What’s The Point ?

“They made a statue of us
And put it on a mountain top
Now tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs of fun, have fun”

Regina Spektor

It’s on rare occasions that I dare to impart any advice or valuable life lesson to you , my Dear Reader, but this past weekend I have learnt something of crucial importance that, were I to keep it to myself, I would spend the rest of my days in a state of worsening regret. So to spare me that fate , and to help you with this sage advice I do indeed dare to tell you that, if you ever decide to host a model boat river race , please, please, please make sure that there is some water in the river.

Last weekend could have been very , very different. My great friend Milo had mentioned several weeks ago, while we were enjoying a great day out in Belfast, that he would, as usual, do the pilgrimage on Lough Derg this year, and I , out of love, and ,perhaps , several creamy pints of Guinness, had said that I’d go with him. Unfortunately when he messaged me to say that he was heading on August 7^th, I had to decline as I had other commitments.

For my non-Irish friends, and my Irish friends who weren’t brought up laden with guilt, Lough Derg is a lake in Donegal in which there is an island , Station Island, and on this island is St.Patrick’s Purgatory , a series of stoney outcrops, a large church, dormitories , and a gift shop. There has been a history of a pilgrimage to this place since time immemorial , and written records dating back to 1185.

This island was a special place before the Christians came. There had been a cave or opening into the earth and people would visit the cavern and meditate , inhale medicinal herbs and dream. Lough Derg translates into English as ‘Lake of The Cave’. St.Patrick called it Purgatory, or the gates to hell, and it proved a huge attraction to early Christian pilgrims, and a huge money-spinner, so much so that bishops argued among each other over what was the ‘true’ pilgrimage route from Dublin, hoping to have pilgrims make donations on their way through their diocese rather than travel through a neighbouring bishop’s turf.

During the Reformation the all-conquering Protestant Bishop John Spottiswood levelled all of the churches and buildings on the island and filled in the cavern. Catholics were eventually allowed to return to the island, but on condition that the cave was not reopened.

There is a belltower built above the old cave entrance now, below which are the ‘beds’ , circular outcrops of stones that you walk barefoot on during the proper pilgrimage.

I have only done it once.

I’d finished my Leaving Cert’ exams and went on the Pilgrimage with my friend Milo and our fellow classmate Seamus in the hope that , in return, we’d get good exam results.

Our three day pilgrimage to St.Patrick’s Purgatory involved fasting and maintaining a vigil. They also threw in being barefoot, all of Ireland’s midges…and holy people. The only thing worse than being bitten by midges at 5.00am when you haven’t slept or eaten in days, is a sincere holy person.

The Vigil is the 24 hours after Night Prayer on the first night and lasts until Night Prayer on the second night, although as you’ve been awake since the morning of your arrival, by the time it finishes you’ve been awake for 36 hours or more. There are prayer services through the night to keep you going, several masses, and confession to look forward to!

During our vigil, we’d stumbled around the basilica countless times, mumbling our prayers and trying to stay awake. At one point Seamus knelt down to pray and within seconds his head was resting on the back of the seat in front and he was out cold. A ‘holy person’ took it upon herself to tap him on the shoulder “Now, now, God wouldn’t want you letting him down like that now, would He ?”

Seamus snapped awake, mortified.

But he now had a purpose.

Revenge !

True, it wasn’t perhaps the best of motivations to have in your heart while doing a pilgrimage, but it worked for Seamus. And he became so enthused by it that he converted Milo and I to his cause.

We would follow the Holy Woman until she herself nodded off and then….then Seamus would be waiting and he would be sincere and he would be sanctimonious, and he would attain the glory of glories of pilgrimage….being holier than thou !

We operated as a tag team, only one of us took time out to pray at any one time, we maintained close contact.

If she knelt to pray, we knelt either side of her to pray.

If she lit candles, we lit candles either side of her.

If she went out to the lake we went out to the lake.

If she walked barefoot over the penitential beds, we observed her from a respectful distance.

I hated when she went outside, because that meant I had to go outside and follow her, and this meant that I would be eaten alive by the midges. If midges were on the verge of extinction , and the last one had only one bite left in him, the little bastard would find me. I can go on holiday to parts of the world where there’s never ever been a case of midges, and be bitten by a midge. The Holy Woman , of course, was not bitten by midges, she wore a headscarf…and, if Seamus was to be believed, had vinegar in her veins.

It was almost dawn when it happened.

The Holy Woman sat down in a pew.

Milo sat to her left , I to her right. Seamus took his place in the pew behind.

The Holy Woman knelt down to pray. Milo knelt down to pray to her left, I knelt to her right. Seamus knelt right behind her.

We could hear her prayer mumbles get softer… there were pauses. We glanced at her and back at Seamus.

