Bantry

Abhainn na Seangán – River of the Ants – A Look Back

Another post republished – to keep the Journal going while we are taking a little break. This one was first put up nearly four years ago. I still find the name of this topological feature intriguing. So let’s have another look at it . . .

What’s in a name? In Ireland – quite a lot, usually, although the meaning often takes some searching out. Perusing Ordnance Survey Ireland sheet 85 on a late February afternoon when the sun miraculously appeared and lit up a countryside ripe for exploration, my eye was drawn to a river running through the hills to the east of Bantry: Owennashingaun. How could you overlook such a name? And how could you not be intrigued by the Irish place-name which must have preceded it before the surveyors put their anglicisation to it: Abhainn na Seangán? Even better was the discovery of the meaning of this name: River of the Ants!

Our byway heading into the hills

With high expectations we set out, with Finola at the ready with her camera. As with all West Cork locations, Abhainn na Seangán is but a few paces from Nead an Iolair, as the crow flies. Pausing only to pick up our friend Gill in Ballybane West along the way, we were soon heading north for the foothills of Mullaghmesha (Irish: Mullach Méise – Summit of the Altar).

Turning north at the Cullomane Crossroads on the R586 we almost immediately crossed the Owennashingaun River (I’ll use the Anglicised version as that is what usually appears on the map). Here it’s just a gentle, straight watercourse which follows the main road until it picks up the Ahanaclaurshee Stream (Irish: River of the Harp) and then becomes the Ilen River, which flows on through Skibbereen and eventually reaches the sea at Baltimore.

Glens, farms and distant highlands on our road heading for Mullaghmesha

We skirted two smallish peaks – Sprat Hill and Knocknaveagh (Irish:Cnoc na bhFiach, wonderfully ‘The Hill of the Ravens’) – before reaching the townland of Tralibane, an important Irish landmark as it was here that Captain Francis O’Neill was born in 1838. He travelled the world and had a colourful life of many adventures before being elevated to the role of Chief Superintendent of Police in Chicago in 1901. O’Neill came from a musical family in his West Cork childhood and is best known today as one of the most successful collectors of Irish Traditional Music. Here is a post I wrote about The Chief back in 2014.

From Tralibane we travelled north-east on deserted boreens, through a soft, green landscape of glens and standing stones (see the header picture), gradually rising towards more distant highlands, until we encountered again the ‘River of the Ants’. The source of Abhainn na Seangán is on the slopes of Mullaghmesha, whose peak is at 495 metres: we didn’t make it up there to look for the altar: a destination for another day. The name of the river remains enigmatic: I searched the excellent resource www.logainm.ie and found an archive record there dating from 1840 which gives the translation as: ‘river of the pismires’. I then had to look up ‘pismires’, which is evidently from early English:

1350 – 1400: Middle English pissemyre, equivalent to pisse to urinate + obsolete mire ant, perhaps Scandinavian (compare Danish mire, Swedish myra) cognate with Dutch mier; pejorative name from stench of formic acid proper to ants

There was nothing untoward with the smell of the river as we followed it – and we didn’t see any ants! So the mystery remains. Surely there must be a story embedded in local knowledge or folklore which could enlighten us?

Upper – sweeping views began to open up as the road climbed towards Castle Donovan; centre – the iconic ruined castle, which was taken into the care of the State in 2000 and has since received major stabilisation and renovation; lower – a splendid piece of signage at Castle Donovan – every possible disaster has been foreseen!

The ruin of Castle Donovan is as fine as any in West Cork, and is fortunate to be in permanent State care. Set on a plateau with the mountain rising behind it, it is an impressive focal point in the landscape, which can be seen for miles around. We passed by the castle and headed up on a rough, winding way: looking back, the silhouette of the tower house stands out with benign West Cork rolling pasture as a prepossessing backdrop.

The road very quickly becomes a true mountain pass, and an early evening haze seemed to hang over everything as we skirted the east side of Mullaghmesha. We hardly saw a soul on our whole journey, but we were eyed warily by sheep who plainly considered us intruders on their territory.

On the north side of the mountain we entered the Mealagh Valley, and were reminded of our recent adventures travelling through the Yellow Gap. Finding our way down to the lowlands again, we took our last look at the River of the Ants at Dromore, and bid it a fond farewell. In spite of its unfathomable name, it had taken us on a grand exploration. Give it a try for yourselves!

