Saturday 15 June 2013

Final Day

Tues 11th June - Final Day
I was in no hurry getting up this morning.  My host Anthony Diver brought the children to school first and after breakfast brought me to McClean’s shop and pub in the village of Malin.  The previous day I had decided to leave a few miles to complete along with Mary Ann so I wanted a convenient place to stay while waiting for them.  When I crossed the bridge into Malin there were two men standing at the petrol pumps.  I asked them if there was a hotel in Malin where I could get a cup of coffee next day while waiting for Mary Ann to arrive and pick me up.  There is a hotel it seems but it would not open till Thursday.  I’m not sure what that was about.  However he told me to come to his shop at the petrol pumps and the shopkeeper would let me into the pub even though it would not be open and I could wait there.  When I arrived she offered to make me a cup of tea.  Hospitality has been endless.  The posse arrived at about 11.00 in a delegation of six including my son Niall, my grandchildren Oisin and Darragh, friends Eamon and Isabel Beattie and Frances Fingleton who was born and reared in Malin Village.  She has a house there now and insisted on bringing us there for coffee before we set out. 
Mary Ann left me off at the place where I had finished yesterday with the three children.  The others drove on to Malin Head to park the cars and walk back to meet me.  After about a mile a blue car passed us and waved, and a short distance later the driver and his companions were waiting for me in their gateway.  They congratulated me on the walk and gave me a donation for the hospice.  We arrived at Malin Head a short time later.
This has been a memorable experience for me.  There are some lasting things that will stay with me.  The generosity and goodness of people day after day, who stopped to talk, give me encouragement and donations, was completely unforeseen and has been an especially heartening part of the experience.  The generosity and time that so many of my friends and strangers have given to fundraising for Ndi Moyo in support of my walk has been overwhelming.   To date you have contributed more than £14,000.00 to the dying in Malawi and the young children they leave behind them and the money is still coming in. currently Ndi Moyo Hospice cares for more than 350 patients and about 1,000 young children who have been orphaned by their parents who have died in the care of the hospice.  They do all this on a budget of one hundred and ten thousand pounds for the whole year of 2013.
I have been blessed by all the people who have been my hosts along the way.  They could not do enough for me.  And I have been enriched by getting to know so many new interesting people and spending time with my nephews and their families.  They have given me transport, fed me bountifully, given me comfortable beds to sleep in and shared their homes and families with me. 
I have been able to see and experience this island as few people have.  Walking the whole way from South to North is certainly the best way to experience our land.  I have been exhilarated by the bounty of growing things and landscapes, the proliferation of colours smells and shapes.  The walk for me has been a meditation.  I have enjoyed the rhythm of walking the roads day after day and the beauty of the silence that is the music of nature.  I have been content both in my own company and in the company of others.

Finally I want to say thank you to Mary Ann without whom this marvellous venture would not have been possible.  Thank you too to those who have persevered with reading this blog.  I have enjoyed writing it.  John Conlon

Thursday 13 June 2013

Before the End

Monday June 10th

Got to Quigleys Point at 8.30 am and started the long climb up the hill.  At the top I came on a memorial plaque at the side of the road.  It was even more moving than the many others I had come across.  This one was for three young people who had all been travelling in one car and had been hit by another vehicle and killed on October 8 2005.  Their pictures were looking out at me written beside their names, Gavin Duffy aged 21, Charlene O’Connor 21, David Steele 23, Rochelle Peoples 22, Darren Quinn 21.  I stood there for some time and reflected on the tragedy of these young people whose lives were snuffed out like burning candles on the cusp of their adulthood and the pain of that for their families and friends then and now.
It was another beautiful day on my last long leg of the walk.  The sun shone on me and a soft breeze from the east gently urged me on, or was it that same little angel come to see me home, that had caressed me and whispered around my ears on the first two days of my walk in West Cork.  There is something exhilarating about walking along a quiet road high up with beautiful views all around.  I passed a field with a flock of sheep with magnificently whorled horns like antlers.  I could imagine them frequenting the ovine beauty parlour to keep them in shape and make themselves more attractive.  Other sheep with only little stumps must be so jealous.
I walked into Carndonagh about mid-day and found the Persian Bar in the centre of the town.  My hosts for that night, Anthony and Anne Diver, own the bar.  However, they were not there when I called.  I drank a shandy – half a pint of lager, half a pint of white lemonade and ice, a very refreshing drink on a long march.  It was only when I had walked about a mile out of the town that I realised that I had forgotten to pay for the drink.  Just outside Carndonagh a young man pulled up on the far side of the road and crossed over to talk to me.  He told me that when he was in university in England they had a house with a room to let and a female student from Malawi had been the first person to apply for it.  He said she was one of the loveliest people he had known and he wanted to give me a donation for the hospice.
I had only gone another mile or so when another car pulled up alongside me.  It was Maureen Morgan from Draperstown who is the central promoter of support for Ndi Moyo Hospice in these here parts.  She would not be able to be there at the end tomorrow and so wanted to see me near the end.  She had brought lunch with her so we sat in the car at a gateway and chatted and had lunch.  I had decided to leave just a few miles to finish the walk next day when Mary Ann and some of the children were to join me.  Mary Ann has been involved in the whole venture as much as I have been.  I could not have done it without her being at home to look after Niall, and she has done most of the work with the funding campaign and banking the money.  She has supported and encouraged me all along and we have talked to each other every day.  So it is important for her and me that she is there at the finish.  Besides rain is forecast for tomorrow and having walked in sunshine every day I did not fancy walking in the rain tomorrow.  I left 4 miles to the finish for tomorrow.
I had referred earlier in my blog to the profusion of buttercups every day of the walk and since I am not aware of any poem to buttercups I had promised to write one.  Here it is:

Buttercups
Buttercups are everywhere
Smiling up at me,
Gently waving in the breeze,
A cheerful sight to see.

