Esteemed Visitors

Some of the Esteemed Visitors to Jane Brideson's Exhibition

'Tales from The Cailleach' at Loughcrew Megalithic Centre in Co Meath.

The lovely lady above is a fellow blogger Nols http://www.nols-agirlforallseasons.com ,

a school teacher in Co. Westmeath who regardless of her Sat-nav eventually found her way to us by using the old way of asking questions. It was great to meet a fellow blogger.

From a far and distant corner of county Cork came our friend of longstanding the beautiful

Wendi Griffin.

A rose between two thorns, artist Jane Brideson or to be more correct between two authors.

On the left is Gary Branigan author of Ancient & Holy Wells of Dublin

and on the right, Malachy Hand co-author of Loughcrew Cairns - A visitors Guide

Anthony Murphy with Jane.

Anthony is the author of several books about the sacred landscape of Ireland

and creator of Mythical Ireland.

Some visitors from Greece admiring Jane's cards and prints.

Blogger and fellow artist Danielle of A Sparkle of Dani's World

The vivacious and caring Rosaleen of Rosaleen Allen.ie

Sean Gilmartin aka Giller to his friends, 

an historian and photographer who hates to be photographed.

Just a few of the wonderful visitors who have made their way to the Megalithic Centre to view 

Jane's art, there were many others who I should have taken photo's of but for one reason or other 

I failed to do so, perhaps it was shyness on my part.

BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

I heard a noise, the clink of the post box lid. In fact it awakened me from my slumber and I thought “There ought not to be any postal delivery it being a Saturday" even though it is my 73rd birthday.

So I quickly threw on my dressing gown went outside and opened the box and this is what I found.

Not our correct address by any means. It is though our Otherworld address known by the good-people

I turned over the envelope to see who the sender was and sure enough it was from my friends in the otherworld.

Look they even have their own postal 

service too 

The front cover of the card.

 Inside is Hazel holding a heart

On the back he is waving goodbye.

This is one of the joys of having friends in

the otherworld.

Brian Boru and Old Magic

Cashel town

On Saturday morning we were up early (for us) to drive down to Cashel in Tipperary in order to meet with some friends. They were also driving down from somewhere in Cork.

Has that confused you ?

Here in Ireland no matter where you live or in what direction you are going the phrase used is ‘going down to’, people who live on the south coast will 'travel down to’ places in the north.

For a few days I had been keeping an eye on the weather forecasts to see what we could expect.

On Saturday morning there was an orange alert for a high, west wind and heavy rain with a variable temperature of 4 to 7 deg C. 

"Damn to hell" I thought that can’t be right, "ah’ we will give it a go anyway."

So we did.  As we left home the temperature was 5.5 deg C but after a few miles it rose to 7.4 degrees. I sat in the front passenger seat and in my mind kept focussing on seeing blue skies over Cashel.

When stopped for a while in Urlingford to have a sandwich we had sleet falling on the windscreen. That did not deter me though as I kept on focussing on fine weather. We arrived at our destination, the temperature had risen and it was dry but with a chill wind. We finally met our friends and repaired to a pub.We sat in a window seat chatting away and drinking coffee. Nothing stronger as alcohol during the day makes me sleepy and I recall, when I was a 'dry’ driver, how annoying the fumes of strong drink could be.

Towards the end of our meeting a burst of sunlight shone through the window and as I looked up the sky was blue. “Ah-hah the old magic still works” I thought to myself.

The Rock of Cashel

Outside the pub we said our goodbyes and returned to the car park in a strong biting wind, we were very glad of the shelter that the car provided. 

On leaving the town I asked her Ladyship to pull over so that I could take a photo of The Rock of Cashel from whence the town of Cashel gets its name.

In the 5th century, the Eóganachta dynasty founded their capital on and around the rock and many kings of Munster have reigned here. In 977 the Dál gCais usurper, Brian Boru, was crowned here as the first non-Eóghanacht king of Cashel and Munster in over five hundred years. His great-grandson, King Muirchertach Ua Briain, gave the place to the bishop of Limerick in 110, denying it forever to the MacCarthys, the senior branch of the Eóganachta. 

The bishops once had a famous school in Cashel and from there sent priests all over the continent.They even maintained their own monastery, called Scots Monastery, in Regensburg, Germany.

These days Rock is under the care of Heritage Ireland whose scaffolding can be seen over Cormac’s Chapel.

The project underway currently involves conserving the chapel, built from sandstone, which has deteriorated to such an extent that it is letting in water. 

A notice on their web site explains that access to the Chapel is limited from May till September each year for bus tours until the work is completed. Visitors are admitted in small groups for 10 minutes maximum.

We had a great day out and by the time we had returned the temperature had risen to 10 deg, which proves that it is unwise to believe everything that the experts tell us.

Our next adventure will be ……. ah you will have to wait and see :)

No Silence !