Upper, the distinctive church at Dromore, with its pencil-thin ’round tower’ and, above, our last view of Owennashingaun

‘This is Our History’: The Abbey Graveyard Project in Bantry

All over Ireland there are local history heroes working to recover the heritage represented in the numerous historic graveyards that dot the country. Few groups have taken on as daunting or as important a task as the Abbey Graveyard Project Team in Bantry.

Team members Dorann Cafaro, Teresa Moran, Geraldine Mullins, Bernard O’Leary and Seamus O’Shea

First of all, this graveyard is enormous, stretching over several acres, and secondly, the ‘old’ section has been largely untended over the centuries and so is characterised by long grass, lichen growth and tumble-down headstones. While this is understandable, as the families of those buried here have themselves passed or moved away, it makes for a very challenging environment. It also provides a startling contrast to the ‘new’ sections, where all is order and neatness, for the most part. In the image below the ‘old’ section is at the back.

The team, however, is undaunted! If anything, they seem energised by the task ahead of them. After all, as Teresa Moran said in the Zoom presentation on the project – this is our history. 

More recent history – this is the moving and beautiful memorial to those who died in the Whiddy Island Disaster of 1979

I was privileged to spend some time with them recently, on the invitation of the project team. Besides an extraordinary level of commitment, the group has a wide variety of skills between them, something that is key to a project like this – historians, computer folk, genealogy experts, keen-eyed decipherers of faint inscriptions. 

In the background is Pat Crowley, the indefatigable researcher behind the Durrus History/West Cork History website – following up on clues and names and records in his own inimitable way.

This is a project that is being done properly – that is, using best practice as developed by Eachtra, an archaeological consulting company that provides training on this type of survey and which maintains the site Historic Graves.

An example of a recording sheet

On this website, take a look, for example at Grave 31 from the Abbey Graveyard – photographed, numbered, geo-located on the map. It’s the headstone of Cornelius Leary Senior, who died in 1797 aged 88. The script is beautifully incised – the work of a master carver. Such a headstone is a real treasure, both for the information it contains and as evidence of the craftsmanship that went into a memorial like this for those who could afford it.

In this still from the Zoom presentation, Jacinta shows how a Drone Survey, using geo-tagging technology, can assist in providing a super-accurate map of a graveyard. Drone surveys are expensive, but the Bantry Team successfully raised the funds to commission one.

Sadly, many of those buried in the Abbey Graveyard, and in similar graveyards across the country, lie under stones with no inscription. But that does not mean that that is always impossible to identify them. Amazingly, in some areas, the knowledge of who lies under what stone is held by the elders of the area, who remember the size and shape of a field stone, especially chosen for a burial plot. That’s one of the reasons this kind of project is so vital to undertake before those memories disappear forever.

Dorann Cafaro takes the recording exercise  one step further and uploads all the records into the massive international website Find a Grave. This is particularly helpful for the descendants of emigrants who are searching for family and cannot access the information any other way. So many people now are becoming expert in genealogy and this is one of the major tools that the advent of the internet has provided for them. It’s an enormous undertaking though, to upload all those records – we are all grateful for people like Dorann!

This chest tomb is the grave of Honoria O’Sullivan, sister of Daniel O’Connell

The Abbey Graveyard, as its name suggests, began as a burial ground surrounding a Franciscan Abbey, built in 1460 by Dermot O’Sullivan and demolished in 1602 by his descendant, the tragic Donal Cam O’Sullivan Beare, in order to prevent the Earl of Thomond from taking it over. Only a few random stone remain, now incorporated into an altar.

This area was one of the epicentres of the Famine – a period rigorously researched and chronicled by Geraldine Powell in her new book A Want of Inhabitants. Bodies from the workhouse – 3,000 in all, most of whom died of infectious diseases between 1847 and 1850 – lie buried in the Famine Pits, and were unmarked until Tim Healy caused a Celtic Cross to be erected in 1899 (below). However, as one of the team members, Bernard O’Leary reminds us, there were other horrendous period when large numbers of people died – of cholera in the 1820s, yet another mini-famine on the 1880s, and of TB, which was still killing thousands of people every year in Ireland up to the 1950s.

