The distinctive peninsulas that characterise this south west corner of Ireland present challenges to the modern day tourist, with cars and coaches traversing narrow twisting roads. Meanwhile the locals have to put up with peak season congestion as they go about their everyday business. It’s lucky then that nobody seems in a hurry to get anywhere fast.
The Dingle peninsula boasts over 2,000 historical monuments and that reflects its remote location and farming way of life over thousands of years. Rocks cleared from patchworks of land built drystone field walls and farmhouses that distinguish this rugged landscape.
The ancient inhabitants of the peninsula were skilled in using the water as their sea roads. These would also have been trade routes and their culture and artefacts reflect that. We were lucky enough to get some sense of their world from the handful of sites visited on our traverse of the 38k/24 mile circular route marketed for tourist purposes as the Slea Head Drive. As advised we drove clockwise, with the traffic and not against it.
A Mountain range dominates the centre of the 48k/30m long peninsula, ending at the westernmost point in Ireland around Dunmore Head. It was here in 1588 that two of the remaining ships of the Spanish Armada’s failed invasion of England were tragically wrecked. The narrow road in and out of Dingle town, its busy main population centre, hugs the jagged coastline by cove cliff and beach.
Dun Beag (‘small fort’) on the cliffs at Fahan has a beautifully created visitor centre inspired by traditional vernacular design. Here we watched an introductory film while sitting in the dark on animal hides in an intimate environment, suggesting the domestic interior of the 5,000 year old promontory fort below.
The streamside path leading to the fort with its massively wide dry stone walls is unexpectedly graced by lilies, while the bare sea cliffs below sport patches of thrift.
Storm damage this century has been extensive and fences now secure the site from over enthusiastic exploration but it still exudes a strong sense of its ancient role guarding the wild sea ways. This once formidable stronghold created was in the Iron Age, though archaeological evidence suggests Dun Beag remained in use between 8th – 11th centuries.
A short drive westwards brought us to the a group of Clochlans, better known because of their shape as beehive huts. Dating from the early medieval period they were home to Christian communities of farmers and fisherfolk and are remarkably well preserved. We learned that although significant historic monuments like these belong to the state, owners of the land have the right to grant paid access to the public.
Here the huts are part of a wider offer by Aiden, the occupying farmer and his family, to feed lambs and watch sheep dogs at work. A nice line in farming for tourism in the C21s. Good on them.
Beyond this compact set of interlinked dwellings I glimpsed another cluster higher up the hill and the farmer’s dad (who it turned out had spent most of his working life in England as a labourer), told me access rights were in dispute and the owners were keeping it as was and unvisited. He felt those buildings were even more complete and whole than their own.
Our trio of antiquities was completed by a visit to the early Christian oratory at Gallarus. Dating from around 500 AD and fashioned in the shape of an upturned boat, the chapel is lit only at the far end by a simple window. An austere and striking symbol of the Celtic Church overlooking a harbour that has outlasted Viking raids, Norman conquests and everything the weather has thrown at it.
Made of gritstone the oratory measures 8m long x 5m wide and 5 m high. Some graveyard stones remain, like this simple cross inscribed in stone.
Thought of the skill seen in constructing beehive huts when viewing this little church, as the stones of various graded sizes meet to form the roof ridge. Also bore in mind that the central aisle of a church is called the nave because of that upturned boat shape, from Latin ‘navis’ for ship.
We left Dingle entranced by the extraordinary sights, sorry not to have time to do more but glad to have sensed the life of the past through wonderfully well preserved examples of its fortifications, homes and churches.
You know that Ireland’s road infrastructure has improved dramatically in the 21st century when you see day trips offered in Dublin to this tourist mecca in County Clare on the ‘Wild Atlantic Way’. That’s a 3.25 hour coach journey to cover the 268k (166m) trip, mostly by motorway, and the same back. One very long day out. And there are no shortage of takers.
We visited on a weekday evening after the park had closed and crowds had left. To my mind this has to be the best time as the setting sun was starting to illuminate to great effect the 8 Km (5 miles) of high cliff faces, 214 m/700ft at their tallest, to dazzling effect. The place lives up to its hype, especially on yet another glorious blue sky day, offering sublime views over becalmed seas towards America way out west. The sheer cliff faces, eroded by wind and water into caves and stacks in places, providing a wealth of different breeding sites for over 20 species of sea bird and we watched some of them wheel about us in the golden light.
