Month: July 2016

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
― W.B. Yeats

The Castle, still in restoration, seen behind the restored Gardener’s quarters, now serving as cottages for guests

I walked the grounds owned by Beverly and Jonathan Baylis today. The grounds which make up the current desmene of the Castle, which is far less than the 29,500 acres which were owned by Lord Clonbrock and his family.

Most of that has been sold in large parcels to local farmers who run their cattle on the lush, giant fields. The Baylis’s have procured a lovely corner of the original lands, which include river frontage, woodlands, the ruins of the substantial stables and some pasturage. It is largely untouched, due to its size, but what has been “tamed” is lovely indeed.

Starting on the inside of the renovated garden, we see the corner tower, Lady Gregory’s Tower
She may or may not have stayed there. This bust is meant to be a representation of the woman.

Along this wall we see the remains of espaliered apple trees. The man I spoke with who has been doing all of the masonry repair on the castle itself told me that during the height of the estate, there were 57 gardeners living and working on the grounds.

Here, we are looking across the lawn to what was originally the Head Gardener’s home. It is now where Beverly and Jonathan live. The cottage where I am staying has been created out of a line of smaller cottages where the Master gardening team would have lived.

The rest of the gardener’s were most likely scattered around the estate, though through this entrance in the wall, to a “secret garden”, there are also the ruins of a greenhouse and a couple of cottages.

You can see the remnants of a fireplace in the back

Leaving the walled-in Gardener’s area we come to some of the rich lands which were stolen from the Irish and deeded to Sir Henry de Leon, ancestor of the Dillon family (later made the Earls of Clonbrock), for his support of the Earl of Moreton, (later King John of England) to establish his Lordship of Ireland in 1185. You can see why it was such a gift. Look at those Oaks!

The Castle was built by Tadhg Caoch O’Ceallaigh shortly after 1469, when he was proclaimed Chieftain of half of the Ui Main, a vast tract of land laying between Lough Corrib and the Shannon River. The entire region had belonged to the O’Kelly’s since at least the 4th Century, when Main Mor, a chief of the Clan Culla in Ulter, conquered this part of Connacht. Somehow, between 1754 and 1610, the Dillon family, of whom Thomas Dillon had become Chief Justice of Connacht, managed to take possession of the Castle and lands.

The pasturage is fertile, there is water, ample sunshine, and it’s on the fringes of “The Pale” (the far outskirts of Dublin), making it a fashionable location.

For my part, I wished I had one of those excellent Irish horses I see daily so that I might have gone for a gallop across the fields.

Instead, still on foot, I turned off into this little lane passing the ruins of this gatekeeper’s cottage and heading toward the river

where I disturbed this poor doe, who had been bedded down under the old bridge I was standing on as I took the picture. She was so fast that I barely had time to catch her image.

Taking that as an excellent omen, I made my way back to the wall

found my door

and went inside to make myself a delicious vegetable soup.

Clonbrock Country House was built between 1780 and 1788 by a popular Irish architect of the times, William Leeson, for Robert Dillon, the First Lord of Clonbrock. The house in it’s heyday

The Dillon family were one of the first Anglo-Norman families to settle into Connaught and originally arrived in the 1580’s. They were Catholics, which was rare for the Anglo-Normans, and by all written accounts, were pretty much liked by their neighbors and their land tenants.

However, after Cromwellian malevolence hit Ireland, the family, in 1734, converted to Protestantism to prevent the neighboring Trench family from reporting them under the penal laws and seizing their lands, which were considerable and growing even more so.

workers tilling the farmland on the estate

In fact, by 1826, the land totaled more than 29,500 acres of farmland and parkland in the area of Ballinasloe.

