for a heap of their guano could be seen on the floor directly beneath the nests.

We will return again to The Lough Boora Parklands and visit the mesolithic site and perhaps to see many more of the sculptures that we missed. We shall however use bicycles next time and save the poor old feet.

It's that time of year....

2011-09-07T10:07:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year when a load of dry hard sods are delivered to our yards from the bog and tipped handily to where it is going to be stored. This year we had a three tonne load which meant placing it in two small sheds. Fortunately a friend from a neighbouring county arrived unexpectedly and the job was completed more rapidly than it would have had we been on our own.

A three tonne heap of turf

A dusty, warming job that tests the muscles as we bend to pick up each piece, then turn and stack it to roof top height. Before reaching us men in the shed Mrs H had picked up the sods put them in a wheel-barrow and tipped them at our feet. Prior to that the people on the bog hand handled each piece at least four or five times between the drying process and the delivery. Finally from the shed to the fire they will be hefted twice more; so all in all, I calculate that each will have been handled at least eight to nine times!

Stack number one

The heat from turf (peat) is luxurious, the very distinct aroma as it burns is homely and in the winter on cold frosty nights, if you walk the roads it is to sense a welcome in the air; a similar sensation to the burning of wood smoke, for it conjures up warm comfortable images !

Stack number two

You can think of us pair warming our toes with the dog at our feet, the cats perched on the settee snoring. While Mrs H and I sit nursing a glass of homemade damson brandy each and a honey waffle in the other hand.

Where curlews sing

2011-09-04T08:10:00.000-07:00

At times I seek out places in nature away from the maddening crowds where I can find peacefulness, rare spots on the coastline or in the countryside which provide none of the usual trappings of modern life. There are many that I have become accustomed to visiting and one which I will share is at Rine in Co. Clare, the approach is an awkward drive along a narrow boreen that passes through a farm yard to terminate on the point of a peninsula.

A Martello Tower

"War broke out between England and France in 1803 and because of past invasion attempts by the French, the British drew up plans to fortify likely landing places in Britain and around the coasts of Ireland. The principal feature being a network of fortifications to be constructed on the Coasts of England and Ireland was The Martello Tower Built under the National Defence Act 1804. Here in Ireland 50 such Towers were built." Extracted from © www.martellotowers.ie"

Here I could be found in all weathers, standing in sunshine or sat with wind and rain to my back communing with nature, hearing the music provided by coastal seabirds against the wash of the sea lapping a stony strand. I loved the lonely isolation of it all.

Heart in hand

So it was here on one of my last visits that I took a stroll and found my heart. I did not know then that it was to be my turning point or the fulcrum of a new existence.

An aorta in stone perhaps ?

This heart shaped stone even has an indentation placed roughly where the aorta would be.

****

This blog was inspired by an email conversation that I had with a follower of A Heron's View- HelenTilston: http://helentilstonpainter.blogspot.com who is a frequent visitor to a neighbouring Martello Tower on an adjacent peninsula, quite literally a couple of miles north in Co Galway.

Damn & Blast!

2011-08-31T12:16:00.001-07:00

Unfortunately I am having big problems with my internet supplier EIRCOM, last week the internet went down on the 24th August, following a phone call to them they promised faithfully to send an engineer. Of course Ireland having a very large population 4 million + it took a second phone call to gee them up; the engineer came and failed to connect me, he contacted head office who worked wonders NOT, as a consequence of their technical ability I now have no internet connection and the phone line has packed in!

I am thinking now seeking another internet provider !

A Brough Superior SS100

2011-08-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

This blog has been initiated by seeing a photograph on the BBC website of a motorcycle, which is to be auctioned off in California. It is a Brough Superior SS100 and the last machine that the company ever made, each motorcycle was tailor-made (designed) by George Brough to each customers specification and the last one was made in 1940.

A Brough Superior SS100

TE Lawrence [Lawrence of Arabia], the British army officer famous for his role in the Arab Revolt during the World War I, owned seven of these motorcycles and it was on one of those that he was killed in a road accident in1935 aged 46.

Now part of my time as young boy was filled with reading the account of Lawrence of Arabia's deeds in the desserts; much of which I have now forgotten, but never the man himself.

This is T.E. Lawrence's motorcycle on exhibition in the

Imperial War Museum

In 1988 I was living alone in Bournemouth and working in Poole, Dorset. After having my evening meals there was that gap of free time to be filled before going to bed, I have never been one to watch the TV much, so I used to go on reasonably long drives and sometimes just to tour around the New Forest. During this period I had heard that Lawrence was buried in Dorset and so on a summers night I decided to visit his grave. Where I found much to my surprise a very modest headstone that gave no mention of this mans great deeds.

The Grave of T.E. Lawrence

I think that I ought to point out that it is not T.E Lawrence's motorcycle that is being sold!

For those of you who are interested to learn more of T.E. Lawrence please visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T._E._Lawrence

A HEALING WELL

2011-08-15T10:27:00.000-07:00

Clonaslee

The other day, the weather being fine we took ourselves on a promised trip to visit a Healing Well. Our route took us through Clonaslee (Cluain na Slí) a picturesque village in north county Laois. The name means "way meadow"(road through the meadow), the way referred to was & is an important cross-country route. Clonaslee sits at the foot of the Slieve Blooms and has been almost continuously inhabited since Neolithic times.

Fr. Graham's Well

Our destination lay approximately three kilometres to the north along narrow roads, so narrow that two vehicles would be unable to pass each other, to a sparsely populated area with few houses to be seen. Father Graham's Well was clearly signposted and on turning into the cul-de-sac access road it was wonderfully wide in comparison to most of our route.

The Roots

Five steps lead down into the well where the roots of three trees can be seen just above the level of the water; the trees being Birch, Hazel and Whitethorn, an unusual combination. The well is known for having a cure for toothache, headaches and other neuralgic problems, so may be the combination of the three trees plus the mineral content of the water have more to do with healing than the goodly Father Graham.

Research has only showed one priest of that name in Clonaslee and little is known about him other than:-

'Rev. Michael Graham had been curate for a long time before being made P.P of Clonaslee. He died on 11th August 1840 and was buried in the church where an inscription after recording the date of his death says "By his will he left £300 to improve the education of the poor of the parish."

A Happy Man

A Good Surprise in Leamington Spa !

2011-08-09T07:51:00.000-07:00

On my visit to Leamington Spa in December of last year (2010) I was very surprised to see a gleaming white temple breaking the immediate skyline, unfortunately due to the icy roads I was unable to get close enough to take a photo. However on our recent trip the weather was very different, gorgeous in fact and almost too hot: for I am now acclimatised to the much lower Irish temperatures.

The Gudwara Sahib (Sikh Temple) is built in the middle of an industrial estate. It stands out like a beautiful bright flame and as we walked closer to the building I sensed a serene energy emanating outwards; I was immediately reminded of the energy that flows outwards from the Irish stone circles that also transmit an essence of peace and tranquility that pervades the busy mind.

It being a Sunday there was a continuous service taking place, not an ideal time for having a nose

around, though I very much hope that on our next trip to visit Oliver that we shall be able to see the inside of the Temple.

I confess that I know very little about the Sikh's and of their religion even less, except that like myself they are vegetarians and generally peaceful people.

So from their web page:-

www.gurdwara-leamingtonandwarwick.co.uk

"SELF SERVICE: Sikhs Duty to Serve

SEVA is the essence of Sikhi, and it refers to 'selfless service'', that is service performed

without any thought of reward or personal benefit.

The Sikhs arriving in Leamington and Warwick in the 1950s brought with them not only their endeavour for hard work but just as importantly they brought with them the Sikh faith with its core principal of ‘Duty to serve’ not only the Sikh community but non-Sikh as well."

Oliver's Big Day

2011-07-31T10:57:00.000-07:00

The lateness of this blog is all due to my feeling lazy since returning from the UK during the middle of last week. For it took me a couple of days to get a sense of being back at home and then came an in-dwelling of gladness for living where we do.