Paddy O’Keefe, noted Bantry historian, conducted the first survey of the graveyard in the 1950s and the project team has mined the database he created. This has been particularly useful, since it was done 70 years ago and some headstones that have since eroded were readable then.

Paddy also wrote about the early map of Bantry and Beare (see my post Elizabethan Map of a Turbulant West Cork and Elizabethan Map of a Turbulent West Cork 2: The Story) on which the Franciscan Friary is clearly shown (below).

Deciphering a headstone can be a real head-scratcher, especially if it’s badly weathered or covered in lichen. Geraldine Mullins showed me several where she had figured out the inscription – she has been developing a real eye for it. Lighting becomes important – strong slanting sunlight does wonders, or a bright torch shining from the side. One particular example only became clear under tinfoil! As with best archaeological practice, the team do not advocate the use of rubbing, chalking or cleaning with stiff brushes or chemicals, all of which can promote further deterioration of a headstone in the long run.

One of the exciting finds has been that of a headstone with an inscription in Irish – highly unusual! This might seem strange, since Irish was the language of most of the people buried in this graveyard, but it has to be viewed within the context of the colonial administration. Headstones were considered an official record, and the official language, under British rule, was English. After the foundation of the State, of course, Irish inscription became much more common. Geraldine has sent me the text and translation and I append it at the end of this post. As you can see (below) it took real study to make out this inscription!

Have a look at the Zoom Seminar on the Bantry Historical Society’s website, and browse what’s been uploaded so far to the Historic Graves website. It’s very much a work in progress. And if you have any information at all that might help the committee, do get in touch with them through the Bantry Historical Society contact page.

Headstone of Owen O’Sullivan, who died in 1822 has a carved top section featuring a crucifixion, two winged heads and an angel blowing a trumpet

Or better yet, take a wander through the graveyard itself and see what you can find.

Many thanks to Geraldine Mullins for sharing resources used in this post, and to all the committee members for so graciously spending time with me and answering questions.

Text and Translation of Irish Inscription

Gac naon do calam liocht /  

cathuil ui neill is cuimhine do /  

leifis an rann so g[e above]arrtha an /  

gaoghalge caoin le cheile an tathair /  

an mac 7 an naomh spriod /  

[g]uidheach do rai[.]h Dia trochurac /  

air anom do bhi ansa corp so /  

ata fan liag Amen 

Everyone of the noble, warlike line of Ó Néill and Conn, who will read this verse inscribed in beautiful Irish, pray to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit together, that God may be merciful to the soul that was in the body that is beneath this stone. Amen. 

Planning a Plantation: Jobson’s 1589 Map of Munster Part 1

The sixteenth century was a desperate time in Munster. Two successive Desmond Rebellions (read about them here and here) had resulted in a devastated countryside where, according to the Annals of the Four Masters the lowing of a cow, or the whistle of the ploughboy, could scarcely be heard from Dunquinn to Cashel in Munster. The power of the FitzGeralds, Lords of Desmond, and their allies among the Gaelic chieftains, had been broken.

The Tudor government determined that what was needed was a complete colonising effort, that would bring the benefits of English civilisation to the lawless Irish. William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, set about planning the Plantation of Munster. 

In June 1584, a commission surveyed southwest Munster, mapping out the lands belonging to a swathe of Irish lords associated with the rebellion, which were then granted to a small group of wealthy English Undertakers.

John Dorney: The Munster Plantation and the MacCarthys, 1583-1597
Jobson’s dedication – to the Right Honourable the Lord Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer of England

What a project like this needed, of course, was an accurate map and they were hard to come by in medieval Ireland. Francis Jobson, a free-lance cartographer, set himself the task of producing such a map, and in 1589 he inscribed this one, The Province of Munster Map (the subject of this post), to Cecil. The original is in the library of Trinity College and I have been given permission to use it in our blog (see end of post for complete citation.)

Jobson’s signature

George Carew, one of the primary planters, the first President of Munster, was a man who asserted he had an ancestral claim to large chunks of Munster. To back up his various claims, he collected papers and maps in support of the colonising efforts, and these maps later found their way to Trinity College in Dublin, to form part of a collection called the Hardiman Atlas, after the nineteenth century librarian who recognised what they were and bound them together.