It is said that during the famine, the Third Baron of Clonbrock shot the deer on his holding in order to feed the starving people who lived on and worked his land.
tenant farmers struggle to eke out food from their holdings on the estate

Clonbrock house, at his height, was considered one of those “fashionable” homes in Ireland. There was a photographer’s studio, dubbed the “Photograph House”, because the nine (9!) daughters of Lord Clonbrock had taken up the then, new hobby.

the Photograph House, surrounded by its own gardens

family and friends posing with their cameras

Photography was a calling for the idle wealthy classes looking to express themselves and do something with their time

They were avid photographers and documented life, not only of their family,

A few of the ladies enjoy a pleasant afternoon

but of the locals and the people who worked there.

sheep shearing on the estate

some of the house help getting a “break”

Their collection of photos, remarkable in size, is now online, archived for us to study. the dining room

the drawing room

The 1901 census lists the house as having 55 rooms and 73 outbuildings. 18 people lived there: 7 members of the Dillon family and 11 staff.

In 1903, the estate was running in the red because of the cost of maintaining such a sizable estate, supporting the habits of all those children, and cultivating the kind of lifestyle required of the gentry in those days. The hardworking tenants and their allotment payments simply couldn’t keep up with the rising costs.

Times were tough for everyone. The Fourth Baron chose not to evict his tenants for their unpaid rents and had even considerably reduced them in an effort to help them out. He finally sold off great tracts of the land, earning roughly $19 million of today’s dollars, which he invested in the stock market in an effort to shore up and save the place.

Alas, the First World War, the Russian Revolution of 1917, the Great Depression and the Wall Street Crash of 1929 came in rapid succession, wiping the family out financially.

Then, the Fourth and Fifth Barons died close together, hitting the esstate with massive death taxes.The final Baron left no heirs.

There are stories of the last living Dillon inhabitant, Lady Ethel, living there alone, with just one aged butler. Though she was shaky and frail, she was still proud, walking the grounds with the aid of two sticks, maintaining her sense of entitlement and privilege. Lady Edith in her younger years, holding a dog, beside her sister who died years before her

After her death in the 1970’s, the house was passed on to her dead sister’s son, Luke Dillon Mahon, who, overwhelmed by the prospect of maintaining such a magnificent home, decided to sell everything at auction in 1976. Agents from Christie’s auction house set up large tents across from the house and sold it off, lot by lot.

There was a well known library, noted for its collection of rare leather bound first edition travel, art, design, agriculture and natural science books.
One set of volumes, dated 1783, recorded Captain Cook’s final voyage. The entire lot sold for what amounted to one quarter of the value of the estate’s final proceeds.

A sword, belonging to Napoleon, rare butterfly collections, complete sets of vintage china, and the magnificent furniture, all disappeared, much of it from Ireland, into the hands of private collectors.

The house itself was finally sold off, along with only 50 of its original acres, in 1979. A Lady Dortha ffrench (correct spelling) lives there today, quietly, as the house slowly becomes eaten up by mildew, ivy and neglect.

She has stated on record that she hopes to return it to its former glory but according to my hosts, Beverly and Jonathan Baylis (who purchased the original Castle, built long before the house, and of which very little history is known), she has made no progress.

They, however, have. It’s incredible what they’ve done.

Twelve years ago Beverly and Jonathan
(Beverly is elusive, no pic of her to share)

bought the ruins of the Castle, the stables, the desmene, and the gardens and grounds to the river.

Jonathan told me that they originally purchased it “as a vacation project”, thinking they would come over from Oxford, where they both worked and lived, once or twice a year to work on it.

It soon became more than a hobby and they now live here full time. The work they have done on the Gardener’s Wing is impressive and quite lovely and they are to be commended for their commitment to saving this historical treasure from ruin and obscurity.

I am staying in what is now the “West Cottage”, where I am writing, resting, and exploring the historically rich area.

The Gardener’s Wing then

and now. The cottages are on either side of the middle door

The gardens were rescued from complete overgrowth and neglect and are now beautiful grounds again.
Beverly admitted that she sometimes feels “restoration fatigue” but that living here and bringing something historical back for the benefit of others makes up for it all.

