Living in Lockdown!

Main Street, Ballydehob: 4 April 2020. You’ve never seen it like this before on a Saturday morning. We are only out because we have urgent shopping to do. We are permitted to go to the shops, the dispensary and the dump (we live too far out of town to have any waste collections). Oh, and we can exercise within a two kilometre radius of home (here’s Finola’s account of that). It’s a strange life – but we are gratefully alive…

We completed our last ‘long’ walk on Friday 27 March – to the summit of Mount Corrin, for my Mizen Mountains post. On that evening the government announced the ‘lockdown’ and we are now isolated in Cappaghglass for the foreseeable future, although the 2km restriction will allow us to trespass into our adjacent townlands of Stouke, Cappanacallee, Foilnamuck, Rossbrin, Ballycummisk and Kilbronogue, provided we keep our distance from other walkers. We see very few.

When the sun is shining, there’s no better place to be than home – looking out over Roaringwater Bay! We have plenty to occupy us. Not least, keeping up with this journal and my new venture Swantonstown Sessions – compensation for the enforced adjournment of the weekly traditional music meetings in Ballydehob. It’s an online forum for sharing tunes, songs and related ‘chat’. Please join in!

There’s not much activity in Schull, our other centre for essential supplies, either. The main street (upper) and pier (above) are deserted on Saturday morning, when it’s normally buzzing. All the businesses in our villages and towns rely on customers: we hope for their sakes (and ours) that the situation doesn’t last too long, although we do all understand how necessary the restrictions are.

Join us for one of our walks – along to Rossbrin – to look at the water and the always changing scenery as spring gets under way. That’s the boreen leading down to it, above.

Rossbrin Castle, the home of the ‘Scholar Prince’ Finghinn O’Mahony in medieval times, is the local landmark which always draws us towards the Cove. It has stood for centuries, although very gradually returning to nature: parts of it will remain for generations to come, and will intrigue those who chance upon it, as I first did some thirty years ago. It is on private land, remember, but it can be seen from many accessible vantage points.

It’s no hardship to be ‘marooned’ out here in rural Ireland. The one thing we miss above all else is meeting and chatting with friends and neighbours: that’s unnatural. But we will survive it. After our walks there’s always the road home to look forward to (do you see the celandines lining the way?):

Roaringwater Journal wishes to heartily thank all those in our communities who are supporting the rural population through these abnormal times: medical teams, pharmacies, shopkeepers, producers and suppliers . . . All who keep our facilities and utilities going . . . They are helping us to stay healthy and upbeat in times of disquiet. We appreciate all of you.

Two Kilometres

That’s all we’re allowed during the Covid19 lockdown for ‘necessary exercise.’ But I have spent years now exploring the townlands around us and I like nothing better than to ramble out with my camera looking out for whatever comes my way, like Rossbrin Castle, above. Robert has done something similar this week – each of us with our own take on what life is like here right now.

From the top: Seven-spot Ladybird; Peacock Butterfly; Mr Bull and his two cows observing social distancing

I’ve learned so much this way about the natural world. A lot of it has ended up as blog posts on Roaringwater Journal or as entries on my Wildflowers of West Cork Facebook Page.

From the top: Herb Robert, Greater Stitchwort and Ground-ivy

There is archaeology and history all around us too, from a wedge tomb to a tower house, from mining complexes to ring forts and standing stones.

From the top: a ruined farmstead bears witness to population decline; Mount Gabriel looms over a pastoral scene; the old gate once led into a mine

We miss our friends, The Chat in Budds, our Irish lessons and conversation group, the Book Club and Art House Cinema and Talks at the Vaults and all the other events that get us out into the community and keep us curious and learning. We miss our long drives, our Holy Well and Stone Circle hunting trips – and our lattes!

From the top: Tadpoles; Ivy-leaved Toadflax on an old stone wall

But these are small, first world, complaints and we do know how privileged we are to be well, to be able to buy groceries online, not to have small children to entertain and educate at home, and most of all to live in such incredible surroundings. It’s a good reminder not to take those privileges for granted.

I think I have barn envy

Meanwhile, we want to support everyone’s efforts to flatten the curve and we are in awe of the selfless dedication of so many people and desperately sympathetic to those who have lost income. The best way we know to do this is to be cooperative and follow the rules. And that’s what we are doing, mostly staying at home and when we go out keeping our walks to a 2km radius.

From the top: Contrasting textures – bark and barn; Distant view of Castle Island with the remaining castle wall and the abandoned farm houses

So herewith is a selection of what we’ve seen in the past few days as we walk several different 2km routes that present themselves from our front gate. Many of the wildflowers are tiny and only lots of practice enables me to spot them in the verges or the fields.