The sun was rising from its rest, lighting up the feet of St.Patrick in the large stained glass window behind the altar…was it just me , or could we hear the distant rumble of Carmina Burana in the distance..

Her head bobbed a little, we caught our breath, this was it.

St.Patrick’s shins were bright.

Carmina Burana was getting louder.

Her head bobbed again…lower this time.

St.Patrick’s knees were shining.

The choir were joined by the strings in the Carmina Burana.

Her head lowered to the back of the seat in front.

St.Patrick’s hips were radiant !

The kettle drums were being walloped in the Carmina Burana.

Seamus leaned forward, licked his lips, smiled , flexed his fingers, and poked the Holy Woman sharply between her shoulder blades.

She snapped to attention, ram rod straight.

Seamus leaned forward and whispered, loud enough for Milo and I to hear, “Now, now, God wouldn’t want you letting him down like that now, would He ?”.

She went bright red. She didn’t turn around. She knew. She glanced at Milo, then me. We smiled and nodded. We didn’t speak, but she knew “Yeah we see you. Letting down God, Holy Woman.”

We all went outside.

We were euphoric !

We went to confession.

And then, with a clear conscience, we went for our ‘simple meal’ , which consisted of tea or coffee, no milk or sugar, and dry white toast, no butter.

It was divine. Especially as Milo’s girlfriend, Patricia, now wife, was working in the kitchen, so we got the toast as soon as it popped out of the giant Holy toasters, when it was soft and delicious.

That’s my lasting memory of Lough Derg.

But tempting as it was to go back, I did indeed have a number of pressing reasons for not going with Milo last weekend.

Firstly Friday was the beginning of my Soulmate and her twin sister, Ger’s birthday festivities. Their birthday is in October, but last Friday was the only date that all of the McKenna crew would be in the same place. We had a lovely dinner in The Pig with mandatory birthday balloons, sashes, sparklers and a loud rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’.

On Saturday we got up early to set up the first annual Drumlin Giants Sports Day. Unicorns were placed on lily pads , disco ducks were thrown among the rushes, and several cans of spray paint were used marking out the clues around the Castle Lake. The river, having been dammed and sandbagged all week was even lower than when we had started. Kids started to arrive at noon and were sent out on the Treasure Hunt before they all started to arrive at the Castle Top for rounds of Egg & Spoon races, Sack Races, Relay Races, One Legged Races, and other stuff we made up on the spot. The kids were very enthusiastic , but as they got tired of competing against each other I shouted out “Run to your parents and tell them that if they really love you they’ll all take part in the next Egg & Spoon race !” Despite initial reluctance, the adults embraced the day and we had a great hour of mixed adult and kids relays.

We then proceeded to have the inaugural game of Human Ten Pin bowling. We had ten Tyvek suits which we got adults to wear and then stand in a triangle formation, then we allowed the kids in turn to either throw or kick giant footballs at them to try and knock them over.

It was a success.

Then it was off to the river where we placed all of the model boats the kids had made out of recycled materials in the shallow pool at one end, begore we picked the best looking boat, and the worst boat, which was a stick with ‘Boat’ written on it. Next we threw buckets of water at them to make them shuffle down the dry river bed, aided by the attention of a leaf blower. We eventually had a winner, Molly, who had decorated and empty wheaten bread carton and stuck a cocktail stick in it for a flag.

We also had a quick game of river bingo where we had 100 numbered tennis balls and handed out matching raffle tickets to the kids, and again threw water at them and threatened them with the leaf blower to try and get one to the end. Again we had a prize for the first ball to reach the end , and for the ball that travelled the least, or got stuck.

Some spectators got wet when one of the volunteers accidently threw water from the bucket in their direction…several times.

We retreated to the CoffeDoc for our prize giving , serenaded by The Squealing Ukeleles.

Our volunteers on the day, Bren, Dominic, Colletta, Margaret, Barbara, Ray, Sean, Eimear, Barry, Ruari, my Soulmate Eileen, Ger, Gareth, Angie, and The Hannon, had an absolute blast.

Some of the kids did too.

Feedback afterwards was that it was very easy going and relaxed.

On Sunday Ray and I took part in the Monaghan 10 Miler, possibly the best 10 mile run anywhere in the world. At every junction and turn there were smiling and encouraging volunteers. I took photos of most of them. At each water stop I took two cups of water. I drank one and then asked the kids helping out on the water stations if anyone had thrown water at them yet. They all foolishly answered no, so I had little choice but to throw water over them. You may think that I would have grown tired of this behaviour after the first two water stations, but you’d be wrong.

Ray said we would probably have knocked 30 minutes off our finishing time if I hadn’t stopped so often to take photos of and with spectators and volunteers, and throw water at people.