Sorry, there’s more you still have a little way to go and this now seems like a distant memory.

The Cliffs of Moher rank at number 4 in the top ten things to see in Ireland, according to our guide book, so despite them being sixty miles away, we had booked for the ‘experience’. Together with the Burren nearby, the cliffs are a UNESCO Global Geopark; an area with outstanding geology and local culture. The cliffs are 200 metres high with the crashing Atlantic below. The flagstones found on the cliffs were quarried in the nineteenth century and many are now paving English streets. Five hundred men were once employed in this industry but it was made redundant by the invention of concrete. The name comes from ‘Mothar’, meaning ruined fort; there was an Iron Age fort on the site. Storms led Spanish Armada ships to be wrecked along this coastline. Around the bottom of the cliffs are various spots that are allegedly where Spanish sailors were executed and buried. The tower at the highest point of the cliffs was built by Sir Cornelius O’Brien. It was intended as a viewing point for visitors. He also provided a piper to entertain them.

The weather was alternate sunny spells and squally showers, with high winds. We managed to walk to the top of the cliffs in the dry and the visibility was better than anticipated. There are quite a lot of steps but golf buggies were transporting those who couldn’t manage the walk. If you visit and think you might need one, do check out if they need to be booked in advance, there didn’t seem to be very many considering the number of people visiting.

The cliffs are allegedly home to buskers but they were not in evidence, perhaps deterred by the weather. Strong winds and salty air doesn’t do their instruments a lot of good, so these are either custom made to help withstand the conditions, or replaced frequently.

We went back to look round the visitors’ centre. We watched a slightly sick-inducing film of the bird life of the cliffs and the marine life below. This was projected across three screens at angles to each other. It was probably meant to be ‘immersive’ but it had a similar effect to being carried from room to room by someone on a Zoom call. There was the opportunity to have our photograph taken, superimposed on a Cliffs of Moher landscape by using a green screen. You could then email it to yourself. This involved ‘swiping right’ to find your own picture amongst everyone else’s. To me if photos are in a horizontal strip and it says ‘swipe right’ and there is even an arrow pointing to the right, you push them across in the same direction as you’d read a line of text. We failed to find our photo. My trusty companion insisted ‘swiping right was the opposite direction. My argument that that wasn’t right, or indeed correct, fell on stony ground when he located our picture. Good job I am not on Tinder, or should I worry why said companion knows how to ‘swipe right’? The resulting photo has us looking decidedly fuzzy and out of focus in front of a lovely background.

No one can blame Ireland for exploiting everything they’ve got to attract tourists but this was definitely a tourist honey-pot and you couldn’t escape the commercialisation and dozens of coaches in the carpark. A bit like the Giants’ Causeway and Land’s End, this is no longer the wild unspoilt landscape it should be.  To be fair, the visitors’ centre has been built into the cliff in an effort to disguise it but I prefer more out of the way places, some of which, close to home, are equally spectacular. More than 1½ million people visit each year, compared to 100,000 in 1978; perhaps I should have visited in 1978! You’d think therefore that there might have been a few more toilets, larger café facilities and more pay stations in the gift shop. Given that the height of the tourist season has passed, the queues were ridiculous.

We debated heading up the cliffs in the opposite direction but at this point it decided to rain a little more aggressively, so we headed back to the car. We have finished The Story of England and have now embarked on Tales from the Green Valley, the seventeenth century prequal to Victorian Farm.

Day 20

Despite the forecast for 70% or more chance of rain all day every day for the next eight days and an early shower, we left Carrowkeel to a cloudless sky. We opted to avoid the toll charge on our drive south to Adare. It isn’t that we are pathologically adverse to paying toll charges, it is just that this often has to be done online and we weren’t sure that we would have access to online. By now we have got the hang of the pulling over and travelling on the hard shoulder to let faster traffic pass, which is how things are done in Ireland. We are limited to 80kph when the caravan is on the back. I spend our travelling time translating the kph to mph, which fortunately our satnav does, even if the car is unhelpful in this respect. We drove through Galway and Clare to arrive in another new county, Limerick.

In theory there is only wifi at reception at this site. When choosing our pitch, I opted for one as near as possible to reception. My travelling companion is less keen, ‘we will get all the passing site traffic’, says he. ‘Oh’, I say , innocently, ‘but look it is lovely and sunny and has its own picnic bench.’ Yes, it does also have one teeny tiny bar of wifi from within the caravan, enough to download emails at least. Not that that was a consideration of course!!! It did prove useful as we hadn’t been able to book a site for our last five nights, when we wanted to be in Cork or Waterford. Sites we tried were either closed by the end of our stay, only took camper vans not caravans, or were no longer operating. That teeny tiny bar of wifi enabled us to find somewhere for the final leg of our trip. Slightly longer stays for our last three stops and it feels like we are on the downhill slope now, as indeed we are. The site also provides us with breakfast blackberries.

