belgianwaffle

Ireland

Dingle – Part 1


Posted in: Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Did I tell you we were spending a week in Kerry with Mr. Waffle’s family? Well we did. Just for a change this year, we went to Dingle.

Saturday

It’s a long, long drive from Dublin to Dingle. We spent all day in the car, much of it, it felt, crawling through the picturesque town of Adare. Dingle is in the Gaeltacht (the Irish speaking part of the country) and the children’s fears were divided between concern that they have to speak Irish and fear that they might run into their teachers, several of whom are from the Dingle peninsula.

As we passed the sign saying “An Ghaeltacht”, I said to them, “Right so, only Irish from now on.” “No,” said Michael, “we only have to speak Irish where they can hear us.” Regrettably, they severely overestimated the strength of the Irish language in the Gaeltacht and I think about two words of Irish passed Michael’s lips during our stay.

Sunday

The children were delighted to discover that there was to be no escape from mass in Kerry. And in Irish to boot. Having recently learnt the Irish mass off by heart for their first communion, they were very sound on the responses. The church was heaving with huge crowds standing at the back (last experienced in other parts of the country about 1983) and we ended up sitting right at the front so the priest was able to get the full benefit of Daniel’s clear articulation of the responses (they were taught to speak out for their communion) and Michael’s regular audible whisper, “Is it over yet?” The Princess got to sit beside the mayor of Kerry. If the mayor of Kerry is at your mass, it is not going to be a short one. A nice lady beside us was delighted with Daniel’s responses, patted him on the shoulder and told him, in Irish, that he was a good boy. Virtue rewarded.

Monday

Our second trip to the beach. Imagine going to Kerry and getting two fine days in a row. I had intimated to the boys (who loath the beach) that trips to the beach would be limited and indoor activities would abound because I had hardly thought that the weather would permit two consecutive days on the beach but so it was. They were only slightly mollified by the presence of their cousins.

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Tuesday

In the morning the boys and I went into Dingle and shopped while the Princess and her father climbed Mount Brandon. In the afternoon, I took herself and the boys went off with their father and cousins. She was keen to go to the beach and the boys had dug their heels in and refused to go again. I was keen to go to the beach where we had been the previous day [subsequently identified as the most dangerous place to swim where a local has never been seen swimming – we were led astray by all the foreigners swimming; we’re mercifully all still alive] but he took us to Wine Strand which was, I felt, less good and less near a tea shop (but, you know, we’re alive). There was some coldness on parting and I said, rather rashly, that we would be perfectly fine to make our own way home.

After about an hour on the beach, we were ready to go. “Let’s start walking home,” I said, “I don’t want to bother Daddy and the boys.” There was a horrified pause. “Can’t we get a taxi?” said she. Oh my city child. “It’s only 11 kms.” We walked up from the beach with our gear and our sandy body board and I recalled my own late teens and early 20s when I used to hitch hike all over West Cork. “Come on, we’ll hitch,” I said. “REALLY?” she said. I stuck out my thumb. We were picked up immediately by a silent Cork man who dropped us at the main road. Somewhat heartened, she tried herself. A lovely matronly Dublin lady with an immaculate car picked us up immediately. She would have driven us all the way back to our house but I felt we hadn’t walked at all yet and asked her to put us down in the next townland. We thought we might get a cup of tea there. A chat with an English tourist revealed that there wasn’t even a bar (horror) but there was a shop.

We walked five minutes up the road to the shop. We were there a long time as the Princess likes leisure to choose and there were no other customers. We told the shopkeeper about our hunt for tea and on hearing that we were on foot, he promptly shut up shop and drove us himself to the nearest bar. He too wanted to drop us home but I was keen that we should walk at least a little of the way. It was only as he drove off that we realised that the bar was closed. Woe, no tea. We walked for a bit. We saw a lot of caterpillars.
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We brought one home:
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Mr. Waffle rang to see whether he could collect us from the beach. “Oh no,” I said mysteriously, “we’re nearly home”. We stuck out our thumbs and to my indignation (having being picked up immediately previously) had to wait nearly five minutes before a hired car pulled in. The driver was a Dubliner who lived in America and the Princess piled in with his American daughters in the back. He drove us home and on my instruction pulled up out of sight of the house. We walked in to cries of acclaim – “What a distance you have walked, you must be exchausted!” Triumph.

