Toe Head

Kowloon Bridge Shipwreck

We’re going back a few years to look at a piece of West Cork history: a shipwreck. The ship is the Kowloon Bridge, a Bridge class OBO (oil/bulk/ore) combination carrier built by Swan Hunter in 1973. She ended her days on the Stags Rocks, beside Toe Head in West Cork in 1986 (above – image courtesy of Irish Examiner). At the time, this was said to be ‘one of the largest wrecks in maritime history’.

A Bridge Class model (above – photo courtesy www.mikepeel.net). Six of these ships were built by Swan Hunter at Haverton Hill on the River Tees in County Durham, UK, between 1971 and 1976. Originally named English Bridge and subsequently – passing through various ownerships – this 54,000 tonne vessel was renamed Worcestershire; Sunshine; Murcurio; Crystal Transporter; and finally Kowloon Bridge. I’m tempted to think of the old folk belief that says changing the name of a boat is unlucky! 

. . . Perhaps the most famous maritime superstition of them all is the idea that changing the name of a ship is bad luck. Legend has it that Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, has a ledger in which he keeps track of the name of every sea-going vessel. Changing the name is seen as a challenge and as an attempt to try and out-smart him, which would incur his wrath. To avoid any bad luck, the original name must first be purged from Poseidon’s book in a de-naming ceremony, before the new one is adopted . . .

National maritime Museum, Cornwall

There she is, in her original incarnation and unladen (image courtesy of Tony Ecclestone, Swan Hunter). As you can see, a massive vessel. Her length was 295 metres and her beam 44.3 metres. She had a draft of 18.5 metres. In November 1986 the Kowloon Bridge – which she had then become – departed Sept-Îles, Quebec, bound for the River Clyde in Scotland. Her cargo was 160,000 tonnes of ‘marble sized’ iron ore pellets and crude oil.

The Atlantic crossing was particularly rough-going, and the vessel sustained some superficial damage. The decision (a fateful one) was taken to head for the nearest shelter on the east side of the ocean: the deepwater Bantry Bay, off West Cork’s coast. A Lloyds’ survey there showed that she had suffered ‘routine heavy weather damage’ and recommended that she remained anchored in Bantry Bay while temporary repairs were undertaken. Here’s a view of Bantry’s waterside in more benign days: Roaringwater Journal has reviewed the town in some detail.

Above is a RWJ view of Bantry Bay and Whiddy Island taken back in 2014. The island was the setting for another disaster in earlier years: on January 8, 1979, the French-owned tanker, Betelgeuse, exploded at the oil terminal, resulting in 51 deaths. Even now – 45 years on – new enquiries are being set up to establish the true facts surrounding that incident. Returning to our Kowloon Bridge story, accounts seem to vary. One says that on 22 November 1986 – having had the necessary repairs completed – the ship resumed her voyage and set out into the Bay; but she was plagued by continuing bad weather, and lost her steering gear. Another suggests that the problems included ‘deck cracking in one of her frames’: she was forced to leave port to avoid colliding with another tanker and – engine running astern – she lost her anchor and her steering controls. The decision was taken to abandon ship (still running astern) and Royal Air force helicopters rescued the crew. She headed out of the bay and into open waters, being driven also by storm-force winds. (Image below courtesy of Southern Star)

Kowloon Bridge left Bantry Bay and rounded the Sheeps Head and Mizen Head. A tug tried to intercept her, but was unsuccessful as this, also, sustained damage due to the adverse conditions. Coming close to Baltimore the combination carrier/tanker hit rocks and her engine stalled. She continued to drift eastwards, finally coming to rest on the Stags Rocks below Toe Head (header pic).

Despite efforts to board her and assess salvage attempts (images above courtesy Irish Examiner), in due course the ship broke her back and went under – although, according to local reports, her bow could still be seen for months afterwards. To this day she lies off the rocks, with her iron ore cargo surrounding her. Below: the view from Toe Head today and (lower) the Stags Rocks.

The breaking up of the ship caused the release of of 1,200 tonnes of fuel oil. This led to damage to local coves and beaches, with loss of income being suffered by the fishing and tourism industries. The incident happened in the days before The International Convention on Oil Pollution Preparedness, Response and Co-operation was set up: that came into being in 1990. Parties to OPRC are required to establish measures for dealing with pollution incidents, either nationally or in co-operation with other countries.

