Showing posts with label Mayo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mayo. Show all posts

Sunday, May 5, 2013

A Perilous Pub Lunch in North Mayo

Enjoy an Excerpt from Fiery Roses, Book Two in the Band of Roses Trilogy...

Escorted by Fian guards Rory and Barry, Talty and Neil Boru stop for an unforgettable meal.
____
Outside the pub, the storm finally broke. Rain bucketed down, beating against the windowpanes. A murky air fell over the room.

The turf fire mesmerized Talty. She’d dreamed of scenes like this when she’d lived in Japan and California. "There’s nothing like a turf fire on a rainy day."

Neil fondled her hand with deliberate intimacy. "I can think of a few things."

Rory fumbled with his beer. Barry studied the old photos on the walls.

Ignoring them, Talty savored the lusty gleam in her lover’s sky-blue eyes. For someone who’d once taken great pains to hide his tender feelings, Neil flaunted them often now that they were married. She slipped her hand beneath the table and stroked his thigh.

The arrival of their food interrupted the luscious moment. The hungry travelers made short work of the tantalizing meals the waitress set down.

The young woman had just cleared the table when Barry nodded toward the door. "You have fans, Tal."

Two damp little girls who’d been among the children playing outside had come in from the rain. They stopped a few feet short of the table and stared with wide green eyes, their hands behind their backs.

The older girl was about eight, the younger no more than six. Carrot-red hair crowned both girls’ heads. The little one wore hers in a straight, sodden ponytail, while a mass of wild curls sprouted in all directions from the older child’s head. Their identical, freckled-spattered faces marked them as sisters.

Talty couldn’t help grinning. "Hello. Can we help you?"

The younger girl shoved the older toward the table. "You’re the Lady Princess," said the curly-haired miss in a barely audible voice.

"Yes, I am. I’m Talty Boru, and these gentlemen are my husband, Neil, and our friends, Barry and Rory. Who are you?"

"I’m Mary Margaret Gannon. This is my sister, Joanie."

The table was between the girls and Talty, and so she nodded instead of offering her hand. "It’s fine to meet you, Mary Margaret. You too, Joanie."

The rain stopped. Breaking sunshine chased the gloom from the pub, as if it had received some cue to spotlight the meeting.

Mary Margaret swung her hand around and held out a gorgeous, fresh-cut rose whose splendid crimson petals basked in a stray sunbeam. "We brought this for you, Lady Princess."

Gasping with delight, Talty stood and lifted the rose gently from the girl’s hand, cupping the delicate bloom in her fingers to avoid the thorns. After a quick shake to remove the glistening raindrops, she inhaled the flower’s musky fragrance. "It’s perfect! I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a lovely rose."

The girls beamed. Talty glanced at the bar, where Mossy Burke stood beaming as well. He gave her a wink and continued wiping his barware with a linen towel.

Little Joanie made some sort of bobbing gesture. "We hope you like it, Lady Princess."

"I love it. Thank you."

With gap-toothed grins of delight, the girls turned and skipped across the floor. They skidded to a stop when a menacing figure entered the pub and blocked the entrance. Barry and Rory stiffened. Neil turned sideways to shield Talty.

The fiddle music stopped. The patrons’ heads swiveled toward the hellcat glowering over the room.

She pointed at the girls when she spotted them. "Here you are, evil little felons! I saw you from the window, cutting my prize roses! What have you to say for yourselves?"
Nothing, it seemed. The girls stood like round-eyed statues.

Talty’s hand shot to her mouth. "Oh, no! Do something, Neil!"

A grin lit Neil’s face. He pushed his chair back and said beneath his breath, "What harm can there be having lunch in a pub?" A few quick strides brought him to the girls. "They meant no harm, ma’am. I’ll gladly pay for the damage, as they took the rose for my wife."

The woman shook her fists at the girls. "I don’t care if they took it for the pope! That rose was to be judged tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure it would have won first prize. They could have had anything else in the garden, if they’d only asked. Thieves! Villains!"

Neil touched the girls’ shoulders. "You’d best apologize to the lady."

The tiniest squeak escaped from Joanie’s mouth. Mary Margaret said, "We’re very sorry, Aunt Betty. We took the best one because it was for the Lady Princess."

The woman’s eyes seemed about to pop out, as if trying to flee from her wrath. "Liars as well as thieves! Wicked heathens! We’re going straight to the church to see Father O’Malley."

Talty glared at the snickering Rory and Barry and jumped from her seat.
* * * * *
A Band of Roses / E-book Available from

Fiery Roses / E-book Available from

Salty Roses / E-book Available from

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Creative Chaos, Celtic Style


French artist Paul Cézanne once said, “We live in a rainbow of chaos.” German scholar Friedrich Nietzsche agreed: “You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.” If they’re right, I'm well on my way to creative bliss.

One look at the disaster that passes for my office would tell anyone that I've plunged into a new story. Photos of woodland fungi sit atop books about mythology, pirates, and stage lighting. Magazines depicting luxury real estate hide beneath piles of recipes for Monday night writers’ group supper. Homework for Tuesday night writing class litters shelves usually reserved for statues and knickknacks. Dust has invaded said shelves, statues and knickknacks, and beside my printer is a stack of bills I paid days ago but haven’t filed.

This is good. The best artists in my grammar school classes always had the messiest paintboxes. My “paintbox” is messy with books, most of which I obtained during my recent visit to Ireland. I bought so many, the check-in people at Dublin Airport put a “Heavy” tag on my suitcase.

I’ve almost finished reading them and am particularly enjoying a jewel called “Tales of the West of Ireland.” This collection of vignettes, written by County Mayo native James Berry (1842-1914), has it all: murder and smuggling, rebellion and famine, love and betrayal, all drawn from the oral tradition of the people of Mayo and Galway. Berry's stories first appeared in a local newspaper in the 19th century. In the mid 1960s, the late Gertrude Horgan unearthed and published this work in a well-organized and entertaining anthology.

The book begins with an unusual means of winning a local election: kidnap the opposing voters and lock them up overnight with a supply of good whiskey to keep them happy. The whiskey flowed, and the detainees turned their chaotic abduction into a creative evening of storytelling.

I won’t name the book I read right before that. I’ll only say that it, too, is an anthology, newly published and riddled with typographical errors, misinformation, and annoying author intrusion.

Not so the older fella. James Berry’s writing style might be out of vogue, but his stories are charming snapshots of life in a rural Ireland of yore. I get the sense that the storytellers of Berry’s day were not only well-trained in their craft, but also more interested in relaying a story purely for the story's sake rather than in taking personal credit for doing the job. And the language! I’ll be “borrowing” a phrase or two, as this fine old book has “put the come-hither" on me for sure.

Now if I could only find my keyboard . . .

*Rainbow sheep courtesy of Photobucket

Friday, October 1, 2010

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.