Ireland Calling! Slideshow August 2012

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A Celebration of Roses ~ 100 Posts on Social Bridge

It is important to celebrate every milestone and I wanted to find a special way to mark the moment of reaching 100 posts on this Social Bridge blog.

I treasure all the comments that people take the time to write  as they represent precious time spent reading what I have to say.  One of the comments that has stayed in my mind from some time back came from a woman who simply thanked me for the ‘garden’ I have created here.  Yes, nature is extremely important to me, for all sorts of reasons,  so the idea that someone would define the blog as a ‘garden’ was wonderful.

I re-visited the much-loved National Botanic Gardens of Ireland the other day after many years.  I had never been there in high summer before so had missed out on the magic of the Rose Garden. I also realised that all my life I have been missing the extent to which roses speak. I’ve long savoured their colours and fragrances but had never before absorbed the way in which they have poetic language all of their own that fires the imagination, speaks volumes in just a word or two, and brings people and nature together on bridges made of petals.

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The Bracelet Girl ~ Kilkenny’s Social Bridge

I first saw the Bracelet Girl at the Kilkenny Arts Festival last year as I was strolling down the Parade which was buzzing with people all energised by the vast choice of events, exhibitions and sheer beauty of Kilkenny. She had small table near the railings which were lit up by a great array of  paintings, many of which portrayed bright flowers or scenes of historic Kilkenny.

Her table was one of those little desks with tiny seats attached to it ~ the kind one associates with happy Senior Infants.   As I drew near, I saw to my delight that this was a place where one could make one’s own bracelet.  There were boxes of colourful beads of all shapes and sizes in various containers and a girl was sitting there helping a small child to thread beads onto a string.

I was suddenly back in my youth sitting on the drawing-room floor in Drogheda with my big sister making necklaces from beads we had bought with our pocket money at the Dandelion Market off Grafton Street in Dublin.  I was also back in Old Town, Alexandria which I had visited in 2010 and where I was mesmerised by the array of shops selling beads.

The Bracelet Girl pulled me out of my reverie by asking softly if she could help me. She seemed a little surprised when I said I wanted to make a bracelet. I could have sat there all day delving into the boxes finding just the right bead to add to the string. Like my big sister, the Bracelet Girl had tied the first knot for me so that the beads would stay on. She didn’t impose on me; just let me be as creative as I wanted.  The bracelet that I made that day has lived on my wrist all year.  It’s a red and pink mix,  inspired by the roses in Kilkenny Castle – whose fragrance was wafting  down the Parade.

Back at the Festival last Saturday, I went in search of the Bracelet Girl.   She was in the same spot – just across the road from old Bank of Ireland building – now  The Left  Bank Bar – which was the first place my late father worked when he joined the bank in 1939.  She gave me a big smile through her semi-faced painted visage,  and said that she remembered me from last year!  It seems I was one of  few grown-ups who wanted to make their own bracelet but that’s changing now.

To me, she will always be  The Bracelet Girl, but her name is Aimee and her ambition is to train as a jewellery designer and set up her own business.   Every single instinct in me knows that my Bracelet Girl will one day make it big in Ireland and internationally. She has the talent, ambition, natural way with people and a true understanding of the fulfilment that can be derived from creativity. As she was tying the knot in my multi-coloured bracelet, both of us knew -without saying it – that she was bringing together a flood of  of our combined memories and hopes.

Tramore’s August 15th

August 15th is a highly significant date around the world in both religious and political terms. Here in Tramore, Co. Waterford, ‘the 15th’  has long been associated with the height of the tourist season and always falls on the week of the Tramore Racing Festival. Horse-racing in Tramore has been a huge attraction for over 200 years now and draws vast crowds from all round the south-east and beyond. This is a week when the population of Tramore swells, but mainly with people whose families have been coming here for generations.

In the normal course of events, the sun is shining, the beach thronged, the Merries in full swing with people of all ages taking turns in the bumper cars, the Hall of Mirrors and even the little train that runs around the Amusement Park.  With the races due to start tomorrow, one would be likely to come across a farmer from the Midlands enjoying his annual dip in the sea and happy to share tips for likely winners over the week’s racing.

Today brought a different kind of 15th with a huge storm blowing and torrential downpours.  All appeared to be lost but after tea there was a break in the sky and Tramore came alive with people converging out along the Cliff Road, The Guillemene and Newtown to take in the magnificence of the waves.  The sense of community was palpable. This was ‘our’ place; ‘our’ Bay and we were there together standing in awe. I doubt there was a person there who didn’t wish that they could have shared that special moment with people from past generations for whom Tramore was also very special.

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Even when the rain started to fall again, and the spray was cutting into our faces, there was good humour and sheer wonderment at the vista that lay before us.

I just had to see Garrarus, which is one of my little sanctuaries about three miles on along the coast. Just at the turn down to the beach, the sky took on an orange tint and there was a hint of blue trying to blend its way through the dankness.  Just one car at Garrarus, a father with his two kids and their dog.  A sweet, sweet calm and hope that the races will go ahead with all their excitement and colour.  But I know that memories of this August 15th will linger long in the collective memory of all who felt its force in and around Tramore this evening.

Sunset at Garrarus

Madam’s Bridge ~ Fethard, Co, Tipperary

I have a fascination for bridges of all descriptions and was completely captivated last week by Madam’s Bridge in Fethard, Co. Tipperary. The very name had me asking all sorts of questions before I even saw the bridge. Who was Madam? I still don’t know but am hoping to be enlightened soon.