The Province of Munster Map is but one of this collection, now digitised and available for viewing in the Digital Repository of Ireland. And an excellent job they have done of it – the high-resolution image is so clear that it allows us to zoom in and see lots of detail. Here is the complete map.

The first thing that strikes the modern viewer is that Ireland is on its back – that is, instead of north being at the top, west is. This wasn’t unusual for the time. JH Andrews, one of Ireland’s foremost cartographic historians explains it thus, With east at the bottom, Dublin, the Englishman’s point of entry to Ireland, is the point on the map nearest him. To provide a more normal orientation, I have turned the map sideways, below, so you can assess how accurate it is.

The task facing Jobson was to provide as clear information as possible for the colonising effort. Any kinds of fortifications, where the Irish could defend their territory, were important, as were transportation corridors, by sea, river or land, as well as barriers to movement, such as mountains or dense forests. Control of the fisheries had generated great wealth for the Irish chieftains so it was important to have details of coastal areas. 

Speaking of Jobson’s Map of Ulster, Annaleigh Margey says

His maps are crucial to our understanding of England’s changing relationship with Ulster at the end of the sixteenth century. As the Nine Years’ War began, Jobson provided representations of the Gaelic lordships in Ulster, but also imposed England’s vision for the creation of a new county system onto the provincial landscape. In Jobson’s 1598 map, now at Trinity College, Dublin (p. 42), this framing of the new political geography is obvious. Throughout Ulster, the various Gaelic lordships are denoted by the lord’s name and a line defining their boundary. Settlements such as castles and churches that could be integrated into English settlement plans are displayed by small replicas in red across the map.

Annaleigh Margey: Visualising the Plantation:mapping the changing face of Ulster
History Ireland, Issue 6 (Nov/Dec 2009), Volume 17

She could well have been speaking of the Map of Munster. The principal families and their territories are all presented, as well as their main castles. While West Cork is not rendered accurately, we can see what Jobson felt was important to include. The O’Mahonys (Mahound) are there and the castles shown for them are Dunbeacon, Rossbrin and Ardintenant, which is labelled C o mahoun, as befits the castle of the Chief (see my post on Ardintenant here). The whole of Ivaha (now the Mizen Peninsula) is assigned to Mohon (spelling was approximate in these maps) and Crookhaven is indicated, probably because it is an excellent harbour.

The O’Driscolls are shown at Baltymore, with Castles also on Sherkin (Ineseyrkan) and Cape Clere. The Ilen River is shown as the Ellyn ff (ff or flu is often found on old maps to designate a river). Interestingly, the whole of the Sheep’s Head has no detail on it and only one word – Rymers. The O’Dalys were the traditional bards of several Irish families and they had their bardic school near Kilcrohane – they are The Rymers! The Abbey in Bantry is noted (in fact it was a Franciscan Friary) – and even Priest’s Leap is on this map. Once the only land route between Bantry and Kenmare, it is now a steep, treacherous and extremely scenic back road.

We have only just started looking at this map. The next post will continue the journey. Meanwhile – have a look yourself and see what you can see. I have lots of questions about it – for example, about the scale that Jobson uses (above) – I am hoping our readers might have some answers!

I am grateful indeed to Michelle Agar, Cataloguer, Digital Collections, at the Library of Trinity College Dublin, who gave permission to feature the map from the Hardiman collection in this blog. Also to the kind office of Dr Áine Madden, Communications and Engagement Coordinator with the Digital Repository of Ireland at the Royal Irish Academy. The complete citation for the map is as follows: Jobson, Francis, & Manuscripts & Archives Research Library, Trinity College Dublin. (2021) The Province of Munster, Digital Repository of Ireland [Distributor], Trinity College Dublin, the University of Dublin [Depositing Institution], https://doi.org/10.7486/DRI.rb69b272p

West Cork Villages and Towns – Bantry

. . . The town is situated at the northern extremity of the bay to which it gives its name, in a small valley encircled by lofty mountains, which attracting the clouds in their passage over the Atlantic, involve it in almost continual rains. The streets are indifferently paved, and not lighted; the inhabitants are supplied with water from numerous springs. The approaches are steep and incommodious, and are lined with cabins of very inferior description. Little improvement has been made in the town, except by the erection of some very extensive stores by Mr O’Connell and Mr Corkery, merchants of the place, and the enlargement of the principal hotel, which now affords ample accommodation to the numerous tourists who, during the summer season, frequent the place on their way to Glengariff and the lakes . . .