From the top: Dandelions and Celandine; Common Mouse-ear; Thrift and Scurvygrass 

It seems like spring has been slow to come this year although when I look back at previous years I see much the same assemblage of flowers for late March and early April. But beyond a golden day or two, it hasn’t warmed up yet so there is no sense of spring suddenly ‘bustin’ out all over’. Nevertheless the hedgebanks are slowly coming to life and I see something new every day.

From the top: Wild Strawberry; Three-cornered Garlic (AKA Three-cornered Leek); Scarlet Pimpernel; Primrose

The rock faces at my favourite bog soak are always fascinating, although you have to lie flat with your face an inch from the surface to really grasp the miniature world that teems on its surface. I’m still determined to improve my knowledge of lichen and mosses, but I can’t pretend I’ve advanced much.

From the top: Devil’s Matchstick, a type of Cladonia lichen: I don’t know

How are you all doing out there? Leave a comment and let us know – we want all our dear readers to stay safe and well!

 

Savoury Soda Bread – Easiest Ever

We’ve all become hyper-conscious about bread these days as we socially isolate. In the early days of the stockpiling panic (which seems to be over, thank goodness) there was very little bread on the shelves of one of our local supermarkets. No problem, says I, I’ll just make it. That’s when we discovered there was no flour either!

A quick forage in the garden produced some fennel fronds and rosemary, but you can use whatever you have to hand

But everything resolved itself in time and we got our supplies. Now that we are in true lockdown, the desire to make our own bread has increased so I have been baking this exceptionally easy soda bread which also happens to be one of the tastiest! I honestly can’t remember where I got the recipe but I have adjusted it a bit over time and added my own flavours, depending on what’s in my herb bed or my fridge.

This is a more traditional soda bread, made with butter and buttermilk and with dried fruit.

The thing about this bread is that it can be fruity, like a classic ‘cake of curranty bread’ or savoury – just depends what you add to it. I am giving you the savoury twist, but leave out the cheese and herbs and add in 150g of dried fruit (sultanas, mixed, or whatever you’re having yourself) and you have the traditional tea bread. You can have it with no add-ins and it’s delicious that way too. Most soda bread recipes have you rubbing butter into flour and then adding buttermilk. Indeed that makes delicious bread (like the photograph above) but if you don’t have the time, or the buttermilk, you don’t need either for this bread.

Ingredients
500g white flour
1 tsp  salt
1 tsp baking soda (bicarbonate)
300ml yoghurt (regular or Greek-style, but not low fat and not flavoured)
200ml whole milk
Herbs – 1 to 2 tablespoons finely chopped
75g grated cheddar or other sharp cheese (2 or 3 tablespoons)

For this version I used some fennel and rosemary, which I happened to have in my garden, but chives would work or any herb such as thyme, oregano, basil, parsley, dill – as long as it’s chopped fine.

Method

Preheat the oven to 200C/Gas mark 6/400F. Put the baking tray in to heat it up (this makes sure the bottom is nice and crusty).

Stir milk and yogurt together well. Finely chop the herbs and grate the cheese (or use pre-grated).

Combine the flour with the soda and salt and sift into a bowl. Stir in the cheese and herbs.

Make a well and pour in the combined yogurt and milk and stir until it comes together into a rough ball.

There’s no need to do any kneading. In fact, the less you handle it the better. Just turn the ball onto a sheet of parchment paper, pat it into a round shape and cut a deep X in the centre. The X is to let the fairies out – they’ll mess with your bread otherwise.

Fetch the hot baking tray from the oven and place the bread, on its parchment paper, on the tray. Don’t stress if you forgot to heat the tray first – it will be fine without that step.

Bake for 45 minutes. It should be well risen and a rich golden colour. Let it cool a little on a wire rack.

As with all soda bread, this is best eaten the day it’s made. It is a great accompaniment to soup or stew, or have it with cheese and chutney at coffee break or with jam at tea time. It is almost as good the second day if you wrap it up well overnight. If you still have some left after that, toast it, or cut and freeze it.

Sorry, I don’t have a gluten-free version of this, but would be interested to hear from anyone who can make successful GF soda bread. I’ve seen some recipes on the internet but I have no experience of how well they work. I also have not converted this to North American measures  as I have seen so many different equivalents that I wasn’t sure how many cups of flour to specify. Give it a try and enjoy! And don’t forget to let the fairies out.

Mizen Mountains 4 – Corrin

The world is in trouble – but in our tiny corner of it we find ourselves taking the time to get out into the open air, lapping up any chance of sunlight, and bracing ourselves against the bitter east winds that seem to prevail at the moment. Following last week’s escapades, when we discovered new territory just beyond the boundaries of the Mizen, we decided to take up the challenge of one of the most significant Mizen peaks – Mount Corrin.

