Changing Ireland
I was driving out on the Dingle Peninsula heading to an Irish language class when I approached the top of a hill I recognized from thirty years before. I thought I'd take a side trip to see the Gallarus Oratory, the drystone 800-1200 year old small religious construction not far away. I had visited it on my second day in Ireland back in 1982 because of the coincidence of where I was staying those first several nights in Ireland. I had been referred to Seamus and Kathleen Johnson who might rent out a spare bedroom in their farmhouse for several days. It turned out that the Gallarus was on their property.
I had an educational time those first three days at the Johnson's place. I learned, on my first time in an Irish pub, that “fir” meant “men” and that “mna” meant “women” and not the other way around. I looked at both the words and thought about cognates in English and French and decided that the word beginning with f was most likely feminine. But as soon as I went into the MNA room, I realized how wrong I was and made a quick exit! I also learned that there was a difference between a bullock (a castrated male) and a cow (female) and that my host had not a single cow in his herd of bovines! (I had not been a country boy.) I also learned that an Irish countryman will not nod a hello to you but rather tilt his head slightly sideways and at an angle. I thought they were shaking their heads at me, disapproving of me in some way, but learned that they were greeting me.
Now, thirty years later, as I approached the intersection at the top of the hill I saw a road sign for the Gallarus pointing to the left. That was strange, I thought, for I knew that it was straight ahead down a little one-lane boreen. I wasn't going to follow that sign. I knew where I was going. After all, I was now an experienced Irish traveller, having visited the island nine times since that first year. As I drove down the little road I noticed that there was more grass growing up in the middle than I had remembered. Arriving at the Gallarus site I noticed that the little car park off to the side of the boreen was filled with weeds and was obviously unused. How very strange! I parked and mounted the stile (the short set of stairs over the ditch--what we would call a rock wall) to pass into the field for the short (100 yard) walk to the Gallarus Oratory. I paused at the top of the stairs to take in the scene and was struck with amazement.
I saw the Oratory in the field ahead of me as well as dozens of people walking to and from it on a large pathway from the north (I was looking from the west). Looking farther north I saw several buildings with people gathered around and in the background a huge parking lot with three or four large tour buses as well as dozens of cars and scores of tourists.
The intervening 30 years had brought modern tourism to this little backwater spot with a jewel of ancient architecture.
But the extent of the change was only beginning to be revealed to me. The Gallarus itself was as it had been 30 years before—a miniature beauty, a perfectly conceived and executed design about 15 feet tall and with a low doorway at one end and a small window at the other. I stooped into the little building to experience the contemplative quiet of the dimly lit interior. I was soon joined by German and Japanese tourists. I exited and walked toward what appeared to be the visitors' center.
As I approached the visitors' center it became clear to me that the building had been the Johnson's barn. It had been remodeled and upgraded but was basically the same structure. And then I realized that the administrative center for this tourist complex, about a hundred feet to the west, had been the Johnson's house, the place I'd stayed for three nights in 1982. Again, it had been modernized and updated but still held that quintessentially Irish rustic charm.
I told the young man behind the counter of the visitors' center about my experiences of three decades ago. I remembered that Seamus had told me that his grandfather had stopped some opportunistic builders from tearing down the Gallarus. After all, the stone of the walls and corbelled roof were expertly shaped, their lines as smooth and even as if a computer had drawn them. Those stones would have been valuable for building someone's new byre, house, or even just another ditch (a rock wall, again). Was his grandfather defending an example of ancient Irish heritage? Well, no. He used the Gallarus as a sheep pen and was not about to let anyone tear it apart! The man behind the counter hadn't heard that story before.
I was pleased to be able to add something to this young man's experience about the building he was telling others about. And I couldn't help but think that Seamus and Kathleen, if they could see what has happened to their farm, would also be pleased. And I learned that time marches on in Ireland. Even though much of what I love about Ireland is old and much of what tourists come to see is ancient, the Irish people are living in the present and planning for the future.