The cliffs consist of carboniferous rock, including shale and sandstone, and once formed part of a delta system 320 million years ago, carried up here from the equator on vast tectonic plates; broken, fractured and stratified on its snail’s pace journey north.
We climbed and descended the cliff tops on wide black marble like steps, tucked in behind a protective barricade of grassed flagged bank, preserved to accommodate the thousands who pay to visit each day. These handsome steps are fashioned from locally quarried Liscannor stone and I loved looking closely at them as they contain a wealth of fossils: crinoids and ammonoids and other unidentified creatures whose trails are preserved for eternity.
The Cliffs of Moher are named for a deserted prehistoric fort on a headland that once stood here before being replaced by a look out during the Napoleonic wars, when national defence was key. In peace time the invasion has been internal and despite concerns about road congestion and overcrowding the locals we talked to welcomed the income tourism brings in its wake.
Reflecting the intrinsic importance of music in the culture buskers have pitches set aside for them at key points along the walks and the nearby village of Doolin is acknowledged as a centre of traditional Irish music.
A far sighted local landowner built a viewing place in 1835, now named after him – O’Brien’s Tower – to help foster a growing trend and provide local alternative employment for the remote rural community of the day. Since 2011 The Cliffs of Moher have been part of Ireland’s latest UNESCO Geo-park, along with that most remarkable of internationally renowned landscapes, The Burren….More of which in the next diary.
Our recent holiday with family in Ireland threw up the opportunity to visit two inter connected places in the Galway countryside associated with two of the country’s great cultural figures.
An ancient bridge, and a more ancient tower, A farmhouse that is sheltered by its wall, An acre of stony ground, Where the symbolic rose can break in flower, Old ragged elms, old thorns innumerable, The sound of the rain or sound Of every wind that blows; The stilted water-hen Crossing Stream again Scared by the splashing of a dozen cows.
W.B.Yeats ‘My House’ (1928)
Thoor Ballylee is a C14th Hiberno-Norman defensive tower on the gentle banks of the Streamstown river in the west of Ireland built by the De Burgos, or Burkes, a Norman clan whose power base was in this area. It had fallen into a state of decay when the poet W B Yeats first saw it in 1898 while staying with his friend and artistic collaborator Lady Augusta Gregory at neighbouring Coole Park.
Eventually, as a newly married man with two children wanting a home away from Dublin in the west from where his own family originated, Yeats bought the romantic though ruinous structure for £35 in 1916. Working closely with local craftsmen he and his wife George carefully restored the structure to make it habitable as their summer residence through the 1920’s.
Interesting to note that neither he nor fellow protestant notable Lady Gregory were directly threatened by either of the feuding sides during the rebellion against British rule or the bitter civil war that followed. As respected cultural icons they were otherwise shielded from the violence and atrocities that marked the ‘Troubles’ across Ireland.
It’s not hard to see why the tower became the Yeats’s happy place, acting as both a refuge and an inspiration. George decorated and furnished rooms in the arts and crafts style while also developing the skill of fishing from the windows! Friends visited regularly and everyone enjoyed the socialising. Yeats wrote some of his best poetry here; work that appears in the collections ‘The Tower’ (1928) and ‘The Winding Stair’ (1933).
Yeat’s deteriorating health, along with the damp and damage wrought by winter floods eventually caused the family to sell up and move away. Summers were increasingly spent abroad in France, with its kinder climate, better suited the ailing artist, but he never forgot this place or its importance in his life. Nor did admirers of his work forget him when in the summer of 2015, to mark the 150th anniversary of Yeats’s birth, the Yeats Thoor Bally Lee Society re-opened the tower to visitors and have continued to do so each season ever since. It is now a thriving cultural centre offering courses, talks and literary themed events.
We loved chatting with the cheerful knowledgeable warden and exploring all four floors of the tower. Intrigued by the stack of crow’s nest below one of the slit windows and surprised by the alarmed cries of a returning parent just as I caught sight of the fledglings within.
From the top, I took in extensive views over surrounding pastoral landscape rich in hedging, banks, woods and fields. The white flood of flowering hawthorn everywhere. Curiously the gentle sparkling stream below literally disappears within these woods. This distinctive Karst limestone country is known for its turloughs – intermittent lakes that fill with water from streams like this one that drain back into the water table, having no surface outlet.