Day 21

With the forecast rain more in evidence, we retraced our journey from yesterday a short way to visit Bunratty Castle and Folk Park. Fortunately, by the time we arrived, the rain had virtually stopped and we manage the tour without getting soaked.

The site began as a Viking trading post and then a wooden fortification was built at Bunratty, overlooking the river Shannon, in 1251 by Norman, Robert de Muscegros. A stone castle was built in 1277 by Thomas de Clare and the present building was erected in 1425 by the MacNamaras and was later taken over by the O’Briens, who were to become Earls of Thomond. It has been much altered since and was seriously damaged by troops fighting with Oliver Cromwell and later William III. The castle and land passed to Plantation families and had been abandoned by 1800 until it underwent significant restoration in the 1950s, by which time it was little more than a shell. You’d kind of think that if you’d seen one castle you’d have seen them all but there is something a bit different about Bunratty. There is a huge contrast between the large central rooms, including 10,000 year old Irish Elk antlers retrieved from a bog, some very odd light fittings, that are apparently called  leuchterweibchen and are German in origin and the tiny rooms in the towers, which are accessed up some fairly perilous, narrow spiral staircases. Definitely not recommended for those with mobility problems and I did wonder how many visitors had to be rescued having got stuck somewhere in the warren-like one-way system.

In the 1960s, improvements to aircraft, meant that refuelling stops at Shannon airport were no longer necessary and an active campaign to attract foreign tourists to the area began. Much of this revolved round medieval banquets at the recently restored Bunratty Castle, which were offered to visitors for free, along with a coach tour and overnight accommodation to anyone who stopped over at Shannon airport. The banquets continue, although are no longer free and many celebrities have attended over the decades.

The castle is now part of a folk park, with reconstructed Irish dwellings. We’ve been to a few of these now and a bit like castles, you’d think it would be seen one, seen ’em all but we are not yet Folk Parked out and each one offers something slightly different. Here at Bunratty there were farm animals to see and a few costumed characters including a loquacious blacksmith telling tales of the little folk. There was also a shopping street, where some of the shops were also doing duty as retail outlets for crafts people. The last building of the tour was the tea rooms where I opted for an enormous slice of coffee cake. It is very rare for me to be beaten by such things but delicious though it was, I did admit defeat. I couldn’t even offer it to my companion as he is allergic to coffee.

Where to start with the story of our visit to Strokestown? There was so much to take in. As per the weather forecast, there was mist and drizzle as we headed eastward along the N5 to Strokestown, taking us into a new county, Roscommon. This is the home of the Famine Museum and as such tells the story of a significant part of Ireland’s history and also the blameworthy role of the English. This is definitely somewhere that should be on the itinerary of anyone touring Ireland. We arrived just after it opened and were disappointed to see that the house tours were fully booked by coach parties but it was the museum we were most interested in. In general, I am not a fan of audio guides but you definitely need one to get the full benefit of the experience. This is the third iteration of the museum, which was established in 1994; this version was only opened last year. It is excellent, telling the harrowing story in an evocative and informative way. When Jim Callery purchased the estate in 1979, from the Mahon family, who had owned it for three centuries, he discovered 55,000 documents, recording the full extent of the Mahon’s occupancy and being particularly informative about the famine years. One of the documents at Strokestown was the 1846 Cloonahee petition, signed by starving peasants begging for work and seeking action from the Strokestown District Relief Committee.

There was a significant population rise in Ireland between the 1740s and 1840s, with Roscommon seeing a 300% increase, putting a strain on resources, even before the famine took hold. By 1847, there were approximately 12,000 people living on the Strokestown estate. There was a strict hierarchical system, with Protestant ‘Ascendancy’ families owning more than 70% of the land in Ireland. Middlemen rented large tracts of land from the landowners, then sub-let to cottiers at inflated prices, with leases that gave the cottiers few rights and many were unable to pay their rents. In 1845, about a third of the population were cottiers. Spalpeens or labourers worked for the farmers, in return for the chance to grow potatoes. A labourer would eat 14lb of potatoes a day, making up 90% of his calorific intake. Most of these were Lumper potatoes, a high yielding variety but susceptible to blight. Such reliance on a single crop made it all the more catastrophic when it failed. There were failures of the potato crop across Europe at this time but the impact was softened by the availability of other crops.

