Bantry and Relations: Auntie Beers' Ireland

 

We head back From Skibbereen on a different route this time. Not as much traffic. The day is glorious, blue and sunny. The hills are a beautiful green patchwork. Here and there we glimpse the simmering waters of the ocean.

We return to Bantry and do a tour of the gardens at Bantry House, located on the bay just outside the town. Originally called Blackrock, Bantry House and Garden is a stately home overlooking Bantry Bay in the south west of Ireland. Constructed in 1710, the House was purchased by the White family around 1739. The Whites were merchants from Limerick who moved to Whiddy Island before relocating to Bantry. At first there were about 80,000 acres around the manor terraces. Richard White and his wife Mary developed fabulous gardens, including steps and a fountain at the back of the house, a fountain and tons of azaleas and rhodendendron.  The house was opened to the public in 1946.

The house and gardens in 1895. The conservatory no longer exists.

Palm trees at Bantry House.

 

The canon at Bantry House overlooking the bay.

Not our picture, but sure does show off the gardens.

 

We decide to head into the town to look around more but there is absolutely no parking. We drive through Ballylickey along the road to Glengarriff. The vistas are indescribable. Hopefully our pictures will do it justice. (Too bad I can't find them!!)

We return to the hotel for relaxation in the stunningly beautiful gardens.

Eventually I get in touch with Agnes’s daughter Donna. Then Agnes herself. She sounds nervous about meeting us. She offers to come to the Sea View after work, as she’s working at Quill’s Woollens in Glengarriff tomorrow. She tells me that Kathleen’s brother Tommy lives in Cork. Too bad we hadn’t known. It sounds as though Agnes has very little knowledge of the family. Tommy might’ve known more.

We have another stupendous meal, drink tea inn our rooms, and settle in for the night.

Auntie Beers' Ireland: The Genealogy Bug

 

We go to the lounge about 5:30 and sit by the fire. We have beer and wine. We meet Dominic the bartender. We also meet a resident from England who’s been here for a week. She says the weather will turn fine tomorrow because they are leaving. She also says the food here is 'haute cuisine.' It turns out she is right on both counts.

 The service is phenomenal and the food is exquisite. The wine is great too.

 After dinner, we sit in the lounge again, this time with coffee. Kathleen O’Sullivan comes by and tells a group of women about our accident. They all chat away very solicitously. 

Mum goes to bed. She has been bitten by the genealogy bug. Before we left for our trip, she said she wasn't interested in looking up any relatives. But there is something about setting foot on the land of your ancestors. You feel the connections in your DNA. We plan to do some searching tomorrow.

In the meantime, as it has now stopped raining completely, Vince and I take a short walk. We look out over the inlet and breathe in the lovely darkening night.

 

 

 

The next morning is beautiful and sunny. We have breakfast and head out to see Bantry. We walk through the town, buy post cards and other touristy things. It’s very busy! Mum's desire to find relatives ramps up because nearly every business is owned by an O'Sullivan or a Sullivan. 

Bantry, according to folklore, was named after a sixth-century saint Breandan the Navigator. In the12th Century, the O'Sullivans arrived to overtake the Bantry Bay area. Donal O'Sullivan Beare (we have an O'Sullivan Beare in our family tree) built a Franciscan friary in Bantry, though nothing remains of this structure. The famine of the 1800's was catastrophic for Bantry.  The fisheries, a mainstay of the economy, were almost exhausted, and the woolen mill closed down. (In Auntie Beers, Pulling the Wool and The Well are both stories based on my grandmother's experiences with wool.) 

The Gulf Stream warms up the climate around Bantry Bay, so even cabbage palms can survive. There are also seals, whales and dolphins in the nearby sea waters. 

Mum and I, strolling through the Bantry Market, 1998. Nowadays, it's much larger: "A treasure trove of stalls offering everything from organic fruit & veg, food, home baking, cheese, fish, meats, olives, eggs, honey, preserves, plants, local crafts, pet supplies, bric-á-brac to collectibles. Bantry Market is the largest market in Cork county and it occupies the central town square, spilling out into the adjoining roads and car parks."

Downtown Bantry. Mum's parents spent their childhoods in Bantry. There were, at that time, two farms inhabited by relatives on the Cotter (maternal) side and the O'Sullivans. Unfortunately, we didn't know where they were in 1998.

