Killarney, Ireland

Annie Moore

Cobh, Cork, Ireland

Eager Brittany Spaniel

Gearahg's Bar

August 29, 2007-Exodus

 I’m beginning to understand Irish history. It’s one of struggle, failure, and flight. We were in Cobh today. Its name has changed over the years from Cove to Queenstown to the Irish spelling of Cobh, but its purpose has been the way out of Ireland. In the Cobh Heritage Center we were enveloped in the Irish emigrant experience. It was a poignant melding of the same feelings elicited by touring Ellis Island in New York Harbor and the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC.

Six million people left Ireland between 1815-1970 with three million leaving from Cobh. But the flight started as early as 1750.Their population bled into “coffin boats,” ships so unreliable that families held “American wakes” for the dearly departing. In the early days the crossing took 4-6 weeks. When Ellis Island opened it was only a 12-14 day journey.

What drove the people to leave? The potato famine is notorious. During times of plenty the Irish had large families. But once again primogeniture raised its ugly head. Only the eldest son inherited the land. Over the years younger sons left the farm for monasteries or to make their way in the world. Their brightest hope was Canada or the U.S.

When famine hit, the farms had been split over so many generations they were too small to sustain the landholders. The blight in 1845 was so bad that people in the U.S. collected $150,000 and sent supplies to Cork. Most of the foodstuff was corn, which was unfamiliar to the Irish. They learned fast and it isn’t unusual to see cornfields waving on hillsides of the Emerald Isle.

Let’s not leave the convicts out of this. The Queen was the first convict ship to sail for Australia in 1791. Prisoners were held in “hulks” in Cove harbor until a transport was available. In 1801, 180 sailed to Australia on the good ship Atlas. After seven months at sea 70 were dead. Between 1791-1853, 39,000 Irish were transported Down Under.

The dismal history of Cobh continues with the Titanic. Cobh was its last port of call in 1912 before heading to its destruction five days later. The Lusitania sailed from Cobh in 1915 and was torpedoed by Germany off the coast of Kinsale where we were yesterday. The Cobh cemetery holds 1198 of its victims.

Hope

In the 1920’s, after WWI, emigration picked up but stopped in 1939 due to WWII. The launch of the QEII in the 1980’s rekindled the ocean liner business here. Today the Crystal Symphony ship stood proudly at the wharf as hoards of Americans streamed down its gangplanks in search of a piece of their history. What connection could I have to Ireland? My father left Poland between the wars. He joined his mother, sister, and brother on a Cunard ship. Perhaps this was his last sight of Europe before the Statue of Liberty welcomed them. He was only 14-years old but he was with his mother. There’s a statue of Annie Moore in the harbor. She was a 15-year old who sailed to America with two younger brothers. They were the first to be processed on Ellis Island in 1892. I hope their life turned out as well as my Dad’s.

This grim history made me think about three things. I would not die young as many of the poor emigrants did. I’m too old now. I also decided that this would be a poor choice of a debarkation point given the Horowitz family boating history of mishaps. And happily the Irish are enjoying a flourishing economy and some of those from families who fled are returning.

Things do come to those who wait. Cobh is what we were looking for yesterday. It’s on an island that lends itself to hillside houses painted in bright hues ranging from yellow to persimmon to grape and red. It’s akin to what being in San Francisco in the early 1900’s would have been. The Joseph Kennedy Park (he was born in Cobh) overlooks the water and hills beyond. We enjoyed a picnic lunch as we sat on benches near the gazebo. A lovely, though soaking wet, Brittany Spaniel brought a plastic pop bottle it had found over to Karen and dropped it at her feet. She picked it up and was soon engaged in an endless game of fetch. Another spaniel joined in and when we set about eating our cheese and bread, the dogs sat hopefully by. They were very well trained and I’m sure had a person in their lives because they just stared and didn’t try to grab our food. They tired watching and ended up frolicking in the sea getting mired in kelp that washed up on the beach.

Oatmeal Anyone?

Macroom was between us and Killarney and the only place Fodor’s and Rick Steves thought worth mentioning on the route. We saw some of our first thatched roofs as we drove. Macroom is known for its oatmeal but we couldn’t find any of the original type in the stores. With that failure behind us we retired to Gearagh’s Bar for a midday pint. David has a liking for Guinness and was disappointed that he didn’t have any last night when we were all too tired and went to our rooms early. Gearagh’s exterior was purple. The interior was dark and narrow rising to four levels. Its “décor” and construction made it seem like a perfect hideaway for the Keebler elves. Tables were carved from chunks of tree rounds, Branches formed handrails and the wooden appointments were ornately carved. The ceiling was a continuous jungle themed mural. David wants me to be sure to mention the bawdy intricate and detailed sign featuring offerings at a whorehouse The overall feeling was that of being in a lecherous Leprechaun’s lair. I didn’t feel up to having a drink then so Karen gave me one of the “cherry surprises” she’d bought. It’s a chocolate covered cherry filled with Jamieson instead of the cream we’re used to. The surprise isn’t the Jamieson; it’s the pit in the cherry. Luckily I was forewarned.

We’re at the Dromhall Hotel in Killarney and it’s a delight. The place is a palace compared to the castles where we’ve slept. They actually have desk clerks who speak English and know what’s going on. Last night we were in Kinsale, the culinary capital of Ireland and had bad Chinese food. We did better here. The clerk recommended we eat at Danny Mann, a pub/restaurant offering Irish music. The duo livened up the evening with Irish and American songs familiar and not. David and I left the Ciminis to finish the set since I was asleep on my feet. I’m not getting to nap in the car like I do on tour buses. I’m the navigator and have to be alert to spot what signs there are. We have two extra sets of eyes and with that we go astray.

Tomorrow we go on an all day bus tour of the Ring of Kerry. It’s supposed to be spectacular but maybe I can cat nap.

Toby