THE ROAD TO DOWNPATRICK HEAD, THE MYSTERY OF DU BRISTE, AND BREAKFAST AT MARY'S

A series of essays....

FOLLOWING THE ROAD TO DOWNPATRICK HEAD

....as seen through my eyes!


  

MARY'S COTTAGE KITCHEN

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Most of us wake-up to multiple sources of input even before arriving at the morning’s destination of work, school, or visiting a friend for coffee and conversation. The morning news, YouTube videos, and weather forecasts circle within our brains like the farmhouse in The Wizard of Oz while fragmented visions of unnecessary walls, various video tutorials, and colorful umbrellas encompass the little, white house in a mass confusion of swirling bits and pieces.

Today, I’m not going to allow these hollow fragments to haunt me. Today, I’m thinking about Mary, homemade raspberry scones with lots of creamy butter, and the pure charm of the local Irish people.

SCENIC DRIVE TO BALLYCASTLE

ROLLING HILLS AND STONE WALLS

You see, it all began when Dan and I decided to take a road trip up to meet the Wild Atlantic Way and follow it to the village of Ballycastle and visit the windswept outcrop of Downpatrick Head located just north of the village. Our hope was to find a quaint little eatery in Ballycastle and enjoy a homemade breakfast with the locals before finding the famous stone sea-stack standing close to the edge of the cliffs we were seeking. 

This sea-stack is called Dún Briste (broken fort) and legend has it that when a pagan chieftain refused to convert to Christianity, Saint Patrick struck the ground with his crozier (staff), splitting a chunk of the headland off into the ocean, leaving the chieftain on top! The sea-stack is beautiful to behold because you can see layers upon layers of multi-colored rock strata easily dating the land back millions of years, long before the dinosaurs roamed the earth. 

DUN BRISTE IS WAY OFF IN THE
DISTANCE, JUTTING OUT TO SEA

IN THE FOREGROUND: THE RUINS
OF SAINT PATRICK'S CHURCH.
IN THE BACKGROUND: THE WWII LOOKOUT POST.

The coastline of County Mayo can be rugged and wild while it curiously curves around the North Atlantic Ocean as you follow the Wild Atlantic Way. The designated signs allow you to follow this road quite easily and, I promise you, it will take you on adventures you will never find by tour bus. I always recommend renting a car whenever possible while traversing Ireland in order to get into all of the brilliant nooks and crannies and offbeat tracks that this craggy island has to offer.

Making it up the final hill with Ballycastle within sight, lo and behold, the very first sign we came across was Mary’s Cottage Kitchen! “That was certainly easy, wasn’t it?” I said, thoroughly delighted with our instant find and anticipating a cuppa or two in my near future.

“The stone façade is very inviting,” Dan added and we were instantly swept into the little structure by the strong wind at our back as soon as we opened the rustic front door. 

~~ MARY ~~

“Hello. Hello, and a good morning to ya!” Mary’s kind voice preceded her physical presence as our eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dimness of the cottage’s interior. “Hello and please sit wherever you’d like. Indeed, my name is Mary and I’m gonna see what Beth here would like to have this morning and I will be right with ya. Make yourselves at home, won’t ya?”

As Mary glided over to Beth’s table, we sat down at a small one near a front window and were now able to see our surroundings quite nicely, as well as our intriguing host. From the ‘happy’ yellow walls to the solid oak tables and chairs that mimicked my Mother’s dining set but represented over twenty-one years of constant wear and tear contributed to by hungry local workers, farmers, ladies out for tea and scones, and families seeking refuge from having to cook dinner in their own kitchen one night a week...Mary’s Cottage Kitchen lived up to its name.

OUR VIEW OUT TO BALLYCASTLE

WE APPRECIATED
THEIR KEEN SENSE OF HUMOR

After perusing the menu inside and out, we determined that Mary must have a unique sense of humor and may show a little jealousy towards Bart, her husband, when hair color and age are concerned. “Canna get you both something to drink?” her warm smile imploring us to order and stay awhile. Walking away to make my tea and pour Dan a cup of coffee, it dawned on me what she reminded me of in a quirky sort of way. “Mary looks like a train engineer with her white hat and striped apron, don’t you think?” I asked Dan who was watching two men blowing in from the front doorway. “Maybe a little bit. I just think she’s adorable!”