Madam’s Bridge is one of those bridges that you could just cross and miss its beauty. It is at the Clonmel side of Fethard and spans the Clashawley River. As I was looking for a way to get down to the river bank to view the bridge from beneath, I took a look over  its left arm and was greeted by what could only be called a Monet-like vista of wild flowers.

Wild Flowers beneath Madam’s Bridge

From river level, Madam’s Bridge  looked wonderfully solid and simple.

Madam’s Bridge, Fethard, Co. Tipperary

Walking down- river on what was one of the hottest days of the year, I came upon a group a youngsters who were jumping into the river with splashes and laughter that could have been from any era.

Cooling off in the Clashawley River

That walk from Madam’s Bridge brought me  to the stunning walls of Fethard that were built in medieval times and which have been lovingly restored over the last few decades. They stand tall among the treasures of Ireland.

Historic Walls of Fethard, Co. Tipperary

Fethard village has an abundance of charm and it is impossible to think of it without referring to  world-famous Coolmore Stud which is just a couple of miles out the road.  As I had been driving into Fethard and over what I hadn’t realised was Madam’s Bridge,  I was caught behind a huge tractor with a trailer piled high with bales of hay which were raining down on my car as they brushed against the hedges.  I badly wanted a photograph of this golden rain and followed the trailer out the road. Yes, it brought me to Coolmore with all its splendour.

Coolmore Stud

But back at Madam’s Bridge, I felt I had so much to learn about Fethard and its history as well as its everyday activity now. There will be an opportunity to savour even more of Fethard in the coming days during the Fethard Medieval Festival 2012 which runs from August 15th-19th.

Andy Murray ~ A Golden Day

Andy Murray has just won Olympic Gold in what was one of the most breathtaking examples of determination, talent and focus that I have ever witnessed in all the years I have been watching tennis.

Four years ago,  Andy Murray became my bedfellow for a couple of  terrible days. I was on holiday in Jersey and on the second day got a horrific muscle spasm in my back which meant that I was laid low  in agony for the remaining ten days on that lovely island.  I had brought Andy Murray’s autobiography with me for holiday-reading and found it one of the most engrossing books I have ever read – and I have read a fair few tennis biographies and autobiographies in my time.

The idea that a  boy from Scotland, who was in the school in Dunblane when that terrible shooting occurred,  was dreaming of becoming the world’s greatest tennis player just captured my imagination.  This was someone with a dream and vision  who knew everything there was to know about  how hard-work and sacrifices, and not just natural talent, are what makes a champion.

Since his defeat to the great Roger Federer in the Wimbledon Final just 28 days ago, I have been hoping, hoping, hoping that he could finally make the biggest breakthrough of his career and win Olympic Gold.  From early this morning I felt that today he would shine. I had a perfect lead up to the match. The sun was beating down as I went for an early swim in Tramore Bay here in Co. Waterford in the south-east of Ireland.  I floated in the calm sea looking up at the blue sky  hoping that I could bring some extra energy and joie de vivre to Andy Murray.  I was thinking of how his spirit had helped so much to carry me through the agony of those pain-ridden days in Jersey and I truly wanted to  see him overcome the agony of his Wimbledon defeat by taking gold in what was like a second bite of the cherry  against Federer on the Centre Court.

What a brilliant, unwavering performance!  There must have been moments when Murray felt that Federer would come searing back into the match but he kept his cool and treated us to a display of brilliance – all that pent up talent finally flowed – and more than anything his ace on match point proved that he has finally come of age.

Andy Murray’s Olympic Gold will be an inspiration to young tennis players right across Great Britain and Ireland.  But more than that, he is living proof  to us all that dreams can become reality and that defeats can be turned into victories.

Maeve Binchy ~ Farewell

I suspect that I was but one of thousands who cried today as the report of the funeral service of Maeve Binchy was broadcast across Ireland on RTE Radio’s News at One. I had just left the Book Centre in Waterford, where I have bought so many of Maeve’s books over the years, when the report began and it was one of those times when I understood what W.H. Auden meant when he wrote: Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone …

Maeve Binchy

A flood of thoughts flashed into my mind about this remarkable woman who was such a fundamental part of all that is good about Ireland. Like many, many others, I was introduced to Maeve Binchy’s inspiration by my late mother who was an avid reader of her columns in the Irish Times and later of her international best-selling novels. Memories of Mother deeply engrossed in books like Light a Penny Candle , The Lilac Bus, and Echoes are still very much with me. It always seemed fitting that she would read Maeve’s books first and then pass them on to me. They were books we both devoured and somehow Maeve had an ability to appeal right across generations.

I just loved listening to her talk – with that genuine smiley tone and honesty. She certainly never lost the run of herself even with all her fame and was prepared to address the most human of human issues – like how she couldn’t resist eavesdropping as it gave her great ideas for stories.

I treasure days that I lay out on Killiney Beach, not far from Maeve’s home in Dalkey, Co. Dublin, reading her novels which were so perceptive of people and their foibles. Those were days when I was supposed to be studying Sociology but, now that I think about it, Maeve’s books were in themselves significant commentaries on Irish society and it was just lovely to escape into them with the sun on my back warming up on the shaley sand of Killiney after a stolen swim.

Killiney Beach, Co. Dublin

As I listened to the report about Maeve’s funeral service today, I was glad that I had written to her seven or eight years ago to tell her how much Mother and I enjoyed her books and to tell her what an inspiration she was to both of us in our writing endeavours. The lovely colourful card that she sent back is one of my all-time treasures. It was written as if I was the only person who had ever read her books or contacted her. It was full of encouragement, warmth and absolute human kindness.

Maeve, I want to say ‘goodbye’ and thank you for all the happiness you brought and most of all for your generosity of spirit.