It was tough dealing with a security alarm and a mass evacuation from Terminal 2. It was tough, too, dealing with a five-hour delay in our departure from Dublin’s airport Saturday, but it helped to have some valuable perspective.
This perspective was a gift from the country of Ireland; more specifically, from New Ross, Ireland. This is the inland southern port from where William Graves & Son issued tickets in 1846 to passengers wanting to go to America after the Irish potato famine.
We found out on a tour excursion last week what such a trip was like, and it was bleak, to say the least. It took six-to-12 weeks to sail from New Ross to Savannah, Ga., for example. Many of the passengers didn’t survive. Second-class citizens spent all but 30 minutes a day in cramped quarters below deck, where the food was meager and messy, and one lantern sometimes was the only source of light.
It was another lesson that everything in life is relative. What may be miserable for one is cushy for another whose daily misery is far worse.
Enough of that. Janet and I just returned Sunday from the Emerald Isle for what we called an early celebration of our 50th wedding anniversary in December, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. I’ve come back saying things like “aye” and “me wife” and “at your LEZ-ure” and “over thar.” But I quickly found out from a native unless you want to sound like a naïve American, you don’t say, “Top of the mornin’ to ya!” Not cool.
Our “Irish Highlights” bus tour, with 49 of us aboard, mostly Americans and Canadians, covered a lot of ground throughout the country. We started in Dublin on the east coast and made our way west and then south and finished back in Dublin.
Yes, the Cliffs of Moher on the west coast were spectacular. I’d seen pictures, but to see them in person – and we were fortunate it was a clear day when we could see them – was a treasure.
An unexpected highlight was attending Sunday Mass at St. Mary’s Pro Cathedral in Dublin. A “pro-cathedral” is one that serves as a temporary seat of a diocese. It’s beautiful and has a rich history, and we were part of a vibrant congregation. Providing a nice touch were the Boys and Gentlemen of the Palestrina Choir. You didn’t just hear them from above, they processed in to start the service, singing and striding in two-by-two ranks, and did the same for communion and at the conclusion. And their singing was heavenly.
Speaking of music, that’s one of the pillars of Irish culture, along with sheep, fresh food and humor. The Irish are fun people to be around with their gift of storytelling, snappy wit and their pride in serving same-day farm-to-table food. That goes for the waitresses, cab and horse-and-buggy drivers and bartenders.
Phil Coulter, a musician, songwriter and record producer from Derry, North Ireland, composed a song, “Ireland’s Call,” in 1995 that has become like an alternative national anthem. It was composed for the Irish rugby team to serve as a unifying anthem that players and supporters from both the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland would both be willing to sing.
“Ireland, Ireland
Together standing tall
Shoulder to shoulder
We’ll answer Ireland’s call.”
Heard the entire song and was so stoked I wanted to win one for “me Gipper.”
One more music note, the Irish – just as the Scottish – are known for playing bagpipes, and I sheepishly posed with a man in kilts playing a bagpipe at the Blarney Castle. Although some bagpipe songs like “Taps” or “Amazing Grace” can be stirring, I can never forget what golf legend Lee Trevino once said: “Golf is a game started by the same folks who think music comes from a bagpipe.”
Every day we were there it rained, which isn’t unusual, but it never rained hard, and it never rained all day. Usually it was just a drizzle, and sometimes the sun would peek behind the clouds 10 minutes later. It was chilly but never below the 50s.
An Irish staple is Guinness beer, and we each had a half pint to get in the “spirit.” Better, though, when it came to getting in the spirit were visits to small-town pubs oozing with tradition and off-the-wall charm. One was the Shanty Bar in Tarbut, County Kerry and another was Malzards Pub & Hurling Experience in Stoneyford, County Kilkenny. At the latter, Janet and I danced to The Tennessee Waltz.
Both places were great for “craic,” an Irish term (pronounced “crack”) that refers to fun, good times, entertainment, good company, interesting conversation, and banter.
With all the fun, Irish stories and songs and limericks often have sad endings, and I think it was fitting, maybe, that we had our sad ending on our homebound travel day(s). Good ol’ Alexandria is a town where Irish immigrants Henarie Huie and Edgar McCormick co-founded The Town Talk, the once-proud daily newspaper, on St. Patrick’s Day in 1883.
That story has a sad ending, too.