The Great Hunger of the 1840s led to one million deaths and two million emigrations from Ireland, at a time when the total population was under nine million. Major Denis Mahon inherited the Strokestown estate in 1845, by which time it was £30,000 in debt. This was not unusual and many landowning families were in a similar situation. Denis Mahon did provide relief for his tenants , in the form of weekly doles of corn, this cost them a penny a pound, or in some cases was freely given. Nationwide, over three million people a month received relief in the summer of 1847. The landowners were not happy about the cost of relief; some refused to pay the poor rates, leaving workhouses without funds. The British government felt that free doles made the peasantry lazy, so road building or ditch digging was expected in return for relief. Many of the poverty stricken were too weak to undergo this work, leaving the over-full workhouses as the only option. Aided by his land agent, John Ross Mahon (no relation), Denis Mahon instigated a mass emigration scheme, as this was cheaper than keeping people in the workhouse. The least productive tenants were those who were given assisted passages.

In summer 1847, 1490 emigrants left from the 32 townlands that formed part of the Strokestown estate. The heads of household are all named outside the museum. This is very much a theme of the museum, with many individuals commemorated by name and their stories told, or words recalled. Despite Denis suggesting that they depart from Sligo, John Ross Mahon arranged for the emigrants to walk to Dublin, more than 100 miles away, then leave from there, via Liverpool. The walking route is alongside a canal. Assuming the canal was built then, why were they not allowed to travel that way? A memorial trail, The National Famine Way, now marks their route. The emigrants left on four vessels for Grosse Ile in what is now Canada, as this was cheaper than America. Half of the emigrants died on the journey or whilst in quarantine.

Secret societies, such as the Molly Malones, aimed to disrupt the system of rent, taxation and the payment of tithes. Denis Mahon was murdered in November 1847, allegedly by members of the Molly Malones. The Museum gave a very balanced picture, showing Denis as someone who did try to help his tenants to a certain extent, whilst, at the same time, he was condoning John Ross Mahon’s mass evictions. The family went to extreme lengths to get tenants to give evidence regarding the murder. Those who did so were given free passage to Canada, those who refused were refused relief or evicted. Three men were hung and one imprisoned for the crime; the alleged ring leader was last heard of in Canada but was never caught. Denis’ English son-in-law, Henry Packenham Mahon inherited Strokestown and evicted many tenants.

We hit the 30% no rain window as we finished looking round the museum, so walked round the large walled garden. Unlike the museum, which was very impressive in many ways, the garden has been sadly neglected. We also followed the Woodland Walk. As we returned to the complex, looking for refreshment, we saw that there were spaces on the 2pm house tour, so decided it was worth a leisurely refreshment break and an hour’s wait. We paid the extra few euros to take the house tour and did another quick tour of the museum while we waited. We were very glad we were able to see the house as well.

Our young and enthusiastic house guide, John, was typical of guides we’ve had elsewhere and told a lively story of Strokestown Park House and the Mahon family. I sensed a definite ‘atmosphere’ in the downstairs of the house, although we were told no ghost stories. A young American visitor also remarked how cold it was. Nicholas Mahon was born in the south of Ireland and was a mercenary solider. He was given land at Strokestown for his support of the Cromwellian plantations of Protestant English in Catholic Ireland. He rebuilt the house in 1696. It is a Palladian style edifice with seventy three rooms, designed to portray wealth and status. Later generations of the family were better at spending money than acquiring it and there were insufficient funds to support the lavish lifestyle. Maurice Mahon the first undertook several expensive building projects, including rebuilding most of Strokestown to try, unsuccessfully, to create the widest street in Europe. We did notice on our way in how ridiculously wide the main street was. Another innovation was a tunnel between the stables and servants’ quarters, so scurrying servants wouldn’t mar the view from the windows.

The last Mahon in residence was Olive Packenham Mahon, who struggled to maintain the estate. She began by selling off art work and replacing it with reproductions. When she could no longer afford reproductions she made excuses for the gaps on the walls. Latterly, she tried to run the house with just two servants and was reduced to living in one or two rooms. The old-fashioned kitchen was unworkable and plans were made for the installation of a smaller, modern kitchen. Fortunately, the old kitchen was not removed but was boxed in, with a smaller kitchen being constructed within it, thus preserving the original range and other features, which were later rediscovered. Unusually, the kitchen had a gallery, from which the lady of the house could observe the servants at work. When the property was sold, it was on the condition that Olive could live out the rest of her life there. Most of her furniture and artefacts passed to the new owner when she moved to a nursing home for the last months of her life. This meant that almost everything in the house was original to the building. Sadly, it seemed that those on coach tours had been encouraged to prioritise the house. This is definitely worth seeing and we were very glad we waited to do so but this meant that most tourists were doing a quick wander through the museum, without an audio guide and missing so much of its significance.

