Feathered Choir, Morning at the Castle

On that early morning at Killiane Castle, I woke up to the hush of a south-eastern Irish countryside, and how wonderful the silence was as it wrapped my world in a quiet embrace.

However, the moment I stepped outside, the world transformed into a vintage Disney film with a bustle of birds singing their songs. I borrowed an old movie line and replied, “You had me at hello.”

I felt incredibly lucky standing in the soft, early light. With the camera on a tripod, video-taping the singing, here I am enjoying the early morning sunshine, while a feathered choir sings their morning greetings to each other and me. I heard a morning whisper, let there be peace.

I had about an hour before breakfast would be served, so I walked around photographing the castle and grounds in the early golden light. The birds kept singing as I explored the nooks and crannies of the castle walls; some parts were missing.

The castle, originally built around 1470 by the Normans, has walls ranging from 4 to 9 feet thick. It’s possible it was a £10 castle, awarded by King Henry VIII to fund the construction of fortresses across his kingdom. The buildings became known as the £10 castles. King Henry VIII signed the original deed to Killiane Castle. The connecting house, built in the 1700s, now serves as a bed-and-breakfast. If you are interested in the entire history, check out their website.

As I weave more photographs from the morning into the story, I should talk about the nearby pub.

Good food, good pints, and the promise of good craic

Just down the road a bit is a pub, The Coal Bunker Bar. Paul kindly offered me a lift to the pub for dinner. Not really wanting to take a taxi into town for dinner, I agreed. Paul assured me that when it was time to come home, I should let the waitress know, and either he or a man named Larry would drive me back.

There I ate dinner, watched some sports on TV, but found myself keeping an eye on a man drinking a beer at the bar.

Did you really go there? Not that kind of eye. I watched him sip his beer, fall asleep, jerk his head up to catch himself, wake up. Repeat. Poor guy looked exhausted.

The pub’s motto is “Good food, good pints, and good craic – what more could you ask for?” Of course, that led me down the look-it-up road to find the meaning of craic (pronounced crack). It seems to be a bit of a mystery as to where it originally came from. One website says it’s an old Gaelic (Irish) word, another says it’s not Irish at all, and has several meanings. One meaning is to make a loud noise or to brag or boast. I could see that happening in a pub—a few beers, a few boasts, a few hollers.

I drank my beer and ate some tasty, delicious fish and chips, but didn’t see anyone boasting or hollering. Just a family and a couple dining out, and the man on the barstool nodding off to sleep. Maybe craic is more of a weekend thing? I hoped to return for a night of music on Friday night, but I ended up being too tired and still not adjusted to the time zone. My eyes wanted to doze off, like the man at the bar.

No matter, I found a pub in Wales later in the trip, and that was craic for sure! If I ever go back to stay at the castle again, I will definitely go on the weekend, as the craic sounds too good to miss, even if I am mistaken on the usage of the word right now. A quiet night at the pub suited me fine. Yes, I know, an old fuddy-duddy am I.

Larry ended up driving me back to the castle. As it turns out, he and Paul were old schoolmates. Larry often drives people back to the castle. A good symbiotic relationship between old friends, don’t you think?

Oh, wait. I almost forget about the sleepy man at the bar. When I went outside to wait for Larry to pick me up, the man was getting into a taxi. He’d had enough. I’d wager that he slept well that night.

Posting soon about the following day exploring more of the farm, the gardens, and the hedgerow. Finding myself talking to a half grown calf and a couple of asses.