Lewis Topographical Dictionary of Ireland 1837

. . . This bay was known to the ancients by the name of Inber Sceine. It is a noble sheet of water, landlocked by beautiful mountains. The scenery is picturesque, bold, and grand, and equals, if it yet not surpass, the best to be found in these kingdoms . . .


Early Irish History and Antiquities and the History of West Cork
W O’Halloran 1916

Bantry . . . a miserable poor place, hardly worth the name of a town, consisting of seven or eight small houses, and some mean little cottages . . .

Jacobite army officer and author John Stevens, 1689

Well, here we have some contrasting descriptions of the town of Bantry, the earliest (above) dating from over 330 years ago! That one is a bit unfair, in truth, as it seems to be almost an ‘aside’ within Stevens’ ill-tempered account of his own involvement in the Williamite War (1689 – 1691). Bantry was a landing place for the Jacobite army which then marched through Cork and engaged in the Battles of the Boyne and Aughrim, and the Siege of Limerick (which is celebrated to this day in a traditional country dance!). None of this needs to detain us further from pursuing our contemporary account of Bantry town.

Bantry in the time of Covid . . . As with our exploration of Schull, the first in this series, we capture a moment in time: all the photographs are taken in one summer’s day, and show the norms of daily life. We deliberately did not choose Market Day (every Friday throughout the year), as on that day the population of the place appears to double in size. This is an average weekday and it is busy enough, with holiday makers swelling the ranks and helping to populate the many outdoor facilities.

Bantry has made its mark in the history of Ireland’s independence. An attempted landing by the French Fleet in Bantry Bay on 22 December 1796 was partly precipitated by Theobald Wolfe Tone – one of the founding members of the United Irishmen. The mission was unsuccessful due to severe gales. A political cartoon of the time (below) satirises the venture:

. . . On the French expedition to Bantry Bay, at the end of 1796: Pitt, Dundas, Grenville, and Windham are the four winds which blow up the storm to destroy the invaders. FFox, as the carved figure at the head of the Revolution, is represented as influencing the United Irishmen. The crew of the jolly-boat are Sheridan, Liberty Hall, Erskine, M A Taylor, and Thelwall, who, it is insinuated, were all approvers, at least, of the Irish rebellion . . .

Historical and Descriptive Account of the Caricatures of James Gillray, 1851

Wolfe Tone’s statue looks down over the square which bears his name in Bantry today: it was sculpted by Jeanne Rynhart in 2000. Close by is an anchor from the ‘French Armada’ found off Whiddy Island. The square was known formerly as Egerton Square – named after a descendant of the Earls of Bantry (have a look at this post). In 1899 the Irish Nationalist MP James Gilhooly oversaw the renaming. Also on the present-day square (much of which is on reclaimed land) is the notable statue of Saint Brendan by Imogen Stuart.

The aerial image, above, shows how the town has evolved along the original river valley. Comparing this view with the earliest 6″ OS map – dating from around 1840 (below – upper) – and the 25″ OS edition c1900 (below, lower), you can see clearly how the Square has encroached on the original natural harbour. You can also see that the terminus of the Cork, Bandon and South Coast Railway was carried on an extended pier to the west, enabling goods to be shipped in and out of the town. Interestingly, prior to the railway’s arrival in 1892, and continuing into the early 20th century, there was a regular steamship service from Bantry to Castletownbere on the Beara Peninsula. This also served Glengarriff and Adrigole.

In spite of local opposition the railway was closed on 1 April 1961, and the station building was demolished. We do fortunately still have some vestiges of the line clearly visible in the town.

I have only touched on the briefest aspects of the history of this significant West Cork town. There is considerably more recorded in a recent opus compiled by distinguished historian and international scholar Colum Hourihane, who hales from Bantry. We were recently at the launch of his latest book Bantry Through the Centuries, Bantry Historical Press, 2021 and were treated to an illustrated talk, given by the author. Colum is at pains to point out that this is not a general history of Bantry, but that its core is the streets of the town – ” . . . It’s an effort to understand how the town developed over the centuries in relation to its people . . . “ The book is a first-class resource: a 490-page review of local lore and garnered knowledge illustrated with almost 140 additional pages of historic photographs. This must surely be the most comprehensive volume ever published on this town.

