Homeward Bound

Searching Through Graveyards in Kilbehenny
Saturday, February 10, 2007

We have breakfast at the hotel, and the food at the buffet is pretty good, but the service is virtually non-existent. Apparently, the only job of the two people at the door is to check you off their list in order to ensure you don't take two breakfasts. I think about giving them Ben and Wendy's name & room number so they won't be able to get breakfast when they come down, but decide I can wait until later to see Wendy cause an international incident. In spite of the fact that Melissa and I are one of only three tables occupied in the restaurant, it takes forever to get coffee and when it arrives, I discover it's weak. Yuck. I hate weak coffee.

We check out and wait for our driver Gene O'Sullivan to arrive. He arrives right on time and we make introductions. Since we have ambitiously set out to do a different town or city every night, I'm very pleased to see he brought a very large (14 passenger) van for the six of us (or seven if you count Gene). With the "8 passenger" van from the airport, I had to carry luggage on my lap, so I was worried about room on the tour bus. I mean, I weigh 205 lbs. which is the most of anyone in our group, so it's not like we're morbidly obese. It's just the vehicles are tiny.

We stop at a convenience shop outside of Dublin where everyone gets coffee (except Melissa, who gets diet soda). It took a while to get out of Dublin because of the traffic, but at 11:00 a.m., Gene suggests stopping at a pub. Looks like this is going to be a great trip. We stop at Morrisey's in Abbeyleix, Laois (Queen's) County, a historical town founded in the 18th century as an estate town by Viscount De Vesci and is situated near a 12th century Cistercian monastery beside the River Nore. Population 1009.

There are about five guys drinking already, which is always a promising sign. I am reminded of a bar that Bruce and I went to in law school called Mumm's, and one of it's slogan's was "no women to interrupt your beer drinking." It turns out that I'm right. Morrisey's was established in 1733, and as you might imagine, times were a little different back then. In, fact, Gene points out a special wooden box with two benches facing each other, but with the sides built up. Apparently, the women had to sit in this box if they were in the pub, and they were visible only to the passerby in the streets through the window, and the bartender. Ben, Bruce and I think this is a great idea. The women roll their eyes. :-)

Melissa surprises me again by ordering a Smithwick's (a.k.a. "Smitic's"). There is a fire in the stove burning peat moss and wood for heat. Very cool. A older gentleman sings to Wendy an old Irish tune a capella with a voice that is breathtaking. He promises to send her a cassette tape in a few weeks. This is the kind of thing we came to Ireland for. This is going to be a great trip! We also stop at Doyle's Pub in Urlingford, County Kilkenny, for another drink. We are the only inhabitants of the place besides the bartender and she's pretty wrapped up in a local hurling match, so it's not as cool as Morrisey's. Melissa and I try to use the T-Mobile cell phone that we purchased specifically for this trip because of their alleged Ireland coverage switching from Verizon which I had had for about ten years and was perfectly happy with (but which had no coverage in Ireland). Of course it doesn't work, and we have to use a pay phone and credit card to reach the boys.

We reach Kilbehenny (population 440) and try to stop a one the three pubs to get some info on the Condon's (my paternal grandmother's maiden name). Unfortunately, all of the pubs are closed. However, Gene spies someone in back of the 3 Counties Inn (so named because the counties of Limerick, Cork, and Tipperary meet there) and asks her to open it. Amazingly, she complies with his request. We have a drink, but the bartendress doesn't know anything about the Condons or the tiny town for that matter. Gene, Megan and I, set out for the old cemetery just southeast (behind) of the pub ,which also has the ruins of the old church. On the way, Gene stops a lady who knows where some Condons live or used to live, and gives him directions there. It appears the place is given minimal care because the ground is terribly uneven, and it looks like the graves were dug fairly shallow, or perhaps they have just become that way over time. I feel like a hand might reach out of the grave at any time. You have to really watch where you step or you'll break an ankle.

We find a grave marked "W. Condon Born 1732, Died 1799, age 67." It is located on the inside of the old church, against the North wall. Apparently, this was considered an honor. Gene tells us that the graves in the Catholic cemeteries always face east, unless you were a priest, in which case they face west. Good to know in case you ever find yourself in a graveyard in Ireland at night without a compass.

We stop by the priest's residence a couple blocks north of the 3 Counties Inn. No luck. We go to the "new" church, which was built in the 1870's. It is beautiful. Apparently, it has a real problem with votive candle expense, because a) you have to put your money in first (one Euro if memory serves) ; and b) you don't get to light a candle at all, but rather have a light in a red votive shaped plastic thingy with a light inside. The church has a plaque in it dedicated "in memory of John Condon, who died on the 8th of June, 1899, in the 67th year of his age, the 36th year of his priesthood and the 11th year of his pastorship of Kilbehenny and Anglesborough, a man simple, upright, and fearing God, a good priest, and devoted pastor and a true friend. May he rest in peace. Amen." He apparently was the second pastor of the "new" church.

Megan, Gene and I then head to the Condon house, where the son probably in his 40's, reluctantly lets us in. The old lady, probably in her 80's, was apparently married to a Condon during her first marriage and was left the homestead which also appears to have a few acres suitable for farming. His name was James Condon and her name is Nora Condon, despite having been remarried. It doesn't appear to fit any of the info I have, so I don't think we found a relative. The old lady, has a lazy eye but is certainly genial . Megan notices that the son has a lazy eye too (I hadn't noticed his) and of course immediately proceeds to tell Bruce about it. Big mistake. My grandmother's family is instantly renamed "The Cross Eyed Condons" and every person with a lazy eye for the remainder of the trip is a Condon.

We move on to Mitchelstown where we check into the Palm Lodge B&B run by Mary O'Connell. I guess she is pretty nervous about having 3 lawyers at her place according to Gene, but by and large it doesn't take much to please us. The bed, however is lumpy, and gives us a backache. The bed at Clontarf was bad as well. In fact, nearly every place we stay has old beds. This apparently is a problem throughout Europe. It's about 55 degrees Fahrenheit in the room. It's even colder in the bathroom. Apparently, no one in Ireland heats bathrooms, whether its in pubs or in homes. This would have been perfect for the Seinfeld episode on "shrinkage."

We have Gene join us in town for dinner at "The Hunter's Rest." The food is good, the portions are huge, and the service is pretty good. I have to ask Melissa several times before she will try my baked potato. She looks at me as if to say "moron." But guess what? They are better than any potato I have ever had anywhere in the States, including some very expensive places in Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. It's hard to describe, but they are lighter, fluffier, and better tasting in Ireland. By comparison, Idaho potatoes taste like dirt (no pun intended).

We adjourn to a pub named Spratt's . As we are walking in, Gene asks somebody passing by if the place is popular. "Naw, noboby goes there," says the young guy. He wasn't kidding. We are the only people in the place besides the twenty-something female bartender. The place is huge for a town of this size, but instead of being happy to see someone, we are apparently interrupting the bartender's television viewing time. We go to the back, to play billiards where I lose to Bruce for the first time in my life. Damn, this cancer is really throwing off my balance. There is an excellent jukebox but again we have to ask the bartender to turn up the sound. Nobody else ever did come into the bar that night. Special note to bartender: If you ever read this, I want you to know that you left about 40 Euro (about $55 American) sitting on the table that night because you were too lazy to get off your ass and come serve us drinks.

In spite of this, we are having a great time. We finally go home about 10:00 p.m. Gene truly went above and beyond today. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.