Category Archives: poignancy

Magical Mystical Ireland: Abandoned Churches built from endearing love.

16 Sunday May 2021

Posted by in For the live of dogs, Galavanting, Ireland, Irish Adventures, Irish Heritage, Irish Scenes, Mountains in Ireland, new adventures, poignancy, The continuing adventure, The Iris Adventure

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A Perfect Picture With Welshie as an accessory!
Dunlewey Church

We have promised ourselves that this time we will visit places in Ireland. In France money was always so tight we didn’t visit as many places as we would have liked. This time it will be different, and I plan on sharing the fabulous places with you……

So a few weeks ago we kitted up the puppies, made up a little simple picnic of sandwiches and extremely fattening pork pie and Scotch eggs (we’re just about to calm that down now, all the lovely fattening stuff!) and some cokes as beverage, and off we went on a charabang outing in my new little car to Dunlewey Church, nestled at the foot of Mount Errigal.

Stunning Dunlewey Church in it’s remote setting

As you can see from these pictures this stunning, atmospheric place didn’t disappoint, with Dunlewy Lough in the background, and the mountains all around. Classic Ireland with the heather and the bracken, overcast skies and the sun breaking through. It is a truly breathtaking place.

The church was built in the 1800’s by Jane Russell in homage to her love for her late husband James. It is such an atmospheric beautiful place it is known as the Taj Mahal of Ireland.

Born in England the couple married in 1825, and James went on to make his fortune as a hop merchant. They had five daughters and moved to Donegal after purchasing the Dunlewey Estate. Sadly in 1848 James died, and the heartbroken Jane built this beautiful church as a place to lay her husband to rest. He is buried in the vault beneath the floor of the church. I can understand why, she chose such a beautiful spot, a place where he could look out at the lough, hear the Poisoned Glen and be protected by the beautiful Errigal.

The view through the Alter window, absolutely breathtaking
with Dunlewey Lough in the background

The estate was eventually managed by a new landlord, Richard Lewis Crankshaw and when he died in 1929 he was buried in the grounds of the church. But his widow, Nellie, was a Roman Catholic (no surprises there we are in Ireland!) and because the church was not a Catholic church she would not be buried with her husband. So she was buried in the Catholic church that was immediately across the lough from Dunlewey church. To ensure that she was still close with her husband her gravestone was turned towards the old Dunlewey Church, so that they could look across the lough to each other. It’s clear this beautiful place inspires romance just as the moors did for Cathy and Heathcliffe. In fact many couples choose to marry here, despite the weather, despite the lack of roof, because the sadness, and the happiness, and all in between can be felt in this place, like a vibration.

Sadly as more and more people emigrated from Ireland the church was no longer used and fell into disrepair, with the roof being removed in 1955, as a safety measure and the fixtures and fittings distributed to other churches, including the bell which is now in place at the Cashel Church of Ireland near Doe Castle. But in 1987 the local community restored the floor of the church and in 2005 restoration work was undertaken to ensure that this beautiful place was preserved, as it should be.

It was a fabulous day out, and we will be returning, we didn’t even get to walk around the lough, because we then found the Poisoned Glen…..

Rosie

Thanks Paddy I’m Back On The Road

11 Tuesday May 2021

Posted by in Belief, Ireland, Irish Adventures, Irish Heritage, new adventures, poignancy, The continuing adventure

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It’s sad I know but despite being 58 yrars old I bought this key ring months ago, for the key that would belong to the car I was going to buy one day.

But I held back. We were in the middle of nowhere, didn’t need two cars, and if I was honest I would have crapped myself driving out on the single track from our rented property. So I left the driving to RD, not because I can’t drive the van, but because I didn’t have the confidence to reverse it out of any spaces when I couldn’t see out of the back window. I know ladies I’ve let the side down, but it is what it is.

I was also considering the extra cost of a car when we didn’t really need one at that time. Car insurance in Ireland is expensive (and sorry to Irish readers but Jesus! I thought the French drive like madmen!) and I reasoned that why pay insurance when the car would not be Utilised. But before I knew it we were four months into this year, in our new house (albeit not owning it) and I realised that I had not driven for over seven months! It had to stop, I had to get mobile and embrace my new life. I needed my own car.

