Day 3 - My Ireland Family Heritage Tour

Tuesday, 17 September 2019
Somewhat better night last night, but we've still got a way to go to really hit our stride on the sleeping front. Today we need to be up and organised for an 8 am pick up by Ian of My Ireland Family Heritage for an Ancestral Homelands tour. This tour has been eye-wateringly expensive but the reviews online are excellent. It sounds too good to be true and you know what they say about things that sound too good to be true.
Before we check out of the Temple Bar Hotel I guess I should say a few words about the breakfast. It's good. The pastries are very fresh and I find that's a pretty good litmus test for a hotel breakfast. Hubby's not having too much success resisting the full Irish when it's available. I've been no more successful trying to eat sensibly while sticking with the continental. This morning we both resist the pastries (gasp).
When we finally get downstairs Ian is parked out front waiting a little ahead of time, but it's a little after eight before Michael's done with reception.
We're away. We start with a little loop around either side of the Liffey and Ian gives us a rapid fire explanation of the bridges and other sights along the way. The Ha'penny Bridge taunts us as Ian asks did we cross it?  One for next time. The Ist Duke of Wellington brought in the iron for it. Yes, the man of infamy who is so often quoted as having said when it was observed that he was born in Ireland so doesn't that make him Irish, replied "being born in a stable does not make you a horse." We've had this told to us a few times during our stay, but Wikiquotes says that this is misattributed. The earliest record of this statement was by Irish Politician Daniel O'Connell about Wellesley rather than by Wellesley about himself.
As we pass the council building a finger of accusation is pointed in its direction once more with "That should never have been built!" followed by a very quick explanation of why and indications of strong agreement from all present. We proceed like this down as far as Heuston Station and cross over and head downstream along the quays. Note that the Wellington monument in Phoenix Park has panels on the side cast from the melted down guns captured at the battle of Waterloo.  Up past what was a military barracks but now Museum of Decorative Arts and History. Passing now Croppie's Acre - so called because they buried the 1798 Rebels there. They called them croppies for the style in which they wore their hair. Wikipedia reckons that they displayed some rebels bodies there tied to pikes at the burial location and that archaeological investigations have found no evidence of this plot having been used as a burial ground. It notes that the alignment of the Liffey was altered in this area to extend the quays and that this site was used as a playing field for the barracks. Either way, it's a nice thing to have a memorial to the Battle of Vinegar Hill and those executed. The convict rebellion dubbed the Second Battle of Vinegar Hill occurred at Rouse Hill in Sydney in 1804 so my ears always prick up when anything around the 1798 rebellion is discussed. On we go past the Four Courts where our genealogical records were destroyed by fire in 1922 during fighting related to the civil war.
Our city tour isn't restricted to the proud places of Dublin, having noted one such ugly building, heading away from the Liffey we pass the memorial to James Connolly and travel around behind the Custom House to admire the splendid ugliness of the Busaras Central Station on which was spent rather a lot of money. I observe that even more than the architecture, the problem seems to be that the materials used have not worn well.  We drive up and over in the distance the rim of Croke Park is visible so we discuss Gaelic football and Aussie Rules football (AFL). I didn't know that Gaelic Football is a source of players for the professional AFL but Hubby is more aware of that. We take a quick look at Bram Stocker's birthplace and childhood home and head on to the motorway and the north.
Our first stop is a service centre for the motorway where we take a toilet break and grab a bite to eat and a drink and head back on our way past Drogheda. When we were at Vaults Live there was a mention of Drogheda as we were welcomed. Irish among our group pointedly corrected pronunciation by our guide and I got a sense that mispronunciation of this town name is like fingernails on a chalkboard to local people. I studied Ian's references to Drogheda across the two days we are together and I think I've got it down pat. It's Drahda with a very slight gutteral catch in the middle.

On through Newry and the distance flies as we chat and laugh together, then suddenly we're pulling up at the Drumlough Gospel Hall. It's a tidy building and gravel yard with a small graveyard.  We drive in and get ourselves organised, I don my white sunhat and we walk down to the rear of the block and peer out over the wall. The weather is about as good as weather gets anywhere on earth and so is the scenery. Wow.  "I told yus it was gorgeous scenery". "Yes, It most certainly is".

The Mountains of Mourne loom in the distance and in between is green fecundity. Ian pulls out his folder of maps in sleeves and his phone and lines up what is showing on the phone with the illustration the right spot and which plot of hedgerowed field was apparently occupied by my relatives back in the day. They rented of course. You wouldn't leave this land if you owned this! We spend some time checking out particular plots and tracing back on the phone to current maps. Get a shot of the two of us with the scenery, then we're back in the car and heading for Rathfriland.

Rathfriland in the distance on the top of a nearby hill

It's always deceptive looking at two dimensional maps and sometimes really surprising when you arrive on the ground. Rath means a ringfort so it's not a great leap to the liklihood that a town named Rathfriland would be in an elevated position and it is. As the town centre is at the top of the hill, the main streets inevitably take a downward trend with beautiful views in every direction. The township has an air of quiet middle class comfort. It's well presented with a tidy town square and memorials at either end with parking in between. We spend some time looking at familiar family names on the war memorial. Which is nice. I like paying my respects at war memorials but as an exercise in genealogy it's a bit ho hum. A big deal is made of the name George Morrow being present on his own large stone at the base of the memorial.  One of my 4th great grandmothers was a Morrow who would have been born about 1800, so anyone named Morrow in the Great War or later would at best be a very distant relative.

