After leaving Dublin, we drive towards County Galway, my travel companion Cindy in a search for her Eyre ancestors, and I looking for a re-creation of my great adventure as a young boy landing in Galway in 1965. We drive across Ireland on a new motorway to Ballinasloe to spend the day doing historical research, at Eyrecourt and Clonfert, near the River Shannon, the ancestral homeland Cindy seeks. It proves to be a fascinating day for us, a change from the normal pursuits of “tourists.”
Cindy’s forebear was the famous Colonel John Eyre, who created his castle at Eyrecourt, which is now the ruined home of her ancestors. Here she is at the original Eyrecourt gate. The grounds are now called a demesne, a standard expression in Ireland; the demesne gates were bought and restored by the National Heritage Council in the 1990s, after the farmer tried to sell them.
At the gates of the demesne, now a modern, working farm, is the Eyre Chapel. When we arrive, we study this gate in the wall, obviously of ecclesiastical origin, but we cannot see any building. Cindy wanders off to find a local historian, a window-maker called Rooney. He comes back to the gates with us and shows us the chapel ruins. The chapel had been used until the 1920s, until the family left. But they removed the roof on leaving--our guide, Mr. Rooney said it may have been removed to avoid taxes--and it soon fell into ruins. Here is the grove of trees "hiding" the chapel.
“I’ve realized something about ruins. [Ruins acquire] a raffish, anarchic air, flowers and weeds sprouting from improbable places like trimmings on a hat.” (Pat Barker, Life Class)
There is a curious silence to this ruined chapel: I almost expect fairies or leprechauns to creep out from under a collapsed wall or over a moss-covered tree trunk fallen across the tumbled tombstones. I feel a shiver as I stand where the altar once was and can barely see into a deep, dark space that has opened under the old chapel floor. Sadly, people have been coming here to drink, and too much trash has been left about. I feel sorry for the ghosts: if the chapel is in this state of ruin after eighty years, what will be left in another twenty?
Eyrecourt Castle (or Eyre Court) was an Irish 17th century country house in County Galway which became a ruin in the 20th century. The house, the surrounding estate, and the small town of Eyrecourt in which the estate remains all took their name from Colonel John Eyre, an Englishman who was granted the land in recognition of his part in the military campaign in Galway during the Cromwellian conquest of Ireland. There was an earlier fortified house or castle on the same land. When Eyre arrived he not only rebuilt the castle, but also built the whole town, which even included one of the first theatres in Ireland.
Eyrecourt Castle has fallen to ruin in under fifty years. The most striking features of the house were its "ambitious wood-carvings, massive door-cases and a famous baroque staircase", one of the first grand staircases in Ireland, with "acanthus leaves issuing from grotesque masks and rolling down the banisters" and "by far the most exuberant piece of wood carving surviving from the 17th century". Around 1950 the "princely staircase and wainscoting" were bought by William Randolph Hearst and the house was "left to collapse". Hearst's purchase is now "in crates in a museum in Detroit".It is hard to believe these ruins are only from the '50s, if, in fact, the castle was still intact when the staircase was removed. The family left in the 1920s. Note that in Ireland, the word castle can refer to quite a range of manors, mansions, country homes, and, of course, castles as we think of them.
Eyrecourt Castle was originally called the O'Madden Castle and "Dun an Eochta" when built in the 15th century by the O'Maddens. It was later purchased and extended by John Eyre in the 1650's. He absorbed the O'Madden castle into his Jacobean mansion.
The old ruins now find cattle and farm wagons inside and out. We never meet the farmer--good thing, as we are trespassing--but the property is huge. We drive around it to the gatehouse at the other end--those gates disappeared--and see that a modern farmhouse is being constructed. Given the importance of the Eyre family, I am somewhat surprised the property has not been designated an historical site.
Eyrecourt has other ruins, some, we are told, dating back to Norman times. Behind the church are more ruins: I am glad that they haven't been bulldozed away!