Only two complaints with journey: one is that Stena Line do not serve small coffees and secondly, the seating on British trains becomes very uncomfortable after one and a half hours and as our rail journey was four hours long you can imagine the relief we felt at the end of the journey. Next time we shall take a cushions.

The Big Day of Oliver's Naming Ceremony arrived and about forty guests gathered in Helen and Mark's back garden, most of whom were seated under the open sided marquee thus avoiding the hot sun.

Haley on tenor sax!

The ceremony started with a few tunes from Haley (a school friend of Helen's) who came up from Somerset with her family plus musical instruments, a tenor saxophone and clarinet. Her music eased us all into the right frame of mind.

The ceremony was conducted by Sylvia Summer, a Humanist Life Rites Celebrant, who brought everyone together in such a pleasant way that there was a friendly corporate-ness between us all.

Helen, Oliver, Mark and Sylvia

Poor Oliver fell asleep but regardless we carried on with the ceremony to completion. His parents had bought an Olive tree to mark the occasion and we all tied small cards on to it's branches. On these each of us wrote our wishes for him in the future; the idea being that when he is much older he will be able to read them for himself and take onboard our thoughts. Or not.

The Olive Tree

Oliver's Grandparents brought water from their home areas or favorite places. So the waters came from Corfu, Chalice Well Glastonbury, Warwickshire and ours from the River Barrow in Co. Laois. The waters were then mingled and sprinkled around the base of the tree as a symbol of our joint commitment to Oliver.

For myself it was good to meet Helen and Mark's friends and relations, my ex-relations and a couple of my long lost relations - I no longer feel quite so alone :-D

As a regular ritualist I felt that Sylvia created & conducted an excellent celebration, the memory of which will always remain within me - no higher praise can I give her and I hope that she manages to read this blog with one of her wonderful smiles.

Two wonderful squealers

Oliver - The Swinger

LORIE and HARVEY

2011-07-19T06:11:00.000-07:00

My last blog was about gifts and by far the greatest gift to my mind is to find a companion with whom we have such a mutual attraction and desire to share our lives.

Some people are fortunate enough to have this event happen just once in their life, others like myself have

during our later years achieved the joy of finding for a second time around a person of such great loving

depths with whom we can shout out aloud for all the world to hear

'Yes this is the Love of My Life !'

The Newlyweds: Lorie and Harvey

On receiving the news of their recent marriage I was truly delighted for them both.

My blessing to them is that they may enjoy a life of goodness and quality together.

Three Different Gifts!

2011-07-15T09:50:00.001-07:00

A gift of surprise:-

The other day I was sitting in my normal place tapping away on the mac, doing some research in regards to water quality, when a vehicle that I only barely recognised reversed into the north drive to disappear from sight.

My consternation at having my concentration broken was nullified for on opening the door, there stood before me was a friend of long standing (whom we rarely see) who said 'I have a gift for you'.

Mrs H and I were equally stunned for neither of us were expecting a gift, let alone one of such magnitude. A brief discussion took place and it was decided that the garden room would be the proper place for it's installation.

A large cast iron pot belly stove

A precious gift:-

Mrs H and I are off on our travels again next week, not Scotland this time, but to England, for a very important occasion and family gathering, it being the official Humanist Naming Ceremony of our one and only grandchild.

Mrs H isn't very fond of flying. No 'fond' is definitely the wrong word. Mrs H actually hates flying ! What I dislike about flying is having to hang around for hours waiting to take off; I really think that they ought to be like a train service where there is hardly any delay.

Our mode of travel on this trip will be gentle and relaxed. From home to the ferry port by car, leaving Peggy (our car) in the long term car park for a rest. Then a pleasurable 4 hour trip across the Irish Sea to Wales, where we will catch a train to Cheltenham to be met by daughter and conveyed in luxury to her home. During the ferry trip Mrs H and I will take it in turns to stroll around the ship and have a smoke out on deck while watching the waves go by. All of that plus a quiet pint in the saloon will ease me into a hour or so of sleep.

Master Oliver Mark Rufus

The precocious gift !

This is my one hundredth blog and not the last I hope ;-) My great thanks to all the followers

and especially to those who have the time to leave comments - I will buy you a pint the next time we meet :)

Secrets in an Ancient Woodland

2011-07-06T07:02:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning was a good day for a walk in the sunshine, being neither too hot nor cool. I chose to revisit one of Ireland's ancient forests which stands about 9 miles north of our home. The forest woodland consists of 400 -1,000- year old oaks, birches and copper beech trees and many interesting species of plants.

The King Oak of Charleville

The Pedunculate oak - Quercus robur Is less common than the Sessile Oak and is not as popular for use as commercial timber . In Charleville Wood, Co. Offaly the famous Pedunculate ‘King Oak’ is said to be between 400-800 years old. Four of its lower branches touch the ground, with the longest of its branches stretching 76 feet from trunk to tip. The family who lived in the nearby castle were under the impression that when a branch fell off the King Oak a member of the family would die, so as a preventative steel supports were put under the lowest branches!

Charleville Castle, Tullamore, Co. Offaly

The Castle, designed in 1798 by one of Ireland’s leading architects of the day, Francis Johnston was not finally completed until 1812. Unlike many gothic castles built later by the Victorians, Charleville Castle is quite compact rather than a rambling edifice with many wings. True to its time, it is basically a large scale Georgian house with added castellations and towers.

This magnificent building was almost lost through vandalism for it stood vacant from 1912 and by 1968 the roof had been mostly removed. The turn around came in 1971 when the restoration work was started and is still proceeding.

A stone archway

After walking through the archway our path led us to a large tree covered mound, which unfortunately due to the amount of trees on the lower level prevented me from taking a photo of it so you will have to use your imagination :)

A barred window opening in the mound guards a secret grotto

The Grotto quote: ' an artificial grotto formed for the purpose of giving employment

during a season of scarcity' ref quote: A Topographical Dictionary of Ireland in two volumes by Samuel Lewis MDCCCXXXV11 (1837)

A few years ago access to the grotto was easy gained by a doorway which has now been blocked off. Which I daresay was done for good reason as it is quite dark in side and large stones that make the roof do protrude downwards restricting the headroom in places and can give the unwary a hard knock on the head.

Inside the grotto a doorway

I managed to get this photo of the inside the grotto by putting my arms through the gaps between the window bars and taking several chance shots and this is best one.

A stone porch to the Grotto

This was once another entrance to the grotto, now walled up.

Regardless of what Samuel Lewis had to say about the reason for building the grotto it was quite common for country houses of that era to have places such as these, some of them very ornate. They were not just ornamental follies, they were used in a variety of ways and as this one stands close to a shallow river then it may well have been a good place to have a picnic on fine days and bathe.

The Calling of Crows

2011-06-28T05:01:00.000-07:00

My memories are often triggered by the oddities of life, sometimes it is a piece of music, a sense in the air, at other times like today, it was the calling of the crows.

It was about this time of the year that reminded me of the first time that I met a lively young antique dealer and fellow poet Roderick Hopper. I was told that he had a short time to live, which was hard to believe for he had such a passion about him, so lively and full of fun.

A few weeks later I was invited to attend the scattering of his ashes on Glastonbury Tor, there was no cleric in attendance because Roddy had long given up on religion.

So here written in poetic style is my true account of those proceedings.

Mist shrouded Glastonbury Tor.

The Witness

For

Roddy Hopper R.I.P.

A rain sodden evening

Friends meet and gather

In a lane ‘tween sacred well

and giant pagan hill.

In each their eyes are

searching - not finding

The one for whom they care

Each remembering,

Still aware.

Before sunset they

turn and walk

Over tarmac path,

through concrete posts.

Along mud, stone tracks.

Over cold wet iron stile.

Upwards over trodden

earth and grass.

Climbing , puffing, panting.

With steadfast tread

None desire to stop,

Nor dare

Onwards on

That great, green slope

Mist shrouded mighty hill

With secret power.