Rathfriland War Memorial

Happy to move on from Rathfriland we head out of town a short way to Monegore Road and a building now labelled Moneygore Orange Hall 1948. This is a replacement to the National School as shown on Griffiths Valuation. I wander about photographing the marvellous views across to the mountains and some lovely old buildings across the road.

Some bees and other insects hover about flowers in the hedgerow, it is an idyllic scene. Oh how my forebears must have yearned for this place, that they were destined never to see again. Life must have been very hard despite the natural beauty of the area. No prospects of security or financial comfort. Why else would you leave. I wander down the road and return. Then we drive back down and pause again to gaze across at some additional plots occupied by persons who had surnames with which we are familiar.

Residence of Alexander Anderson and Joseph Morrow as recorded in Griffith's Valuation

Neither ourselves or Ian are sure why people named Irwin are highlighted in our copy of Griffiths Valuation. Some of the plots of interest to us are not accessible from the road. There's still some sensibilities in Protestant areas of Northern Ireland to persons with Republic of Ireland number plates wandering about, so some caution is apparently required.

Further along, seeking the closest vantage point to the plots in areas where we can't really access them from the road, I walk up past a farm where the squeals of pigs send shivers up my spine. We've only just been joking and laughing about never cross a pig farmer.  Then the almightly scream of an alarm going off and I head back for the car which Ian has driven up behind me. We're up the hill looking at some more distant buildings and one nearer the road that would have been similar to the sort of dwelling my forebears would have lived in. Quaint now perhaps, if one images a 100,000 or so to renovate and perhaps modernise.

Time is getting on and well and truly lunch time, so Ian takes us into Maginns in Castewellan. As we walk into the sombre light from the bright sunshine we find a complex layout richly decorated and choose a table down towards the rear, a large TV playing sports and a beautiful lead light ceiling overhead.  Lunch is on Ian (I should think so given the cost of the tour). We each had a small serve of seafood chowder with homemade wheaten bread. I followed with the daily special of  Cod Coujons with mushy peas, chips and tartare sauce. Michael (predictably) went for the King Prawn Linguine with garlic, coriander and lemon balm, double cream and a slice of garlic ciabatta. The chips were pretty ordinary but the rest of the food was very nice. Michael won that one, his linguine was lovely.

Ballyroney Presbyterian Church

I think I could handle being laid to rest in this spot for eternity

Back on the road we are into the part of the day where we wander about cemeteries looking for surnames we recognise. One was a large grey stone Ballyroney Presbyterian church, where the dead have a better view than most people living, then we're onto the church of most interest: Ist Rathfriland Presbyterian.

Ist Rathfriland Presbyterian dates from the 17th Century

There's a man mowing the grass in the lower area of the graveyard. It's a beautiful location once again the slope of the ground overlooking the countryside. We photograph gravestones of varying interest. It's good to be here. I have a nice little chat with the groundsman, he's friendly and tackles the maintenance in stages. All the graveyards we've visited are beautifully cared for. As we return back up to the church, the minister is present (just by coincidence) and talking to Ian who introduces us. Soon we're invited in to look around inside the church. Once again we have a lovely conversation, us foreigners reasonably oblivious to some political undercurrents as we discuss everything from the weather to Brexit to the upcoming Harvest Festival. Unfortunately my family left Ireland too early to be of much use to a local history project they've got going focusing on more recent events. We discuss the architecture of the church, Trevor having asked us about churches in Australia. In Australia you don't see this arrangement with a second level, not in Christian churches anyway. This church would originally have been built without the mezzanine section which was added to increase capacity. Upstairs you have limited visibility which was fine for the religious practice so long ago when all that was needed was to be able to see the bible and minister, but nowadays technology is used to give greater visibility of goings on downstairs to those above.

Margaret Anderson, lawful daughter of Joseph Anderson and Sarah McCullough was baptised here in 1842

 It's a wonderful thing to be able to be within the church where my 2 x Great Grandmother was baptised as an infant. This we know for certain to be true.
We end the day checking out the graveyards of 2nd and 3rd Presbyterian with mixed results before jumping back in the car and heading for Trim, where we have a dinner reservation for 7 pm. We'll be late.