The modern town of Eyrecourt. It is hard to say what keeps the small town alive.
We follow Cindy's knowledge of the Eyre family and drive to nearby Clonfert, the site of an ancient monastery and a small cathedral.
St. Brendan's Cathedral in nearby Clonfert is one of the oldest ecclesiastical sites in Ireland, in continuous use as a place of worship. The Cathedral itself stands in the grounds of the monastery founded by St. Brendan in the 6th century. It flourished for many centuries, even through times of great invasions by the Danes who frequently sailed up the River Shannon from Limerick and attacked it. It was burnt down in 1016, 1164, and again in 1179. The monastery and most of the church were destroyed in 1541, and the monastery was not rebuilt after this final assault on it.
As practically nothing now remains to testify to the fame of this place but the tiny Cathedral, it is difficult for the visitor today to imagine that Clonfert, which is really just a town-land, was once a city and celebrated for its school. There were over 3,000 monks in this place at one time. To quote from one historian:"In the sixteenth century the College of St Brendan flourished in Clonfert. There were as many as three thousand students there at one time. It is mentioned in a State paper in the reign of Queen Elizabeth that before Trinity College, Dublin was founded, it was proposed to found the University at Clonfert as it was at that time celebrated as a seat of learning and, being in the centre of Ireland, a convenient place for Irish students; but the proposition was rejected and Dublin obtained the Charter."
The glory of this small Cathedral is its superb unique west doorway, which is one of the finest specimens of Hiberno-Romanesque work in existence. It was likely erected in 1180. The west front of the Cathedral including this fine doorway is attributed to Peter 0' Moore, who was Bishop of Clonfert from 1161 to 1171. Notable is the pronounced slope of the twelfth century jambs, emphasised by the fifteenth century inner work of dark blue limestone, which does not slope. There are signs asking visitors not to touch the doorway, it being so fragile. This wooden door was inserted in 1936, replacing a Georgian door that was visible in an 1860 photo.
The doorway consists of eight orders, which, apart from the one just mentioned, are of warm brown sandstone. It is surmounted by a pediment decorated by carved heads of men within a geometric design. Many authorities have said that no other doorway exhibits such 'fertility of invention and beauty of design'.A feature of its decoration is the variety of animal's heads suggestive of a Scandinavian influence, but there is hardly a square inch of this unique doorway where the sculptor's tool has not been at work.
Most authorities agree that the present building dates from the close of the twelfth century when the church was rebuilt as the small Romanesque Cathedral dedicated to St. Brendan. This was a very simple single chamber church with antae at each gable. The early thirteenth century saw the addition of the chancel, but the bell tower and transepts were not added until the fifteenth century.
Inside the cathedral are many more fascinating features, including wall engravings which likely connect it to a key player in its history, its namesake, St. Brendan the Navigator. I suspect the mermaid is part of his story.
Better known as Brendan the Navigator, his love of the sea could have developed from his growing up years in a coastal town in the south of Ireland. He was very much a leader of men and attracted many followers. He is associated with a number of monastic sites close to the River Shannon and around the West Coast of Ireland.He started monastic communities in Ardfert, and at Shanakeel or Baalynevinoorach, at the foot of Brandon Hill. This work took place over a period of almost 30 years and it was from Baalynevinoorach that it is said he embarked on his most famous of journeys - "to the Land of Promise” or the seven-year voyage, accompanied by 60 other monks. Brendan was a keen sailor as well as an avid missionary and his sea voyages brought him to Wales, Iona in Scotland as well as to France and other parts of mainland Europe.
'Navigatio Sancti Brendani' is an account written by an Irish monk in the ninth or tenth century and describes the 7-year voyage of Saint Brendan. More than 100 medieval Latin manuscripts of this Voyage of Brendan still exist today with many pointers to the very real possibility that it was in fact Saint Brendan who discovered North America, some 900 years earlier than Columbus. (Below is St. Brendan's tomb, marked by a plain slab of stone.)