Upper – the elevated boulder burial at Rathruane – probably Bronze Age – seems to echo the profile of Mount Corrin – a perfect peak – away to the west, while – lower – the same monument also stands in context with Mizen’s highest mountain – Gabriel – to the south

We have passed the spring equinox, and days are now longer than nights. It’s a good time to consider seriously exploring the high ridges again. Corrin – 284 metres – is not the highest summit on the Mizen, but its profile is one of the most distinctive as it rises from lower ground on all sides – a ‘proper’ mountain! in this respect it is  surpassed only by the Mizen giant – Mount Gabriel. We’ll tackle that one later on. We notice that Gabriel is always visible to us, from whatever elevated ground we traverse.

Last time we tackled Letterlicky, which is at the furthest edge of the eastern Mizen Ridge: today’s summit is on the west side of the same ridge  We have, of course, been to the top of Corrin before: Finola’s post of October 2015 describes previous expeditions. Then, the light was magnificent and the skies were clear blue – such a contrast to the beginning of this week, when the landscape has been pallid – all washed-out browns and yellows: spring  still hiding its face in West Cork.

Upper – approaching Corrin on a challenging day. Lower – on the ascent, good distant views can be got to Ballydehob Bay, in spite of poor weather

We were the only souls on the mountain: it’s a good way of being self-isolated. But any walk in a natural environment in these strange times is exhilarating. In fact, we made two journeys to Corrin in the week: the first had to be abandoned in haste when halfway up due to waterlogged footwear and a biting cold easterly.

Upper – on our first attempt on Corrin we got as far as this wilderness before turning back. Centre – park here for the Corrin trail! It’s well marked and accessible from the east side. Lower – a convenient seat for donning the right footwear! This is on our second attempt, in much improved conditions

Suddenly – on Friday – everything changed. Out of nowhere came a bright, clear and windless day. We hurried out to complete our journey to the summit, revelling in the light. It was as though, for the first time in the year, there was a sense of expectant renewal. When we arrived home, it was to discover that Ireland had been plunged into lockdown: we (the ‘elderly and vulnerable’) have to stay in our homes unless needs are urgent (food and medicine) although we are permitted to exercise close to home, always keeping a safe distance from others.

Upper – Finola looks back along the ridge towards our previous goals (Lisheennacreagh and Letterlicky). Centre – spectacular views of Gabriel and the Barnaclleeve Gap are had from Corrin. Lower – the track is well marked: we are approaching the summit cairn

There is history on this mountain. The summit is crowned by a significant cairn. If the peak is named from the cairn – which seems likely (West Cork folk would pronounce ‘cairn’ corrin), it must have had ancient roots going back through many generations. The National Monuments Record makes brief mention of it: Class: Cairn – unclassified – Townland: Coolcoulaghta, Derreennalomane – On top of  Mount Corrin, commanding view. Sub-circular cairn (H 0.7m; 13.6m E-W; 15m N-S); modern cairn built in centre (H 2.7m; circ. 10.9m). On the way up from the east side, the path passes directly over some large prostrate slabs which look very much like a broken wedge tomb. The NMR says only this: Megalithic structure. There are also, near the summit, three substantial stones in an alignment. The NMR is silent on these.

Upper and centre – a possible broken wedge tomb on the slopes of the mountain. Lower – a convincing three-stone alignment which doesn’t get a mention in the Scheduled Monuments Record

Duchas has a far more exciting mention of Mount Corrin, with this ‘True Old Story’ recorded in 1936 from Dreenlomane School:

A True Old Story

. . . About eighty years ago where there was no talk of anyone being able to fly there lived in Screathan Uí Laoghaire [Scrathanleary] a very clever man named Julian Camier. He had a house built, and quarried slate on the other side of Cnoc an Chairn at a place called Leaca Dhubh, and then he made a pair of wings. He told all the people that he would fly if each one of them brought a couple of slates home for him. When the day came crowds of people ascended on Mount Corrin to see him fly. He went on top of a high cliff and put on his wings but they failed to work when he spread them out and he jumped into the air and he fell off the cliff and hurt his leg. All the people took pity on him and each one brought a couple of slates down to his house so he got the slate brought home easy, and after that he was known as “Fly away Julian” . . . 

