Winter solstice at Beltony with the High Kings

Out today to the stone circle at Beltony, a couple of miles from Raphoe. It is, of course, the winter solstice. We got there just after half eight. We arrived just behind a teller of tales and just ahead of Kathryn Daily and Stephen. Kathryn has put pics up on Facebook.

On the path up, we passed the remains of a circular structure among the trees on the right. As a child I'd always imagined this to be a round tower. I was disappointed to see it marked on a map as a windmill. But then lo and behold! in the Donegal Annual Volume 1 (1947-1953) there's a note about it being a round tower after all. Still looking for that note - I think it said the tower was used as a scriptorium, a place for copying manuscripts. The tower might also have been useful for keeping an eye on the stone circle and who might be going there.

This little hill is where I grew up, in a house beside where you park your car now before taking the short but steep-ish lane to the circle. This townland is called The Tops. It's a good description of it as a place to spend your early years, but again I was a little disappointed that the townland name wasn't an ancient Irish one linked with the circle. Then a while back I opened the Irish Times and found The Tops mentioned in the 'Words We Use' column from Diarmuid Ó Muirthile. It seems the name comes from 'Tap tineadh', the place where the torches were lit before the procession to the circle. Perfect! Coincidentally, I see that Diarmuid's death in Vienna was reported in the Irish Times exactly a year ago today.

There are many fascinating aspects to the circle and indeed the landscape around it. For instance, what monastery is linked with the round tower? An obvious candidate is the monastery at Raphoe - the town name comes from 'Rath Bhoth', the fortification around the (monk's) huts, as we were taught at school. It's thought these huts were made by monks. But I remembered today that not far from the stone circle there is a townland called Ballymonaster, the land of the monastery. I see that in the same area, known locally as Cloughfin, there's also Kilmonaster Lower, Kilmonaster Middle and Churchminister. Jim Lynch, who taught me at Raphoe NS, is a former principal of St Colmcille NS Cloughfin and writes that the Cistercians had a monastery there with Cearnach as abbot.

Christian settlements were often established close to pagan ones, I suppose for the same reasons that Christian festivals were established to supplant pagan ones. The winter solstice rituals gave way to Christmas. This concentration of Christian settlement around Beltony stone circle suggests it was an important place. We all search for significance in our lives. Patrick Kavanagh poked fun at our fond imaginings in his poem 'Epic' -

I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided : who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims

However the Tops and Beltony just keep delivering the goods. In his book published in 2006, 'Cenél Conaill and the Donegal Kingdoms AD 500 - 800', Brian Lacey persuasively argues that this part of East Donegal was the homeland of a powerful clan, the Cenél Conaill. This clan began to make a 'national' impact from their "small but economically rich territory in Mag nItha" in the sixth century. According to this analysis, the clan supplied at least five high kings of Tara. Two, and possibly three, of these Cenél Conaill kings of Tara "were the first to be described in the ancient sources with the rare title of 'King of Ireland', however exaggerated that was" (p322).

There was no sun to be seen at sunrise this morning. But when you were looking across in vain towards Croaghan Hill you were surveying the home ground of the Cenél Conaill and your feet were  firmly planted in historic Irish landscape.


*******************

By coincidence last night I found myself at a 'Celtic Banquet' at the Grianan of Aileach Hotel in Burt. Brian Lacey reckons that the great hillfort Grianan of Aileach symbolises the transfer of power away from Cenél Conaill to the Cenél nÉogain after the battle of Clóiteach in 789. Brian suggests that Cenél nÉogain chief Áed may have celebrated his victory over Cenél Conaill by building the Grianan of Aileach - "as a visible reminder of who ruled, the monument could be seen from a great many parts of that kingdom". The Cenél nÉogain, who gave their name to Inishowen, then became big cheeses in Ireland. The Cenél Conaill was practically written out of the annals in what Brian likens to"a sort of Stalinization". History is written by the victors. But as recent resident of Fahan, that historic Inishowen spot, I also claim Cenél nÉogain connections!

********************

Eyewitness account of the fire at Raphoe Castle 1838

Came across a curious little book in the library in Letterkenny, 'Reminiscences of a Long Life', by W. D. Killen, D.D., LL.D., President of Belfast Presbyterian College. It's a little A6 size one (the pages a quarter of an A4 page) and it's number 145 of an edition of just 200 copies produced by Braid Books and Moyola Books in 1995.
The great treat for a Raphoe man in this book is the eyewitness description of the fire which destroyed Raphoe Castle in 1838. William Doole lived through almost all of the 19th century, and he was serving as Presbyterian Minister in Raphoe at the time of the fire. And there's much more of interest in the book, including more about life in Raphoe during his ministry there, a description of Belfast in 1820, when it was still a relatively small place of 30,000 people, and the entertainment of W.D.'s often forthright opinions.
William Doole Killen was born in Ballymena on Easter Saturday, 5th April, 1806, and died on 19th January, 1902, the year after these reminiscences first appeared in print.
As time is short this morning, we'll focus on the fire for the moment.
W. D. had good time for the last Church of Ireland Bishop to live in the castle, the Right Rev. Dr. Bissett, "a most respectable country gentleman". The Bishop was well off, a Scottish man with an estate in Aberdeenshire, and the income from the diocese of Raphoe seems to have been substantial - W.D. says "from his see he had an income of upwards of five thousand a year", maybe around £400k in today's money.