Let’s finish with some more of the photos taken on our day’s exploration: an attempt to capture the essence of this significant West Cork settlement. I hope it will encourage you to visit, if you don’t already know it.

You can read much more about Bantry in Roaringwater Journal. Here are just a few links:

The Golden Hour

Masters of Tradition Festival

Ireland’s First Inhabitants

The Luxuriant Gardens of Bantry House

Pandemic days can be well spent in West Cork. Visit Bantry House: for a small fee you can walk around the extensive gardens all day, pausing en route to partake of more-ish refreshments from the Tea Kitchen. There’s ample room to socially distance; panoramic views out to the Bay – and plenty of history to absorb.

On 11 May 1689, the Battle of Bantry Bay was fought between the French and British forces (above). It was inconclusive, but considerable damage was suffered by both fleets.

Originally a farmhouse known as Blackrock, the property was built by Samuel Hutchinson in 1710; it was purchased by Captain Richard White of Whiddy Island in the 1760s. His grandson – also Richard – renamed the house Seafield, and witnessed an engagement between the French and British forces in the Bay in 1796. He became the first Earl of Bantry and his eldest son – another Richard – extended the house and laid out the grounds more or less as we see them today (here is a post from Finola narrating a visit to the house in pre-pandemic days). The idyllic view above dates from 1840, around the time of the renovation and landscaping work.

More naval activity in Bantry Bay can be seen in the background of the above photograph, dating from the first decade of the twentieth century.

. . . For eight days past, the mammoth battle ships Bellerophon, Lord Nelson, and Agamemnon have been manoeuvring in Bantry Bay, between the Roancarrig Light and Whiddy Island. The thunder of the big 12-inch guns can be heard at immense distances, and electric and searchlight displays may be witnessed at night from places far inland . . .

Southern Star, 27 March 1909

The fortunes of Bantry House have varied during the last hundred years, but it remains in the ownership of the descendants of the Whites, and has been opened to the public since 1946. Now a very significant tourist attraction, the property has eased itself into the 21st century and can be seen today pursuing a laudable philosophy of encouraging the grounds to support informal wildflower spread and natural habitats within the previous strict formality of the terraced gardens laid out by the second Earl. In our view, this approach is highly successful and in fact softens, complements and enhances the mature house and its setting of terraces, steps, courtyards, paths and woodlands. It also provides excellent habitats for pollinators and contributes to a more sustainable world.

Every part of the grounds is worthy of exploration. There are two former stable blocks: both are time capsules. The activities of generations of gardeners, groundsmen, grooms, and farriers can be imagined from the surviving evidence.

I was fascinated by the plaque, above, and added it to my collection of classic signs. I then set about trying to find photographic evidence of this squadron, sadly without success. But I did find an equivalent from Suffolk, England, dating from 1910, which is worth a share:

I hope you will follow in our footsteps and visit the gardens at Bantry House. This is a great time of the year to experience the burgeoning growth of the wilder elements, and, if you have the happy fortune to hit a good spot of sunshine (or even if you don’t), there is no better place in West Cork to while away the constraints of this pandemic.

Glens of the Scientists

It’s Easter Sunday, but we didn’t see the sun dancing at dawn this morning. In fact, so far it’s the first wet day that we’ve had since we’ve been in ‘lockdown’ because of the Covid 19 crisis. Such a contrast from the view over Roaringwater Bay yesterday (Saturday, see above) when the weather was absolutely flawless: no wind, blue sky over balmy sea, and temperatures akin to midsummer. But for today’s post I’m going back a few weeks to the days when Coronavirus was just something that was happening, in the news, a world away from West Cork – and we were still free to roam the countryside.

Spring equinox came early this year. We were out for it, in a biting east wind but dry under clear skies. Our destination was a vast landscape of glens and hills to the east of Bantry town. The place fascinates us: it is alive with prehistory. There are literally dozens of scheduled monuments spread over many townlands. They include stone circles, standing stones, stone alignments, ancient cairns and other anomalous stone groupings. This is probably one of the west of Ireland’s richest and most concentrated areas which records, through physical remains, human activity from the Neolithic period – the earliest settled farmers – through to the Bronze Age, when the first metallurgists began to explore and exploit the underlying geology of the landscape.