The top at last,

Now friends collect

Breath and breathe.

No sight or sound

comes from below;

We are here alone.

No preacher man

to organise our prayers,

No maudlin hymns

nor false sentiment.

Just true memory

with mindful thoughts

Of a carefree and

Gentle man.

St. Michael’s tower casts

No shadow as friends

Mill around, for each

A handful of blue

grey dust.

For a moment

to cherish, love and hold.

To murmur in quiet tones

As the white mist surrounds.

Ancient time passes

as each does linger.

To cast those precious granules

upon the ground.

Now do we turn

to negotiate

Slippery grass slope.

No steadfast tread

or urgent gait.

But conscious care

to find safe foothold.

Suddenly!

Without warning

a clear segment,

a slice is made.

And we can see

Fresh green land,

silver dykes, distant hills.

Atheist or Christian

“Is this a sign?”

That all is not lost

and

That his Spirit

is Free at last.

SUMMER SOLSTICE TARA 2011

2011-06-23T04:37:00.000-07:00

June 21st said to be The Longest day of the Year is actually the mean date of nine consecutive days with same length of daylight. We pagans celebrate this day as Summer Solstice.

This year it was suggested that we should return to The Hill of Tara for our ritual timed at the peak of sunlight, mid-day. Several years ago we would drive to Tara and greet the dawn; in those days it was a long journey across country in the dark. Today, with road improvements, it is a short journey of ninety minutes instead of two and a half hours.

I chose Teach Cormaic (Cormac's house) a ring barrow as being a good place on which to hold our ritual for I was there several years ago as part of a large gathering of international druids and found the energies to be very suitable for our kind of work.

We knew that our circle this time would be of at least seven people however, a fellow druid arrived with five of her friends and by the time we had settled ourselves, eight complete strangers asked if they might join us. The more the merrier I thought and at least we had sufficient cordial with us to keep the cup filled!

The Hill Tara & Teach Cormaic

(click to enlarge)

A Glass Goddess

Our ritual cup and the Glass Goddess (filled with honeysuckle cordial) stood in the centre of our circle absorbing our combined energies. Some of those who partook of the cup thought it had been fortified with something stronger - merely the effect of ritual energy!

The weather was for most of the ritual dry, unfortunately just as we were about to close a storm rolled in and for about five seconds a few flakes wet snow came down, followed by very heavy rain and a strong wind.

Some of the Lads having a chinwag after the ritual

Four special goddesses!

The Lia Fail - The Stone of Destiny (on the right)

It was to here Maguires Cafe & Gift shop that we repaired to enjoy a fine lunch with more chatter and to meet with like minded people.

Drink's from Wild Blossom

2011-06-13T10:31:00.000-07:00

Of all the trees that grow on the boundaries of our garden the Elder is the most prolific and one that in my younger days caused me to suffer from its pollen however, that is a problem I thankfully no longer have - ageing certainly does have its benefits.

The florets of the Elder (Elderflowers)

I did some research early this year to see what herbal benefits might be obtained from the florets of the Elder and found that a essence can be made that will ease or assist in easing the effects of catarrh. So two weeks ago I picked some florets packed them in in a jar and topped it up with brandy, the jar is kept in a dark warm place and turned every day for one month, after which it will be strained put into a dark bottle. Dosage is 20 drops three times a day - low enough to still drive without going over the limit !

Essence of Elderflowers

Elderflower Cordial

The elderflower cordial I made from a recipe obtained on line, it said to use 1.8 kg of sugar having followed the instructions, I now find that it is far too sweet for my palate even when diluted

1:5 with water ; for am not a sugar lover at all, next time I will halve the amount for I can always add extra if required.

Elderflower Liqueur for cold winter evenings

made with vodka and sugar.

Heron's Honeysuckle Liqueur

(similar recipe as the elder)

Honeysuckle Cordial

By adapting the elderflower remedy and using far less sugar a bowl of honeysuckle flowers steeped in a sugar solution with slices of oranges, awaits to be pressed, strained and bottled.

Belo Monte Dam

2011-06-09T06:24:00.000-07:00

A dam the size of Wales is to be built in Brazil. The dam will harm fish stocks vital to 14 tribes that inhabit the Xingu National Park downriver, turn up to 90 miles (150 kilometers) of the river into stagnant puddles and displace as many as 40,000 people. The dam will flood 200 square miles (516 square kilometers) of rain forest.

Then consider all birds, animals, insect life and all of the plant life that will be destroyed forever in this amazonian rain forest area ?

I implore the readers of this blog to circulate this and speak with one voice by signing below

Petition to stop Belo Monte Dam - http://amazonwatch.org/take-action/stop-the-belo-monte-monster-dam?sms_ss=facebook&at_xt=4dec37b40ee918aa%2C0

In Our Back Garden

2011-06-07T07:20:00.000-07:00

I thought today to give you a short tour of the back garden that you might see the hidden places and share with you the beauty of our Woodbine/Honeysuckle whose fragrance today is filling our home with its seductive perfume.

Looking south

The woodbine has never grown to this height before!

I call this fellow Seamus Fig (I think you can see why ?)

He stands behind the raspberry bushes next to the fence.

This beauty sits under the hawthorns silent and gold

amongst the green. Sometimes at night she is

illuminated by candles.

Here the wizened wizard casts his spells

aided by his book of lore.

A Task Completed

2011-05-30T04:22:00.000-07:00

I have at last completed the task and 90% of my poems are up on my new blog.http://wordsofaramblingmind.blogspot.com/

Behind in a cupboard are a few who wished to remain in the dark by their own choice of course. I decide not cajole them out into the sunshine but to leave them in a safe place… one day, one or two might wish to join their family on the blog and only time will tell.

If you have the time please make a visit and leave a comment, for I do so enjoy your words.

Busy Bee

2011-05-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

I just happened to be passing the flower bed when I noticed this greedy fellow having his tea,

so I rushed indoors and grabbed the camera.

After resizing the photo I recalled that Arthur Askey had a silly little song about a Bee that actually made him famous.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2skW43HNpE&feature=related

My Poetry

2011-05-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

On Thursday I created a new blog called Words of a Rambling Mind which will eventually host 99% of my poetry representing thirty years of inspired writing.

Last year I made an audio disc on my mac which only partially satisfied my desire to share with about twenty people my work.

Recently I made the decision to share the majority of them with the world of blog readers, as I saw no advantage in them lying in my desk and gathering dust.

Over the years most have been published in various magazines and others in an anthology that was published in the mid eighties called Vision of Words.

This morning I received a surprise mail from a lady in America saying how uplifted & revitalized she felt after reading one of them. I was humbled by her words and it supported my idea of sharing. For if only one person gets pleasure, then all of this will be worthwhile.

wordsofaramblingmind.blogspot.com

Safari & blogspot.com - in conflict

2011-05-24T11:17:00.000-07:00

My great appreciation to the techies at blogspot.com for sorting out yesterday's difficulties and

changing my mind about setting up a new blog elsewhere.

A big cheer from me to the techies !

A DISCOVERY !

2011-05-24T00:29:00.000-07:00

We have a friend who has spent 37 years of his life as a local forester. An interesting man, whose heart and soul is immersed in the wildlife of our local mountains and in the artifacts that remain from ancient people that once inhabited the Slieve Blooms.

During the winter of last year, while he was surveying an area of forest that was to be felled, he discovered a large stone which he later described to me as having a pattern on it that looked as if it had been carved using baked bean cans. I recognized from his description that this might be 'cup & ring marks' and asked him to preserve the area.

Now as eager as we were to visit the site the weather in November was not on our side and so we waited until springtime with it's drier and warmer conditions. Our walk across the clear felled area was tough going and we were very glad to be wearing waterproof boots and wind proof clothing. We were absolutely delighted with the find and such a rarity too. In fact we made another trip to the boulder with some interested friends and with their help we managed to tip it up on its side and photograph the other face.