MARY TAKING BETH'S ORDER

The two newcomers sat down at the table near us and made themselves at home. With one blink of an eye Mary was bringing out two steaming cups of black coffee and placing them in front of the men. “Hello, Cal! What’s up, Pat? Will it be the same as usual today? Yes, I thought so. Hope the world is treating you both well. Won’t be a moment, all right?” And, as if the front door had been left wide open, she blew straight back into her tiny kitchen. 

Shortly afterward, Mary emerged with tea and coffee in hand accompanied by fresh lemon wedges and honey and eager to take our breakfast order. When we saw that she offered poached eggs on toast with a side of rashers, there was no way we could resist. “Now, you get a side basket of bread, too, don’t ya know. I can fill it up with brown bread and a side of my mixed-berry jam, homemade and sweet as heaven. And, with your eggs, you’ll have a raspberry scone I made just this morning and practically hot from the oven.” With our mouths watering and tummies rumbling, about all we could do was nod our genuine approval as Mary turned to speak with Beth a few feet away.

AHH! THE PERFECT BREAKFAST!

DAN ENJOYING HIS BROWN BREAD

Now, the local men near us were carrying on a quiet conversation when Mary reappeared from the back like a choreographed dancer holding two steaming plates of eggs, rashers, and toast. Slipping one plate gently down before each man, she asked what more she could bring them and said she’d be talking later about a construction job she might have for them, soon.

“Do you notice how very few words are spoken and yet...everyone seems to know what everyone else is thinking? It’s as though spending enough time in close proximity together has enabled them to read one another’s mind,” Dan observed. I agreed wholeheartedly when Mary, quite the one person show, was bringing our own plates out to be placed down before us. Could she see how we were salivating in genuine anticipation?

MARY'S DISPLAY CASE
OF HOMEMADE DELIGHTS!

Discreetly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I asked Mary if she created all of the scrumptious baked goods displayed in the glass case behind her, along with the brown bread and fruited scones. “Every day I wake-up early to work in the kitchen creating different delights to sell. Today it is raspberry scones but, tomorrow it will be strawberry or blueberry. I go by what’s available to me at the time. My jams are made in the late summer days when the fruit is the freshest it can be and then they are ready to bring out throughout the colder months.” 

It was such fun listening to her speak, her charming accent spreading joy to our ears. Before leaving us to devour our goodies, she asked, “Are ya bound for Downpatrick Head this morning? If so, be fairly careful. The wind is mighty powerful (pointing out the front window). The view of Dún Briste is stunning but the wind off of the North Atlantic can be a wicked ting.” We were both thinking that heeding a local’s advice was probably quite prudent.

Having finished our grand meal, a pot of brewed tea, and two cups of coffee, Dan was paying our bill while I was running all about taking pictures of Mary’s Cottage Kitchen. Mary gave us both a genuine hug good-bye and said she’d more than likely be there if and when we ever returned to Ballycastle. We decided we could not return without seeing Mary again!

FOLLOWING THE WILD ATLANTIC WAY

THE NORTH ATLANTIC IN THE DISTANCE

WHERE BLUE SKIES MEET THE BLUE SEA....  

Turning our rental car north to the coast we followed the signs leading us to the famous sea-stack and the mighty cliffs of Downpatrick Head. “Oh, look at that view, Dan! Please stop,” I pleaded for, at least, the fiftieth time that day. By now Dan was quite familiar with my need to shoot practically everything in sight! With a country as naturally beautiful as Ireland, this can be a very time consuming affair. But, so well worth it in the end. “Don’t worry, I’m pulling over here,” he explained with a smile on his face.

“Stunningly beautiful! What more can I say?” I exclaimed while madly clicking away.

ENJOYING THE MAGNIFICENT LIGHT
AND THE CRASHING WAVES

THE VIBRANCY AND COLOR OF LAND AND SEA

THE BEAUTY OF DOWNPATRICK HEAD

Parking the car and arming ourselves with woolen scarves and warm gloves, we prepared ourselves for an invigorating coastal walk up green slopes dotted with grazing sheep, around Poll N’a Seantainne, a magnificent blowhole that plummets down to the tempestuous ocean below, and a small stone building built near the edge of the cliff that served as a lookout post during World War II. The name Downpatrick is derived from a time when St Patrick himself founded a church here. We could still see the ruins of the church building, a stone cross, and a holy well nearby.

And, of course, there was the glorious Dún Briste majestically floating yards out to sea and resembling a giant layered cream torte baked to perfection over the span of many centuries. Dan snapped several pictures of this decadent slice of historic importance and has had it as his screen saver ever since.