Our self-appointed guide, Michael Egan, unwraps this solid brass lectern for us to see. It was donated in memory of a Bishop Hamilton by his descendants, in 1902.
Because of its status as an historical site, the church is open, but not used. Apparently, some things have been stolen: we are happy that this lectern is still here. I think villagers keep an eye on visitors: a few minutes after we parked, a local man casually came up on bicycle and pretended to be strolling amongst the graves. Shortly afterwards, Mr. Egan drove up and showed us the church, and then the Bishop's Palace.
When Cindy mentions the Bishop's Palace (later known as Mosley Hall), Michael and his daughter's partner offer to show us the ruins. He leads us into the trees along the so-called Nuns' Walk, past St. Brendan's tree, an old tree believed to cure warts: it is covered in gifts and offerings from supplicants.
From here, Michael leads us to the Yew Walk. The walkway itself is made up of cross-shaped paths through yew trees which are said to be a thousand years old. (The walkway extends to our right, left, and behind.) The walkway is almost like the transept of a church with a green ceiling. An observer once noted: "As I walked it I could almost imagine the monks strolling peacefully beneath the trees, with heads bowed and covered with cowls, saying or chanting their daily office - what stories these trees could tell." (I am using the St. Brendan website for my information.)
At the end of the Yew Walk, perhaps where the chancel might be if this were a cathedral, we find the ruins of the Bishops' Palace. The palace is only a stone's throw from the Cathedral. It was built about the year 1650 and became the home of the Bishops of Clonfert. Bishop Wolley, who restored the Cathedral in 1664 and was probably the first occupant of the palace, is one of the best known holders of this See. His Arms and Motto, salvaged from the ruins of the palace, are to be seen near the West Door of the Cathedral. The EYRES lived here for a time, which is why we have come to this historical site, which few tourists ever see.
Perhaps more interesting to modern visitors than any great ecclesiastical figure from the past is the last occupant of the Bishop's House, Sir Oswald Mosley, who took up residence here in 1952. As is well known, he was imprisoned at the outbreak of World War II for his fascist loyalties and was the founder member of the British Union of Fascists. He was a former MP.
In his autobiography, Sir Oswald speaks with affection of his old home at Clonfert as: "rambling and romantic rather than beautiful." Just before Christmas 1954 the house was accidentally rendered almost a total ruin by fire. It now sits covered in ivy, with trees growing in and around it, yet its loveliness can still be seen.
Mosley was married to Lady Diana Mitford Guinness. She had been jailed with him during the war because of her involvement with fascism. The couple were married in the home of Joseph Goebbels. Her sister, Unity, was Hitler's girlfriend.
The non-conformist Mitford sisters were famous: all but one were writers--Jessica wrote The American Way of Death in 1963--and they were known for being eccentrics.
Michael tells us two stories: one is that as a boy he used to bring papers to the Mosleys. Michael Egan said he would be paid for the papers and given lemonade. He says few people believe the fire was an accident, because of its fascist connections with the Mosleys.
Max Mosley, of British racing fame & current president of FIFA that runs Formula One motor racing teams, has recently been in the news here over his libel case about the press revealing his alleged involvement in sexual orgies. He won the case, not because the alleged reports were untrue but because the events were private.
Michael tells us that Arthur Guinness created the recipe for the beer here--but I am dubious, although Diana had been married to Bryan Guinness. Another story is about the blood of the last Bishop, murdered here: the bloodstains could never be removed and still remain in this unburned section. The nuns were also murdered, in the nunnery across the road, also in ruins.
