Heavenly Howth

View of Howth Head
from the East Pier

Ten miles north of the City of Dublin, the fishing village of Howth occupies a neck of land that juts into the Irish Sea. The rugged southern side of this peninsula overlooks Dublin Bay. On the gentler northern side, Howth Harbor provides shelter for fishing trawlers and private yachts. Beyond the small lighthouse on the East Pier, Ireland’s Eye and Lambay Island loom in the distance like sleeping sea monsters. Fancy boutiques and trendy restaurants line Howth’s main street. Splendid homes dot the rolling hillsides right to the top of Howth Head. Foremost among these grand abodes is Garrymuir, a majestic estate that had been in the Boru family for generations.*

View of Howth Harbor
from Howth Head

Okay, I made up that last sentence. Garrymuir only exists in my novels. Still, Howth is the right place for a majestic estate. I blogged about our hurried visit to this charming fishing village late last summer, but this time we stayed longer and had better weather: we did the glorious cliff walk again.

View of the Irish Sea

The Irish name for Howth is Binn Éadair, the "Hill of Edar." Edar, a chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, is supposedly buried on Howth Hill. The modern name of Howth emerged during the medieval influx of Vikings to the Dublin area. It comes from höfuth, the Norse word for headland.

Part of the Cliff Walk

As well as providing a well-set stage for my recently completed YA fantasy, Glancing Through the Glimmer, Howth has served as a venue for many events in Irish myth and history. Finn MacCool and his Fianna (the watchers of the coast, the guardians of the shore) reportedly had one of their many outposts up on the cliffs. Sixteenth century Pirate Queen Grace O’Malley paid Howth an outrageous and memorable visit in 1576 (see my previous post, Howth Therapy). And in 1914, author and Irish patriot Robert Erskine Childers smuggled rifles and ammunition for the Irish Volunteers into Howth Harbor aboard his famous yacht, the Asgard.

Heather Blooming
During a Previous Visit

Our latest visit to Howth took place on an early autumn weekday, and so we nearly had the cliff walk to ourselves. The glorious mounds of purple heather and yellow gorse we recalled from our first visit had faded by late September, though the lack of color hardly spoiled our enjoyment of the sweeping scenery. We trekked to the Bailey Lighthouse, climbed the summit to a wind-whipped stand of palm trees, and finished our hike with a stroll to the harbor to visit the seals.

*From Glancing Through the Glimmer by Pat McDermott



But So Pretty!



Enjoying the View

The Connemara Heritage and History Centre

Roundhouse in the Ring Fort

Research for a new story lured me to the Connemara Heritage & History Centre. I wanted to see their reconstructions of a crannóg (a prehistoric island dwelling) and a ring fort. The Centre listed its GPS coordinates on its web site. My husband punched them in, and Gertrude, our trusty GPS, guided us south from Westport through Connemara's haunting hills and boglands.

Neatly tucked at the foot of a small mountain, the Heritage Centre provided a wonderful audiovisual history of the region, ranging from the first Neolithic settlers to modern times. We learned that the Galway-to-Clifden railway, which ran from 1895 to 1935, opened up the remote Connemara region to the outside world. In 1907, Italian inventor Guglielmo Marconi, who married an O’Brien, established the first commercial transatlantic wireless telegraph station on Derrygimla Bog, three miles south of Clifden, the “Capital of Connemara.” The station maintained a twenty-four-hour communication service between Ireland and Nova Scotia until 1922, when it was destroyed during the Irish Civil War.

View of the Crannóg

After browsing the center’s modest but fascinating museum, we explored the huts in the ring fort and visited the crannóg.

Crannógs are man-made islands built in lakes and rivers by prehistoric and medieval people. Six hundred or so have been found in Scotland, but they are more common in Ireland, where the remains of about 2,000 crannógs have been uncovered in the lakes of the midlands, the north, and northwest.

Posing Before the Crannóg

The classic image of these island settlements is of a platform on stilts topped by a roundhouse and surrounded by a protective plank or wattle palisade. We may never know their true purpose, but archaeological findings suggest they might have been defensive retreats, or ceremonial sites, or entire communities that included royal residences. The dwellings could be reached by boat or on foot by traversing slightly submerged causeways of stone or wood.

