St. John's Eve

June 23^rd is always a busy day for the folks of Blacksod, as they build piles of wood, brush, and other materials leftover from a year of work in the field or garden. St. John’s Eve, or Bonfire Night, is celebrated across Ireland, but people in the Northwest would say they take the ancient midsummer festival the most seriously. Last night at sunset, households along the Mullet Peninsula lit their bonfires to carry out the tradition which draws upon the pagan ritual during which people said prayers and asked for blessings over their crops. After the fires died, farmers would spread the ashes over the four corners of their field in order to protect their crops for the year. On a drive back from Belmullet town last night, the sky was marked with funnels of smoke rising from the early-lit fires.  

Our bonfire, looking on smoke from another bonfire near the lighthouse.

Heather and Róise

Though some still pray for their crops while their bonfires burn, there were no prayers in Léim Siar’s backyard last night (at least not from me). But what we lacked in religious tradition, we made up for with great company, good wine, and lots of laughter! During the day, neighbors and friends dropped off trailers full of brush, wood scraps, and cardboard. After the fire was lit, Hannah, the innkeeper, made a point to note that our bonfire was completely eco-friendly (“No feckin’ tires!) We roasted some marshmallows (provided by my new seven-year-old friend Róise), shared stories, and kept warm by the fire which burned until the early morning. Though our contemporary celebration St. John’s Eve may not maintain all of its previous religious meaning, the social aspects of this night remain strong, especially in the West, illustrating the importance of strong communities that work together to preserve traditions.

Slán go fóill!
Mollie 

"There are no 'streets' in Blacksod"

Dia duit--

I’ve been at Lèim Siar Bed and Breakfast for a week now, but I knew even before I stepped off the bus that I would walk into a world wholly separate from Cork City. Blacksod village is located at the very tip of the Mullet Peninsula, in western County Mayo. The unique peninsula landscape is lined with sandy beaches, backed by green hills and farms. Beach on one side—cows, sheep, and grass on the other.  It’s a tiny place, with only one pub, Una’s, right down the road from the B & B. I already know all the village dogs, the donkey next door, and have chased chickens back into their pen from the road a number of times. When I told Hannah, the innkeeper, that I was going on a short walk down the street, she replied with a laugh and asked, “What street? There are no ‘streets’ in Blacksod!” More on Léim Siar and its’ quirky cast of characters soon.



Blacksod Bay

 

It’s high tourist season, so the B & B is busy. That means I’ve been doing a lot of washing and folding sheets, making beds, and cooking rashers and sausages. I don’t mind because these are surely life skills.  Still, I was happy to venture further out of Blacksod the other day by taking a boat over to Inishkea Island. Inishkea is actually a pair of islands, Inishkea North and Inishkea South, that were inhabited by humans from as far back as the 6^th century until a final evacuation in 1935. Now sheep have the run of the place, grazing the tall hills as the seals bask in sunlight on the island’s edge.

In four hours I trekked the perimeter of Inishkea South, picnicked while looking over to Achill across the sea, and explored the remains of the stone houses and buildings built by the island’s previous inhabitants.  Walking down the overgrown central street of the tiny, once-lively village, barely touched since its’ last dwellers, was an unusual experience. A stunningly green ghost-town with some of the most rugged and beautiful landscape I’ve ever seen, abandoned 80 years ago by the people who called it home.

On Inishkea, Achill Island behind

 

It was not until I stopped into Una’s for a pint after returning to Blacksod and an old man hobbled into the pub, sat down next to me and started to chat,  that I learned about a tragic event associated with the island. I told him I was on Inishkea that day, and he explained that his family used to live there. His father was born on the island, but left to go to Boston for eight years, so he was not away from the island at the time of “the drowning.” 

Later, I asked Hannah the innkeeper about the drowning on Inishkea and she informed me that I must have been talking to Billy Willy Phillip Lavelle (seriously). On the night of October 28, 1927, 30 currachs set out from Inishkea for a routine fishing trip. A sudden storm threw the currachs through the sea, and ten men and boys were drowned. Their bodies washed up on the shore days later. The youngest victim was just 14 years old.

After the drowning, families on the island applied to the Irish Land Commission for holdings on the mainland. Many families were moved to villages along the Mullet, including Blacksod, where Billy Willy Phillip’s family was relocated. By 1935 Inishkea was no longer inhabited by humans. Today, descendents of Inishkea residents keep livestock on the lush island, and boat over to tend their sheep. Aside from the remnants of stone houses, little is left of the previous dwellers. But, the stories of island-life and the unique communities remain, and you can find them if you listen closely to folks like Billy Willy Phillip, nestled in villages along the Mullet Peninsula.

 

Deserted village

 

Slán go fóill,
Mollie