The day is fading, and Gary wants to get to Galway before dark. Our new friends tell us that finding the hotel in Galway will be easy, so off we go, confident that Galway is a small, accessible town. When we arrive, it dawns on us that Mr. Egan likely hadn't been to Galway for fifty years. The only instinct I have is that when I booked the Harbour Hotel, the Irish Tourism clerk told me it was easy to find because it was on the harbour. Faced with dozens of choices about where to go--and no map of the town--I kept telling Gary to head for the oldest parts, since that was likely where the harbour would be. He listened, we drove deeper and deeper into the city and suddenly we saw water! Moments later we were at the harbour and in front of us a rather welcome sign: Harbour Hotel. Not quite the ritzy place it might once have been, across the road from a dozen petroleum tanks, it was, nevertheless, quite satisfactory. And for once, I could save money: the room had a double and a single bed and front desk saw no reason why the three of us couldn't share the room. Everywhere else we have been since I arrived in the UK, this was forbidden.
At the end of the Yew Walk, perhaps where the chancel might be if this were a cathedral, we find the ruins of the Bishops' Palace. The palace is only a stone's throw from the Cathedral. It was built about the year 1650 and became the home of the Bishops of Clonfert. Bishop Wolley, who restored the Cathedral in 1664 and was probably the first occupant of the palace, is one of the best known holders of this See. His Arms and Motto, salvaged from the ruins of the palace, are to be seen near the West Door of the Cathedral. The EYRES lived here for a time, which is why we have come to this historical site, which few tourists ever see.Perhaps more interesting to modern visitors than any great ecclesiastical figure from the past is the last occupant of the Bishop's House, Sir Oswald Mosley, who took up residence here in 1952. As is well known, he was imprisoned at the outbreak of World War II for his fascist loyalties and was the founder member of the British Union of Fascists. He was a former MP.In his autobiography, Sir Oswald speaks with affection of his old home at Clonfert as: "rambling and romantic rather than beautiful." Just before Christmas 1954 the house was accidentally rendered almost a total ruin by fire. It now sits covered in ivy, with trees growing in and around it, yet its loveliness can still be seen.
Mosley was married to Lady Diana Mitford Guinness. She had been jailed with him during the war because of her involvement with fascism. The couple were married in the home of Joseph Goebbels. Her sister, Unity, was Hitler's girlfriend.
The non-conformist Mitford sisters were famous: all but one were writers--Jessica wrote The American Way of Death in 1963--and they were known for being eccentrics.
Michael tells us two stories: one is that as a boy he used to bring papers to the Mosleys. Michael Egan said he would be paid for the papers and given lemonade. He says few people believe the fire was an accident, because of its fascist connections with the Mosleys.
Max Mosley, of British racing fame & current president of FIFA that runs Formula One motor racing teams, has recently been in the news here over his libel case about the press revealing his alleged involvement in sexual orgies. He won the case, not because the alleged reports were untrue but because the events were private.
Michael tells us that Arthur Guinness created the recipe for the beer here--but I am dubious, although Diana had been married to Bryan Guinness. Another story is about the blood of the last Bishop, murdered here: the bloodstains could never be removed and still remain in this unburned section. The nuns were also murdered, in the nunnery across the road, also in ruins.
The day is fading, and Gary wants to get to Galway before dark. Our new friends tell us that finding the hotel in Galway will be easy, so off we go, confident that Galway is a small, accessible town. When we arrive, it dawns on us that Mr. Egan likely hadn't been to Galway for fifty years. The only instinct I have is that when I booked the Harbour Hotel, the Irish Tourism clerk told me it was easy to find because it was on the harbour. Faced with dozens of choices about where to go--and no map of the town--I kept telling Gary to head for the oldest parts, since that was likely where the harbour would be. He listened, we drove deeper and deeper into the city and suddenly we saw water! Moments later we were at the harbour and in front of us a rather welcome sign: Harbour Hotel. Not quite the ritzy place it might once have been, across the road from a dozen petroleum tanks, it was, nevertheless, quite satisfactory. And for once, I could save money: the room had a double and a single bed and front desk saw no reason why the three of us couldn't share the room. Everywhere else we have been since I arrived in the UK, this was forbidden.
