Among the many interesting and unusual requests we receive over the years here at INSIDE IRELAND, the lady who wanted to find out about 'Sponsoring a Sheep' stands out..and now she's got a whole flock! We asked her to tell us about it.

An advertisement in an Irish magazine caught more than my eye. It was soliciting potential investors in Irish race horses from one of Ireland's big stud farms. For some people, the ultimate investment is owning a share in one of these handsome animals. It can mean a glamorous connection to a country of ancient beauty and culture but the cost of such an investment seemed out of the question. Right about the same time I had begun making stuffed toy sheep as gifts. They were a big hit and I took great delight in other people's enthusiasm for these fleecy little creatures. I began to conjure bucolic visions of the real thing, bounding madly through Ireland's hills of gorse and heather, blithely ignoring boundaries, craning their necks and pushing their woolly heads up into the winds while guarding their lambs, contentedly munching on forty shades of green. Feeling very adventurous and not a little sentimental, I looked at that ad. again and thought SHEEP, instead of race horses.

Fostering from a distance
Not being a landowner, importing Irish sheep to raise here in our beautiful Connecticut countryside was clearly out of the question. I knew I'd have to find out if outside sheep investment was an ongoing practice in Ireland. The most logical and best source for me was "Inside Ireland." I wrote to "Inside Ireland," telling them about my interest in owning sheep over there, and half jokingly about becoming a foster parent to these little animals, inquiring if there was such a program already active there. It wasn't long before I received a delightful response from Vivienne at "Inside" not only expressing interest in this concept, but also putting me in contact with a farmer who might be the answer to my needs. I quickly wrote to the farmer, who soon returned the courtesy. Since I had already planned to spend a couple of weeks at Trinity College in Dublin on a study tour that summer, I decided to make a visit to the farm and the flock as part of my stay.

Family Friends
That first visit and the subsequent arrangements for owning the sheep really formed a bond for me with Ireland, her land, her people, and in particular a wonderful family. This tie has brought me a unique satisfaction. For the past four years I have been the proud foster-mother and owner of a small but productive flock of sheep in the lush mountainous region of southeastern Ireland. My flock averages abut 60 sheep a year, which includes ewes and lambs, and the all-important ram. They are freely mixed in with the rest of the farmer's flock, which numbers closer to 300 head. My sheep are distinguishable by a special dye marker usually placed over the left hind area. They are bred for the European meat market as spring lamb, and no, I do not get any of the wool. The shearer who comes by the farm to clip the sheep owns the fleece he cuts.

Cost
The cost of the initial investment depends on what you negotiate with the farmer, the going rate per lamb, and the value of the dollar at the time of the transaction. Generally one ewe will cost about $200. If you inquire of American sheep breeders you may find them lower. But those prices really don't take into account the cost of shearing, dipping (preventative measure against infections), shots, visits by government inspectors, feed and other expenses that a farmer will incur over a year such as heating, housing etc. And of course you have to take into consideration the farmer's skill and experience in sheep husbandry. It is the farmer who does all the paperwork and keeps track of any sick animals, any diseases affecting the flock, and the correct balance of feed they must consume to fatten up for the market. And it is the farmer who is there when your ewes are delivering your new lambs into this world, while you are several thousand miles away.

Visiting my flock
Since my initial venture into the sheep business, I have visited my "family" three times. Showing their disdain for their absentee mother, the sheep invariably run away from me as I announce my homecoming! They end up staring at me from the safety of walls and hedges, while I gawk back from behind a zoom camera lens. Much of my flock consists of the Suffolk breed, easily recognizable by their black faces and legs, and creamy white bodies. A few others are Cheviots, a hardy mountain stock and basically pure white. Wanting to learn more about sheep rearing in general I have begun a collection of books on that subject from New Zealand, Ireland, England, and the United States. Going to farms and agricultural fairs adds to the fun and fascination of it all.

