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| The road to our house |
Ireland is not a good country for a VW Tayron. Equipped with the latest risk-averse technology that Germany is famous for, the appropriately grey-coloured beast bleeped and pinged its way through the narrow country lanes, telling me that obstacles lay in our path.
BING! Beware,
an unkempt hedgerow!
I know, and
I can’t do anything about the décor, so just live with it.
PING! You
are approaching another vehicle!
That’s
right, because we’re coming up to a roundabout.
RING! (Music
goes much quieter) I’ve noticed you’re reversing and approaching an object. Are
you sure you want to proceed?
Yes, it’s a white
painted line in a huge car park. You’ll live, just keep reversing, and stop fading
out my playlist to tell me something I already know.
DINGALING!
Your left wheel is precariously over this road's central line!
Well done,
Sherlock. I’m taking a bend to the right on an empty country road.
I shouldn’t
have to justify myself to a mere vehicle, but these days, with their ability to speak to you, they take on a kind of
personality. In fact, the VW Tiguan we had the last time we came to Ireland is still
a living legend with the children – they called her Mrs Car and even now they compare
her to the one we have this time. Needless to say Mrs Car is more cherished
than the control freak we have this time.
As the car was
making some bell-like noise worthy of a bank’s burglar alarm, we reversed into
our new driveway. The day before I had taken a few of our bags over to make the
transition from holiday home to static caravan easier. The house was to double
up as our wardrobe so that the static caravan wasn’t full of suitcases and the
piles of clothes we had taken with us.
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| Milda greets me at the door |
A week
before, we had taken a trip to Euronics in Carrick-On-Shannon to buy a fridge
and a washing machine. The deliverer had tried to bring it to us the day before
but we were only there briefly. Our new neighbours had offered to accept the
items but he thought it better to come back as we had paid for the installation
of our washing machine to the rudimentary plumbing (a tap outside the window).
However, he made it to us at about midday; a jolly man who obviously loved his
job, he looked at our setup and went inside his truck to pull out a much longer
connector pipe from the tap to the machine. We were impressed by his speed and
charmed by his conversation. Quite a breath of fresh air, to be frank.
Although we
had visited our new house several times in the preceding few days, this
particular one was different. Because it wasn’t actually a visit: we were now
here to stay. Things felt a lot more real, and suddenly it occurred to us that
all the preparations we had made were just the tip of the iceberg – among other
things, we needed a stepladder, a saucepan or two, some more blankets, a couple
of chairs, and a shedload of food.
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| Jacket potato at The Corner |
Ballinamore
is a good 20 minutes’ drive from us, yet a man of a particular age stopped me
in the café and said “you’re a Mohill man, aren’t you?!” I was slightly
flabbergasted, but indeed, I had seen the same man and his friends from afar in
a café in Mohill. Yes, this was a place where everyone knew what everyone else
was up to… I’ve lived in such a place before, and it’s both a blessing and a
curse.
I should
mention, there were quite a lot of sheep in the opposite field to greet us as
we arrived. The welcome felt wholesome and genuine this time: the farmer who
owns those sheep and the land around us, let’s call him Seán, dropped by to
shake our hands and give us a few words of kindness. He explained about the
house, as it belonged to his cousins before, about the area, and his connection
to it.
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| Sheep in front of our house |
The sun
shone all evening on that first day; the clouds were high up and provided a
spectacular adornment to the setting of the sun, which slunk ever-so-slowly
before our eyes through the large window of the caravan, before it disappeared way
after eleven o’clock. It was approaching full moon too: the departure of the
sun gave way to a breathtakingly serene moonlit night, the only sounds coming
from the sheep. We were all relatively tired after such exertions, but we had
made it intact to our new home with all our belongings.