More tomorrow. Maybe.

Garryvoe Part 2


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland

For the second week of our holiday in Cork, we booked the children on to a computer course. Herself did it last year and loved it and all three of them were old enough to partake this year. I prayed that the weather would break because I couldn’t stand it if for the finest summer since 1976 I sent them in to look at a screen all day. My prayers were largely answered. The weather was pretty awful:
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This left me free to do a range of things with my free time: spend time with my parents; go shopping; force my sister to look at a large house which was deeply unsuitable for her needs but really lovely aside from the dead pigeon on the drawing room windowsill and the damage to the west wing from the largely collapsed roof and, of course, the derelict listed house next door which was included as part of the sale.

The children meanwhile really, really loved their course. But they were exhausted. We got back early one evening and we ate early and I sent the boys to bed. I was just about to turn my attention to herself when she remarked in tones of outrage, “Do you realise that you sent the boys to bed at 7?” “Yes,” I replied. “You cunning, little vixen,” said she. Really, cunning, little vixen? I have a lot to put up with.

Anyhow, after two weeks we returned to Dublin. The children were delighted to be back pointing out familiar landmarks to each other. “Ah the sights and sounds of Dublin,” said their father. “Tobacco,” shouted the children happily from the back seat. Something needs to be done about the illegal cigarette trade alright.

Holidays – Garryvoe Part 1


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

Did you know we went to East Cork to stay in our friends’ house? We have excellent friends; a lifetime of careful choosing.

So, in a very 1950s way, Mr. Waffle worked in Dublin and came down at the weekends and I stayed in Cork with the children. The weather was quite outstanding. This did not overcome Michael’s permanent objection to going to the beach but we forced him there; an exercise that requires more enthusiasm on the part of a parent than you might imagine.

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The children spread their wings in a mild way. I went for a swim and left them in the house. The three of them went to the nearby playground together, played and came back. They quite enjoyed being out without their loving parents and I am quite pleased with how responsible herself is becoming. Regrettably, she is getting a bit sophisticated for playgrounds.

We made our annual pilgrimage to Leahy’s fun farm which, as usual, delivered the goods. My cousin, who is a farmer’s son and father of three small children, is underwhelmed by Leahy’s but then he has to go and milk cows whenever his brother goes off golfing, so he and his family are more jaded when it comes to farm animals.

There was a climbing thingy:
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There was a snake:
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There were (new this), mice to put in your hair:
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The Princess made friends with a little French girl and the pair of them ran around together. As ever, her parents were utterly unimpressed by an Irish child who spoke good French. There is a reason why sang froid is a French expression. In an effort to keep her French up over the summer, I have offered to pay her €8.25 [a figure subject to intense negotiation] if she reads one of the Harry Potter books in French. She got to page 87 when the e-reader died. What are we to make of this? Insights thus far: “you-know-who” in French is “tu-sais-qui” when speaking to children and “vous-savez-qui” for adults. Watch this space for more exciting updates. We’ve just purchased a new e-reader. Sigh.

My brother and mother came to visit us for the day. My mother has not been well and it was lovely to get her out of the city. The loveliness was somewhat compromised by my father calling to say that my aunt and two of my cousins had come to visit my mother. He had been peacefully reading the Telegraph when they arrived and although he was happy to welcome them, he was even happier when I said that they should come to us. Meanwhile, my brother had taken the children and the house key to the beach and turned off his mobile phone. So my mother and I sat in the rather toasty car contemplating breaking in. I mulled on the state of disorder which would greet my cousins and aunt. Eventually the sandy ones returned with a very melted packet of chocolate fingers. It all passed off peacefully but I retired to bed with a migraine at 9. Visitors are tiring.