Now I was being tight, I want to settle into Ireland and we need to find work, so I didn’t want to spend a fortune on a car. In fact I wanted something that would just keep me mobile for the first year or so. A little run around, or a little ‘shitter’ as some would call it, and then I truly believe my dad stepped in….

The 28th of April is my late dad’s birthday. Paddy had ideas I believe about my car, I think he was looking down in me wondering what the feck I was doing (did you see I went a little bit Irish there) sitting on my arse letting RD do all the driving and slowly using my confidence, and independence. Me, the most confident and independent little bitch he had ever laid eyes on. It had to stop. So on his birthday up popped a little advert on Facebook for a Toyota Yaris, small car, two lady owners, at snip of just under six hundred euro, cheap insurance.

Something told me to enquire about this car, it had only been up for sale for two hours. I did, and that evening we drove down to Donegal Town to view it. Now here in lies the rub….When we arrived at the home of the man selling it there stood a little Irish man called Paddy. I took a double take as he looked just like my dad, with white hair and the full lower lip as denotes my family heritage. Not only that every time he was thinking about something or having a draw on his cigarette he would stick his bottom lip out, just like my dad.

We bought the car, and when he gave us our change he then handed me another ten euro back and told me to treat myself! it was so bizarre.

RD, and my little car. I love it.

I hadn’t said anything to RD about my thoughts on how alike the man looked to my dad, but when we got home and I jokingly remarked how my dad had sent the car to me, RD turned to me and said ‘I didn’t want to upset you but that man really looked like your dad, even the way he held and smoked his cigarette.’

It wasn’t just me then! Perhaps ….

Rosie

Gaelic..I Think I’ve Always Been More Irish Than English

20 Saturday Mar 2021

Posted by in coming home, Irish Adventures, Irish Heritage, Learning and Evolving, LIfe, New Paths, poignancy, Reflections, The continuing adventure, The Iris Adventure

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In Donegal where we are putting down roots the Gaelic language is still the main language, although all those we have met have kindly spoken English to us. Most signs in our area are in Gaelic, and I plan to learn some as the years go on.

I believe it’s important to embrace the culture of where you live, even more so when it’s your heritage. It should help that I learned quite a bit of French because I notice how a lot of Gaelic words are very close to some French words. Although the French are mainly considered Gauls, many people in Brittany consider themselves Celts, and so the link continues.

I am lost on the pronunciation however, although I am getting my head around some of it involving dropping the syllables, for example Donegal … Dún na nGall, when you say it quickly it sounds the same but has a gutteral intonation.

My actual name is Moira, I use Rosie as a pseudonym because of my book, but at times it pisses me off that I lose my own identity due to that. Given that Moira is an Irish Gaelic name, derived from Celtic, I think it’s important now I live in Ireland to own it and embrace the Gaelic language.

Moira comes from the name Máire which means bitter, beloved, drop of the sea. How apt then that I have chosen to live in a place surrounded by the sea. It’s good to see that my name is right up there with Boudicca, it explains my strength, being able to fight my own corner and my hate of injustice since as long as I can remember.

I have always felt closer to my Irish roots than my English. I am proud of England for many things, mainly their stoic approach to the second world war; for whilst I am not someone who condones war I understand that from all wars that war was probably the one most necessary. Britain was up against it where that war was concerned, and they stood their ground, eventually convincing others of its need; but I think it’s important to also remember that WWI was a pre-cursor to it’s cause.

I don’t buy into the crap of ‘let’s make Britain great again’, or watching the 1966 World Cup Final over and over again. It was 55 years ago, lets move on FFS!

I have never felt a sense of English pride, not when I look back through our history and listened to my dad’s experience where Ireland was concerned. Sadly, including my time in France, there have been many times when I have been ashamed of my English heritage, including that sense of entitlement and grabbiness that I have found on my travels, perhaps that comes from all those times in our history that we have just ‘taken’ other’s countries! Then there is football hooliganism: Jack Charlton was so ashamed he gave up the Irish Football Managers job because of it. Or when I holidayed in Turkey and the other English guests ran down to put their Union Jack towels on their sun-beds, there was no other person from any other country (mostly from Germany) who did. Where did that myth about the germans putting their towels on the sunbeds come from? I know some people will read this and say ‘well other nations do that too!’ But I am half English, I’m not speaking for ‘other nations’.

