The second day in country we were faced with a dilemma. We awoke to more snow and, while D and I were finishing the first of many huge breakfasts we would enjoy, Andy walked into the dining room and sat with us. He explained that the roads were icy and not expected to get much better throughout the day and there were suggestions that we spend the day in town instead of on the road and touring. His biggest mistake? Asking us what we thought.


Would we let a little ice slow us down?
Of course not!

An hour later we were all loading onto the coach with a wonderful man by the name of Michael Murphy. Michael just happens to be one of the most knowledgeable people in the world in regards to the northwest of Ireland and we spent a wonderful day touring Achill Island with him. He is an acclaimed author and owns his own tour guide company. We hit it off beautifully.


Michael Murphy

The Irish Potato Famine hit Achill Island extremely hard. It's hard to think back on the number of cemeteries we saw that day without remembering how quiet everyone was in comparison to the rest of the trip. Death in numbers high enough to nearly destroy a nation seems unreasonable at any time but here we found first-hand stories and evidence of what had occurred in the mid 1800s.

 
Imagine that the crop you had counted on rotted in storage.


[Photo courtesy of Night of the Big Wind]
On June 14, 1894, a ferry capsized in Clew Bay taking with it the hopes and dreams of many families whose young men and women were going off in search of work.


Mount Slievemore and the famine cottages.
[If you look up the hill the cottages are just in the edge of the shadow of a cloud.]
[The nearest house to the cemetery, I remind my husband, is for sale.]

Note: Graves and cemeteries seem to tell stories and this one tells more than a few.
Near where I stood to take this picture is a grave with three headstones.
All three men died on the same day and it raised the question of what had happened.
I asked Michael and he explained that the father, the son, and their friend had all been shepherds.
One sheep had fallen from the nearby cliffs and the son had been lowered to bring her back up but, in being lowered, he had hit the cliff face and been knocked unconscious.
His father went over to get him and the rope snapped.
Their friend ran back to the village, got help, and died of an apparent heart attack after arriving at the cliff's edge. It was decided they should all be buried together as it seemed only fitting.
Each of their headstones bear a lamb and the words "No Greater Love..." Indeed.



In 814 A.D. the O'Malley Clan fought an invasion of Viking forces and, thereby, saved Achill from invasion.
This was their home...Kildavnet Castle.
One of their descendents, Grace O'Malley, is known in history as the Pirate Queen.
[Real fun is in finding out that your husband and his girls are descendents of a pirate.]
Even more fun for me is knowing that
Michael Murphy now incorporates my research on the Famine into his lectures to various groups.
I did mention we hit it off, didn't I?

~ Later

     One hundred years ago today the Titanic departed Belfast at 6 a.m. on her sea trials and for the first time was photographed moving under her own steam. Her trials on the Irish Sea took roughly 13 hours and satisfied the requirements of the British Board of Trade's surveyor, Mr. Carruthers, who then certified her ready for service.
At 8 p.m. the Titanic set sail for Southampton to finish preparations for her maiden voyage.

 
 

It was Captain Smith's second day as her commander.



Why should I be interested in the Titanic?

My Godfather gave me a book when I was very young.
It was titled 'The Story of the Wreck of the Titanic' and was published in 1912.
I read it over and over and the more I read, the more it intrigued me.
Frankly, I guess you could say it
and the man who gave it to me
made me who I am today...
A voracious reader...
A researcher...
A writer...
Artist...
and
A person described by some as having been born one hundred years late.
Interesting how others see us and seem to understand us more than we understand ourselves.

The book, now nearly one hundred years old and well worn by years of reading,
sits on the desk before me,
wanting to be read again.
I open it and see the name of a boy who had once owned the book and later given it to a scared and sad fifteen year old girl.
Reminded of days long past
when the man who promised to care for me should anything happen to my Father
Stepped forward, not out of a sense of responsibility, but of love.
His name was Lawson.

~