GRAVEL PATH TO THE TOP OF THE CLIFFS

POLL N'a SEANTAINNE BLOWHOLE

DARKENING SKIES AND SUNSHINE....
PERFECT LIGHTING!!!

“Look at the dark clouds and mist rolling in. I believe we’re in for a big storm,” Dan said, as our fascination with the place had yet to ebb. With wide eyes I noted that I’d not taken the time to notice the thick cloud cover approaching us from far out at sea. It was a living, breathing white fog that had designs on engulfing the deep blue waters and the rolling landscape neatly bordered by rocky cliffs. “Let’s move now because we have quite a hike down to the car park,” I replied, a bit anxiously.

THE GLORIOUS DUN BRISTE

How many Irish men, women, and children stood along this same spot, year after year, watching the sea mist devour their land and homes in a matter of a few moments? The sea is a powerful force filled with mystery that takes up a large space in the history of Ireland and defines her people. On that particular day in early October, this fact was never more evident to us. We, also, learned to respect the land and the majestic cliffs that constantly work at keeping the mighty sea at bay.

HEADING BACK TO BALLYCASTLE
IN THE MIST AND RAIN

Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes 

All rights reserved

Photo copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

THE CHURCH ON THE HILL

 A series of short stories......



TOURMAKEADY CHURCH AT LOUGH MASK
COUNTY MAYO, IRELAND

.....through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


We were as giddy as small children spending the day at Magic Kingdom as we sat at the drop-leaf table for our breakfast of Jameson marmalade on toast and delicious, hot pressed coffee!  Our road trip today included the town of Cong located just north of Lough Corrib.  It was Thursday morning and our stay in Ireland was in its final days....so, we should have been sad, right?  

That day we just allowed the white Nissan rental car to take the lead.  It was an unstructured travel day in the sense that, even though Cong was on our radar, anything else was possible.  Dan and I like this kind of travel day because you never know what you'll find or where you'll end up....

The Quiet Man Bridge

Earlier in the week, we'd discovered the stone bridge featured in the movie The Quiet Man and it existed just to the west of Oughterard and in sight right off of the N59.  We must have gone by it that week at least fifty times.  We imagined the spot John Wayne sat at on the bridge with the rippling river and lush mountains in the background.  I think we came close to his exact position after watching the movie (purchased in Cong) once we returned home to the States.

Cong Abbey

The route to Cong, a small town located practically on the Galway and Mayo County Line, took us around deep mountain lakes, across babbling brooks and wide rivers and through dark, dense forests.  We parked the car right next to the ancient ruins of Cong Abbey and spent the next two hours exploring everywhere.  I enjoy taking pictures of ruins and Cong Abbey did not disappoint.  As I set up a shot, I always imagine the structure in its prime with people going about their business hundreds of years before.  It helps to give me an interesting perspective and a true understanding of the relative importance of things.

Across from the Abbey was The Quiet Man gift shop.....apropos considering most of the 'town scenes' were shot there.  Yes, in case you were wondering, we acquired a few items from the shop to take home!
My greatest discovery was a good-sized used bookshop which was absolutely amazing, as well as dangerous.  I never wonder why our return luggage is red-tagged for exceeding the weight limit!!


After a light lunch accompanied by hot tea, just around the corner from the bookshop, we drove over the boarder into County Mayo.

 
Following the signs to Lough Mask, we discovered the 'scenic drive' around the beautiful lake along the L1612 which took us through several small towns dotting the route until we swung left eventually picking-up the R300 and continuing the loop around the lake.  Feeling mellow and slightly lethargic basking in the repetition of mainly flat roads outlined by stone cottages and occasional glimpses of blue water.....Dan suddenly hit the brakes and merged onto the grassy shoulder of the road before coming to a complete stop. 

The Church of Ireland

 
Our unexpected surprise of the day stood to our left...high on a hill that overlooked Lough Mask to the east with the Partry Mountains lording over it to the west.  We were staring at the most interesting church ruin we'd ever seen....as though its parishioners seventy years before stood-up after Sunday service, filed by the clergyman to shake hands and offer their best wishes and then never to return to this magnificent stone structure again.  The weather...the harsh lake winds, heavy snows and relentless rain that flushed down from the surrounding mountains, as well as Father Time, had become its steady companions and most destructive enemies!