Mum wants to visit every business in Bantry owned by an O'Sullivan. The residents smile indulgently but deny any relation.

Our room with a view at, of course, the Sea View.
 

 

 

 

  

Auntie Beers' Ireland: Seaview House

 

July 1998

 

Just as we’re nearing the signs for Bantry (about 2-3 kms out), someone in front of us stops suddenly to pull into an ESSO station. The car directly in front also stops. We stop. The two cars behind us, don’t. Smash, into the back of our car! We are angry, but mostly unhurt, although our necks are stiff. Mum seems to be okay.

 

As our journey continues, so does the rain. Even harder, joined by wind and fog. 

 

We pass straight through Bantry and into Ballylickey where we find the Sea View House hotel. It is absolutely gorgeous. Mum’s room is The Garden Suite and ours is #307.

 

We overlook the beautiful gardens and can see the inlet of Bantry Bay and the hills in the distance.

 

Torrents of rain lash against our windows. We sit and read. Relax and listen to the news as the winds and rain swirl around us. Despite the ambience of the hotel, we are very dispirited. 

 

When the proprietor, Kathleen O’Sullivan, hears about our accident, she sends tea and coffee and cookies in beautiful silver pots to our rooms. She lets us know that dinner is at 7:30.

 

Our spirits lift immensely! (Of course the pictures were taken during much better weather.)

Auntie Beers' Ireland

Writing my book about a fictional ancestor involved some truth, too. My trips to Ireland helped inform the story. On one of those trips, in 1998, my husband and I brought my mother along. She was 76 years old but could keep up with us and outdo us every time at the pub. I wrote a journal about the trip. I'm going to put excerpts up here, along with images, most of which are yanked from the internet, since my pictures unfortunately have been lost. 

 

July 22, 1998: We head down the road toward Bantry, through lots of little villages. The scenery is lovely, green and expansive. The driving is harrowing with vine covered walls on each side of the narrow and winding roads. The homes are brightly coloured and resemble painting and post cards. Unfortunately, the rain continues.

 

www.catherineastolfo.ca

https://www.amazon.ca/Auntie-Beers-connected-short-stories/dp/1772421812

Monkey

After my little cat gets her diagnosis of acute kidney failure, with no real answer about why the disease progressed so rapidly, I question my ability to see what’s in front of me. Had there been clues that I missed? Was I not paying enough attention?

Her real name was Raven but when she was a kitten, she made a sound like a monkey and she climbed trees like one too, so she was Monkey and sometimes Miss Monk, depending on her attitude. She had begun to follow me around a bit more than usual. Always at my side, curled in her little nest, as I sat by the computer. At my feet. Back and forth from the front door to the back door to look outside. Her behaviour was perhaps a bit different, but not enough for me to wonder about her health. In winter, she always pouted, because she loved the sun. Perhaps I ignored those first signs because I put it down to winter blahs? In winter she also slept at our feet or on my pillow and that didn’t change. Again, I ask myself, was I not paying enough attention?

I know everyone is like this. Questioning. Doubting themselves and their abilities to catch the signals. I’ve heard the questions from my family and friends after a loss much worse than losing a pet. Should we have paid more attention to that cough? Why didn’t I notice the bags under those eyes? How could I not know that suicide was ever considered an option? Why didn’t we ask Dr. Google about that back pain?

We find it difficult to believe that we are unable to stop the inevitable. To change the course of someone’s history. To control what will happen. To deny or conquer death. To make time stand still.

I watch in admiration and, at moments something bordering on exasperation, while my cat fights to assert her wishes despite a failing body. As she flops over, weak and in pain, then gets up again. Lifts her proud head. Walks slowly and unsteadily forward. Falls and gets up and does it all over again. I want her to stay in my arms, but even now, she’s not a cuddly cat. Everything happens on her terms. It seems she is determined to do so right to the end. She howls at us in pain. She sneaks down the stairs in the middle of the night and I stumble around in the dark looking for her. Thanks to my grandson, who finds her on the cold floor, I go down and pull her to me. This time she is too weak to protest. I cuddle her in our bed, skin to fur, warming her. She purrs. Comforts herself and comforts me. We sleep.