© hdimagelib.com

When I first moved here all those years ago it was the stillness which washed over me and the peacefulness of my surroundings that drew me here.  Then, as now, I simply stand outside  my small front door and consciously absorb the peace, looking up into the sky at the birds.

The swallows are still here, swooping down collecting their last meal of midges before sunset. 

Will they still be here tomorrow? Ah’ who knows.

At the time I arrived here there was no phone, no computer and no TV, still no TV. 

My only entertainment was a Bush music centre which connected me to the events going on in the world. At other times I was able to play my CD’s one in particular is still a favourite, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 Pastoral.

When I first played the piece the cattle in the field next to me, galloped up to the fence and stood listening to the music. Seemingly entranced, they stayed until the end then walked away. 

During the times of not working on the cottage I would read what ever books my friends would loan me. One kind friend was a retired missionary priest who had spent most of his working life in Kenya. Like me he was an avid reader, unlike me he was an Irish Scholar having been educated at Blackrock College, Dublin. He encouraged me to use and adopt the Irish-English idiom and from him came the loan of books about the history of Ireland. I learnt about Ireland’s past from the late 1800’s to the founding of the State and on to 1948.

My other friends supplied me with lighter reading matter such as the books of Walter Macken whose work I devoured.

On nights when I was not reading I would in sit in silence alongside the stove, sometimes writing letters or poetry or even planning the next days work. It was during these times of inactivity that I would hear the sound of the electric meter humming away to it’s self. It still makes a hum and a whirr which ultimately is the sound of my money burning away.

Several years later I had the phone installed and then came my first proper computer, a PC.  Proper because I had a very early one, a Commodore or a Sinclair, in the late 1970’s and nothing at all like the one that I sit at today. 

I became aware of a constant buzzing sound. I would go to bed believing that this sound had got into my memory somehow, that it wasn’t real just a memory of the PC noise.

Later I realised that I heard the buzzing on the days when the computer hadn’t been used. Perhaps it was something else?

Finally I understood that it was tinnitus and I have probably had it for years. 

I spoke to a doctor friend of mine and asked if there was a cure for it that he could recommend. He told me that he had it too and if I stumbled upon a cure to please tell him!

That leads me back to the title of this blog ‘No Silence’ and yet strangely beyond the buzzing there is silence.

Addendum

Walter Macken,  (born 1915, Galway, Ireland.—died April 22, 1967, Galway), Irish novelist and dramatist whose tales combine an honest and often harsh reflection of the realities of Irish life with a love of Ireland and a compassionate respect for its people.

Macken was an actor and stage manager in Galway, where he became actor-manager-director of the Gaelic Theatre. He was also connected with the famous Abbey Theatre in Dublin. Macken’s novel Rain on the Wind (1950), a story of Galway life, was popular in Europe and in the United States. He later wrote a trilogy of historical novels, including Seek the Fair Land (1959), set in Cromwellian Ireland; The Silent People(1962), depicting the great Irish potato famine; and The Scorching Wind(1964), which brought the story up to the present day. As a dramatist Macken is chiefly known for Mungo’s Mansion, performed in 1946 at the Abbey Theatre and in 1947 in London as Galway Handicap. Macken also wrote Home Is the Hero, which was produced by the Abbey Theatre in 1952, published in 1953, and filmed in 1959.

A Walk With A Red Cap

It being good day weather-wise and having very little to do or, to be more precise, having finished the tasks set for me by Mrs H, I decided to go for a stroll with my irascible friend Hazel (name changed to protect his real identity). He lives in the hedgerows for most of his time although he has been known to enter our home to use my computer causing me a few problems by leaving odd comments here and there on blogs and by trying to go further into the system and typing in the wrong passwords.

So I stepped across to his known sleeping place at this time of the year and found him amongst the blue flowers gently snoring away. The flash from my camera awoke him as 

I knew it would. 

Sleepily he said, 'What in ****'s name do you want ?'

'I thought you might like to go for a walk with me as it is a warm day.'

Hazel replied 'OK so, just give me a moment to wake up.'

Within the blink of a human eye Hazel was wide awake and looking for adventure. Together we went for our walk with him leading the way. 

You may well be familiar with Yeats' poem about walking with a faery hand in hand ? 

Let me assure you this is certainly not the case with Hazel and I, for as well acquainted as we are, neither he nor I would ever dream of holding hands as his skin is closer to that of an amphibian, quite cool to the touch and has a very different texture to ours.

I am sure he feels the same way about my skin as he shies away from all human contact. 

We had not walked more than two hundred yards when Hazel spotted this toadstool in the grass. He instantly decided that it would make a tasty snack so he plonked himself down giving me only a few seconds to take out my camera and take this photo which, I am sure you will agree, is a very rare shot.

With a great deal lip smacking, he devoured it within seconds as to him it was a great delicacy but very likely harmful to humans.