W. D. continues:

About this time Parliament passed an Act for the suppression of the see. I had occasion to call on the Bishop shortly afterwards, and found him walking along in his demesne. He was somewhat dejected. "I have now, Mr. Killen," he said to me mournfully, "no great pleasure in going through these grounds. I care not to plant a tree here, for I know not who is to sit under the shadow of it. It may be a Romish bishop." [ . . ]

He did not long survive the passing of the Act for the suppression of the bishopric. In accordance with it the see was extinguished on his demise, and the castle became vacant. It had been built 200 years before by Bishop Leslie. It was a beautiful and spacious edifice, surrounded by an extensive park, and no cost had been spared on its construction. It was now offered for sale; but as no purchaser willing to give the required price was forthcoming, it remained untenanted. Fires had been kept up in some of the apartments, but no fenders had been provided to surround the fireplaces ; and it was said that a live coal, falling out of the grate in one of the rooms, had ignited the flooring ; and as the caretaker happened to be absent, the fire spread unnoticed until it was found impossible to arrest its progress. I well remember the night of the burning. I was sitting in my house at the other extremity of the village when the deep-toned bell of the cathedral began to ring violently, and immediately afterwards I received intelligence that the castle was on fire. In company with some others, I set out for the scene of the disaster. I found a crowd already assembled there in front of the main building, watching the progress of the devouring element. The fire roared and glared as it burst through the edifice. The inner partitions of the castle were composed of dry peat or turf, overspread with mortar, and had apparently been chosen to diminish the weight of the pressure on the ceilings of the apartments underneath. As these partitions, one after another, tumbled into the mass of fire, the flame was prodigious. The conflagration increased, and the whole country was illuminated."

W. D. adds -

At this time the Established Church of Ireland at Raphoe was overtaken by a whole series of calamities. The cathedral took fire ; the bishop died ; the dean, overwhelmed in debt, fled from the country ; the see was suppressed ; the castle was reduced to a mass of ruins ; and one of the curates, who became insane, for a time created a great sensation by his strange utterances in the pulpit and elsewhere.

At the death of the bishop the little town contained 1,500 inhabitants. The population has since much declined, and is now somewhere between 900 and 1,000.

It seems that Lord George Hill could have been Raphoe Castle's saviour, as I heard Sophia Hillen, author of Mary, Lou and Cass: Jane Austen's nieces in Ireland  say he was thinking of buying it before opting instead for Ballyarr House in Ramelton in 1842.

Dylan Thomas at Glenlough

I resumed my interest in Glenlough in recent days after playing the James Byrne waltz, 'The Road to Glenlough', on a Sunday Miscellany programme. I was actually surfing the zeitgeist, though I didn't know it - this week has seen the centenary of the birth of Dylan Thomas, who stayed at Glenlough.

This place, the 'glen of the ducks', is over a couple of hills from Glencolumbkille in south-west Donegal, a remote spot usually accessed from the road down to the beautiful little place that is Port.

As it turns out, one of the books on my desk is 'Caitlin: A Warring Absence', written by Dylan's wife with George Tremlett. It's described by the Times as 'brutally frank and often painfully revealing', which seems about right from what I've read so far. I picked up last month in Foyle Books in Derry for £3. 

Unfortunately she doesn't seem to add anything about Dylan's Donegal experiences. He was in Glenlough in the summer of 1935, and she met 'this bright young spark' in 1936. 

Here's one account of Dylan's trip to Donegal from Jean Rice at http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/read/IrelandGenWeb/2002-12/1040855999

Fame came early in the short life of brilliant Welsh poet Dylan THOMAS from Swansea. When he was 20, he played his part in London's literary scene of the day. He lead a rather Bohemian life-style, including heavy drinking. A friend of the poet, Geoffrey GRIGSON, at last urged Dylan to leave London for awhile and made arrangements for a place of retreat. As a result, Dylan THOMAS spent the summer of 1935 in Ireland, in a small cottage in Co. Donegal. There may seen to be a certain irony in the fact that GRIGSON chose Ireland in his attempts to withdraw alcoholic beverages from THOMAS.

THOMAS wrote of rugged and breath-taking Co. Donegal -- "Here in Ireland, I'm further away than ever from the permanent world. I'm writing by candle-light all alone in a cottage facing the Atlantic --- Soon I'm going out for a walk in the dark by myself; that'll make happy as hell."  