. . . Ships are required to carry a shipboard oil pollution emergency plan. Operators of offshore units under the jurisdiction of Parties are also required to have oil pollution emergency plans or similar arrangements which must be co-ordinated with national systems for responding promptly and effectively to oil pollution incidents. Ships are required to report incidents of pollution to coastal authorities and the convention details the actions that are then to be taken. The Convention calls for the establishment of stockpiles of oil spill combating equipment, the holding of oil spill combating exercises and the development of detailed plans for dealing with pollution incidents . . .

International Marine Organisation
Entry into Force 13 May 1995

Trying to follow the subsequent story of the wreck, everything gets a bit murky. West Cork communities undoubtedly suffered as a result of the foundering. Debris and oil were washed up (image above courtesy Irish Examiner). ‘Hundreds of seabirds’ died according to local reports. Promises of compensation were made – and reneged on – by the Haughey government. But it was Cork County Council and its ratepayers who eventually bore the major costs of cleaning up, even though the ship had been fully insured (image below courtesy Irish Examiner).

Apparently, the wreck was purchased in December 1986 by a British scrap dealer, Shaun Kent. One report states he paid a million pounds for it – another states he paid one pound for it! An article in the UK Independent newspaper in August 1997 describes how he planned to use high power water jets to wash the iron ore pellets to the surface for recovery. Their value was said to be in the order of millions. He also intended to recover the steel hull and other elements. However, concerns were expressed locally and nationally that such a process so long after the event would adversely disturb the seabed and the stable micro-environment which has evolved over time. It is unlikely that such plans will ever be acted on.

Today, the wreck is an attraction to underwater enthusiasts (images above courtesy of Extreme Sports Cork): Nature has taken over the intrusion to the sea bed. During the various discussions which have ensued in the many years since the Kowloon Bridge came to rest on the Stags Rocks, the question has been raised: was the ship seaworthy in the first place? It is pointed out that a sister ship was MV Derbyshire. Originally named Liverpool Bridge, she was launched in 1975, the last of the six Bridge Class ships. With a gross register tonnage of 91,655 she had the greatest volume. In July 1980, Derbyshire also left port from Sept-Îles, Quebec, bound for Kawasaki, Japan. She was overwhelmed by a tropical storm, and sank in deep ocean, with the loss of all 44 lives on board. This was in fact the largest British ship ever to have been lost at sea (image below courtesy of shipsnostalgia.com).

The four remaining Bridge Class vessels saw long service, and were eventually scrapped, so there is no reason to suggest that the design was in any way faulty. I suppose we might say that it is mankind’s folly to create such huge machinery to bring cargoes across the world. We challenge Poseidon, and he has to take his share (image below courtesy of Bardo National Museum, Tunis).

I am grateful for access to records at the time in the local and national media: in particular The Irish Examiner, The Southern Star, The Irish Times and RTE

Taking Notes

Regular readers will know that I am always on the lookout, in Ireland, for signs of all kinds. They may be humorous, informative or historical – like the one above. This is on the railway station in Bray, County Wicklow. Back in 1987 a competition to design painted murals to enhance the station platforms was won by Jay Roche and John Carter, who produced 19 panels to illustrate the railway through its history.

As you can see from this picture of Bray Station taken yesterday, the panels certainly brighten up this much-used civic concourse.

. . . Each panel is like a window into the past that tells a story about the people, dress or time of the mural. One mural signifying the 1920s, makes reference to a man in a Black and Tan uniform.  On the website Mural to Mosaic, which chronicles the progress of the project, the artists state they are trying to show that dramatic events were unfolding around that significant time in Irish history . . .


The Daily Edge Newsletter 2012

You’ll have noticed that the panels are now made of mosaic. The painted originals suffered from wear and deterioration and the same artists, assisted by Anthony Kelly and Eileen Maguire, have in recent times transformed all of them into the new medium. I think the result of the earlier concept and its newer manifestation are excellent, and provide a great visual diversion for anyone waiting for a train or a Dart (Dublin Area Rapid Transport). In fact, it’s worth missing a train in order to fully appreciate the artwork!

Isambard Kingdon Brunel is the engineer credited with planning the line which, in 1844, was intended to be ‘broad gauge’ all the way to Rosslare. Here he is in a Bray station mosaic, above. I’ll return to this railway in a future post as the full story of it is well worth the telling – even though it’s not West Cork (which, of course had its own interesting railway line).

