It’s no secret that on our travels, I’m often to be found in grave yards. I find them a fascinating social history, and wildlife refuges.
Whilst on our trip along Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, we thought we’d look up some Mr Uphilldowndale’s ancestors
Frustratingly, given that we’d already been in about 20 graveyards ,and some of them were very impressive, I have to say; this is Kilmacduagh dating back to the 7th century
we found the one we wanted in Edgesworthstown to be locked.
Ahh well, we’ll make an appointment next time.
The Irish, take dying very seriously, it’s not a topic they shy away from. My holiday reading for this trip was ‘My Fathers Wake’ by Kevin Toolis, how the Irish teach us to live love and die it helped me to read the graveyards in a different way.
You’d never see a sign like this in an English graveyard.
In England the neighbours of the bereaved might bring flowers, offer their condolences, but would they offer to dig the grave? No.
The artefacts left at graves, also told a story, and were very different from what you might see in most of the UK, apart perhaps from areas where there is a large Irish Catholic populations.
We were a bit worried about Mary, it was 25c, it must be very hot in there.
And when the Irish talk about family graves, they can go back a few generations, with newer memorial stones added.
Makes you think, doesn’t it.