Boyle Abbey

Marcus and I separated from Dad and Patricia for one day's adventure. We got up bright and early for the two hour drive to visit Boyle Abbey. We arrived promptly just before 9am, only to discover that the site didn't open until 10am. Disappointed, but still in good spirits, we decided to explore the town of Boyle. At this point we discovered that Boyle doesn't open until 10am.



Once the Abbey did open, it proved to have been worth the wait. Our OPW tour guide Eugene was, typically, full of enthusiasm for his subject.

Boyle Abbey, like most of the ruins we saw, has had multiple lives. It started as a Cistercian monastery under the patronage of the MacDermott's, the local ruling family. Later it was used for military purposes and converted into a castle. Later still it was used for manufacturing, traces of a tile factory still visible on the floor below.

Then the building was used as stables, then mined as a quarry for local construction projects. Now it is nothing but a monument to the past. Eugene has an unusual attitude towards this process of adaptation. He seems to think it's a shame that the building is now standing empty, waiting for someone to do something with it, so that it can start the next chapter of its long and eventful life.

This Cistercian order were incredibly strict, adhering to the literal Rule of St Benedict. When I say literal, I mean just that. Eugene gave the example that because it didn't say anywhere in the Rule of St Benedict that monks should wear underwear, they didn't. Cistercians didn't take a vow of silence, but there was a rule of silence. Speech was permitted only in the parlour, through the blocked up doorway below, where monks might plan and discuss their work tasks; the chapter house, where they received instruction about their work; and in the Church itself, when appropriate. They also democratically elected their Abbot, an interesting anomaly. Although, as Euguene pointed out, the elections were extra democratic if your name happened to be MacDermott.

Even the uniform design of the Cistercian Abbey was rigidly adhered to. They liked to say that you could take a blind Cistercian from any abbey in the world and put him down in another, tell him his location within the grounds, and he would be able to find his way around. However the architectural style well suited to the warmth of Rome, is sadly misplaced in cold, rainy Ireland and life must have been very uncomfortable for the half frozen monks. There were only two fires in the entire building, they had to get up in the wee hours of the morning to sit and pray in the icy church and, of course, they didn't even have any underwear.


Later residents were far less disciplined, even leaving some early graffiti on the walls so painstakingly constructed by the dour Cistercians. What can you expect from people who wear underwear?

County Mayo

In County Mayo we took another scenic drive along the coast. The landscape here is beautiful. It's easy to start taking it for granted.



Mayo is the place where I learned everything I now know about peat, which is probably more than you think, and certainly more than I used to know. Peat is surprisingly interesting stuff. It is created when the earth is so wet that plant matter cannot get sufficient oxygen to decompose properly. Instead, it goes into a state of partial decomposition and then just sits there. New vegetation grows on top of it and the cycle continues until someone comes along with a long, skinny shovel and digs it up to burn in their fireplace.

Here peat that has already been dug up as brick waits in brightly coloured bags to be collected.

Ceide Fields

Ceide Fields is the most extensive Stone-Age monument in the world. Underneath the bog at the north Mayo coast are fields, dwelling areas and megalithic tombs from 5,000 years ago. The site is very large. From the back fence the multi-storey visitors' centre pyramid looks tiny.


Unfortunately for the visitor, unlike the archaeologist, very little is visible above the ground. There are organised rock piles and visible fence lines, but to appreciate the significance of these finds it is necessary to go through the exhibits in the visitors' centre to see the work done by scientists to unravel the mysteries of this place. Ceide Fields is a huge enterprise that must have been undertaken over a long period of time by a large number of individuals in an organised manner. The fields for livestock are extensive and the dwellings are scattered throughout the area, suggesting that this place was established in peaceful times when there was little need to plan for defence.

One thing is obvious even to the layperson's eyes: our ancient ancestors knew how to pick a spot with a good view to set up home.

Belleek Castle

After visiting so many castles, we were quite keen to finally spend the night in one.


Belleek Castle is the real deal - suits of armour and secret passages and all.

Initially a bona fide stately home, the building did service for a while as a lunatic asylum and was eventually converted to a hotel.

The public rooms are fitted out in period pieces, including the rather bewildering item below. Is it a weapon or a giant gramophone needle?

William Hearst would have loved this ceiling, constructed out of the wreckage of a Spanish war vessel.