The boulder is sandstone and judging by its rounded edges it was once shaped by the action of water though that is quite common for the majority of loose stone found in this area. The geology of the Slieve Blooms includes Old Red Sandstone, laid down 370 millions years ago, which underlies much of the mountains. Under the sandstone lies the blue-grey rocks of the Silurian period.

The top surface with fascinating markings.

A detail similar to that found on other stones.

Markings on the underside.

My personal feelings are that it may have been a rear stone from a Bronze Age burial chamber, as the landscape of this country once contained thousands of such buildings; some of which were destroyed by agriculture and the forestry industry. The carvings are not like any of the cup and ring marks depicted on other stones; although there is a stone at Tara which has one similar pattern, that of three linked circles. There is no way of knowing what the carver had in mind. Both faces of the stone are carved and there are slight markings on the sides too.

The carved boulder 's position has been logged & named on the GPS and its discovery reported to the geologist Dr. John Feehan for further investigation, when his findings are known I will report back.

The Trip to Scotland

2011-05-13T09:49:00.000-07:00

Our journey to Scotland started at 7a.m. We avoided motorways as far as possible making our journey northwards to Belfast swift and uneventful and so fast that we were able to catch an earlier ferry to Stranraer than the one we had booked to travel on. The Stena Voyager is a catamaran in design with four powerful pumps that push it through the water at a superb pace. The interior to my mind is plush to say the least and we always find ourselves some seating in the quiet area away from the noise of piped entertainment. Up for'ard you get good visibility of the sea, plus a small coffee bar with sticky buns and sandwiches as there is nothing like a snack to pass the time away. Except this time because I wasn't driving, only being the navigator, I took myself to the bar on the mezzanine for a couple of pints of Bass ale and they slid down like nectar.

The Stena Voyager

Disembarking was smooth and we were soon on the A75 heading towards the village, a short journey which took 1 hour 10 minutes and into the welcoming arms of our hostess.

The next day we hit the shops in Castle Gregory, The Gatehouse of Fleet and Kirkcudbright all of us picking up some great bargains; mine were a leather coat and trousers plus a denim cap. Refreshments were needed after shopping & a hotel provided me with a pint of McEwans Export ale revitalizing my tired parts.

The Grey Mare's Tail

The following day saw us heading into the Craigdews of the Galloway Hills, to a place special for our hostess. Our first stop was at "The Grey Mares Tail", a waterfall where three of our members were visited by a familiar in the shape of an Tawny Owl. From there we made our way to a place of high energy where we celebrated Bealtaine in a forest glade close to a fast flowing river and we arrived back to our holiday home with sufficient time to visit The Cream O Galloway; My first visit was two years ago and the taste of their wonderful ice cream cannot be beaten and I have sampled lots of different brands over the years. We are now planning a return visit sometime next year.

www.creamogalloway.co.uk/ice-cream

During the rest of of our stay we visited beaches and bays along the shoreline, explored, relaxed and sampled the haggis.

St Andrew's Kirk at Kirk

The pebbled porch floor of the kirk

An island off the beach entices the mind to create dreams !

Silver wavelets come ashore at Brighouse Bay.

(Brig refers to the goddess Brigit, she is everywhere)

Ross Bay

(In the far distance the hills of northern England are visible as smoky smudges)

A Heron with Attitude

(I could not resist taking this pic !)

Stena's MV Caledonian

Our ferry to Belfast on the MV Caledonian the journey was 3 hours long this time as opposed to 2 hours on the outward voyage. We returned to our home in the Irish midlands both tired exhilarated.

Bealtaine

2011-05-02T14:21:00.001-07:00

A small group of us will soon be traveling to Scotland to link up with like minded people and united, we will celebrate Bealtaine on 6th of May, at a place not terribly far from The Gatehouse of Fleet in Dumfries and Galloway.

This fire festival is a time of fertility and conception, a time of play in the warm summer sun, a time when cattle were driven between two fires as a cleansing and to increase their regenerative potency. At this time the energy of the life – force is at its peak, the fires are blazing; The sun's energising heat is felt by all thus sexuality and union are honoured.

This is the time of the Lovers: Where the young God Aengus Óg, the poet son of the god Daghda has words to woo the young Goddess Caer!

Samhain Sunrise at Tara in the Mound of the Hostages

photo by Martin Dier courtesy of Knowth.com

Why the change of date?

It is generally accepted that the fire festivals fall on the 31st or 1st of specific months.

Many people have been studying the alignments of standing stones, stone circles and bronze age burial mounds in depth here in Ireland and they have have calculated that many are aligned to the solar midpoints which lie directly between an equinox and a solstice or a solstice and an equinox.

It is at this time when the sun illuminates the carvings on back walls of chambers or a specific stone in a similar way to the occurrence at Newgrange on Winter Solstice.

Due to changes in the calendar this happens around 5 days later than generally accepted.

So the revised dates are :-

Samhain ... 6/7th November

Imbolc ........Feb 4/5th

Bealtaine .....May 5/6th

Lughnasadh ... 6/7th September

Samhain 6/7th November

To use those other dates makes no sense at all to me as they have no alignment to the sun's course and seem to deny the validity of the ancient sites; plus they are at least a week away from the midpoint.

On our return I hope to share with you the experiences of the trip along with some photos.

Visiting ancient places

2011-04-26T08:23:00.000-07:00

Easter Monday was a day of sunshine and discovery as we walked over fields of lush green grass. We had with us a small book written several years ago by a local historian in which several artifacts were mentioned as being possibility's of what we might find.

The first to be seen was a Norman motte and unfortunately

the bailey was bulldozed several years ago.

Around the right hand corner of the field a ruin showed

through the trees.

The ancient abbey & monastery of Drumcullen

founded in A.D. 591 by Saint Barrinn, also known as

St.Barron. He was by all accounts an extraordinary character

being a traveler and a navigator & is believed to have discovered

America, long before the noted St.Brendan the Navigator who

visited America many centuries before Columbus.

At the western end of the building is a corballed ceiling,

uniquely (I think) made of very small stones. This chamber

is believed to have been the priests quarters; I think he must

have been a hardy fellow for there was no sign of smoke hole!

On the floor of the corballed chamber lies a fragment

of what was once a celtic cross.

A close up of the Norman motte showing signs

of erosion and further around the erosion is

even worse; how much longer before it to disappears

is hard to tell.

The vista from the side of the motte shows

Knocknaman in the distance. The translation of

which is 'The Hill of the Women' referring perhaps

to the two women druids who fostered the

hero Fionn mac Cumhaill.

There are so many artifacts to be seen and ancient places to visit in this relatively undiscovered part of the Irish midlands and I hope to share more with you in the future.

DISTURBED

2011-04-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

Is this the world that we desire

Of hunger, war and fire,

Of toil, spoil and waste.

A system created to create

A world of greed, speed and hate.

Can we stop, arrest the cause

Without causing pain or arising havocs.

To deftly change here to there.

Redirect resources - from

Full bellied western folk - to

Hollowed eyed hungry children

And create a proper balance ?

I wrote the above forty years ago circa 1970. Today I was awoken in the early hours of the morning by my own words, " of hunger, war and fire", reverberating through my sleeping mind until I awoke and rifled through my notebooks to dig them out.

Unfortunately the words I wrote all those years ago are still true today. In yesteryear I was short sighted & only aimed my poem towards the plight of the children in Africa and India.

Now in 2011, I realize they can just as easily apply to children and their parents who live in countries, judged by international financiers as being amongst the wealthy, developed nations of the world.

Tell me, how can we make a difference ?

In a Monastery Garden

2011-04-09T10:24:00.000-07:00

Amongst my wide variety of friends there are those who have religious vocations ; They being members of the third order of Franciscans, whose local monastery was established in 1820 with the dictate to educate and feed the people. So on a recent visit, I was inspired to take photos of some of the unique features in their garden.