Upper – look carefully – there’s an alignment of three significant standing stones in these fields in Cullomane West, but our first stop was a nearby anomolous stone grouping which included an equinox alignment – (lower) – towards the west horizon

It was pure chance that we were out on the day of the spring (or vernal) equinox – the time when the length of the day equals the length of the night. And pure chance, also, that our first stop, in the townland of Derreengreanagh, presented us with a spring equinox alignment. We had the permission of the landowner to cross her fields to access these stones which are hidden away from any highway or byway. We found two substantial standing stones and a small group of recumbent stones. By checking the relative positions of the two tall stones on a ‘sunseeker’ app, we were able to establish that they line up perfectly with the spring equinox sunrise to the east and the spring equinox sunset to the west. Furthermore, the point at which the sun rises on the eastern horizon on this day is marked by a distant hilltop – also in perfect alignment:

As I look around the glens on our wanderings, I see into the past. I see rich, sheltered meadows watered by natural streams, stunted oak forests, sunlit glades. I feel the warmth of the sun as it gets stronger, contained by the bowl shaped landscapes; I find flocks of sheep which don’t seem to mind our trespassing (carefully) on their domains – they are content with their environment. The place is at peace in its own time.

I try to feel closer to those who dwelled in this relative tranquility thousands of years ago. I can imagine that the shape of the landscape, and its natural offerings, attracted them. They might have been my own distant ancestors, or yours. But they were no different from you and me. Their lives were technologically unlike ours, but we can’t suppose that their responses to what was around them would be unrecognisable to us. They would have welcomed the abundance which fed them, through their ability to understand the principles of sowing and harvesting; they were able to make shelters from natural materials – wood, stone and furze. But, beyond the practicalities, surely they would have seen wonder in nature. How could they not respond to the ever changing light, the vastness of the sky, the awesome infinity of the stars? The strange movements of sun and moon… The constancy of things all around them?

Hiding in nature: this five-stone circle in Baurgorm townland is heavily overgrown and guarded by thorn trees, yet it survives: its orientation and the alignment of the stones was undoubtedly deliberate

The next townland over from Derreengreanagh is Baurgorm, where our researches were rewarded with an almost intact five-stone circle. Within site of this is another stone alignment (see picture 3 above), and several other scheduled monuments are nearby. There is no ‘Stonehenge’ or ‘Newgrange’ in these glens: everything is relatively low-key and is unlikely to impress the average 21st century sightseer. Yet these stones are still there, set in the landscape where they were first placed – with a purpose – in these glens so many generations ago.

Walking the glens: walking through prehistory

In my opinion (and this is only my opinion, remember), the people who lived in these glens were our earliest scientists, and the surviving ancient stones are the hard evidence of their science. They were observing and recording the world they saw around them and marking the elements of that world which were of the greatest significance. One of these must have been the solar cycle. The equinoxes were of paramount importance: through the half-year after the spring equinox the days were longer, lighter and warmer, while through the half-year after the autumn equinox, their world was darker and colder with short days and long nights. The alignment of the standing stones at Derreengreanagh marks this calendrical division with great accuracy, and must have taken a great deal of time and human endeavour to set up. The shape of the terrain, the undulations of the horizon, and the daily progression of the sun had to be understood and integrated into a  construction so monumental that it has survived intact for 3,000 years or more. There’s nothing magic about this, or mystic or religious: it’s pure science.

Not just the sun, but the phases of the moon and the trajectories of the stars would have been observed and studied by our ancestors. What came before Christianity in Ireland? St Patrick’s work was to convert the Irish, but all he says in his own Confessio about them is that they worshipped ‘idols and unclean things’. But he also refers to ‘all those who adore’ the sun. That’s a fascinating concept: ‘adoration of the sun’. Patrick didn’t use the phrase worship of the sun. but he had specifically mentioned worship of idols. I could be reading too much into the Confessio as it has come down to us, but the concept of ‘adoring’ as opposed to ‘worship’ fits well with the idea of Ireland’s earliest settled people being obsessively concerned with the movement of this source of light, heat – and life. In the remotest regions of West Cork we find an ancient wisdom.