To another friend he wrote, "I am ten miles from the nearest human being , with the exception of the deaf farmer who gives me food," referring to Dan WARD and his Irish-speaking wife Rose, who provided meals and sometimes a bit of poitin (illicit whiskey). There was fishing up in the mountain lakes or walks down at the seashore, and late at night Thomas often joined the WARDs for a chat in front of the peatfire listening to local lore. Only once a week THOMAS would bring himself to walk the ten miles to the next pub, more often than not in tough weather. "It rains and it rains. All the damned seagulls are fallen angels."  

Originally, this place at the end of the world had been discovered by American artist Rockwell KENT in the 1920s. Kent had converted an old donkey-stable into a makeshift studio, but finally abandoned it again when he got weary of too much solitude. This former studio is the cottage that Dylan THOMAS rented in 1935. The Glencolumbkille district where Dylan Thomas spent his holidays is just one of at least three parts of beautiful and wild Donegal that are suitable for hill-walking.

There's an article in today's 'Donegal News' - 'When Dylan Thomas took to the poitín in Donegal'. It draws on the expertise of Termon schoolteacher Christy Gillespie, who's working on a book on Glenlough. He was interviewed by BBC Wales about Thomas this week. 

Christy says Grigson, Thomas's literary agent, came with him by train to Killybegs, and then they continued to Glencolumbkille, staying at what's now Roarty's Bar. Then they went on to Glenlough. 

Christy adds: "Grigson's intention was to get Thomas away from the bright lights of London for a recuperation holiday, but little did he know that he had brought him to the poitín-making capital of Donegal."

Whatever about the drinking, it seems Thomas composed six poems while at Glenlough. One was 'I, In My Intricate Image', which ends -

This was the god of beginning in the intricate seawhirl,

And my images roared and rose on heaven's hill. 

Another was 'Altarwise by Owl Light'. Here it is (or at least a close approximation) from http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/altarwise-by-owl-light/

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Poems by Dylan Thomas : 11 / 100

• « All That I Owe the Fellows of 
• Among Those Killed in the Dawn »

Altarwise by Owl-Light

Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
The gentleman lay graveward with his furies;
Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam,
And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies,
The atlas-eater with a jaw for news,
Bit out the mandrake with to-morrows scream.
Then, penny-eyed, that gentlemen of wounds,
Old cock from nowheres and the heaven's egg,
With bones unbuttoned to the half-way winds,
Hatched from the windy salvage on one leg,
Scraped at my cradle in a walking word
That night of time under the Christward shelter:
I am the long world's gentlemen, he said,
And share my bed with Capricorn and Cancer.

Death is all metaphors, shape in one history;
The child that sucketh long is shooting up,
The planet-ducted pelican of circles
Weans on an artery the genders strip;
Child of the short spark in a shapeless country
Soon sets alight a long stick from the cradle;
The horizontal cross-bones of Abaddon,
You by the cavern over the black stairs,
Rung bone and blade, the verticals of Adam,
And, manned by midnight, Jacob to the stars.
Hairs of your head, then said the hollow agent,
Are but the roots of nettles and feathers
Over the groundworks thrusting through a pavement
And hemlock-headed in the wood of weathers.

First there was the lamb on knocking knees
And three dead seasons on a climbing grave
That Adam's wether in the flock of horns,
Butt of the tree-tailed worm that mounted Eve,
Horned down with skullfoot and the skull of toes
On thunderous pavements in the garden of time;
Rip of the vaults, I took my marrow-ladle
Out of the wrinkled undertaker's van,
And, Rip Van Winkle from a timeless cradle,
Dipped me breast-deep in the descending bone;
The black ram, shuffling of the year, old winter,
Alone alive among his mutton fold,
We rung our weathering changes on the ladder,
Said the antipodes, and twice spring chimed.

What is the metre of the dictionary?
The size of genesis? the short spark's gender?
Shade without shape? the shape of the Pharaohs echo?
(My shape of age nagging the wounded whisper.)
Which sixth of wind blew out the burning gentry?
(Questions are hunchbacks to the poker marrow.)
What of a bamboo man among your acres?
Corset the boneyards for a crooked boy?
Button your bodice on a hump of splinters,
My camel's eyes will needle through the shroud.
Loves reflection of the mushroom features,
Still snapped by night in the bread-sided field,
Once close-up smiling in the wall of pictures,
Arc-lamped thrown back upon the cutting flood. 

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It's seems critics are divided on the merits of this poem - a masterwork, or the wilfully obscure product of the mind of an schizoid alcoholic? For some thoughts on what it's all about see http://www.enotes.com/topics/altarwise-by-owl-light and more usefully https://www.scribd.com/doc/85229220/What-are-we-to-make-of-Dylan-Thomas-s-Altarwise-by-Owl-Light

I wasn't aware before now that there's a website offering guided walks to Dylan's pad in Glenlough - http://www.dylanthomasdonegal.com

It begins with a quote from Grigson (who Caitlin says Dylan didn't like) -

“My nicest recollections of Dylan are in Ireland. He loved footling about there, by the lakes above the farm. Or on the edge of the sea looking at the gannets.” – Geoffrey Grigson, poet and agent.

