St. Brandanus: A 14th Century Graphic Novel. Part 3

Finally getting back to good old St Brendan and his voyage. (You can catch up on Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t read them already.) While writing this post I have been listening to one of my all time favourite pieces of music – The Brendan Voyage by Sean Davey, with the great Liam O’Flynn on the uillinn pipes. Robert wrote about the thrilling experience we had at the National Concert Hall where we attended a memorial concert for Liam O’Flynn which featured the whole Brendan Voyage, with Mark Redmond on the pipes. That post, Piper to the End, has several links to extracts from the Brendan voyage, but I will just post one movement here, and because I am half Canadian it has to be the Newfoundland Suite. Turn the volume up.

This music was written to celebrate the extraordinary journey taken by the late Tim Severin, tracing St Brendan’s voyage across the Atlantic. You can read the book (it’s a great read) or watch the documentary – I found part 1 and Part 2 online. Tim was an incredible explorer – the Brendan Voyage was one of many epic adventures he undertook to trace the footsteps of early voyageurs and travellers – you can read much more about him at his website, from which this photo, and the lead photo above, was taken, with thanks.

OK – back to S Brandanus and the 1360 graphic novel that illustrated his adventures for a medieval audience. For my final series of images from the book, I am using the translation this time of the great Irish scholar, John J O’Meara. In 1976 he translated the Navigatio into English, published by the Dolmen Press. He explains in his Introduction:

. . .within a hundred years of his death there already existed a primitive account in Latin of Brendan’s quest for that happy land [the Land of Promise]. This account was ecclesiastical in general character, but influenced the creation of the secular, heroic Voyage of Bran, written in Irish, which goes back to the late 600’s or early 700’s.The Latin Voyage of St Brendan, which is here translated, was written in Ireland perhaps as early as 800.

O’Meara illustrated his book with woodcuts from Sankt Brandans Seefahrt, printed by Anton Sorg at Augsburg in 1476. As you can see, they are different in character from our manuscript, being woodcuts for one thing, rather than pen and ink drawings. For example, the illustration on the cover is of the famous incident with the whale, covered in Part 2 of this series, while the illustration below is of the Unhappy Judas on a rock in the sea. Contrast it with the same scene from S Brandanus, below the first quote.

Nevertheless, O’Meara’s translation and the S Brandanus illustrations correspond perfectly, indicating that both were based on the same text. I am using the story of Brendan’s meeting with the Unhappy Judas. Regular readers will remember that I wrote about this once before, in my post Harry Clarke, Brendan, Judas – and Matthew Arnold. While the stories are the same, Arnold’s poem ends with Judas disappearing, while the story from the Voyage carries on. Here goes.

When Saint Brendan had sailed towards the south for seven days, there appeared to them in the sea the outline as it were of a man sitting on a rock with a cloth suspended between two small fork-shaped supports about a cloak’s lengths in front of him. The object was being tossed about by the waves just like a little boat in a whirlwind. Some of the brothers said it was a bird, others a boat. . .

Blessed Brendan questioned him as to who he was, or for what fault he was sent here, or what he deserved to justify the imposition of such penance?

The man replied: “I am unhappy Judas, the most evil trader ever. I am not here in accordance with my desert but because of the ineffable mercy of Jesus Christ. This place is not reckoned as punishment but as an indulgence of the Saviour in honour of the Lord’s resurrection.. . . 

When I am sitting here I feel as if I were in a paradise of delights in contrast with my fear of the torments that lie before me this evening. For I burn, like a lump of molten lead in a pot, day and night, in the centre of the mountain that you have seen. . . .

But here I have a place of refreshment every Sunday from evening to evening, after Christmas until the epiphany, at Easter until Pentecost, and on the feast of the purification and assumption of the Mother of God. After and before these feasts I am tortured in the depths of hell with Herod and Pilate and Annas and Caiphas. And so I beseech you through the Saviour of the world to be good enough to intercede with the Lord Jesus Christ that I be allowed to remain here until sunrise tomorrow, so that the demons may not torture me on your coming and bring me to the fate I have purchased with such an evil bargain.

