Our first day in County Sligo dawned sunny and dry, albeit cold
and windy. We remained firm with our plan of venturing into the County capital
first and foremost, having little expectation of much to hold our interest, but
needing to deal with financial matters that are best suited to towns rather
than poxy villages.
We arrived at about 9.30 am finding our way to a car park along
the quay manned by a scruffy individual who was happy to take our €3 for all day parking and we were none the wiser whether this was a
good deal or not. The positive was that we were no longer restricted to any
particular time, although would most likely kick ourselves if we were in and
out of the town within a couple of hours.
Our first port of call was the Tourist
Information office where we were assisted in a most friendly manner and came
away with a town map, more enthusiasm for this rural service centre and an
invitation to a free guided tour about the town later in the morning. Money
matters were dealt with although not quite to plan, however we were then able
to put them aside and check out Sligo. 
I do like heading for the river or quay of a
town, where applicable of course, and here in Sligo the Garvogue River rushes
through with great force, today more so than say, a month ago, given the recent
rains. There are several bridges across the river, one dating from the late
1600s and the more picturesque a replacement for the medieval “Old Bridge”,
named on completion in 1847 for Queen Victoria, but in 1947 renamed the Hyde
Bridge after the first President of Ireland, Dubhglas de Hide, more
appropriate given the change in sovereignty.
We wandered up along Stephan Street to the County Museum, a
very small affair with a comprehensive exhibition about Countess Constance Markiewicz,
the first woman to be elected to the British House of Commons, but so very much
more, and another about the Yeats family whom Sligo has adopted as its own.
Other celebrities and events get small mention
however in fairness we left to join the walking tour long before I had
finished reading about Constance or checking out too much else.
At 11 am we joined three other tourists, attractive young
women almost old enough to be our grandchildren, and led by the passionate
historian and archaeologist Auriel, we spent an hour and a half walking about
the town learning of its past and visiting the locations of those happenings.
We admired the County Council Buildings, the Court house, the Anglican
Cathedral which was just visible behind the chained up gates and the interior
of the more welcoming Catholic Cathedral, the ruins of the Dominican friary,
various pubs which offer the best in food and music, retail outlets which also
off the best in their fare, and had a few interesting interruptions by local
chaps who were keen to add their bit to Auriel’s spiel, all uninvited.
I found it all very interesting and even more so, the
underlying un-said commentary. Our guide carries a lot of anger about the
unfair historical actions of the British, all of which I can understand and
empathise with. However it struck me that if the Republic is full of
well-educated young people as angry as our guide, there is little chance of
real peace anytime soon.
She left us down by the quay, a most opportune spot to sit
and eat our lunch, and to mull over the plans for the rest of the day. Nearby
was a moving sculpture of a family torn apart by mandatory immigration and a
plaque that explained that 30,000 people emigrated through Sligo between 1847
and 1851, those years of the Great Hunger. Reading that, it seemed a sacrilege
when Chris fed his crusts to the seagulls and pigeons gathering about our feet.
We had popped into the Yeats Memorial Building soon after
our arrival in town and learned it would be late opening; “something had
happened”, which left us to imagine all sorts of scenarios. We had both been
keen to check this out, Chris less than I, however after our tour and the
little taste tester in the County Museum, Chris had lost all interest.
I mentioned the Yeats family while we were still in Dublin,
and while the poet, W B Yeats did live in Dublin, it was here in Sligo that he
and his siblings used to come and stay with their maternal grandparents who
were wealthy business people of the time. It is here too that all the children
formed their attachment to County Sligo which was to later influence their
output, be it poetry, painting or fabric design. All over Sligo are to be found
extracts of verse printed on walls, and statues and murals relating to W B
Yeats abound.
We did find our way up to The Model, reportedly one of
Ireland’s finest art galleries. It is housed in a rather grand building once
home to an interdenominational primary school, but today there were only three
galleries, two not much bigger than bathrooms, with an exhibition of works by
the Yeats, mostly the patriarch, John Butler Yeats who was a fine portraitist.
While we found the exhibition to our liking, we were disappointed that all the
other galleries were closed being readied for new exhibitions.
It was probably not even 2 pm when we returned to our informal
car park and set off. The Rough Guide
had sung the praises of a drive tour around Lough Gill, a lake that featured in
W B Yeats poetry. The lake is about eight kilometres long and two kilometres at
its greatest width, it does have a couple of islands, and a lakeside castle I
wanted to check out.
There is also another pretty little lake to the north of
Lough Gill, Colgagh Lough which we stopped above to admire beyond the roadside
blackberries and fuschias.
Parke’s Castle was built by an English Captain named Robert
Parke in the early 17th century over the remains of an earlier tower
house. The reincarnation should more correctly be described as a semi-fortified
manor house of the plantation period, sharing many of the defensive characteristics
of a castle.
The tower house was built by Brian O’Rourke, Prince of
Breffine (an area which now includes County Leitrim and parts of County Cavan).
In 1588, O’Rourke sheltered the shipwrecked Captain of the Spanish Armada in his
castle, many of the chieftains having formed alliances with Spain in their war
against the English. O’Rourke was subsequently carted off to London and
executed for treason against the Crown and Parke was granted ownership of the
castle and surrounding land. The masonry of the tower house was used in the
construction of Parker’s manor house.
The last member of the Parke family left the castle in 1691.
The advent of gunpowder and artillery brought about the demise of many of
Ireland’s castles, while others fell into ruin through neglect and re-appropriation
of materials. Parke’s Castle is one of many monuments which have been rescued
and restored through state intervention and the Office of Public Works.
The greater part of the restoration was begun in 1982 and
took eight years to complete, however all properties such as these require on-going
work, and today a large part of the yard was cordoned off to accommodate the re-thatching
of one of the roofs. In this day and age, when such work is undertaken by law
abiding tradesmen, this involves significant scaffolding and the roping off of a
ridiculous area to safe guard those who might venture too close.
Back on the road, we continued on around the lake in a
clockwise fashion, as close to the shore as possible, which is not very close
at all. We paused to admire the attractive village of Dromahair through which
the Bonet River flows, the primary inflow of the Lough, then pressed on through
pleasant rural countryside until we emerged on to the N4 just south of Sligo.
Here we refuelled and then took ourselves back to Strandhill by the route we
had travelled earlier in the day, the Sligo Harbour and the impressive height
of Benbulben to the north, and Knocknarea to our south, that which forms the
backdrop to our camp beside the surf beach.
We called into a pub / restaurant at Strandhill, recommended
by Auriel has having both good food and music. We intend to shout ourselves an
Irish night out tomorrow night, to celebrate twenty one years (and one day)
since we moved into our home back in Onerahi.
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