Why sheep?
Several times I've been asked why I prefer sheep to other, more popular animals like bears, ducks, hens or cows. After all, these animals have long been popular as decorative motifs, in household items, clothing, and other memorabilia. Preferring sheep is visceral, and my interest in them probably started when my parents gave me miniature stuffed lambs as Easter gifts. I still have those Steiff lambs (antiques by now) and have widened my collection to include a variety of sheep Christmas ornaments, jewelry, sweaters, a candy mold, other stuffed animals, and even rubber stamps. For many people sheep represent peace and spiritual quietude, warmth, a pastoral countryside and old ways, gentleness and perhaps even the romance of a shepherd's solitude. In actuality, raising sheep, or any livestock for that matter, is a job that requires management skills and physical stamina. It is hard and back-breaking dirty work. And it can be a risky business as well: Animals are not immune to diseases, faulty births, accidents, or other problems brought on by bad weather conditions. Sometimes the market can be overwhelmed by sharp increases in the number of livestock, so profitability on your investment could decrease. A total return on your investment may take several years depending on the above conditions and the size of your flock. It is important to consider these factors, but if you enjoy doing things a little differently as well as having your own private connection to Ireland, it is worth the wait.

Something to talk about
Foster parenting is an ancient Irish custom which finally died out when the old Irish order was crushed by Elizabeth I and Cromwell over 300 years ago. Fostering sheep in Ireland, however, is one small way of establishing a tie with a country and culture you love, making an economic contribution, and developing contacts with Ireland's greatest asset, her people. It's also a great topic of conversation at social events! When people pull out pictures of their loved ones, and start to brag, you can whip out photos of your little loved ones, and brag, or bleat "Here's my Rory, and Tomas and Deirdre, and Peadar and Nuala. And look how fat and woolly Sean, and Maire, and Brendan have become." The possibilities for conversation are endless, as there you stand - the only one on the block with a flock of sheep in Ireland.

OUR NATIVE CANINES - undoubtedly IRISH

There are several breeds of Dog native to Ireland, even though the one that most people think of immediately is the Irish Wolfhound: There are also the Red Setter, the Red and White Setter, the Irish Terrier, the Kerry Blue Terrier, the Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, the Glen of Imaal Terrier, the Irish Water Spaniel and the Kerry Beagle.

These lovely breeds (with the exception of the Kerry Beagle) are known and loved by enthusiasts the world over. The Kerry Beagle is not recognised by the Irish Kennel Club and is not seen at shows, but does exist still in the South of Ireland and was described in the "Dogs of Ireland" book written by the late Anna Redlicks. They are used for hunting in packs, and they travel fast over long distances, being bred for speed and endurance. Their most usual colour is black and tan, though other colours have been recorded.

The Irish Wolfhound is the tallest of the light hound family, and their history goes back a long long way. They were used to hunt wolves in days gone by, and the Wolfhound is a symbol of Ireland and Irish Culture, a noble animal of great size and commanding appearance.

The Irish Red Setter: One of our gundog breeds, it is probably the most popular of our Irish dogs, and is common the world over. He is affectionate and loyal and an outstanding dog in the field, seen to best advantage on a Grouse Moor, his red coat gleaming. I have heard him described as "The Ferrari of Gundogs" while my own favourite breed, the Spaniel was described as a "Morris Minor!" That aside, the Red Setter is a magnificent animal, beautiful and useful, and avidly sought after by enthusiasts from all parts of the world.

The Irish Red and White Setter: this probably preceded the Irish Red Setter, and went into decline for some time. Through the dedication of a group of breeders, the Red and White is making a comeback. Like the Red, the Red and White is a gundog, described as Aristocratic, Keen and Intelligent. It is a White dog with Red Patches, differing only in small points from the Red.

Another gundog is the Irish Water Spaniel. Liver in colour, with a dense waterproof coat composed of tight curls and ringlets, except on the face and throat and end of his tail which are all smooth, he is versatile in the field. They will hunt, point and retrieve and are excellent in water. A naturally strong swimmer, often used for duck shooting, he is said to have a sense of humour, and indeed I have seen water spaniels obviously enjoying 'sending up' their owners.

We have four terrier Breeds: the Irish Terrier is possibly the oldest. Red coated and wiry haired, hardy and stylish, built for speed, good tempered yet spirited and game, loyal to his friends, and he will guard the family with all his might.

The Kerry Blue as his name implies, as an adult has a lovely soft wavy coat, blue-black in colour. Keen and alert, intelligent, good tempered and affectionate (except where cats are concerned) a great ratter and a very trustworthy waterdog, a very handsome dog.

The Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier is an average sized dog with a coat which doesn't shed, and properly looked after, doesn't smell, and is curly, wavy and shining, shading from reddish gold to honey blond. Trimming is not excessive. It is a sturdy well made animal, gentle and loyal, a good companion.

The Glen of Imaal Terrier is an old breed, small and tough. As his name implies he evolved in the Glen of Imaal (Wiclow) and was used to hunt badgers and foxes and to control the rat population. He was used in treadmills and so sometimes was called the 'turnspit' dog - he is a good family pet and his lack of size in no way affects his strength and courage. He is described as a cheerful dog who oozes personality, an apartment-sized dog! His coat is harsh and wiry with a soft undercoat, and wheaten or brindle blue in colour.

For people interested in reading more about our native Irish breeds, there is an excellent book entitled 'The Native Dogs of Ireland' beautifully illustrated, obtainable from the Irish Kennel Club, Fottrell House, Harolds Cross Bridge, Dublin, 6. email: ikenclub@indigo.ie Telephone:+353 1 453 3300.

Lakes of Co. Westmeath

Co. Westmeath is a beautiful part of Ireland that is all too often neglected by visitors who rush off to the better-publicised coastline of Co. Cork and Co. Kerry. Why not include a visit to the Westmeath Lakes next time you come here?

Near to Castlepollard in Co. Westmeath is a gental hill well worth exploring with Turgesius's fort, a rocky outcrop with a huge prehistoric ring fort about two miles walk from the village. (Turgesius was a Viking tyrant king somewhere in the 6th century; the locals got rid of him by luring him to an island in Lough Lene down below where they told him there were fifteen beautiful virgins waiting. The virgins turned out to be muscular young warriors in drag and cut him to pieces). A little further away to the north is the Hill of Meal, another easy climb, but with a dizzy rock face on its southern side, usually inhabited by wild goats. A little steeper and higher is Knock Ion to the south of us, a beautiful conical hill dominating Lough Derravaragh. It has a holy well halfway up it and in the old days was a famous place of pilgrimage, the locals ascending it on their knees as penance and then, wrote Sir Henry Piers a 17th century local historian, falling immediately to "lewd dancing and revelry" as if to make up new sins. Then to the east there is the Ben of Fore from whose summit you can see eleven lakes - on a clear day. It looks down on Fore Abbey, founded by St. Fiechin, one of St. Patrick's disciples in 600 A.D. Or still further east there are the beautiful hills of Lough Crew, capped with a string of passage graves which make up (notes the Shell Guide to Ireland) the "largest Bronze Age necropolis in Europe."

The reason I begin by writing about some of these hills is to refute the mistaken impression given by most popular guidebooks - that Ireland is like a saucer with all the exciting scenery round the rim and a flat dull middle consisting mostly of bogs. In the part of the midlands where I live, we have plenty of bogs - there is a huge and splendid one just to the west of us, the colour and consistency of rich chocolate cake - but we also have an extraordinary variety of landscape: Limestone crags, granite outcrops, gravel hills left by melting glaciers, and sparkling limestone lakes.

The lakes, if you are hardy, are wonderful to swim in as they are fed mostly by springs and the water is very clear. Our local bank manager who spends all his weekends and summer evenings scuba-diving in his wetsuit tells me that their aquatic life is remarkably rich. I myself have only tried a little surface snorkelling chasing shoals of trout fry.

If you would rather remain on top of the water, the local Tourist Board and the Inland Fisheries Trust who stock most of the 30 odd local lakes, have a long list of where to hire boats and what and where to fish. Lough Derravaragh for instance, our nearest lake, has pink-fleshed trout as succulent as salmon, but they are hard to catch except in the Mayfly season (end of May).