Just a short episode this time as day 19 needs a post to itself.

With the weather forecast predicting 70% chance of rain all day every day for the following week and there being, the forecast claimed, just one more day of decent weather, we tweaked the itinerary slightly. First a visit to the nearby National Museum of Country Life, which was set up to complement the Dublin museums. Entry is free although donations are encouraged. Here, in this C21st building next to Turlough Park House, the emphasis is on the story of the people of rural Ireland. The contrast between the romanticised rural idyll and the reality of grinding hard work was emphasised. Many crafts were featured and it was brought home just how many skills have been lost. We began with a video presentation, then looked at the exhibits. Information about Curragh making and using heather bushes to make lobster pots went down well with the fisherman of my acquaintance. I was fascinated by the folk traditions, such as the straw boys, which have associations with mummers plays. Wearing conical hats that rest on the shoulders, obscuring their faces, the straw boys appeared at celebrations and parties. My one criticism of the museum was that many of the artefacts were unlabelled, so you were left thinking, ‘that looks interesting, what is it?’

After a shopping trip, we drove to Connemara National Park. We passed the fisheries at Killary, one of Ireland’s three fiords. One who knows identified that mussels were being farmed. The beautiful mountain scenery was different again, much greener and with little heather. The narrow roads, complete with potholes, were reminiscent of home. We looked round the exhibitions in the visitors’ centre, which explained the formation and importance of the bogs and the adverse impact of acid rain. A short stroll round the park and it was time to return to the van.

Ah ha! – you thought that was it didn’t you but no, I have more to come.

Day 15

After shopping for supplies and diesel, we left Northern Ireland and headed West back to the Republic. Our destination was Killybegs Holiday Park and we only had an imprecise address. The sat-nav recognises most campsites as a point of interest but not this one. There was also a lack of helpful signage. We got a little diverted round some hairpin bends in Killybegs before finally spotting a sign and heading up through what seemed to be an industrial estate. We arrived in pouring rain. This is a remote, terraced site and certainly the quietest we’ve been on. The guide book describes Donegal as ‘bleakly beautiful’ and that seems to be pretty accurate. There was a clear view of the Atlantic Ocean and lighthouse from the van, when you could see through the driving rain that is. We had a quick drive into Killybegs so the fisherman of my acquaintance could view the boats.

Day 16

After a wild, wet and windy night, the sun shone and we drove along the Wild Atlantic Way through the Slieve League Mountains. This is the area that many tourists miss and there were very few vehicles on what was, for much of the way, single track road. The scenery was rugged and dramatic, combining the rocky Atlantic coast with the mountains. There were signs of peat cutting, wild fuchsia in many hedges and several abandoned dwellings, some looking like they had been left derelict more recently than others. We came across the Glencolmcille Folk Museum and stopped to look round. This was very different from the slick, government supported museums we had already visited but certainly worth a look. It paid tribute to the local priest, Father James McDyer, who did much to try to preserve the community spirit and provide a sound economic basis for the inhabitants of Glencolmcille from his arrival in the 1950s. He lamented the negative impact that emigration had had on the area and was instrumental in instigating the building of homes, bringing electricity to the community and establishing a knitting collective to supplement family incomes.

The Folk Park was founded by Father James in 1967. There were seven buildings to look round, illustrating typical Irish cottage life from the 1700s to the mid-nineteenth century. The roofs were made from a layer of bog timber, a layer of scraw, which is the top layer of the bog and then straw. The thatch is roped on and tied to stones that protrude from the walls. The cottages had St. Brigid’s crosses, made from straw, over the door. These were made each 31^st January and were to protect the house from storms, fire and evil. We stopped at the Park for refreshment. The ‘Breakfast Baps’ were road-tested and given the seal of approval by Chris. They contained not just bacon but a fried egg and sausage as well.

We went the long way back to the site, driving up into the mountains as far as Doocharry.