Checked in to the Trim Castle Hotel we dart across the road to the Stockhouse Restaurant. Running somewhat late for our reservation, for which we are mildly chastised. They thought we weren't coming and there's a little wait for a table after which we are seated at one that was free all along.  Neither of us is very hungry due to the huge lunch. I go for a serve of bruschetta with buffalo mozzarella, sundried tomato and basil pesto, this we can share, followed by another starter, Fish cakes made from fresh cod, salmon and crab meat in a sesame crumb, chilli, coriander and lime mayonnaise, rocket and pesto dressing. Michael chose Lamb Cutlets cooked medium well. We amuse ourselves while we wait for our meals by reading the signs used to decorate the room. Intended to be funny, some are and some are well past their use by date. Food was OK. Michael's main arrives with four cutlets, I think I could have cooked them better based on appearance. I'm not tempted to try them. Fortunately, Hubby's not as fussy as I am.The most amazing thing about dinner was that they have alcohol free Heineken. We don't have that at home. It smelled good, Hubby says "yeah, it was alright". We're exhausted though. We head back to our hotel room, admire the view of the castle again briefly and fall into bed. I'm asleep in moments.
So what's the verdict on the My Ireland Family Heritage Tour that sounded too good to be true? Well, yes, as a geneological exercise it's a complete crock, as I suspected. It's an exercise in compiling stacks of information, but there's nothing whatever in the way of proper geneological analysis of the information provided. It's enough to bluff the uninitiated or  provide those who simply do not have enough information to track down their specific origins in Ireland a sense of connection and get people out off the beaten track into the "real" Ireland. In my case, we do know precisely where in Ireland my 2 x great grandmother and her parents were from. I already have the baptismal records from Ist Rathfriland, along with details of extended family names that clustered together took us pretty emphatically to the townland of Moneygore. I was curious what else they may have to say and really was just looking for a guide on the day to help us find the precise locations in Griffiths Valuations and add some contextual commentary along the way.  Ian was a charming guide for our days and we enjoyed our time with him so that my objective there was realised. The company sells their services on the fact that they arrange to have churches open and so forth, however in our case our being able to see inside Ist Rathfriland was a complete coincidence and not preplanned. To some extent this appeared to be due to tensions around Northern Ireland v Republic, My Ireland Family Heritage being based in the Republic of course, they seemed pretty wary wandering around in Loyalist areas of Northern Ireland.
To justify the very high price tag, the company puts together a little package of souvenir materials and a beautifully bound book of records and contextual information. As it turns out though, the book that was provided to me was a bit less than expected in terms of what was included. Some entries for the Townland of Moneygore were included but not first page for Moneygore which provided the most likely record for my 4 x Great Grandmother who we know was widowed and still living in Rathfriland at the time the Griffith's Valuation was done. On the other hand the book did include a lovely page about Ellis Island, which of course, doesn't go down well with an Australian client. The book also stated that the client had done no previous research, which was patently untrue. In fact I offered what we know to the company and they refused to accept it, saying they don't rely on the research of anyone else, they do it all from scratch. I have challenged My Ireland Family Heritage on what I regard as a fairly colossal failure in the book, and have received a reply from the researcher, but it's just more spin that does not address my compliant. So, I guess it just depends what you're looking for and how much you're happy to spend, but go in with your eyes open as to what you are paying for. I should also note, that these days, you can access Griffith's Valuation for free online INCLUDING a map of the townlands and a slide that lets you look at the modern day map against the townland maps. So My Ireland Family Heritage's claim that you could never find the locations by yourself is complete and utter rubbish.

Day 2 - Kilmainham Gaol and errands North of the Liffey

Monday, 16 September 2019
Unfortunately we have had a very bad night. Naturally we woke according to Sydney time, and of course I had an alarming thought pop into my head and stupidly got up to try to resolve what I thought was an easy issue before going back to sleep. Nope, what we got was meltdown due to photo download problems. No sleep at all after about 00:30 local time. That not sorted, we head down to brekkie (breakfast) a mess of fatigue related confusion about day and time. We must have spent a good 5 minutes trying to figure out why google was saying the time now in Sydney is late Monday afternoon when it is Sunday here in Dublin. Michael suggests checking the newspaper in the hotel lobby. Eventually the penny drops that oh, actually today IS Monday. Which would also explain why google was giving us store opening times for Monday AND why people yesterday were referring to it being Sunday. Well dah!  I have a brief moment of panic while I wonder if we're late for whatever it is we're doing today given that my brain was somewhere in the far reaches of the planet Jupiter.
This morning we are booked at Kilmainham Gaol for the first tour of the day. It's still drizzling, so we opt to take a taxi from the taxi stand on the Liffey side of Aston Quay. We have a lovely chat with the beautifully Irish accented driver throughout the trip of about 10 mins for about 10 euros.
The area around Kilmainham is lovely and there's a beautiful green fragrance in the damp air. My mood lifts as Hubby hurries me across the road to the entrance of the Gaol. The Gaol is housed in a surprisingly elegant building, and the hotel across the street is modern without jarring with the historical icon so close nearby.  Well done.

Inside we display our tickets purchased online and are directed to a court room to wait, each of our group settled on seats around the room. At the appointed time our guide joins us and we begin the tour, wandering out and across an open yard into the corridors of the gaol, having been warned of low doorways and uneven floors designed to impede any rampaging or escaping prisoner's progress. We walk down narrow corridors where doors, locks and paintwork bear a patina of age. We stop to hear about the general prison regime, (bat shit crazy) theories of criminal rehabilitation and the role of the gaol over time from it's construction to during the famine when beggars in Dublin were arrested and brought to Kilmainham, initially considering it a relief because at least in gaol there was food.

We visit the dimly lit chapel. It was here that Joseph Plunkett and Grace Gifford were married and our guide describes the service and their time together before his execution in 1916. I am SO, SO glad I read Irish history and in particular Morgan Llywelyn's Irish Century series before coming to Ireland and here to this place. Llywelyn does a marvellous job of bringing the history to life with a mix of fictional and historical characters. Best of all she includes references for factual elements of the story she weaves representing the diversity of people who contributed to the struggle for independence. Any visitor would surely feel compassion for a young couple marrying in such circumstances but knowing a little more about the leadership roles those executed played in the rising, and the role that their widows and other female relatives continued to play in the republican struggle certainly adds depth to the experience of being here.

everything in the design is about control of Prisoners

We arrive at a suspended gallery where we learn of the thinking behind the design, narrow walkways with rails and open grills for floors, I don't need a word from our guide to  be moved by the names above the doors, though he does point them out in due course, Willie and Patrick Pearse, brothers in cells side by side. A brief introduction to Patrick Pearse and his immense talents, comes with a recommendation to start with his Poetry.  Joe Plunkett's cell is here on the end of the row, this is where he and Grace spent the 10 minutes of their married life together. This area has the highest concentration of  the cells of the 1916 martyrs to the republican cause.