Buttercups in ditches,
Buttercups in fields,
A richness of golden yellow
In overflowing yields.

The farmer doesn’t like them,
But they refuse to go away,
So better just enjoy them.

They are here to stay.

Wednesday 12 June 2013

Traveller

Sunday June 9th   
Started out between St Johnston and Carrigans at 8.40 a.m.  People of Carrigans were still asleep this Sunday morning.  As I was leaving the only sign of life was a farmer coming into the village on an ancient tractor for the Sunday paper.  My nephew Patrick had shown me where I could take a cycle/walking path the whole way to Derry.  I found it easily just outside Carrigans.  It leads to the former railway track that ran along the Foyle estuary and the first few miles are through a wooded area which gave me cool shade on this hot Sunday morning.  It is a delightful walk.  Coming towards Derry a part of the railway track has been left intact though it is mostly covered in long grass alongside the path. Just before Craigavon Bridge I passed the former Foyle Valley Railway Company railway station with the steam train parked beside it painted red and black.  It is clearly visible from the Craigavon Bridge.  By now I was meeting lots of people out walking and cycling, many with dogs in tow.  By the time I reached the Peace Bridge I was ready for a rest and a coffee.  A taxi driver outside the bus station recommended the Soul Café just around the corner across from the newly renovated Guild Hall.  The coffee, scone, raspberry jam and cream were very welcome.  I recommend it for a morning pick-me-up.  I went back refreshed to the riverside walk and was soon stopped by some walkers who were curious about my venture and like many others on the trip they gave me a donation for the Hospice.  I continued on the walk right to the Foyle Bridge where I climbed up to the Culmore road.  On the way up I passed the ruins of an old mansion.  The walls were intact and two chimneys still protruded above the walls but the roof was gone.  It stood there sightless with its windows and doors blocked up and six stone steps leading up to what was once a grand double front door.  I thought of all the life there once was in and around it with the rich owners, their servants and visitors and now only their ghosts remained.  It reminded me of the well known poem from my childhood, the Listeners.

And he smote upon the door again a second time;
Is there anybody there? He said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall

Up a little from the ruined mansion I passed the old farmyard buildings and behind them a walled garden.  If I were to bring anything home with me it would have been the walled garden.  I counted thirty horses grazing the fields around the ruin.  I learned later that the house is known as Boom Hall because it was near there that the boom was laid across the river to prevent anyone coming to the aid of those besieged inside.  When I see one of the “big houses” I think of all those small land owners whose land was forcibly taken from them to make way for the new landed gentry.
I walked on to the Culmore road and past the entrance to the Foyle Hospice.  A woman out for Sunday morning cycle dismounted and walked with me until she came to the turn for her own house.  A little bit further along the road I passed the entrance to Thornhill Convent with its stone gatehouse, high stone wall concealing the parkland and tall stone house appearing above the wall that housed the nuns.  It struck me that only the Church could traditionally emulate the life style of the landed gentry and both depended on the pennies of the poor to enable them to do so.  “Blessed are the poor ...“.  Just up the road from the convent is Thornhill College with its motto Adveniat Regnum Tuum.  My feet needed a rest so I sat in a bus stop, ate my first sandwich and banana, rested a little and moved on.  I walked on through Muff and along the seaside to Quigleys point where I enjoyed a shandy and waited for my lift.  I reflected that I had started out in Donegal, walked into Derry, then out of Derry again into Donegal.


                                                                                                                                                                                        

Sunday 9 June 2013

Long Live the Weeds

Saturday June 8th
Patrick my nephew drove me to Castlederg to where he picked me up yesterday.  There was a long climb out of the town, up and up and up for about four miles, a tough start to the day.  On the way up I passed a field with flock of dark brown and black sheep.  I had never seen so many together before.  There was an expanse of bog cotton on my right.  But mainly I just concentrated on getting to the top.  When I did eventually get up there the view was marvellous. There was the whisper of gentle cool breeze form the east.   I could see for miles on every side as far as the blue hazed mountain ranges and I counted seven wind farms.  Below was a patchwork of fields, many framed with white hawthorn blossom.  All the way down I could simply luxuriate in the exuberance of nature.  It was a glorious morning to be walking this little country road with very few vehicles, a blue sky and a far away contrail in the clear sky from a single jet plane heading west to the USA or Canada. A tinkling invisible stream accompanied me on the way down hidden by the surfeit of growing things.  At one place the farmer had planted a hedge of purple rhododendrons for a few hundred yards.  It would have been a great improvement if he had planted a greater variety of them flowering at different times and maybe added a bit more interest with lilac and laburnum and such like.  But I’ll give him credit for making the effort even if it could have been much more imaginative.  There were giant wild rhubarb plants with their reddish brown and green stalks and all my usual friends many of which I do not know their names – little blue flowers, white ones, robin-run-the-hedge, nettles, lots of grasses, broome and as usual, whins.  To paraphrase Hopkins, long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

I came to the little village of Clady and I was back on the main road so that I had to concentrate on the vehicles coming towards me rather than the sights and sounds around me.  The day had lost some of its magic.  Also it was getting to be a very hot day.  I stopped before I reached Lifford because as usual the toes on my right foot were crying out for attention.  So I took of my shoes and socks by the side of the road, had half my lunch and wrote a few notes.  In Lifford I had a bowl of soup and coffee in MacAuley’s café.  Then on again to Johnston (it is also spelt Johnstown on some of the sign posts).  I chose a little used road rather than the main one.  After a few miles a man was standing by the side of the road waiting for me.  He had seen me back a bit.  We chatted about my walk and he gave me a donation.  A little while later a car stopped with a man and a woman.  They also gave me a donation.  I came to Maggie’s bar about 2 miles outside Saint Johnston and since my toes were complaining again, I went in, had a shandy, rested and nursed my feet, had the rest of my lunch and walked on to Saint Johnston.  Phoned Patrick to come for me on the north side of Saint Johnston.  I am well ahead of my schedule and looking forward to walking a bit less on each of the remaining three days.  It has been such a hot day.  As I write this I am now fresh and clean having showered and on my second beer.  I can smell the barbeque. 