Although a ruin, the cottage where Thomas once lived still exists. Accessible only on foot, the journey takes 1-2 hours, traversing some of the most spectacular wild and rugged scenery, the west coast of Ireland has to offer.

The site features a link to a documentary about Dylan Thomas's time in Donegal, which I'd forgotten about. It opens with Donegal poet Francis Harvey reading his poem 'Dylan in Glenlough'.

From the film -

"I'm living in a funny dimension here," Dylan wrote to a friend, talking how he spent his days. It seems he built a stone bridge over the stream at the front door. Once a week he headed the ten miles to O'Donnell's bar in Meenaneary. 

But he became lonely, as "lonely as Christ sometimes". And he was afraid of the dark. He tired of Glenlough's charms - "I can't see a landscape, scenery is just scenery to me." 

Looks like you can do the Glenlough walk in a morning with Peter Alexander as your guide. This again from http://www.dylanthomasdonegal.com

ALL GUIDED TOURS MUST BE BOOKED IN ADVANCE. MIN FOUR PERSONS, MAX EIGHT. (BOOKINGS ARE SUBJECT TO WEATHER CONDITIONS)

THE WALK

Overall length: Approx 5km
Time: 3.5 hours
Level: Moderate

8.30am: Leave from outside the Ulster Bank in Ardara.
9.00am: Arrive at beginning of walk.
10.30am: Dylan Thomas cottage. Break for tea.
11.00am: Leave for Port
12.30am: Arrive Port. Transport RV.
1pm: Lunch in Nancy’s.

Here are a couple of links from Peter's site -

http://www.thefreelibrary.com/I’m+10+miles+from+the+nearest+human+and+I’m+lonely+as+Christ.-a0130957967

http://donegalnews.com/2012/05/20/ardara-features-in-new-book-on-dylan-thomas

SIve at the Forum

Mike Glavin (Barry Barnes)finds himself between a rock and a hard place, aka his wife and his mother, in Sive. 

Abbey’s ‘Sive’ opens with standing ovation at Forum

The Abbey Theatre made a triumphant start to their Irish tour of the John B. Keane classic ‘Sive’ when they earned a standing ovation at the Millennium Forum in Derry on Wednesday night.

And it was well deserved. Keane’s play may cast a jaundiced eye at Irish society in the 1950s, but it’s shot through with humour and this excellent cast were each given a chance to shine. 

Overall it’s a production to be proud of from Ireland’s national theatre company, from the direction by Conall Morrison through to everything happening on stage. And the good news for those who haven’t seen it is that ‘Sive’ continues in the Forum tonight (Fri)* and tomorrow night before it heads off to what’s sure to be a hero’s welcome in Keane’s own Kerry. 

On the face of it, a story based on matchmaking in the rural Ireland of yesteryear seems an unlikely entertainment in 2014. But Keane’s play wears the years well. Its concerns will always be current - it’s a love story, a tale of lives twisted out of shape by circumstance and society, a caustic look at the dynamics of Irish family life. Keane, a publican by trade, had a wonderful way with language and a rare insight into character.

Deirdre Molloy gives a powerful performance in the central role of Mena Glackin, a woman whose own burden of poverty and bitterness   leads her to abandon all scruple when an old man seeks the hand of her niece, the orphan Sive (Roisin O’Neill). The matchmaker Thomasheen Seán Rua, devious and funny and played to considerable effect by Simon O’Gorman, holds out the prospect of a big payday if the elderly farmer Seán Dota (Derry Power) gets Sive to the altar.

Mena’s husband Mike (Barry Barnes), good natured but spineless, colludes with the enterprise despite the entreaties of his mother, the  elderly Nanna Glavin (Brid Ní Neachtain). Nanna, sharp but well meaning, sees the romance in the love between Sive and local boy Liam Scuab (Gavin Drea).  

Two travelling men (Frank O’Sullivan, Muiris Crowley) add noise, variety, song, commentary and fun during the play, an Irish version of the Greek chorus. They’re a reminder from the earliest days of theatre that when people anger the gods by acting in a selfish way, the gods will have their revenge.

The Abbey enjoyed stunning success with ‘Sive’ in Dublin earlier this year, when it was seen by around 30,000 people. Now it’s the privilege of the Forum to host the opening nights of what promises to be an equally successful tour, taking in nine venues, including Letterkenny, Belfast and the Abbey once again, right through until mid December. 

To book tickets or get more information, check out www.millenniumforum.co.uk or phone the box office on 02871 264455.

*written for publication on Friday 9th October 2014

Doing the business - could be the way ahead

Lots of start-ups end in failure - an apparent waste of time, effort and often a considerable amount of money. But there's something about working for yourself, and all those possibilities, from the name on the door to the Porsche in the driveway.

Some limited experience in this department encouraged me to write this piece for an interesting site, 'Medium' - https://medium.com/@martinmcginley/your-own-business-some-rules-2ff0dbad3ca3

All I have to do now is to follow all that good advice I've been suggesting . . .

