Ireland Beckons 5: Goodbye and all that

Being Irish is most definitely a state of mind. Of course there's the geographic realities of being born there, or the legacy of inherited nationality (I'm an Irish citizen by birth because my mother was born in Ireland before the Easter Uprising). But no matter what your roots, if you love to talk, have poetry in your heart, see the humor in most things and a prediliction to generous hospitality...you're Irish. When you're in Ireland, for all the scenic beauty, scrumptious regional food, history and so forth, it's the people that give the place that certain something that is universally understood as Irish.

The last stop Lucinda had guided us to was the country house B&B, Ashley Park, Ardcroney near Nenagh, Co. Tipperary, a rambling, neo-Gothic, country house overlooking a small lake. Its walled gardens are undergoing an extensive program of restoration, there are stables for those interested in horse riding, but best of all is the exceptionally warm and relaxed welcome from owner Sean Mounsey, who is, as Lucinda puts it, "a rare find". It was a long haul from Kinsale to Nenagh, thanks to the lack of a Cork City bypass, but 10 minutes after our arrival, and deep into conversation with Sean, we'd forgotten our travail. He's got the gift of the gab, okay. But it is worth listening to, as his discourse is studded with advice for sane and sensible living (and the occasional 'Begorrah')..."you've got to fight your corner", "be grateful for what you've got—tomorrow you may not have it!." I particularly liked his technique for learning to dance, "Which I couldn't do at all," he says, recalling the days of his youth when he'd go to the socials to meet the girls. "And they knew it. Every one I'd ask would say, 'I'm dancing', and off they'd sail."

Now comes the genius part ..."So I looked at the wallflowers, sitting there, their feet twitching. I asked them to dance. And glad they were of it, with me stumbling over their feet, but they got a chance to show their steps." Hey presto—an Irish Fred Astaire was born. Judging from the family photos around the drawing room and hall, Sean was quite a lad, and his late wife was his world. They'd met riding their bikes in the lanes around Ashley Park. They married, and the day came when they purchased the old house and began to restore and furnish it. Be sure to get the room with the tester (4-poster) bed. And have them light a peat fire in the grate for you to fall asleep to—it's the best sedative in the world... you've not been to Ireland until you've experienced the perfumey smoke of a peat fire.


Me and Joy Larkcom in her garden.
One person that Amy and I were particularly keen to visit was Joy Larkcom, the English garden writer who has made a speciality of heritage and unusual vegetables, a passion she shares with Amy (visit Amy at WWW.RAREFORMS.COM to learn about her commitment to the vegetable kingdom). Joy wrote about Oriental vegetables when all we knew about was napa cabbage, and Joy put Mizuna salad mix on the map. She and her husband Don have retired to Ireland a few years ago and live on the windswept cliffs overlooking the Atlantic, just south of Bandon. She is, of course, making a garden. But only after erecting a system of windbreaks to defeat the blowing gale that would make even the stoutest heart quaver. If you're at all interested in creating an ornamental vegetable garden, or potager, look no further for good advice than Joy's book 'The Creative Vegetable Garden'. And tune in to some of her other books...she is the guru of veggie gardening.

At 5am, Saturday morning, we staggered into our waiting taxi for the trip to Dublin airport and home. We'd hardly left Merrion Square when our driver began his literary tour of the city, pointing out Oscar Wilde's recumbant statue on the edge of the square. I remarked how early it was for such erudition. "Oh, right then," he said, and fell quiet. But the urge to talk, to share the highlights of his city, and the culture of Ireland (along with a 'spoof' or joke) overcame him..."Ye see that house there, it's where Bram Stoker died in poverty, Dracula is not a Translyvanian word ya' know, it's Gaelic...for red blood...".

Taking a deep breath— we were off.



PS. If you're planning a trip to Ireland, it's worth visiting WWW.TOURISMIRELAND.COM, and for car rental I recommend Murray's Europcar.