Their website, http://www.clonbrockcastle.com shows the journey they have undertaken. It’s a fascinating process.

I investigated the Castle itself (historical photo of the ruins taken by unknown person)

Here it is just a couple of years ago, after restoration work was begun
scaffolding everywhere

and here it is today

Interior work is still in progress, but it’s now safe enough to go all the way out onto the roof if you’re very, very careful. (I did).

Their “vacation project” has become a massive undertaking. It will be quite something when it is finished.

In this photo, taken by one of his daughters, we see Lord Clonbrock at the Castle entrance gate, circa 1900

same metal gate, original chain even still in place

A walk up the circular staircase, four stories high

third floor, looking toward the exterior wall

and there’s Eocha, my silver steed, waiting patiently across from what used to be the gardener’s quarters

Looking out one of the fourth floor windows. This shot gives you an idea of just how thick the castle walls actually are

and here we see the Murder hole. Every castle has one. It’s a form of defense. If enemies managed to get past the mote and breach the gate, boiling water or scalding sand, then rocks and knives, would be thrown down the hole onto them to prevent them from getting up those narrow stairs. Contrary to what we see in movies, boiling oil was rarely used as it was quite expensive and precious.

Looking over the roof of the castle to the desmene below

While awaiting the restoration of the rest of the Castle, you can stay in either the West or East Cottage, or in Lady Gregory’s Tower, shown before

and today

I am staying in the West Cottage
with a nicely appointed kitchenette
(where I am catching up on my laundry as I write this)

a lovely loo

adjacent to this comfortable bed.
Mercifully, I didn’t hear about any ghosts roaming the grounds and it was a very quiet night. One of the things I love about the Irish countryside…

My little corner of the garden, Castle is in the corner behind the wall.

with the Green Man keeping watch over everything.

After staying for days in my sweet little, rustic Traveler’s trailer in Donegal, I confess that this feels like quite a change. It’s interesting have a sense of what it might have felt like to live a life so sheltered and still.

However, I never forget for a moment that this was all built upon the backs of the Irish people on their own land, taken from them by however benevolent a landlord Lord Clonbrock may have been.

Blessed Be.

Almost everyone has heard of the Cliffs of Moher. In fact, most of us have also seen them, even though we may not realize it: they were the setting of the Cliffs of Insanity in The Princess Bride. Ahhh, yeah, that movie; the one about love.

A few other facts.

They are part of the Burren (see my earlier post for more information on that). They are a little over five miles long and at their highest point, which is by O’Brien’s Tower, they are over 700 feet tall.

They are named after an old fort, called Moher, which once stood on Hag’s Head.

Hag’s Head is the most southern point of the cliffs and is named after the old woman, Mai the Hag, who fell in love with, then chased after Chu Chullain, the great Irish warrior. He was vain and spurned her love, leaping away while she stumbled and fell to her death in the ocean below. Not a happy love story. They say the rock formation took on the form of her head to honor her.

There are an estimated 30,000 birds living on the cliffs, representing more than 20 species. These include Atlantic puffins, which live in large colonies at isolated parts of the cliffs and on the small Goat Island, and razorbills.

I was impressed that the Irish government, during its late 1990’s development plans, made the cliffs, at least the part most often visited by tourists, mostly accessible. Well done, Ireland!

The visitor center was designed (and finally finished in 2007) to be environmentally sensitive with renewable energy systems, including geothermal heating and cooling, solar panels, and grey water recycling.

I got there early and enjoyed near solitude for almost an hour. I wandered past the “official” barrier and on down the trail for awhile to see some of the things you don’t otherwise see.

I loved this zig zag geology so much that after I took this shot
I had to go down there and sit awhile, looking out to sea.

The Cliffs are one of the most popular tourist destinations in Ireland, with more than a million people going there every year so you don’t get them to yourself for very long.

On my way back, the almost empty parking lot I’d arrived to looked like this, the source of the crowds

And the paths and more accessible trails looked like this.

