If all goes according to plan, which is not at all a given, we will be boarding the ferry to France as you read this. Full blow by blow account of our French extravaganza on our return in late August. Hold your breath there.
Family
Coast to Coast
On Wednesday evening I went for a walk in Dalkey at the southern end of Dublin Bay. It was all very pretty and mercifully rain free after a miserable wet day. On Thursday morning, the children and I were up and out early and off to Howth at the northern end of Dublin bay. We got the ferry out to Ireland’s Eye which was nice if rather fuller of dead seagulls than we might have liked.
That evening we all went out to Monkstown out near the southern end of Dublin bay for a family dinner.
I am exhausted from driving and darting up and down the Dublin bay coastline.
On Friday, the children and I went to the zoo with some friends to recover.
Today, we are counting down to our departure for the continent.
Sugar Loaf
We climbed the Sugar Loaf during the week. Due to my legendary sense of direction, it took us two tense hours to complete the one hour journey there. If I never see the ludicrously named hamlets of Stepaside, Kilgobbin and Scalp again, it will not be too soon.
Lovely views from the top though.
And, I managed to get us home in under an hour, notwithstanding rush hour traffic, so that was something. It would be churlish to point out that the climb up and down only took about 90 minutes. Sigh.
Endless Summer – Cork
Saturday, July 11
We left Kerry behind us and drove to Cork. Mr. Waffle, alas, had to return to Dublin so it was just the four of us. We were in Cork by lunchtime where, for consistency, it was lashing. My brother took the children into the library for the afternoon. New books, new rain; it was all excitement.
Sunday, July 12
At mass, we had my favourite priest. He is now Michael’s favourite priest too. He is reverent, he doesn’t rush matters, he gives a good sermon and that Sunday, notwithstanding the fact that there was a choir, mass was finished 28 minutes after it started.
I remain convinced that the health of the Catholic church in an area is inversely proportionate to the length of Sunday mass. This explains why, for example, in Godless Dublin our mass is always nearly an hour.
In the afternoon we went to Fitzgerald’s park to go to the playground. For their own inscrutable reasons the city fathers have chosen to do up the playground in July. So, it was closed.
I am sure it will be terrific when it re-opens but, you know, sub-optimal for the moment. In the absence of the playground we went to the city museum. A poor substitute. It’s a good little museum with lots of interesting (if occasionally slightly random) exhibits but the troops were not in the mood for it.
Even the recreation of the WW1 trenches failed to spark their interest.
So we went to find the ice cream van and bounce on what is known as the Shaky Bridge (officially Daly’s bridge). Even this failed to cheer the troops. Daniel who doesn’t like ice cream (I know!) was particularly uncheered.
All that was left for us to do was return to my parents’ house and play with electronic devices with a vengeance.
Monday, July 13
Determined to make up for the previous day’s lack of success, I took the children to Milano’s for lunch. Joy was unconfined. As ever, I decided to push my luck afterwards and take them on the UCC George Boole tour. It’s mostly a UCC tour. And though the guide was knowledgeable and friendly, and there were a couple of costumed characters, it was pitched just wrong for us. For me, with an intimate knowledge of UCC, there was very little I didn’t know already and quite a lot I could have added; for the children, it was too much and too boring and too long. I could see that the tourists were entranced but it just didn’t work for us. For me the highlight was getting into the observatory where I had never been before; for the children, it was the costumed characters but, by the end, I think that all of the goodwill generated by the pizza was exhausted.
Tuesday, July 14
Michael did not feel well so, leaving him to the tender mercies of his grandfather, his brother and sister and I walked into the market to buy materials for lunch and ingredients for a cake for my aunt. My aunt, who lives next door to my parents, turned 86 on June 21 and after much logistical discussion we were having a birthday dinner for her that night. Herself had undertaken to make a marble cake for the event.
On the way back, I pointed out to the children a historical plaque on one of the houses (my poor children, how they suffer). It said “Professor Simpson who first synthesised succinic acid lived here”. “I wonder,” said herself, “did he have a lisp.” Perhaps you had to be there, but it was the funniest thing I heard all week.
