Our first stop of the day was the Carrickmacross Workhouse recommended by Jim Hand. Rebuilt and expanded it now houses a museum and community center with a preschool, classes, and social services. Guide extraordinaire Eddie was asked to cease sweeping the outside yard and walk us through the various floors and rooms. Looking a bit like an original resident with rotting teeth, arms held in an inverted L-shape he shuffled along emphasizing the most minuscule aspects of the building with an almost total lack of information about its history. A weird and baffling experience, although the display information and maps were fascinating. At its height over five hundred childrens were housed there at one time. To reduce the numbers hundreds of fourteen and fifteen year old orphan girls, including thirty-eight from here, were shipped to Australia to be brides of the criminals that Britain had dispatched there. When I asked Eddie what happened to the boys he looked puzzled and replied, "That is a good question that I never thought of." Eddie was the stand in for Jim's friend, the center's director, so we supposed that tour guide was not in his regular job description.
 |
| Carrickmacross Workhouse remodeled to 21st century standards |
 |
| Fever Hospital, remodeled into office space |
Unlike our previous failed attempt to find the Cornalaragh farm this time we set off with proper directions. A mass of enormous PVC covered buildings belonging to a mushroom farm now sprawls along the roadside obscuring the original entrance. With no remaining farmhouse or barn our goal was to climb the hill behind the mushroom plant to get a good view of the countryside. Asking permission in their office where several door signs were in Russian, we were told we could go wherever we liked. It was a nice offer but high cement walls and blackberry vines created an impenetrable border. Returning to the car we drove up a narrow, twisting road bordering the plant. At the top of the hill the tarmac turned into a track through someone's property. Before we could step out of the car a woman approached to see if we were lost. When we explained who we were, she said, "I'll see if Granny is up while you look around." Granny was up and we were ushered into a tiny, old stone house to meet Granny McCabe. She was sitting next to an unlit fireplace in a tiny room with a small table and a couple of chairs. Hanging on the walls were a few certificates, family pictures, and religious icons. Her daughter-in-law disappeared to her larger, modern home across the drive. Granny, age 91, could remember all of Mike's father's sibling's names and the names of all of their respective partners and Mike's cousins who grew up on the farm. She also recalled their days together at the Raferagh School, lamenting that childhood should be happy and carefree but the treatment at school was harsh and dreaded. (For careful blog readers you will remember that we lunched with Sean McCabe whose mother was Bridie Hand. Must see if he can explain the connection.)
 |
| Abandoned farmhouse across the street from the Hand Farm |
 |
| Mike standing on the fields his grandparents farmed |
 |
| The gorgeous view from the hilltop fields |
 |
| Mike and Granny McCabe |
Back in the car we drove the narrow lanes that The Hand brood walked, without shoes from May to October, to arrive at the school and church. Having previously visited in 2002 we were surprised to see the changes. The school had doubled in size and was freshly painted. There was a new playground and parking. Next door at the church a large funeral service had just finished while we clambered around the surrounding graveyard checking and photographing headstones. Of course the funeral had a typical Irish cultural flavor. The hearse was parked outside with an open tailgate. People dressed in their best were milling around in conversational groups while a few sneaked around the back for a cigarette break. When we walked into the church we found the coffin being ignored at the front of the nave while a large hubbub of people milled around in the aisles and pews. The noise and laughter was considerable and no one seemed to notice Jan lurking at the back in her bright pink waterproof jacket.
 |
| Raferagh Church mid funeral |
 |
| The Michael Hands |
After entering Northern Ireland we had a brief drive through in Armagh. We could see the twin cathedrals that were mentioned in the guide book so we drove up the hill to the Catholic St. Patrick's Cathedral. The enormous steeple made it the easier to locate. Built in a park setting with wide steps leading to the entrance make it a very imposing building. Above the door are statues of eleven saints. The interior was also large, decorative, and grand. The organ was being played at full volume to complete the ambience. Kneeling in a side chapel was a middle age man, not praying but texting or emailing on his cell phone. No comment from us.
 |
| St. Patrick's Cathedral, Armagh |
Our next stop was Belfast. A brief phone conversation with Mike's cousin Michael ended with a trip to his home for dinner with him and two of his adult sons, Owen and Peter. Jane, Michael's wife, was in London on business so Owen was our chef.
No comments:
Post a Comment