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| Sunset in front |
The day
after, a Wednesday, I took a drive to Longford with the children once more, and
Bonny Bee stayed back to do her work. We found a place where we could purchase
a few pieces of furniture, and they actually made their own mattresses. We took
note of their number. I was, though, there for a lawnmower shop. I urgently
needed to do something about the reeds growing high in our field. Among the
three kids running amok, I managed to find a decent strimmer with a brush
cutter. I didn’t buy it this time, but it’s on my list once we know how much
the new bathroom and the windows will cost us. Seán kindly said he’ll send one
of the lads over next week to cut the reeds for us.
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| Dainoris "invents" Ball-And-Stick, with some unintended consequences |
The children had not asked for a TV yet, and it had been a good 36 hours. We were holding out hope it would stay that way. In the meantime, there was a front garden to rearrange. Each side of the house is a driveway, but the one nearest the neighbours had been fenced off. I rolled up the mesh and Dainoris carried the larger stones over to the side to build a little rockery. Then he found a short plank and a football and invented a sport called “ball and stick”. I didn’t have the heart to tell him about cricket, baseball and rounders.
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| The Boardwalk at Drumshanbo |
The weather
had been pretty good to us so far and the following day was in the mid-twenties
– my favourite temperature. We took a trip out to Drumshanbo, a charming town
about 30 minutes away with some lakes on the River Shannon. There is also an
outdoor swimming pool and a diving area in the lake. They have built a
boardwalk just above water level across the lake and up along the canal. You
can watch the tadpoles in the waterlilies, bring a net to try your hand at
angling for a fish or two, or watch the birds go graciously by.
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| Walking along the river towpath at Drumshanbo |
We opted for
Jinny’s Tea Rooms first, as they were going to close in an hour. This was not a
mistake – what a place. Such a light and breezy interior, it was packed with
happy customers from the very young to the very old. The cakes were staggering
in their tastiness and size, so much so that one portion of chocolate gâteau
was enough for all three of the children. I had a hunk of carrot and walnut
cake, which was so big I needed to take a break midway, and Bonny Bee's red
fruit lattice pie was so big, it could have been mistaken for the bow of a small fishing boat.
Some ladies
from the North were sitting on the table beside us. “You have lovely children!”
they chimed.
“Thank you, but from a
distance,” I replied, “the island of Komodo looks majestic. But when you’re
there it’s one of the most deadly places on Earth. That’s kind of the same with
my children.”
We talked
for a good ten minutes. The older of the two was in her early nineties. She
told me to come closer as if she had a secret to tell us. Then she glanced
around to make sure nobody was listening and whispered in a conspiratorial
voice: “They like to hold wakes, you know. I’m talking about the people down
here, in the south. You’re expected to put on your best clothes and show your
respects to the deceased at the pub.”
I mean, for
me, that’s how I want to go: my coffin covered in wet circles from everyone’s
glasses, propping up the elbows of those gathered as my corpse plays witness to
everyone’s stories, banter and debates. I want there to be singing, and I want
my family and friends to have a jolly
good blowout.
So I just
replied, “Yes, good for them. Better than acting all pious. There will be time
for grieving at the funeral.” She nodded in the way someone who might not agree
with you would do when you make a valid point, and carried on proselytising
about the children.
Afterwards,
we took a walk along the boardwalk over the lake. On the opposite side, a group
of about fifteen children and their parents were dive-bombing into the water.
We passed a family trying their best at angling for some fish or even tadpoles,
but they were having no luck. The noise from the kids on the other side was so
raucous, if I were a fish, I’d have gone to find myself a new lake. But it got us
thinking – we needed to jump in a lake.
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| The kids that scared the fish |
So the day
after, we drove north to Brackley Lake, which is essentially a car park with a
beach, and waded straight into the water. The lake was warm, inviting and
increasingly squelchy the further out you went. It was like taking a bath, no
joke. The thermometer said it was 29 degrees and it showed in the number of
people hanging around here cooling off in the water. The children got playing
with another family and their enormous beach ball. A gust of wind took it over
to the far side of the lake and the boat ramp. Dainoris chased it and ended up
slicing his foot open on a sharp stone. A similar thing happened to me a year
ago in San Vicente de la Barquera, and I needed to stay out of the water for
over a week, so I could understand his disappointment.