Belleek Castle is also memorable for being the place where I ran out of clean socks and undies. Here is a radical laundry solution for producing clean and dry underwear overnight in a castle. First, wash socks and undies in tiny sink in tiny bathroom. Second, prop open the bedroom window with a menu because the sash is broken. Third, construct clothesline out of hairdryer cable and coathangers. Finally, blow hairdryer over wet underwear until wearable.

Bunratty Castle and Folk Park

People of Sydney! Do you remember Old Sydney Town? The fun park where you could experience a taste of Sydney during the convict days?

Bunratty Castle and Folk Park is a similar sort of tourist attraction. A medieval village as been recreated at the foot of the restored Bunratty Castle. Staff in period costume perform for the entertainment of visitors.


The castle itself was far too crowded to enjoy, but I liked the little touches of a period village, like this elevated haystack.

Or this water wheel.

These thatched roofs.

Or this period pawn shop in the pseudo main street.

This real church was disassembled and moved from its previous location to Bunratty before being reassembled in the Folk Park.

The schoolmaster wanders through the town every hour or so ringing the schoolbell and calling in a group of naughty "students" for a lesson in the Gaelic language.

It's all fun and games, of course, but the violent undertone of medieval life is still visible.

Reflections near Kilarney

In the Kilarney National Park, near Ross Castle there are a series of lakes. This shot was taken from a lookout called the Ladies' View.


Up close, the water is so still that it provides a near perfect reflection. Can you tell where the earth ends and the reflection begins?

I Kissed the Blarney Stone

Naturally, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit Blarney Castle and kiss the mythical Blarney Stone, the stone of eloquence. Legend has it that those who kiss the stone will never again be lost for words.


The castle itself is quite imposing. It was built nearly 600 years ago and has been the site of much attention, both literary and military.

Just to give you a sense of perspective, the stone really is very high up. Traditionally, those who wanted to kiss the stone had quite an ordeal to go through. They had to be dangled over the ramparts by their feet in order to reach the stone. These days there have been modifications made to allow us to kiss the stone safely, from inside the battlements.

A little man with a mat and a thick accent held onto my ribs as I lowered myself down for the kiss. I have to say I didn't actually feel any more eloquent at that moment.

Although I did feel a few poetic urges when I paused to admire the view from the top of the castle.

It seems Blarney brings out the entrepreneurial spirit as well as the silver tongue. This young man certainly found a good use for the wishing bridge on the grounds. It's his own personal piggy bank, although he didn't waste his energy bending down for the small change.

Blarney Castle has its mysteries as well as its legends. A network of tunnels under the castle tempt adventurers. Their original purpose is unknown, but they are extensive, damp, slimy and very, very dark. With only bursts of light from my camera flash for guidance Marcus and I headed in.

Doubled over in the darkness we splashed through unseen puddles and brushed up against nasty, slippery rocks.

When we finally reached the end of the tunnel we discovered that we were not the first ones to make it this far.

Disappointed and covered in green goo we stumbled back out into the light and tried to wash ourselves off in the stream. I wasn't exactly lost for words, but I wasn't feeling particularly eloquent either.

Cahir Castle - the Nasty Normans

Cahir Castle was started in 1142, although it was added to considerably over the centuries until it was finally one of the largest castles in Ireland.

The Norman architects who built the majority of its defensive features were obviously much nastier than the Irish who built some of the other castles we looked at. This castle is particularly viciously defended by being able to trap attackers in stages throughout the castle and destroy them from above.

The castle was granted to the Butler family. It remained in their family from 1375 and was long thought to be impregnable until it fell to the army of the Earl of Wessex in 1599 during the Elizabethan Wars. The castle was important again when Cromwell arrived as the site of a crucial surrender. Ownership reverted to the state in the 1960s when the last Lord Cahir died.

The violent history of the castle is still visible in the walls. Can you see the cannonball embedded in the rock to the left of and slightly above the drain spout?

I think Dad was considering adding another one.

This Norman castle was much more spacious and comfortable than some of the Irish castles we saw. It also appeared more warlike, more coolly bloodthirsty in its intent. It would appear that Norman architects were much more clever than their Irish contemporaries - it seems they may even have figured out central heating.

Rock of Cashel

(Cue thunderclap and scary music)


(Spooky voice) Welcome to the Rock of Cashel ... mwah ha ha ha.