Saint Brendan said to him, May the Lord’s will be done! Tonight until the morning you will not be eaten by the Demons. 

The man of God questioned him again saying what is the meaning of this cloth? 

The other replied I gave this cloth to a leper when I was procurator for the Lord. But it was not mine to give. It belonged to the Lord and the Brothers. And so it gives me no relief but rather it does me hurt. Likewise the iron forks on which it hangs I gave to the priests of the temple to hold up cooking pots. With the rock on which I sit I filled a trench in the public road to support the feet of those passing by, before I was a disciple of the Lord.

The story continues, with the demons coming to take Judas back to hell, upon which Brendan forbids them to do so. The following morning, when they come to fetch Judas, 

. . . an infinite number of Demons was seen to cover the face of the ocean emitting dire sounds and saying ‘Man of God, we curse your coming as well as your going, since our chief whipped us last night with terrible scourges because we did not bring to him that accursed prisoner.

They tell him that Judas will suffer double punishment for the next six days because of this, but this also Brendan forbids, in the name of God, saying: 

I am his servant and whatever I order, I order in his name. My service lies in those matters which he has assigned to me.

The Demons followed him until Judas could no longer be seen. They then returned and lifted up the unhappy soul among them with great force and howling.

Eventually the voyage ends and Brendan returned home, relating everything that had happened on the voyage and saying that his own time had now come to an end. His dying and death are given less than half a page – an unseemly short few words to bring the voyage to a close.

For when he had made all arrangements for after his death, and a short time had intervened, fortified by the divine sacraments, he migrated from among the hands of his disciples in glory to the Lord, to whom is honour and glory from generation to generation. Amen. End.

Derry Duff Farm: Miracle in the Mountains

Last week I finally managed to make it to one of Derry Duff Farm’s open days – something I have been trying to do for a couple of years, ever since I started reading about what Steve and Claire Collins are accomplishing up in the mountains above Coomhola.

The first thing to know is that Derry Duff is one of the highest farms in West Cork, occupying very marginal land – the kind we mostly see being used as sheep range or simply covered in heather and fionnán grass. Certainly not the kind of location where you can imagine a thriving and productive berry farm.

The second is that Steve Collins is a man on a mission. A highly-educated dynamo, he has spent his working life in the trenches of famine-stricken regions, teaching local people the value of diversifying their crops so that when one fails, they do not starve. There a lovely irony in this, as it is very likely that those who lived on this land in the mid-nineteenth century surely were victims of the Great Hunger, when the potato crop failed for several years in a row. The Derry Duff farm still has its old farm buildings to show how long people have been making a living on this mountain.

Steve is convinced that Ireland has fallen into a false sense of security, with our reliance on mono-cropped grass. In years when the price of silage and hay soar, as they do, or when feed is scarce (remember the fodder crisis of two years ago?), cattle and dairy farming become precarious. He set out to see what he could grow that could make money, was not vulnerable to rainfall and climate change, was ecologically sound, and which helped to drive diversity. 

Along the way there has been experimenting, and not everything has been successful (anyone for Irish walnuts?), but he has landed now on two main cash crops – blueberries and aronia berries – and a huge variety of fruit trees and vegetables that are grown mainly for themselves. 

The farm is very impressive indeed. Steve has harnessed streams from the mountain, and dug ponds, and using solar-powered pumps, has a steady supply of water. He ‘grows’ his own soil using compost, wood chips and sheeps’ wool, which produces earth at the right Ph level for the crops he plants.

The paths that wend through the growing areas (you can’t really call them fields) are fragrant with chamomile, and at this time of year loaded with blackberries, heather, meadowsweet and cat’s-ear. The impression is of a living hillside, bursting with life. Apple trees grow all over the place, hens cluck here and there, and many different tree species have space to see if they can flourish at this altitude and in this climate.

To eat a fresh Derry Duff blueberry (you can buy them at select stores locally) is to rediscover what a blueberry is supposed to taste like – large, juicy, sweet and substantial. It’s a labour intensive crop but there are picking machines which may be part of the process at some point. They were just ripening for our visit.