Considering all the opportunities open to them, most Westmeath locals are still very casual about their lakes. Westmeath is 'strong-farming' country with a tradition of strong silent cattlemen who don't hold with too much messing about in boats, and certainly don't swim. But nowadays things are changing - you might see a smart cabin-cruiser tied up in someone's front garden waiting for sunshine; and there are far more amenities all round to be enjoyed by everyone. More pubs and roadhouses where you can get good well-cooked food (steak is still the local standby); For the intrepid explorer, however, the visitor who has come to our area because it is largely free of tourists, the essential standby is still a picnic - the local supermarkets now have excellent delicatessen food and wine - which will allow you to enjoy the real luxuries of Westmeath: a lake shore where the only sound is the swans flying back overhead or the putt-putt of a solitary fishingboat going out after the evening rise; or the ruined cloister of Fore Abbey guarded by silent hills. Or you might like to venture on my own favourite brand of exploration - into the lost scandals and lost demesnes of the old Anglo-Irish Ascendancy who planted themselves so thickly in these parts. Planted literally too; most of the old woods and forests around the lakes are relics of their estates. And some of them have been preserved and developed as magnificent forest parks; Lough Key on the Shannon for instance, or Dun na Ri and Killykeen in nearby Co. Cavan. A few big houes survive intact; ours is one of them, a long rambling gothic revival castle, though how long we will be able to patch up its acres of roof is another matter. But most are ruins, splendid ruins, a good deal more cheerful to visit, I suspect than when they had their roofs. And as for their owners, they were an enjoyable scandalous lot. There was Lord Belvedere for instance living beside Lough Ennell who (quite unjustly) suspected that his brother was carrying on with his wife and locked her up for 30 years. He built a huge battlemented wall - still t here - between their two houses. Or there is Sir John Piers of Tristenagh Abbey on Lough Iron - now all in ruins. He seduced his friend's wife, Lady Cloncurry, for a bet, was sued for 'crim con' criminal conversation - by Lord Cloncurry and had to flee to the Isle of Man. John Betjeman wrote a splendid ballad about him. And then, perhaps most splendid of all, there is Killua Castle, home of the Chapman family, a great gothic ruin just outside Delvin. The last baronet, Sir Thomas Chapman father of four daughters, ran away with their governess a Miss Lawrence sometime in the 1890s. They set up house together in North Oxford in England and had four clever sons, one of whom became Lawrence of Arabia.

When I first came to live here thirty years ago, the scandal was still very much alive among the local gentry, and so was the last of Lawrence's half-sisters, Miss Chapman, a delightful old lady. I confessed to an elderly colonel that I had very much enjoyed the film Lawrence of Arabia. He drew himself up. "That film," he told me sternly, "was an insult to Miss Chapman."

MYTHS, FOLKTALES AND LEGENDS -

Through the Celtic Twilight

They say that the Irish have the gift of the gab. In fact, there is often a strong element of stage-Irishness in the idea of the loquacious, silver-tongued, twinkle-eyed Paddy. A certain irony exists here, because the image of the soft-talking Irishman is a distortion of the fact that Ireland can lay claim to one of the richest oral traditions in the world, and that Irish storytellers are amongst the finest modern-day exponents of their art.

Yet comparatively little is generally known about these storytellers or their repertoire. Instead we have a profusion of books on Celtic Myth, Gaelic Legends, Irish Fairytales etc. most of them based on a large amount of romantic speculation and very little fact. I hope to lift some of the early Irish mists and to replace the Celtic twilight with something a little easier to work in.

We'll start with the myth. Strictly speaking a myth relates to the sacred or divine. It deals with gods and demi-gods, with the creation of the world and with the origin and order of things. When we consider that Christianity took a firm grip on Ireland as early as 432 A.D. we would hardly expect very much of the original, pre-Christian mythology to have survived intact to the present day. Instead, what we find is traces of that mythology - lingering remnants of a pre-Christian concept of the cosmos and the otherworld. We find these traces in the oral tradition which has been handed down from one generation to another for perhaps thousands of years. Stories about such personages as, Fionn Mac Cumhail, Donn Firinne and the Goban Saor, show that these characters have been credited with supernatural powers and properties. They could even be the remains of fallen deities. Similarly, many of the legends about the fairies and their origins may be considered the remnants of what was once a more complete mythology.

If the myths have not survived in oral tradition, the folktales and legends have. The reasons for their survival here, long after their disappearance in most other parts of Europe, are many and varied. They must include our comparatively isolated geographical position, the suppression of Gaelic as a written language during our period of colonisation, and the fairly late arrival of the Industrial Revolution to this country.

In Ireland, the storyteller was a highly-regarded member of the community and his art was treated with due respect. Stories were usually told during the long winter nights and at social gatherings of one kind or another. The stories which were told on such occasions were of varying ages and background. Some of them were thousands of years old, some dated back to medieval times, while others were of more recent origin. Many of the greatest classics of world literature were originally taken from the oral traditions of various countries and peoples. These include the works of Virgil and Homer, Dante's Decameron and Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.

