Kilmacduagh and The Healin' Trough

The clan spend the last Saturday afternoon of January in the ancient town of Athenry. We continued our new hobby of visiting the outside of ruined castles, towers, and monasteries, since they are locked up until the tourist season. The beautiful Dominican Priory built in 1241 is still used for Catholic burials, in addition to some apparently kick-ass beer parties by the local hooliganry. Sam and Theo enjoyed their lunch at a country pub on the way home. Afterward, Theo was denied his request to drive the car home.

Sunday morning’s sun gave us the go, and we made for County Clare with our car full of camera equipment, guide books, and all manner of Indiana Jones survival equipment. On our way through the Burren – a great expanse of exposed sedimentary rock – we accidentally found the finest monastic ruin experience yet! The well groomed complex of Kilmacduagh, nestled out in farm country, is a national monument. The old farmer on whose property it resides doubles as the Republic’s caretaker for the site. He summoned us to his house, handed us a ring of keys and said, ‘Enjoy yourselves and treat her well. You have honest faces’. Though he may be a poor judge of character, Niall is the fourth consecutive generation of his family to hold these sacred keys.

We were awed by the place. Five churches, a small monastic house, and the tallest round tower still standing in Ireland. Beautifully carved inscriptions on wall-mounted tombs note death dates back to the early 1600’s, while even older stones have relinquished their inscriptions to the wind and rain. It’s a moving experience to think of all the hands that, over many centuries, dipped into the holy water vessels still found in the nave. The churches at Kilmacduagh operated for nearly a millennium before they were sacked for the last time by the Cromwellian ironsides. Today, nearly four hundred years later, they are no less majestic, and still surrounded by sheep! No, we’re not smoking Irish weed, folks. Just drinking history.

From there, it was a pleasant drive to the coast. The Cliffs of Mohr are an amazing site and worth the drive, even if you are foolish enough to go through Liscannor. The little town is only three miles from the cliffs, but no signs warn you of the peril ahead. Derreen. The road –which is of typical Irish width and with vertical stone walls for shoulders – runs through this hamlet. Immediately next to the road is St. Brigid’s Holy Well – and requisite emporium - where elderly Catholics from all over Ireland converge via car and fall into an immediate trance whereupon they lose all driving sense and park in the middle of the tiny road.

The abandoned walkers and canes in the grotto are testament to the tremendous healing powers attributed to a dip in ‘Ol St. Brigid’s crystal waters. And yet, we wonder how many innocents have been forced over the edge of sanity, not to mention the deep gorge on the other side of the road, while trying to make their way through the papist throngs. How many cases of cryptosporidiosis have ensued after a brief bath in her well-used waters? Who can say? We can only assume that the sum of roadside carnage and gastrointestinal distress pale in comparison to the greater good. Perhaps those trials, and the eleven dollar parking fee once you arrive at Mohr, are simply God’s way of making the Cliffs seem just a little more spectacular. We can only hope.

Our Irish Blog Song O' The Day is "The Morning Thrush" by the late uilleann piper Seamus Ennis.