That harpist down there set herself up in the middle and was making some change

However, even crowds cannot take away the fact that,
no matter what, the place is spectacular.

Just try to get there early…

This is the Debonair.

It is my blissfully quiet, peaceful retreat on St. John’s Point outside of Dunkineely.

Dusk is settling down upon us all following a lovely, rare blue sky of an afternoon.

I walked in the morning, before the sun arrived, through a misty soft day, over the rolling hills,

past cattle

and caves hidden beneath the cliffs.

Here are Gloria the Goat and friend, enjoying an evening snack as they bed in for the night.

Mommy Dearest and her two female foals come racing to me in the hope of getting a handout as they shelter in. I disappoint, though I give them each a good scratch behind the ears.

The hens, save these two adventurers, are brooding quietly in their stone cottage, safe from the foxes and weasels who would love a warm bite.

Eocha rests quietly in front of the caravan, happy not to be rolling on her wheels for four days in a row.

This little sheltered nook is a place to watch the waves roll in

the light change again and again
and again, while listening to sea birds calling out to their mates as they head inland.

The grass is green and rippling.

The head of the peninsula, beckoning.

Soon I will light the turf and cozy down deep for another peaceful night’s sleep.

What a gift is this life.

Blessed Be.

The Burren is one of those geological areas of Ireland that just blow you away. It is an area of about 10 square miles in the northwest of County Clare, formed over 250 million years ago.
looking away at the summits of Turloughmore

It helps to know that Ireland was originally located at the equator. Yes, before continental drift pushed things this way and that, Ireland was a hot, humid area rich with life evolving. Remember those Tetrapods from my earlier blog? Coming out of the water down around Valentia Island in southern Ireland, evolving into our mammalian ancestors?

Well, after that happened, in the more recent times of the ice age of 10,000 years ago, glaciers moved across the land. The Burren is the result of them coming and going, scouring the land bare of all life leaving nothing but exposed limestone.

Rains then came and went, creating a form of acid which ate through the limestone, leaving crevices, forming the strange looking plateau that is today called in English, the Burren. Originally Gaelic, boireann, and meaning literally, “the rocky land”.

At first glance it seems inhospitable to life.

In fact, when the English came to assess Ireland for whichever lands they thought fit for stealing, they wrote the Burren off. Ignorant of them because it hosts more diverse life forms than anywhere else on the island.
wildflowers in the Burren

As the eons passed, those crevices, called grykes, filled with rainwater, creating algae, which in turn fed life forms as they evolved. Soon small mammals like rabbits and mice left behind their droppings, further enriching the space between the blocks of limestone (which are called glints) and all manner of plant life began to adapt and take root.

grykes and glints in the Burren

Mostly the plants are flowers and small fern like things, with occasional small shrubs and grasses that eventually get eaten by roaming goats and sheep.

I marveled at the way they push themselves up sometimes right between huge slabs and take root.

The Burren became a place for Neolithic peoples to build their stone forts and burial portals. Poulnabrone is only one of several dolman tombs in the area, but because of its size it has somehow become the one the tour buses aim for. Interesting to note that 33 individuals were buried here around 3000 B.C., along with their tools, fragments of pottery, some quartz beads and an axe. Poulnabrone Dolman

There are hundreds of pre-Christian and then later, Christian sites found within the Burren.
It is an archaeological as well as biological marvel.

I spent most of an afternoon wandering among the limestone glints and grykes of Mullaghmore, the wildest part of the Burren.
This was a tricky business to be sure, but since for hundreds of years penitents and pilgrims have done the same, creating an astonishing visual vista, I figured that a mobility limited modern woman should be able to handle it.

There are hundreds of cairns and stone displays built by pilgrims such as myself.

beautiful pilgrim displays

built by those of us who come here for whatever reasons bring people to such a remote location.

I moved a fairly heavy limestone slab into an upright position while speaking my intentions,
thus adding Nyla Anne energy to that of those who have passed before.