 

Patrick Donovan, Dreenlomane, Ballydehob, Skibbereen

Obtained from my father, Patrick Donovan 52 yrs

The Duchas Schools Folklore Collection also mentions folktales told about the mountain:

It is said that there is a chieftain buried under a heap of stones in Mount Corrin and there are other chieftains buried in Coolcoulachta . . .  There is a cairn on the top of ‘Corrin’ hill and it is said that a giant Mc Gun and his horse were buried there . . .

Upper – view from Corrin’s summit across the Sheeps Head Peninsula. Lower – descending from the peak

It would be wonderful to think that folk tales about ancient burials on the mountain top is a memory carried down through countless generations. Clearly this Mizen summit holds histories and mysteries. but, regardless of any lore that we might find in our researches, it’s one of the finest walks that you can take in this part of West Cork, with rewarding views over the whole peninsula.

From start to finish the round walk from the eastern access point to Mount Corrin summit and back involves an ascent of 120 metres and a distance of around 6km

Swantonstown Sessions!

At this time (March 2020) the regular Friday evening traditional music sessions in Ballydehob have become a casualty of the Covid19 pandemic: pubs are closed and meetings are banned. Things will change, and the sessions will come back – hopefully before too long. In the meantime let’s have a virtual session, courtesy of the internet!

Ballydehob was known as ‘Swanton’s Town’ until around 1820. It was named after a family from Norfolk who became prominent in the area in the 17th century. So, let’s call our new – temporary – venture: Swantonstown Sessions – It rolls well off the tongue, after all (once you get used to it)! There are still Swantons in the village, by the way:

To kick things off, I’m putting up a video of me playing a tune I have just learnt. It’s an easy enough tune, which you can all join in with: a waltz with a story attached. Here’s the tune – Rock All Our Babies To Sleep – I start it off in G and then play it in C, as I like the jump, which gives the music a lift:

Now, here’s the story . . . The tune was originally a cowboy yodelling song! ‘Cowboy songs’ were popular in the States in the 1920s and 30s, before there was such a thing as ‘Country and Western’. One of the earliest ‘cowboys’ to make his name was Jimmie Rodgers (James Charles Rodgers, 1897 – 1933).

Rodgers fused hillbilly country, gospel, jazz, blues, pop, cowboy, and folk, and many of his best songs were his compositions, including “Blue Yodel”, which sold over a million records and established Rodgers as the premier singer of early country music . . .

Sometimes known as “The Father of Country Music”, Rodgers was particularly remembered for his distinctive rhythmic yodelling style. Unusually for a music star, Rodgers was known best for his  extensive recordings rather than for his live performances. Rock All Our Babies to Sleep was recorded by Rodgers in 1932. He had been diagnosed with tuberculosis in 1924, at the age of 27, and died from the affects of the illness at the age of 35 on May 26 1933. We are fortunate to have this recording available on YouTube:

So how did the Cowboy song from 1932 get to a traditional music session in Ballydehob? By a process of evolution! And via Scotland, as it happens . . . I am a great fan of two traditional Scottish musicians: Phil Cunningham from Edinburgh and Aly Bain from Lerwick on the Shetland Islands. I heard them playing a waltz which they called  Rocking the Baby to Sleep and immediately decided I had to learn it. My method of learning is listening, and then playing until I think I have the tune – most of the time the method works; sometimes, I find that I have made up my own version of the tune. Here are Cunningham and Bain playing their rendering (which has moved on a fair bit from Jimmie Rodgers!) and you can compare this yourself to my oral interpretation of their playing, above. It’s a little different, certainly, but what’s important (I think) is that a good tune comes out of the fluid process. Incidentally, I have left in the second tune on the Cunningham/Bain track: Frank McConnell’s Three Steps – it’s something we could introduce to our session later.

So that’s the story of  the new tune I’m bringing into our session. I usually play it through once in G, once in C, then the third time back in G (it creates a good bit of variation) – then I launch straight into two rounds of my own take on a French Canadian tune that the session must have got used to by now: Louis’ Waltz.

So where do we go from here? I have put this up on our journal because it gets a wide audience, and anyone can access it. But I suggest we could create a short-term blog, free to join, which can be shared around. Anyone wanting to put tunes and songs on that blog can record them on a smartphone – audio or video – and send me a file. Better still, upload them on to YouTube and send me the URL. I will then add them to the new blog. We would also welcome all information about the tunes and any relevant stories – or just ‘chat’! There may be better or easier ways of doing this interactively: I’m open to all suggestions. You can get me on my web email:

robert@cappafin.ie

Here’s to when we can all meet and play together again in Ballydehob!