 

A Connemara Pony

 

View of Dan O'Hara's Homestead














The O'Hara Cottage





Next, we ventured up the side of the mountain to visit a small herd of Connemara ponies and the restored homestead of 19th century tenant farmer Dan O’Hara. This unfortunate man was evicted from his farm after putting glass in his windows, a home improvement that caused the landlord to raise his rent. Dan couldn’t pay, and he and his wife and seven children were shipped off to New York. His wife and three of the children didn’t survive the voyage.



Interior of the O'Hara Cottage

The Heritage Centre staff keeps a peat fire burning in the cottage hearth, as if Dan would be along for his tea any minute. Chickens had the run of the yard, and we met a pair of docile donkeys and their adorable baby. All in all, a fascinating snapshot of life in pre-famine Ireland.



Mom and Baby



Me and Dad



Foghorn O'Leghorn

A Most Feminine Sea Captain

Statue of Grace O'Malley at Westport House

The Town of Westport (Cathair na Mart in Irish: the City of the Beeves) is nestled on the Atlantic coast of western County Mayo, the heart of Pirate Queen Grace O'Malley's territory. Westport is one of Ireland’s few planned towns. In the eighteenth century, the Browne family, owners of the magnificent Westport House, commissioned James Wyatt to design the town to accommodate their workers and tenants. The Brownes are direct descendants of Grace O’Malley, and Westport House stands atop the remains of one of her many castles. Her dungeons are still beneath the house, and we viewed them as part of the self-guided tour we recently enjoyed for the second time.


Dungeons of Westport House





Entrance to Westport House

 

Before visiting Westport House, we spent a pleasant morning strolling the flower decorated stone bridges crossing the Carrowbeg River, the lovely tree-lined Mall, and the town’s inviting streets. We reacquainted ourselves with favorite shops and pubs before stopping into the Tourist Office for a schedule of the ferries that ran to our destination for the next day: Clare Island, the onetime headquarters of Grace “Granuaile” O’Malley. That evening, we attended a Sean-nós dance presentation called Granuaile, loosely based on the life of—you guessed it—Grace O’Malley.



Clare Island Harbor

The next morning, we drove to Roonagh Quay and caught the ferry for a twenty minute ride across Clew Bay. A rainbow shot over the sea as we approached the hills and cliffs of Clare Island, whose most famous resident was sixteenth century chieftain Grace O’Malley. We went ashore and headed straight to the remains of her castle. The square tower wasn’t as big as I expected, but it was still spectacular to see.



View from Clare Island



Grace O'Malley's Castle
Clare Island




Born around 1530, Grace O'Malley was the only child of Dudara “Black Oak” and Margaret O'Malley. The O'Malley clan had ruled over the Clew Bay area for centuries, making their living as seafaring merchants. Even as a young girl, Grace wanted to follow her father to sea. Her parents tried to dissuade her, stating as one of their arguments that her hair would become ensnared in the ship’s rigging. Undaunted, Grace cut off her hair, earning her the nickname Grainne Mhaol, or Grace the Bald, later shortened to Granuaile. She sailed with her father, and legend has it that on one voyage, pirates boarded their ship. Grace saved her father’s life by jumping on the back of a pirate who threatened him. Her refusal to accept English rule eventually landed her at the court of Queen Elizabeth I, where she was received as a queen in her own right. Grace and Elizabeth died in the same year, 1603.



Ruins of Cottage on Clare Island







Clare Island Abbey



Soaking up the history around us, we hiked along roads bordered by buzzing hedges of brilliant red fuchsia, coming at last to the Clare Island Abbey, which houses a canopied tomb in which Granuaile is supposedly interred. The ancient church was locked, but we explored the grounds and hiked some more before returning to the harbor. Too late for the early ferry and much too early for the last ferry, we thought to find a pub or restaurant, but tourist season was past and the restaurants were closed. We met a couple from Dublin in the same proverbial boat, and together we prevailed upon a local hotelier to open up for us. Drinks in hand, we shortened the rest of the afternoon by exchanging delightful tales with our new friends.

Another rainbow arched across the sky when we returned to Westport, a good omen for the next day’s jaunt to Connemara.