Before leaving behind the railway, here’s a photo of Bray Head (courtesy of Irish Defence Forces) taken after a gorse fire in the summer of 2018. As well as the Bray to Greystones line you can see the outline of the EIRE sign that was put there in ‘the Emergency’: one of over 80 such signs dotted along the coast, it was a warning to aircraft of all persuasions that they were flying over neutral Ireland.

. . . The ‘Éire’ signs were erected around the Irish coastline from the summer of 1943 onwards, a period when overflights of Irish territory and forced landings of belligerent aircraft (mainly Allied) had increased dramatically. In keeping with the De Valera* government’s policy of discreetly co-operating with the Allies, Allied air crews who landed in Ireland were assumed to be ‘non-operational’, and therefore were not detained (a fact that the Germans noted with displeasure). It made more sense to all concerned, however, if such forced landings could be avoided and so the ‘Éire’ signs were erected to ensure that pilots knew that they were flying over Irish territory . . .

Royal Irish Academy Newsletter

*See our header pic for another reference to Dev!

The EIRE sign above is very clearly delineated: it’s on the cliffs at Toe Head, in ‘our’ County Cork.

This Post Office sign has been kept intact, probably for reasons of nostalgia. I’d doubt there are many today who would proudly proclaim that the sale of cigarettes is one of their mainstays.

(Above) – I couldn’t resist the enigma of this signwriting . . .

. . . But I think the one above leaves us in no doubt who it speaks to.

I’d like to understand the meaning of this Irish road name: one AI translator told me it is ‘thought position’, another ‘location avenue’ . . .

No comment on the two signs above. The following, however, provokes some questions – a window on someone’s world?

What world does this gate open up to?

Promises, promises . . . But I think they found it:

In High Places

Here is a collection of photographs taken in West Cork from some of the high places: ridges, peaks, mountain paths. The pics were all taken around ten years ago, and haven’t been used in our blog posts previously. They serve to show stunning landscapes, of course, and hopefully illustrate the variety of the country which surrounds us here. The header is taken from the peak above Three Castle Head.

The upper pic is looking down on Bantry town from the high ground to the south, while the lower one reminds you of the evening view from Bantry at sea level.

If you leave your car at Galley Cove Beach and walk up the steep track towards Brow Head you will come across this enormous stone row – and you will look back to the peninsula of Crookhaven. Don’t be fooled by the stones: they have been placed on this site fairly recently. They are impressive, nevertheless.

And here is a closer view of Crookhaven.

While turning from this spot and looking west, you will see the end of the coastline at Brow Head. This stone is likely to be more anciently placed. In the distance is Mizen Head with its Napoleonic era signal tower at Cloghane.

Contrasting light effects seen on the footpath that follows the ridge on the Sheep’s Head Way. That’s the spit of land that runs from east to west between the Mizen Head and the Beara Peninsula. There are cairns on the summits, with the remains of a wedge tomb and a Marriage Stone to be seen along the way.

The view north from the heights of the Sheep’s Head takes in the Beara Peninsula and – seen above – the high point of Hungry Hill dominating the distant rugged landscape.

You are never far from the coastline in West Cork. Look out for wild seas constantly sculpting the rocks over millennia.

From our home in Cappaghglass we look out to our own ‘high place’ – Mount Gabriel. This enigmatic tract of land dominates the area and is imbued with legends and folklore. It is also one of the most atmospheric of our peaks at all times of the year.

Another local view for us (above): we face out to Rossbrin Cove on the Mizen Peninsula. Finally, the celestial spectacle (below) finds its pot of gold on the shores of the Mizen.

A Signal Success in Irish Engineering – Part 10: Toe Head

Here’s the latest episode in our series about Napoleonic-era signal towers in West Cork. There are links to the earlier posts at the bottom of this one. That’s Toe Head above – in the far distance, and that view is taken from the signal tower site at Kedge Point, Spain, to the east of Baltimore.

Toe Head itself is a spectacular setting in West Cork: the views, above, show the nature of the terrain, the boreens, and the seascape in the area. So far I have written accounts of nine signal towers: this is the tenth. I’d like to tell you how many of these structures are in West Cork, but that would mean that I would have to geographically define ‘West Cork’. I can’t do that, as there is officially no such area: we are all part of County Cork! All I can do is to let you know that there are nineteen signal tower sites located in the whole County. I have another nine to cover, after this one. But I assure you – Toe Head is definitely in our West Cork!!