We have been to East Cork many times but never to Cloyne so I forced the children to visit. It is full of interesting things. Despite this photo, they did not like it and they did not find it interesting:

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But look, it has a round tower:

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An effigy of Bishop Berkeley who spent nearly 20 years here (though he died elsewhere):
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It also has a rather fancy marble stone memorial to the man who was a leading light in the British and Foreign Bible Society:
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But no, they remained resolutely unimpressed. Can you take more of this tomorrow?

Burnt to a Cinder


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

The heat wave seems to be over. It’s probably for the best; we weren’t able for it. I took the children to a beach in North County Dublin a couple of weeks ago. It looked like this.

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We all came back burnt in parts: the Princess’s right shoulder, the back of Michael’s neck, Daniel’s lower back, my ankles. We recovered with lots of shade. I think that this was the longest continuous spell of good weather in Ireland since 1976. We were flabbergasted.

A description of my time in East Cork with the children will follow. Something for you to look forward to.

Cork Views


Posted in: Cork, Ireland

The Crawford has just opened a watercolour room and there are some lovely pictures there which I have never seen before. Not entirely relevant to this post but at the moment there is a great exhibition on cubism as well – Mary Swanzy is a revelation to me; I thought her pictures were really lovely [I’m sure that ‘really lovely’ is the kind of accolade the cubists would have liked].

Anyhow, to the watercolours – look at this lovely view of Cork:

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The picture by John Fitzgerald dates from 1796 and is described as “Old Saint Finbarr’s and Elizabeth Fort”.

And look at this picture of the same view that I snapped on the walk back to my parents’ house:

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Very recognisable, I think, although the old Beamish and Crawford site on the right [now closed down] is obviously not from the 1790s, Elizabeth Fort is still the same and even though the cathedral got rebuilt in the 19th century, it’s still in the same spot.

Now, let us consider one of the great architectural travesties visited on Cork. This is a picture of Cork Opera House before it was burnt down.

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My parents remember the much loved 19th century opera house burning in 1955. I once read somewhere words to the effect that any architects who built a replacement would have had their work cut out to build something that the people of Cork would take to their hearts as much as the old building, but they didn’t even try. This feels entirely true. This is the replacement building on the site of the old opera house:

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It has actually improved since I was a child as then the side facing the river was an uncompromising brutalist plain wall. It has been somewhat relieved by the addition of a glass window over the river and glass cladding at the front but it is still, to my eyes, quite spectacularly ugly. To be fair, I assume that the 1960s architects did not realise that their clean lines would be disfigured by the addition of a large poster for Grease and the Toyota ad on the roof [a permanent, unlovely feature].

Enough Cork architecture for today.

Cultural Activities


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

Things we have done in the holidays thus far:

St. Michan’s Church on Church Street

I had to practically beat the children to get out of the house to come here. The rain was coming down in sheets and even the short walk from the car to the church had us sodden. But it was so worth it. We have been here before. There are Mummys in the crypt [very dry apparently, unlike outside] and there is a great guide who makes the whole think immensely entertaining for children. They shook hands with the crusader [800 years old still quite a lot of face left – they know he was a crusader because his legs are crossed] and heard the gruesome story of the hanging, drawing and quartering of the Sheares brothers [involved in the 1798 rebellion – ended badly for them]. This was described in loving detail to the intense delight of all the children on the tour. There is also the family crypt of the Earls of Leitrim which has lain unused since the third earl (a bad lot) was buried there. The church boasts the font where Edmund Burke was baptised and the organ on which Handel practised the Messiah before the first performance in Fishamble Street. We ran into the vicar [I think, the titles of Protestant clergymen are always a mystery to me] who asked the children where they went to school and then surprised them by saying he was a neighbour of one of their classmates and horrified them by speaking to them in Irish. After this alarming encounter, they decided that it was best to leave again but not before writing in the visitors’ book. A number of American visitors had described their visits as “awesome” and “amazing”. Michael having laboriously written his name and address went for a more restrained “good”.

