We needed a base...it's the way the best exploration takes place: somewhere from which to fan out. For this short run it was to be just south of the rather interesting Nobber, Co. Meath (stop tittering at the back!). We had hired a renovated mill (called The Granary) as accommodation, complete with wood burning stove which, as the nights are starting to draw in, is always a worthwhile fail safe to have. Although as seems to be the case over recent years, September is warmer, dryer and generally more clement than June or July - September is the Irish summer!
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| The bikes at The Granary converted mill |
The journey down was on a warm and somewhat muggy Friday evening, initially cutting some time off the journey by taking the motorway west towards Portadown before I became a complete slave to modern technology and the sat-nav, turning off southwards on the A27 which, unlit and in the dark, had the feel of a much smaller road; even now I am sure the settings took us onto much smaller 'B' roads that flank it. We crossed over the Cusher River before joining the main A1 road for a brief period - with hindsight it would have been better to have turned off for Jonesborough and taken the L3097 passing Moyry Castle and through the Hill of Faughart (my research suggests this road in part forms a section of the Slige Midluachra [known as High Kings Road], one of the ancient and fabled Five Roads of Tara described in the Dindshenchas).
Hindsight, however, is a wonderful thing! We skirted Dundalk heading southwards towards and through Ardee before turning off the road at Rockfield onto what was little more than a rutted track, overhung by trees that in the night gloom looked like giant's hands moving in the wind, sweeping down to try and grab us. The Granary awaited, set in the middle of idyllic countryside its location in a slight hollow (presumably to take advantage of the River Dee to turn the water wheel) made me feel that the building had come from the earth, rather than being placed on it. After getting our panniers off the bikes and into the house we stood outside in awe, letting our eyes adjust to the night sky, the arm of the Milky Way was clearly visible without nearby light pollution. Our necks seemed permanently craned upwards to try and take in what is, unfortunately, all too rare a sight these days - the stars in all their brilliance.
The Granary & Irish Myth
The Granary used the River Dee to power its water wheel, that river and the whole area is connected to Irish mythology and cycles in the Táin Bó Cúailnge. The River Dee gets its modern name from nearby Ardee (Átha Fhirdhia) which means [town] of 'Ferdiad's Ford'; Ferdiad was son of Damán, son of Dáire, of the Fir Domnann, he was a warrior from Connacht. Ferdiad found himself on opposite sides to his best friend and foster-brother Cúchulainn, with whom he had trained in arms under the renowned warrior woman Scáthach. He fights Cúchulainn at the behest of Queen Medb, although he loses and is killed in the battle.
Once up on Saturday the constant heavy mizzle brought a touch of dismay for me; if it rains heavily, in the full waterproof motorcycle clobber, it is not an issue in fact it can be quite enjoyable. Thick mizzle is a different animal altogether as it 'worms; its way in between zips and seals and fogs up the visor. The disadvantage is that the air temperatures were still 20°C, so it was wet and extremely hot and humid - after a full breakfast and what can only be described as buckets of coffee in Esquires (Drogheda) we needed a stop fairly close by, so the previously never visited Beaulieu House and Gardens was chosen on the hoof. It is only situated 3km east of Drogheda, and is a tad surreal given that the road to the property hugs the Boyne past cement factories before turning a corner that might as well turn onto a different planet. The site that greets you on turning through the white gates is regal, serene and inviting, complete with ducks and ducklings waddling across the gravel driveway. Although from the house the views are unspoiled, for me the house instantly feels like an island, a haven of tranquillity given the proximity of the industrial works and Drogheda centre. The older I get the more I despise hustle and bustle and crave peace and quiet: a complete juxtaposition from my younger self. We pulled up at the front door and a curious set of eyes popped up at the front window from a seat, this is a normal reaction when four bikers arrive at such a place, so it is something we are well accustomed to. As it turned out, he was the exceptionally knowledgeable tour guide and we gleely paid our Euros.
The current house is a fine example of 17th Century / early 18th Century manor house, but the history prior to that is equally amazing; there has been a noble house/site here since the 12th century, with the lands owned by the de Verdun family. The Plunketts subsequently married into the de Verduns and thus the site became associated with the Plunketts from the 14th Century onwards. The precursor to the present structure was a Jacobean manor house constructed circa 1628. Every painting - and there are many - helps weave an intricate portrayal of the family life and circumstances from the 17th Century onwards. Maybe it is these, or maybe the quite small scale of the house that gives a 'homely' and intimate sense of place. The house is not remote or other-worldly; perhaps because the descendants still live there, it feels like a home and comfortable within itself. After a long history lesson in the great entrance hall, we were soon meandering round the other rooms. The tour guide had relaxed and as ever we were starting to make him laugh....from our breakfast in Esquires in Drogheda, there were still tears rolling down our cheeks, so it seemed only fair to share the laughter!
We were at Beaulieu for several hours, and meandered around the formal gardens tempted, it has to be said, by the plumptious looking apples that were virtually bursting off the trees. We continued our exploration in the woodland walk, the damp smell that is so familiar in Ireland as Autumn approaches complete with the sound of large drips landing on the ground from the tree canopy above.
That evening we travelled north from our Granary base towards Nobber and Kingscourt (the latter is actually in Co. Cavan). Nobber was a lot smaller than I had anticipated, I had expected a town of some size - why I don't exactly know. The hamlet is, though, of some significance: Nobber is from the Irish an Obair meaning 'the work' which probably refers to the the moat around the Anglo-Norman motte castle. But the history of the area and its subsequent Norman Lordship goes back far further, although the first known settlement at Nobber is Norman in date.