As many of you may know I am a druid and a pagan, this neither stops me nor them from enjoying each others' company and from having some interesting discussions on subjects which are not always common to our individual followings. That being the case we stretch our minds to seek a common understanding.

One commonality between us is our love of nature, plants, trees, animals, ancient sites and the night sky to name but a few.

The pictures which follow speak for themselves.

A stone circle with a difference

The centre stone of the circle has a hole in it, which means that it

might be described as a contract or marriage stone.

For in ancient times: each lover would put a hand through the

hole to make their marriage vows.

What strange creatures can you see

in this ancient tree?

Not a Sun Dial but a Moon Dial.

The face of the Moon dial, a device that was created

by one of the monks many years ago.

This large iron pot is believed to have been a cauldron

in which gruel or stew was cooked during the famine times.

A modern waterfall feature using

recycled wine bottles !

WOODEN CURTAINS

2011-03-26T03:24:00.000-07:00

I am back on-line temporarily with my own computer, it was returned on Thursday having had a new hard drive fitted. Then came the task of re-installing documents and software, it was during the latter procedure that a new fault became apparent in that the 'puter was unable to eject an installation disc ! So next morning saw us back on the phone to mac help, the outcome being that it will have to be returned to their repair people.

During the time that I was without my beloved 'puter neither my brain nor hands were idle, as the pics below show. First was the erecting of a new shelf that was cut from a board which was once part of a friends dining table - imagine if it could talk what stories it might tell and of how many times it was washed with wine.

The second project was to make a set of wooden curtains (shutters) for the window of the third oldest room of this cottage. Previously we had fabric curtains & then a venetian blind, none of these were truly satisfactory. So I had an idea of doing something very different and decorating individual boards using pyrography by putting ourselves & our "companions" into the design.

Whilst the new computer glitch is being attended to I shall be applying a protective coating of linseed oil, which over time will slowly darken the wood and increase the contrast between the illustrations and the bare areas.

Wooden Curtains

Self smoking pipe

Mrs H's morning ritual

The new shelf with a painting by me

APOLOGIES !

2011-03-12T12:35:00.000-08:00

A Dutch barge at Pullough Bridge on The Royal Canal

(also in process of a refit)

*********************

I thought it best to inform you all that I am having some work done on my computer in the next few days and Normal Service will resume as soon as possible.

Until then take it easy xxx

An Irish Druid's Tree & Church Art

2011-03-06T12:04:00.000-08:00

In the village of Pollagh, County Offaly, there is a church which stands close to the banks of The Royal Canal, from the outside it is visually quite plain. Being of a simple design it appears to be quite humble, for this building was quite literally built by the people of the community, the bricks were made locally and the work was also done by them, a gift given freely and greater than any cash donation.

On opening the narrow double doors and entering one is met with a glorious & breath taking sight of the Chancel.

So !

Let the eyes see.

The open heart feel deeply.

The mind understand

Broad depths of humanity.

The Chancel

The Altar

The Font

The Lectern

The Tabernacle

Stained glass windows by the late Harry Clarke

www.harryclarke.net/biography.html

The Altar Server's seat.

Pullough Church was the first commission for Michael Casey and the artists of Celtic Roots in1991 in this locality.

The Altar furniture was created from Bog Yew and has been carbon dated as being 4,800 years old.

The artist reflects on the making of the altar table's plinth

"I would take it out on my trolley into the garden and allow the winter sun to light it up, and as figures began to emerge in the fusion of sunlight and instinct, there were moments when it was no longer a piece of wood but a celebration of life… "

Yew was one of the traditional trees of the ancient druids, the other tree is Rowan and unlike the druids of other countries Oak was not revered.

The Beara Peninsula

2011-03-03T03:13:00.000-08:00

It is my philosophy when taking a few days holiday, to make the journey as interesting as possible by taking the scenic route and to avoid as far as possible the motorways. This I can do when visiting most of my favourite areas especially the Bheara Peninsula (of which 4/5th's are in Co.Cork and1/5th in Co.Kerry) From home it is approximately a 350 km drive and the time it takes is of little importance.

To some this area is also known as The Ring of Beara, no matter the name that is put on it, Bheara has an atmosphere all of it's own and to me it feels like a warm island that is full of friendship and surprises. From B & B's which serve delicious breakfasts, to those who have a lamb grazing the lawn, to some that only rent a bedroom with no breakfast.

Around every corner is a different view, some roads twist steeply up mountainsides and one in particular has a magnificent view of Bull Rock, otherwise known as The House of Donn (Teach Donn).

In Irish folklore Donn is the underworld god of death, who told his people to come to his home after they had died. Bull Rock has a sea tunnel, through which the setting sun shines and it is via the pathway of the evening sun that the newly dead find Donn's home.

Close to Ballycrovane Harbour is a tall megalith whose top two feet pops up over the rocky strewn hill as you round the bend. We have visited this standing stone quite a few times and it is reputed to be the tallest in Europe with a height 5.3 metres.

It is not just a standing stone but an Ogham Stone on private land where the land owner charges a small fee of €2.00 (or did) to every visitor. Ogham is the earliest form of script in Ireland and comprises of a series of lines which pass through a vertical stem line to the left, right or diagonally across. Ogham is read from the bottom upwards. Normally the inscriptions are carved on the corner of a stone, however on the Ballycrovane stone they are in the middle of a plane surface which suggests that they were added after the stone was erected.

A couple of miles or so past the Ogham Stone and standing on a seaward facing hill is The Cailleach Bheara called by some 'The Hag Stone' or 'The Wise Woman of Beara'.

This stone is venerated by visitors from all over the world, they adorn her with ribbons and leave offerings in her wrinkles (crevices).

The stone its self is an erratic meaning that it is not native to the area.

The Cailleach of Beara.

She The Cailleach is the Divine Feminine, the oldest goddess of this island and like every remarkable figure she can be found all over the land as well as in Scotland, the Isle of Man and England.

The peninsula is renown for it's megaliths and folklore at every visit I learn or see something new.

I believe it is that plus the people that keep drawing me back and I yearn to make another visit .

For further information & map www.bearatourism.com/map.html

SACRED LAND

2011-02-20T08:31:00.000-08:00

On a sunny day while frost still lay on the ground in early January, we made our first trip of the year.

We had two reasons for going: One to meet an eccentric character known affectionately as Jim the Bee and secondly to visit an unmapped circle of stones, which a friend had spotted while out and about.

What we did not know at the outset was how the two were inextricably linked.

We spent a happy two hours or more in Jim's home drinking tea and talking of the things about which we had a mutual interest. People's bookcases are always a good lead into conversations and in Jim's library we saw a collection very similar to our own.

During our conversation the subject of sacred sites cropped up or as archaeologists refer to them 'Sites of Special Interest' which are scattered widely throughout this land.

Jim used to work as a supervisor for a government sponsored scheme which brought benefits to his locality in numerous ways via employment and the training of younger persons. This work sometimes included the rebuilding of boundary walls adjoining the roads and the tidying up of overgrown areas.

About a couple of miles from Jim's home was a moderately sized Ring Fort, which had become neglected with numerous self seeded trees and brambles etc.

It was an ideal place for such a scheme to reclaim for posterity.

More was known about this place however: For here was an unofficial burial ground that had been used for generations and right up until recent times, for the internment of unbaptised babies. The Church had denied these special babies burial in the consecrated ground of their cemeteries.

A lonely spot

The Memorial

Out of respect for those whose loved one's had been interred in the ring fort Jim created a quiet loving space by collecting and placing several large stones in a circular form.

He also had a large stone memorial plaque in the shape of a flame erected within its confines.

The inscription

I feel that this was a generous act of Love from Jim the Bee and rightly deserved

by the community as a memorial to the unnamed.

To me as a pagan All Land is Sacred.

Folk Remedies

2011-02-17T10:32:00.000-08:00

Common Marigold

Rural communities throughout the ages have always had their healers, herbalists,

water diviners, wise men and wise women, whose ordinary life was no different to

those of their neighbours.They may have been farmers, housewives, labourers or

had some type of trade or none at all.