After his snack our journey together continued along the road uneventfully apart from Hazel jumping into the hedge every time the sound of a vehicle was heard. 

As he wisely said it would not bode well for him or me to be seen together. 

Our walk took us towards the entrance of a fine old house where Hazel stopped briefly to stroke a lantern dog 'for Luck' he told me. 

Here he is again within the meadow which his tribe have occupied for hundreds of generations or so said Hazel. To be honest I have no idea how old he is in human terms

and I would certainly not want to offend him by enquiring, for I have my own private thoughts about Themselves.

I can tell you this though, on the hillside above him is one of their cities and the field just behind him is where, on moonlit nights, they dance and make merry.

Our perambulation continued down a narrow road, a perfumed road, where the combined scents of wild honeysuckle and meadowsweet gave an aroma of honeyed toffee.

We both breathed in deeply and licked our lips. 

I could see that Hazel was just a little intoxicated as he jumped up to sit on a concrete stile and peering at the house beyond I heard him say 'I wonder if the woman of the house is baking today?' He hopped down and we continued along together in silence.

Our walk together ceased when Hazel lay down near a bed of richly scented roses saying

 'This will give you a fine picture and me a place to stay for the rest of the day.' 

So I left him and turned to head for home carrying about me a strong perfume of roses. Just as I went through our gateway, I glanced in my top pocket to see a rose head peeping out and this I gave to Mrs H.

My Journey

Woodbine/Honeysuckle

I don't know what this is except that it grows

in clumps along the road below .

The old long road.

My Journey

I took a walk along the road to see what I could see

wildflowers peeped out and wild bees sung too me

All the while the sun shone gently down over my head 

above it crows and small brown birds flew in warm air.

A hen cackled, a cock crowed in some small stone yard

in the distance a dog barked, I listened to natural sound

Delighted to be me and to stroll in harmony, stopping

here and there to rest or peer through hedgerows.

I saw through bright leaves two heavy horses grazing

one as black as turf, the other dune coloured sand.

I dreamed of a four wheeled bow-top on open road

the clop of hooves, the waft of a tail swinging gently.

A camp site by a slow stream with friends at a wood fire

black tea in my hand, the chatter and companionship.

Perfumed as we were by wild bright colourful woodbine

Lives now only in cherished memory, all gone now, gone.

Awake once more to reality, I turn find a place to sit

fill my old briar pipe to offer smoke as a tribute.

On rising the legs are renewed, the feet soothed

as I take the long road for my cottage home.

© MRL June 2015

Mrs & Mr Chicken - variety unknown

Clover

Soapwort

Dog Roses

A Sunday Market

Several times a year, on warm, sunny Sundays, we visit the Clara Sunday Market & Car Boot Sale.

It’s a family run market which was set up in 1993 to sell new and second hand goods and takes place every week. Situated on the Moate Rd outside Clara, Co. Offaly, the market sits on on a 6 acre site and is only 

15 minutes drive from Tullamore.

We go there when we have something specific to buy but also enjoy a thorough browse amongst the stalls. 

This time we went to buy a garden hoe and I was lucky, for lying in amongst dozens of others was an old forged hoe with a brand new handle. To me this was ideal and far better than a modern pressed steel one which bends as soon as you give them any work. I always feel recycling tools, rather than buying new, is a good idea and better still I purchased it for small money.

You never know who you are going to meet at the market or what you are going to find there, depending on which travelling trader attends. In the past I have met traders from all over Europe selling their wares and friends who were also looking for a bargain. There is always the chance to chat and have a bit of craic, especially over a cup of tea from the small café.

We visit Clara Market with the goods we wish to buy in mind and have usually found what we are looking for, with a few extra bits and pieces we have discovered along the way thrown in. 

My finds so far have included a brand new heavy leather waistcoat, a 1950’s teapot, socks, boots, 

cushion covers, curtains, pottery bowls and other miscellaneous items - it really is a treasure trove.

Traders from all over the place come here.

White vans predominate the scene.

Tool for every job and use. 

I wonder what she is thinking ?

Making a sale involves a lot of chat

One lonely rooster!

Fresh fruit anyone ?

Local produce on old oil drums

A DINGLE EXPERIENCE

A gathering of the European Rainbow Family took place at Ballyhupahaun in the Slieve Bloom mountains. Approximately two thousand people from all around the world attended and although the core group was possibly only half that number, during their three week stay their was a continuos stream of people arriving and leaving on a daily basis.

I first heard of the event when I was on my annual visit to my mother who was living in Glastonbury, Somerset in early July 1993. 
I was in the town when I bumped into an old friend who was waiting at a bus stop and just as her bus arrived she said “I’m going to Ireland soon to a Rainbow Camp” and before I could ask whereabouts, she was gone.


