Dingle

Our first stop towards Dingle was Inch, a place recommended to us in Galway. A little narrow road took us in, and we were met by the sight of a long sweeping sandy beach with mountains wreathed in cloud behind. We were excited to see a host of motorhomes parked on the beach and, thinking we’d found a pretty cool wild-camp, drove onto the beach too. Then we saw the sign declaring that overnight parking on the beach was prohibited. Damn!

So, leaving those naughty motorhomers to their criminal activities, we found ourselves an alternative park in a lay-by perched over the beach with a great view.

The next day, we drove into Dingle along a rather spectacular road, winding along the coastline. We pulled over quite a few times along the way to enjoy the scenery.

Arriving in Dingle, we walked around the colourful little town for a while, in the mist. Lots of craft shops, among other things. Katherine found us some cushions for Nettle, with much glee.

We set off down the peninsula, following that great craggy coastline that spoils us so. We stopped over to visit a pre-1200 AD ‘ringfort‘ (or ‘bee hive huts’), piles of loose stones comprising huts and fences. Man, what a gloomy existence that must’ve been.

With the hour getting late, we decided it was time to stop for the night, so we pulled over in a lay-by beside the road, overlooking the water. This wild-camping thing is just brilliant:

We set off again the next day…

…and found Slea Head just around the corner, a little sandy beach with surprisingly turquoise water framed by crags, and a rocky point, leading back to green fields dotted with sheep.

Funny to think that if the weather here was any more palatable, the place would probably be transformed by condos and resorts — as it is, there are just a few farm houses. Unspoilt. Hooray for the rain!

It being quite early, there was not another person in sight; we had a breakfast of tea and toast parked overlooking Slea Head’s beach.

We finished our driving tour of the peninsula, making our way back to Dingle.

We found a park just outside town, and walked in once evening had set in looking for a pub to enjoy some live traditional music and Guiness. We wandered into the first one we saw, and had ourselves some homemade-style apple crumble for dessert, and an Irish coffee (actually, yuck. Whiskey in coffee is not for us!).

We got ourselves a couple of Guinesses (there’s our Vegemite replacement right there) and two musicians started up — a man playing guitar who looked like he’d just walked off the farm, and a young lass with a fantastic lilting singing voice. They were brilliant.

Meanwhile, we met another patron who introduced himself as Patrick, and lived in a village outside nearby Limerick (he was visiting Dingle, and was going to hitch-hike back home the next day). We shouted him a pint and chatted (sorry, shared craic) for a while; he suggested a few places we shouldn’t miss on the Ring Of Kerry, our next destination.

And that was it for Dingle — we excused ourselves and walked back to Nettle to sleep, then drove off the next day.

Co Limerick, Co Clare, Cliffs of Moher and Co Cork

Galway behind us, we drove through the city of Limerick and onwards, approximately following the coastline.

We drove through County Clare, the county from which Katherine’s mother’s ancestors came, and characterised by strange purple hills which upon closer inspection were covered with purple rock. The abundance of stone in the area has led to a vast number of pretty stone fences being built, marching over the terrain.

We stopped briefly in a cute little village called Ballyvaughan, and drove on and upwards through rapidly changing weather, finding ourselves in impenetrable fog by the time we reached our destination, the spectacular Cliffs of Moher.

Being unsure of the local area and unable to find a viable alternative, we parked in the ludicrously expensive car park, felt our way through the mist to a parking space, donned wet weather gear and walked doubtfully to the cliffs. Oh, dear.

Done with the head-in-a-wet-plastic-bag Moher experience, and done laughing at our misfortune and that of our fellow tourists, we huddled back in Nettle and decided to wring every last cent of value from our parking space and stay the night, with hopes the fog would clear up. No such luck — while visibility had improved to about 20 metres the following day, it still wasn’t quite enough to see anything but the hand-rail. Having seen hand-rails before, we decided to cut our losses and move on.

We drove downwards through the fog, which cleared up as we descended, and on towards Shanagolden.

Shanagolden is a little town in County Limerick from which my great-great-etc-grandparents Michael Bourke, an agricultural labourer, and Catherine Kelly, a dairy maid (of all things!) lived. My aunt Sue tells me Michael and Catherine left Co Limerick in 1838 (some reports say they eloped, some say they were married in Ireland) bound on the ship Aliquis for NSW, Australia, seeking a better life in the colonies, with assistance from their landlord Thomas Spring Rice of Mount Trenchard and Sir Richard Bourke, of no apparent relation. They eventually settled in Pakenham and had no less than 15 children.

So, after an overnight stay in a nearby forest, it was a different Michael and Katherine that drove into Shanagolden on an ancestor hunt. Passing an elderly fellow on the street and wondering if he knew anyone I’m related to, we walked around the town, and visited the town cemetery. I was delighted to see several headstones with Kelly names on them — Denis and Bridget Kerry, aged 81 and 84, both passing away in 1981, and their sons Michael and Jimmy who died in the ’90s’ 59 and 69; Ellen and Daniel Kelly, who died in ’67 aged 69 and ’81 aged 80, respectively, and Patrick Kelly of 71 years who passed in 1993.

We spoke to a barkeeper in the local pub, who laughed and told us there were tribes of Kellys all over town. She suggested an older cemetery on a nearby hill we should visit, and suggested that we find an elderly fellow named Dooney (or similar) Kelly who lives in town, who may know something useful. By her description, I realised we had passed him in the street earlier, but we didn’t end up finding him.

We had great success in the other cemetery though, in Knockpatrick on the top of a hill with beautiful 360° views. We found a host of Kellys — the most notable being Catherine Kelly who died 1897 aged 66 years, by her age possibly a niece, or younger sister or cousin of our Catherine Kelly.

We also found a number of Bourkes, which I found particularly exciting, given that Bourke remains my family’s name. We found a sizeable tomb ‘erected by Mr Peter Bourke of Foynes Island’ (from which Michael Bourke originated), ‘for himself & Family on August the 9th 1829′. There was also a headstone naming Mary and Nora Bourke Foynes, who died in 1923 and 1935 aged 22 and 3, and their parents James and Mary Bourke, who died 1954 aged 86 and 1965 aged 88.

With my ancestor hunting bug satisfied, we headed back to Nettle who was leaning alarmingly to one side where we’d parked her, and drove on towards Dingle.