Cill Chaise

Like you, I have spent much of the last year soul searching, wondering why life sometimes gets spilt across the table and drips to the floor before anyone has the wits to grab a tea towel. I haven’t found any good answers, but I think pondering is a worthy spiritual exercise so I’m glad I at least had that opportunity as I watched the world do its mopping up. 

Now that things are opening up here in Ireland and we can get on the road again, I am delighted to report that Dixie and I spent Monday afternoon out and about, searching for ruins and legends and encounters with nature. 

While in lockdown, I made it a project to learn some songs in the Irish language. It’s a beautiful sounding language and a mournful ballad can make you cry even if you haven’t a clue what’s being sung. 

One song I loved right away was the Caoine Cill Chaise (English: Lament to Kilcash). Probably written in the 18th century, it mourns the 17th century ruin of Kilcash Castle and its surrounding woodlands (historians say one greedy heir named Walter sold off the timber to finance his elaborate lifestyle, but the deforestation has come to symbolize the decline of the Gaelic way of life around that time). 

The ballad also grieves the death of the mistress of Kilcash, Margaret Magennis (or Butler), Viscountess Iveagh. Apparently she was very much beloved for her kindness and generosity and made the castle a refuge for Gaelic poets and Catholic priests clashing with unneighborly British Protestants (very possibly my Methodist ancestors!).

Here is the first stanza of the ballad/poem in English:

“Now what will we do for timber,

with the last of the woods laid low?

There's no talk of Kilcash or its household

and its bell will be struck no more.

That dwelling where lived the good lady

most honored and joyous of women.

Earls made their way over wave there

and the sweet mass once was said”.

I have learned that this song is a favorite of Irish school children, and Dixie’s brother Paul, a retired teacher, graciously agreed to sing it at a music session with me as a duet. To my delightful surprise, others joined in, having learned it at school years ago. Paul also casually pointed out that Kilcash is just down the road from here about 30 miles or so. 

What? Kilcash is just down the road? Why didn't I know this? So this week off Dixie and I went to find Kilcash Castle and the ruins of the medieval church next door to it, where many of the household, including dear Margaret, are buried.

 

It was easy to find on the side of the road just before KiIcash village near Clonmel. We stopped first at the church. Like many church ruins of the period (10th-12th century) all that was left were four stone walls enclosing a few random graves that hopefully appeared after services were discontinued. A carved Romanesque doorway was gorgeous and you could tell it had been really spectacular in its day. 

In a mausoleum to the east rattled the ghosts of Lady Margaret and other leading ladies and gents from so many old stories long forgotten. These graves of the Butler/Ormonde family date back to 1691.

On the south side of the buildings, among patches of wildflowers and high grasses, standing gravestones stoically bore witness to the cast of characters in supporting roles round the castle. As always, lichens and erosion made the epitaphs hard to read, but we made out the dates on several to the 1700s. The Caoine Cill Chaise kept meandering through my thoughts and I found myself humming along with the bees, who I’m sure were singing the words in Bee Irish.

After a while of looking at the stones, taking pictures, looking at the same ones again, taking the same pictures again, we strolled over to the castle. It’s pretty crumbly so it’s gated off and you can only view it from a distance. But I just loved staring at it and imagining the hustle and bustle of life there 400 years ago. No wonder time travel books/movies are so popular, right?

We left the church and drove over to the present church in Kilcash for a quick look at the stained glass windows then made our way a kilometer or so to our second destination of the day… the trail head of Sliabh na mBan, the Mountain of the Women. I’ll write about that lore and adventure next time.

 

 

Thinking About Change

Around the turn of the century (not this one... the other one), two young men were having coffee and discussing things. One of them asked the other if he'd seen one of those swell Model T cars yet. The other guy started getting visibly agitated. He said he didn't want to see one and asked his friend if he had carefully considered the implications of this popular new invention.

"I’m afraid our country is about to change radically. I’m envisioning a day when these fields outside our door will no longer be green and fertile, but will be drawn off into concrete lanes to accommodate the rising traffic. Our buggies will become obsolete. 

What will happen to the horse trade? The jobs of blacksmith, saddle crafter, wagon maker, etc will be all but gone forever. The peaceful evening sounds of crickets and bubbling streams will be replaced by the roars of speeding engines and the whole country will stink of gasoline and carbon fumes. America as we know it will cease to exist.”

He went on to declare that the people making and buying automobiles must surely hate America. If they loved America, why would they want to spoil it like that. 

Change happens. Sometimes it just can’t be stopped. It just happens. And, painful as it may be, there’s usually a good reason for it and we become a better society for it. The average life expectancy in the USA was 47 years in 1900 and today, it’s advanced to 75 for men and 80 for women. Call me an ambulance when the hip finally goes and I tumble down the stairs. I’m good with the automobile.

Over the years, people have been accused of hating America if they:

Wanted to free slaves,

Wanted women to vote,

Wanted integrated schools,

Wanted equal pay for equal jobs,

Wanted to end the draft,

Wanted to end internment camps,

Wanted to support the old folks with a thing called Social Security,

Wanted insurance to cover preexisting conditions.

Wanted to welcome immigrants who were tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse on our teeming shore.

Some new fangled things, like Obamacare for instance, get off to a slow start (but in four years no one has come up with a better plan). They’re full of glitches and it takes years to get them sorted. Have you thought about what grief the naysayers must have given the Wright brothers? Fortunately Orville and Wilbur ignored their accusers and kept on believing they were on to a good thing. 

Believing in change doesn’t mean you hate America, okay? It might mean you’re dreaming of a better America. It might mean you have faith in America’s ability to adapt to a changing world and still stay on top. 

And working for change doesn’t mean you’re un-American. If you are a citizen, you’re American. Americans define “American”. If you see a frog eating a minnow instead of a bug, you wouldn’t say it’s “un-frog”. You’d say, “Wow, frogs are evolving and are really diverse!” We’re ALL Americans (until we croak)!

The reason I felt compelled to write this is the huge number of media posts I read that accuse progressives of being un-American and hating America because they advocate change. I’m weary of the fear mongers who keep saying America is going to change and we’ll be ruined. 

Google “America as we know it will cease to exist.” It goes way back in politics. America as we know it is full of poverty, disease, rioting, hate, and division. America as we know it NEEDS to change, don’t you think? The best things will remain because the best things are us, the Americans.

Here’s one thing we should all agree to change: the rhetoric! Stop demonizing the other side. Let’s discuss the issues, policies and our differing visions of what it means to LOVE America. We can do it.

And btw, I’m a registered Republican and I hate change. But, as they say in Ireland, I’m willing to give it a lash.