A folk-tale like the modern-day novel, was probably originally composed by one individual and was passed on orally. It was then either accepted or rejected by tradition. If accepted, tradition itself had a hand in the shaping of it, as each different storyteller would change a detail here or a detail there, to suit his own circumstances and environment, while keeping to the basic plot and structure of the story. In this way, a tale could travel by word of mouth over many thousands of miles. At times, its journey may be speeded up by travelling people of one kind or another, whether they be tradesmen or tramps. In Ireland, for example, travelling seasonal labourers helped spread stories from place to place.

This resulted in a situation where many of the tales told by Irish storytellers were international stories, found in many other countries in and outside Europe. To regard Ireland's fund of stories as being exclusively Celtic is not at all accurate.

Tales of magical objects and events formed a very large part of the Irish storyteller's repertoire, as did romantic tales. The human spirit appears to hanker after a world of fantasy and make-believe, where the impossible becomes possible, and folktales catered admirably for this need, just as James Bond-type characters do today. Most of the magical or romantic tales are very long and involved - too long even to summarise here. Suffice it to say that one of the most popular of all folktales in Ireland was the story of the Dragon-Slayer which is the folk version of the classical tale of Perseus. The hero first kills three giants (and often their mother as well)! and then goes on to rescue a princess from a sea-monster or dragon. No prizes for guessing how the story ends!

Religious tales were also very popular in Ireland. These stories usually have a very definite moral point and were often used by clergy while preaching, which helped in their dissemination. They often contain a fascinating mixture of Christian and pre-Christian elements, thus betraying their (mostly) medieval origins.

Despite the international character of so many of the folktales told in Ireland, it should also be said that there are stories which appear to have been confined to Ireland or, at least, to the Gaelic-speaking peoples of Ireland and Scotland. Among these are the hundreds of tales told about Fionn Mac Cumhail and the Fianna. While it is difficult to say when most of these stories were composed, they appear to have become popular in Ireland from about the thirteenth century. Fionn and his band of warriors, the Fianna are, of course, always at the centre of the action, and the two occupations of hunting and fighting figure largely in the Fenian cycle of stories. The stories also often contain a strong element of magic. The principal characters in the stories - apart from Fionn himself - are his son, Oisin, his grandson, Oscar, and three members of the Fianna: Goll Mac Morna, Conan Maol and Diarmaid I Duibhne. The story of the Pursuit of Diarmaid and Grainne, and that of Oisin in Tir na n-Og are perhaps two of the best known stories of the Fenian cycle.

There is another cycle of stories which is also regarded as being indigenous to the Gaelic-speaking culture of Ireland and Scotland. This is the Ulster cycle, which centres around the exploits of King Conchobhar of Ulster, the warrior Cu Chulainn and his son, Conlaoch and others. This cycle is considered to be older than the Fenian cycle, with its scene set in the very early days of the Christian era. It is generally more aristocratic in nature and never attained the same widespread popularity as the stories of the Fenian cycle. For this reason not so many stories of the Ulster cycle have survived in oral tradition. Of the ones that have, the story of how Cu Chulainn got his name, and the tragic story of Deirdre and the Sons of Uisneach are probably the best known. The story of the Tain Bo Cuailnge, The Cattle-Raid of Cooley, has recently become more widely known due to the excellent translation of the story by Thomas Kinsella (The Tain, Dublin 1969). The story of The Tain was found in early Irish manuscripts but had never been recorded in the oral tradition.

As well as the Ulster and Fenian cycles, hero-tales about individual warriors were extremely popular with Irish and Scottish storytellers. One of the more widespread of these tales concerns the intricate and arduous adventures of one Conall Gulban.

So far we have been looking only at the folk-tales of Ireland, and not at the legends. The essential difference between a folk-tale and a legend is that the folk-tale is set "once upon a time," in the never-never land. It is not generally believed in by the people who recount it or hear it. A legend, on the other hand, is usually set in the fairly recent past. It is located in a definite area or place and is believed in, to a greater or lesser extent, by the people who tell it. Legends are told about many subjects. In Ireland, for example, legends about the fairies are very common, as are legends about other supernatural beings and occurrences. Equally common are legends about local holy wells or natural features. Legends are told about individuals such as Oliver Cromwell or Daniel O'Connell and about specific events such as the great famine or local tragedies.