In the afternoon, herself went next door to visit my aunt and came back with an emergency change of plan. Apparently, my aunt doesn’t like marble cake; resourceful child, she made lemon cake instead. Dinner itself passed off very well with only some slight difficulties as follows: 1. My brother, sister and I having concocted this between us, forgot to tell the birthday girl until the last moment, she was able to come all the same; 2. Having accidentally omitted to tell my father, he was convinced that it was a Bastille day celebration (he always celebrates July 14 being a Francophile and a republican – non-violent branch) and, as he is a little hard of hearing, it needed several stage whispers before he understood that it was a belated birthday dinner for his sister and he returned wistfully to the Bastille theme several times over dinner.
Wednesday, July 15
I seized the day. The weather forecast said it was to be sunny and by mid-morning we were in Kinsale on our usual forced march to Charles Fort. It was really lovely, even the children seemed to enjoy it. It made a great change from the rain.
As we walked back to Summercove to have lunch in the Bulman, I got to make the standard remark which is nonetheless true, “Ireland is the best country in the world for holidays when the weather is fine.”
Favourite sign on the walk:
When, we got back to the car, it was still sunny. On the spur of the moment, I decided to go to Garretstown beach. If there is a problem with Cork (which is, of course, denied) it’s that you have to drive out of the city for a good hour to get to a nice beach. It was sunny, we were already in Kinsale, the beach was nearby, we were fed and the beach gear, by happy coincidence, was in the car, so off we went. It was magic. The sun shone, the sea was warm (compared to Kerry, not compared to the Mediterranean), there were waves but not too high. We all loved it and came back to Cork sandy and happy.
Join us for our next installment, when our heros return to Dublin.
Endless Summer – Kerry
Saturday, July 4
We drove to Dingle beguiling the near endless drive by explaining to herself (at her request) the requirements for countries to be recognised. This allowed her to fully appreciate the fate of Nagorno-Karabakh when an article appeared in the paper a couple of days later. No, I have no idea either.
We arrived before grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins so settled into our house to enjoy Michael and Daniel asking at two minute intervals when the cousins would be there.
Sunday, July 5
The cousins came and all the children were whisked away on an adventure walk by my saintly in-laws. Mr. Waffle and I were left with the day entirely to ourselves. Little though we knew it at the time, it was the finest day of the week.
We had an absolutely beautiful walk out by Slea Head and a nice cup of tea in Louis Mulcahy’s and looked at all the delicate things we couldn’t afford. It was all delightful.
The children were less entranced. Although very pleased to be with their cousins, they made the disconcerting discovery that the adventure walk was, in essence, a walk and they get plenty of that with their parents. “How was it?” I asked Michael and he replied dolefully, “I’d rather have gone to mass.” I am not sure that it is a tribute to the catholic upbringing he is getting that going to mass is his ultimate negative benchmark right up there with school.
Monday, July 6
It lashed. My insane in-laws decided to run up a mountain and we took the children. We took them to the library (as Mr. Waffle said, thank God for universal literacy and also for Kerry libraries which give out temporary library cards), we bought them ice cream, we let them watch their English uncle watch the Tour de France in Irish (he now knows how to say geansaà buÃ). Here is a picture of them enjoying a break from the driving rain.
They look thrilled don’t they?
That evening we got in a babysitter and all the adults went out for a lovely dinner while the children ran around at home working off some of the excess energy that they hadn’t used up in the library.
Tuesday, July 7
We awoke to further lashing rain. The London aunt and uncle took all of the children to the aquarium and the first of the adults departed to work in Dublin. Alas.
Determined not to be put off by rain, those of us who remained went to Ventry strand. We had it to ourselves. The Princess swam, because she is courageous. It was absolutely bitter. I sat huddled under towels with my fleece on.
Wednesday, July 8
This was the Londoners’ last day and the weather was pretty good, by the standards of the week up to then.
The Princess, one of her cousins, her brother and I swam in Ballydavid. It was freezing but we were warmed by inner smugness. This lovely dog turned up on the beach and all of the children enjoyed playing with him.
Even Michael who is usually scared of dogs, loved him.
While herself was out at the waterside covering herself in wet sand which is something she likes to do, she overheard two fishermen chatting on the quay. She thought at first that they were speaking Hungarian, but on listening more closely, she realised it was Irish. As she said, they were just talking Irish to each other and they weren’t even at school. She was astounded. I think she never really believed that Irish was a living language in the wild before.