Castlederg

Friday June 7 
A lovely sunny morning, the weather has been very good to me although a little cooler would be good.  Started just north of Irvinestown.  I have been spoiled at Joseph and Maria’s – good food and good conversation and very good wine cellar.  I had only walked a mile when a woman pulled up in a car in front of me.  “I see you are collecting for a hospice “ she said.  I explained to her about Ndi Moyo and she gave me a donation.  I stopped in Ederny at McKervey’s store.  They seem to own most of the village.  I had been at school in Armagh with a Tony McKervey and wondered where he had been these past 60 years  since I last saw him.  His brother told me that he lives in Belfast and has been lecturing in Queens University.  I’m sure he has retired some time ago.  I went into a little café for a cup of coffee and got the weakest pot of coffee ever.  I chatted to a few workmen who were already on their second breakfast.  The coffee was not good enough to delay long so I headed towards Castlederg which was another 14 miles.  I passed a couple of windfarms.  Where there are windfarms there are hills so I did a good deal of climbing.  I had lunch at the entrance to Bin Mountain and doctored my feet.  The right foot especially the two smaller toes are the ones that give most bother, but a rest and a little pampering keeps them happy for another few miles. 
When I reached Castlederg I went into Mickey Joe’s pub to wait for my lift from Paddy me nephew.  There were a couple of men and three women sitting up at the bar drinking.  The men were already quite drunk and two of the women were pretty far on.  The landlady would not let me pay for my half pint and then one of the drunk men insisted on buying me another half pint.  They wanted to know about my walk and when I was leaving each of them gave me a donation for the hospice.  They had some kind of player where they could choose the songs they wanted and they all tended to sing along with the song – mostly Country and Western.  I think I have led too sheltered a life so far.

Friday 7 June 2013

The Faithful Foot

Tuesday June 4th

I stayed with Lourda McGowan last night in Mohill and we went to her sister’s house where we had a wonderful meal and plenty of chat.  Just outside Lourda’s house is a statue of Turlough Carolan the famous blind harpist.  He was harpist in residence to a local family – the landed gentry of course.  The statue was the final piece of work by the well known Irish sculptor, Oisin Kelly.  He died just when he had finished sculpting the head. Mohill is a neat little village where many of the people are related to each other and everyone knows everyone else.  A stream flows through the village and passes in front of Lourda’s house.  There is a bridge between her house and the street and the statue of Turlough is just across the stream. 
I set out from Ballinamore to walk towards Enniskillen via Swanlinbar.  Before I got as far as Swanlinbar I heard 4 more cuckoos – such a feast of cuckoos I have never experienced.  I think it must be to do with the kind of the terrain, peat bogs and bushes.  It is a treat to hear their clear two note call but when I think about them, I know that they are the ultimate in exploitation and survival of the fittest.  Not only do they expect another bird to hatch out their egg, and then to feed their hungry offspring, but that same off spring dumps all the other fledgling birds out of the nest so that it can benefit from all the food their surrogate mother brings back to the nest.  A sweet voice can hide a ruthless soul. A couple of miles before I reached Swanlinbar, I came across three workmen on the road, one operating a digger and the other two emptying the truck when full.  We got to chatting and they each gave me 5 euros for the hospice.  One of them passed me with the full load and I came across him again unloading it.  He came over to the edge of the road and wanted to talk some more. He told me he is the president of the Cavan beekeepers association and is very enthusiastic about the young people doing courses with them to learn how to look after their bees. He claims that this recession has brought the ordinary man to the fore so that the young people on the two courses they are currently running all have bees already, whereas previously they would have had a lot of yuppies and hippies who never had bees. He said the Church of Ireland has always been strong in Cavan and it has been mainly them who kept the tradition of beekeeping alive, when young Catholic men were only interested in running off to Gaelic matches.
I stopped for lunch at a bench outside a pub on the only street in Swanlinbar.   The pub was closed and the whole village seemed to be asleep.  The day being hot I fancied an ice cream cone but the best I could get was a choc ice in a shop run by two women in their eighties.
 As on the previous days I was flanked on either side by myriads of beautiful yellow buttercups – a sign perhaps of meagre cattle fodder but easy on the eye.  I don’t know of any poems to buttercups, nor for that matter dandelions and yet they both proliferate and delight the eye mile after mile.  They are irrepressible. Soon after that I came into Northern Ireland for the first time on my walk.  The roads were indeed much smoother and easier on the feet.  I passed two memorials to IRA members who had been killed during the troubles.  The rest of the walk was pretty uneventful.  I walked to the junction of the Swanlinbar road and the Sligo road, sat down on a bench outside another closed pub and waited for Maria to come and pick me up. Not a lot of luck with pubs today.




