Heartbeat: Having quit the noise, bustle and congestion of the capital city over the Easter holiday, I am writing this on a lovely April morning. It is sunny, with little or no wind, barely enough to ruffle the waters on the bay, writes Maurice Neligan.
Minute to minute the view changes, with hillocks, promontories and peaks, highlighted and then fading with the vagaries of the warm light created by the slowly drifting and scattered clouds.
A pair of shelduck potter along the shoreline and our returned swallows flit around the eaves of the house. It is a morning to be savoured and enjoyed on our lovely island.
It has been a real April mixture of weather this year. Now increasing warmth brings signs of regeneration and new life stirring and if one could ignore the insistent clamour of the outside world, this would be a perfect haven.
Some time ago I had accepted an invitation to speak to the ladies of the Dingle Probus club on the health service, or rather lack of same. I had resolved to spend the night before on the peninsula and revisit areas where I had not been for some time.
Accordingly, having rounded the landward end of Castlemaine Harbour, I headed slowly for Dingle, with the bay on my left hand and the Sliabh Mish Mountains on the right. It was another spectacular day and the views were magnificent. Cromane and Rossbeigh pushed out into the calm waters of Dingle bay from the Iveragh peninsula, with the finger of Inch strand interdigitating from the Dingle side.
Having passed through the village of Keel, I took a small side road to Camp. This skirted around the western end of the mountain chain and through Glen Fas and under Bartregaum Mountain and its western spur, on which stands the inland promontory fort of Caherconree. This is a place of wild beauty traversed by a road of the "I hope there's nobody coming the other way" variety. Myth, legend and history interweave seamlessly here.
The Milesian overthrow of the Tuatha De Danaan, Queen Scota and her daughters, Fas and Mish, whose tombs are commemorated by local names, Cu Raoi Mac Dara, sorcerer and King of West Munster, Cuchullain and of course the inevitable lady, in this case Blanaid, daughter of the King of Mann, are all entwined in the history of this place.
You are left wondering who actually built this amazing place and why? Who were they afraid of and how did they exist in this beautiful but barren environment? Magic is all very well in its place and we Irish are of course great believers, but I am sure a bit of real bread wouldn't have gone amiss.
Come and see this fascinating place for yourselves, with its outstanding views and ponder its origins. Come on a clear day, because cloud (ie a fairy mist) can descend quickly. The original inhabitants apparently could cast a spell whereby the whole fort revolved and nobody was then sure where the door was. These were clearly the forebears of the spin doctors employed by the ruling elves today.
Returning to the real world I came to Annascaul, for coffee in the South Pole Inn. I became abruptly aware that the world was indeed changing. Annascaul now possesses a large yellow-painted pub called "The Randy Leprauchan". This, on a peninsula covered with the wonders of antiquity and early Christianity. Mother Ireland, to our shame, we rear them yet.
Just beyond here on the Dingle road, a large sign proclaimed that we were now in the Gaeltacht. Two hundred yards further on, a sign in English stated simply, "Danger, Cattle Crossing."
I presumed that neither the cattle nor the visitors were held to be proficient in the Irish language. This linguistic dichotomy persisted throughout the area and I can honestly say that apart from scattered phrases I was not conscious of the use of Irish as the vernacular.
West again through Dingle heading for Ballydavid and Feohanach and Smerwick Harbour, well remembered from past years but now embellished with new homes, holiday and otherwise, some extremely tasteful, some otherwise.
Now for something new for us, Sile O'Gorman's small hotel, near Ballydavid. There is a walk from here along the cliffs back to the village, which looks across the harbour to the Three Sisters and Ballydavid Head. The exercise needed to offset the calorific value of the half-way pint and the wonderful cuisine. After a dietary politically incorrect breakfast, I headed back to Dingle to sing for my lunch. A very interesting morning ensued with the ladies of the club, searching questions and, I realised, incomplete and sometimes inadequate answers.
Dingle community hospital has 48 beds, approval for 24 more for long-stay and hospice care, just what we know are needed. There is no sign of the extra beds materialising. That being said, Dingle is a town well served by its primary care physicians and nurses, indeed exemplary is the word that springs to mind. What goes to hospital from here needs to go.
I was deeply impressed by these ladies, their community spirit, interest and involvement. For me the important bit was not the talking, but the listening. A lovely town with lovely people; Slan Leat Dingle, or An Daingean, or Daingean Ui Cuis; it is not the name that is important. It is you folk.
He made you all fair,
You in purple and gold
You in silver and green
'Till no eye that has seen
Without love can behold.
- (Dora Sigerson, Ireland)
Maurice Neligan is a cardiac surgeon.