I'd have to walk the last two miles. There was nothing else for it. But it wasn't too bad an experience at all. The day was warm but not too hot. I'd managed to pack everything into one backpack so at least I didn't have to carry a suitcase all that way. The road was pleasant enough, lined with farmers' fields and an occasional cottage: quintessential, picturesque Ireland. And, of course, the ubiquitous friendly Irish, ready to share a few (or many) words of conversation with a stranger.
I was there in southwest County Antrim to see what I could find of Portmore Castle, the subject of a prescient song, “Bonny Portmore.” I'd found the song in Seán O Boyle's The Irish Song Tradition and fell in love with it immediately, for the composer was lamenting the loss of not only the castle but also the surrounding forests and the giant Ornament Tree, an oak more than twelve feet in diameter. Any song that treated trees with such respect got my immediate attention. In addition, it might well be the earliest environmentally aware song, having been collected by Edward Bunting in 1792 at the Belfast Harpers Festival from the blind harper Dennis Hempson.
Any remains of that castle would be in Lower Ballinderry, two miles away from the last stop of the bus from Belfast in Upper Ballinderry. So I was walking and enjoying the view.
I came upon a farmer turning his mown hay, who stopped his work to chat a bit. As soon as I opened my mouth he knew I was a Yank. “Are ye here searchin' for your roots?” I told him I sang the song “Bonny Portmore” and was looking for any remains of the castle. “Oh, that's a mighty song, indeed. Must be 20 verses. A big song altogether.”
Well, that was news to me, for O Boyle published only three verses in his book. The prospect of finding more verses thrilled me. A quest! Not just searching for physical remains of a castle but also hoping to find the “lost” verses of this quietly powerful song.
I continued walking until I arrived at the edge of Lower Ballinderry where I saw a relatively young man trimming his front hedge. I asked him if there were any bed and breakfast establishments nearby where I might spend the night. I didn't realize at the time that he never answered me but instead started a conversation. He was interested in my quest and we chatted for at least twenty minutes when he asked if I'd had my tea yet. (It was late in the afternoon.) I answered in the negative and he invited me in to meet his wife and have tea with them. Engaging conversation continued through the light meal of bread and butter, cold cuts, tomato wedges, and biscuits (what we call cookies). The young man then asked me what my original question had been. When I mentioned needing a B&B he said, “This is Northern Ireland, 1982. There are no tourists. There are no B&B's outside the big cities. Why don't you spend the night here with us?”
What a pleasant surprise! And more was to come. He suggested that he could drive me around to see if we could find the remains of the castle and also the other verses of the song. We spent the whole evening driving from house to house, sometimes gleaning a bit of information about the castle, sometimes finding a lead to another source, and sometimes coming away with nothing at all—other than the pleasure of chatting with interesting strangers. One of the houses had been the site of a John Wesley outdoor sermon toward the end of the eighteenth century.
Eventually we were directed to the site of a ruined foundation consisting of huge sandstone blocks laid in the ground in a rectangular shape. A mobile home sat athwart the remains of the foundation and its occupants proudly showed an aerial photo of their place sitting on the ruins of Portmore Castle. (I found out many years later that there was some mistake because the only part of the Portmore estate that remains today is a section of the garden wall located elsewhere.)
But we still had the matter of the missing verses to the song. We finally found our way to the home of Jean Totten, a local historian. She, just like all the others we'd met that evening, dropped what she had been doing to welcome us. And yes, she thought she could find the other verses to “Bonny Portmore!” I had noticed right away that her sitting room was not like any other I'd seen. It was dominated by many large file cabinets and a large table strewn with books and papers. After many minutes of rummaging through one file drawer after another, she triumphantly held up a booklet. All eighteen verses of the original song were there! With my heart dancing I copied them into my notebook.
Mission accomplished! Thanks to the power of networking and the welcoming nature of the Irish.