Actually, I'm sure the Rock of Cashel is just lovely when the sun is shining. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing for sure, because it was absolutely pouring rain when we were there. This OPW tour has the dubious distinction of being unquestionably the wettest of all those I experienced in Ireland. It wasn't raining when we arrived, just kind of grey. The fact that our tour guide, Denis, appeared dressed entirely in plastic should have tipped me off about what was to come, but by then it was too late to go back for my poncho. It rained as if all the watery matter of the universe was collapsing upon this Irish hillside. I was absurdly, heroically wet. It wasn't until the following afternoon that the stitching on my jacket finally dried out.



This is Denis, my favourite OPW tour guide. He was funny and easy going, despite the rain, and he was clearly keen on his subject. He told us lots of little tidbits that others may not have. For example, he pointed out that the "defense" justification for the elevated entrance to the round tower is probably flawed. The idea that the inhabitants could just retreat into their tower with all of their treasures, burn away the stairs and be safe from attackers sounds reasonable enough on the first pass. However, as Denis pointed out, if you're a Viking and you've come all the way here to get the treasures, you're not going to be put off that easily. You're going to find a way in. You're going to burn the door away and get the treasures out. Denis suggested that the elevated door is probably only an effective defence against animals like sheep and cattle who might want to eat some of the holy books or food stored in the tower.



Cashel, like most consecrated ground in Ireland, is packed from bedrock to grass with graves. In fact, Denis told us, no matter where you're standing here, you're standing on someone's grave, marked or unmarked. Just as he said that there was a mighty thunderclap and Denis seemed rather startled. The structure above is actually a large family tomb. There used to be a big cross on the top of it but it was hit by lightening in a storm and the cross fell away. This is one of those graves of a once great family that has now been forgotten and is not maintained.

The site was originally a castle with its own rich history as the seat of a local King. The castle was won and lost in battle and politics for a long time until finally the last king of a weakened family donated the site to the church, partly to buy his way into heaven as a benefactor of the church, but also to keep it out of the hands of his political rivals. Once the church took control of the site it entered a new phase in its history, as the seat of the Archbishop and an important centre of worship.


Denis was very excited to show us Cormack's chapel. Consecrated in 1134 it is a Romanesque church with some German influences. In addition to complex architectural features, the chapel features one of the best preserved Irish frescoes from this period. See those little blotches of colour. That's a well preserved fresco. The paints and dyes used to the create the fresco are of the richest kind. The blue is Lapus Lazuli, more precious than gold and found in far away places, it gives some indication of the effort that went into this building.



Near Cormack's Chapel is the choir house, the residence of the 8 members of the famous choir that was based at this location. The choir members were chosen purely for the quality of their voices. They needn't be ordained and enjoyed considerable benefits from their elevated status. They had the use of the comfortable choir house and their duties were light, singing in the Cathedral. They also carried the seal of the choir, pictured above. This was a kind of early credit card. Choir members could stamp any invoice in the town with this seal and the Archbishop would pay the bills as they came in. Unfortunately, the choir members were pioneers of early credit card fraud and a number of copies of this seal were distributed to friends and family. Finally the cost simply grew out of hand and the Archbishop cut off their access to the ecclesiastical purse.

The cruciform cathedral that they sang in has been through a lot, but its skeleton survives. The bones have a few sad stories to tell. In the photograph below, note the small hole in the wall to the right of the Gothic arches. This is the leper hole. Lepers could climb up onto a timber scaffold outside the cathedral and watch the service without the rest of the congregation having to see them. The hole is angled at 45 degrees so that the lepers can see the service, but the congregation cannot see them.

This tomb in the chancery has an interesting story. It is the tomb of an Archbishop, only such an important person would be interred in such a special place. But this Archbishop was Cormac McGrath, the Scoundrel of Cashel. He had such a dodgy career, protected by his political and economic power, that I'll leave you to read it all on the link. A few brief highlights include being simultaneously an Anglican Archbishop in the south and a Catholic Bishop in the north and somehow managing to have a wife and nine children at the same time. The two churches decided to bide their time and seize the scoundrel's assets when he died. Unfortunately, for many of them, McGrath had the last laugh by living to be 100 years old. Even in death his behaviour was reprehensible. The carved stone on top of his tomb was stolen from another man's grave.