The doors to the cells are crusty with age, as rich in texture as the stories and the men and women they confined. On the opposite side of this gallery there's Constance Marcievicz's cell, though she ultimately escaped execution. It is such a privilege to see this place.
We move through passages led by our guide and assemble in a larger, more comfortable cell that could fit 4 or 5. There's a plaque on the wall of Robert Emmett and his name is above the door. Our guide recommends we seek out Robert Emmet's Speech from the Dock made in 1803 prior to his sentencing for high treason due to his leadership of (yet another) rebellion against British rule in Ireland. Apparently there's an excellent reading of it on YouTube.

We move on to the large open interior space, star of several movies and Kilmainham promotional materials. It's usage is explained and we see Grace Gifford's own cell that she occupied later as brother turned on brother (and sister) in the dreadful and bloody civil war following the signing of the Treaty and the creation of the Irish Free State. We peer through the spy hole to see the Kilmainham Madonna that Grace painted on the walls of her cell. High above a door on an upper floor the name of Eamon De Valera draws my eye and lens.

Our final stop of the tour is in a high walled yard with large wooden gates to the streets outside, closed against intrusion or escape. There are two black crosses at either end of the yard, a crunch of gravel under our feet, sombre tears from heaven damping our cheeks where our own could easily replace them. It is in this space that the execution of the 1916 leaders took place and our guide describes the events as our group listens in respectful silence and for some of us at least, a good deal of sorrow at what Ireland lost in the execution of these men who had so much to contribute to a free Ireland.  Instead their legacy is the inspiration they have provided to their fellow countrymen and women. A gift of immeasurable value.

Tour concluded we exit through an open doorway that leads to a courtyard with iron railings facing the street outside. THIS is why I travel. It's for places and experiences like this. Time for a quick look at the museum, my pre-trip reading saves me time here too.
Towards the end of my exploration I wander down a dimly lit corridor where quiet alcoves reverently display personal items relating to the 1916 martyrs.  Most affecting was the inclusion of Joe Plunkett's eye glasses.

We head in through a doorway to a particularly excellent gift shop, SO much temptation, then we take the easy route again and take another taxi back to town for our next item on our agenda: camera store! I had been going to head to Dublin Castle next, but sight seeing this afternoon is shelved in favour of errands.

Card reader in hand, photo upload problems apparently sorted, our next errand is to acquire a SIM, with a better deal than mine, for Hubby's phone. Luckily we head for Vodafone which takes us over the Liffey past the GPO.  Well! Isn't this a lucky thing. This side of the river is much nicer, giving a totally different experience of Dublin city. The GPO is great to see for a student of 1916 because it was a key site of combat, ultimately having to be rebuilt due to the extensive damage.

"And tyranny trampled them in Dublin's gutter until Jim Larkin came along and cried the call of
freedom and the call of pride and slavery crept to its hands and knees and 1913 cheered from out the utter
degradation of their miseries" Patrick Cavanagh

A statue of Larkin stands with his arms raised to the sky, the plinth recording quotes of others about the great man and referencing the Dublin Lock-out of 1913, generally regarded as the most severe and significant industrial dispute in Ireland's history.
Then there's the Spire of course which replaced a statue of Nelson similar to that found in Trafalgar Square after it was blown up by person or persons with republican hearts.
There are SO many donut outlets in Dublin. My goodness Dubliners and/or visitors here must simply be obsessed with donuts.
At Vodafone Hubby is happily transacting and I make the mistake of asking a question about the SIM deal I got at the airport, specifically I want to know if I can use it in the UK, which was not obvious at the time of purchase. We are subjected to a lengthy and passionate lecture to the effect of DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT buy SIMs at airports or train or bus terminals they are a scam. And if by chance you didn't hear me the first seven times, DO NOT repeat do NOT buy SIMs from airports.  I slink away, shamed at my obvious stupidity.  But on a happy note, next door is Butler's chocolates. They deserve a visit if for no other reason  than their great description of their services proudly displayed on their facade.

...look closely... click on this photo so you can read the small print if you need to.

Hubby's keen to take the laptop, which we needed at the camera store, back to the hotel, but we're hungry and I want GOOD food this time. A little research and we're walking on to Parnell Street to eat at 147 Deli.  Yep, revues are right. Worth the walk.

Nicely sated we head for "home" stopping along the way to sample a couple of the donut outlets.  Hot cinnamon sugar sour dough donuts and some other filled ones among which the sour cherry was a definite leader.

Anxiety about photo management wins when I am back at the hotel. I set about using the new card reader and again am thrown into despair as the SD card from the EOSM5 fails to read. Lots of great images from inside EPIC and Kilmainham Gaol are inaccessible. You can imagine my distress I am sure, compounded by exhaustion. Eventually I find my peace with it and resolve to get some sleep.
By now we are well and truly beyond help on the exhaustion front. We set the timer for the musical pub crawl we have booked for tonight. The alarm goes off after only about an hour. We curse it. Quiet it. And go back to sleep. We are waaaaay beyond anything but sleep tonight.