I think of my cousin throughout this ordeal. How she did all these things with her son. Her baby. I wonder how she found the strength. As I force water into Monkey or nearly choke her with a pain medication, I wonder if I could be as strong with my child. I pray I will never have to test that. My friend recently nursed her husband through his last, messy, awful dying. To me, it was the greatest expression of love and courage. Again, I am not sure I am brave or selfless or loving enough to manage it. Maybe. Maybe Monkey has taught me I can if I ever have to. (Please, universe, I want not to have to.)

However, going through a death is also a gift. One that hurts but one that makes us appreciate life. Makes us pay attention. I know we are lucky, and so is our little cat, that hers was so quick, progressed so fast from fine to dying. We talked to Monkey constantly. Vince and I reminded her of all the fun we had in our sixteen years together. We asked her to say hello to all our other fur babies who have gone over the rainbow bridge.

When we take her to the end of life appointment, we are suffused with grief and tears, but grateful we can be at her side. What of all those poor people who have had to die this year, alone and unaccompanied? We know this is a privilege and we are appreciative of these last moments. With the first shot, the tranquilizer, Monkey curls up beside my hand. Her face looks different. Ah, this is what I felt like before the pain and illness. Her serene look, I believe in my soul, reflects peace and acceptance. We lean over her, tell her we love her. With the last injection, she is completely still, but that look remains. We spend time after she is gone, enjoying the last feel of her soft warmth.

Many people seem to choose a moment of aloneness to complete their dying. Often it’s a matter of bad timing. For instance, I didn’t make it in time to be at my mother’s side. I always regretted taking the time to brush my teeth before I went to her. In the Islamic faith, family members wash the body, place the hands in prayer, and cover their loved one with a sheet before burial. Jewish rites include washing the body, tearing garments or wearing black ribbons, staying with the body until burial. We did the same thing in our old Irish traditions, wrapping the body in a shroud, staying and warding away evil spirits until the beloved could be buried. In the Irish case, we also partied hard while we guarded. I never considered the idea of washing the body to be a ritual I could embrace. Now, however, I can see its benefits. Still not sure I could do it.

I recall one of the times when I study my great-grandson's head. He's in profile and doesn't notice my scrutiny. Clutches his bottle for comfort, sipping now and then. He watches a lively kids' show, though he's too tired to react. It's a kind of lull; he's relaxing as he lets the cartoon characters do the work. His wispy blond hair, his perfectly shaped ears. The long eyelashes. Little nose and full lips. If he turned this way, his eyes would be big and clever.

I wonder what kind of world we have brought him into. I know he's far better off than many toddlers. He's got a huge circle of people who love him. He's got a roof over his head and food on the table. In the corner there's a testament to his luck: he's got a tower of toys. I know he's smart and empathetic and kind and energetic. He's got his challenges having parents who don't live together. But they are smart, too, and share custody and talk constantly about what's best for him. Not them. Him.

Having attended an event where Jane Goodall spoke to a rapt audience for two hours, I am hyper-aware. I am paying attention, the way I did to my great grandson.

I think of attending Jane Goodall's appearance at the Sanderson Centre in our hometown, Brantford. In particular, her response to the question, "What's the next big adventure you are looking forward to?"

She answers, "Death."

The audience gasps, chuckles a little, surprised. Embarrassed?

"I have witnessed too much to not believe in an afterlife." I paraphrase, but her message is clear. Jane believes there is a great adventure awaiting all of us after we die. We go on to something else, something completely different, a spectacular new life. 

I agree with her. But I want to focus on this life. This present. 

As I write this, Vince listens to the Eagles on TV, so I hear:

There's a hole in the world tonight
There's a cloud of fear and sorrow
There's a hole in the world tonight
Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow. 

As 2020 mercifully comes to a close, I wish for all of us to wash away its fear and death. Lift our heads, burdened with sorrow but facing hope. My belief is that 2021 will get better as it goes. Start off very low, but the highs will be enormous. Can we take the lessons of the pandemic and improve life for others? Can we clean up the mess we have made of the earth? Yes. Judging by the miracles of science in this past year, yes, we can do this. A tiny virus made us sit up and pay attention. Focus. 

