I was so pleased when my cousin wrote a few months ago and said she and her husband were going to stop in Ireland on the way home from visiting their daughter in France. Kathleen is my mother's niece, daughter of her only sister. We were born nine months apart and we both have happy memories of our Irish grandmother, our great aunt and uncle, Christmas visits to Eaton's department store, summer visits to the Botanical Gardens and Belmont Park, sombre trips to funeral parlors as our mothers "paid their respects." We went to the same high school, Holy Names but were a year apart. But we knew the same teachers, the same nuns.
Kathleen is not a big traveler. She and Mike have been married 45 years, raised five kids, she worked as a rehab counselor for Sun Life for the past 20 years and retired at the beginning of this year. So she finally has some free time. And she decided that, while I was here in Ireland, she wanted to come and see what Grandma called "the old country."
They arrived at Shannon Airport, County Clare late afternoon. It's about a 2.5 hour drive from Dunmore East so I decided to take advantage of driving through Limerick and stop and photograph an old cemetery that is on the grounds of an older monastery--Mungret "Abbey".
As usual, I was pretty much on my own as I clambered around the old cemetery taking photos. A couple of times I almost lost my balance and fell into some of the sunken graves (luckily no coffins showing) and, as there was no signal on my iPhone, I briefly wondered how long it would be before anyone would find me. But, actually, it really wasn't so far from civilization. I could have crawled through the grasses had I had a sprained ankle or some such injury and picked up a phone signal just a few hundred yards away. But it was deliciously scary to think of being down in an old grave.
I've read several "graveyard poems" but John Keats' famous "Elegy Written in a Churchyard" most closely outlines why I find myself so drawn to them:
"The thoughtless World to majesty may bow
Exalt the brave, & idolize Success
But more to Innocence their Safety owe
Than Power & Genius e'er conspired to bless
And thou, who mindful of the unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these Notes thy artless Tale relate
By Night & lonely contemplation led
To linger in the gloomy Walks of Fate
Hark how the sacred Calm, that broods around
Bids ev'ry fierce tumultous Passion ease
In still small Accents whisp'ring from the Ground
A grateful Earnest of eternal Peace
No more with Reason & thyself at strife;
Give anxious Cares & endless Wishes room
But thro' the cool sequester'd Vale of Life
Pursue the silent Tenour of thy Doom."
Mary and John Malone are long dead--over 170 years. They wrote no blogs nor, probably, any letters at all as it is doubtful they were literate. When I see headstones like this, though, I see that they DID have family and that family was still around at least up until 2006 (William and Margaret may have children.) They do go on. Their tale is told on this stone and I am glad that I and others are photographing and uploading headstones so that far-flung descendants might connect with their ancestors.
Okay, back to the present. I spent about two hours in Mungret and then drove on to Shannon. It is a very small airport--about the size of Hamilton Airport in Ontario or Sierra Vista Airport in Arizona. Kathleen and Mike's plane from Heathrow came in on time and we had a lovely reunion. A long sunny drive back to Dunmore East and the slowly dawning horror on the Kathleen's part about what Irish roads are like. She kept saying, "I trust you but slow down!" even though I was only doing about 40 mph. She was to say that a lot in their 6-day visit.
We stopped at Tesco in Waterford and bought some food then finally landed, very tired, in Dunmore East where, after a few hours of conversation with Richard and a getting-to-know you with Mitzi, we retired to bed.
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| Kathleen and I probably age 5 |
 |
| Grandma K and her sister, Auntie Nellie |
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| 1956, Grandma sails for England and Ireland. Kathleen's mom is far right, my sister is far left, Auntie Nellie & her husband Uncle Tom, two mystery ladies and my dad. Me in the front, Kathleen must have been in school. |
They arrived at Shannon Airport, County Clare late afternoon. It's about a 2.5 hour drive from Dunmore East so I decided to take advantage of driving through Limerick and stop and photograph an old cemetery that is on the grounds of an older monastery--Mungret "Abbey".
As usual, I was pretty much on my own as I clambered around the old cemetery taking photos. A couple of times I almost lost my balance and fell into some of the sunken graves (luckily no coffins showing) and, as there was no signal on my iPhone, I briefly wondered how long it would be before anyone would find me. But, actually, it really wasn't so far from civilization. I could have crawled through the grasses had I had a sprained ankle or some such injury and picked up a phone signal just a few hundred yards away. But it was deliciously scary to think of being down in an old grave.
I've read several "graveyard poems" but John Keats' famous "Elegy Written in a Churchyard" most closely outlines why I find myself so drawn to them:
"The thoughtless World to majesty may bow
Exalt the brave, & idolize Success
But more to Innocence their Safety owe
Than Power & Genius e'er conspired to bless
And thou, who mindful of the unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these Notes thy artless Tale relate
By Night & lonely contemplation led
To linger in the gloomy Walks of Fate
Hark how the sacred Calm, that broods around
Bids ev'ry fierce tumultous Passion ease
In still small Accents whisp'ring from the Ground
A grateful Earnest of eternal Peace
No more with Reason & thyself at strife;
Give anxious Cares & endless Wishes room
But thro' the cool sequester'd Vale of Life
Pursue the silent Tenour of thy Doom."
Mary and John Malone are long dead--over 170 years. They wrote no blogs nor, probably, any letters at all as it is doubtful they were literate. When I see headstones like this, though, I see that they DID have family and that family was still around at least up until 2006 (William and Margaret may have children.) They do go on. Their tale is told on this stone and I am glad that I and others are photographing and uploading headstones so that far-flung descendants might connect with their ancestors.
Okay, back to the present. I spent about two hours in Mungret and then drove on to Shannon. It is a very small airport--about the size of Hamilton Airport in Ontario or Sierra Vista Airport in Arizona. Kathleen and Mike's plane from Heathrow came in on time and we had a lovely reunion. A long sunny drive back to Dunmore East and the slowly dawning horror on the Kathleen's part about what Irish roads are like. She kept saying, "I trust you but slow down!" even though I was only doing about 40 mph. She was to say that a lot in their 6-day visit.
We stopped at Tesco in Waterford and bought some food then finally landed, very tired, in Dunmore East where, after a few hours of conversation with Richard and a getting-to-know you with Mitzi, we retired to bed.
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