Aronia berries are new to us here in Ireland. A north American native, they have the highest level of polyphenols of any plant or vegetable.

Here’s the information from the Derry Duff website:

These benefits come from four distinct but inter related mechanisms; their ability to improve glucose metabolism; their positive effects on the microbiome; their anti-inflammatory properties; and their antioxidant power.  Research shows they can prevent metabolic syndrome; the combination of central obesity, high blood pressure, diabetes or pre-diabetes and deranged blood fats; the greatest source of chronic ill health in Ireland and the developed world.

I came home with a large box of aronia juice, and I’ve been working my way through it. I like it – it’s not too sweet and tastes great mixed with some sparkling water. As regular readers know, I had Covid last week and I do wonder if the aronia juice got me back on my feet sooner than I might have without it. I remember feeling tired and listless for ages after my last bout of Covid and I seemed to bounce back more quickly this time. But of course that’s an anecdote (or a scientific survey with a population of one) and for the real science behind aronia, you can take a look at all the evidence here.

I came away from Derry Duff with a sense of awe that Steve and Claire and their family have taken on a challenge like this – to take a piece of marginal Irish hillside and turn it into a small miracle of abundance and fertility. Oh and by the way, up there ranging over the hills is also a small herd of Dexter cattle. The emphasis is on sustainability and biodiversity.  Nothing is wasted and everything they do addresses their aim, to live in harmony with the hills.

If you want to experience this yourself, you can stay at Derry Duff! They have a wonderful, luxurious, cabin called the Hidden Haven and it gets rave reviews in all the usual sites and magazines. The photo above is taken from their website. If you want to visit on an open day, contact them through the website to add your name to the list.

Small Roads

I’ve been stricken with Covid, so the post I was planning to write – about my visit to the amazing Derry Duff Farm will have to wait a week. And no – I haven’t forgotten I need to get back to the Skeams and St Brandanus! Instead I bring you one of Robert’s posts from a few years ago in which he leads us along some of the smallest roads you can encounter in West Cork. I’ve swapped in a few photos.

Small Roads

Road repairs in rural Ireland peak in the summer months. Favourable weather is responsible. Always be ready for holdups and diversions. ‘Boreens’ – narrow roads in country areas – are often unable to take the machines required to cut edges, fill potholes and restore surfaces while letting traffic through at the same time. In the worst cases, alternative routes can add many kilometres to a journey. So, when setting out, always leave yourselves plenty of time.

Here’s our Yeti straddling the border between Cork and Kerry on the Priest’s Leap road. That’s one of our favourites: the scenery is outstanding, but there can be problems if you meet someone coming the other way. In fact, that difficulty is present on very many of our local byways: hone your reversing skills!

It’s not always other vehicles you have to watch out for . . .

A rural road can be a challenge: never be in a hurry. You just have to go with the flow, even if that means reversing for half a mile. In that situation, of course, the main difficulty is making the decision as to who will have to reverse: you, or the vehicle coming the other way. If that oncoming vehicle is a large tractor and trailer, you may not have much choice.

Yes, there are still a few roads around in very out-of-the-way places which are not surfaced as you might expect. They fit well into their rural surroundings!

Take care not to get lost . . . Some of these boreens are not even marked on the map!

Give a thought to those who built these byways: quite a lot of engineering has been involved in carving through rocks to create a more or less level route.

Some roads lead to a dead end. I prefer those that fly high – over the mountain passes; the scenery never disappoints.

. . . The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say . . .

from ‘the old Walking Song’ by J R R Tolkein

There’s always a reward to be had for travelling uphill: it’s the view from the top!

AI Responses: Humanity Versus The Machine

I was so struck and overwhelmed by the wisdom and kindness of the responses to my last post, AI and the Future of Roaringwater Journal, that I decided to write a follow up. Then, I promise, I will let this matter drop and go back to my usual diet of history and archaeology  and art and flowers and West Cork.