'Medium' is a moderated site with some good and varied articles. For instance, here's an arresting and as you might expect somewhat apocalyptic discussion of the future of newspapers - https://medium.com/@cshirky/last-call-c682f6471c70

Here's a pic taken during a sun shower in Ness Woods outside Derry in the past week -

Now and again

I was in Glencolumbkille on Wednesday week playing in Oideas Gael. At the session afterwards I was in conversation with Derek Williamson and a fiddler who happened to be on an Irish course that week. I was telling them about the remarkable coincidence that a woman in the telephone box in Glen was talking about the Australian author Thomas Keneally when suddenly he appeared on the road outside with a camera crew.
"Thomas Keneally is my relation," the fiddler said. "My second name is Keneally, and I'm from Newmarket in County Cork, where his grandfather was from."

"While the girl reads, another somewhat older woman emerges and speaks to her. She folds the paper and rises from the steps. She has the oval face of which I have heard people say, 'That's a Cork face.' My grandmother possessed it too and gave it to me and my younger daughter jane. It is sometimes referred to as, 'a potato-face', unjustly, as it can be handsome, especially on the young." 'Now and in time to be', p4

Coincidence - or what?

Looking back over previous entries on coincidence, I find they share a singular quality - incoherence. A coincidence or what?
I actually began this post thinking that it would be about anything, anything, other than coincidence. I was scrabbling around for a subject. Maybe books I'm set to read, like the latest Paul Charles' book 'The Lonesome Heart is Angry' (which carries the legendary blurb about his earlier book 'The Last Dance': 'Romeo and Juliet to the sound of the Hucklebuck' - Martin McGinley). Or 'The Origins of the Irish' by J. P. Mallory, picked up in Monaghan at the bargain basement price of €28.55 and which begins with the striking line, "After a night that could not have been entirely pillow talk, Cairenn, the mother of Niall, carried within herself a fertilised egg weighing about 0.000005 grammes." Or 'Seaweed Memories: In the jaws of the sea', by Heinrich Becker ('A jewel of a collection' - Irish Times). Or, finally, 'Now and in time to be', by Thomas Keneally, which I given the loan of yesterday on a visit to friends ('If you read only one book on Ireland, make sure it is this one' - Belfast Telegraph.)
Then, of course, I remembered that this book, 'Now and in time to be', was itself the subject of a remarkable coincidence (no!).  Kathleen was reading the book during a visit to Glencolumbkille several years ago, and was in the phone box opposite Biddy's chatting about it to Rik. Who comes round the corner, followed by a film crew? Thomas Keneally. Who lives in Australia.
I rest my case.
(Yes, nothing more on coincidences - ed.)

Syncronicity II - Jools and Andy

Further to the discussion on synchronicity, in 'Jools Holland: My Life in Music' last night Jools was talking about being on a car journey in October 1993 when he got a call suggesting that he host a New Year's Eve show on television, Hootenanny. As I heard it, later on the journey the news came on the radio that a funeral service was being held in Abroath for Andy Stewart, who had just died. For years (1957 - 68) Andy hosted the big New Year's Eve show on television.

Struck by the coincidence, Jools went to Abroath - he thought of it as a 'spiritual handover' of the New Year's Eve celebration.

PS - Andy Stewart's "Donald Where's Your Troosers?" was a hit in 1961 and again in 1989. Stewart is said to have written the song in 10 minutes as he sat, minus trousers, in the lavatory of a recording studio   [Wikipedia]. 

I have the single, complete with Elvis impression midway, and it's one of my favourites.

Curiosity and synchronicity at Easter

I believe every coincidence is a message, a clue about a particular facet of our lives that requires our attention - Deepak Chopra, 'SynchroDestiny', p20

Kate O'Brien seems to be popping up at the moment.

Kate O'Brien portrait by Mary O'Neill, National Portrait Gallery, London

On Monday night we saw the film 'Talk of Angels' (1998) which, despite the presence of Academy Award winners Frances McDormand and Penelope Cruz, doesn't get a mention in my Time Out or Empire film guides. The film is set in Spain and based on Kate O'Brien's book 'Mary Lavelle', which was banned in both Ireland and Spain when it was published in 1936.

On Wednesday morning I started the book 'The Leaves on Grey' by Desmond Hogan (1980), which I bought recently in the little antique shop in Ramelton. The book opens in a town very like Hogan's native Ballinasloe. It's far from Kate O'Brien, a Limerick woman who died in England in 1974, and further from the Basque country.

However, a little idle curiosity about the identity of a woman artist in the first chapter leads straight back to O'Brien and to Spain.

************

The more attention you pay to coincidences, the more likely they are to appear, which means you begin to gain greater and greater access to the messages being sent to you about the path and direction of your life - Deepak Chopra, 'SynchroDestiny', p27

The artist in the first chapter of Hogan's book has designed a stained glass window depicting Saint Teresa of Avila. There is such a window in the church in Ballinasloe, but I haven't found out who designed it. The narrator says, "Afterwards I learnt that this [artist] lady was actually a devotee of St Teresa and had travelled many times to Avila."