I plan to finish reading “Ten Lessons for a Pandemic World” and reread “A Life on Our Planet” and “Homo Deus.” Read “Peace and Good Order.” Figure out how I can contribute, even in a tiny way. For now, that might simply be staying home, washing my hands, wearing my mask, staying away from people I love to hug.  

There are holes in this world tonight. The lesson that fear, dying and death has taught me is to pay attention to the holes. Let’s fill them with respect, support, action. Let’s keep loving despite the grief of loss. Appreciate what we had, what we still have. Bug the shit out of our governments to make huge changes in the way they “lead.” To quote Yuval Noah Harari, “Is there anything more dangerous than dissatisfied and irresponsible gods who don’t know what they want?” (He refers to all of us, but here I target those with the 'power.')

Let’s get rid of them. Shift the power. Force a different kind of economy in which everyone has equal opportunity. In which those who suffer from any sort of roadblock, mental or physical, systemic or individual brackets, are given dignity and assistance. In which people are not allowed to accumulate wealth beyond their ability to spend it in a thousand years. Greed, that slot machine of reward and false promise, must be wrestled out of our civilization.

Let us choose a humanist revolution. One in which we foster collectiveness. Encourage science to shepherd the planet back to health. Again, from Yuval, let's embrace the idea that we redefine human happiness as knowing the truth about ourselves. Not what we want, but what we need, what we all need. What, for our health and joy, we should want to want. We evolved in tiny communities where we shared everything. We can return to that concept. To survive, and survive well, we need to choose the right paths.

As the Anishinaabe legend of the Seven Fires tells us, if we choose the right road, we can “light the eighth and final fire of peace, love, brotherhood and sisterhood.”

First we have to pay attention. Be conscious and take notice. Guide our world by learning and knowing what to pay attention to. The environment. Racism. Inequality. 

Think. Learn. Act.

Come on 2021, light that fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

May Eleventh: Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

May 11 has rolled around 38 times since you abruptly left for the other dimension. I know you've been watching.

We've sent you some pretty special people to spend time with. One of your daughters, our mom - your wife, all your siblings and in-laws, some nephews and nieces, lots of friends. Sadly, some grands, too. In the last twelve months, we've sent you Dave, David, Linda and Kevin. Hug them for us. We're bruised and raw from their losses here in this world. We sent you some friends, too, whom you might not have known before - Dave, Patrick, Leo and Adam. Take care of all of them for us.

Isn't your family spectacular? Aren't you amazed by how it has expanded? You're a great-great! You're still Papa and you continue to smile from your pictures. We tell stories about you to the grands.

We've had our ups and downs, as you know. Heartbreak and mistakes and fights. But the joys and the good times far outstrip the bad. Our family is strong. We love each other unconditionally. We stay in touch not only with each other but our extended family too. We celebrate. We mourn. We have each other's back. We can be a rock or a chocolate mess or a loud-mouthed drunk and know we will still be loved.

There are cuddles and kisses, sometimes a pinch or a push. We're loud and talkative and you must wonder if we listen. But we do!

Aren't you proud of the accomplishments? It would be impossible to list all the ways in which your family has made and continues to make a difference in the world. As you know, it's a huge network of influence and positive impact. We work hard! And we party hard in your footsteps.

We tell corny jokes, too, just as you did. I'm sure you love that every year we stage the Easter Hunt with as many family members as we can gather. The little ones have such a great time! One of your granddaughters has now become the Master Bunny. The tradition lives on.

Very soon we'll add two more babies to the family! How wonderful Christmas 2018 will be!

Thank you, to you and Mom, for starting all of this. In the whole scheme of things, we are incredibly lucky and grateful. See you on the other side - though I hope it's many more years before we send you anyone else.

Love, Your Eldest Daughter, Cathy

Introducing Laurence St. John: YA Author!

            Terror on the East Coast - Two Million Dead!

    TOLEDO, OHIO, March 15, 2018 – Yesterday, more than two million people were killed, including the President of the United States.
    The death toll is the worst in the history of America and the world.
    This tragic day will be known forevermore as “The Day of Annihilation.”
    The CIA has the sole person responsible for the killing of millions and millions of innocent people in custody.
    His name is Tyler Thompson –  a moral person turned evil. The question foremost on everyone’s mind is, why did he orchestrate this horrific act of terror and how did he pull it off?