Let us not forget all the times my relatives would call my dad the ‘thick Paddy’, when he was the cleverest of them all. So clever he never felt the need to put them straight, he knew he had the last laugh when he left them to drown in their own ignorance and ego.

Perhaps my Irish ancestry is coming through. I know that’s why I have been thinking about my dad more than ever and finally understanding him, more than ever. We learn and evolve, if we want to.

Where Gaelic is concerned some of the words are familiar to me and I understand them, it may be that my Irish DNA is coming through and my ancestors memories are finally starting to show themselves.

I do feel as if I am finally home.

Deireadh seachtaine maith a bheith agat

Moira

A Little Bit Of Paddy Has Finally Come Home.

03 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by in Change is a coming, Ireland, Irish Adventures, new adventures, New Paths, poignancy, Reflections, The continuing adventure

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The View From The Boat As We Docked
In Rosslare Ireland

I have so much to blog about not least the journey to our current home in Donegal, Ireland (such a nightmare, but also funny if you have a sense of humour). But first I want to write about my dad, who was a big factor in how we ended up living in Ireland.

It’s taken me a while to write this because I wanted to pay homage to my dad, and every time I thought about what I was going to write my eyes would fill with tears; they are now, but here goes.

My Dad was Patrick Joseph Walsh, you couldn’t get a more Irish name than that! He was a Tipperary man, the youngest of a large Irish family. He lost his mother early when she was sent away due to a sanatorium for mental health issues.

My dad Paddy was a clever man, but education was not an automatic right in the forties in Ireland, and further education was not available to everyone. But despite that my dad won a scholarship to go on to further education, it was a huge prestigious opportunity. Sadly whilst the education was free the uniform and the books needed were not. Despite going cap in hand and asking for help nobody would fund my dad, so terribly disillusioned he left Ireland and set sail for England where he boarded in my nan’s boarding house, met my mum, and the rest they say is history.

When my Irish grandmother (who I never met) was sent away to a sanatorium it was my Auntie Maureen who became my dad’s surrogate mother and so whenever we visited Ireland it was Auntie Maureen that we went to. I still remember today her breakfasts of Irish herby sausages, eggs with the brightest yellow yolks, and her homemade soda bread. Of how she would listen to me (a small gobby child) with a half smile on her face, but she would always listen, a little bemused. Looking back now I realise that perhaps she could see my dad in me, and that is why she always listened. I was always full of ideas, the difference with my dad was that I was more confident than my dad and have always had the ability to not show that I cared what people thought. As I’ve got older I now just don’t care.

Sadly my dad never returned to live in Ireland. My mum wouldn’t go, she wanted to stay with people she knew, no matter how vile some of her family were to her and my dad.

One of my awful, ignorant arrogant uncles would call my dad stupid (let’s not forget he was a ‘Paddy’ after all!) you can probably tell I am not a fan of my mum’s family (with the exception of one aunt). I know now that was insecurity on the uncle’s part, because my dad could see through him, and knew he had more intelligence than the arrogant uncle would ever understand. Ever the ‘quiet man’ my dad said nothing, because he also knew that was the only way to deal with insecure idiots.

Looking back now there was my dad, highly intelligent having to put up with those arseholes, how he must have longed for ‘home’.

So on New Years Eve as the boat was docking in Ireland all those travelling with their dogs were asked to wait on the dog deck, and there we stood with the Welshies, watching as Ireland became a reality. As I stood with RD I could feel a lump rise in my throat and my eyes brimmed with tears, I felt such an overwhelming feeling that I had finally come home. RD looked at me and just got hold of my had, he knew.

It’s hard to explain that feeling, it was so totally unexpected. The last time I visited Ireland was in 1985, when my dad brought us all over for a family holiday. I knew it was beautiful, but I was too young to appreciate just how beautiful it really is.

As I stood on deck I found myself hoping that my dad was standing beside me, with a smile on his face, approving because finally a little piece of him had come home, in me.

This one’s for you Paddy.

