The sand lay like a thin coverlet over the tarmac-ed road. From time to time the wind swept it up and re-dusted the blue strip of highway with a reddish hue. The banks on either side were a mixture of long grass and sand, the dunes of Belmullet. The road, only two hundred years old, is tolerated by the myriad grains of sand, which have been here for so much longer.
Travelling down this road, yet again, I remember all those other trips that I have made to this very spot, this very special corner of the world. Why does it draw me so? I have no relatives here, except one, a policeman cousin, whom I have rarely seen since childhood days. No, it is the sheer beauty of the place, the combination of this world’s elements that find themselves all thrown together along this thin strip of land that they call the ‘Mullet’.
Sea, sky, sand, dunes, waves, mountain views, vast horizons, open ocean, islands offshore, all these things call and invite and beckon. Humankind has added to the mix of attractions, with ancient burial grounds, chapels, monastic sites, lighthouses, deserted villages, and a challenging golf course. Nowadays the world is wakening up to the loveliness of Erris, and new hotels are being built, so that others may come and see what Erris people had to leave behind.
In the days of poverty, people left here for America and for England, never to return. Whatever they found at their journey’s end could never compare with the beauty they left behind them, not to mention the loved ones they would never see again. Now the impoverished land is become a playground for tourists, and the struggle to make a living is a long forgotten memory.
The car I now drive along this ribbon of road is a far cry from the currach that ferried the fishermen of Inishkea to their island homes. But those men knew the sea and her every mood. I might admire the land, but the fishermen were closer to it.
Today I am not really in the Mullet at all. Except in my mind. It is a mental visit that I am making there today. (Hence the Jaguar!) It is the place I go to when I want to think and reflect. Just to drive down that road, past Binghamstown, down as far as the lighthouse at Blacksod. Then back up and out the boreen to the sea across from Elly Bay. To the spot where I last took my mother on that glorious summer’s day – was it in 2007?
She sat on a tuft of grass, aged ninety-one, and breathed in God’s fresh air and remembered all the days when she had brought her own young family here to take in the view and the air and the atmosphere of this western shore. She loved this place. Who wouldn’t ? It is a ringside seat on the edge of the world. From this spot you can look back inland and think of where you have come from, both physically and spiritually. In this place you can look outwards to the ocean and wonder what lies ahead of you, in the days and time to come. And here and now, you can simply rejoice in being alive and well and in the company of those you love.
Today I am sitting at the edge of the sea, knowing it is now six months since my mother died. This is the six month mind. The grave is now completed with headstone and engraving and cover surround. The sun will be shining on that stone just now in Aughaval. I look forward to seeing it before too long. But I also look forward to seeing my mother and my father again. Seriously, I do.
In this Easter Week, I tell myself again how deeply I believe in the resurrection of the Lord, and therefore in my own. Without the good and loving God of Jesus Christ, I really would find life to be a tale told by an idiot. Death does not have the last word.
A poet has written, “The beauty of the world has made me sad, this beauty that shall pass.” Padraic Pearse I think it was. Well, Padraic, it doesn’t make me sad at all. To hell with things that pass. I want things that are always there and that speak of the loveliness of the one who made all things. Daddy would often quote that line from Jesus, “My words will never pass away.” When I sit at the edge of the sea, and at the edge of the world, down there in the Mullet, I say this will last forever.
So it shall! And so shall we!
Easter 2011
Erris Poetry 