And About Time Too!

 Well it certainly wasn't meant to be a more-than-two-year gap since the last post, but life kind of got in the way.  There was a book to get published (Stories from the Sea), and some travelling to do (once we were allowed so to do) but here we are at the beginning of 2023 and it's high time we got back on track.

Stories from the Sea did very well, since it brought in tales of smuggling and piracy as well as ancient travellers, pilgrim routes, and of course the Vikings.

Even had to go up to Dublin to be interviewed as part of the Book Festival, which was challenging but fairly rewarding too.  DH hates talking in public, so I did most of that, while he sat at the back and observed.

One of the most exciting things we discovered when researching Stories from the Sea was that the old legends are often genuine records, not the product of fanciful imagination.  In this case, we were looking for an island off the west coast which has a fair claim to being the haunt of that terrifying monster of folklore, Balor of the Evil Eye.  Clearly a relative of Medusa, the Gorgon, he could kill a whole army just by revealing that one eye in the middle of his forehead.  Anyway, he was challenged in battle by the Nemedians on one occasion (they were, quite understandably, irate at his habit of descending on the mainland whenever he felt like seizing crops or cattle or children) and the invading army crossed at low tide to his island stronghold.  Unfortunately, in the midst of battle, the tide came in, and many of both sides were drowned. 

Well, Richard and I were determined  to find this very island and we did!  Derinish, off the Sligo shore.  And as we sat in the car overlooking the bay and the island, the tide fell, and lo and behold - a long line of cattle came peacefully meandering down from the mainland and crossed by the now visible sandbank to the lush pastures on Derinish.  Proof positive that the crossing can be made at low tide!  We made a point of coming back later, when the tide was rising again, and sure enough, the cattle were wending their way back to the Sligo shore.  They still know the way that the Nemedians did in ancient times. Fortunately, being more interested in safety than battle, they keep an eye on the tide tables!

Since then we have been working on De Next Book, which will be known as All The Way By The Grand Canal, and is coming out in May.  (You can find it on The O'Brien Press website, along with all our other books.) This has meant covering the less-well-known part of Ireland, the secret inland landscapes which lie between Dublin on the east coast and the mighty river Shannon on the west.  The Grand Canal was built in the late 18th century and was, for its time, the mighty autoroute that surpassed all previous methods of travel.  Smooth, safe, continuous, it changed life for everyone, from farmers and businesses transporting produce and goods, to travellers able to cross the country perhaps for the first time.  Lords and ladies found it far more comfortable than taking their carriages along muddy tracks for days on end; emigrants used it as the best and quickest way to get to Limerick or Dublin from where the big ships sailed; and even those who couldn't afford the fares used the towpath to get to their destination without fear of losing the way.  Just think of all the work it put in the way of everyone along the waterway too, from stable hands to ticket sellers, warehouse packers to hoteliers, servants to messenger boys - it was a game changer for everyone.  

Today this is a very popular long-distance walking or cycling route, and you have only to step on to the grassy towpath to see why.  It's a world apart from noisy motorways and endless traffic.  Instead of rattles, roars, exhaust fumes, you have the breeze blowing over glimmering water and birdsong on every bush. Utter peace.  The most excitement you will find is a canal boat puttering along one of the navigable stretches, the captain waving cheerfully as he passes.

There is history too, every step of the way and that was what we enjoyed the most - teasing out the stories to be found in old deserted warehouses, peaceful lock gates and lock-keepers' cottages, small villages where once the daily arrival of the barge from Dublin or Shannon Harbour brought the residents running from every cottage door.  

We had a wonderful time researching the entire length of the canal and came home full of ideas and notions to incorporate into the book so that not only keen walkers and cyclists, but armchair travellers too, perhaps living far away but longing to be there, could indeed transport themselves to the canal bank through the pages and Richard's wonderfully evocative pictures.

The amount of mileage we put in was frightening - or would have been if we had let ourselves think about it, but that's not the reason you do it.  It's the urge to go that bit further, see what is round the next corner, find out what the story is behind that ivy-covered ruin over there...

On one of our trips, we included another journey further north, to pick up a very special package in Longford.

Our oldest dog, Tamzin, had reached the end of her life and was now sleeping peacefully in the orchard at the end of our garden.  This left Troushka a little lonely and bemused, so of course we bethought us of a replacement.  Here came Jo's bright idea - gosh, I have always always wanted a black cocker spaniel!  And so the hunt was on.  Finally we picked her up, on one of the hottest July days ever, and brought her back to West Cork to her new home.