Early the next day I too was on my way back to Ireland via Pembroke in Wales, to catch the ferry to Rosslare followed by a two and half hour drive to my then bachelor home.  A few days later I was having a cup of tea and a chat with my turf supplier, when his wife told me about the Rainbow people who were camping up in the mountains. I waited for a couple of days before making a visit to the camp and the very first person I met was my friend from Glastonbury!

Photo © Senator John Whelan 1993

European Rainbow Family Gathering at Ballyhupahaun, Slieve Blooms 1993

Further information in regard to the Rainbow Gathering can be read at

http://www.wiredwithwhelan.com/?p=974

After that I was a frequent visitor and towards the end of the gathering she asked if she, her daughter and other friends could come and stay with me for a few days. I happily agreed and also offered to take them to Cork to catch the Swansea ferry if they supplied the petrol. 


So we eventually set off to take a slow meandering route to Cork, via counties Offaly, Galway, Clare, Limerick and Kerry. Our destination in Kerry was of course Dingle and a visit to see Fungi the dolphin. Once there I parked on the quay side and waited whilst they took the boat to see the popular marine mammal. 
Afterwards we drove around Dingle bay looking for a secluded spot to pitch two small tents. We found a small grassy promontory on the bank of a creek which seemed to be last resting place for old trawlers.

Dingle Bay and Harbour (see inset below)

A creek of Dingle bay.

We camped very close to the two smaller boats

Both maps: source Apple Maps

Myself and another man took one tent whilst the three women had the other with sufficient room between the two tents for a small cooking fire. Behind us was a rusting boundary fence belonging to the overgrown garden of a derelict cottage and front of us a wide creek. 

Sleep came easily for we had had a busy day. 
During the night I was awoken by a noise that could best be described as the sound of children playing in the school yard. It was coming from behind our tent and getting progressively closer. I finally heard an authoritative male voice say “Leave them alone! They are alright”.
I lay quietly in my sleeping bag wondering whether to awaken my companion but decided that it was pointless so started to drift back to sleep. Again I was disturbed by exactly the same noise of children playing and the male voice. Eventually I slept.

Next morning all five of us gathered by the fire where I began telling my companion what I had heard during the night.  At the same time Ms S started to relate to her companions exactly the same account. She too had heard the children playing and the male voice!

Later I looked in the over-grown garden to see if it had been disturbed at all. No grass had been flattened, no footprints were visible, there were no signs of a human presence having been there.
To this day I have no idea of the source of the nocturnal noises. 

Dingle Faeries perhaps ?

Has anyone an explanation or had a similar experience in Dingle or elsewhere ?

Culchies demonstrate in Dublin

This is only part of the demonstrators

This was Novembers Demo the feelings are

even stronger.

They came from all over Ireland: from the North, from Donegal, Down & Louth, from the South as far as Cork & Kerry, from the West, Mayo to Clare, from the East, Wexford & Wicklow and from the Midlands too. People from every county were there for themselves and to represent others unable to travel to Dublin.

They brought their placards, their voices and their determination. They stayed for a day and went away carrying their experiences to pass on to others.

We are proud of them !

Proud to have them as neighbours and to call them our friends.

On reading the newspapers it easy to see that the journalists are lost for words to describe what they witnessed when the ‘culchies’ came to town; unless of course, as I suspect, many of them are suppressed by a secret committee of censors!

Approximately one hundred and fifty thousand people took part in the peaceful,self disciplined demonstration. Out of this number six people were arrested and none of them actually charged. Were they the fifth columnists planted in the crowd? - I don’t know.


There is a new wave of governance flowing through the land. We know it for now as People Power which occurs when the electorate reach within themselves to become enriched with a sense of personal worth and value. Flowing from this comes the empowerment to become Activists who have ability and inner confidence to tell members of the government what they want and do not want.


That is what happened on the streets of Dublin on 10th December 2014 and from this example even larger numbers will be drawn on 31st January 2015 to another demonstration of People Power.

Pete Seeger R.I.P

This is my humble tribute to Pete Seeger, the singer - songwriter and Activist, who used his gifts for the betterment of the world's people. A man who by his songs raised awareness of what the world might be if only we all had acted with peace in our hearts & minds. 

   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ha1vhK1S1ao

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvl0sbC73_Q

             For more information please visit     http://peteseeger.net/wp/

Gerry Adams with Toshi and Pete

November 2009

Two Women, a Man and a Horse

The other day Mrs H went to take a photo of horse and a man in Rahan,Co. Offaly. 

The purpose behind this, is that a photo will provide the basis of a new painting at some later date. Specifically it had to be a white horse to fit with the Irish mythology. For white horses are known for their mystical qualities and as being associated with the Goddesses of the land.

I went along for the ride and to take some photo's of my own for the blog here they are :-

The Owner

The Horse

The Man and the Horse

A happy Mrs H