Knock Moo

Bridge in Westport Town

The Town of Westport, County Mayo, served as our base of operations during our recent visit to Ireland. As Westport is only 80 miles north of Shannon Airport, we drove up the day we flew in. 80 Irish miles are a lot longer than 80 New Hampshire miles, and we were jet-lagged and driving on the “wrong” side of the road, but we had Gertrude, our trusty GPS, and we planned to stop in Tuam to visit the King of the Connaught Fairies.

Tuam, a small town in the Province of Connaught, lies about 20 miles northeast of Galway City. The name is derived from the Latin word tumulus, which means burial mound. Back in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages, the inhabitants used the area as a burial ground.

St. Jarlath's Wheel

According to legend, St. Jarlath founded a monastic settlement there in the early 6th century after his abbot told him to "Go, and wherever your chariot wheel breaks, there shall be the site of your new monastery.” Jarlath's wheel broke at Tuam, and to this day the town has a broken chariot wheel as its heraldic symbol.

In the 11th century, the O’Connor kings of East Connaught built a castle in the town. They wasted no time defeating the O'Flaherty chieftains of West Connaught and became the Kings of All Connaught—at least above the ground.

The Annals of the Four Masters states that the Milesians, the ancestors of the modern Irish, arrived in Ireland 1700 years before Christ. They defeated the Tuatha de Danann, the magical Tribe of the Goddess Danu. Most of the Dananns left the Emerald Isle, though some opted to stay. They became known as the Daoine Sídhe (Deena Shee), the People of the Mounds. Their leader, a womanizing rascal named Finvarra, negotiated a truce with the Milesians that gave half of Ireland to the sídhe—the bottom half. The sídhe could stay as long as they remained underground. For the most part, they complied, living in great subterranean palaces. Eventually, they became known as the fairy folk, and for all we know, they’re still there.

Finvarra, the King of the Connaught Fairies, allegedly lived near Tuam in a palace beneath a hill called Knock Ma. Recent archaeological evidence has uncovered many ancient tombs on the hill. Tradition holds that among them are the tombs of Ceasair, the granddaughter of Noah of Noah’s Ark fame, and Maeve, the Iron Age Queen of Connaught. (Maeve is supposedly buried in Sligo too, but hey.) I wanted to stop and see Knock Ma, as I included both the hill and King Finvarra in Glancing Through the Glimmer, the young adult novel I recently completed.

Finding Knock Ma proved difficult for two tired Yanks, however. We spotted a mailman beside a green An Post truck and stopped to ask for directions.

“Do you know a place called Knock Ma?”

“I do indeed,” sez the red-haired postman. “Are yez thinkin’ of takin’ a hike?”

“No,” sez I, “we’re looking for fairies.”

“Ah, they’re all over the place,” sez he, and happily gives us directions.

Views of Knock Ma

We turned down a side street and found an agitated woman in the middle of the road brandishing a closed umbrella, as if telling us to move on quickly. An odd sight, but we are still jet-lagged and starting to remember we are now in Ireland, on Irish time, and approaching a fairy fort. We waved at the woman and passed by her, stopping up the road to take a few pictures of Knock Ma. The hill was vast, much bigger than I expected, green, lovely, and dotted with neat little houses and lazy cattle. We turned around and pulled over for one last picture. The woman with the umbrella ran up to the car, and we rolled down the window.



“Are yez in a hurry?” sez she.

“No,” sez I, thinking she might want to chat. Wrong answer.

“Well the cows are coming!” sez she. “Pull over! Pull over now!”

We looked up and saw a herd of brown cows galloping straight at us. Apparently the woman and her umbrella had been trying to clear the road to make way for this bovine charge. My husband edged the car as close to the fence as he could, and we stared in horror, expecting to die in the stampede, our rental car damaged beyond hope, poor Gertrude devoured in a single chomp. But the cows stumbled by and gave us an entertaining show.

Laughing but tired, we followed the mailman’s directions and found the start of the Knock Ma walking trail. The weather was clear, so we parked and thought we’d stroll for a bit. We didn’t get far before a sign warning hikers to leave nothing valuable visible in their cars made us turn back. Our luggage was blatantly conspicuous in the rear of the hatchback rental car, Gertrude was on the windshield, and we really were too exhausted for an extended hike. We’d just have to come back some day. Happy that we got to see Knock Ma at all, we enjoyed a late breakfast in Tuam town and drove on to Westport.