Day 1 - EPIC, Jeannie Johnston, The Liffey and Vaults Live

Sunday, 15 September 2019
I've planned our walking route for today quite carefully. First up, we're off to see the statue of Molly Malone. Our walk takes us through some uninspiring backstreets but improves as we come around past the Bank of Ireland. We capture some statuary, but I am really drawn to these novel creatures that adorn the street furniture. What are they? And what is their significance? We've asked a cabby as we passed others that adorn one of the bridges but he didn't know.

It turns out that these creatures are called hippocampus.
They are from Greek Mythology and are said to have pulled the chariots of Poseidon and Neptune 

We join the throng of people clustered around Molly. The shiny polish on her breasts and the rim of her garment speak of the abuses a poor young woman must suffer, especially when made of bronze. A shocking sight in the post #metoo era. Having watched a middle aged woman pose cheerfully for a photo whilst she has a handful, I ask Hubby if we wants a non-consensual grope before we leave. Nope. :-) Yeah, it's pretty undignified.

We walk along some more fairly dingey backstreets to the Liffey. The waterside area is a mix of old and new. There are the elegant old statements of economic power such as the Custom House, which now houses the Department of Housing, Planning and Local Government, then there's new buildings that pay their context zero respect and other older neglected buildings for which it appears form was entirely dominated by function.

Custom House

Some sections show the beginnings of what could be a beautiful riverside precinct a la the Seine, but overall it feels like Dublin hasn't quite decided what it wants to be. There's no obvious coherent vision.

One of the nicer sections of the walk along the Liffey

The Linesman by Dony Mac Manus 

 Along the way we enjoy looking at the sculptures, both ornamental and practical. Some of the most artistic are the massive hooks which I gather are used for securing vessels moored along the quays. However my favourite of all is the magnificent sculpture of the Linesman which takes my minds eye to a flourishing and bustling port, the antithesis of the atmosphere today on a quiet Sunday morning.

Matt Talbot Memorial

One memorial that's style sits comfortably with the modern architecture across the river is a statue of Matthew Talbot. Talbot is revered by many Catholics for his "piety, charity and mortification of the flesh". He was made famous when he died suddenly on a Dublin Street and they found cords and chains on his body. He's regarded as a patron for alcoholics though not formally a saint. It seems appropriate that he also has a more useful and practical memorial in the Matthew Talbot Hostel in Sydney. At least I assume he was the inspiration behind the hostel's name.

Wildebeest with a mouthfull

 Having reached my objective on this side of the river at the National Seaman's Memorial, I pause for a brief moment's reflection on those lost at sea on merchant ships during World War 2, then we head over the Sean O'Casey Bridge which gives me a good view of the beautiful Samuel Beckett Bridge downstream. Said to resemble the Irish Harp I am sure I am not alone in thinking this is one of the World's most inspired bridge designs. I just LOVE it. It was designed by Santiago Calatrava, who is a Spanish architect and it's worth googling him to see more examples of his work - they are BEAUTIFUL. Sydney should commission something from him before it's too late. He's 68.  He also designed the James Joyce Bridge further upstream. It would be fascinating to see what he'd come up with for the Australian context.

Samuel Beckett Bridge. Architect Santiago Calatrava.

The Liffey is the first river I've seen that actually looks green and the algae / weed growing on the walls of the embankment make a pretty picture, picking up the green and gold of the avenue of trees above. 

Sean O'Casey was a socialist playwright and the first to write about the poor of Dublin.  He lived in this area across that famous period of republican rebellion from late 1890s to the 1920s. Dublin, as we know, was said to have one of the worst slums in Europe. This grinding poverty experienced by so many in Ireland certainly played it's part in the long struggle for freedom from British rule. The pedestrian bridge named for O'Casey, was built during the time of the Celtic Tiger, opened in 2005 as part of a docklands urban renewal program. It's clearly been very carefully positioned. Just look at the beautiful way it frames the approach to EPIC.

Sean O'Casey Bridge.. Architect Cyril O"Neill

Before I get too carried away on bridges and their architecture and inspiration, simply let me note that in researching those we visited I have come across a wonderful website dedicated to the Bridges of Dublin. I am sure Hubby will enjoy hearing about what it says regarding O'Connell bridge which reminds us so strongly of the bridges across the Seine.

Replica of the Jeannie Johnston

The bridge also gives us a perfect angle on the Jeannie Johnston before I am further diverted by the birds congregated a short way upstream when we step off the bridge. Again there's lots of young birds in the group and a lovely photo opportunity as a man approaches to feed them.

It's about 11 am or so and we're both feeling pretty hungry, so we head into the CHQ building and look for something to brunch on before getting into the museum. There's not much open so we settle for what's available and have a pretty ordinary Full Irish breakfast for Hubby and another pretty ordinary and unsatisfying sandwich for me. As we munch we admire the industrial structure of the building which was built in 1820 to house tobacco, tea and spirits. Well, at least we're not hungry anymore. 