Under my window ledge the waters race,/Otters below and moor-hens on the top, Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven’s face,/Then darkening through ‘dark’ Raftery’s ‘cellar’ drop,/Run underground, rise in a rocky place/ In Coole demesne, and there to finish up/ Spread to a lake and drop into a hole./What’s water but the generated soul?’
( W.B. Yeats ‘Coole Park and Ballylee’, 1931)
We followed the hidden line of flow on leaving Yeats Tower and within a few miles were at Coole Park, now a national nature reserve stretching over 1,000 acres (400 Hectares). The woods here have been attracting visitors from when they were first developed by the Gregory family in the late C18th. Coole Park was home to Lady Augusta Gregory (1852-1932) and in her widowhood her genius for inspiration made it a centre for the movers and shakers involved in the Irish Literary renaissance, from Synge to Shaw, Casey to Yeats.
“These woods have been well loved, well-tended by some who came before me, and my affection has been no less than theirs. The generations of trees have been my care, my comforters. Their companionship has often brought me peace.” ( Lady Gregory, 1931)
We were quickly enfolded into that peaceful, unhurried arboreal world and instantly appreciated the spell it must have cast on others. Although there was no time to discover the lakes with their swans or walk the woodland paths beyond the centre we did find the famous autograph tree – a venerable copper beech – where the great men of letters carved their initials during their frequent visits. Their incisions now stretched and compacted by growth and stoutly defended from further additions by the public by railings.
‘Here poet, traveller, scholar take your stand / when all these rooms and passages are gone’ (Yeats)
The Georgian house was demolished in 1941, although the handsome restored stable block has a museum, facilities and excellent tea rooms serving imaginative good quality food, so a most enjoyable lunch was had here.
Yeats had first arrived at Coole in 1897, physically and psychologically exhausted and was nursed back to health and a more sustainable lifestyle by Lady Gregory. As he described: “I found at last what I had been seeking always, a life of order and labour” Lady Gregory prescribed for him a balanced regimen of work and relaxation. It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship that saw them in 1904 co-found with others the Abbey Theatre in Dublin. In so doing they were preparing the ground for independence by writing, producing and performing plays about Irish life for Irish people.
John Dubbin’s painting is the basis for this animated panorama at Hopetown
Fifty years ago I was living and working on Teesside as an actor and drama workshops organiser for the Billingham Forum’s Young People’s Theatre Co. We enjoyed free outdoor events marking the 150th anniversary of the opening of the world’s first public passenger steam railway train between Stockton and Darlington. A souvenir from that time is this little China mug, now sadly minus its handle, but otherwise intact and very pretty.
The long train of 1st, 2nd and 3rd class passengers, preceded by a rider on horseback for safety reasons, set off from Shildon in Co. Durham on the 27th September 1825 travelling the 21.5 miles to Stockton, via Darlington, at an average speed of 9mph, cheered on by crowds of excited onlookers.
Friend Rob under Skerne bridge
Skerne Bridge, seen in the painting above, is still there today, part of the Hopetown site. The oldest railway bridge in the world still carrying a working rail route.
George Stephenson and his son Robert were the Tyneside engineers who gave us ‘Locomotion’, the engine that pulled those carriages on that triumphant day. Edward Pease, a leading Darlington Quaker (member of the Religious Society of Friends), was a retired wool merchant who had the time and capital to head the consortium of local businessmen were behind the scheme. The original plan was for a horse drawn tramway to transport coal from the mines in the Durham hills to the estuary port of Stockton-on-Tees where it could be shipped to the rest of the country. Stephenson Snr. persuaded the money men to opt for his newly invented coal fired steam engine instead. Adding passengers to commercial goods and loads of coal was something of an afterthought, but would have the greatest of consequences.
‘Locomotion’ replica on display at Hopetown
All this and much more my friend Rob and I learnt when we visited Hopetown in Darlington last week, in the year that sees the 200th anniversary of the Stockton & Darlington. Formerly known as ‘The Head of Steam’ museum at North Road railway station, the 7.5 acre heritage site has been transformed with a multi-million pound investment programme to make it a major regional tourist attraction and educational resource. Entry is free (donations welcomed) and the amount of digitalised interactive displays shows the ethos is about engaging with families and school parties to tell a spirited, many layered story. Exterior soft play areas and an adventure playground are other family attractions that help justify the public investment and draw the crowds.
