It's a long way from Clare to here

 

On Thursday last we drove to Doolin in County Clare to attend a wedding party. The drive down was delightful apart from Bert's worry that our vehicle wasn't up for it. The engine sounded a bit funny, the speedo wasn't working and the wipers could have used new blades. Bert fretted a lot but the old girl got us there in the end.

I had been thinking before we went that Bert and I would probably end up sitting with the old folks and I wasn't sure what I thought about that. But it turned out that the person at the do who was the best craic was ninety years old and, unlike us, she was well up for the next afternoon's session in the pub.

For unfortunately both Bert and Leitrim Sister were incapacitated the next day by a stomach bug. Which meant that we did not get an opportunity to visit the flaggy shore lauded by Seamus Heaney. So, as other guests worked on their future hangovers, Bert and I rested in our room. He slept and I finished My Name is Lucy Barton and on closing the last page, reached for my phone to order Anything Is Possible.

Poor Bert and Leitrim Sister were still too unwell to go to dinner that evening and I found myself seated with my Glaswegian brother-in-law and his dear ma, she who is ninety. We had a good old time discussing family life and politics. B-in-L opined that the best start on dealing with climate change was to round up the government, get 'em up against a wall and... well you know the next bit. 

By the next morning Bert was feeling better but still very anxious about the van. So I took the time to say the Memorare before we left. Ominously, I forgot some of the words but made it through on the second try.

My prayer must have been heard because not only did the van get us home in six hours, but the wipers worked beautifully and the speedo started working again just after Lisdoonvarna. Miraculous. We gave Mary a nod as we passed Knock.

And on passing St Mary's in Bellaghy, I made a promise to Seamus that another time, we'll drive out west again, along the Flaggy Shore.

Another Visit to The Home Place

My two younger sisters and my niece are up visiting from Kerry and Leitrim respectively and yesterday we went to the Seamus Heaney Home Place in Bellaghy. I've had the pleasure of accompanying seven close family members over five visits and can report that there has been an 85% high approval rate.

Kerry Sister runs an AirB&B on the Dingle Peninsula and she said she will be recommending the centre to any of her guests who are planning to visit Up North.

My take is that even if Seamus Heaney is not one of your favourite poets you will still get a feel for the sort of place that made him. It is one of the best places to visit in Ireland.

And, as well as The Home Place being fascinating, moving and so worth it, the people who staff the centre are a delight and the coffee shop serves delicious food. Just go there and see for yourself. I'll be back soon myself and hope to be bringing two more family members with me. Martha and Evie will definitely love it.

I have not been paid for writing this blog post.

A Bit of A Catch-Up

Thursday - Ganching expected! She is very caulrife so I was determined that our home should be warm and cosy. Bert was off on a jarvey to Larne and I had a few hours to myself to make the place welcoming, to change beds, hoover the corners - that sort of thing. House to myself did I say? Sure Bert never gets out of my road but one of his mates turns up looking for him. And always just as I've washed the floor. Hi, Wee! Make yourself some tea. I'll take a cup too when I've finished washing dog footprints off the sofas and maybe take a wee dash upstairs to fluff up the pillows.

Thursday evening. Ganching will be here soon. Martha and Evie are very excited. I turned on the central heating as it was a bit cold so the house should be snug by the time she gets here. At last, she arrives. Girls gave her a lovely welcome. House still a bit cool so I checked the thermostat. It's at 20 and I go to feel the radiators. They are freezing. That's when I realised we'd run out of heating oil (which never happens) and it was so close to five o'clock that we hadn't a hope of getting any that day. Disaster! We could light fires downstairs but bedrooms would be freezing. I have to say my sister was very decent about it and was happy to have an extra blanket and a hot water bottle.

Friday. Off to Seamus Heaney Homeplace in Bellaghy. We breakfasted on muffins and lunched on soup and wheaten bread and in-between times spent a leisurely three hours taking in the exhibitions. It was my second visit but the first time, on our way to Sligo, was a bit rushed and, if you ever go there, give yourself lots of time for it's well worth lingering over.

