 |
| The river dancing scarecrows of County Laois |
Gathering
Your Stories Through The Harp
Pete
Millington has launched a new family and community history feature in The Harp
with an invitation to get involved online
Having written these articles around the theme of The
Gathering since January, my credibility may have been at risk had I not
actually visited the Emerald Isle during this apparently momentous year.
Fortunately my wife Theresa and I don’t need the impetus of an international
publicity campaign to draw us back to the glowing turf-loaded hearth on a
regular basis as her mother Kitty lives out in the beautiful bog-land between
Moate and Tullamore. We have therefore been able to enrich the lives of our
three children for the past 16 years with almost annual visits to visit Granny,
whilst enjoying the proverbial childhood Irish holiday experience at the same
time. Gathering or no Gathering, this year was no exception.
I was however intrigued to observe the impact of the
great call from the motherland to her far-away children of the diaspora on
Ireland itself and if there was going to be a good time to do this, then the August
bank holiday just had to be that moment.
From the outset, there was nothing remarkably different
this summer about the late Sunday afternoon procession from the ferry through
the proverbial dirty old town landscape of Dublin port, the routine ‘dad gets
completely lost in North Dublin’ before driving straight into the homeward
bound GAA football crowd, followed eventually by the frantic search for Euros
to resentfully appease the motorway toll ladies and the liberating stretch of
virtually clear road in the general direction of Galway.
It is this last point which continues to cheerfully
epitomise our Irish holidays, the comparatively empty stretch of road cut adeptly
across the great Bog of Allen, taking us quickly and unhindered by snarl-ups,
shunts or gridlocks, towards that other place called home. A non-Irish relation
in Birmingham recently offered me his opinion of the Irish Midlands,
pronouncing it to be devoid of interest to the visitor “there’s nothing there
for bloody miles” he groaned at the memory of his reluctant visit some thirty
years ago. I recall thinking to myself that, ironically, his reasons for
abhorring the place were exactly the same as mine are for loving it; peace,
tranquillity and unpretentious people at one with their environment and getting
on with it with one hard-headed eye on the seasons and a friendly twinkle in
the other.
Apart from the odd mention on local radio, between ‘the
removals’ and the laid back call-in shows, there was very little mention of The
Gathering. In fact during two weeks, the closest we came to anyone celebrating
the Irish tourist board’s show of the Millennium was a field filled with some
200 scarecrows down at the infamous Durrow Scarecrow Festival. But somehow the
fact that our only experience of anything approaching a significant gathering
was that of a couple of hundred straw people, seemed strangely reassuring
rather than disappointing. This was the Ireland we love, largely unspoilt by camera
clicking tourists (myself excepted) and unappreciative strangers even in the
year of The Gathering.
 |
| Aston Villa take on Shamrock Rovers - craic rather than classic |
The midway mark of our fortnight was marked by a drive to
Tallaght stadium on the outskirts of Dublin to watch our beloved Aston Villa do
battle with the boys in green, Shamrock Rovers. Again, an interesting
experience, our first impression being that the whole of Tallaght had been
taken over by Brummies in claret and blue soccer shirts. On closer examination
it seemed that the hordes of Villa fans were mainly locals, or Irish Lions. I
knew that Villa had a big following in Ireland, a legacy of the club’s more
than significant contribution to the Ireland team over past decades no doubt,
but hadn’t appreciated the true extent of that following. We even spotted the
Villa legend Paul McGrath sat in what clearly passed as the Tallaght VIP area,
an area of plastic seats at the top of one stand cordoned off with rope.
My advice to the Irish government wishing to boost the economy
on this basis in the future, might be to follow-up the initiative of The
Gathering with more pre-season visits of Premiership football teams.
Incidentally, to appease the GAA devotees, another
memorable event of our Irish holiday was watching a live Gaelic footie match
between local teams Tubber and Tullamore. Apart from the fact Theresa’s
cousin’s son, the awesome Brian Kelly was playing for Tubber, the entire
spectacle was a revelation. Having only ever half-committedly watched the game
on television, I can hand-on-heart state it is one of the most exciting and
passionate sports I have ever seen and the whole Millington family are now
converts.
Our second week was spent in a delightful cottage on the
tranquil Temple House estate in Sligo. Once again, far-from-the madding crowds
of The Gathering, wherever it was taking place! A personal pilgrimage for me
was therefore to drive off one evening in search of the mythical grave of the
great poet W.B.Yeats. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, a thriving
town full of American and Japanese tourists on the scale of
Stratford-upon-Avon? One-Euro only nicknack shops packed full of Crazy Jane tea
towels and Leda and the Swan mouse mats? Or perhaps an impromptu and lively
graveside jam session featuring The Cranberries, Sinead O’Connor and The
Waterboys?
 |
| Yeat's grave in the tranquil shadow of Benbulben - my solitary gathering in the company of the bones of Ireland's greatest poet |
In the event, apart from a suspiciously hippy-looking
camper van on the church car park, to my continuing relief I found myself in
the solitary company of the bones of the great man, lots of birds and trees and
the dusk-cloaked silhouette of the distant Benbulben mountain. Ahh! My kind of
gathering.
Perhaps the words on the grave of the poet have a wider
poignancy in this notable year of The Gathering, “Cast a cold Eye on Life, on Death.
Horseman pass by”.
What do you think Irishness means to people in the West
Midlands? Tell us your story in The Harp.
Readers are invited to join our Facebook page
and visit our blog:
Visit the blog at
Join our Facebook group at
Please send your stories and
photos to Pete Millington at spaghetti.editorial@yahoo.com
No comments:
Post a Comment