Today these people still exist: the ones who have cures or easements for a wide variety ailments.

As an example there is an ointment which when applied to a severe burn will not only ease the pain but also virtually reduce the scarring to a minimum.

This ointment is usually made by a woman who has had it passed to her through the female line of her family. I know two women who make this as well as

a person who has the recipe for a herbal liniment that gives great easement and reduction to haemorrhoids.

Even today with the advancement of modern medicine and it's support from the pharmaceutical industry there are people who, given the choice, prefer folk medicine for a variety of reasons.

In my own case: Eczema with dry skin has been a problem since birth and although the effects can be lessened by avoiding certain foods, it still lingers and occasionally breaks out on my lower legs and hands.

The conventional treatment that doctors and skin specialists prescribe has a cortisone base either as a topical ointment or intravenously.

Either method is not a cure, for all it does is to temporarily hide the ailment, only to have it appear elsewhere at a later date.

There is also a good chance of cortisone thinning the skin and damaging the liver, because the liver itself actually produces a substance very close to that of cortisone in minute amounts.

From my own experience Calendula Officinalis (common marigold) is by far the best herbal treatment for my complaint. Obtainable as an oil extract and used in creams, it can be quite costly if you need to use it regularly and liberally thought the winter.

For a few years now I have been producing my own cream, by growing that sunny flower the Common Marigold, removing the heads when in full bloom and extracting their oil and mixing it with beeswax and avocado oil.

This year I added an extra ingredient of unrefined honey and by passing it through the warm oil, I think that the rapid healing properties of the honey have infused in to the mix. I am very pleased with the results after only a few days of use.

The Honeycomb

Why Honey ?

It is used as a folk cure for ulcers by packing honey into the wound and putting cold cream on the surrounding skin. This is a very successful treatment, but not recommended because of the extreme pain!

Honey has been used for thousands of years to heal various ailments and Calendula is the same.

So this Spring will see me busy in the garden planting this wonderful flower and later in the year visiting our local bee keeper for some honey & beeswax.

Finished Product ( behind our first Crocus)

Sign of the Times

2011-01-30T10:28:00.000-08:00

I have been given an Award by a follower of this blog.

It asks me to say seven things about myself and to forward it on to seven new bloggers.

There are two things I feel I can share as I'm quite a private person:

The first is: that I am the fifteenth cousin of the writer William Makepeace Thackeray via my paternal grandmother.

The second thing is: I am not really into awards. I write a blog to express my inner thoughts and share some of the things that interest me.

So my thanks to Kim for thinking of me however, please all of you, pass the Awards to those who can accommodate them because I cannot :)

A Lone Sentinel

My time is now taken up with a few odd jobs and the political situation in Ireland has borne down upon me, for I am finding it difficult enough to attend to day to day matters, including the immanent celebration of Imbolc next week.

I have had to give myself a good inward talking to.

To put the show on the road as it were, for last week I felt almost like ignoring this important festival.

Today as I looked out of the window I observed that Mother Nature has taken a hand to raise three tiny snowdrops, in the otherwise winter ravaged grass of the front lawn. The snowdrops stand as lonely sentinels, these the first flowers of the year, an advanced guard to those later larger blooms that will stand tall to adorn lawns and woodland banks. Displaying to us the colour of bright sunlight yellow.

I long once again for warm weather and to feel the heat of the sun on my old back; for I have between this and the last blog gained another year and seven oh is drawing closer… not that inside I feel any different from when I was thirty-five and sometimes twenty-one!

Rather than ask you, my readers, to tell me seven things about yourself, what I'd really like to know is: How old do you feel inside ?

Winter at minus 18c

2011-01-14T13:22:00.000-08:00

My friends, thank you for your patience. I feel that at last I have now recovered from experiencing the harshest of winter weather that I have ever known. We were fortunate, in that neither the water pump nor pipes froze; unlike ninety per cent of our neighbours. The only problem we had was that the outdoor calor gas tank froze and Yuletide lunch was cooked on the old range.

I had an unusual experience. Of being frozen to rear end of the pick-up truck which was delivering some turf and logs to us. At first I though that perhaps my down filled jacket was caught on the tailgate, yet when I looked carefully the vehicle was perfectly smooth with no projections. It was then I realised that my body heat, being vented through the coat, was turning to moisture then icing up on the truck!

This friendly fellow has the ability to communicate with us by tapping on the window when the bird feeders are getting low. The odd thing is that he doesn't feed from them, for he is a ground feeder. To conserve the supply of peanuts Mrs H cooked up some cous cous, putting it out in the front and back gardens. It attracted the Blackbirds, Sparrows, Robins and a solitary Thrush who fed regularily all through the cold spell. What was amazing was that one of the outdoor cats sat at the edge of a bush and made no attempt to attack them, likewise they seemed not to be bothered by her presence either.

We didn't get that much snow, only about two or three inches. Much worse was the ice which made disciplined drivers of us all. By keeping the speed to 20mph & in second gear I was able

to get around quite safely.

There is a face in profile in the light of this photo

which captured my attention.

Our water barrel froze solid and fell off it's plinth on the night of the 24th Dec. After ten days of milder weather I was able to up end it and tip out this giant sized ice lolly with it's inner cavern.

Today is a balmy 8 degrees and it feels like summer. We even have small green shoots of bulbs poking through the surface of the soil, a sign that Spring is on it's way and it can't come to soon.

NEW YEAR !

2010-12-22T10:49:00.000-08:00

Winter Solstice births a new solar year: The New Year.

quote : "This is the new year of the old Irish calendar," explained archaeologist Sam Moore. "The event marks the rebuilding of the sun -- the days get longer from this point. It is a time of renewal and hope."

THE IRISH INDEPENDENT Dec 22nd.

Life is born out of darkness. We as people are born out of the dark womb and into the light, so too is the sun born out of the deep darkness of the year immediately after the long nights of the winter solstice.(Solstice means the sun standing still)

Commonly, the idea is that the shortest day is Winter Solstice, Dec 21st however there are in fact two days of the same length. Each being of 7 hours 29 minutes and 53 seconds. This year many have celebrated WS on 21st December but they could have legitimately done so on the 22nd too!

On the 23rd the daylight increases to 7hrs 30 minutes and 1 second.

I am not sure whether the ancient people of over five thousand years ago would have been capable of measuring such a slight increase but they were certainly able to align the light box at Newgrange so that the sun enters the inner chamber at Winter Solstice.

(The daylight times I have given are only for Dublin)

Within some of the many and various pagan traditions are stories relating to that which occurs during the sun's stand still. Some say a form of chaos takes place in the darkness and that the Goddess reforms the world back into order again.In ancient Ireland the sun was seen as feminine, which perhaps gives some credence to that story.

Myself, I always dwell on the darkness within and meditate on questioning my motives during the past year, the pluses & minuses. Finally I welcome in the reborn sun, for doesn't everything look better in the light ?

The picture I have chosen is one painted by Jane Brideson. It depicts the Great Goddess delivering the new born Sun, the back ground is Glastonbury Tor in Somerset. In the foreground is the Glastonbury Thorn that flowers twice a year, depicted here on Wearyall Hill, believed to have been planted by Joseph of Arimathea. Sadly some misguided person or persons have recently attacked this old tree and it is not known whether it will survive to flower again.

A cold winter's morn

2010-12-16T09:21:00.001-08:00

On a cold winter's morn a surprise !

Delivered to our door, a wide white mystery

A package from England.

Addressed in a hand I knew not,

a sender address & postal code so vague.

Yet vaguely it tripped my memory

'TA' ? Taunton' said my mind but who ?

For those that I knew there,

Now are long dead

At the package I stared and felt carefully

Slim both ends yet fat in the middle.

Mystified I looked and listened

(No the English don't … send ?? )

So in normal fashion I tried

to prize paper apart - failed.

