Ireland of The Welcomes.....

My buddy Tricia owns a bed and breakfast which beautifully reflects her bubbly and charming enthusiasm.  The house nestles up a winding lane and is wedged between two hills that offer shelter  and a sense of being snuggled into the landscape . 

Tricia is a dynamo and combines her family life with a busy schedule of work.  I met her last night at a house party and as five of us sat around the fire we exchanged stories of how stressful life becomes when our children are engaged in so many activities and how ‘you’d meet yourself coming back’ when on the road, not to mention the dreaded ‘car pool’!

Last week, Tricia had a booking for her B & B; a Mother and Son visiting from Scotland.  They were to arrive last Tuesday, meanwhile; back at the ranch a child announced that there was a football match and furthermore, another child required a lift, oh, and by the way a new mouth guard was required together with football socks.  Exasperated but focused Trish organised a schedule, a trip to Sligo was required; The Child was delegated with the task of getting the socks and Trica would get the mouth guard and both would reconnoitre at the car park for a speedy trip back home and thence to pick up the neighbours child.  The time frame was tight; no further shopping was to be done, no loitering; get the items and ‘Get out of Dodge’ as fast as possible.

Mistake.

15 minutes after the allotted time, no sign of the Child, Trish is stressing and when the said Child strolls across the car park she’s met with a barrage ‘Get it, seatbelt, what kept you? Do you think I’ve nothing better to do? Jeeze, I’ve no petrol! What part of hurry up did you not understand? What do you mean you’ve not eaten…….’

The traffic is dreadful, and now the schedule is completely out the window.

Back in Boyle, the train slows to a halt and dispatches the two Scottish visitors.  The Mother is hoping to trace her ancestors who came from Arigna.  For years, she’s been planning this trip.  Her son is with her to lend his support and he’s an experienced traveller.  There’s a problem.  No Hire Car awaits them and the company cannot figure out the issue.  Mother is tired so son hires a taxi to bring them to Tricia’s house.  Gratefully they disembark and are greeted by Tricia’s mother who makes a welcome cup of tea and shows them to their rooms. 

Tricia is still barrelling along the roads trying to make up time and is now buzzing with frustration and stress.  The Child is telephoning The Friend and yelling at her to ‘get a grip’ and be ready and waiting at the gate for her lift to the football.  The car tears around the S bend and gravel and stones flying they pull up at the front door.  The Child runs up the stairs to get her kit bag and Tricia fills the kettle to boil as she reads the instructions for the mouth guard ‘Immerse in boiling water for 3 minutes to soften, then place in mouth immediately to impress’.  As the 3 minutes are up;  there’s footsteps on the stairs and as the door opens Tricia extends her arm upwards as she bent to the press beneath the sink; ‘Put this in your mouth, and don’t say another word to me’.  As she straightened up and turned around she was eyeball to eyeball with her Scottish lady guest who mildly retorted ‘I just came downstairs to introduce myself’.

The following morning, the guests from Scotland were still without a hire car.  Our small county is a network of narrow secondary roads and without transport cannot be mastered.  Over tea, the guests outlined their mission and despair.  They had very little information of their ancestors and only knew of the area as Kilronan, somewhere in Roscommon.  With the assistance of the internet, they had planned their two day trip with meticulous attention.  A plane trip, a train journey and a short drive to Tricia’s with a map to guide them to Kilronan.  Their family ancestors were Miners and that was all they knew. 

Undeterred, Tricia volunteered to bring her guests to Arigna and Kilronan.  Up the Iron Mountain the local community built an interpretive centre in one of the disused mines.  As Tricia and her guests followed the guide around the mine, the Scottish Lady was overcome with emotion to see how her ancestors had forged a living underground and in primitive conditions.  Emerging into the daylight with tears coursing down her cheeks she found Tricia who volunteered that she had made some enquiries and invited the Scots to visit a graveyard down the hill.  And there they found the family grave and paid their respects.

A restorative afternoon tea in the palatial surroundings of Kilronan Castle completed the outing and the following morning Tricia drove them back the winding road along Lough Key’s shore to catch the train back to the city.

 I’d love to see the review of their trip to Ireland on the Internet!