Being as it was July, the area was rich with wildflowers, the smell being delicate but very sweet and clean. I breathed deeply, over and over again, swallowing the taste of pure, clean air gratefully into my lungs and
giving thanks to All That Is for the opportunity to do so.

I think St. Colmchille would have approved.

This is the village, anglicized as Ballyferriter.
Looking one way down the one street.

and

looking the other way

Of course there is a church.

There is also a very beautiful and (unique in this area) brewpub Tig Bhric.
I highly recommend their cask conditioned ale.

As I walked up the street I checked out the corner building, which is for sale. This was left behind by the previous owner, the famous ceramicist and potter, Louis Mulcahy.
I’d stopped in his new gallery on the Wild Atlantic Way a couple of days earlier and fallen in love with his masks. But at a starting price of $700 they were not for the likes of me.

However, the beach was. And is. And always shall be.

This beautiful bit of the Atlantic is called Wine Strand and it is just outside the village.
I spent one of those rare, and oh, so precious, sun filled days on it.

Exploring tide pools

I discovered this seal or whale bone wedged between some rocks at low tide.

I picked my way across the strand carefully admiring the patterns in the sand

and then braved the limestone formations all the way to the water’s edge

It was a rejuvenating and beautiful day. I was happy to return to my new friend’s house to share it with them.

My friends, in Baile an Fheirtearaigh
the very excellent Linda Madeira, who is a wise woman, Ayurvedic massage therapist and professional singer, with her partner, Stephen, who is a traditional music session player of some renown as well as a gifted painter.

These two people will be my friends for a long time. We are of the same tribe, discovered by us over the course of three evenings singing songs, playing music, telling jokes and laughing ourselves silly.

This is their simple, homey, art filled home. I had a comfortable bed and slept very well in it.

Oh, I asked them about this sign which was recently erected.

“The latest Star Wars movie filmed a lot of scenes here, up in the hills and on the beach, so.” Stephen said. “It was big times and big money for us villagers.”

So I guess now I’ll have to watch the movie.

My wonderful, delightful landlady, Josephine, her daughters, Sarah and Sheila and their children.
in the backyard of her Salthill home.

They invited me over last night for drinks, “to get acquainted”, and to help me locate my missing link McCarthy family.

Josephine is from Lauragh, the very same area where I had stayed in the Bothy in the woods a couple of weeks ago while on the McCarthy trail. Faster than I could finish my drink, they were on the phone with a parish priest in Kerry and I now have his number to call for help searching the local records.

We all connected so easily that it just turned into a great, long, positive evening of women sharing with women.

Josephine went back to school at 60 or 61 after her husband’s death to get her degree in archaeology. I am really impressed by her life-force, generosity and her adventurous spirit. She’s also got a wonderful singing voice and after a few gin and tonics she can be coaxed into sharing a very funny Irish song or two.

Sheila has lived and worked in Cambodia for 16 years with her Cambodian partner. They lead specialized tours for a variety of types of people. Her website is

http://www.hiddencambodia.com Check them out.

She is an intelligent,aware woman who balances her interesting career with the demands of being the mother of an active five year old. She spent years in hotel management before giving it up to pursue her much more interesting career sharing her love of Cambodia with others. She’s warm and so easy to hang out with that I know her tours will be fascinating and fun. I want to go on one.

Sarah is a professional photographer. She also has a lovely singing voice, even after midnight. Smile. She delighted with an a’cappella version of Fly Me to the Moon. Sarah has two young children and I have no idea how she manages to stay so graceful and positive and keep up with it all. I did see her husband entertaining them from time to time with affection and great patience. Bravo, good man!

Here we are looking at the map of known Sheela na Gig locations throughout Ireland which I found in an antiquities shop on the Dingle peninsula.

We had gone outside to admire Josephine’s Sheela, which may or may not be a reproduction. Josephine is a devoted caretaker of this Goddess. I felt lucky to be sharing drink, songs, ideas
and friendship out in the garden with both the stone Goddess and the three Irish O’Sullivan goddesses who took me in so generously.