EPIC is a one way route of galleries each gallery focused on a particular theme. They give you a passport and you can stamp them in each gallery as you go round. Kids would like that, and Hubby was diligent and filled his card but I got sick of it and stopped along the way, we don't need two of them. Having lost the photographs we took (a story for another day) I now need to just rack my brain about what was memorable to a sleep deprived visitor. Well, one thing stands way way out in front is an absolutely stunning sculpture that fills one of the rooms. It's formed of asymmetrical sprays of silver metal emerging from a central point along which are depicted various forms of transport used by emigrants to reach their new homes. It is really something to see. An interesting angle on the coverage of the museum is that it discusses the diaspora not just at peak times in history like the famine years but to the present day. Irish nationals continue to head abroad in significant numbers, the most recent peak having occurred at the time of the Global Financial Crisis (GFC) when tens of thousands left Ireland for opportunities abroad. They also cover the high levels of emigration of women due to oppressive and discriminatory laws against women that were introduced when the Catholic Church was tangled up with the Irish State.
In one of the early galleries they run through the stories of some real emigrants in different time periods. I'm pretty chuffed to sea that the Irish orphan girls who were taken to Australia under the Earl Grey scheme are featured. Better still, the example given is a woman who goes to Moreton Bay and marries an ex-convict, precisely as my own forebear Jane Kirkwood did, though Harry Skinner was not yet an ex convict because they initially refused his application for a ticket of leave.
Australian Prime Minister Paul Keating's famous Redfern Speech plays on a huge wall in the gallery discussing the political activism of the diaspora, leading to a little swell of pride within me. Perfectly chosen, that was a great moment of political leadership. Prime Ministers Chifley and Curtin also feature if memory serves. Ireland claims all with Irish descent, not just those born in Ireland. Some twenty something US Presidents were of Irish descent.
What I'm most keen to see here is how they have handled Ned Kelly's iconic status in Australia. He features most prominently in the gallery of Irish artists, being of course the subject of Sidney Nolan's most famous works, but Ned is also noted in the Rogues gallery. There he is roughly equated to Billy the Kid. I look carefully to see if there's any further discussion of him. I can't see anything. I warned the guy on the desk as he was chatting with us, encouraging us to give feedback on our experience, that I might have something to say if I wasn't happy with their presentation of Ned Kelly. I'm not. Of all the places in all the world where you would hope that the significance of Ned Kelly would be understood and fairly represented, I would have hoped it would be Ireland. It's rather ironic that Ireland of all places should simply swallow the establishment's take on Ned and the Gang and what they got up to. On the one hand I get how a superficial reading of the story could lead one to dismiss Ned as a criminal because he did commit criminal acts, even prior to being outlawed based solely on the verbal testimony of a  policeman who was accused of assaulting Ned's sister. Why lionise Ned when so many other Irish suffered similar disadvantage and persecution without resorting to lawlessness. But that really misses the point. Ned is iconic because of the relationship of social justice to criminality. It's also a story of endemic Police corruption. If Ned was just a criminal or a just a rogue why the petition of tens of thousands of names seeking his pardon. Why the Royal Commission of Inquiry into the police which followed his execution and the reforms to the Police Force that were implemented as a result. Ned is a foundation icon for the Australian principle of the "Fair Go". Ned, like Ben Hall before him, did not get a fair go, and a lot of that was due to their Irish ancestry. It's a shame that hasn't been grasped in EPIC, though I guess it's a really complex thing to get across and EPIC deals in broad brush strokes.
By the time we're about half way through we're starting to hit the wall, so we listen to the various videos but mainly make quick progress through the remainder of the galleries and out into the moist grey. 

I'm keen to have a look at the Jeannie Johnston, so we pay our money and stand outside in the drizzle for about 10 minutes until the next tour starts. Jeannie Johnston was famous in the era of the "coffin ships" for having never lost anyone at sea. It's a laudable record and the ship was owned by a principled man who sometimes simply gave destitute passengers their escape to the new world for free. The ship had a doctor and scrupulous hygiene rules. No-one was allowed to board with any sign of illness and they had a quarantine period requirement. It's an interesting tour and nicely concise while also being content rich. 

Our main sightseeing objectives for the day completed we head back for a rest, this time walking along the northern side of the Liffey because I'm keen to see the famine memorial. This is a group of rake thin figures, dressed in rags, one man carrying his weak child across his shoulders. The faces are are drawn in suffering and the finish of the metal is rough and torn. It's a stunning piece of art. Highly emotive.

We head back to the hotel, and I continue to admire the beautiful mooring hooks along the quay. Somehow a blue chip packed has been caught under one of the hooks and I go to remove it so I can photograph only to find someone has actually taken the trouble to lift a hook and put the packet underneath when there's a bin nearby. Bizarre. The hooks are REALLY heavy, so in some ways I'm glad to have had to remove the litter. I'd never have lifted a hook otherwise and they don't look nearly as heavy as they are. 

In places where the road doesn't leave too much of a footpath, they've built very pleasant pedestrian walkways out over the water.  

We rest in our room for a bit before heading back out into the drizzle to walk down Temple Bar to Vaults Live. We're booked on the last show of the day, ballsy when it's arrival day but it's not open tomorrow so I had no choice. Temple Bar is reasonably atmospheric, and there's some famous venues along it, but overall it's a bit of a tourist trap (as virtually every local we talk to warns us). I chose to stay close in here because of the things I was most keen to see of course. Anyway, 15 mins or so walk and we're passing the Dublin City Council building. This must be, entirely justifiably, the most hated building in Ireland. Dreadful history and tragic events eat your heart out. This grey monstrosity, occupying prime riverfront land blocking the view of the graceful cathedral from the water represents a wanton act of cultural and historical vandalism in the face of mass public protests. To build it, they destroyed the viking village they discovered beneath it when preparing for construction. If memory serves it was the largest viking village discovery in Europe. The people protested, the city government ignored them. The site must have had massive tourist potential. The building they've plonked over the site is not even architecturally impressive. It's boring and disrespectful to it's location and the nearby heritage sites. What bloody minded sacrilege.