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| Brackley Lake, Cavan |
That evening, on the way home, we stopped in Ballinamore once again, and tried out a pub called the Poor Scholar. A modest but pretty flower-festooned, stone-clad house on the main street, it was like the Tardis. Inside was huge: the bar area gave way to a huge saloon equipped with several TVs, a pool table, darts, and a small stage. We were all peckish so I inquired about food, but the manager said there was none, but the takeaway across the street was open and we could bring the food in there.
What to do now?
I rushed back
to the pub to get my card, but then I remembered I’d left my wallet at home. It
wasn’t in the car either. Just then, the pub's manager appeared nearby and I had an
idea. If I paid for our drinks so far, would he be able to add twenty to the
bill so I could get in some food?
Yes, he
could. And suddenly any remaining Murphys went off to spring their nefarious Law
on some other unsuspecting victim. The two portions of chips were massive, and
enough for us to all satisfy our hunger.
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| The Tardis |
We were on a
roll and I was getting used to the VW, despite there being more bleeping than a
daytime TV interview with Samuel L Jackson. The following day, the final day of
the so-called heatwave, we decided to take a road trip to the part of this
island under the jurisdiction of the United Kingdom. Enniskillen was a town I
had wanted to visit for a while. Scene of a brutal bombing in 1987, it had
remained in my mind for all those years and I wanted to see the town itself.
The drive
from Leitrim, through County Cavan and into Fermanagh, was spectacular. With
the rugged mountains in the distance, we passed by rolling hills, dark forests,
rapid rivers, and pretty villages. The children have become acquainted with my
driving, and I have to say the VW has some very sensitive pedals, so on these
twisting roads, the passengers were feeling a little queasy, but we managed to get
to our destination in the end.
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| Enniskillen Castle |
Complete
with a signposted route, you are taken on a journey through the local history, and
shown how the place used to look in the past. There are some interesting
medals, uniforms, weapons, vehicles, silverware and maps in the military section,
and in the civilian section there are remodelled shops with artifacts of the
time, horse-drawn carriages, delivery vans, clothes, and the former mayoral
regalia of the town.
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| Inside the museum |
The castle
itself is surrounded by barracks whose divisions have been converted into models
of military hospitals, field hospitals, smithies and battle planning rooms. It
was well worth the 90 minutes we spent in there, and we bought quite a few
things in the gift shop.
We then left
the castle and took a walk alongside the river Erne, only the ninth longest
river on the island, but with the third largest basin. The section we took had
been redeveloped and the area immediately beyond the riverside path was being
refurbished. What we saw was delightful and once it is finished it will be a major
magnet for visitors. Willow trees, alders, oaks, wild flowers, rushes and reeds
lined the banks as we passed families, couples, groups of kids jumping off jetties
into the water, and dog walkers, all appreciating the weather and their newly-designed
public space.
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| Along the River Erne |
We reached
the end of the section and found ourselves near a couple of pubs. We chose the
one with the terrace overlooking the river, and found a table in the sun. There
was a guy strumming on his guitar, which seems to be a familiar scene on the island.
I walked through the bar to take a look and found three or four other rooms,
all full of pubgoers on a sunny Sunday
afternoon. The children seem to enjoy going to the pub just as much as the
cafés and bars of Valencia. In fact, I would say even more so, as they tend to
stay seated for longer. I think it’s due to the less intense noise levels.
We walked
around the town a little, and down Church Street, which happens to be every bit
like what it sounds. St Michael’s Catholic Church is two doors down from the
local Methodist Church and sits almost directly opposite St Macartin’s Protestant
Cathedral, making this one of the places most likely to be the scene of a cream
pie fight on a Sunday morning. Leaving behind the shortest ecumenical street outside
of Old Jerusalem, we walked back to the car and took the scenic route back to Leitrim
and our new home.
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| Pat's Bar, Enniskillen |
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| One of the shop fronts in Enniskillen |
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| The marina |
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| River Erne |
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| Livia sitting on the river bank |
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| Wild flower display in the meadows |
