BACK AGAIN TO CORK
We left Wexford the next morning in a misty rain.
“I am glad I put a rain-coat on my aeroplane,” said Mike as the rain
came down in a regular pour.
We did not enjoy that morning’s sail from Wexford to Waterford. In
an hour’s time we saw Waterford arise out of the mist. Like Wexford,
Waterford is an important seaport, built on the banks of the Suir
river. The name of this beautiful river is a vile slander. Much
agricultural produce, and bacon and live stock are shipped from here to
England.
The city was able to defend itself against Cromwell in 1649, and was
the only place in Ireland that did not fall before the terrible charge
of Cromwell’s Ironsides.
I was able to see, though indistinctly, the Cathedral, where Strongbow,
Ireland’s first English master, lies buried. This arch-enemy of Ireland
is surely well buried as he has also a tomb in Dublin. Strongbow
married the daughter of Dermot McMurragh on the battle field near
Waterford where he defeated the Irish.
Lord Roberts has a home in Waterford, and it was here he grew up and
developed those fighting qualities which have made him England’s
foremost soldier today.
Waterford was founded by the Danes in the ninth century. The antique
iron bridge across the river, and the docks, a mile long, are notable
features of the modern city.
There is one interesting relic of the Danish period still standing near
the docks. It is a large round tower, about 50 feet high, which was
built by Reginald, the Dane, in 1003. At present it is a police cell.
We left Waterford with the rain still falling, and went up along the
banks of the Suir to Portlaw, a small manufacturing town. Near here we
flew over Curraghmore, the stately mansion of the Marquis of Waterford.
The desmesne covers 5000 acres, and is a beautiful natural park, with
many slopes, and dells. There is an ancient castle beside the modern
mansion.
In this part of Ireland Sir Walter Raleigh and Edmund Spencer lived. We
soon saw Youghal, on the coast, where Raleigh lived, and where his old
house still stands.
Edmund Spencer was a close friend of Raleigh’s. He was an English poet
but became associated with Ireland because he wrote the “Fairy Queen
in the Emerald Isle” in 1589 and 1590. He would be more popular in
Ireland today only, unfortunately, the Maiden Queen Elizabeth gave him
a present of some 3028 acres of Irish land. The Queen’s title to this
piece of real estate was not considered very good by the Irish, and
they have never forgiven Spencer for accepting it.
Sir Walter Raleigh also accepted a big farm of over 40,000 acres in
Ireland from this same Maiden Queen, whose real estate transactions in
Ireland were considerable, but Raleigh has been partly forgiven because
he gave Ireland the potato.
It was nearly nine when we whizzed over Youghal, and circled around
it twice. We dipped, as we flew over the harbor, until we were within
thirty feet of the water, and aroused excited cheering from the crowd
watching us on the docks, as we turned and rose high again over the
city.
I discovered Myrtle Lodge, Raleigh’s old home in Youghal. It was ivy
clad, and well preserved, and the grounds around it neatly kept. I was
delighted to see the garden of Myrtle Lodge. It is almost as sacred to
the Irishman as the Garden of Eden. In this garden in 1586 Sir Walter
Raleigh planted the first potato ever grown in the Emerald Isle. He
brought the seed from the West Indies, where they had been carried by
the Spanish from Peru, the potato’s native home.
It was a century after this before the sterling qualities of the
potato were appreciated fully, but now that useful tuber is adopted as
Ireland’s own darling vegetable.
Sir Walter Raleigh was quite a gardener, as well as having a reputation
as a soldier, an author, a courtier, an explorer, a statesman, and
a lover. In some respects he was the Theodore Roosevelt of his age.
Doubtless he inherited his genius for gardening from his first parent,
Adam. He brought the seed of the cherry from the Azores, and planted
the first cherry tree in this famous garden, as it is said all the
cherries in the United Kingdom can trace their descent back to Youghal.
We were now only thirty miles from Cork. As we left Youghal, and the
landing place of the potato in Ireland, the heavy clouds suddenly made
up their minds to decamp. They at once scattered in all directions,
and in fifteen minutes the sun was shining just as though it had been
with us all morning. Then it was that it occurred to us that the sudden
changes of Irish weather were not always a disadvantage. If it rains
easy, it also clears away easy.
I was glad to see the fields of Cork again. We followed the railroad
line most of the way from Youghal to Cork. We met a train again on this
road, and had another noisy greeting from the engine and passenger
coaches.
As we neared Cork, and saw the magnificent Cork Harbor, stretching down
to Queenstown, I turned to Mike and said:
“Mike, Ireland is a great country, and you and I have seen it the last
few days as nobody has ever seen it before. The aeroplane will give to
Ireland a new fame throughout the world.”
“We have had a big time,” said Mike simply, but I knew he was the
happiest man on earth, or rather in the air.
As we were circling around preparatory to making a landing, I repeated
enthusiastically the words of an Irish poet:
“O Ireland, isn’t it grand you look:
Like a bride in her rich adornin’
And with all the pent-up love of my heart,
I bid you the top o’ the mornin’.”
We landed at 10:00 o’clock on the very field we had left only a few
days before.
If Columbus, when he set foot on America, felt any bigger than we did
as we stepped out of our aeroplane at Cork that day, he must have felt
bigger than Goliath.