Another clue comes when the artist falls ill. Before her death she declares, "I had two real relationships in my life. One with the sea. The other with Spain."

These clues don't seem to fit with any Irish stained glass artist of the time, but then again this is a work of fiction. However, it emerges that Kate O'Brien does fit the bill, albeit as a writer rather than a visual artist. She had an affinity for Spain for much of her life. She worked as a governess in the Basque region and the novel 'Mary Lavelle' draws on her experiences there. And Kate wrote a life of Teresa of Avila.

That random film and that random book are linked.

Look closer and you find that Desmond Hogan wrote the introduction to the Virago re-issue (1996) of Kate O'Brien's book 'That Lady' (1946), also set in Spain.

**************

Coincidences are like road flares, calling our attention to something important in our lives, glimpses of what goes on beyond everyday distractions. We can choose to ignore those flares and hurry on, or we can pay attention to them and live out the miracle that is waiting for us - Deepak Chopra, 'SynchroDestiny', p126

There is a problem with 'SynchroDestiny' - what does it all mean? What's the significance of that film being followed by that book (well, the first chapter). We were in Spain recently, in Nerja, and enjoyed it. Perhaps Spain deserves a closer look? Maybe we should be investing in Spanish phrasebooks? Or maybe for starters I should read the rest of Deepak Chopra's book . . .


****************

I read a good book in Nerja, 'Duende', about a young Englishman who came to Spain to follow his passion for flamenco guitar. It ends with him meeting guitar great Paco De Lucia while having a pee back stage at a festival. So on the way home from Nerja I bought a CD featuring Paco and put it on in the car. The next day came the news he had died of a heart attack at 66. Now I hesitate to put living artists on the CD player.

A coincidence (often stated as a mere coincidence) is a collection of two or more events or conditions, closely related by time, space, form, or other associations which appear unlikely to bear a relationship as either cause to effect or effects of a shared cause, within the observer's or observers' understanding of what cause can produce what effects. [not the most clear entry in Wikipedia]
[ . . .] From a statistical perspective, coincidences are inevitable and often less remarkable than they may appear intuitively. [Wikipedia]

*****************


All this chat about Kate O'Brien sent me to a lovely book I bought recently, this time in Foyle Books in Derry, 'Three Men on an Island'. It's 1951. The three men, all artists from the North, are on the island of Inislacken off Roundstone in Connemara. Of course they have to visit a writer living in Roundstone. Kate O'Brien.

One of the artists was Gerard Dillon (1916 - 1971). This got me thinking about the painting I saw of his in a gallery which used to be on the Mall in Ramelton. It was the beginning of a closer interest in art for me.

That was yesterday evening. Last night I noticed that a gallery has just moved back into the Mall.

Another of the artists was George Campbell (1917 - 1979). He designed stained glass windows for Galway Cathedral. He played flamenco guitar and spent much of his adult life in Spain.



Any good coincidences? Drop me a line on martinmcginley65@gmail.com

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Ancillary stuff -

The Vanishing Man

Desmond Hogan seems a strange and unusual character himself, a very talented writer who has regularly vanished from view. There's an absorbing article on him by Robert McCrum on the Guardian website called 'The Vanishing Man' - http://www.theguardian.com/books/2004/nov/14/fiction.features2

However, a current search for Desmond finds him in the headlines in recent years, most recently in 2012 - 'Convicted child abuser walks free from court' - following his conviction for sexually assaulting a 15 year-old boy. Judge Moran called the case 'complex' and said society would be better served if Hogan continued treatment rather than be sent to jail.

Desmond Hogan photographed in 2010 by Fran Veal / Writer Pictures. 
See whttp://www.thewhitereview.org/interviews/interview-with-desmond-hogan/

An artist in Ireland

In 'The Leaves on Grey' (1980), the stained glass artist has a place of importance in the opening chapter - maybe a device to throw light on some of Hogan's own ideas on his art. Dressed in black, she tells a crowd at a reception: "[. . . ] The artist needs to create, needs freedom. [ . . .] Now you men of Ireland let us, the artists, put our truths together, our life, our search." At one point she comments: "I have made a window so that light can come in a little better." A reminder of the Leonard Cohen line, 
There is a crack, a crack in everything/ That's how the light gets in
Or, as Groucho put it, "Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light."

The artist goes to stay in the west. The teenager narrator describes being taken on a visit to her by his neighbours the Kennellys. She looks towards the direction of Tir na n-Og, the land of eternal youth, and says; "I have felt this pain in my right breast for a long time. Who knows but that my time as an artist is up." It's later in hospital that she says: "I had two real relationships in my life. One with the sea. The other with Spain." 

The narrator continues: "I thought of the dust roads in Castile and the house by the ocean and wondered about her art, stained glass windows in churches all over Ireland depicting the apostles, Christ, St Brigid, wondered why she didn't mention them, thought to myself that the real artist is an anonymous person whose art is unbeknownst to him."