Here’s the Toe Head tower – in a sea of black bales. If you have followed the series so far, you will have noticed that each tower is fairly basic, and generally offers the appearance of a medieval castle. But they were all built at the very beginning of the nineteenth century, to provide a system of surveillance and signalling around the coast of Ireland, from Malin Head in the north to Pigeon House Fort, Dalkey, on the east coast. Each signal tower is within view of one – or two – others, depending where it lies on the chain. In the first post in the series, here, I explain the logic and geometry of the project.

The 6″ Ordnance Survey map extract in the upper picture dates from 1842. By this time the use of the tower for signalling had ceased – the Napoleonic invasion threat lasted only through the first few years of the century: many towers became disused after this and some have vanished altogether, although many ruins do remain because of their remote locations. In the case of Toe Head, the building was adapted to incorporate a Coast Guard Station. I am assuming that, originally, the tower was a simple square structure , and the extension to the rear was added to provide additional accommodation for the Coast Guard service. The current aerial view shows newer farm buildings and an access road close by.

If you look at previous posts in this series, you will see that the Toe Head tower is architecturally simpler, with no bartizans or other ornamentation – it’s more like a small Anglican church tower than a ‘castle’. Like many others, it’s clear to see that this building was slate-hung: this form of weather-proofing was probably added at a later date – possibly when the Coast Guard service took it over. At the centre of the view from the window above you can see the Stag Rocks which in the 1980s became the graveyard of the 900ft long Kowloon Bridge, a bulk cargo carrier travelling from Quebec. The ship was disabled by a storm and then abandoned, drifting on to the Stags. A detailed account of the event was posted in the Irish Examiner 30 years later.

The abandoned Wreck of the Kowloon Bridge close by the Stags in November, 1986 (centre picture). The lower picture shows the wreck underwater today (courtesy Aquaventures.ie): she drifted out of control towards the rocks before running aground on the reef. The resulting fuel spill spread out over the Irish coastline causing extensive damage to local wildlife, and financial losses for the local fishing fleet. Apparently, no-one was ever held to account for the environmental disaster.

The Stag Rocks can be seen in my picture above, which shows the current incarnation of a World War II Lookout Post that was put in place close by the older signal tower in 1942. You can read more about these lookouts in this post: they were designed by Howard Cooke RIBA of the Irish Office of Public Works at the outbreak of that war (during which Ireland remained neutral). I mentioned in that same previous post an art installation project carried out in 2014 by Tim Schmelzer of Vienna. His work at Toe Head is particularly impressive, and here are some still shots to illustrate the nature of the artworks, which were created on-site using high-powered projection equipment.

The signal tower ruin today is gaunt and desolate. Nevertheless it’s an atmospheric place to visit. On the slopes below the building is an EIRE sign (officially number 28), also dating from the World War II years, when Irish neutrality had to be spelled out to the warring powers flying overhead. I came across an interesting comment from Anne Wilkinson in 2018, giving a slightly different take on the EIRE signs:

. . . These EIRE signs were also to alert German Pilots and crew who were conscientious objectors and who had overflown the UK, to ditch and parachute to safety. Many airmen lived at the Curragh Camp. They were allowed freedom during the day, eg. they often cycled the lanes and roads to enjoy the peace and quiet and then returned to the Curragh Camp for their curfew hour . . .

http://eiremarkings.org/the-map/

And here’s a little enigma to finish off the post (above). It’s graffiti carved on a timber lintel over one of the openings of the signal tower buildings. It’s probably quite recent – dating from ’89 or’99 – but what does it spell out? And why is it here? It’s tempting to say THE GIFT CASTLE but that ‘T‘ after the GIF doesn’t ring true . . . There’s a story there somewhere: perhaps one of our readers can give us a clue! Finally, here’s a distant view of the signal tower, looking across Toe Head.

The previous posts in this series can be found through these links:

Part 1: Kedge Point, Co Cork

Part 2: Ballyroon Mountain, Co Cork

Part 3: Old Head of Kinsale, Co Cork

Part 4: Robert’s Head, Co Cork

Part 5: Downeen, Co Cork

Part 6: Dunnycove

Part 7: Cloghane, Mizen Head

Part 8: Brow Head

Part 9: Glandore Head

The Edge of the Landscape – William Crozier

The Edge of the Landscape is the title of an upcoming exhibition which opens this weekend at Uillinn. It will show some of the later work of William Crozier (1930 – 2011), a Scottish born artist who considered himself more Irish than Scottish as his parents were from Ballinderry, Co Antrim. He adopted Irish citizenship in 1973 and purchased a cottage at Kilcoe, West Cork, in the early 1980s. Although he worked both here and in Hampshire for the rest of his life, most of his later paintings dwelled on the Irish landscape – specifically the splendours of West Cork, which are so familiar to us.