First of all thank you to everyone who took the time to respond – it was heartening and heartwarming to see your thoughtful and encouraging comments, both on the blog and on the Facebook Page. My blog readership is down, at this point about 20% over this time last year. This seems to be about average for what many are reporting, although some have seen far steeper declines. Your comments reminded me that to look at this in terms of readership stats is missing the point – what you told me is that each time a post is read, the reader and I are making a human connection. This was brought home to me at a function last night where I met a woman who told me that although she never comments, Roaringwater Journal has been a ‘lifeline’ for her both during Covid and in times away from West Cork. It was also underscored by the fact that one of the comments was from a high school teacher in Canada that I taught in elementary school in the far north of Canada in the early 1980s! (Hello, Shannon!)

The second theme that emerged takes shape around the concept of a Voice – a real, human voice, with opinions and insight and well-researched content and occasional humour and its own quirky personality. No content generated by a chatbot, you said, can equate to reading something that a human has written with creativity, clarity, passion and curiosity. And you are right – I love what Paddy Tobin said about the essay on West Cork History written by ChatGPT

as soon as I began to read the AI generated text, you were gone, absent. I suppose had I not read your blogs over time this would not have registered. It would be a reasonably interesting if bland presentation of facts but when you write there is opinion, interpretation, reaction, feeling…style and personality

Several of you share my worry in a general sense and resent the intrusion of AI into our daily lives, although as Francis observed, the genie’s out of the bottle now and there’ll be no getting it back in again  As I have been reading a little more about what’s happening, there is a glimmer of hope – it has become obvious very quickly that the internet is an ecosystem with a delicate balancing act. If the chatbots and AI search engines cut traffic to writers and publishers, (who, in turn cease to write and publish) they are ultimately undermining what make the internet actually work – that is, without content creators there is no longer information to harvest. Way back in 2016 we already were expressing this in our post Tech is Cool and Content is King. Some are advocating a system of monetary compensation for scraping content. While that might suit some creators, those whose livelihoods depend on their writing, it does nothing for those of us who are motivated not by commercial considerations but by the sharing of stories and interests with our readers. I can’t help feeling too that it just turns writers into employees or ‘suppliers’ for the large AI companies.

Thank you for the encouragement to explore other options. I’ve looked into Substack and I don’t think it’s the answer for me for a number of reasons. That could be another post so I will leave it there. Regarding writing a book – yes, I will give this serious consideration (after I finish the one I am currently writing about George Walsh), but perhaps some of you don’t realise that the book, which seems like it has the protection of being a physical entity, is also in danger from the exact same issue. In recent years, major AI companies have admitted or been revealed to have used vast libraries of published books (usually without permission or compensation) to train their models. This includes both e-books and scanned print books. Just because something exists in a printed form does not mean it is safe from digital scraping. If you want to check out whether your favourite book has been scraped, do a search in The Atlantic database. I only have my name on the spine of one book – a now very-outdated and somewhat turgid volume of academic essays co-edited with a professor from the University of British Columbia. I found it in that database.

Finally, you reminded me that I must hang onto why I do this, week after week and so I have asked myself that question. Here’s my answer – I write this blog for a whole host of reasons. I do it for me, and I do it for Robert so that his wonderful lyrical writing and unique ruminations on all kinds of subjects will be available for as long as the blog is alive. I do it as a creative outlet and to give my life a sense of purpose. I do it to give back to the wonderful West Cork community that embraced us and supported us when we moved here in 2012. I do it to get down in writing, for the enjoyment and edification of myself and others what makes West Cork the rich and fascinating environment we have discovered here. I do it to celebrate the joy of researching the wide and varied history, archaeology, culture and environment of this special part of the world. I do it to give a shape and discipline to my week. I do it because it gets me out amuigh féin spéir, scrambling over stone walls, lying in bogs, exploring ruins, running from bulls, sometimes alone but often with Amanda and Peter of Holy Wells of Cork and Kerry. I do it because it has led me into subjects and places about which I knew nothing but which have become all-consuming interests – wildflowers and stained glass for example. I do it because it has become my life and my pastime and my passion. I do it because I have readers like you, all over the world, who let me know my words do not go into a void. I do it because.