At the artist's funeral, her friend Mrs Kennelly, a beautiful Russian, quotes St Teresa of Avila: 
'Not a friend was by his side
When his cross he did embrace
And to us came light and grace
Through Our Lord the crucified.'

By the end of the chapter Mrs Kennelly, "beautiful and rich in life", is herself dead. Unhinged by a love affair, she walked into the river, "always rushing, always tempting, a wild river". "It was approaching Easter Sunday when they found her."

'The Leaves on Grey' has an epigraph from the Russian poet Marina Tsvetayeva, described by Nadezhda Mandelstam as having the most tragic fate of all the poets - 
'The abyss has swallowed my loved ones,
and my parents' home has been pillaged.'

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A special book

'Three Men on an Island' is about three artists from the North, James McIntyre, George Campbell and Gerard Dillon spending some weeks together painting on the island of Inislacken off Roundstone in Connemara in the early summer of 1951. It's written and put together by James McIntyre, looking back from 1996. 

Part of what makes it special is the freshness of his recollections - "I was young, skint and spearing a breakfast sausage and tatie bread as the letters clattered through our brass letter box, skittering across the linoleum onto the old bristle mat", the book begins. 

The book is also packed with drawings, paintings and photographs, mostly McIntyre's work but also the occasional contribution from his two friends, both now long dead and well ranked among Irish artists of the 20th century.

McIntyre fondly recalls two nights socialising in the home in Roundwood of Kate O'Brien. She would then have been in her mid-fifties. Originally from Limerick, she spent much of her life in England and died in Faversham near Canterbury in 1974. 

"I had imagined that anyone who lived in a house of this size and elegance would be aloof and distant with the likes of us, but Kate O'Brien greeted us warmly and with such friendliness that I forgot my good intentions [to stay quiet and avoid making 'daft comments'] and was soon babbling away."

Spain was on the agenda on their second visit to Kate O'Brien. 

"Both he [George] and Kate had a passion for Spain and the Spanish way of life. They were soon enthralling Gerard and me with tales of their travels in that land which, at that time, had not yet been invaded by the 'sunshine and chips' package tour industry [ . . .] Kate asked George to play some flamenco music on his guitar to remind her of the balmy evenings she had enjoyed in Spain. For once he needed no coaxing. He played well, although we would never have dreamt of telling him so. Soon he was strumming and finger-tapping his way through his repertoire, head net low and cocked to one side, oblivious of everything except the music. We listened, entranced, conjuring up visions of haughtily profiled gypsies, their staccato heels clicking and exotically coloured dresses swirling. Kate was ecstatic in her appreciation of George's playing. In fact, so were Gerard and myself. This was George the extrovert in full swing, highly entertaining and marvellous company."

The night is made for the young James when he shows Kate some work and she decides to take three sketches - "Three was more than I had dreamt of. I stammered out a price of ten shillings, which was dismissed immediately as far too little. Kate then opened her handbag, rummaged in her purse, and taking my hand, pressed into it three one-pound notes and a ten-shilling note."

Dillon's home in those years was a flat in London, but he rented houses in the area around Roundstone. He said: 

‘think of the West and the life lived there. Then think of my childhood and youth in the middle of industrial Belfast. Is not the West and the life lived there a great strange kind of wonder to the visitor from the redbrick city?’ 

He visited Spain with George and Madge Campbell later in 1951. For the Campbells, the visit helped develop a love affair with Spain, but Dillon preferred closer to home, London at least.

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Worth checking out - lots of paintings

There's a great discussion on Gerard Dillon and his milieu, George Campbell, Dan O'Neill, James McIntyre and many more, with lots of paintings and photographs here - http://www.adams.ie/cat-pdf/20713.pdf    It includes Fig. 61 a photo of Kate O'Brien, at fig. 53 a sort of Tory Island painter view of Inislacken by Dillon and at fig. 20 a Dillon work called 'Before the Dance, Culdaff, Co. Donegal'.

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Tony the man

The last book to talk about in this blog (already miles longer than anticipated) is one bought along with 'Three Men on an Island' in Foyle Books - 'Tony O'Malley, painter in exile'. It accompanied an exhibition around 1983, and has a substantial discussion of O'Malley's career by Brian Fallon. He was the Irish Times' chief critic at that time. He wrote 'Irish Art 1830 - 1990'. I used to run into him at Stephen McKenna openings in Dublin and found him friendly to someone who obviously wasn't an aficionado.

The book cost £10. Ken declared it was good value after he spotted it signed 'To Moira Bond with best wishes from Tony O'Malley 2/5/91'. O'Malley was big news on the Irish art scene for a few years  and there was a major retrospective at the Irish Museum of Modern Art in 2005. I like his work - and not just because he played the accordion and mouth organ! I remember him saying he made a painting each Good Friday http://emacl.wordpress.com/2011/04/22/good-friday-paintings/  Good Friday is also a day for art in Donegal, as it's when the open art show launches at the Glebe Gallery in Churchill.

