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?