AI and the Future of Roaringwater Journal

AI is a double-edged sword and the future for Roaringwater Journal, and blogs like it, is looking grim.

First, the not-so-bad news.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I have been exploring various AI tools – chatbots and search engines and research tools like NotebookLM. My first foray was when I asked ChatGPT to write an 800 word essay on the history of West Cork. Although a cursory read left an impression that was persuasive, in fact it was riddled with errors. That was in 2023. Today I asked it to do the same again and I append the results below. MUCH better and in fact this time very accurate. 

I’ve also used image-generation software – I had fun with a St Brigid Post a while back – the results, although amusing, were a mixed bag – I’d say this aspect of AI has a lot of catching up to do. 

I also used Perplexity as a research assistant on my recent series (2 down, 1 to go) on the St Brendan book I purchased, which was written in German.

Finally, I used NotebookLM to keep track of all my references when I did the series on Charles Vallancey. NotebookLM is an excellent research tool which uses the sources you upload yourself. I had 15 different sources for this series, mostly lengthy academic articles, and I was able to use NotebookLM to tease out threads across the articles, each statement referenced back to its source.

Now for the other side of the coin.

When you did a Google search in the past, it came up with a list of Blue Links – clicking on a link brought you to the source website. Search engines drove a lot of traffic to our website.

If you do a search now, the first thing you are likely to see is what’s called an AI Overview. Although there are still links (for now) to Roaringwater Journal and other local sites, many people just read the AI Overview and go no further. If you use ChatGPT the information will simply be served up to you in a condensed form, with no link to sources or to further information.

Perplexity includes links in the form of tiny numbers at the end of paragraphs which you may or may not notice or click on. Claude does something similar but seems to get most of its information from Wikipedia.

The AI companies have drag-netted the internet to train their Large Language Models (LLMs). Where information is scraped from Roaringwater Journal, it has happened without my knowledge or consent. This was not a problem in the past – Google gathered the information, but drove the searcher back to Roaringwater Journal – ‘click on this blue link for more information.’ Now, all my hard work and careful research is simply fodder for huge search engines who present it as if it’s their own. This is even more of an issue for bloggers who rely on traffic to generate income (I do not). 

While traffic to the Journal (people landing on pages and actually reading what we have written) is a significant incentive to keep at it, it’s not the be-all-and-end-all for me, as I have all kind of other motivations for writing it. However, if the trend continues downwards, I can see myself and others taking stock at some point and wondering whether all our hard work is simply now providing content to enrich a bunch of tech-bro gazillionaires. 

The ultimate irony? My story image was generated by ChatGPT!

I would value your comments.

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The History of West Cork: A Story of Resilience, Rebellion, and Rich Culture

West Cork, the southwestern region of County Cork in Ireland, is a landscape of rugged coastlines, rolling hills, ancient stone forts, and vibrant villages. Though often celebrated today for its natural beauty and bohemian charm, West Cork’s history is layered with tales of prehistoric settlers, Gaelic chieftains, Norman invaders, rebellions, famines, and a profound cultural resilience that still defines the area. The history of West Cork is, in many ways, a microcosm of Ireland’s wider historical experience—marked by both hardship and heroism.

Prehistoric and Early Settlements

The earliest traces of human habitation in West Cork date back over 6,000 years, to the Neolithic period. Megalithic tombs, stone circles, and standing stones—such as those found in Drombeg near Glandore—attest to the ritual and communal life of these early settlers. The Bronze Age (c. 2500–500 BCE) and Iron Age (c. 500 BCE–400 CE) left their mark in the form of wedge tombs, fulacht fiadh (ancient cooking sites), and ring forts, which still dot the countryside.

By the early medieval period, West Cork was part of the powerful kingdom of the Eóganachta, a Gaelic dynasty that ruled much of southern Ireland. The area was divided among local chieftains, with clans such as the O’Driscolls, O’Mahonys, and O’Donovans holding sway. These families established fortified homes and controlled trade routes, especially around the coast. The influence of Christianity also spread during this period, and monastic sites such as Timoleague Abbey were founded, becoming centers of learning and religious life.