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Speaking of Easter, did I mention being at the film 'Calvary' on Tuesday night? Big performance from Brendan Gleeson, another trad man. Haven't got round to figuring it all out yet, those priest/Christ links.


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There are lots of images of St Teresa of Avila here - http://www.pinterest.com/rebeccamabile/st-theresa/   It seems she is the patron saint of headaches.

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Amusings

Naturally, given that we talking about synchronicity, when I went to look up the book 'Mary Lavelle' the first thing I found was a book blog called 'Musings'. Same title as this blog.

Laura has some interesting reading going on in her blog. One project was to read all the Booker winners and she has some favourites and some she couldn't finish. Generally she rated most of the Booker winners around 3.3 - average!
See her favourites and her DNF (did not finish) Booker winners here -http://laurasmusings.wordpress.com/2010/10/13/midweek-musings-a-complete-booker-retrospective/

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What the Kammerer

More Wikipedia on coincidences -

The Jung-Pauli theory of "synchronicity", conceived by a physicist and a psychologist, both eminent in their fields, represents perhaps the most radical departure from the world-view of mechanistic science in our time. Yet they had a precursor, whose ideas had a considerable influence on Jung: the Austrian biologist Paul Kammerer, a wild genius who committed suicide in 1926, at the age of forty-five.

—Arthur Koestler^[3]

One of Kammerer's passions was collecting coincidences. He published a book with the title Das Gesetz der Serie (The Law of the Series; never translated into English), in which he recounted 100 or so anecdotes of coincidences that had led him to formulate his theory of Seriality.

He postulated that all events are connected by waves of seriality. These unknown forces would cause what we would perceive as just the peaks, or groupings and coincidences. Kammerer was known to make notes in public parks of what numbers of people were passing by, how many carried umbrellas, etc. Albert Einstein called the idea of Seriality "Interesting, and by no means absurd",^{[citation needed]} while Carl Jung drew upon Kammerer's work in his essay Synchronicity.^[4]

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Get cracking

Coincidentally, given our Leonard Cohen discussion earlier, this comes from cracked.com -

http://www.cracked.com/photoplasty_531_29-mind-blowing-coincidences-you-wont-believe-happened/

The Old Forge

On the back road in Ramelton the other day, taking some pics of local landmarks. And there was no shortage. Within yards of each other are the old forge, the former Methodist church, the former Presbyterian meeting house where 'the father of US Presbyterianism' worshipped, and more.

So here's Ramelton's 'door into the dark'. Seamus Heaney coined the phrase about the Bellaghy version -

THE FORGE

All I know is a door into the dark.
Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting;
Inside, the hammered anvil's short-pitched ring,
The unpredictable fantail of sparks
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water. [ . .]


The stone at the front speaks of the blacksmith's trade. It's well sunk into the ground, and on top there are two nubs of metal. These are the remains of a metal piece which was seemingly used to hold a cartwheel in place when it was getting its metal 'tire' or hoop on. Here's a nice description from a site about the town of Alresford near Southampton on the south coast of England -

http://www.alresford.org/displayed/displayed_02-2.php Retrieved 13.44 Weds 9th April 2014 -

"I used to love to go with my father to watch the blacksmith fit the iron tyres to cartwheels. This consisted of measuring the outer edge of the wheel felloes with a small metal wheel; then a length of strip iron was bent, measured and shut together. This was then placed on bricks on the ground and faggots of wood heaped on the tyre, and kept alight until the tyre was red hot. Meantime the wheel was secured to a round metal disc by a screw in the centre - again on the ground. When it was judged that the heat of the tyre was correct it was placed on the wheel and quickly knocked on with sledge hammers. Other men were standing by so that immediately the tyre was fully on, cans of water were applied to shrink the tyre onto the wheel. This had the effect of tightening all the wood joints with the result that one had a very firm wheel".

Beside the stone is an old cobblestone drain or gutter. Can't find out much about this type of gutter on the net - all info welcome.

A local man told me that workmen from Donegal County Council dug up and dumped the big stone and part of the cobblestone gutter during 'improvement' work on the Back Lane. He retrieved the stone from a field up the road and ask the Council workmen to re-instate it, which they did.

Helpfully, the response wasn't like the reference in 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Other Jazz Age Stories' by F. Scott Fitzgerald, in the story 'The Four Fists' -

"In a half second the workman had dropped his pail and let fly at him. Unprepared, Samuel took the blow neatly on the jaw and sprawled full length into the cobblestone gutter."

Something on the Methodist Church next - in need of repair, but some good news on that front . . .

Brave New World

Can't figure out how to change the name of this blog, so just to say that I finished my stint as editor of the Derry Journal at the end of January 2014. I'm now whiling away my time insisting that I'm not 'retired' and am actually self-employed, doing some writing, PR and music. Any ideas along those lines very welcome! martinmcginley65@gmail.com