As our evening progressed we all shared songs, stories, laughter, and pondered this and that. We ended up discussing the concept of The Goddess and Ireland’s evolution to a patriarchal country, huddled around the Aga in the kitchen until 2:00 am.

I haven’t done that sort of thing in a great long while and I will confess that I felt it when I woke up this morning. But I wouldn’t change a thing.

Here’s the link to Josephine’s airbnb outside of Galway.
http://https://www.airbnb.ie/rooms/4975128?eluid=1&euid=3b3242d6-75ea-91f0-7a98-ffc6261221b9#host-profile

Stay with her. You’ll be glad you did.

I arrived exhausted after a long day visiting the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. More on those later.

I’d been traveling on small lanes and country roads for weeks so the traffic of Galway caught me off guard. It was rush hour, the International Performing Arts Festival is happening and the big Galway Races are just gearing up. Traffic jams and accidents abounded. Everyone seemed cranky and in a hurry, though none of us were really able to go much more than five miles an hour for over an hour.

I had booked my respite lodging just a few miles north of town in Salthill, a little beach enclave about a three mile walk along the promenade into town. It would be quieter, more affordable and the once garage turned studio had a kitchenette so I could cook. Four nights to rest and rejuvenate, fitting in some Galway action.

Was I glad to pull off the main street in Salthill and see this welcoming little lane.

I turned into the driveway and pulled up to this tidy, welcoming house. My little studio is there on the left, with Eocha, silver steed (Nissan. I know) in front.

Opening the door I was greeted by an Irish welcome. and settled in for the duration.

The next morning I strolled through the park and into the center of the village.

Not as frenetic as Galway itself
you can see the bay in the distance

Today I happened upon a wedding

And two dear friends out taking the air

A bit of street art
including some Gaelic graffiti

And the moneymakers feeding on the families who come for a vacation at the beach

The Beach. Where a little girl can enjoy herself regardless of the weather

Where people walk their dogs and the buskers busk

The promenade where everyone is happy to be outside and alive

My little stroll in Salthill did wonders for me.

After all, salt air is healing

Known now as Kilnaboy Parish in County Clare, lands around this area, including the ruins of Kilnaboy Church, were originally known as a female centric ritual center headed by Abbess Inghean Baoith.

the Ruins of Kilnaboy Church, sited on Inghean Bath’s sacred site

This area, located within the geological wonder that is the Burren, is recognized as sacred by the High Druids of Ireland.

The Burren near what is now Kilnaboy Parish

It was one of the key “peripheral zones” of the island; that is, lands safe from ongoing battles between clans, devoted instead to learning, healing, the development of culture and a dedication to spiritual pursuits. It was an honor for a king of Ireland to have such a center located wit in his Chiefdom because they were few and far between.

History provides us with very little factual information about Inghean Baoith. However, through deep digging on one very rainy day, I managed to unearth the following:

She was the daughter of a wealthy man named Baoith, a member of the highest family, the E’oghanacht, who served in unknown capacity for the Chieftan, Cathair Conmain, on whose land Inghean was granted permission to site her center. She did so in 540 A.D.

It is said that she used to sit for hours in a natural depression in the stones above her Convent looking out upon the countryside. There is, in fact, a holy well near that location named in her honor, then dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
photo Art with Heart

Interestingly, there are a total of 18 wells dedicated to her throughout County Clare, which gives us an idea of just how important she once was. The well above the Kilnaboy ruins near where she sat meditating is considered to be the most holy.

Historian Padraig O’Rianin describes Inghean Baoith as having 45 or 56 “spiritual children”. These were most likely female acolytes who studied and lived with her in this safe place. They practiced Goddess based spirituality,
wiped out by the 12th century Church reforms driving the creation of the patriarchal religious system that remains in power today.