Viking and Norman Incursions

Beginning in the late 8th century, Viking raiders arrived along Ireland’s coasts, including the bays and inlets of West Cork. Though initially destructive, the Vikings eventually integrated into Irish society, intermarrying and establishing trading posts.

In the late 12th century, the Anglo-Normans began their invasion of Ireland. West Cork, with its remote and rugged terrain, resisted complete conquest for some time, but eventually Norman influence took root. Towns such as Bandon and Kinsale (just on the border of what is traditionally considered West Cork) grew under Norman control. These new settlers introduced stone castles, new agricultural practices, and English legal structures, which often clashed with traditional Gaelic customs.

The Tudor Reconquest and the Flight of the Earls

The 16th century saw the English Crown intensify its efforts to control Ireland. West Cork became embroiled in the resistance movements of local Gaelic lords. One of the most notable figures of this period was Donal Cam O’Sullivan Beare, chieftain of the O’Sullivan clan. After the defeat of Irish forces at the Battle of Kinsale in 1601—a key turning point in Irish history—O’Sullivan Beare led his people on a harrowing 500-kilometer march to Leitrim, seeking sanctuary. Only a handful survived. This event symbolized the collapse of the old Gaelic order and the increasing dominance of English rule.

Following the Nine Years’ War and the “Flight of the Earls” in 1607, many Gaelic lords fled Ireland, paving the way for the Plantation of Ulster and further colonization. In West Cork, land was confiscated from Irish families and given to English settlers loyal to the Crown. This deepened divisions and planted the seeds for centuries of unrest.

18th and 19th Century: Rebellion and Famine

By the 18th century, West Cork had developed a mixed population of Protestant landowners and Catholic tenant farmers. Tensions over land and religious discrimination simmered, culminating in episodes of violence such as the Whiteboy movements—agrarian protests against unfair rents and evictions.

The 1798 Rebellion, inspired by revolutionary ideals from America and France, saw some activity in West Cork, though it was largely suppressed by British forces. Still, the spirit of resistance remained alive.

The most devastating period in West Cork’s history came with the Great Famine (1845–1852). The failure of the potato crop, coupled with British government inaction, led to mass starvation, disease, and emigration. Skibbereen, one of the region’s principal towns, became infamous for the horror it witnessed during the Famine—its name now synonymous with suffering. Over 8,000 people died in the town alone, and many more fled aboard “coffin ships” bound for America, Canada, and Australia.

Twentieth Century: War, Revolution, and Renewal

West Cork played a significant role in the Irish War of Independence (1919–1921). The region was a hotbed of IRA activity, led by figures like Tom Barry and Michael Collins, the latter born in Clonakilty. Notable events included the Kilmichael Ambush, where IRA volunteers killed 17 members of the British Auxiliary Division. These actions helped push the British government toward negotiating the Anglo-Irish Treaty.

The subsequent Civil War (1922–1923) divided communities, including those in West Cork. Collins himself was assassinated at Béal na Bláth in 1922 by anti-Treaty forces, marking one of the most traumatic events in modern Irish history.

Modern West Cork: Culture, Community, and Creativity

In the post-independence era, West Cork remained primarily agricultural, though economic struggles persisted well into the 20th century. By the 1970s and 80s, however, the area began to attract artists, writers, and European settlers drawn to its wild beauty and affordability. This influx helped revitalize the region’s cultural life.

Today, West Cork is known for its lively arts scene, local food movement, and commitment to community sustainability. Towns like Bantry, Skibbereen, and Ballydehob host festivals, markets, and environmental initiatives, while smaller villages retain a sense of timeless rural life.

Though its history has often been marked by hardship, conflict, and change, West Cork has preserved a deep sense of identity. Its landscape holds the memory of centuries—of castles and cairns, abbeys and ambushes—and its people continue to reflect the tenacity, independence, and creativity that have long defined this corner of Ireland.