Mizen Mountains 3 – Letterlicky Cairn, or ‘The Old Bog Road’

I confess I’m stretching things a bit here: the 297m peak in the townland of Letterlicky, West Cork, fits well enough into my definition of mountains – anything above the 200 metre contour line. But is this one on the Mizen? We think of our own village of Ballydehob as being ‘The Gateway to The Mizen’ in the south-east, and it would be logical to have another ‘Gateway’ at Durrus, where the northern coastline of the Mizen meets the Sheeps Head. If you draw a straight line between these two points, then today’s subject misses out. But – there are no straight lines in nature, and this peak is a continuation of a natural ridge line that rises down on the Mizen near Mount Corrin and runs east.

But if you are uncomfortable with my concept of what is or isn’t the Mizen, just go with the subtitle of this post: The Old Bog Road. We found Letterlicky Cairn quite by accident as our exploration set out to follow a trackway that we had often passed, on the high road to the north of Ballybane West. We had no idea where the track would take us, but it’s very well defined, roughly paved and probably quite old. As we journeyed up into the hills, we could see that the track was there to serve peat workings which must have been used for generations. The extent of the peat workings – and the line of the old road serving them – show up well on the aerial map view below.

It was a sunless mid-March day when we set out: the wind was in the east and there was little colour in the landscape. There were, as yet, few signs of spring. We could see the ridge in the distance and, happily, the track appeared to climb towards it. In Ireland, the days of cutting peat for fuel are numbered: commercial operations will cease by 2025. Generations of families in rural areas have historically cut peat by hand and lay claims on the rights to do this. Increased regulation will eventually see this tradition declining along with all other fossil fuel production as carbon neutral ways to produce energy are developed. It seemed significant that the large array of 20 giant wind turbines on the high land to the east was a constant backdrop on our journey along the Old Bog Road.

Tomás Ó Muircheartaigh (1907 – 1967) was an amateur photographer who recorded life in rural Ireland during the first half of the twentieth century. We have used examples of his work in previous posts. These two prints (above) demonstrate the hand-working of peat faces and the transporting of sods from the workings. Our Old Bog Road would have seen similar sights in its heyday.

As we threaded our way through the peat workings, we could see the track carrying on towards the ridge. We had done no prior research into the area we were traversing, but as the way grew higher and higher – and we realised we must be coming to a high point in the landscape – we wondered whether there would be any signs of ancient activity on the mountain top. We could see other high points around us – Mount Kidd to the south and Mount Gabriel to the west – and, beyond, a spectacular distant view over Roaringwater Bay: a place like this would have been considered special, surely, to those who knew it thousands of years ago.

Views from the Old Bog Road: upper – Mount Kidd; middle – Mount Gabriel, and lower – the islands of Roaringwater Bay

As we rounded the last bend in the trackway we could see the summit ahead of us. Initially, we were delighted to see a substantial cairn. But we were surprised by the number of larger, roughly shaped boulders and slabs which were lying around it. Also, there seemed to be a substantial earthen raised platform.

To add to the interest – and the enigma – there were some 21st century monuments on the same hilltop. An inscribed bench and a carved wooden marker which resembled a gravestone, with wording on both sides:

Our subsequent enquiries have given us a little information about Mick Townshend (1951 – 2012). He was well know locally, related to the Townshends of Castletownshend, and lived near Ballybane West. The bench was made by his friend Charlie, and was intended to be installed in Ballydehob: we don’t know why it is now here at the mercy of the elements, but it’s easy to imagine someone finding such a place inspirational, and perhaps asking to be remembered at this spot.

Although it wasn’t the best of days, the view to the north was exceptional, taking in Bantry Bay and the Beara mountains beyond. It’s a place that demands to be returned to. As we prepared for the descent we heard the sound of a small engine, and suddenly there was farmer Florence McCarthy arriving on a quad bike with two collies running behind: they were searching for lost sheep. Good chat was had – although, in deference to the Coronavirus crisis, we all kept the currently regulation distance apart. It felt very unnatural to not shake hands, and we forgot to ask for a photograph, until Florence was just disappearing over the brow of the hill!

Florence

The cairn is a scheduled monument, described prosaically on the Archaeological Survey Database as: Circular area (19.5m N-S; 19m E-W) defined by scatter of large rectangular stones. The Duchas folklore collection proved far more interesting, although I can’t be sure that this entry from Gort Uí Chluana School, Bantry, in 1936 is referring to the same cairn:

Long ago when some of the people from the north of Ballydehob used be carrying their “firkins” of butter to Cork they used go through an old road in the town land of Letter Lickey . . .


On the side of this old road it is supposed that one man killed another with a stone. After that it was the custom with the old people; who ever happened to pass that stone should throw a stone near the spot the stone was dropped at the man or if not something would happen to the person afterwards. Up to the present day there is a cairn of stones to be seen on the side of this old road . . .