Henrietta Street

The Princess and I walked up and down Henrietta Street and admired the buildings. Number 14 was home to C.S Lewis’s great, great grandmother. I thought you would like to know. We went to the Uilleann Pipers house and had a look around. The boys sat in the car and refused to move.

Subsequently I went on my own to no.14 to see the Dublin Tenement Experience. This is a performance set in the 1913 Dublin lockout and using no.14 Henrietta Street which is largely unchanged since it was used as a tenement. The performance is done by the same people who did “The Boys of Foley Street” so I was prepared to be alarmed and to have plenty of audience participation. Maybe my previous knowledge of the company ruined it for me but it’s just not so real when you are accompanied by a bus load of elderly tourists from Northern Ireland. I thought it was mildly interesting and reasonably well done but I certainly wouldn’t have been gushing that it was the best thing I had ever seen as I heard one of my fellow participants say in awed tones to the woman on reception. Still and all, well worth a look.

Unrelated but as I was there they were filming an ad for C&A. The security man told me that they had been filming for 5 days for a 30 second slot. 5 days! So, if you see a nice old Georgian street in a C&A ad, you’ll know where it was shot.

No. 29 Fitzwilliam Street

The Princess and I had previously tried to visit this restored Georgian house but it was closed for renovations. This time we got in and I think she found it mildly entertaining but really more fun for me than for her. Sometimes she is a saintly child. Ironically, the ESB which funded the restoration of this house, knocked down all the rest of the terrace. There is some bitterness about this. It’s interesting though that Irish attitudes at the time were very ambivalent towards Georgian architecture and what it represented. I think now there has been a complete turn around and no one would argue for the wanton destruction of Georgian houses but certainly there’s still plenty of neglect in the centre of Dublin.

Glendalough

I forced the children to go to this world famous monastic site. They haven’t been for a couple of years. The traffic was dreadful. It took us an hour and a half to get there. The information that the American first children had recently been forced to go there left them unmoved other than leading to a slight fellow feeling. When we arrived I made them go on a mild walk.

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It went pretty well for the first half but by the second part of the circuit they were getting tired, hungry and fractious. Michael fell down a hill and was picked up by a kindly German tourist. Daniel got stung by nettles. We saw deer but even that was insufficient to rouse them to any great enthusiasm. The Phoenix Park has made them all a bit blasé about deer.

I got to use my picnic basket again. As I was unpacking it, two very small girls stood and watched me enviously. See below, Michael enjoying the picnic which, in his case, consisted of 5 cream crackers.

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After the picnic, I played hurling with Dan. Very poorly. A number of Americans stopped and took pictures of this native sport; unfortunately the quality of the play gave very little idea of what hurling is actually like.

After this I tried and utterly failed to get them to the monastic site. This is as close as we got to Glendalough this year.

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St. Audeon’s Church

For the best part of a year, I have been threatening to take my family to this city centre church. Mr. Waffle kindly minded the children one morning and I set off on my own. It is a lovely, lovely church managed by the Office of Public Works in co-operation with the local parish. It’s less showy than St. Patrick’s or Christ Church both of which are nearby but really peaceful and very appealing.

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The OPW has done a great job with the exhibition in the oldest part of the original church. There is still an unroofed part – the Portlester chapel – which is somehow particularly attractive in the centre of the city surrounded by very busy roads. It feels like it belongs somewhere else altogether. Petrie has a drawing of it from the 1800s and it is still very recognisable; although no one was hanging out washing while I was there.

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I will now force the children to come with me and see it because they have not suffered enough.