West Cork’s Earliest Church: The Skeams Part 1

The highlight of last week was a trip around Roaringwater Bay in a traditional wooden boat, the Saoirse Muireann, visiting the Skeam Islands. Our captain was Cormac Levis, who led us last year on a trip to Castle Island and who is encyclopaedic in his knowledge of Roaringwater Bay.

Now, you may be tempted, as I was, to pronounce this The Skeems, but you can mark yourself out as a true local by referring casually to the Shkames. Called after St Céim (pronounced Kame), apparently, although this particular saint is surprisingly controversial, cropping up as Céin, Keane, or Kame, depending on the authority. THE authority, Pádraig O’Riain, in his Dictionary of Irish Saints is uncharacteristically silent on this saint, so we turn to the Mizen Journal for more information. The Mizen Journal was the much-missed publication of the Mizen Archaeological and Historical Society and it combined well-researched articles with lots of local lore. Bernard O’Regan was a highly-regarded local historian, interviewed by two others, Lee Snodgrass and Paddy O’Leary, before his death in 1994. In the interview he gave this account:

When St Ciaran left Cape Clear to go to the continent to be educated, he left his brother Kame and his sister in Cape [Clear]. Kame then built a wooden church on the West Skeam (Inis Kame, Kame’s Island).

The Bernard O’Regan Story Part 2

Mizen Journal No 4

Remember the bit about the wooden church, as we’ll come back to that. 

According to the geologist Anthony Beese, the West Skeam and the East Skeam were once probably joined, and possibly to Heir Island also, since the seas are very shallow between them. Based on geomorphological evidence, and Keating’s 17th century History of Ireland, Beese estimates that the islands may have separated due to storm activity some time between the 5th and the 9th centuries. Such a scenario, he says, would explain the lack of evidence for an early medieval settlement and burial ground on Heir Island. 

His own interpretation of the placename is more prosaic – rather than being based on a saint, he speculates that the Irish word scéimh (pronounced shcay-ev) might be apt – it means an overhang, a projecting rim or edge. He says:

The attitude of the cliffs of the Skeam Islands is determined by the subvertical dip of bedding planes, and when walking over the ridges, the feeling is one of looking down from a high table, boats below your feet, the rocky shore hidden.

Anthony Beese

The Natural Environment and Place-Names of the Skeam Islands

Mizen Journal, Vol 8, 2000

The goats on East Skeam certainly appreciate the cliffs.

So take your pick – the Skeams are named from a saintly church builder from Cape Clear, or the name reflects the geology of the island. Which side are you on?

West Skeam has a fascinating history, as evidenced by the barely-hanging-on remains of an early Christian Church. It’s a small single chamber with antae and a splayed linteled doorway. In the photo above, courtesy of the Irish Times, it’s the small ruin on the bank halfway along the beach. Take a look at my post Irish Romanesque – an Introduction for more about this kind of early, pre-Romanesque Church. It is presumed that antae – the projections of the side walls beyond the gable wall – reflect an earlier form of wooden church in which those projections helped to hold up the roof and provide shelter over the entry. The survival of this feature is known as a Skeuomorph – an imitation in the stone-built form of the earlier wooden construction method. 

This little church is very significant – It’s the only one of its kind in West Cork. For many years it has been falling into the sea. Although once, Beese notes, it would have been high and dry, successive storms and the prevailing winds have eroded the bank it stands on over the centuries. Local people, Cormac included, tell of bones eroding out of the bank. The archaeologist Edward Fahy conducted a brief survey in 1962. The drawing above and one at the top of this post are from that report, and here is the conclusion:

Inhumed burials are visible in the cliff for a distance of almost thirty feet to the north and south as well as within the church itself where they are overlain by some soil and 18” of collapse from the walls. The burials extend downwards to foundation level of the building and appear to post-date it. The density of burials is not high and the skeletons are laid parallel to the axis of the church with their feet to the east. One grave is slab-lined but the rest are simple inhumations.

The architectural features of the church, dry stone building, simple doorway with inclined jambs and without architrave, the antae and the estimated length/breath ratio of the interior suggest a ninth century date for the structure. It is to be regretted that this, the only church of its date in the area is to be allowed to crumble into the sea.