And it is in legend form that the oral tradition survives best into our own day. Today, stories - frequently of the "international" variety - are still circulating by word of mouth only, in our offices, pubs and factories. These stories usually concern the gruesome events that befell a certain hitchiker, babysitter etc. and, like their counterparts of former days, they are generally believed in by those who tell and hear them. But then, as the man said, that is another story!

COUNTRY CURES

www.insideireland.com

"A Little of what you fancy does you good"

Living in an age highly advanced in scientific progress, it comes as a surprise to many people to look back to our recent past to the countryside and country living, with its Herbs, there for the picking, which were so important to our style of life.

This contrast in outlook between past and present can be seen at its greatest in the sphere of illness and medicine, for despite our modern hospitals, chemical cures and the wonder of our Welfare State, there is a surprising number of people who remember the old cures and remedies; cures which were effective, simple and cheap, to be gathered from the countryside, handed down from one generation to another: Some are still in use today.

My Grandmother in her early girlhood always carried around a hare's paw to protect her from evil; it also guarded against lightning; and it was the lucky person who could carry a 'caul' in his or her purse (a caul is part of the foetal membrane). It guarded against drowning or ever being burnt (tho' perhaps the owner was Born to be Hanged)! Old people maintained that the number of times the afterbirth explodes on being burnt foretells the number of children a person would have.

Many old cures were handed down orally through numerous generations, covering hundreds of years and it was the wise person who recorded them. Elderberries, Dandelions, Foxglove, Marigold leaves, Polyanthus leaves eaten as a salad all had their own cures. Some remedies were used out of pure necessity - others were faith cures and were most effective. When children were suffering from Asthma people would watch the men tarring the roads and hold the affected child over a Tar Barrel. The barrel would be hot and the fumes would relieve and often cure the sufferer. The smoke from burning nettles was also a remedy. In the older days, the days of my Grandmother, Spring was the busy time. Whole families would gather to pick the Spring Nettles and boil them as one boils cabbage. Eaten as a vegetable nobody would suffer from boils, acne or any other blood disorders.*

Old people had cures for almost any ailment. They would always advise pregnant women to pick raspberry leaves and brew as tea: take a small wine glass from the fourth month before the birth and it helped an easy delivery.* Constipation is a growing problem in developed countries because of the highly refined foods that are eaten. These deny the body the roughage it needs to function regularly. Syrup of Figs or Senna Pods* are well tried remedies and were widely used in the olden days. It must be stressed, however, that in the event of unusual or serious symptoms, a doctor should be consulted immediately. Here are some more hints for other Country Cures:

BRONCHITIS Use the sloe of the blackthorn bush. For best results gather the fruit and boil it fresh. Add sugar then take the mixture as required.

CUTS & SCRATCHES Place a cobweb on the injury to stop the bleeding. Even for very deep cuts the cobweb always works.*

NOCTURNAL ENURESIS (Bed wetting) A child will always turn on its back to pass water, so all you have to do to prevent the problem is to persuade it to sleep in some other position. Cut a large strip of calico, knot it stoutly about four times then secure it around the child's waist with the knots to the back*. This will encourage the child to stay on its side and can safely be removed after one week.

WHOOPING COUGH Use Ferret's milk. Take it morning fresh, then give the child three teaspoonfuls each morning for nine mornings.

RHEUMATISM AND ARTHRITIS A cure for both these painful afflictions is to be found in the stalks of the celery plant. These should be freshly cut and soaked overnight. First thing next morning they should be eaten in conjunction with a rub of castor or olive oil.

HEADACHE Steep walnut shells overnight, then take two teaspoonfuls each morning for nine days. An alternative method is to use the dried root of primrose as snuff -- the root is reputed to be a fast-acting painkiller.

DIGESTIVE COMPLAINTS (hiccups or stomach upset). The leaves of the fennel plant boiled and taken in small quantities are recommended.

ECZEMA Make a poultice out of crushed marigold leaves and apply it regularly unti the condition clears up.

GALL STONES These can be dissolved by eating boiled hollyhock root. The root of the Daffodil is supposed to be particularly good.

APHRODISIAC Boil the leaves of an ash tree, preferably a young one, then drink the juices. Alternatively, mint is a good substitute.*

CRAMPS To get a good night's sleep free from pain, just flip your slippers upside down and leave them beneath your bed!