Surely the most hated building in Dublin

We head in to Vaults Live and are directed to a waiting room upstairs, the first among a group of about a dozen people. The show consists of us moving from room to room, sometimes escorted by historical characters.  Along the way we meet other personalities from Irish History who engage with the audience for a bit of craic. They are each very good. We start with Brigid, a herbalist from around the time of St Patrick. She gives Hubby some herbs to combat the heartburn she has suggested that he suffers. Later she suggests he might share it with me as a sedative when I am startled by a shriek from an alleged banshee relevant to the story Brigid is telling. Other characters include Bram Stoker and Molly Malone, a judge, who calls one of our group to the dock and of course a Viking called Ikea (pronounced ickia"). Ikea makes lots of jokes about planks and flat packs and challenges someone to volunteer to fight him. The group sits quietly as though hoping Ikea won't notice they're there and pick on them. I mutter that if photographs were allowed I'd make Hubby volunteer, Ikea readily agrees and our camera is passed to a fellow guest for the purpose. It's all good fun. We exit through the little gift shop and tea room, browse and buy a few things and Hubby has a coffee, me a water as we chat to the friendly guy serving. Then we're off to find some dinner. 

Still raining we head down to the Brazen Head wander in but it's very busy and noisy and we're very tired so we end up just end up walking in the rain back along the Liffey, to a room service dinner from the food joint next to the hotel.  An early night is called for. The food delivered was pretty ordinary, other than the chowder Hubby got, which was lovely. We flake out and sleep. For a while at any rate. 

Day 0 - The Battle of the Packing and arrival in Dublin

Saturday 14 September 2019
Last minute wrinkles are ironed out. Last moment work tasks completed, out of office and voicemail messages recorded. We've checked in. Got our boarding passes sorted. Bad night's sleep so hoping to sleep on the plane.

The Battle of the Packing is joined. Hubby sets his suitcase and carry on case on his side of the bed. I have arrayed similar on mine. Slow and easily distracted I go over and over the essentials leaving showering and dressing to the last minute so we stay fresh as long as possible during the journey. Message friends. Laugh. Reminisce. 

Hubby lists a few things and among them is his passport and where he's put it. Ah, yes, I was forgetting that. Bit of an oversight that. Hubby's on fire, he's got his almost done and wandered downstairs. I look over and see his bags overflowing. Hmmm. How are we going to fit souvenir blankets and bulky woollens in that, I think to myself. Hubby's not known for his packing mastery. I inspect. 3 pairs of really heavy shoes and his supportive house flip flops. Battle is joined.
"You don't need 3 pairs of shoes!" "Yes, I do!" he replies. "What if my shoes get dirty?" Of course he needs his current pair of every day shoes, his old pair of every day shoes a nice pair of shoes for going out.  Totally a no brainer. Note to self: I could use these shoes for my weight workout. I carefully repack to make them fit. 

"Why have you packed panty liners?" I yell down over the void. "They're for you." They weigh nearly nothing but they can go. That's thoughtful, but FFS when have I ever asked him if he's carrying some panty liners I can borrow.

I wonder what's in this little black zipper case. I unzip. WTF! It's the (very unwelcome) electric shaver I bought him as a joke in the mid 1990s. He thought he would surprise me. That birthday anecdote has been getting quite a bit of airing recently. Well, he still can. I WILL be surprised if he uses that bloody thing for more than a day or two in our four week trip. He wins again.

In the end I cull only the shorts, which I'm confident he won't need in Ireland and northern England in September and October, and one of the merinomink jumpers. Rearranged to remove the gaps between items there's room for at least a couple of woollen souvenirs. 

I blog. I check the time. Decide to shower. Maybe that will perk me up a bit. 

We've no snacks for the flight. It's a long long flight over 23 hours and then we have roughly another 4 hours to Dublin.
At the allotted time, Son-in-law 1 pops around and he and Grandson load our luggage in the back of the Prado. It's such a joy to see Gson modelling himself on his, most excellent, father. We pop around to say farewells to the girls. Hubby of course expresses his anxiety about not having snacks for the flight. Donations from the NevCot pantry are duly offered. Soon enough we're back in the car and I'm realising I've left without my laptop. Oops. As we drive back home, I check the train timetable again. Trackwork. WTF. But I checked not that long ago and there was nothing. Change of plans. SIL1 will take the kids to the school fair while D1 drives us to the airport. Deal. This turns out to be a good thing as we were wanting to talk about some important things that have been going on for her. Traffic was fine and we had a lovely chat to the friendly Qantas lady who was manning the BA bag drop desk. Fast Forward.....we're heading through one of the many face recognition stations involved in getting to our destination. I go first. No probs. Hubby steps up with some trepidation. These devices aren't that great at recognising him. He's done this before so he's less puzzled than on past occasions but he doesn't know where he's supposed to look. I wish I had a video camera trained on him because from where I'm standing his eyes are rolling around looking like some sort of horror movie predator.
As we move on through the security screening, I step up to take my turn, random belongings in carry on bag, laptop in its own tray. Neck pillow and raincoat in the next tray, carry on baggage on the rollers facing the right way...the Border Force operative whose turn it is to help people get their sorry selves organised compliments me on my efficiency. "You've travelled before haven't you. I can tell." For such a trivial achievement I must say felt rather chuffed at the compliment.
Fast forward....we're on the flight. I get stuck right in and watch British Made: All is True.  All is boring and pointless. Kenneth Branagh. Should have known. What is next?  Tolkien. We'd wanted to see that when it was showing at our favourite cinema but didn't get a chance. It takes me a while as I slept at intervals throughout, no fault of the movie itself, it was very interesting.  The in flight food wasn't as nice as we've had before on BA. I selected window seat and I'm glad of it and get a pretty decent amount of sleep all things considered. I can feel my knee getting the shits about the whacky angle my legs need to adopt to avoid the obstacles of the chair in front.
I'm in pretty good nick when we touch down for our refuelling stop in Singapore. Here we have a highlight of our journey so far. The toilets are GREAT! The seat senses when you stand up and flushes automatically. No germy buttons. Hubby tells me that you need to be careful not to lean back or the wash function gives you a bit of a surprise! The cleaner looked a bit astonished when I returned with my camera!