The hotel is only the small left end of the building, which also has restaurants and apartments or condos.
Galway Harbour. Almost every building here is newer than when I landed here illegally in 1965. I came here this trip to see if I could remember details of that visit. I remember the MV Fursand and her Danish Captain with its Spanish crew. We had sailed up Galway Bay, back and forth looking for a harbour pilot. I remember him: dressed in heavy homespun clothing, his accent so thick I could barely make out a word he said. (I know now he wasn't speaking English, and the Captain no Gaelic: how did we dock?) It was the only time I was ever allowed on the bridge. But when we arrived the authorities discovered I had no visa and the ship was not legally permitted to put me ashore. The Captain refused to take me anywhere else, so the Irish immigration officers pondered my fate for another 24 hours, while I fretted that I might just be thrown overboard! I now believe my small freighter, its deck loaded with logs sent from Nova Scotia, docked to the left of this side of the tiny harbour.
Looking out through the entrance to the small harbour, towards Galway Bay, as I remember it, a gorgeous bay, especially beautiful past Inishmore, the Aran Islands. We are short a day for our trip, needing to fly out tomorrow. We miss the chance to see the bay or the wild Cliffs of Moher or the Burren.
Eventually, the authorities decided to allow me to embark only if I was out of Ireland in 24 hours! I recall coming ashore after 11 days at sea, and could barely stand up on the dock! Eight constables escorted me to the train station where I was put on the train to Dublin. My passport carries the handwritten declaration: "Conditionally landed in the Republic of Ireland. Must be out of the country within 24 hours."
The Galway Train Station, just behind the old Railway Hotel, now the elegant Meyrick, off Eyre Square. I wonder if it has changed much since I was escorted there and put on the Dublin train.
It is an odd feeling being here again, after 43 years. I couldn't figure where Immigration had taken me for questioning--perhaps the station was gone, everything else seeming quite new on the waterfront.
It seems to me that Galway Harbour is now mostly used for recreational boats, although a few small fishing boats are evident. Apparently, there are plans to develop the harbour further.
We walk about downtown, looking for a place to eat, the hotel being over-priced. We discover that old Galway Castle is now a bank!
Narrow streets of old Galway. But like every other place we have been to so far, the old is surrounded by new buildings. We had walked to Eyre Square to find the train station. Here we see a modern, urban shopping mall, next to an historical building, Eyre House.
Eyre Square, is the central meeting place of the city, originally the Commons. In 1965, the park was named in honour of John F. Kennedy, who had visited in 1963, during his famous return to his Irish roots, but no one seems to use the name anymore. We ask a woman on the street to recommend a place we might eat and she suggests we find McSwiggan's. It proves to be an excellent choice and our meal is wonderful!
McSwiggan's has an odd but charming decor, the restaurant covering 3 or maybe 4 stories or levels. There is a barkless tree rising through the levels! It used to be the police station, but not the one I remember from the past.
From our table we look over the nearby rooftops and I am amused by plants growing around the chimneys and chimney pots.
We drive into Limerick, which clearly has lots to offer tourists, such as the Norman fortification known as King John's Castle in the heart of this medieval city on the River Shannon. Apparently, the damage visible on the castle walls is from battles, but we choose not to see another castle this day and drive onwards.
We choose to visit the heritage town of Roscrea as well, with its 13th century castle.
When the pub was built they must have simply taken one step away from the corner of the castle and started building. The Round Tower and St. Conan's Church in Roscrea are located nearby.
Th
While I seriously doubt that SHEPPARD is an Irish name, I do notice this shop front in Roscrea. I remember that in London as a boy I went into the bank and was served by a clerk with the same surname. He said the Sheppard family had a great secret: "Jack the Ripper was a Sheppard!" he announced to my dubious ears.