Rosie

On the Boat to A New Adventure in Ireland

03 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by in Change is a coming, Dream, France, Goodbyes, new adventures, New Paths, poignancy, The continuing adventure

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I wrote this blog on New year’s eve, but the dreaded internet got in the way. I thought it was appropriate to say a final farewell to France. Of course I am now writing this in Ireland, but this is the final farewell. There will be a flurry of posts this week, so much to write about…..

31.12.2021

So we did it! I suppose if you’ve done it once it gets easier. We said goodbye to France due to arrive in Ireland at 3.30pm Greenwich meantime.

    View from Deck

    I have limited internet, so here are some photos of Ambrieres les vallees on our last day there. It was a very pretty town, and affluent, as indicated by the Marie’s office. But despite its affluence the town was still struggling to survive, as were many in France.

    Enjoy the photos more to come from Ireland

    Ambrieres les vallees, taken from the town that’s cut into the rocks
    I fell in love with this weir and little bridge
    The weir
    The Marie’s Office in Ambrieres les vallees

    Rosie

    Looking Forward to Decorating My New Home For Christmas 2021. But Until Then…….

    25 Friday Dec 2020

    Posted by in Change is a coming, My home, poignancy, Simple things

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    Wiglet Photobombing Harley Christmas 2020

    For me the best part of Christmas has been putting the Christmas decorations up. This year, due to our big move that’s not possible, so thought I would share some from the past 5 years.

    Christmas 2017 Two Trees That Year
    The Only Real Tree We Ever Had 2017 The Year Tom First Came To Visit
    Mt Dickensian Garland Christmas 2017
    Christmas: It’s Good To Be Home
    Our Last Christmas 2019
    Nothing Decorates Like Nature December 2015. Our First Christmas In France The View From Our Bedroom Window
    December 2015
    December 2016 The Hoarfrost Literally Blew Me Away. It Was Like Walking In Narnia
    Our Home Made Deco Christmas 2018
    Christmas 2018
    Christmas Garland 2019
    Twenty Years Old and Will Be Up Next Year In Ireland

    And finally some photos of that fabulous Hoar frost, what a privilege it was to experience that phenomenon.

    Mellow Christmas Folks

    Rosie

    Taking A Moment: The Last Sunday Morning Snuggle in France

    13 Sunday Dec 2020

    Posted by in Change is a coming, For the live of dogs, Goodbyes, My home, new adventures, New Paths, poignancy, Saying Goodbye, Simple things, sunrises and sunsets, The continuing adventure

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    December Sunrise Ambrieres les vallees 2020
    Welshie moments

    I often write this blog on a Sunday morning/afternoon as we sit in bed having our fourth cup of tea, snuggling with the Welshies. It is one of our treasured moments, a simple thing, counting our blessings.

    We have been mega busy dismantling our home, and today will be the last Sunday that we will have the opportunity to do this in this home. The weather has lent itself kindly to us doing this given that the rain is pouring down, and every now and then a spurt of wind whips around this hose on the hill.

    Once I get up my sparkling lights will be taken down, and off the bed.

    Our Bedroom, a place of sanctuary

    The 1860’s French dressing table will be emptied, ready for the remainder of our furniture to be moved on Tuesday.

    Our Antique French Dressing Table lovingly painted by me.

    This bedroom will no longer feel like ours, and this time next week we will be moving to a gite in anticipation of handing the keys to our house over the week after.

    One of the lessons we have learned as part of this adventure is that we make our homes, it is RD and I who create them, and make them into places where people like to come, because they are welcomed.

    I know I will create a new one, in some ways I am looking forward to it, but I started this blog all those years ago to encourage people to step outside of their comfort zones, to broaden their horizons, and to not be afraid of doing so. So I am writing about this move because yes, it is scary, yes it is poignant, yes you can recreate again, but yes you should live in each moment.

    I asked RD the other day if he felt afraid, he said ‘Yes’.

    Despite it all we know we are doing the right thing. Life has showed us that over and over. But right now we are procrastinating, or perhaps just treasuring this moment because we know it will never come again.

    Rosie

    December Sunset Montaigu Ambrieres les vallees 2020

    An Unexpected Event. We’re in Turmoil.