We dropped in to see Gallarus on the way back to the house. The children were surprisingly uncomplaining about this encounter with heritage. The man on the desk was a native Irish speaker and gamely spoke to us all in Irish which was pleasing to some of us.
Above: Daniel removes a stone from his shoe at ancient monastic site.
Thursday, July 9
Yet again, I rejoiced in the fact that the houses had a proper hot press where you were able to air clothes. That combined with the near constant operation of the dryer ensured that we were all clean and dry for much of the week. Yes, indeed, it rained again. We all went to the library again. The Princess and I went to the Diseart Centre to inspect the Harry Clarke windows which were really lovely. This took us up to lunchtime.
After lunch, it was still raining. We decided to go en masse to the Blasket Island Interpretative Centre. I understand that on a fine day, there are beautiful views of the islands from the Centre. This was not a fine day. All that was visible was rain. The Centre itself was really interesting. The Blasket Islands had an amazing literary tradition and are now abandoned and it was really poignant to read and hear about life on the island. All Irish school children have to read Peig Sayers’ autobiography (very tedious if you are 16 and hard enough going at 46 – I borrowed it from the library) and it has scarred generations of children, so it was interesting to see a different angle on the Blaskets than the “Now I am an old woman with one foot in the grave and one foot on the edge” (opening line of the classic autobiography) angle with which we are all familiar. An insight I had never had before was that the islanders although all native Irish speakers were illiterate in Irish as all their schooling had been through English. They had to teach themselves how to write in Irish or dictate to English anthropologists. There is a (reproachful) letter there from Jim (for Peig enthusiasts, father of Cáit Jim) to his brother in America and it took me a while to work out why he hadn’t written in Irish but, of course, it was because he couldn’t.
It was tough enough going for the children though. Mr. Waffle and I have a strong didactic streak which our children find tedious but with the cousins, we had a fresh furrow to plough. I overheard Daniel and one of the cousins having the following conversation.
Cousin: I am going to ask Aunty Anne about the Blaskets.
Daniel (urgently): Don’t!
Cousin: Why not?
Daniel (despairingly): She’ll tell you.
The children’s reward, however, came that evening, the small funfair in the town had opened. They had a superb evening at what is, as far as they are concerned, the best funfair in the world.
Having nearly suffered whiplash the previous year on one of the rides, I told the children that they were on their own. The bumpers, however, required that each child be accompanied by someone 12 or older. I went with Michael. I am still not the better of it. He drove like an absolute demon. His father went with him the next time. Then his sister. None of us was willing to repeat the dose so he only had three turns. Also I have decided that when it is time for him to learn to drive, I will not be teaching him.
Friday, July 10
On my brother-in-law’s suggestion, we all climbed up to have a look at Eask Tower. It was a bit drizzly but overall a really lovely walk with great views over the harbour from the top.
And out to sea
The tower at the top is a famine folly. The Victorians believed that if you just gave starving people money to buy food they would become indolent and dependent on the State. So, in the 1840s people dying of starvation erected pointless structures all over Ireland so that they could get money for food. I was explaining this sad state of affairs to Michael as we went up the hill and my father-in-law (who is slightly hard of hearing and a very jovial person) came up alongside us as I was finishing my explanation and said cheerily, “And what’s wrong with that?” leaving us both a bit surprised. We assume that he misheard.
The woman who owned the farm on which we had had our walk was at the farmhouse with her granddaughter when we got down. She gave us a hose to wash our shoes (v. necessary though useless to Michael who had chosen to wear sandals and socks to walk up a wet hillside grazed by sheep). The granddaughter lived in Mullingar and was staying with her granny for the summer. I have a friend who lives in Mullingar and, to my immense satisfaction, I was able to establish that the granddaughter was at school with my friend’s children whom she knew. Furthermore, the grandmother knew my friend and her parents (from Dingle). Very pleasing; but, alas, mortifying for my children. I am sure it is character building for them.
By lunch time, it was lashing. After a group lunch, we took the children to Play at Height. It looked terrifying. My nephew loves to climb and he was off like a shot but I thought mine would be more dubious but Michael and herself really enjoyed it too. Daniel didn’t fancy it and he did the zipwire outside in the driving rain which, notwithstanding the nasty weather, he loved.