We didn’t quite know what to expect but quickly became engrossed with what was on offer. The interactive stuff – being addressed by station master and engine driver holograms for instance and having our photos taken with them – sparked fun and laughter. Think the planners have got the mix of serious study material and simpler, bold displays about right, opening vistas for the curious and engaging visitors in the interplay of man and machinery.
Railway Pioneers exhibition
The Hopetown site, roughly triangular in size, consists of the original engine shed (1833) now the shop and café (above); station hall and offices (1842) now an exhibition area with locos and carriages, the Carriage Works (1853) with its huge open archive and large exhibition hall with awesome replicas of early engines, part of the ‘Railway Pioneers’ exhibition currently showing.
Completing the building line up is the new, purpose built Darlington Locomotive Works where 21st century steam locos are being made by a charitable trust and volunteers, the workshops overseen from a tower housing public viewing gallery.
Highlights? I think anyone who visits a heritage site is invariably fascinated by the unchanging necessities of everyday living and how each generation deals with them. That’s why the original station toilets were fascinating. Cast iron urinals, tiled walls and cubicles. Throw in the reputed ghost of a porter who committed suicide here in the 1840s that is believed to still haunt the place and you’ve got it made.
The simple elegant design of the original early Victorian station (above) entrance and its extension reflect the world view of those local Quaker company directors. The exuberant emerging Gothic style was not for them.
Britain being Britain the three original carriages on display remind us of rigid social and economic classification. First class enjoys padded seating and privacy while third class (above) is an array of hard benches and a hole in the roof to let out smoke and/or let in light. Second class a mix of both.
Lord Darlington
My favourite museum story happily fits the ‘Country Diary’ title for these occasional notes. We learned that it took three concerted attempts over many years to get the Stockton and Darlington railway up and running. At its heart was the struggle between the inherited wealth and influence of the landed gentry and the new money of the non-conformist urban business elite.
Henry Vane, Earl of Darlington, resided at nearby Raby Castle, the centre of his great estate. A fanatical fox hunter who maintained two packs of hounds, he was determined to stop ‘bankers, merchants and others wishing to employ money in the speculation’ from ruining his sport by running their rail road through his fox coverts. He and other country landowners successfully led the opposition in parliament to defeat the initial proposals. A contemporary petition, drawn up by a top London law firm for anonymous clients, makes fascinating reading. It objects to the railway proposal as being ‘harsh and injurious to the interests of the county through which it is intended to pass’ and will ‘spoil lucrative arable land’ splitting profitable holdings in two and be ‘detrimental to the profits of the turnpike road’ running parallel with it.
In March 1819 Quaker banker and line supporter, Jonathan Backhouse, got wind of a plot by the earl to bankrupt his business and so de-rail the financiers. Back then a bank’s promise to pay the bearer on demand the value of a note in gold inspired the disgruntled aristocrat to get his tenants and associates to turn up on a set day at the bank to demand just that. The resourceful Backhouse immediately took flight to London and had a whip round with other Friends in finance, loading the loaned bullion into his carriage and returning at fast as they could back up north on the new turnpike roads to Darlington.
He made it as far as the river crossing at Croft, three miles short of home, when the axle on the hard driven coach broke under the strain. The quick witted banker and his servants redistributed the heavy load and slowly hedged their way back into town, with time to spare, before the Earl’s steward came to call at the bank. Backhouse had raised £32,000 worth of precious metal, more than enough to meet the withdrawal threat. He reportedly saw off the Steward with the words ‘Now, tell thy master that if he will sell Raby, I will pay for it in the same metal’….A great story, which no doubt has improved with re-telling down the years.
The Backhouse family bank prospered greatly thanks to the transformational economic prosperity the railway revolution engendered. Eventually, in the 1890’s, the business would merge with other Quaker founded financial institutions to form Barclays Bank. The bank branch (above) is still there, on its original site in the town centre and about to undergo a refurbishment. Ironically, given the simple design of the original North Road station, this building is a fine example of imposing gothic architecture by Sir Alfred Waterhouse (1864).
Arriving and leaving Darlington via Bank Top – the mainline east coast station (1887) – we’re delighted to see that it too is getting a long deserved restoration. Looking up we take in the heraldic decoration and rhythmic flow of ironwork gracing the roof of this secular cathedral, fitting tribute to a wonderful railway history and the town’s proud role in it.