Edward Fahy

Skeam Island Church,

Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society, 1962

A proper excavation was conducted by Claire Cotter in 1990, necessitated by a proposal by the OPW to build a wall to protect the church from further erosion. Here’s what the bank looked like when Fahy reported in 1962, and it was in an even more perilous condition by 1990.

Cotter published her findings in an article, Archaeological Excavations at Skeam West, in the Mizen Journal, Vol 3, 1995. The excavation was confined to the burial grounds – that is, the area outside the church itself. It revealed that burials had been taking place there long before the stone church had been built! In fact, radiocarbon dating of the first phase, containing 24 individuals, mostly adult males, assigned a date range of 430 to 770AD.

Phase 2, consisting of 15 bodies buried in the north side of the church, once again mostly adults, but this time one body could be identified as female. Rather than in body-shaped cuttings, some of these bodies had been placed in pits, and they were in a semi-propped up positions. These burials dated from 550 to 855. 

This is what the church looks like now from the landward side. It’s very overgrown, but you can clearly see the antae and the linteled entry

Phrase 3 encompassed 33 bodies and dated from 1165 to 1395, after which the graveyard went out of use. Some of these graves may have had markers – a stone cross and notched stones were found.

Another interesting find, Cotter tells us:

In a number of burials the head was marked by small flat stones – generally one stone set close to the head on each side. This may indicate that the bodies had been placed on timber planking – the cradle stones would subsequently support the head and keep it in position when the timber planks had rotted away leaving a void within the grave. Remains of such timbers have been found in early medieval graves in England. In the case of Skeam, such timber planking could have formed part of a bier, perhaps used to carry the body on the sea journey. Two burials of newborn infants also belong to this phase and these had been placed on large stone flags.

It looks as if this burial ground was accommodating people from the other islands. Apart from a cillín on Heir Island, there are no burial grounds on East Skeam or on Heir. A midden to the south of the church contained lots of fish and shellfish remains, as well as fragments of seal and whale bones, and cattle sheep and pig bones. This activity dated to the 16th and 17th centuries.

Cotter, in her discussion, says the following:

There are no historical references to the church on Skeam west. It lies in the parish of Aughadown; and a decretal letter of Pope Innocent III [that’s him, below] issued in 1199 refers to “Aughadown and its appurtenances” and the Church in Skeam West may well have been included in these. Local tradition attributes the origins of some ecclesiastical foundation on the island to Ceim or Keims, a brother of Kieran of Cape Clear. This would place the foundation in the pre-patrician period and the site is therefore of great interest. Was the stone church built to replace an earlier wooden structure – perhaps destroyed by the storm which washed up the deposit of shingle visible at the north side of the present building?

. . . Small church sites such as Skeam were generally located within an enclosure which defined the termon or area of sanctuary of the church, and the ditch uncovered to the south of the church is probably the remains of such an enclosure. The question as to whether these foundations should be regarded as monastic has been much discussed in recent years. Some scholars suggest that these ecclesiastical foundations should be regarded as small church sites which provided essential religious services for the local community. Others would argue that the majority of these foundations began as monasteries and only later assumed a community role. In many examples the earliest burials are exclusively male and only at a later stage do we find mixed burial i.e. adults and children of both sexes.

. . . The burial ground at Skeam West appears to have been used over a long period perhaps as long as the 900 years. During its later history it may have been used by a wider community drawn from the neighbouring islands and coastal district as well as the Skeams.

She adds:

The human burials uncovered during the excavations were re-buried on the island in 1992 in what is hopefully their final resting place.

Above is the OPW wall, which seems to be doing the job of arresting erosion for the moment.

There’s lots more to tell you about the West Skeam Island, including fascinating details as to who owned it, and what life was like there. And we haven’t even arrived at the other Skeam Island, East Skeam, yet! Next time. 

One final note – the island is privately owned and monitored by video link. A disembodied voice reminded us that we were trespassing, at which point we left.