    10 Thursday Dec 2020

    Posted by in Belief, My family and other furry creatures, poignancy, serendipity, The continuing adventure

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    Nearly three years ago (in March next year) I wrote about our youngest cat Tilly, and how we had lost her. She went out one day, and never came back. We were heartbroken, and every time I drive past the woods in our lane I think of Tilly.

    Last week we had all of the animals vaccinated, including the rabies jab. We smiled and chatted about our naughty black kitten, and how we wished we were taking her with us, despite the huge expense! We hoped she was with someone who loved her, or hadn’t suffered if she had left this mortal coil. We knew she had always been a free spirit, and naughty (which is why we love her so), and that there was a high likelihood that she would not live a long life.

    Last night Tilly came back to our garden! Harley the Welshie was barking incessantly and wouldn’t come in, no matter what we did to persuade him. So poor old RD had to put his trainers on and trudge off up the chemin to the very farthest part of our garden where he found Harley who was clearly barking at something up the huge oak tree. When RD shone the torch there she was, Tinky Tiny Tilly, from Tinky Tiny Tilly Land. RD was adamant it was her, because she responded to her name and closed her eyes in love at him, and let out her little meow that only she could do. He grabbed Harley, and was frantically calling me. In the meantime I was going into the garden to look for him, he called me and I blindly made my way up the chemin in the pitch black, but Tilly was so spooked she ran off like a Jack Rabbit before I could get there.

    There we stood in our jimby jamby’s and dressing gowns in the pouring of rain frantically calling her, whilst the dogs were locked indoors.

    Daisy Pussy Upsy was Tilly’s bestest friend, and she joined us sniffing inquisitively up the tree, at the bottom of the tree, and at the part if the fence where Tilly had made her exit. She even went out again later looking for her.

    I am convinced now it was Tilly, but what do we do? We leave this house a week on Sunday. Even if she had come back today it would be too late to take her to Ireland, she needs twenty-two days minimum before she can travel. We are in turmoil, we can’t stay, but the thought of leaving her behind is beyond our comprehension.

    We have been searching for her today, but no sign; and are just about to go back out in the dark, when she must feel safer, to call her whilst the Welshies remain indoors. If we find her between now and when we leave we will get her jabbed and put her in the cattery to settle her, and RD will come back earlier than planned from Ireland to collect Tilly and our furniture. I have also asked our lovely immoblier and friend Aidan, if I can give him her passport, and if she turns up after we have left will he arrange for her to go into the cattery and get her jabbed. It’s all we can do.

    We strongly believe that life will show us the way. For Tilly to come home now, as if to say don’t forget me, is surely a sign. Or was she just coming to say goodbye?

    Come home Til Til ❤️🥲

    Rosie

    Diary Of A Move: The Boat’s Booked

    01 Tuesday Dec 2020

    Posted by in Change is a coming, For the live of dogs, Friends, Goodbyes, Learning and Evolving, new adventures, New Paths, poignancy, Saying Goodbye, sunrises and sunsets, The continuing adventure

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    November Sunrise over the French Vallees

    Yesterday I booked our boat to Ireland. It’s no mean feat when your booking two Welsh terriers into heated dog lodges, arranging for two cats to remain safely and warmly in the van, and booking a cabin for yourselves for the eighteen and a half hour crossing!

    It was weird because I felt very excited about going to Ireland, as did RD . But last night as we sat in our dismantled living room we both agreed that whilst excited we still felt a little sad. It’s part of the process folks, I have learned that now: part of the process of letting things go is to allow yourselves to feel the poignancy as one chapter of your life closes and another opens. We don’t always have to put our chins up and pretend that we’re not sad, or ignore our feelings and just look to the future (which we are incredibly excited about). I believe that we should allow that feeling of poignancy wash over us, and then keep going. Too many people try and have a ‘stiff upper lip’, when, really, they don’t need to. It’s just what it is.

    Yesterday one of my best friends (thirty three years and counting) put a beautiful comment on my last post asking me to hug our house for her, because it had healed her at a time she needed it, just as it has healed us enough to go back into the ‘throng’. I have evolved from living here, so much so that I am ready to go back out there, albeit a different Rosie sometimes.

    Making Our Home December 2015

    Last night we took down my big decorative mirror that was one of the first things we hung above the fireplace. As RD carried it out he stopped and we both just looked at each other, remembering when we hung it in December 2015.