Footnotes: The current ‘Railway Pioneers’ exhibition at Hopetown features superb life size replicas of key early locomotives. One is the unnamed engine (below) invented by Cornish mining engineer Richard Trevithick to transport iron from the Penderryn works in South Wales in 1804. In 2001 I had the pleasure of playing the obsessive charismatic inventor, in the BBC Radio 4 drama, ‘A Magnificent Prospect of the Works’ by Peter Roberts. The action was set in Coalbrookdale, the heartland of the industrial revolution on the river Severn, where Trevithick developed the prototype engine that would became the world’s first steam railway locomotive.
We were in Toronto recently, where Kim’s niece Clare was getting married to her partner Adam in a 1930’s art deco former cinema, now an events venue. The hospitality and good companionship of immediate family – who had flown in from all over the country for the big event as well as that of the new in-laws – was incredibly generous and inclusive making this visit extra special and truly memorable.
The city and its extensive suburbs is by far the biggest metropolitan area in Canada at 243 sq. miles/ 630 sq. km. and with a population of nearly six million people, is one of the most multicultural cosmopolitan cities in the world with hundreds of languages being spoken other than English. Arriving and departing from the city’s busy airport certainly reinforced that fact. Commanding the northern shores of Lake Ontario Toronto is the centre of Canada’s principal financial, media, commercial and logistical worlds, and its grid system of thoroughfares is bisected by rivers, ravines and urban forest.
We were staying in an Air B&B in the inner suburb of Eglington. Strolling the residential area I clocked black squirrels, flocks of little finches and American Robins. Our clapboard house with its trees, porch & garden looked over – or rather, were overlooked by – new built blocks of apartments and condos.
There were the familiar street furniture of a north American cityscape, from fire hydrants to overhead traffic lights, yellow school buses and wide concrete sidewalks. More surprisingly were the first of a number of licensed outlets we’d see across Ontario legally selling marijuana products.
A stroll down the sun kissed boulevard took us by Mabel’s Fables, the city’s much loved children’s bookshop. The lady behind the desk got Kim to add her message & signature to the writers and illustrators wall in the room upstairs. She found a space between Neil Gaiman and David Almond to add her contribution of appreciation for this literary metropolitan oasis for the young.
My eye was caught by what I thought was a stuffed cat stretched leisurely over a pile of books on a display table. It turned out to be the shop’s real life mascot. Later I saw the laid back moggie skilfully catching flies in the shop window. Every bookshop should have one.
We enjoyed two special viewings of remarkable art collections during our four days in Toronto which allowed for a real insight and appreciation of Canadian culture. We were invited to a luxury apartment block downtown, to the penthouse home of one of the country’s foremost private arts patrons and philanthropists. Our genial host, a retired financier in his 80th year, had acquired and framed one of Kim’s drawings – Flea’s Hands (1979) – to add to his impressive collection of works by Canadian women artists. Our two hour personal guided tour of so many beautifully curated artworks, artifacts and rare manuscripts was an extraordinary privileged experience that will never be forgotten. That said, I’m glad I don’t reside in the sky as acrophobia would rob me of any enjoyment of immediate surroundings, however culturally awesome and life affirming.
The second artistic foray on the following day was a repeat visit to AGO – The Art Gallery of Ontario – a couple of blocks away. The Frank Gehry designed wing in particular made the perfect backdrop to this comprehensive collection of Canadian art over the centuries.
The vivid dynamic scenes of pioneer life from Montreal based Cornelius Krieghoff (1815-1872) contrast with contemporary paintings by leading First Nations artists like Kent Monkman. ‘The Deluge’ depicts the displacement of indigenous peoples by European settlers. Here the artist’s alter-ego rescues falling children and hands them back to their parents.
I was particularly drawn to the detailed paintings of country folk at work and play by an artist of Ukrainian heritage, William Kurelek (1927 – 1977). Loved the narrative qualities this self taught, spiritually motivated figure created in his fond depictions of rural life on the great plains.
The Group of Seven is probably the most widely known school of Canadian art. These individuals explored and captured the rugged and remote landscapes of this vast country, putting them at the centre of their work, bringing their vision to international attention. Here’s one example, a view of Georgian Bay from 1913 by group co-founder JEH Macdonald (1873-1932) Born the son of a joiner in Durham, his family emigrated to Canada when he was fourteen. MacDonald founded a successful design firm and eventually became principal of the Ontario College of Art.
It was to the rural highlands in the east of Ontario we were heading, after the lovely wedding celebrations and art treats in Toronto, and further diaries will live up to their country titles.
STEPHEN TOMLIN 