Wednesday June 5th

Another hot day like the past three days, but each one a little hotter.  I had a wonderful evening with Joseph and Maria.  Maria brought me back to where I had left off yesterday.  There was a long traffic tail back coming into Enniskillen on the Sligo road.  The alternative way into the town is already closed due to the G8 summit.  Walked the three miles back into Enniskillen and got some Nuerocol in Corry’s chemists for my back pain.  On the way out of the town I bought a whipped ice cream in Subway.  It was just the ticket for the hot weather.  By the time I got to the new South west Hospital my feet were already hurting a bit so I went into it and had a lovely cup of coffee and a Danish pastry and doctored my feet.  I was already well ahead of schedule so I was not in a hurry today.  I wrote an ode to my feet while sitting there.  Here it is: 

My poor feet are down below
In the smelly darkness of my boots,
I’m like a tree going walk-about,
And my feet in darkness are my roots.

My eyes can see such great delights,
Colours, sizes, shapes and hues.
My ears can hear the songs of birds,
But my feet are trapped in smelly shoes.

My nose can smell the heady scents,
Of saffron whins and meadow sweet,
But in the end they all depend
On my obedient smelly feet.

So you my feet I now salute
Hidden down in my smelly boot,
Pit ponies labouring in the dark
A song of praise for my faithful foot.

I stopped for lunch in a gap on the road and tended to the smelly feet down below.  Walked on refreshed through a tunnel of trees.  I came on a council worker picking up garbage on the roadside.  He was keen to chat.  Told me what a great man I was to be doing what I was doing.  I liked that.  He thought Donegal where I was headed was a great place but personally he said he would rather be on the bike.  He loves sitting in the centre of Donegal town and just watching the world pass by.  I passed a large house that someone had started to build, walls and roof were complete though there were some slates missing around one of the chimneys.  Windows had had stones thrown at them and were mostly broken.  What is about empty houses that seems to attract yobs to throw stones at them and break the windows?  I expect there is another sad story behind the half finished house and someone’s broken dreams.  I went on through Irvinestown and Joseph came to pick me up a couple of miles further on the road to Ederny. I am well ahead of schedule.



Wednesday 5 June 2013

Inner freshness

Blog Sun june 2

Started out after 8.30.  It felt good to be back on the road again.  I had stayed the night in Skelleys pub and B&B in Ballymahon.  The faced looked quite unloved and when I walked in the door, I found myself in and off-licence that was also a basic grocery shop. Through the door I could see the bar.  At this stage I was a bit wary wondering what the accommodation would be like.  We were led through a couple of doors and upstairs to the room where I would spend the night.  This part had been recently built.  The room was fine and the bed comfortable, but the light in the bathroom did not work, the toilet seat was not attached to the toilet, and Mary Ann noticed that some spiders had made their home in the skylight.  In spite of that I slept very well.  Next morning when I went to pay for my board he gave me back 15 euros for Ndi Moyo hospice.

In any case as I said it was good to be back on the road again. A little bit out of the town I came to a bridge where the Royal Canal crossed the road.  There was a walk and a cycle path along the bank.  I did not know that the Royal Canal went all the way to Ballymahon from Dublin.  It probably connects with the Shannon river.  I walked on through rich farmland with lots of cattle and a few sheep.  It was a warm morning, a sleepy Sunday morning with few people about and not much traffic and the cattle looked very content in their fields of plentiful grass.   After a few miles there were lots of large spreading trees standing in the middle of the fields, sycamore, beech and chestnuts decked with creamy ice-cream-like cones of blossom.  Vestiges I thought of the Landed gentry who were gifted these lands by conquering England and laid much of it out like parkland.

The first village I came to was Keenagh.  I was hoping to get a cup of coffee and rest for a while but the only café was closed in spite of having an Open sign in the window.  There is a monument in the centre of Keenagh.  It is a stone clock tower topped with a weather vane.  The inscription on it reads
Erected by the tenants and friends of the Honorable Lairence Harman-king-Harman who died Oct 1875.  In grateful memory of a good landlord and an upright man.  Justum et tenacem probisiri virum.  I wonder how many other such memorials there are in Ireland to good and upright landlords!
My brother Jim came to meet me just as I was going into Longford with a packed lunch – hot soup, a beer and sandwiches.  We spent an hour together.  It was a welcome break for my feet.  I passed a vintage rally in Longford.  Some of the cars had passed me during the day.  Jim and I thought that it might be a good idea if some of our young people were to start a vintage fair to show off their old relatives.  There would be different categories for different age groups.  They could get us all groomed properly and have prizes for the best presented old person in the various categories. As I was leaving Longford there was an inscription on a wall about a Dominican Abbey that had once stood there and had been destroyed by Cromwell’s army.  Two brothers had been martyred.  The stones from the Abbey had been used to build the local jail and when that was closed some of them were used to build the local school – St Christophers.  Just outside Longford a man pulled in beside me in a car and gave me 10 Euros.  A little further, a man turning into his driveway stopped to talk and gave what change he had in his pocket.  A couple of miles further on a young man came out to his gateway to talk to me.  Soon his wife joined him and she went back into the house to find money to give me.  They were Mark and Imelda.
I plodded on towards Drumlish but feet were complaining so I phoned my host for the night, Margaret McManus and she picked me up a couple of miles south of Drumlish.  Margaret brought me to her home farm near Granard, a lovely quiet retreat where she spoiled me with good food and good craic.  Margaret lives in Armagh but also spends time in her childhood home.

Blog June 3 Mon.