'Use scissors!' said She who knows

'O yes that's easier, how clever

Thank you' I said

The bright white outer layer removed

revealed a cat food box intricately cut.

Then playful poly-wrap with bubbles

that pop when squished.

(I enjoy to play as a boy !)

Layers next of fine dark blue tissue

with a carriage label attached

A private secret message from

A lass, an artist well read.

So unwrapped, lay a gift crafted by hand

In pride of place it now hangs and

Capturing early eastern light, flies

A Heron bright in clear centre panel

Etched, engraved forever in flight.

Our gratitude and thanks

to you dear liZZie

The Travails of Grandpa's Traveling

2010-12-06T09:31:00.000-08:00

I arranged to fly out to the UK on 30th November for a short visit to my daughter & son in-law's home, primarily to see my grandson who was born on 20th October.

The journey ought to have been plain sailing however mother nature decided to give us some early snow. Our snow normally does not amount to much & generally arrives as a slight dusting on Christmas Day, followed a month or two later with a couple of inches.

We awoke on the morning of 27th November to about 3 inches of frozen snow, sub zero temperatures and a wild wind. By the time Tuesday came around there had been no improvement in the weather, with the temp down to -10C and my only way to the railway station for the Dublin train was by a friend's 4x4 jeep. I had decided to catch an earlier train than planned to allow for delays, it was just as well for the trains were running forty minutes behind schedule, all due to frozen points.

My arrival at the airport was uneventful, the check-in and subsequent security checks brought no problems. That is apart from my carelessness of spilling the two coin currencies across the floor. This caused a great laugh from the security staff and some jovial remarks cast in my direction, to which I could only give a big smile, as together we scrambled under the conveyors to gather up my loot.

I need not have bothered catching an early train, for the plane took off about three and half hours late, for the forty-five minute flight to Birmingham and then onwards to see my grandson Oliver.

At six weeks old he is a bright little fellow with an array of facial expressions and such sideways glances with his eyes, that I can only think that he is an old soul who has returned for some particular mission. I felt an instant connection with him and am greatly looking forward to watching him mature, for I feel sure that we shall have many things to talk about. Oddly enough he actually reminded me of my present wife's late father; I think it was the manner in which Oliver sleeps with his mouth open & lips pursed. Time will tell whether I be right or wrong.

Two old boys

The least said about my return journey the better as it took even longer all due to the flight being delayed for four hours.

I do though have to mention the great kindness shown to me by a fellow passenger: Paul Duggan, who gave me a lift in his car from the airport to the Midway Hotel in Portlaoise. Had he not, I would have had to spend the night in Dublin Airport.

As it was I did not arrive home until 2 a.m. and into the arms of my loving wife!

Purrs, Pears & Oral Language

2010-11-19T15:54:00.000-08:00

The other night I distinctly heard Mrs H saying 'I am going to have a purr'

to which I replied 'Oh, so you are going into competition with the cats then ?'

Two purrs Magic & Squeaky

'No, I am going to eat a purr' she said. 'Ha'h you mean a pear Mrs H ' I said

'Yes a purr' she said again.

We often have these little misunderstandings, it is all to do with Mrs H having an East Dublin accent.

I had better explain that Dublin is on Ireland's eastern seaboard. Geographically there is a North Dublin, a West Dublin and a South Dublin, the Irish Sea is in the east and across that channel of water, lies the great City of Liverpool where the citizens speak with an east Dublin accent.

I, who matured in England's West Country, have a base dialect that is distinctly different to that of Mrs H and so what I actually hear is often a different word.

That sort of misunderstanding is quite common, not just between ourselves but with others too.

For example when I first came to live here the expression that I used when leaving a shopkeeper was to say 'so long' as I went through the doorway. Within a few weeks my friendly butcher congratulated me on using the As Gaeilge (Irish Gaelic), this puzzled me somewhat for the only word I knew was agus (the word for and). Then he said 'what I mean is that I hear you say Slán' (farewell) whenever you leave here.'

Considering this I realized that it was the speed of my speech which was reducing so long to s'lon, the 'g' being hardly uttered.

What we say and how we speak can be very humorous on occasions. Some years ago I went with a good friend of mine over to Glastonbury from Ireland for a short holiday. It was her first time in that part of England.

We decided to catch a bus to Street. There was a long queue at the bus stop and it wasn't obvious which end was which. So I, knowing how sensitive folk are to queue jumpers, asked a man which was the front of the queue.

Four times I asked the question and each time he shook his head not understanding me, eventually my friend with her very strong Co Louth Irish accent said "He wants to know which end is front of the queue ?"

My mispronunciations were due to me having a heavy cold.

That event amused me at the time the irony of it all and even as I write this I am still amused.

INNER & OUTER SPACE

2010-11-10T13:16:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about space the last few days and of infinity. I can get my head around it alright, even though the concept of endlessness is amazing.

The first time that I ever attempted to understand what it was all about, was many years ago when I visually put all of the universes in a box and then realized ok so what is on the outside of the box - more space was/is the answer.

The Large Hadron Collider has done some real business recently by colliding lead ions together or rather head on, at almost the colossal speed of light and in doing so the impact manifested temperatures a million times hotter than the centre of the Sun. I wonder just how they dispersed the heat energy. Answers on a postcard please.

I have been having problems with a small space my self just recently. It all started when I was up in the loft and noticed a small cloud of smoke drifting upwards to the skylight. Now it is quite a common sight to see smoke up there, for I do enjoy a few puffs on my pipe while sitting quietly on a bench and musing on what to do next. This particular time although the pipe was in my pocket the lighter was not.

Not my smoke, this was coming from the chimney breast. I removed the fire from the stove & made a phone call. My builder returned in rapid time and rendered the brickwork.

The following evening I re-lit the stove and smoke started to enter the ground floor rooms, again I took out the fire & phoned himself. We spent the rest of the evening stripping out the alcove press (cupboard) that adjoins the chimney breast. This revealed a series small sooty cracks and soot stained walls, the same procedure as before was followed and this time we were totally successful.

Getting in is similar to Leaving

All I have to do now is rebuild the shelving that I had hastily removed and emulsion the walls. There is a slight problem caused by two pipes that go across the bottom part of the press making access difficult. And I am so glad that I started off my working life in the confined spaces of yachts and small ships. So re-building the press is rather like going back in time for me.

These days in Ireland you never know who you will find in a press.For recently our former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern made for himself a pile by doing a commercial for the Irish News Of The World. He is the actor who says "I never thought that I'd end up here"

see: www.irishcentral.com/story/roots/emeraldextracts/former-irish-leader-bertie-ahern-hides-in-a-cupboard-in-new-tv-ad-104306589.html

So following in Bertie's footsteps or better still my version of Sylvester Stallone in the 1970 film 'No Place To Hide' which I have renamed 'Dammit You Have Found Me ! '

Dammit You Have Found Me !

Samhain

2010-11-06T11:33:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow night, 7th November I will celebrate the Samhain (sow-in) Fire festival with a group of friends. Historically it is the last harvest, a time when the animals were selected from the herds or flocks to be culled and the last of the berries would be plucked from the trees. All of which would provided food for the family over winter.

The mists of Samhain

The word Samhain, as Gaeilge, means end of summer. It is the start of winter and of darkness, a time to remember those who have passed over. For them a place will be set at the table. The old stories will be told and new ones added as memories are revived about the various characters who have died. Sensitive people may feel a slight chill pass over their feet, leg or arm as an unseen visitor drops in and it is at this time of the year that some say the veil between the worlds is thin.

Many of us in Ireland have revised the dates on which we hold the Fire Festivals. For example : The date of Samhain is determined by the angle of Sun and is held at the mid point between an Equinox and a Solstice, thus it is not on the same date every year. In similar vein the date of the Solstices and Equinoxes vary too for all are connected to the Sun's position with the earth.

The Samhain sun in The Mound of the Hostages

on Tara, Co. Meath.

