A THRILLING VISIT TO CONNEMARA
I had read of the grandeur of the Irish seacoast in County Clare, and I
asked Mike to keep as close to the sea as he could. He obeyed me only
too well, half of the time being over the ocean.
The rugged cliffs grew more and more picturesque as we neared Hag’s
Head. After passing over this promontory, the famous Moher Cliffs came
into view. These are sheer precipices, fully 600 feet high, and, as
seen from the ocean, they present a magnificent appearance. In passing
these cliffs our aeroplane was about 500 feet above the sea, and about
100 feet out from land, so that we saw them to the best advantage.
These cliffs stretch along the coast for five or six miles. From the
Moher Cliffs we turned landward, in a northeastly direction, as we
wished to pass over the city of Galway, and enter the Connemara country
from the shores of Lake Corrib.
The Clare farms seemed somewhat better than those of Kerry, but not
much. We saw many one-room cabins. For many miles we flew about 60
feet over Clare, and I observed the country with interest. Clare and
Galway are the present centers of unrest in Ireland. There is where
“cattle-driving” is practised most. Fences are destroyed and large
herds of cattle, belonging to some landlord, are scattered over the
country roads, The cause of “cattle-driving” is the enmity of the
peasants toward the landlords who turn their estates into vast grazing
farms, thus depriving the peasants of any soil to cultivate.
The Government has tried to have the landlords sell out their estates
to these landless ones, but some refuse to do so, and there is no
compulsory legislation at present in the matter of landlords selling to
tenants.
As these landlords do not live in Ireland and have little interest in
Irish people the Government is now seeking remedial legislation which
will compel the landlord to sell his estate. Absentee landlordism has
been Ireland’s historic curse for centuries. As one Irishman expressed
it: “Ireland has been _overrun_ with absentee landlords.”
For many years the English Government sought merely to repress the
outbreaks of the dissatisfied Irish. Now, an honest attempt is being
made to cure the cause of the discontent, and this accounts for these
Land Laws, which have proved of such benefit already to the Emerald
Isle.
Absentee landlords are hard to intimidate by popular outbreaks. On
one occasion the angry tenants threatened to shoot the steward of a
particularly obnoxious landlord, and the steward wrote about it to his
master in England. The brave Englishman promptly replied: “Tell the
tenants that no threat to shoot _you_ will terrify _me_.”
[Illustration: _Irish Cabin_ _The humble cot beneath the Mountain
side._]
We reached Galway Bay shortly after ten o’clock and fifteen minutes
later we were circling over the ancient city of Galway. Galway has been
called a Dutch city, and its architecture, as we looked down on it, did
seem more varied than the usual plain style of Irish buildings.
We created great excitement as we circled over the city at a height of
150 feet. The motor was acting a little erratic occasionally, and I
wanted Mike to alight, but he disliked facing the curious crowds.
“There are lots of bogs in County Galway,” he said laughingly. “We will
light easy on one of them if the motor stops.”
The river, connecting Lough Corrib and Galway Bay, divides the city
into two parts, connected by several bridges. Crowds rushed out on the
bridges as they saw us fly overhead. We could hear them cheering and
some one fired off a pistol. This frightened Mike and he started toward
Lough Corrib, like a wild duck which had been bombarded by a hunter.
I saw a fine old church in Galway, and I easily recognized Queen’s
College. It is a noble Gothic building.
This is one of the three “godless” Colleges, established in Ireland by
Queen Victoria early in her reign. They are called “godless” by the
Irish because they have no specific religious instruction in their
curriculum. The other Queen’s Colleges are located at Belfast and Cork.
We were now speeding over Lough Corrib, a large fresh-water lake,
where there is excellent fishing. Mike is a keen fisherman and his
teeth watered as I told him of Lough Corrib’s reputation amongst the
disciples of Isaac Walton.
A few miles from Galway we turned west into the heart of the far-famed
Connemara country. As we swept over this part of Ireland we could see
why Connemara is so celebrated. It makes a splendid panorama. There are
literally hundreds of little lakes, there is grand mountain scenery,
there are the heather and peat lands in abundance.
We were glad to fly over it, however, rather than live there, for the
monotony and barren soil repel a man with an active mind and a good
stomach.
Men were scarce, but we saw some, mostly at work in the peat lands. We
caught sight of some Connemara women also, with red skirts, and Mike
said he thought they were shoeless.
We went through the pass of Kylemore, called the “Gem of Connemara.”
Two lofty peaks rise on each side, and, in order to avoid land
currents, we had to rise to a height of 500 feet in going through.
I was astonished to see in this out-of-the-way place a magnificent
country home. It was surrounded with an immense garden, and the walks
and drives were beautified with flaming red fuchsia hedges.
I hastily referred to my little guide book, and found it was Kylemore
Castle, and that an American lady lived there. She was formerly Miss
Helena Zimmerman, of Cincinnati, Ohio, but she fell from grace and
is now known as the Duchess of Manchester. She must have some pangs
of conscience about it, for no live American girl would live in this
solitary region unless as an act of penance for her sins.
We passed close enough to Clifden, the extreme western point in
Ireland, to see Clifden Castle, and also the Marconi Station. Marconi
found a resting place at Clifden for the weary wireless messages after
their long flight across the Atlantic, and he has a large Station here.
He also found a resting place at Clifden for his weary heart, as he
married Miss O’Brien, a beauty of Western Ireland.
We could hear plainly the sending of a wireless message. It was like a
bombardment, report following report, like the discharge of artillery.
Passing west of the Twelve Pins, a striking group of mountains, we
entered County Mayo along the seacoast. Skirting Mount Muilrea, 2,685
feet high, we turned northeast to Croagh Patrick.
If Ireland’s mountains were pressed out, the area of the island would
be doubled. County Mayo resembles County Clare, and the stone cabins,
little fields, and winding roads, are all distinctly Irish.
We were now used to the excitement caused everywhere as we whirred over
the astonished peasants. One Irishman in County Mayo amused us hugely.
He must have had ears like an Indian’s, for he heard our motor while we
were fully a mile behind him. Turning suddenly, he gave our aeroplane
one long look, and then, dropping his bundle on the road, he started
to run like a hare, as if to make his escape. It may have been his
conscience that troubled him. Mike lowered the aeroplane until we were
not more than 25 feet above him, as we shot directly over his head.
Just as we passed above him he let out an unearthly shriek.
Perhaps it was a retributive act of justice, but, at any rate, a few
moments later we were a good deal more scared than the Irishman.