Which she proceeded to wreck with joyful abandon. I thought I was well used to puppies, but Tasha - Natasha de St Petersburg III, to give her her full title, into which she has certainly not yet grown - proved to be a whole new ball game.  Wildly enthusiastic and ready to tear anything she found to bits, she made the first few weeks more of a survival exercise for us than anything else.  What am I talking about, she is still making life a survival exercise for us!

At least there was no problem with Troushka, although the older dog does find her a little over-energetic at times.

They have now worked out some sort of modus vivendi whereby Tasha leaps and bounds all round the older dog, using up some of her energy, and Troushka occasionally breaks into a gallop and does a bit of mock fighting before slowing down to her usual amble.

It's not only in the house that she wreaks her depredations, but in the garden too.  How do you manage to overturn a very large earthenware flowerpot, pull out the plants therein, and scatter the earth everywhere?  Or dig a deep hole at the base of a perfectly friendly tree, when I as a gardener have a job finding anywhere I can get down three inches before hitting rock? (West Cork is like that).

The only place this little monster is truly happy is on a beach.  A wide long beach, preferably with gulls to chase.

There she can leap and gallop at incredible speeds for as long as she likes.  If the waves get in her way, she just crashes through them, seeming not to notice that she is up to her ears in salty water until suddenly she executes upward leaps that would challenge Nureyev, and thunders back to shore. "I'll get that gull, I will I will, he'll tire before I do, wonder if I flap my ears enough I'll be able to fly like him?"

A cocker spaniel can leap to surprising heights, I discovered, and that made our hitherto secure fencing around the garden suddenly less adequate.  We did our best.  We raised the height of the mesh.  Not good enough.  We raised it more.  When she had got out three times, we decided it was time for sterner measures and got an electric wire system and a collar for her which gives a warning when she gets too close.  Putting that wire all round the garden, though bushes and brambles, behind trees and across gateways, was quite a job.

Did it work?  Does it work?  Well - sort of.  Most times she stops when she hears the beep from her collar warning her not to go closer.  But put a human being on the other side of the fence or the gate, or indeed a passing dog or cat, and she seems to write off the slight shock caused by leaping over the invisible barrier as part of the game, and just goes for it.  What do we do next, one asks?

And what about the other residents chez Celtic Memory, you enquire worriedly?  How did they take to this Creature from the Black Lagoon invading their hitherto peaceful world?

Well,  you will be glad to know that the youngest cat, Brogeen, struck up a firm friendship.  Well, a firm something anyway:

When they were much of a size, we weren't too worried, but did wonder what would happen when the puppy grew bigger.

But we needn't have worried.  Even now, when she is almost twice Brogeen's size, Tasha just doesn't have the flexibilty or the sheathed weapons that the cat can bring into play. Weight yes, claws no.  The battle chases around the house, though, are somethng to behold.  More than once we have been almost swept off our feet as the furry exploding cavalcade crashes by.

The older cats, Pawtucket and Marigold, largely kept aloof, preferring to ignore this new vulgarian and making sure that they checked carefully before leaving positions of safety, in case she was lurking and waiting to pounce.

Here is Pawtucket, refusing to leave the comparative security of the sundial until she sees That Troublemaker safely engaged in some other devilment at the far end of the garden.

The onset of cold weather did make a difference though.  Both felines and canines began gradually to realise that there might be some benefit to close proximity in the darker hours.

Here is one such typical group.  At other times one or other of the cats will go over and pile herself on top of Troushka instead.  It only happens late in the evening though.  If you try to put them together earlier in the day they give you exasperated glances and flounce off in the opposite direction.  "Really, doesn't she know there's a time and place for everything?"

Me, I have a job finding somewhere to sit and relax with my knitting at night.  "Go away, this place is taken!"

What do you know, we have had some snow here in West Cork over the past few days, quite an unusual thing so far south.  The puppy loved it, the older cats were mystified by it.

Marigold:  "I don't know, I don't know.  How am I supposed to spot a rabbit in this stuff?"

But the hills of West Cork look beautiful in their light dusting of white, and down in the Gearagh, where we have had some bird rarities coming south during the past months, the whole scene is magical. Yet, in our garden, the first primrose showed itself in a sheltered place by the back door only yesterday, and the daffodil stems are already thrusting through the frozen earth.  Take your time, daffodils, take your time.  Don't risk a chill!

Here is a view of the Gearagh in its snowy splendour, offering gentle peace and harmony in an otherwise apparently crazy world.  A great place to walk and just listen to nature.