Walls, and especially fragments of old walls, always draw me in. High up on the cliffs over Annestown Beach this sliver of wall blends perfectly into its surroundings. It’s like nature is trying to make it its own but the human hand and heart still linger there and will until the last stone is gone.
There are no clues now about the builder or maybe more than one person was involved. Did they have the time or inclination to bask in the scenery of the Copper Coast? How far back was the wall from the now crumbling cliff? How far did the wall stretch? Was it a boundary wall to prevent animals from falling into the deep sea below? I always think of John B. Keane’s, The Field, when I’m there.
Over the years, did people sit on this wall chatting in the summer sunshine. Maybe it was a place were lovers sat, arms entwined, planning their futures. Was it a place where men and women leaned, taking a last glimpse of a place they loved before emigrating to foreign lands?