The Múrna (or Mugdorna after whom the Mournes are named) were pushed out of northern Meath sometime after 800 by the Gailenga Mora. The Gailenga left their name in the barony of Morgallion (from the rish Machaire Gailenga, meaning 'the plain of the Gailenga'). In 1172 King Henry II of England granted the Lordship of Meath to Hugh de Lacy to hold as King Murrough O Melaghlin held it. O Mealaghlin was a King of Meath: "The bridge and citadel at Athlone were destroyed by Murrough O'Melaghlin in 1133, and that which was subsequently thrown across there by Turlough." (D'Alton, 1830, 349-350). The inference perhaps being that de Lacey was to hold the Lordship aggressively and as an absolute ruler. Once established de Lacy proceeded to divide up his newly acquired territory into feudal grants, he granted the territory of the Gaileanga-Mor (the lands of Magherigalon) to Gilbert de Angulo, who had arrived from Wales in 1171. The caput of de Angulo's barony was the motte castle at Nobber which was constructed close to the site of an earlier ecclesiastical site. As we travelled northwards, we were through the village in the blink of an eye, the roads straightening between there and Dún na Rí ('Fort of the King' or Kingscourt); I couldn't help but think, especially after researching the five ancient roads of Ireland, that the straight road here was, possibly, an ancient route way - Kingscourt is somewhat surrounded by quite large rath sites.
The Well at Kingscourt
We feasted like Kings ourselves in The Wishing Well, our faces all slightly crimson given the combination of plentiful food, heat and still sitting in our bike gear on the muggy Saturday evening. I had hoped to see stars again on that evening, but the relentless rain just continued without a break in the sky. It is, though, on such evenings that hiring a cottage/accommodation makes the most sense. As soon as we arrived back at The Granary and had just shut the front door the heavens, literally, opened. We were able to light the stove and with the spacious living room, lounge about. Even with the patter of water against the windows, once standing outside the silence was deafening. I guess it's only when it is removed the amount of noise we live with on a daily basis becomes apparent. There is something joyous for my spirit when I stand in a remote locations like that, the only noise I can hear is the occasional (and natural) rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. It feeds the soul!
The last day was warmer, clearer and more clement - the September summer had returned! But as ever the reality of having to return to jobs, bills and modernity hit. We decided for one last thrill - the 'B' roads outside of Armagh / Markethill. We took the Tandragee Road, Dunesmullen Road and Tannyoky Roads to Poyntzpass, then continued eastwards to Loughbrickland. What I only discovered on our return is that we should have continued east / north-east to Katesbridge, then Dromara, Annahilt and Legacurry before the A24 Comber Road...but we'll do that next time!
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| Beaulieu House |
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| Ornate carvings in the later added great hallway |
We were at Beaulieu for several hours, and meandered around the formal gardens tempted, it has to be said, by the plumptious looking apples that were virtually bursting off the trees. We continued our exploration in the woodland walk, the damp smell that is so familiar in Ireland as Autumn approaches complete with the sound of large drips landing on the ground from the tree canopy above.
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| Aerial images of Nobber Motte and ecclesiastical site |
The Múrna (or Mugdorna after whom the Mournes are named) were pushed out of northern Meath sometime after 800 by the Gailenga Mora. The Gailenga left their name in the barony of Morgallion (from the rish Machaire Gailenga, meaning 'the plain of the Gailenga'). In 1172 King Henry II of England granted the Lordship of Meath to Hugh de Lacy to hold as King Murrough O Melaghlin held it. O Mealaghlin was a King of Meath: "The bridge and citadel at Athlone were destroyed by Murrough O'Melaghlin in 1133, and that which was subsequently thrown across there by Turlough." (D'Alton, 1830, 349-350). The inference perhaps being that de Lacey was to hold the Lordship aggressively and as an absolute ruler. Once established de Lacy proceeded to divide up his newly acquired territory into feudal grants, he granted the territory of the Gaileanga-Mor (the lands of Magherigalon) to Gilbert de Angulo, who had arrived from Wales in 1171. The caput of de Angulo's barony was the motte castle at Nobber which was constructed close to the site of an earlier ecclesiastical site. As we travelled northwards, we were through the village in the blink of an eye, the roads straightening between there and Dún na Rí ('Fort of the King' or Kingscourt); I couldn't help but think, especially after researching the five ancient roads of Ireland, that the straight road here was, possibly, an ancient route way - Kingscourt is somewhat surrounded by quite large rath sites.
The Well at Kingscourt
We feasted like Kings ourselves in The Wishing Well, our faces all slightly crimson given the combination of plentiful food, heat and still sitting in our bike gear on the muggy Saturday evening. I had hoped to see stars again on that evening, but the relentless rain just continued without a break in the sky. It is, though, on such evenings that hiring a cottage/accommodation makes the most sense. As soon as we arrived back at The Granary and had just shut the front door the heavens, literally, opened. We were able to light the stove and with the spacious living room, lounge about. Even with the patter of water against the windows, once standing outside the silence was deafening. I guess it's only when it is removed the amount of noise we live with on a daily basis becomes apparent. There is something joyous for my spirit when I stand in a remote locations like that, the only noise I can hear is the occasional (and natural) rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. It feeds the soul!
The last day was warmer, clearer and more clement - the September summer had returned! But as ever the reality of having to return to jobs, bills and modernity hit. We decided for one last thrill - the 'B' roads outside of Armagh / Markethill. We took the Tandragee Road, Dunesmullen Road and Tannyoky Roads to Poyntzpass, then continued eastwards to Loughbrickland. What I only discovered on our return is that we should have continued east / north-east to Katesbridge, then Dromara, Annahilt and Legacurry before the A24 Comber Road...but we'll do that next time!