I am most amused to learn that Canadians did NOT invent basketball using a peach basket, notwithstanding the Heritage ads we see to the contrary: here, in Roscrea, we find that the monks at St. Cronans played the game, albeit with a square basket!
Galway Harbour. Almost every building here is newer than when I landed here illegally in 1965. I came here this trip to see if I could remember details of that visit. I remember the MV Fursand and her Danish Captain with its Spanish crew. We had sailed up Galway Bay, back and forth looking for a harbour pilot. I remember him: dressed in heavy homespun clothing, his accent so thick I could barely make out a word he said. (I know now he wasn't speaking English, and the Captain no Gaelic: how did we dock?) It was the only time I was ever allowed on the bridge. But when we arrived the authorities discovered I had no visa and the ship was not legally permitted to put me ashore. The Captain refused to take me anywhere else, so the Irish immigration officers pondered my fate for another 24 hours, while I fretted that I might just be thrown overboard! I now believe my small freighter, its deck loaded with logs sent from Nova Scotia, docked to the left of this side of the tiny harbour.
Looking out through the entrance to the small harbour, towards Galway Bay, as I remember it, a gorgeous bay, especially beautiful past Inishmore, the Aran Islands. We are short a day for our trip, needing to fly out tomorrow. We miss the chance to see the bay or the wild Cliffs of Moher or the Burren.
Eventually, the authorities decided to allow me to embark only if I was out of Ireland in 24 hours! I recall coming ashore after 11 days at sea, and could barely stand up on the dock! Eight constables escorted me to the train station where I was put on the train to Dublin. My passport carries the handwritten declaration: "Conditionally landed in the Republic of Ireland. Must be out of the country within 24 hours."The Galway Train Station, just behind the old Railway Hotel, now the elegant Meyrick, off Eyre Square. I wonder if it has changed much since I was escorted there and put on the Dublin train.It is an odd feeling being here again, after 43 years. I couldn't figure where Immigration had taken me for questioning--perhaps the station was gone, everything else seeming quite new on the waterfront.
It seems to me that Galway Harbour is now mostly used for recreational boats, although a few small fishing boats are evident. Apparently, there are plans to develop the harbour further.We walk about downtown, looking for a place to eat, the hotel being over-priced. We discover that old Galway Castle is now a bank! Narrow streets of old Galway. But like every other place we have been to so far, the old is surrounded by new buildings. We had walked to Eyre Square to find the train station. Here we see a modern, urban shopping mall, next to an historical building, Eyre House. Eyre Square, is the central meeting place of the city, originally the Commons. In 1965, the park was named in honour of John F. Kennedy, who had visited in 1963, during his famous return to his Irish roots, but no one seems to use the name anymore. We ask a woman on the street to recommend a place we might eat and she suggests we find McSwiggan's. It proves to be an excellent choice and our meal is wonderful!
McSwiggan's has an odd but charming decor, the restaurant covering 3 or maybe 4 stories or levels. There is a barkless tree rising through the levels! It used to be the police station, but not the one I remember from the past.
From our table we look over the nearby rooftops and I am amused by plants growing around the chimneys and chimney pots.
We drive into Limerick, which clearly has lots to offer tourists, such as the Norman fortification known as King John's Castle in the heart of this medieval city on the River Shannon. Apparently, the damage visible on the castle walls is from battles, but we choose not to see another castle this day and drive onwards.
A lovely roadside inn outside Limerick.
On the outskirts of Limerick I notice a sign heralding the nearby heritage towns of Ballina and Killaloe. We take the side-trip along the River Shannon to find the twin towns, one on each side of the river: Ballina is in County Tipperrary and Killaloe in County Clare. And few are here since it is now near the end of September and the Tourism Offices are closed, the tourist season over. However, we enjoy our visit to the heritage site, with its old single-track bridge and colourful buildings.
