Saturday
August 11
It was our last day of the trip, and we were back to horse
shopping. We went to
take a second look at several of the horses we had liked on the
first day. After
watching Martin Coffey’s four-year-old by King’s Master school
over fences, I ended up making a deal with Martin to buy him.
I was quite happy to be importing a horse from Ireland;
perhaps the economics will work out to make it a regular
occurrence again.
On a previous trip we had noticed
the ruins of Thomastown Castle across the fields on the road from
Tipperary town to Cashel, but had not had the chance to visit it.
So this time, after a quick lunch at a pub with Clare,
Jineen and I set out to explore.
We drove up a
lane that took us nearer the castle and parked in the gateway to a
field. A farmer there
cautioned us about our path to reach the castle; he told us that
mean bulls lived in the pasture we had intended to cross.
We had to devise a round-about route through adjoining
pastures; we negotiated several thorny hedges and treacherous
barbed wire fences in order to stick to the fields with cows and
avoid the bulls. We
passed large paddocks fenced by old castle garden walls, built of
stone some fifteen feet high.
The Gatehouse at Thomastown Castle
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Presently we came to
a fabulous old gatehouse in the corner of a green pasture,
complete with a round turret, notched parapets, and arrow-slot
windows. A black and
white cow stood by the portal, regarding us placidly.
We
crossed the field to the castle in a fine misting rain, and a herd
of heifers followed us, watching our every move with amazement.
We noticed that there did indeed seem to be several young
bulls with the herd, but they were immature and allowed us to pass
unchallenged.
Thomastown Castle
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Thomastown
Castle is a large rambling ruin, and a heavy layer of ivy covers
much of it. We
wandered through the rooms, with the heifers following. Sadly,
this beautiful castle has fallen into a state of neglect and
disrepair. Large
cracks run through many of the upper walls, and numerous sections
have tumbled to the ground. Huge
treelike growths of ivy with woody trunks grow up the walls, and
the lower courtyards are choked with weeds and brush.
The rooms and chambers are open to the weather and the
cows. It seemed a
terrible shame to us that no measures have been taken to preserve
this magnificent ruin, but absolutely no restoration has been
attempted. This is
something that we have always found surprising: Ireland is full of
castles that are many centuries old and would be considered
national treasures in our country, and they are left abandoned in
pastures and used as shelters for the livestock.
For the most part the Irish people seem to take these
pieces of their national heritage for granted, and they don’t
understand the fascination the castles hold for Jineen and I.
It makes us sad that Thomastown Castle is being allowed to
disintegrate into ruin.
We stopped in the town of Golden to pick up a bottle of
wine, and then went to Athassel Abbey for a last Happy Hour - we
were flying home the next day.
Once again parking half in the road by a farm lane
entrance, we walked across a cow pasture to visit the ruin.
We had briefly visited Athassel Abbey years ago, and we
were happy to return and spend a bit more time there.
We walked among the Celtic crosses in the courtyard
cemetery, trying to make out names and dates on the stones.
We sat on a wall and had a very peaceful Happy Hour.
The rain had let up and great beams of sunlight broke
through the clouds. The
swallows were flying high over the tower; must mean another good
haymaking day.
Athassel Abbey
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Back
in Cashel, we met up with Clare and her friend Mona for dinner.
Mona’s partner Mick was the finder of the Derrynaflan
Chalice, so we reminisced about the finding of our own chalice,
and compared the merits of the two.
Mona recommended West Cork for our next visit, so that gave
us something to look forward to.
A last fish and chips dinner and a final pint of
Smithwicks, and then we headed back to the Derrynaflan
House, Mrs. O’Sullivan’s B&B, for our last night in
Ireland. In the
morning we said goodbye to Ireland – until next time.
They
say mother earth is breathing
With each wave that finds the shore
Her soul rises in the evening
For to open twilight's door
Her eyes are the stars in heaven
Watching o'er us all the while
And her heart it is in Ireland
Deep within the Emerald Isle
Ireland, I am coming home
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone
I am reaching out, won't you take my hand
I'm coming home
Ireland
~ by Garth
Brooks ~
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