The church, as part of its ongoing destruction of female “Pagan centers”, conscripted the name of Inghean Baoith, turning her into Saint Inghine. It then built a church on top of the lands where her Goddess practice had flourished. Lands which, by the way, are less than 6 miles away from the Poulnabrone dolman, a critical Neolithic portal tomb dating back to between 4200 and 2900 B.C. where Goddess worship reigned.
One of several dolmans and burial mounds in the area

Another interesting fact, Kilnaboy, the name of both church and parish, is a variant form of Baoith. Even as the church tried to kill her memory they retained her name.

Sources say she was the aunt of Brigid of Kildare, Abbess of her own Goddess based convent,
also appropriated by the Church.

She was then reinvented as Saint Brigit. You may remember reading about her an earlier blog post of mine.

A poem written in Irish in the 11th century about Inghean Baoith documents that she once challenged Saint Senan. She reminded him that before “the end” there would be women on his island. His island is Scattery Island, the site of a male only Bishopric visited by both Saints Brendan and Ciaran. The legend of “St. Senanus and the Lady”, as told in Tom Moore’s lyric, is founded also on this fact. It is a bold and unusual challenge to have been made by a woman during these times.

I discovered that as late as the 1960’s, infertile women continued to make “rounds” of the existing church ruins from dusk until sunrise, seeking assistance from Inghean Baoith and the Sheela na Gig above the doorframe in conceiving. This, in defiance of the strict controls the Catholic Church places upon women. Local women also continued to name their children after Inghean Baoith for generations, modernizing the name to Innewee.

As we so often find with churches established during the 12th century Church Reform, a Sheela na Gig is, indeed, prominent on the entry doorway of Kilnaboy Church.

close up of the Sheela
This covert symbol, carved by Stonemasons and placed throughout Christianized holy sites, was done so to protect against supernatural evil presences.

Sheela na Gigs are believed to be representational symbols of the cow goddess, Boand, also Goddess of the River Boyne, flowing through the most fertile heart of Ireland. It is interesting to note that St. Inghine Baoith, founding Abbess of the site chosen for the Kilnaboy Church, took her name from this same fertility goddess, Boand/Baoith.

Saint Inghine’s feast day is still celebrated on May 6th.

Apparently, the lands of Inghean Baoith’s early female convent were a major stopping place on the international pilgrimage route. This belief is validated by the fact that the Catholic Church decorated Kilnaboy Church with one of only two double barred patriarchal crosses, known as the Cross of Lorraine, found in Ireland.
The double barred Cross of Lorraine on Kilnaboy Church ruin

These double barred crosses are reminiscent of the cross found in the Holy Sepulcher Church in Jerusalem, the place of the reported resurrection of Jesus Christ. Churches throughout Europe and the Middle East displaying these rare double barred crosses are believed to have received valuable holy relics, fragments of the “true cross”, which were hidden beneath one of the bars.

Thus, this church built around 1200-1250 A.D. would have been a major reliquary pilgrimage site. Which would explain why, as the church fell into dis-repair, it was extensively rebuilt in the 17th century.
lovely windows built in 1743ish
the original Altar

Kilnaboy Church is curious in that it has a strange, unknown mythical beast carved into one wall.

No one knows what it is or why it is there, though many speculate that it is another display tribute, similar to that of the Sheela na Gig.

There is an unusual crucifixion tableau on one wall dated to 1644.

There are also the remains of a round tower, once splendid, now just a nub,

which served successfully as a defense post for centuries until Cromwell’s forces finally brought it to ruin.

Given the historical prominence of this site I find it interesting that it is not on the tourist trail. However, I am glad that it has been mercifully spared the bus loads who swarm many of the much lesser sites. Could it be because of its origins as a Pagan Goddess center and ongoing efforts by the dominant patriarchy to make it disappear?

I do know I was grateful for the peace and solitude I was able to experience as I visited this important pilgrimage destination and pay homage to the almost forgotten Abbess who once served there, Inghean Baoith.

Blessed Be.