We choose to visit the heritage town of Roscrea as well, with its 13th century castle.When the pub was built they must have simply taken one step away from the corner of the castle and started building. The Round Tower and St. Conan's Church in Roscrea are located nearby.Th
While I seriously doubt that SHEPPARD is an Irish name, I do notice this shop front in Roscrea. I remember that in London as a boy I went into the bank and was served by a clerk with the same surname. He said the Sheppard family had a great secret: "Jack the Ripper was a Sheppard!" he announced to my dubious ears.
I am most amused to learn that Canadians did NOT invent basketball using a peach basket, notwithstanding the Heritage ads we see to the contrary: here, in Roscrea, we find that the monks at St. Cronans played the game, albeit with a square basket! Eventually we arrive at a lovely town, Naas, which means "The place of assembly for the Kings." There is an old castle of the Fitzgeralds. Lord Edward Fitzgerald took refuge here during the rebellion of 1798. As well, more than 1,000 years ago the chieftains of Leinster headquartered here. Our B & B, Norcenni, is another delight. Thoroughly modern, tastefully decorated, and impeccably clean, we enjoy our night and Irish Breakfast. (We are also allowed to share a room: the Irish are so sensible about this.) Our hostess is a bit surprised that we ask not to be served Black Pudding. (Back in Swords I had enjoyed Black Pudding for breakfast, casually asking the chef what it was made from; he said something incomprehensible, so a young woman explained it to me: "It's made of BLOOD!" she exclaimed, leaving me with a strong desire to vomit all over the breakfast buffet.)
Even though the economic growth known as the Celtic Tiger has become long in the tooth, there is evidence everywhere of the growth that has seen tremendous building and infrastructure development from the 1990s to now. Several told us the growth is over, but the effects are clearly evident. The Celtic Tiger transformed the Republic of Ireland from one of Europe’s poorest countries into one of the wealthiest. According to Wikipedia, “the causes of Ireland's growth are the subject of some debate, but credit has been primarily given to state-driven economic development: social partnership between employers, government and unions, increased participation in the labour force of women, decades of investment in domestic higher education; targeting of foreign direct investment; a low corporation tax rate; an English-speaking workforce, and crucial EU membership - which provided transfer payments and export access to the Single Market.” Flying in from Edinburgh we saw motorways being built and rebuilt. Dublin Airport is a full-scale building project and there are many new hotels bearing international names.
There are new houses everywhere, especially evident to us in County Galway. Of course, old Ireland is still here, with its old cottages, row housing, and run-down farmhouses. But the new farmhouses, usually two-storey, concrete block and stucco or brick, are springing up everywhere. In Galway and Dublin, cranes are ubiquitous and re-building and renovation is rampant. There must be money: to see an old car or truck is unusual; instead we see new cars and luxury autos and SUVs all over.
Upscale stores are evident (except in the small towns and villages) and modern, fine restaurants have pushed thousands of pubs--all over the UK, but also in the Republic—to close their doors. We tried both and it’s obvious that steps should be taken to save the traditional pubs and inns.
It so happens that we do not see very many of the old village homes, such as this one in Clonfert (Cluain Fearto) but we do not travel into the most rural parts of the country. But we see many new bungalow-style homes, some of which remind me of the styles I saw in Southern California. (Of course, that effect is helped by the prevalence of tropical-looking trees growing here and in the UK.)
In Dublin, the bus tour was slowed and detoured by building projects; the Guide had told us the building under construction (below) will be the tallest building ever in the city.
I love many things about Ireland--its bilingualism, for one--and its vibrant green scenery. I do not get many chances to find vantage points for good photos--we are too attached to the rental car--but it is a beautiful country. I wonder if the reason it is called The Emerald Isle is so obvious. It originally appeared in a poem called Erin published in 1800 by William Drennan: “Nor one feeling of vengeance presume to defile / The Curse of the men from the Emerald Isle.” 
Tomorrow we leave our ancestral homeland and fly back to Edinburgh, to take the express train to London and become tourists again.