 This headline is fake news – or is it?

    In his new release, METATRON: DAGGER OF MORTALITY, science fiction/fantasy author Laurence St. John creates an uplifting and inspiring fiction novel that “sustains constant action as 15-year-old Tyler struggles to stop the relentless animosity of a demonic figure and his accomplice! Sometimes you need to go backwards to move forward,” said Piers Anthony, New York Times bestselling fantasy Author of the Xanth series.

    St. John, who hails from just south of Toledo, Ohio, quickly grabs the reader’s attention then poses the ultimate question: Can superheroes really be killed?

    Who is this Black Shadow character and who does he want to get revenge from?

    Tyler must execute the most grueling choice of his life – save himself, save his beloved girlfriend Kendall or save millions of helpless people and hinder Kelltie’s plan.
    In this, his highly anticipated third action-adventure, St. John keeps readers turning the pages up to the last adrenaline-filled moment when Tyler’s fate is determined.
    The story is set in New York, Nevada, and Massachusetts, where the action-packed adventure opens your mind’s eye, conveying the sensation that you’re watching a movie.
    Metatron: Dagger of Mortality is a novel made for the silver screen ― action-packed, emotional and a gripping story that will leave you wanting more.

From the back cover:

    Tyler believes a Superhero’s responsibility is to make the right decision then follow it through to the end. But, what if the outcome results in his death?
      Fourteen-year-old Tyler Thompson has been in isolation for eight months so he could focus on completing his superhero training. Not even one day after his completion, Master Pat Tanaka urgently summoned Tyler. Pat desperately needs his help, but for what?
    Kelltie is threatening Tyler’s destiny of being a superhero by framing him for what will be the largest mass killings in American history and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. She also teams up with Black Shadow, a ruthless demonic figure with his own agenda — to use the Dagger of Mortality and kill Metatron.
    Tyler feeling vulnerable gets inspiration one last time from Master Tanaka’s instructor Master Dogmai. Nevertheless, with the Dagger of Mortality in hand, it’s time for Black Shadow to get his revenge. Tyler must render the most arduous choice of his life. He’ll save himself, save his beloved girlfriend Kendall or save millions of helpless people and hinder Kelltie’s plan.

Can superheroes really die? What choice does Tyler make?

Reviews:

“Metatron – Dagger of Mortality, by Laurence St. John sustains constant action as 15-year-old Tyler struggles to stop the relentless animosity of a demonic figure and his accomplice! Sometimes you need to go backwards to move forward…”- Piers Anthony, New York Times bestselling fantasy Author of the Xanth Series

“Laurence St. John turns up the heat with Metatron – Dagger of Mortality. This book continues the story of Tyler Thompson and his journey of discover as he masters his powers in preparation of a new evil threat. A can’t miss read for middle-grade readers and young adults!”
Braxton A. Cosby - Author of the award-winning Star-Crossed Saga Series

“Dagger of Mortality’ packs a wallop! St. John blends equal parts superhero and X-Files into a high energy yarn sure to inspire.”
Jason Born – Author of The Norseman Chronicles Series

“Teens and adults alike will identify with Tyler and his all too human angst as he executes superhero feats in a way only St. John’s hero can accomplish, with many twists and surprising turns of events in this young adult thriller.”
Kenna McKinnon – Author of Short Circuit: And Other Geek Stories, Blood Sister, and Den of Dark Angels

* * * *

Metatron: Dagger of Mortality was published by Ogopogo Book an Imprint of Imajin Books and is available in eBook edition at Amazon, Google Play and Kobo. Order your copy today.

It is also available in trade paperback edition at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble, as well as other retailers.

Buy here:
Amazon – http://getbook.at/DaggerofMortality

* * * *
Laurence St. John is currently working on book four and five in the Metatron Series.

Laurence is also available for interviews/guest appearances.
For book sign dates please see his Facebook page.

For more information please visit:        http://www.laurencestjohn.com

Follow Laurence on Twitter:  http://twitter.com/laurencestjohn

“Friend Request” Laurence on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/laurenceastjohn

Imajin Books: http://www.imajinbooks.com

Laurence is a 1983 graduate of Genoa High School, a 1988 Black Belt recipient in Tae Kwon Do and a 2004 graduate of Owens State Community College.