Started out again at about 8.30 a couple of miles south of Drumlish.  From Drumlish I had planned to take a small country road to Ballinamore going through Cloone.  The village was deserted. Later I discovered it was a bank holiday.  I took the road signed Ballinamore. I met an old lady hurrying up the street and asked her if I followed this road would I come to a sign for Cloone.  She said I might but she was not sure but she wanted to know if she was late for Mass.  I said I didn’t know, so she rushed off again saying she would in any case say a prayer for me.  So I walked on out the road and saw nobody until I had gone a mile and a half and a cyclist stopped to talk.  He told me I would have to go back into town and go out another road that would bring me to the road to Cloone.  So back I went.  That was an extra 3 miles and my feet did not approve.  I did find the road and there was little traffic on it.  On both sides of the road were turf bogs and bushes.  Later there were fields where rushes ruled and often a sea of buttercups.  I have never seen so many buttercups, field after field.  Wordsworth made such a big fuss of the little patch of daffodils he chanced on
beside the lake, beneath the trees,
fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
But his little patch of daffodils was nothing compared to the fields and fields of buttercups in Leitrim, and along the ditches lots of cows’ parsley shoulder high.  I even saw a ditch with lots of wild strawberry blossom.  It brought back memories of walking home form Tullysarran school, pulling wild strawberries and threading them on to cocksfoot stems of grass to bring home.   Then there was the odd patch of sweet red clover that we used to pull and suck the bottom of each of the red bits.   All the natural richness of the ditches and the land on each side and the lovely smell of summer growth remind me of Hopkins poem about Spring “ all that juice and all that joy and that inner freshness deep down things”  I often think that those words sum up the essence of life -  keeping ourselves always fresh, always being surprised by joy and wonder of all the life that is pulsing around us.
Jim met me again this time in Cloone, where we had a picnic beside the graveyard.  Then walked on and got as far as Ballinamore, further than I had thought I would.  I’ve been stopping every few hours to air dry and treat my feet.  This time round they take high priority.  I was waiting at the outskirts of Ballinamore for Lourda to pick me up when a car stopped and four young lads got out and came over to talk to me.  They were from Cavan and wanted to know all about my walk.  They asked for a photo and I gave them Mary Ann’s email so that they could send it to her to include in the blog.
Lourda brought me to Mohill where she lives and we went to her sister’s and her husband’s house for our evening meal.  We had a great meal and great craic.  The hospitality has been amazing.  Tomorrow is another day.


                

Sunday 2 June 2013

Part 2

I’m back.  Feet are healed and I’m ready for the open road again, thanks to Roisin McSwiggan for the expert advice and to Mary Ann for the excellent nursing care she has ministered.  I was very disappointed that I was unable to finish the walk at the first attempt.  It is not exactly Everest, but walking on those complaining feet made it seem like my Everest minus the danger of falling down a cliff or being obliterated in an avalanche.  Hopefully I will be able to avoid a blister repeat.  I have been educating myself in ways to avoid them, but with those rough roads in the south, I know it will be a challenge and I am not setting out as cocky as I was first time round.  Wisdom for some of us only comes from a gradual accumulation of mistakes.  It’s called learning the hard way.
I have trod about fifty miles over the past week in preparation for the second half of the walk.  I will start in Ballymahon just North of Athlone which is about 25 miles north of where I left off in Ferbane.  I’ll count the fifty miles walked this week in lieu of that.  I have driven that road from Athlone to Ballymahon a few times recently and it is really too dangerous to walk on.  It is very twisty, narrow and in some stretches does not even have a grass verge to step on to avoid oncoming vehicles.  It is also a very busy main road.  It would therefore, I’ve decided, be too dangerous a venture both for me and for drivers coming round a sharp corner and having to swerve to avoid the vision in front of them.  I set out again then on Sunday morning June 2nd, full of hope but a chastened man.  I will be keeping you all updated on progress any time I have access to a computer on my journey.
The funding total is currently well over £13,000.00.  It is a magnificent sum and thanks to so many people who have given so generously and to those who have organised fundraising events.  I have been overwhelmed by the generosity I have encountered and greatly heartened by the sheer goodness of so many people.  For that alone the venture has been well worth while.  It has however taken over our lives these past three months, Mary Ann’s as much as mine.  It has turned out to be a much larger operation than we could have imagined.  When I’m on the road putting one foot in front of the other I often think of the difference it will make to so many people in Malawi, such a poor part of the world where I spent five wonderful years and where I met Mary Ann.  And as the poet says “And that has made all the difference”