The following day, we packed up and left. Tune in for our next episode when our heroes go to Cork.
Some Highlights from the Week so Far – Or the Dawn of a New Era
Monday – Scouts for Michael. Daniel skipped GAA. Felt very rebellious. This is the last week of training of the year, we’re exhausted.
Tuesday – Princess went to scouts, theoretically 7.30 to 9.30. Phone call at 9.15 to indicate that they were in Howth (distant Northern suburb by the sea) and wouldn’t be back until 10. As I was standing outside the den at 10, this text message arrived:
Due to unforeseen circumstances (the ice cream machine broke) we are running late hoping to hit the den for 10.20.
They were eventually disgorged from the scouting jeeps at nearly 11 full of excitement and chatter. As the Princess and I cycled home in the twilight (welcome to Ireland in summer) she told me all about it and the wonderful time they had and she was completely delighted with herself and her enthusiasm was infectious and we arrived home full of good humour and bonhomie even though it was very late and a school night.
Wednesday – Mr. Waffle had to work late. That evening Daniel and Micheal had to pack their bags for their school tour (complete change of clothes, hat, suncream, rain gear etc. – when I checked their bags later I found that they had both packed winter woolly hats rather than summer hats which I presume was what was intended). Herself announced that she planned to rollerblade to school on Friday, her current rollerblades were too small and she had sourced a pair online which I had to reserve for her to collect on the morrow. The boys informed me that the following day was the last day for the school book rental form and money to be returned. Much consternation. The Princess then said that she had to go to school the following day dressed as Annie Moore. She looked pretty good considering we started preparing at 6.45 the evening before. She was finally able to get some use from her massive coin collection. She brought in a number of coins from the 1880s and her classmates were suitably impressed.
Thursday – The boys had a fantastic school tour. The Princess picked up her roller blades and then proceeded to bake like there was no tomorrow. She made brownies, flapjacks, lemon drizzle cake and fairy cakes. We discovered that the clutch in the car had gone.
Friday – This was the scene which met my startled gaze when I came down for breakfast at eight.
As we filled a large bag with baked goods, she said, “What was I thinking, why did nobody stop me?”
She decided not to roller blade to school in the end. We had a ceremony at the school at lunchtime and sixth class got to say goodbye. I am, obviously, partial but I thought she did a great job in presenting her part of the show. The school is in an old Georgian building and the drawing room, where we had the event, was clearly not built with acoustics in mind and it was very difficult to hear most of the speakers.
Obligatory photo of ceiling stucco.
She had a really great time in primary school and made friends and was happy. She liked schoolwork and was good at it. I hope, that when she starts secondary school in the autumn, it all works out for her. I know that she will really miss primary school, and I think I saw her wiping away a furtive tear in the course of the ceremony.
So then afterwards she got her shirt signed by all her friends (which is, apparently, what you do):
I wish the shirt had been cleaner to start with as I realise that I will never be able to wash it again.
And she and her class went off to the cinema. I was going to meet her afterwards but when I rang her, she had already hopped on the bus home by herself, she hoped I didn’t mind. I didn’t but when I got home I also gave her her first set of house keys. Big girl.
Yesterday evening we ignored the blandishments of the school parents’ social night and Mr. Waffle took Daniel to his first soccer match. The local team lost. Naturally. Apparently you can read about it in today’s paper but as Michael said, “Why would he want to, he was there.”
Today – Mr. Waffle got up at 6 to go to Cork for a funeral (non-Irish readers, no one particularly close to him, mother of a friend, Irish people specialise in funeral attendance) and will be back mid-afternoon to grace the street party with his presence in his role as chairman of the residents’ committee. It was beautiful this morning but, inevitably, it is clouding over now. We need to do more baking for the street party. Sigh. Meanwhile in the absence of a car, a kind neighbour picked Dan up for a GAA match in Malahide at 8.45. This is his last outing until September. Rejoice.
Also, this week, because it was quiet (hah), we got a couple of the windows repaired. Here is the girl of the moment sitting in front of her new window in an utterly unposed (ahem) image. She is genuinely pleased to be able to open her window and also that the crack across the top, through which the winter wind used to whistle, has been repaired.
And how was your own week?
