Our Time In Ireland

This blog chronicles our visit to Rosscarbery, Ireland in December, 2008, by four Iowans.

Part pilgrimage, part pure escape, the stay ended up exceeding our wildest expectations. The credit for this goes to good people of Rosscarbery.

They were beyond kind. Witty, generous and helpful, they embroidered moment after moment with good cheer. For seven days, they were fast friends to four Americans who had pressed themselves like iron-on patches to the social fabric of the community.

In the days leading up to our departure to Ireland, we would tell friends the trip was months in the making. Perhaps it was more than that.

Yes, our conversations about going to Ireland began in the spring. But now that we’ve returned with so many memories to treasure, we could be convinced that maybe this trip was, in a spiritual sense, years in the making.

Rosscarbery is a scenic, unpretentious village with a gentle soul. Located on the southwest coast of County Cork within earshot of the sea, the community has a population of about 950 year-round residents. It is off the well-worn tourist track of foreigners and too often given short shrift by guide books.

Despite its low profile, Rosscarbery has an attraction that most other cities in Ireland cannot claim – a direct family connection to John, one of the four Iowans and the shooter of the photos below.

The tie goes back to Ellen Wolfe, who left Rosscarbery in the shadow of the 1840s potato famine with her husband William Hawks of nearby Bandon, Ireland. They settled in Iowa and so many decades later, John, one of their many descendants was back in the clan. With his wife, Heather, and their friends Carol and Tom, in tow, John kept the memory of his ancestors alive with church and heritage center visits.

Ireland is a place where the phrase “Cead Mile Failte!” (One hundred thousand welcomes!) is more than just a tourist board slogan. Reaching back thousands of years, it is a greeting that reflects the ageless yearning of our species to commune in a spirit of good nature.

From Nora Hubbert, the craft shop proprietor who was keeper of our apartment over looking Rosscarbery square, to the 9-year-old who beat us at a ring toss game in The Abbey Bar, everyone we encountered treated us as if they were sincerely happy we were there.

All this made leaving on Friday, Dec. 12, for the airport at Shannon a sad experience.

Today, it’s difficult to say whether the fondness in our hearts for this one small town in west County Cork is the result of an accident or spiritual design.

But this much is certain: Genealogical research years ago by John’s family paid off. It lit our way to Rosscarbery, making all of us richer for our time away.

Eating well, very well

Ireland is bit like Iowa when it comes to dining. Food snobs have traditionally given the local cuisine in both places a bad rap. The four of us know there are fine places to eat in Iowa. Now, we also know there is wonderful food to be had in Ireland, at least in Rosscarbery.

Gossip, a full-service restaurant, and Roc’s, a delightful, traditional fish-and-chips takeaway place, have already been mentioned. We were also most impressed with Lily House, which calls itself a Chinese restaurant but actually offers more than Chinese fare. For example, one dish in the gut-busting meal for three that we had on Tuesday evening was Malaysian.

The place we’ve eaten the most here is Pilgrim’s Rest Coffee House and Restaurant. Serving breakfast and lunch through the afternoon, Pilgrim’s Rest is an exceptional eatery. For starters, it is bold enough to have an Illy coffeemaker from Italy. This is daring in a country that worships at the altar of tea. Breakfasts are ample and delicious, owing to the fact that all ingredients are fresh.

Alex Suss and Joanne Durrant opened their restaurant here five years ago. Alex is from Switzerland. Joanne is from England. They definitely know what they’re doing. This is a place that tourists passing through might not know about, but they should.

Lord of the Rings

Oh, they shoot darts in Rosscarbery. Indeed, some lads were playing 301 Monday evening at The Abbey Bar. They made the game look easy.

They also toss rings at The Abbey. This would be a great indoor game to share with friends who might not be safe to put close to sharp objects.

The concept is similar to darts. Each player gets to toss six rings at a board outfitted with `13 cup hooks. Each cup hook has a point value. The object is to land a hook on a ring until a player hits a predetermined number, usually 200. Then, before the first person to hit the number can claim victory, he or she must land three rings on the #1 hook at the bottom of the board.