The meeting of land and sea was a recurring theme in Crozier’s work. The quay at Turk Head, above, inspired the header on this post – painted by Crozier in 2003. We might wonder at the eye of the artist that pictures the scene in such vivid colours, but anyone who has lived in West Cork will be familiar with his palette: the rocks, the fields, the lanes, wildflowers, water and ever-changing skies provide all the colours in his paintings, tints, tones and shades which are successfully pulled into unexpected compositions.

Katharine Crouan – Bill Crozier’s widow – has written to me “…Bill was not, in any way, a topographical artist but you can see in his work – particularly from 1984-95 – the stimulus  the landscape provided. He spoke of loving the ‘glamour’ of the West Cork landscape, referring to the glitter of water and sunlight on foliage after rain and the dark shadows that came out of nowhere. For him it was all magical…”

‘Kilcoe Strand (From Peninsula)’, painted by William Crozier in 2011

I am reminded of Peter Lanyon, the St Ives artist (who was, interestingly, the subject of a book titled At the Edge of Landscape): he famously said that, as a painter, he needed to “…get under the skin of the landscape…” That need informs his work, which is abstract rather than specifically landscape-based yet inspired, as he stated, from flying over his native Cornwall and – by exploring the mine shafts – tunnelling underneath it. For me, William Crozier has the same regard for his West Cork homeland and successfully expresses his relationship with it through the richness of his work.

Toe Head, West Cork (upper picture) was the inspiration for many paintings. Lower works: Toe Head 1989, (left), and Wolf’s Castle, Toe Head 1998 (right – Richard Barrett) 

William Crozier was a prolific painter – he estimated that he had painted more than 12,000 pictures, each executed in a single session. The landscape-inspired works are just one part of an enormous opus. He did not overlook the sometimes hard realities of his surroundings. Cocks of hay drying in a field may appear a romantic ‘rural idyll’, but are equally a portrait of an economically unviable small-holding.

William Crozier in his studio c 2009

The exhibition of a selection of Crozier’s work produced since 1985 is showing at Uillinn: West Cork Arts Centre from 15 July to 31 August, and later in the year some of his earlier works will be shown at IMMA: The Irish Museum of Modern Art from 12 October 2017 to 8 April 2018. Both exhibitions are curated by Seán Kissane (Curator, Exhibitions, IMMA), who will be presenting a talk on the work at 6pm this Friday, 14 July, in Uillinn, following which the exhibition will be formally opened by Sarah Glennie, the Director of IMMA. An important new publication edited by Katharine Crouan and Seán Kissane and designed by Peter Maybury accompanies the exhibition with texts by Mark Hudson, Katharine Crouan, Seán Kissane, Riann Coulter, Enrique Juncosa, and Sarah Turner.

Below – Departure from the Island, William Crozier 1993 (Flowers Gallery). Note that copyright on all works rests – unless otherwise stated – with the William Crozier Estate

Seeing the Light

Toe Head Thistle

Toe Head Thistle

Up to Christmas I had been using my iPhone for photography. Upside – you always have it with you, it weighs nothing and fits in a pocket, it takes surprisingly good images as long as you don’t need to zoom in. Downside – very grainy if you try to zoom, very limited except for basic shots, few manual controls. Because of my frustration with its limitations (did I grumble that much?) Robert gave me a new camera for Christmas (Panasonic Lumix DMC-TZ60, for those who care about such things). It fulfils my requirement of being small enough to fit in my pocket while launching me into a whole new world where I can have more control over my images.

Up to now I have been using it purely on the automatic settings, with occasional forays into some of the pre-programmed effects, and I was starting to hit that wall of frustration again – the knowledge that the camera is capable of so much more if only I knew how to use it properly. So this week we signed up for a one day session with Celia Bartlett, a photo-journalist who uses her house in Toe Head to lead weekend photography breaks and workshops.