Friday 3 May 2013

Watch This Space


Day 10 
Tuesday April 30.  I had an enjoyable evening with Nicky Egan who looked after me and brought me to the square in Birr where I had left off the previous day.  I had doctored my feet as best as I could, and set my face to the north again heading towards Ballynahown just to the south of Athlone.  It was another perfect day, sun shining in a blue sky and a gentle breeze from the west.  After a few miles of typical farmland I came to the Bog of Allen.  Peat bogs stretched on either side for about a mile back from the road and were bordered by trees in the distance.  The bog went on for miles.  There is a company called Erin that is extracting the peat moss, so there were large tracts of brown peat, but in other places it was covered with brown wilted heather.  It must be a purple heaven when it is in flower.  I was delighted to hear my first cuckoo for several years.  I just stood for a while and listened knowing it might be some time before I heard another one.  After some miles I came to a large Erin peat moss depot where there were thousands of plastic bags of peat. Behind it I could see the smoke from four large chimneys of a Bord Na Mona generating plant.  Next to that was a plant that processed the peat into briquettes.  There was a long queue of trucks, tractors and cars with trailers that stretched out along the main road waiting to get their load of turf briquettes.  When I mentioned this to someone later in the day I learned that the price of briquettes was to increase the following day and hence to rush to beat the price rise.  The first village on my road was Coughlan.  By now my feet were objecting strongly.  It was about 1.30 pm so when I saw a GAA club house on the side of the road just after I left the village, I went into one of the open dressing rooms to sit down for a while and have my lunch.  I took my boots of to give my feet a break and tried to doctor them some more, but maybe I was doing more harm than good.  Anyhow I emerged from the dressing room just as the caretaker was coming to lock up.  He was rather taken aback to meet me but I escaped just in time or I could have been locked in.  I headed on towards the next village Ferbane but before I got there I had made the decision that I would have to take a break from my walk to allow my feet to recover.  I went into a pub called Henessy’s in the middle of the village and phoned my hosts for the night, Kieron and Kay Smyth to come and pick me up.  I also phoned home to Mary Ann and told her of my decision, but decided that it would be too late for her to make the round trip that evening.  We agreed that she would come for me next day and I would take a break to get my feet back to walking fitness again. 
 So far cash, cheque and internet donations to Ndi Moyo have reached between £11,500 and £12,000, and the number continues to rise. I continue to be amazed at the generosity of people. This money will be well used and hugely appreciated.   
I have no definite plans right now, but I am anxious to finish the walk as soon as possible, certainly before the end of the summer...so watch this space. 

Tuesday 30 April 2013

Nenagh to Birr


Day 9 
Monday.  I really enjoyed my day off yesterday with Mary Ann.  She left me off at Nenagh today to pick up where I had left off.  I walked from Nenagh in Northern Tipperary to Birr which is just over the border into Offaly.  I took what is known here as the old road to Birr.  It is a narrow country road with no road markings, very little traffic and is about 3 miles shorter which was my reason for choosing it.  I walked through good farming country - large green fields on either side with the first of the fresh spring grass and some barley fields showing their early green beards just peeking out of the ground.  As I came out of Nenagh there were some hazy hills to the west and later I came to a place called Fairy Hill covered with trees and a cross standing out above the trees, but no sign of any fairies.  There were a number of wind turbines away to the right a few miles off the road and 8 more later as I approached Birr.  It was a quiet walk.  I talked to nobody 'til I got to Birr.  
As always the first ten miles were ok, but then the poor feet started to complain again and by the time I had gone the last few miles into Birr they were complaining bitterly. The weather was good for walking, mostly sunshine with a few showers and a fresh west wind blowing on my left side.  It was so good to arrive at Doolys hotel again.  I ordered coffee and a scone and a half pint of lager to pass the time while waiting for my host for the night to come and pick me up.  The landlady would not take any money.  Peter Egan my host's son brought me back to Nenagh where I was to spend the night in his parent's house.  
Nenagh and Birr are very different towns.  Nenagh has narrow streets, no real centre and a lot of quite dowdy looking businesses.  Birr on the other hand is a very attractive little town with a spacious central square with a pillar in the middle of it and a number of other smaller squares.  There are also lots of small quaint little shops, even though there is the ubiquitous Tescos on the outskirts.  Here's hoping my feet have a good night and recover enough to face the road tomorrow. 
I had a phone call from my daughter Sarah this evening telling me that she and friends held a street collection today in Magherafelt for Ndi Moyo and collected £583.00.  This did include about £80.00 from Mickey and Briege Lawless from their small change jar.  Well done Sarah and friends and thank you Mickey and Briege.

Two Trusty Sticks


Day 7:
Foot doctored by Marese - lots of padding underneath.
Started out from Patrick's Well six miles south of Limerick.  Negotiated turns and roundabouts through Limerick to 445 heading north towards Nenagh.  New bicycle path had been opened from Limerick to Nenagh (24 miles) a few months earlier.  No worries then about traffic.  There was a wide path each side of the road. Rolling countryside with blue hills reflecting the sky in the distance on both sides of the road.  I walked mostly in sunshine with some sharp brief showers including two hail showers.  Wind still sharp from northwest but not bad for walking.
Passed a couple of pubs that seemed to be closed for future business - more victims of the recession and the tendency for home drinking?
Since starting out I have passed many memorials on the roadside to people who were killed in road accidents.  Today I passed a memorial sign for four officers from the Irish Air Corps who died in an accident.
I came into Birdhill about 12 miles north of Limerick.  There was a sign proclaiming it had won the Tidy Towns Competition three times since 2007.  But it does not look big enough to be a village - just two pubs facing each other and a few residential houses.
Feet were crying: "No further today" so I limped into "Matt the Thresher's pub and phoned Marese to come and get me. The pub across the road was called Coopers.  Later I learned that it's main patron were local people, whereas "Matt the Thresher" attracted wider clientele because of its good food.
While waiting for my lift I had a couple of half pints and wrote some 'doggerel' in praise of my trusty walking sticks.
As with all the other hosts I have had, I went back with Marese to a lovely meal, good conversation and a glass (or two!!) of red wine - and of course had my complaining feet taken care of again.
I went to bed early  - I need lots of sleep these days to allow this tired old body to recuperate.
Marese stayed up late working on icing a cake for a friend's 30th birthday.  She made it in the shape of a football jersey and decorated it with the insignia of his team Tottenham Hotspurs.
                    
                        TWO TRUSTY STICKS
Two trusty sticks are by my side
Each step along the way
I talk to them but they don't talk back
No matter what I say.
 
They're like an extra pair of legs
To propel me up the hills.
They share the burden with my feet
And yet they're silent still.
 
My sticks repel the snarling dogs
Running barking out of gates.
They spy my sticks and cower back
Knowing their likely fate.
 