Because this blog reports the whole truth, it must be mentioned here that the HPT delegation went looking for the toughest local competition they could find. In the late afternoon Wednesday, they took on Aaron. Little did they know, he was a ringer. Aaron quickly raced past Tom and Carol and then John. For a while, it was neck-and-neck with Heather. Finally, though Aaron landed the winning ring, teaching the Americans a lesson they’d likely remember for quite a while. Oh, by the way, Aaron is 9 years old (he’ll be 10 in January).

The holy places of Ireland

It might be stretching it a wee bit to suggest that John has spent as much time in churches as he has in pubs. But it is a fact that not since he was an altar boy has John genuflected as often as he has this week.

On Wednesday, John woke up at the crack of dawn to attend the daily 9 a.m. Mass at the aforementioned St. Fatchna’s. He discovered that the sacraments here can be dispensed with reverential efficiency. Mass lasted about 15 minutes.

Tuesday, he called on St. Patrick’s in Bandon, the hometown of William Hawks. Built in 1861, on a spot that had been a place of worship for centuries, St. Patrick’s is impressive. The church rises above Bandon’s bustling center-city shopping district with regal flair.

As it turned out, John slipped into St. Patrick’s between two funerals. He even served as an impromptu usher, holding the church doors open for locals bringing in flowers for the second funeral. Once an altar boy, always an altar boy.

You betcha

It is about as easy to find a place to wager in Ireland as it is to find a fast-food joint in the States.

The Irish clearly enjoy games of a chance. The Mouse Races we went to on Saturday are a good example. The betting was fast and furious. And when the four Yanks strolled in, eyes lit up. Someone was heard to exclaim, “The heavy money has come in from the States!’’

Rosscarbery, for as small as it is, has a bookie on the square. One day, Heather walked in, thinking there might be a wireless connection for her laptop. A customer smiled and asked, “Do you have a hot tip for us?’’ Seeing as how she had already won money on Saturday, Heather said, “Yes, go with mouse four in the sixth race.’’

And, finally, the fondness for gaming here was put this way at one restaurant. “Oh, yes, people here will wager on just about anything,’’ we were told. “We already have bets in the kitchen on how many pieces of bread will come back from your table.’’

In the doorway of Dillon’s

The last time Tom and Carol were in Ireland, their partners in crime were Marilyn Dillon and Brian Horton, great friends in New Jersey. Back then, they were all delighted to find Dillon’s pub in the small West Cork town of Timoleague.

Our fantasy was that if we stayed in front of the pub long enough, one of Marilyn’s cousins would come out and ask if she’d like to have the pub. While we waited, Brian snapped a classic photo of Marilyn leaning against the door. That photo hangs on the wall of Tom and Carol’s house back in Des Moines.

Because we miss Marilyn and Brian and think of them often, and because we wanted to share a piece of our past with John and Heather, we returned to Timoleague. Carol leaned on the same spot where Marilyn leaned more than a decade ago. A photo was snapped.

Coincidentally, when we visited with Marilyn and Brian, Dillon’s was closed. It was also closed on Wednesday. If Marilyn had been given the pub back then, we know it would have been open.

The magical history tour

Today will be our last in Rosscarbery. Tomorrow we will venture north through counties Kerry and Clare, before returning to Shannon for our Saturday flight back to the States. Today is likely to be bittersweet for us.

It is amazing how life works sometimes. Long lost echoes of time drew us to Rosscarbery.

More than 150 years after they left Ireland, William Hawks and Ellen Wolfe, John’s ancestors, spoke to family and the new friends tagging along: This is my Bandon. This is my Rosscarbery. Hear the sounds we heard. Men, women and children living, working, praying, playing and laughing. Smell the turf fires burning into dusk. This is our West Cork, with green hills, churches, castle ruins and narrow, squinting roads. This is the land we once knew, with proud little towns that have risen up through sunshine and rain for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Yes, this is the place we left behind so long ago, to make a better life for ourselves and those who would follow. Don’t make too much of what we did. Just enjoy the place where we lived while you can, and remember it when you like. That will keep us living for another 150 years.