Back on board we have a spare seat next to Hubby due to a malfunctioning entertainment system. Yippee! Another 13 hours, it's dark now so my blind stays up. Clear skies enable me to periodically watch the web of lights below as we track across the middle east, Azerbaijan and Romania. The tracery of lights intensifies as we cross Europe nearing London, now labelled in the distance on our flight path. At one point I think of bombing raids over the continent. We've a full moon tonight and the light shines on the lakes below, beams forming a moving halo of brilliant silver that moves across and around the edges of the water. Wow!! Seriously.WOW!

With only a few hours remaining I resort to watching my downloaded Netflix - newly released as I was preparing for departure I downloaded Unbelievable in its entirety. It's a beauty.
It's more of the usual transiting through Heathrow. The only moment of puzzlement I feel is that I feel no puzzlement navigating to where we need to be. It is SO good to be walking around. We did our in flight exercises regularly but my knee seriously hates long haul so I'm less than comfy on the walking front. The layover timing is just about perfect.

It's grey and light drizzle in Dublin. It's down the stairs and across the tarmac to the terminal building. There's stairs but my knee demands I take the lift. Then it's the long airport walks. This time though, I notice two things: 1. why have the airports in hot destinations (eg Singapore and Darwin) carpeted their terminal buildings and walkways, where cooler climates have (sensibly) used a hard surface that's more luggage wheel friendly? 2. We walk along what would be a fairly industrial corridor but there's some photographs and the walls are coloured and there's patterns printed on the glass windows. There's a plane among it all that looks very familiar but I walk on among the crowd. Then a plaque. I see the words "Southern Cross" ... hang on... wait a minute. "Southern Cross" will always get an Aussie's attention. I stop to read. We set out from Kingsford Smith Airport and have arrived in Dublin to an art installation commemorating the famous flight of the Southern Cross by Charles Kingsford Smith which departed from Ireland.

We head for W H Smith to get a local SIM. This option turns out to be pretty shitty. A truly crap plan for a lot of money. I almost turn and leave in disgust. Then mulling it over I figure we'll buy one for me and get a better plan for Hubby later.  Trouble is, without connectivity we 1. Won't know where to go to get a better plan 2. Even if I'd done better research and had the information of where is best to go, we wouldn't find it. We've travelled to the northern hemisphere enough to know that we couldn't find our way to the exit without google maps keeping us on the right path. Hemisphere disorientation is extreme for us. Convenience is king.
We toy with just getting a cab, but in the end we end up on the airport express as I had planned, for which we just pay for a single journey at the little manned hut by the departure point. The young lady selling us the tickets marks our stop for us on the brochure and it's all simplicity from there. Easy to wheel our luggage over to the Temple Bar Hotel and the rain holds off. The check in staff are very helpful and we drop the bags and head out for a look about.

We're off to Ireland, Liverpool and the Lakes - soon anyway

Over the last little year I've been planning our next big trip. Since our trip to Scotland we've had a jaunt across to Western Australia and another to Far North Queensland, both unblogged.
As we just can't seem to slow the pace, we've restricted ourselves to 4 weeks this time. The down side is that I reckon 1 additional stay at each of our stops would be about perfect so time over I'd be tempted to add another week, but the money is not infinite and we are extravagant travellers so there's got to be some sort of restraint if we're to be able to fund future trips.
Our choices around which areas to focus on have been based on a general theme of family history and bucket list ticks. County Down and Belfast have links to two lines of my family as does Liverpool if only for a long period of residence before my Andersons/McCulloughs migrated to join family who had come directly to Australia twenty years before. We do miss so many other wonderful places in Ireland, but as always I hope one day to have an opportunity to return.
Our itinerary goes like this:

Dublin - 2 nights
Trim - 1 night
Airport hotel - 1 night
Castle Leslie - 2 nights
Newcastle - 2 nights
Strangford - 1 night
Helen's Tower - 2 nights
Ballintoy - 1 night
Derry - 2 nights
Ardara - 1 night
Donegal Town - 1 night
Belfast - 3 nights
Liverpool - 2 nights
Grasmere - 3 nights

So, that's a lot more 1 night stops than we usually aim for. It will be interesting to see how we cope with that!