(photo http://www.knowth.com/tara-samhain)

Into the chamber of The Mound of the Hostages on the Hill of Tara in County Meath, pours the rising sun at Samhain - not on 31st October as many people believe. This act defines Tara as a Samhain site, just as Newgrange is a Winter Solstice site. The back walls of the chambers are illuminated by the rising sun and the very same thing occurs at other ancient sites on other festival dates around Ireland.

The Mound of the Hostages

We do not see Samhain as being the start of another year. For us the Winter Solstice is more likely, for it can be seen as a double celebration, firstly of deep darkness which occurs when the sun appears to stand still - the actual meaning of the word solstice. And secondly as a celebration of the rebirth of the sun when daylight lengthens. This year Winter Solstice, the shortest day, is on 22nd December. The birth of the new sun will fall on 26th December for daylight has by then increased by 1minute!

One of the many local Samhain traditions is to have a bonfire at the crossroads in rural areas. This one was taken a couple of years ago.

Tomorrow, when we gather, we will remember our ancestors, our friends and the spirits of this land who gather about us.There will be storytelling, singing and we will have great craic around the bonfire (weather permitting!).

Positive Distraction !

2010-10-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

Oh the plans of mice and men! Yes, I did say that my blogging would be more frequent then it may have appeared to have lapsed. I have been distracted this while and full of expectant joy.

Nothing at all to do with the Irish Lotto which reached the dizzy heights of €16,000,000 last week to which I generously donated €4.00 in preparation of being the lucky winner (was not). Plans had been roughed out in my head of likely recipients amongst my friends and relations. Those ideas are now on hold; the party though is going ahead.

We shall have a joint celebration dedicated to newness. The extensive modernisation of this cottage and now… bang drums, blow whistles, trumpets and clash cymbals; for I have become a Grandpa to Master Oliver, who was born on Wednesday 20th of October at 21.02 weighing in at 8 lb. 12 oz, in Warwick Hospital, England. Oliver is precisely 9 oz heavier than his mother was at her birth which is an event that I remember with the greatest of clarity.

During the process of Oliver's birth, although in Ireland, I was mentally and emotionally carried back in time. To a small cottage hospital on the edge of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, where the promised gas & air was not available and seemingly hadn't been in operation for months rather than hours. This event provided me with my bonny blue eyed daughter, with whom I have a great friendship along with lots of laughter, so much so I would not be surprised if she views me as an eternal hippie.

For this birth my presence was not required. Yet it seemed to me that I was there, due to the very frequent mobile text messages, that passed between Oliver's parents and myself throughout that long day. In fact I felt a couple of twinges pass across my belly below my navel this being the travails of the expectant grandpa.

Oliver

Yes, I am to be referred to as Grandpa, not grandfather or even as granddad as those titles seem in my mind to be rather austere and severe. My intentions when with him are to have fun together to sing and skip along roads. Plus the memory still has a variety of Mel-spun bedtime stories that I used to tell to my daughter. Of course they will need modernising with a bit of cosmic light and instead of trips to mysterious islands it will be visits to planets etc.

The strange thing about my family is that I am the first living grandpa on my father's side since 1903. Both my father and his father died in their early fifties

and neither of them lived to see any grandchildren. It was because they both passed on early that I decided to remove myself from the rat race at the tender age of 48 and have some years of leisure with pleasure. Now almost twenty years later the life style continues. Not that I spent every year as a cloud counter!

There was a transition period though as I sorted my interests. First was an involvement with holistic health, which oddly took me into Development Education people issues, the third world and the study of wealth/work sharing plus gender matters.

I am not in total agreement with today's politicians who think that because people

are living longer that their working life needs to be extended. I feel that the decision

needs to be left largely with the individual and in any case there are physical and mental agilities needed in some positions that pre-determine a working life. With tongue in cheek : I personally believe that no politician should be allowed to serve for more than twenty years or past the age of 50, he/she should then be returned to the workforce. Persons who retire though do need to keep physically and mentally active for as long as they are able.

A Distant Hill

2010-10-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

Myself and Mrs H have a fondness for a particular foothill of the Slieve Blooms, it is a peaceful place where we often chill out and only a few minutes from home. Here we bring a flask of coffee and a few nibbles, to look at the cloud formations, the effect of the ever changing light on the fields beneath us and talk. It was here some years ago on a chilly September night of the Harvest Moon, that I proposed to her. The rest is history.

In the distance a large blue hill rises skywards. Croghan Hill in Co.Offaly whose proper name is Cruachán Bríg Eile, meaning mound of the 'Exalted Eile', referring to the cairn which stands at its summit. It is also thought that the name may have derived from the Old Irish croccán, a vessel or pot.

Eile was the daughter of a local king, who ruled around 100 BCE and her sister was Queen Maeve of Connacht.

Local legends have it that Brigid was born near the foot of Croghan Hill and that later as St. Brigid she visited there. There are though other places on this island that claim to be her birth place, another is on the outskirts of Dundalk.

Croghan Hill itself is an extinct volcano and it is beneath here that Brigit Begoibne had her smithy where she created beautiful cauldrons.

From Croghan Hill flow three springs which at one time fed the three sacred wells at its' base. The two wells below the southern slope were known as healing wells and boasted venerable ash trees although sadly these have long since disappeared, as have the original names of the wells.

Croghan Hill is the stump or neck of an ancient volcano active during the Carboniferous period of circa 250 million years ago. During this period activity began below the earth's crust resulting in volcanic necks rising through the Carboniferous limestone above. Croghan Hill was the main vent with other smaller hills forming nearby and as the activity subsided lava welled up filling the vents with a plug of basalt. Such plugs being much harder and more resistant to weathering than the surrounding limestone now stand out as low hills. The rock here is quite distinctive. The volcanic ash is exposed over the main hill on the southwest and eastern sides, and also on the summit, with a major deposit which is restricted to the southern half of the hill. The northern half has basalt as its dominant rock type. (Geikie, Vol. 2, 1897, PP 37-41).

Quite recently, on a warm autumn day, we took a few hours off to purposely visit Croghan Hill. It is a place that I have often driven past but never bothered to actually stop; there being a time for everything and the right time! This was one of those days neither to hot nor to cold.

Our route took us across country, passing through just one small town, to use a bridge over the Royal Canal and meander through narrow roads. Nestled at the foot of the hill and almost clinging to its' side is the village of Croghan; Where on the outskirts a fingerboard points to St. Patrick's Well. Upwards we went along a tarmac road that soon petered out to a stony, metalled surface with grass growing up the middle. Judging by the sound from underneath the car it was thoroughly swept clean of mud and I hope that was all. After about a mile we came to a wide grassy area, where a small structure with its' gable roof and stone walls left us in no doubt that this was St. Patrick's Well.

Almost finished !

2010-10-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

I do understand if some followers had started to believe that this had become yet another neglected blog.... it hasn't; it is just that I have been busy elsewhere. I shall be back to my normal style of blogging very soon - in fact I am working on the next one already.

Our new meditation space is virtually complete, apart from the boards which need to be coated, a carpet laid, the choosing of two small table lamps and large cushions.

Specifically today I am showing the hatch raising mechanism made from recycled materials.

Incidentally the varnished boards on the end wall, were once part of a friends hotpress. (thank you Ms R). The wheel was part of the belt drive on a twin-tub, the cord the from a washing line and the ideas from my old head :)

I see one of those mysterious orbs has managed to

interject it's self into the picture

The electrical socket: I placed in a recess to

lessen it's intrusion.

The room beneath.

The large silver glass ball provides tension to the cord and pulling it downwards raises the hatch. The ball was given to us years ago and it looks as if it was once an expensive christmas decoration.

The opened hatch.

The closing gadget.

The closing gadget is an old mop handle with a brass coat hanger screwed to the pole, this idea came from my childhhood memories of having seen the Lamplighters go around the streets

with their long poles lighting the gas lamps, they had a very similar looking gadget.

That's all for now and normal service will be resumed very shortly.