Farmhouse near Toe Head

Farmhouse near Toe Head

After some initial discussion about our goals for the day, and some instruction on caring properly for our cameras, the three of us set out on a ramble down to the beach and along the rural lanes of West Cork. Robert and I clicked away, while Celia mostly just observed our modus operandi. The weather did its usual West Cork thing of alternating between being overcast and sunny, the lanes provided hedgerow flowers and the beach had an obliging spring tumbling over stones to the water, while the farmhouses looked picturesque and cattle browsed contentedly in the fields.

A beach around every bend

A beach around every bend

Back at the house Celia put our images on a large screen and we went through each one in illuminating (and occasionally embarrassing) detail. “What were you after in this shot?” she asked, encouraging us to articulate our intentions and to analyse whether or not we had realised them. “What could you have done differently?” “Where were you standing and was that the best place?” “What were you focussing on, and is it IN focus?” It was a revelatory experience.

On the shed wall
Foxglove

Robert had expressed that what he wanted was to get the best image in the camera, rather than rely on cropping and correcting afterwards and she focussed on that, showing us how a little forethought might have improved a particular shot.

Robert was struck by this unique postbox

Robert was taken with this unique postbox

She introduced me to aspect ratio and the rule of thirds (honestly, am I the last person in the world to learn about such basic photographic terms?) and how choosing a square versus, say, a 16X9 format might bring out a line in the shot that lead the eye to a natural point. She showed me how to use focus/recompose to correct a lighting or a focussing issue.

Robert taking his best shot

Robert taking his best shot

When I was 21 my parents gave me my first camera. Still have it – an AGFA SLR, completely manual, with a small rangefinder on the strap. I needed it to photograph the rock art for my thesis. The irony is that way back then, 40 years ago, I understood about ISA film, shutter speeds and Fstops. I had to – I couldn’t afford to take more than one or two shots of each rock, mainly in black and white, with an occasional roll of colour slides and I had to make each shot count. But in the 40 years since then I have relied on cameras with automatic settings and have forgotten all that I knew in my early 20s. So the lesson that followed the critiquing session – on aperture size and shutter speeds and sensor sensitivity and grain (ISO) – was a process for me of re-learning long-lost concepts.

Frozen water - it's all about the shutter speed

Frozen water – it’s all about the shutter speed

After lunch we practised some of those concepts, trying to get the feel for varying the focus and the depth of field. I re-took a couple of shots from the morning, addressing the issues we had identified earlier. Celia went through some of the basics of image processing with us, encouraging us to use minimal adjustments to good effect and to choose the right aspect ratios.

Celia Bartlett

Celia Bartlett

She went through our camera settings with us and showed us what happened when we went, for example, with aperture priority versus shutter priority. Finally, she encouraged us to let go of the Auto security blanket and strike out into the brave new world of manual controls, starting with aperture priority. 

Finola gets the picture

Finola gets the picture

I left full of confidence – which has waned a little in the few days since as I’ve played with shots using the aperture setting and realised that I have to practise a LOT to feel like I really know what I am doing. But it’s a great start. I do feel more confident in composing a shot now and in taking my time to get what I want in the image, and in framing and improving it afterwards. As usual, there’s a lot going on in West Cork, so I had the opportunity to practise aperture settings at the opening of a new exhibit at Uillinn, the West Cork Arts Centre. Tess Leak has been the artist-in-residence there for the last few months and she also plays with the wonderful Vespertine Quintet. For this opening, Justin Grounds had composed a new piece for the quintet, featuring a phono-fiddle – a one-stringed horned violin.

The Vespertine Quintet debuts a new work

The Vespertine Quintet debuts a new work

Tess Leak
Justin Grounds
Tools of the trade

My shutter-speed controls got a workout today at the Baltimore Fiddle Fair. April Verche and her trio entertained us with a dazzling display that included her step dancing while playing the fiddle! This was followed by The Henry Girls, a Donegal trio of sisters with an eclectic repertoire and lovely harmonies.

April Verche – fiddling, dancing AND smiling!
The Henry Girls

I did have a spectacular fail, though. I love bluebells and took multiple shots of our local display using aperture priority, Every single shot was out of focus, so I ended up using the the pre-programmed ‘take flower pictures’ setting.

Bluebell wood

Bluebell wood

Grrrrr….still lots of work to do…. Celia – help! I need a second day! Oh and by the way, Celia, I loved your coverage of the Lusitania commemorations in Cobh.