Traveller

Sunday June 9^th   

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.