    Moving on December 2020

    As always life has shown me the way, you know how it does: like little pieces of jigsaw being placed like a path showing you where to go. (I have really learned to listen now.) We are juggling money, with each week mapped out as to what I have to pay. But when I spoke to the lovely lady at the cattery she doesn’t want the deposit until we arrive with the cats; and when I tried to pay for our accommodation in Ireland the money doesn’t come out until the 28th, freeing up enough money this week to book our boat. Moving from country to country is a complicated and expensive business. We were going to sail to Ireland on the 3rd of January 2021, but I couldn’t get the dogs booked into their dog lodges for that date, however I could get everything I needed for the 30th. Life clearly thought we should be starting the new year in a new country. So we will be as I write this we have twenty nine days left in France…….

    Rosie

    November Sunset From My French Home

    Diary Of A Move: Dismantling The Home We Made.

    29 Sunday Nov 2020

    Posted by in Change is a coming, Goodbyes, Learning and Evolving, My family and other furry creatures, My home, new adventures, New Paths, poignancy, Saying Goodbye, sunrises and sunsets, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure

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    November Sunrise In Ambrieres les Vallees France

    As you can probably tell I am trying to cherish every beautiful sunrise that I see. There are not many left here for me to cherish. I know there will be new ones, I am not sad about our decisions, but those new ones are not here yet, and I firmly remind myself to live in the here and now.

    November Sunset in Ambrieres les Vallees France

    When I find my new home I will put up a collections of the sunrises and sunsets that I have had the blessing to see whilst living here in France. It’s been a part of my life.

    Life has took off now, we have less than three weeks left in this house. I have been packing for the last two weeks, and now every cupboard is empty apart from the stuff we’re using. The home we built is now being dismantled. I have held onto my sparkly lights until next week, just to feel as if we are still at home, but I know I will have to relinquish them eventually.

    I have been mercenary, even selling our vintage Blue Willow plates, bowls and side plates, they are just not my thing, I prefer my plain white plates. It was only after I sold them that I realised that I had packed all our other plates and now we have no small plates or dinner plates, just platters! When I gave Daisy the cat some milk and cream she looked at me as if I had grown another head when I poured it out for her on a platter!

    Our Beautiful Bedroom. I will create a new one. I always do.
    Dismantling

    The shelves are coming down, our antique French mirrors are packed away and my bedroom that I lovingly put together is slowly being dismantled, but I am still trying to hold on to my sparklies in every room for as long as I can.

    Our beautiful French buffet is now in storage along with our armoire, both have already gained scratches but I knew that was coming. No stress they can always be repainted.

    The fourteen mirrors we have throughout the house are coming down. The old grandfather clock has been taken to storage and when I woke this morning waiting for it to chime out the time, I suddenly remembered it was now chiming away in our friends summer house. I hope the mice appreciate it, and don’t feel the need to re-enact ‘Hickory Dickory Dock’!

    Our furries are stressed to the max, the dogs are getting tetchy with each other, and the cats have finally started to snuggle together after being at odds for years. We feel really guilty about our animals, poor Wiglet looks afraid all the time after her terrible start in life, and we have to keep reassuring her that everything will be okay, that she is coming with us. Harley pretty much takes most things in his stride but even he is getting arsy with Wiglet.

    I feel sad because I know they all love this garden, and because I know they will have to move again from our rental into whatever house we find; and God knows what condition that will be in. I do know that the first job will be to fence the garden to protect them all. Despite my guilt I know that part of our decision is based on finding regular work, because we have responsibilities to them, and I know that they will love Ireland just as much as they love here.

    We know in our heart of hearts that we are doing the right thing for us all; and we also know that if you want an adventure part of it is discomfort, and apprehension, and poignancy. But we’ve done it once, we know we can do it again. This time we’re just letting more stuff go, and going into the future with our eyes open, using all we have learned from this adventure.

    As I packed up this week it suddenly came to me that the last five years have all been about learning things to prepare us for our life in Ireland. We know that life is mapped out, we accepted that a long time ago.

    Life’s all about learning and facing your fears ay?

    Rosie

    Sunsets from my French garden in France