Day 8
Marese' car broke down on the way to drop me at Birdhill, today's starting point.  She phoned a friend Nicky who rescued me and brought me there.  I had only walked a mile or so out of Birdhill when a woman spied me from her front doorand ran across the lawn in her pyjamas to meet me! She had seen me the previous day on the road from Limerick and wanted to know all about the walk.  She gave me a donation for Ndi Moyo.
NW wind still blowing cold but with the late April sun playing hide and seek with the clouds it was fine for walking.
Knapsack at 8-9 lbs seems pretty heavy on the shoulders on a long walk.
I was not sure how far my feet would let me get today, but I knew I was already about half a day behind schedule and had decided to add an extra day to time allocated.  Walked as far as Nenagh and went into the Ormond Hotel to wait for Mary Ann.  Today she was coming to meet me and had booked us into a hotel in Birr.  Tomorrow would be a very welcome day off.  Mary Ann arrived in Nenagh and walked into the Ormond Hotel about an hour after me.  I was so glad to see her.  We found the back road I planned to walk on Monday from Nenagh to Birr and drove that way rather than the main road.  We stayed in Dooly's Hotel in Birr, and would recommend it highly.
 
Day 9 Sunday.
A wonderful day of rest, talking, reading, catching up with my blog beside the open fire in the hotel lobby, resting, eating and luxuriating in the company of Mary Ann

Thursday 25 April 2013

Best Foot Forward


Day 5  Wed April 2.  I had discovered on Tues evening that the sore feet were in fact two blisters, one of them very large on the balls of my feet.  No wonder that I had so much pain walking.  Next morning I put a needle through them to release the pressure and put on two blister patches.  Mary had to catch train in Mallow at 8.00am so we had an early start.  They left me off about 6 miles south of Mallow.  They are great hosts and we had lots of good conversations.  Mary was going that day to Dublin to give a presentation to members of the Eastern Health Board on the links between food and health.  I suggested she title the presentation “One Bite at a Time”.  The walking was still painful and as the day went on became more and more painful.  My stroll through Ireland had become an endurance test rather than a pleasant ramble.  I struggled on as far as Charleville but could go no further, so I went into Dinny’s bar in the centre of the town and waited on Marese to pick me up.  I knew that this would not be until about 6.00pm because she was working in Shannon that day.  Marese is a vet and specializes in surgery on small animals.  She lives in Limerick.  Marese was just what I needed that day. The blister on my left foot had accumulated fluid again which explained why it had been so very painful to walk on.  She brought her expertise to bear on it. 
I was still in West Cork for much of the day so plenty of climbing, going down into valleys and out again including the Lee valley.  I was surprised at how broad the river was.  As on other days some of the cars blew their horns in encouragement on the way past and a few doubled back to talk to me and gave me donations.  Just north of Mallow I called at a food outlet to get coffee, a roll and a rest.  As I was ordering it a lady came up behind me and insisted on treating me to lunch and added a donation to her generosity.  As on previous days the goodness of total strangers was great encouragement.

Day 6  Marese left me off outside Dinny’s bar in Charlville.  Feet still painful but I was hopeful that they would get better.  I had decided that I would try following a minor road north to Limerick through Bruree and Athalacca.  I had to walk about two miles to the east.  This was to avoid walking on the very busy N20, the main road between Limerick and Cork.  I had noticed on the way down that there was no hard shoulder on most of the road. The man who walked me part of the way to the turn off also gave me a donation for the Hospice.  It was a very quiet country road and I thought I had chosen well, so I headed north again towards Bruree and Limerick.  It was a cold morning with the wind from the North West, partly in my face and my hands were very cold on the sticks.  There was a garden centre just south of Bruree where I called in to get a pair of gardening gloves for my hands.  When the sales woman saw that I was raising money for a hospice in Malawi, she told me that her husband had a brother who had spent some time in Malawi.  I discovered that it was Ciaran McGuiness, a White Father who I had taught as a student in Junior seminary and in Philosophy in Blacklion.  I walked on into Bruree and asked a man on the street which road I needed to take for Limerick.  However he told me the way I proposed to go was 24 miles whereas if I walked back to the main road it would only be another 18.  So I headed back to the main road and faced the oncoming traffic rather than take the long road.  It just goes to confirm the main road is normally the shortest way, but I was not happy about adding all that extra walking on to the journey.  Three women pulled in further along the road.  They were all Hospice workers in different countries, one in Canada, another in Armenia and the third in Zambia.  They were headed for a palliative care conference in Limerick and again gave me donations.  As the day went on the feet got worse and eventually I phoned Marese at Patrickswell, about 6 miles south of Limerick.