Church On The Hill

If you had the stamina and time to set-up a still camera taking intermittent shots from alongside the road for the past seventy or so years it would be the best way to capture and describe the complete scene that stood before us at that moment.  With sheep grazing and chickens strutting in the valley below its foundation and a fence surrounding them...the large, metal gate was wide open, inviting entry.  "Shall we go in?" Dan asked.  With an enthusiastic affirmative nod from me, we parked next to the moss covered stone wall on the south side of the church.  With the exception of the sheep and chickens, we were in total solitude.  Our shoes crunched along the stone path leading up to the back entry and, I don't think either of us uttered a single word as we gazed in amazement.

Original Wall Tiles

Before us stood a once beautiful and imposing structure that had, seemingly, been left solely to the elements with jagged shards of watery-looking glass still protruding from large arched-top window frames and slate roof tiles piled-up all along the earthen floor.   All of its outer walls still stood proud and tall including the round turret positioned at the main entrance on the south-west side.  At least five percent of these walls remained clad in their original tiles.  The dais of the altar, albeit covered in debris now, sparkled as the afternoon sun streamed through the windows above and reflected off of the broken glass below.

Tournasala Mountain In Distance

Looking out of one of the altar windows that faced west, I attempted to outline the grazing sheep down in the valley with the window as my frame and, as I found out later, Tournasala Mountain surrounded by mist in the distance.  I moved as quickly as possible to get my shot because we had disturbed hundreds of dormant black spiders that had been happily nesting in the piles of debris and they were swiftly making their way towards my sandal-clad feet.

View of the Nave

Because this church had been abandoned, the traditional grave sites that originally ran the length of the nave on either side displayed the scars of bodies having been exhumed and, we assumed, buried in other areas.  This act, however, left an ill feeling in my gut as though grave robbers had intruded just yesterday and taken much more than personal possessions or jewelry.  The writer in me judged it as a punitive act of violence....with the intention of punishing the worshipers who had abruptly forsaken this space so long ago.

Turret

Heading outside via the front entrance, we stopped to gaze up into the tall, stone turret, mostly intact, that served as the main steeple and still proudly displayed the inevitable cross that inhabited its spire and pointed up to the heavens.  Outside we glanced over to the right-side of the church and saw the low, long stone wall that ran from the road up and over the hill towards the lake.  Many trees and low-lying scrub plants had devoured the area beyond the fence-line making it impossible to see the lake from our position. 

Grave of  Bishop Thomas Plunkett

We still had no true idea of the age of the church so, walking outside into the small Churchyard out front was pure joy as we found the grave site of a Thomas Plunkett that stated his death to be on October 19, 1866!  The only rational observation was that the church was built prior to this date thus making it much older than we ever imagined. 
 

Reluctantly, we walked back to the car saying good-bye to our 'mystery church' and, as we slowly made our way back to the main road, I stopped to take a picture of the only signage (other than Mr. Plunkett's grave site) that we ever found.

That evening, after connecting to the Internet during dinner at The Boat House Inn, we were able to discover some of the history behind our 'Church On The Hill, ' as well as a little bit about the area itself, courtesy of the National Library of Ireland.  Much to our surprise, its Born On Date was 1857....much older than we ever imagined!  Its official title is Church at Tourmakeady (Church of Ireland) in Ballyovie Parish, County Mayo.

In ancient times, Tourmakeady was covered in large oak forests and represented the area between the Partry Mountains and Lough Mask. Thomas Plunkett, eldest son of The Lord Chancellor of Ireland, came here in 1807 and gradually bought up the small local landlords and evicted many of the tenants (nice guy!).  Eventually he became Bishop of Tuam and, being Protestant, elected to convert Tourmakeady in an attempt to turn the people away from the Catholic Church.  Utilizing his power and despicable means to evict tenants who failed to conform, he was eventually exposed to the public by the local parish priest, Father Pat Lavelle.  It is indeed the remains of Bishop Plunkett, who died in 1866, that now rests in the Church of Ireland Churchyard in Tourmakeady!!

Lough Mask

We could not find any information to help us understand why it appeared that all of this could have transpired only.....a short time beforehand!  Talking about this over a delicious meal of fish and chips and a pint of Guinness, we decided to take a thoroughly romantic take on our adventures that day, highly suggestive of an idealized view of reality, and proclaim that we had been mesmerized by the varied shades of green comprising the Mayo countryside.  We had been hypnotized by the magical power of this special place called Ireland, along with her people, history and our love for them all.  And, for a short period of time that afternoon, we knew what it meant to be charmed by the mountain mist and live among the faeries in a land where time and place no longer mattered and the present blended seamlessly with the past....

The Mist of  Tournasala Mountain