BALDNESS Massage raw onions into the scalp, morning and evening until the skin turns red. It should then be smeared with honey.

____________

*These treatments have been approved by a doctor and it is said they may produce the desired results.

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I don't believe in them, but they are there!

Ireland is a land of Celtic twilights, half truths and things part-seen. For all the march of progress there are still men who say "I don't believe in them but they are there." Yes. Ireland's ghosts are there, some tape-recordings of the past, others not so easily explained. I believe that some events in history generate such a high charge of emotion into the atmosphere that this leaves a permanent impression on the immediate surroundings. Under certain conditions and to certain 'receivers' the recorded events then get replayed, and the unfortunate witness is convinced he has seen a returned spirit. Such is probably the explanation for what happened at Ballyheigh Castle.

In June 1962, a Capt. O'Donnell from England was photographing the remains of the castle, a picturesque ruin dominating a remote and beautiful bay in Co. Kerry. When the film was developed, the unmistakeable form of an 18th century swordsman appeared in the print. This naturally prompted Capt. O'Donnell to investigate the history of the castle and the story he turned up would have provided the plot for an Errol Flynn movie. It seems that in 1730 the chatelaine of the castle, Lady Margaret Crosbie became involved in the local ploy of 'Wrecking' - luring ships to their doom by means of bobbing lights on the shore. A Danish vessel, the 'Golden Lyon' became their victim. After rescuing her crew and their chests of silver, the local populace then raided the castle, where they had taken refuge with a supposedly sympathetic Lady Crosbie. The crew led by their master, Capt. Heitman, died in defence of their treasure. It was upon the anniversary of this raid that Capt. O'Donnell took his extraordinary photograph.

Ghosts are not confined to isolated castles. In Molesowrth Street in Dublin there is a terrace of Georgian houses, many now used as antique shops. Late one night my husband and I were returning to our car, when our eyes were simultaneously caught by a figure standing at the long window of a first floor room over a shop. She was a young woman wearing a dark dress with a fichu and mob cap. Her arms rested on a crossbar of the window. We both stood and watched her for several minutes. She dropped her head onto one arm and her body appeared to shake with sobs. It slowly dawned on my husband that we were experiencing something most unusual and he insisted on us driving away at once. I returned next morning. No - the antique shop owner could not explain it. His shop and store rooms above had been locked up all night - Another video tape recording?

The supernatural has always fascinated Man and the sprigs of the 18th century Irish Aristocracy were no exception. Several young men from prominent Anglo-Irish families joined to build the notorious Hell-fire Club, the ruins of which still stand upon the hill overlooking the Dublin suburb of Rathfarnham. Only the initiated knew what went on within these walls, but it was generally believed to be some form of Satanism, in imitation of the Hell-fire Club in England. It took a special Act of Parliament to close the club after a particularly fiendish orgy which culminated in a footman being set alight and dying in agony as he fled the scene. There is a marvellous painting in the National Gallery in Dublin of the founders of the club drinking a toast from a human skull.

Death warnings and banshees have long been a part of Irish lore. The strangest story of all concerns the Viscounts Gormanston. A long time ago, the current Lord Gormanston was said to have saved a vixen and her cubs from the hounds. Ever since, upon the death of the head of the family, real flesh-and-blood foxes congregate at the Castle in Co. Meath. They sit for several days around the building, ignoring the domestic livestock. Once the funeral is over they take their departure.

There have been countless claims for the appearance of departing souls to those they love at the moment of death. A famous story has been passed down in Ireland about Lord Tyrone and Nichola Sophia Hamilton who married Sir Tristan Beresford of Gill Hall in Co. Down. Both orphaned in the 18th century, Lord Tyrone was lady Beresford's foster brother and they were raised as Deists by their guardian. When young they made a pact that whosoever died first would return to the other as proof of life after death. Years went by and then one night Lady Beresford awoke beside her sleeping husband to find her foster brother standing at her bedside. He told her he had just died and forecast many events in her life including the year of her death. As proof that she was not dreaming he touched her wrist which immediately shrivelled, making it necessary for her to wear a black velvet ribbon over it for the rest of her life. Everything he forecast came to pass and she died on her birthday in the year he said.