Wednesday 24 April 2013

Tuesday 23 April 2013

Wind at My Back


Day 2 Joan brought me to Durrus on Sunday morning.  Started walking at 9.10 am.  Long climb out of Durrus for about 2 miles.  Arrived in Bantry , a distance  of about 6 miles, an hour and a half later.  I asked  a couple out walking where I would find the minor road I proposed to walk over Mount Douce and discovered that I had to walk another 3 miles to find it – again not in my calculation.  They wanted me to come to their house for coffee but I did not have time.  I had only walked a few more hundred yards when the man met me with a cup of coffee he had bought for me in a mini market.  They also gave me 5 euro for Ndi Moyo.  I started up the shortcut I had planned over the mountain through the beautiful Maelagh valley.  Like the rest of West Cork it was very scenic, a feast for the eyes but hard on the legs and feet.  I seemed to be climbing all day.  There were no signposts for Togher where I was headed, in fact there were very few signposts for anywhere. So I had to constantly check that I was on the right road.  I asked the way at a farm and I had only left the farm a few minutes when the man I had asked overtook in his car and apologised for not inviting me in for a cup of tea and something to eat.  Again I thanked him but explained that I had to keep going.   Some miles further when I had passed a few other roads with no signposts, I stopped again to ask the road of another man and chatted for a while.  I told him my phone battery was dead and I might have a problem getting in touch with my host for the evening.  I walked on for a bit and he too caught up with me and offered to take my phone back to his house, charge it for me and come after me with it.  I thought this was a bit risky in case I took a wrong turn and he would not be able to find me.  He had wrapped a piece of quiche in greaseproof paper for me to eat on the way.  The kindness of the people from West Cork that I came across was heart warming experience.
I trudged on up a 3 mile climb to the top of a mountain footsore and weary.  On the way I came across a horse grazing on the road.  He thought I was driving him and walked unwillingly ahead of me every so often looking round to check that I was still there.  Twice he raised his tail and deposited a heap of steaming buns in front of me.  Were they peace offerings or just his way of showing disdain?  The road seemed interminable and it was now 5 0’clock and not a house to be seen for miles.  I switched on my phone and saw there were 8 messages, one form Seamus who was to host me for the night asking if I was on a minor road into Togher.  I was just able to reply Minor and the battery faded. At last a house.  I used their phone to contact Seamus and we were able to connect at last.  I was so glad to see him and get to their house near Farren .

Day 3.  Seamus left me off at the pick up point of the previous day.  My aim was to reach Crookstown and perhaps walk some of the way towards Coachford which had originally been my target for the day.  It was fairly flat going most of the road.  I called into Cliffords pub in Crookstown.  It was about 4 pm but there were quite a few locals in drinking already several of them well on.  Like others on the route they wanted to know about my walk and before I left four of them had given me 5 euros each.  I walked on for another few miles towards Coachford and then called Seamus to collect me.  My feet were pretty sore by now and to my surprise my left foot was much more painful than the right.  It had always been my right that gave me most bother.   I had a good soak in the bath and later put my feet in a basin of hot water with salt.  The hazards of the road!
Day 4  Left foot still quite sore but set out walking at about 8.30 hoping to get as near Mallow as possible.  Still very hilly country and seemed to be climbing all day with very sore feet.  I called in a pub for a beer and a cup of coffee.  She would not take any money for it.  Today was hot and sunny nearly all day.  In fact since I left Mizen the weather has been perfect for walking and the wind has been on my back.  I take it for granted now that it will follow me the whole way up.  Left foot very sore today.  Each time I stopped even for a few minutes to talk to someone it was painful to get going again.  Hope fully it will begin to harden soon or I will be in bother. 
Another woman stopped her car today to talk and wanted to bring me home for a cup of tea.  I ask myself is it that I am very attractive or are they just sorry for me?

Monday 22 April 2013

Eternity in a Primrose



Started out Saturday 20 April.  Left Mary Ann and Katy at Mizen Head Lighthouse and faced north.   It felt daunting and a little lonely facing the long walk ahead.  Worse was to come.  I came to aT junction after 3km and found that Mizen was signposted to the right.  I had just come from Mizen so I thought that there must be two ways to mizzen.  I turned left and climbed a long steep hill that brought me to private property.  This could not be right so I turned back to a farm I had passed.  Two voracious dogs came at me barking and snarling.  The two walking sticks were very effective defensive weapons.  The old farmer seemed totally unconcerned that the dogs wanted me for breakfast.  Anyhow he put me back on the road I had come.  Some smartass had changed the sign to Mizen.  I was quite disgruntled to have taken a wrong turn so early in the walk and I was aready 45 mins behind schedule.  On the road into Goleen there were a couple of men working the church grounds so I stopped to ask the way to Toormore .  a priest in a car who was chatting with them got out when he saw my walking jacket saying I was doing the walk to raise money for  Malawi.  He had been in Zambia next door to Malawi and knew my friend and class mate Fiachra Fahy who died quite young of cancer.  Ciara and Neil called their son Fiachra after him.  Before we parted he gave me €50 for Ndi Moyo.  I walked on towards Toormore.  I was feeling tired and ready for a snack and coffee, but could see no sign of Toormore.  There was an isolated clothes outlet on the road so I called in to ask them how much further I had to go.  The lady told me I was already in Toormore.  There was no village or coffee shop.  She invited me in and gave me coffee and biscuits and I had a great chat with some of the customers.  I got as far Durrus that day.  I had hoped to get further but my feet told me otherwise.  So I went into a café had coffee and waited for Joan O’Leary, my host for that evening to come and pick me up.
The walk had been enjoyable.  I had the wind on my back helping me along and whispering around my head, or was that my guardian angel helping me gently along?  Lots of primroses along the ditches smiling at me.  Patrick Cavanagh said that there is eternity in a primrose.  And the whins were in full bloom, golden yellow with their heady smell of coconut.
Joan brought me to the pub in Ballydehob where I was to stay the night.  It belonged to her aunt whom she started to look after some years ago when she was 97, but she lived on till she was 104.  It is a pub and house that has not changed in 70 years, very quaint and very old fashioned.
Joan only opens it at the weekend for a few regular customers, so it is not a very profitable business but for nostalgic reasons she is finding it difficult to make the decision to sell it.  I had conversations with four different people in the pub.  Three of them were English and the fourth had spent 40 years in England and come home to retire in Ballydehob.  One of them said he had left becaue of Mrs Thatcher.  I don’t know if he will go back now that she is dead.  It is a very quaint old village.  Enough for day one,  John.