Over the Water

I believe I was lucky this week to escape most of the rain, rather than taking it with me on my holidays, as is often the case.  That said, it was far from a week in glorious and unremitting sunshine: there were no blissful evenings sitting outside in shirtsleeves and I was very glad to have taken an overcoat.  Although I may have told you before, you may be curious where I found even half a week without noticeable rainfall.  I went to the midlands of Ireland (pronounce it as it it were two separate words ... the mid lands).

For those with statistical interest, I will summarise the eight-and-a-half days as travelling 1,540 miles, approximately one-third of which were getting to Ireland and two thirds driving around once I'd got there, at an average of just over 61 miles per gallon.  I filled up three times while there at an average price of €1.469 which, irrespective of what exact exchange rate you get, I contend dispels the idea of cheaper fuel there than here as a myth from a bygone age.

I stayed in two separate lodgings; one the main base for the week, the other a convenient bridgehead to make my departure for home a little more civilised.  When people had asked me before where I was going I had sounded somewhat vague, saying 'a few miles outside Birr', which is the nearest town to the farm.  It wasn't until the morning I left that I explored the village of which it is actually a part, and even later that I learned something of its history.

Almost as shameful was my puzzle over why the farm should be called 'the Ring'.  It wasn't until the last morning that I spotted an aerial view of the farm hanging above the fireplace in the sitting room.  Once you know what you're looking for, it's obvious.  Find the town of Birr in Co. Offaly and follow the N52 about 2 km south to the village of Crinkill (in Irish Crionchoill), which lies a short distance to the east of the main road.  About the same distance beyond the village, further to the east, a perfect circle of fields can be distinguished with the farmhouse at its centre.

Later on my final morning, I explored places fairly close by, including the monastic ruins at Clonmacnoise.  I didn't stay long before moving a few miles downstream to the unimaginative named Shannonbridge.  Here is one of the few points where this magnificent river can be crossed.  I learned that, in Napoleonic times, when it was feared that the French might invade Britain 'by the back door', it was decided not to bother defending the west coast of Ireland because the Shannon forms such a perfect defence.  The bridge over the river here was completed in 1757 and the crossing was fortified in 1803-1817.  The resulting fort, most of which remains to view inside and out, was manned by over 100 troops and defended by four 24-pounder guns.  Some of the troops were based in barracks at Athlone further up-river ... and others at Crinkill.

The barracks at Crinkill were built in 1809-1812, and became the base for the 100th Royal Canadian and 109th Bombay Infantry regiments, which later were amalgamated into the Prince of Wales's Leinster Regiment. Some 6,000 enlisted there during the First World War, and an airfield was build there in 1917.  The regiment was disbanded on Irish independence in 1922, and the base taken over by the Irish Army.  However, a small group of the IRA took control during the civil war and it was razed to the ground.  The ruins were demolished in 1985 and all that remains now is the perimeter wall.

There's more to tell of my jaunts but they'll have to wait until another day.