We discovered after we’d had it for about five years that the television we use in the caravan played DVDs. We have very few DVDs but it turned out that I had put some in the van when we made the discovery about the television, in case we might watch them. One of these is Fisherman’s Friends, which we’d already watched on real TV this holiday. So, in the absence of a television signal and in complete ignorance of how to actually make the DVD player work, we settled down to watch part of Michael Wood’s story of England, based on Kibworth, which has an enviable set of documents. Talk about the perfect one-place study. There is three hours worth of this series on each DVD. Not wanting to watch it all, we managed to work out how to pause it, hoping we aren’t back at the beginning again when we come to watch the next installment

Day 17

We left our sea view behind at Killybegs and travelled through Leitrim and Sligo to County Mayo. This took us through Yates country and past the strangely shaped Benbulben, which is, says Google, a flat-topped nunatak rock formation. Any the wiser? No, me neither. On this site our choice of pitch was dictated by which one allowed us wifi in the van.

Yes, there’s more, although this now seems like it happened a very long time ago.

In a thick haze, we returned across the border to go to Newgrange and Brú na Bóinne. In theory, the journey takes an hour. We allowed an hour and three-quarters. Thanks to rush hour in Newry and a road closure it was a bit touch and go but we arrived just in time for our 10am slot. Brú na Bóinne, or Palace of the Boyne, has mythological connections and is associated with the goddess Boand, the god Dagda and their son Oengus Mac Ind Oc, the boy god. Oengus and his beloved, Caer, were transformed into swans and we did see a swan on the Boyne as we walked across the bridge. First, a look round the exhibition, then a short bus ride to Knowth, where Rodney was our guide. The neolithic burial mound was created some 5000 years ago by early farmers who introduced wheat, barley, cattle and sheep to Ireland. Knowth is the largest site of this type in Western Europe, with nineteen smaller mounds surrounding the largest mound. The passage graves contained cremated remains. DNA extracted from unburnt bones indicated that these people had ancestral connection to Anatolia, in modern day Turkey. This type of tomb was used over many years. Twelve generations of one family have been found in a similar grave in Sligo. I do wonder how anyone knows this. The excavations at Knowth, under Professor George Eogan began in 1962 and lasted several decades.

There have been some modern adaptations to preserve the neolithic carvings that are on many of the kerb stones round the circumference of the main mound. These are abstract designs, featuring spirals, curves and concentric circles. Despite speculation, no one knows what they symbolise. One has twenty nine crescents and circles that might be representative of the phases of the moon. Two-thirds of all western European neolithic art is at Knowth, which is why Brú na Bóinne is designated a World Heritage Site.  Some of the stones used in the creation of the original mound come from as far away as the Wicklow Mountains. These were moved before the horse or wheel and were probably transported by raft and then rolled on logs. The estimated weight of the mound is 250,000 tons. It is twelve metres high and ninety metres across. Of 300 similar monuments, only fifteen have solar alignment. At Knowth, the two standing stones on the eastern and western sides cast shadows on the centre of the entrance stones at the spring and autumn equinoxes. There is evidence of settlement here that pre-dates the mounds. In the ninth century, regional kings lived in fourteen houses built on top of the great mound. The area was farmed by nearby Mellifont Abbey in the twelfth century.

Another short trip and we were at Newgrange. There are a few carvings here, notably the triple spiral symbol, which is unique to Newgrange. The impressive part of this site is the burial chamber with its solar alignment, which floods the chamber with sunlight at sunrise on the winter solstice. There is a slight uphill incline as you squeeze your way up the passage, minding your head at various points. This means that the ‘roof box’ over the entrance is the same height as the floor of the main chamber. The effect was simulated for us using artificial light. The gradual northward drift of sunrise at the winter solstice means that by c.5000CE this phenomenon will cease. The domed roof of the chamber is six metres high and is completely watertight.

It was incredibly hot with not a scrap of shade. The car thermometer that measures the outside air temperature at one point reached thirty six degrees. Even allowing for some slight inaccuracy, that is pretty hot. Despite the heat, we decided to go ahead with our plan to visit the site of the Battle of the Boyne, the largest single battle to take place in Ireland or Britain. We circumvented the road closure to find the site. There isn’t a great deal to see but it was worth a visit and entrance was free with membership of English Heritage. A Georgian house, Oldbridge House, has been built on the site and contains as small display. Having led students through coursework on the Battle of the Boyne for several years, you’d think my retained knowledge of it would have been better than it was. It was fought between William III, aka William of Orange and his father-in-law, the deposed Catholic James II in 1690. James had support from France and Catholics in Ireland and his troops numbered some 23,000. He was outnumbered by William’s 36,000 better trained men, including Dutch and Huguenots. William’s victory was effectively the end of James’ attempt to regain the throne and he fled to France.

The walled garden was a suntrap and as such a bridge too far in thirty degree plus temperatures, so after a brief look from a distance we headed back to the van.