Unfortunately there are many families with a tale to tell who dare not tell it for fear of local gossip. Somehow though, the neighbours always seem to know. It is hard to keep a secret in Ireland. However it is rare indeed for anyone to be harmed by a 'ghost;' in fact some ghosts are even most helpful. A cottage I knew in Newcastle, Co. Down, had a most kindly spirit who would visit the baby when he cried. On several occasions his mother saw a figure disappear into his room and the crying always stopped.

However we choose to view the subject, scientifically or with a belief in earthbound spirits, the fact remains that there are far too many well documented cases of hauntings and similar phenomena for them all to be brushed aside as figments of the imagination. If we are truly honest with ourselves we too must say 'I don't believe in them but they are there.'
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The Burren

The Burren is a place you might drive through, seeing nothing but distant glimpses of the sea and stone upon grey stone. An inhospitable place for the incurious. But stop. Take time to loiter here, for this place demands patience to find its beauty and the richness of its history. Your eyes must learn to focus in a new way. To pick out stone from stone. In the natural terraces are secreted minute things of beauty. A thorn tree perhaps, growing dwarfed and tortuous along a fissure in the rock. A group of gentians spearing upwards through a cushion of mossed grass. Even dolmens and gallery graves can remain hidden in the natural stone. It takes time for the eyes to detect the shape of man-made structures from their background of rock.

It is fragile, limestone country. Plants grow tentatively in cracks, or on the thin layers of soil. The rocks themselves look impermanent, laid out in broken pavements and higher on the hills in a sharply defined series of cliffs and terraces. Some of those rocks look still on the move, as though just hesitating for a hundred years or so. Possibly the most captured, the most static rocks are those that have been used by man. Dolmens and gallery graves have a more indestructible air, and air of immutability. There were assiduous builders in Clare. Apart from the dolmens and gallery graves which were so doggedly erected four or five thousand years ago to mark the buried dead, there are the stone forts. Circular forts with sometimes two, sometimes three enclosing walls. There would have been a dwelling house within the walls. Beyond the walls, the predators...Later, much later, Christians came and used the stone to build their churches and abbeys. Some, like the Cistercian abbey at Corcomroe, stand prominent against a hillside. Others like the nearby Oughtmama churches lie low, concealed in a valley. There were secular interests too. A building of double architectural interest is Lemaneagh Castle with its mediaeval five-storey tower, and its later, four-storey 17th century dwelling...

In so short a space I can only whet your appetite. Visit the Burren Display Centre at Kilfenora, http://www.theburrencentre.ie/ where you will be given a sensitive, visual introduction to the area. Buy a lovely map entitled "The Burren, a map of the uplands of North-West Clare." With this you could explore every last stone of the Burren.

The Burren is a place of distinct layers, with hills rising from wide valleys in steps of stone. Once the hills were wooded, and soil covered the high plateaux, but since the arrival of those first farmers at the end of the stone age, the soil has slipped down the hillsides, eroded by tillage and over-grazing, leaving behind the uncovered limestones. Sometimes the soil has been caught in the valleys. At other times it has disappeared into the sea. Driving from Ballyvaughan to Blackhead, you will emerge from a narrow valley to find yourself on the side of a mountain which falls barrenly below you to the sea, and which climbs above you to its stone-delineated sky-line. It is good in such places to walk across the broken pavement, just to reassure yourself that life still exists, and to discover the tenacity of plants which will insist on growing in each split pavement where soil has been trapped in its downward passage by the fissures.

The Burren is famous for its flowers. You'll scarcely see a tree, and you'll scarcely find fresh water up in the high Burren. But the water is there. On the West coast of Ireland it could hardly be denied that it rains. Rainfall is high. But the rain doesn't stay on the surface. Instead it trickles down through fissures, through swallow-holes and pot-holes, to join the network of rivers and lakes which run below the surface of the ground.

They call this landscape Karst, and combined with the warm, wet climate, it makes territory for a unique variety of flowers. In this small area grow alpine, arctic and mediterranean species in harmony. In spring and early summer you will find the best profusion of rare and beautiful flowers, but at any time of the summer, a walk in the hills will be rewarded by the sight of flowers in unusual places.

The Burren is a beautiful place. Please remember how delicate and tenuous its structure is and treat it with care. http://www.insideireland.com/