Saturday. Ganching at Martha and Evie's house. I am having more guests - the Banjos and Hannah's Friend(s). We are to have a Musical Evening and we are having cheeseburgers and chips for, at this point, I'm only expecting Hannah's omnivorous friend, not her vegan one. At last minute hear about vegan friend and have momentary panic until am informed that Hannah has bean burgers in freezer and Jazzer offers to make potato wedges as chips to be fried in pure lard.

Sunday. British Summer Time arrives but I pay it not a blind bit of notice. Was very tired all day. Probably my terrible diet of red wine, cow, lard and RJ Kerr soda farls. Mother's Day part very nice. Watched Homeland and admired Rupert Friend's lurching skills.

Photo by Ganching. Sodas by Paul Rankin. Not as good as R.J. Kerr but nice plate.

Monday. British Summer Time arrives with a vengeance at twenty past five. That's what the clock said but my body said it was the middle of the night. Took Hannah to work. Lucky me could go back to bed while she had to work her shift, then go to college. I'm up again at half-eight and showered and dressed to meet Ganching and Zoe for breakfast. Had poached eggs on sourdough toast. Sourdough much better than mine, eggs not so good as mine. How could they be? Evie arrives, then Martha. Parents too. Bert took the girls, dogs and Holly De Cat on an adventure to fields and forty minutes later all returned. Girls and dogs were excitable, happy and covered in mud. They had obviously had a wonderful time. Evie reluctant to wash her hands as she had "washed them in a river" but eventually allowed herself to be persuaded. Then visitors arrived just as we were about to serve pudding. I saved them some and Martha wasn't too pleased as she had hoped for second helpings. A promise was extracted that I would make the same pudding next week, only bigger.

Today. Had a lie-in. It was wonderful. Got up at ten. My body thought it was nine o'clock. It takes me ages to get used to Summer Time.

Right now. Going to watch the second episode of the original House of Cards. I didn't see it back in 1990 when I was 37. I'd little interest in politics back then even though I was always a diligent voter. It was last night's visitor (the gent) who said it was worth seeing for he's very interested in political affairs. His wife, somewhat less so. He was discussing the history of the East India Company when she turned to me and said,

"That's why I never vote"

I laughed, not sure what to make of it. But perhaps she's right. Maybe all politics are a matter of Company Misrule.

Blackberry-Picking 2013

Seamus Heaney's grave, Bellaghy

We were in Portglenone yesterday collecting vegetables for the kune kunes and decided to drive over to Bellaghy to visit Seamus Heaney's grave. It is just over a fortnight since he was laid to rest in that quiet cemetery and, it appears, that there is not a daylight hour passes that his grave is without visitors. It is a beautiful spot, Heaney's last resting place. Homely. I found myself thinking, as I've often thought at graves -  Taken far too soon. There was still so much to do.

And that is the way it is. We live and we die.

Last year when I picked blackberries I filled my ears with Sebastian Faulks' Birdsong and Nelson Mandela's Long Walk To Freedom. This year, no iPod so I just did thinking. Last year I thought about blackberry wine and jam and crumbles. Last year my audiobook blocked out anxious thoughts about my cousin Joe who was dying from a brain tumour. This year I thought of the very first Heaney poem I ever read. The blackberry one. I must have been in my early teens, the poet in his late twenties. It was the first piece of poetry I'd ever come across that spoke of the life I knew. I recognised that lust for picking.

So I picked blackberries and I got scratched and stung, my fingers stained purple and I thought about how fleeting and ephemeral life can be. We live, we die. We wither, we rot. No matter how much we love people, no matter how much we need them - they might leave us. Or we leave them.

Morbid? No. It is just life. Which is for living. The very best we can.

And that is why I will be making wine from my blackberries.