With so little to detain us we made quick time into Athlone (Ath-Luain, the Ford of Luan). There are other more fanciful derivations of this name, but I think this is the most satisfactory. We dont know anything about Luan except that his fathers name was Lewy, a fact that we learn from that ancient romance The Fate of the Children of Tuireann, in which Athlone is called Ath-Luain-Mic-Luighdheach - which means The Ford of Luan the Son of Lewy. My first care in Athlone was to find a good camping site, and so by arrangement I called on Mr Shine , the local manager of the Grand Canal Company. Through the good offices of Mr. McCann, the chairman, and Mr. Scott, the general manager of the Grand Canal Company, it had been arranged that I might call upon anyu of the companys officials for assistance or information of any kind, and, indeed, I had the assurance that I might use any of the companys property all the way down the Shannon, or even ask for the use of a motor barge, which would be placed freely at my disposal. i shall have much to say about the Grand Canal Company later on in this book, but as it was at Athlone that I first took advanytage of the service which had been offered I feel that this is the place to express my gratitude for the cheerful manner in which it was given to me. Mr. Shine could not do enough for us, and after one piece of bad selection we hit upon what was to be the most beautiful camping site of the entire journey. This was at Coosan (Cuasan, a little cove (I) or (I)inlet). And it was, indeed, in front of a little cove or inlet that we made our camp, on the tip of a finger of land - Coosan Point - which pushes itself northward into the lowere end of the lovely Lough Ree and seems to lose itself in the water in a vain attempt to reach the picturesque and well-timbered Hare Island, which, about six hundred yards farther to the north, holds its rare beauty above the blue waters. Here we made our camp for the night , and here we were to remain for several days, for from this centre we had much to do. Beside our caravan now rose the cunningly contrived tent of the Mayes, and with everything ready we decided to go back into Athlone for a meal at the excellent Prince of Wales Hotel, where we celebrated in proper form the arrival of the new members of our caravanserai. From this night Audrey Mayes took entire charge of our commissariat department, and the result was a notable improvement in the quality of our food, a more economical system of buying it, and a welcome variety in our menus, which until now had been sadly lacking. There is nothing like the professional touch, and when it comes to housekeeping women are the professionals and most men nothing but bad amateurs. The next day was one of brilliant sunshine, and after a glorious sw im at a little after six 0clock in the morning we had reason indeed to congratulate ourselves upon the beauty of the situation of our temporary home. Lough Ree, lovely beyond compare, lay like a jewel shimmering before us in the early morning sunlight. The tender atmosphere gave the many islands the appearance of being suspended in the air rather than rising out of the water. Almost due north, and a good twenty miles away, our old friend Slieve Bawn looked like part of a mirage in the miraculous light, and the air was laden with some invigorating essence which seemed to charge the body with energy and a marvellous sense of joy and well-being. Breakfast was such as we had not had on this trip before - fruit and porridge and fish and coffee - and we paid our new cook the highest of all compliments by demolis hing everything that was put before us, with half an eye on the look-out for something else that might follow. But our cook was also a disciplinarian, and since she required all hands to address themselves to the ugly business of dish-drying it is not surprising that we were in Athlone ready to take our first shots before many of the good people of that town had properly finished their breakfast. Athlone is always spoken of as the centre of Ireland, and with the allowance of amile or two by way of poetic licence, we may grant it that distinction. The actual centre is said to lie in the townland lf Kilkenny West, which is a few miles away in the County Westmeath, where it is marked by a pinnacle which looks like a round tower with a round instead of a conical top. But for the sake of a mile or two I dont want to take away this ancient distinction from Athlone, although that place has so many other distinctions that it wouldnt miss it even if I did, for Athlone has played a more important part in the history of Ireland than any other place, with the possible exception of Derry. And Im not saying that just because I happen to come from Ulster. If you stand at the eastern end of the bridge of Athlone you are half-way across Ireland from Dublin, and if you stand at the western end you are half-way across from Galway; and this means much more than the bare statement, for it shows you that Athlone was the frear natural ford across the Shannon between the ancient kingdoms of Leinster and Connacht, and any place that lies in such a situation is bound to become more than a small bone of contention, and to gather stirring, bloody history around itself whether it will or not. Even before this place was Ath-Luain, which was a good many generations before the Christian era, it was already famous as Ath-Mor, which means the Big Ford. Battles were fought here from time immemorial, and even after Elizabethan times when you passed from Leinster to Connacht, which was not always an easy thing to do, you did more than pass from one province to another - you passed from one world to another, from the world of the English Pale and the kind of civilization it stood for to the world of Connacht, which was still the old Irish world of the untamed and untameable(?) Gael. In the reign of King John the Castle of Athlone was built by John de Gray, Bishop of Norwich and Lord Justiciary of Ireland. This was at the beginning of the thirteenth century, and so quickly did the place grow in importance that when Henry III of England granted the dominion of Ireland to Prince Edward he expressly reserved Athlone for himself. In Elizabethan times Athlone was the seat of the Presidency of Connacht, and during the 1641 the castle and town under Lord Ranelagh, who was then Lord President, were besieged by the Cinnacht men for nearly six months, and the garrison would have been destroyed by famine and disease had not relief come from Dublin in the nick of time. Then during that great struggle between William of Orange and James II of England, which in the amazing whirligig of history secured at once the Protestant succession in England and the Catholic solidarity of Europe, Athlone was held for James II by Colonel Grace, and the army of William of Orange had to retreat from the unconquered wall; and thus, after their defeat at the Boyne, the Franco-Irish forces held the line of the Shannon, with Athlone and Limerick as their main positions. In the following year came the Williamite forces again, this time under Ginkel, a Dutchman, who was also a good soldier, which was more than could be said for the French General Saint-Ruth, who was in charge of Athlone. For by stubbornly refusing to adapt the tactics which he had learned in the military schools of Europe to the conditions with which he was faced in ireland, Saint-Ruth was forced out of Athlone, and when he offered battle at Aughrim, which is about eighteen miles to the west of Athlone, he lost that place by his folly and his head by a cannon-ball. In this engagement the struggle for the old Bridge of Athlone, which was built by Sir Henry Sidney in 1566, makes one of the most glorious pages in the stirring history of this old town. The overweening confidence of Saint-Ruth, who seems to have been intoxicated by the recent success of Colonel Grace, was such that the English forces had already taken portion of the bridge, arch by arch in hand-to-hand combat, before the French General roused himself from hos slumbers and probably said something like the line in the old play: And if the Britons dare pursue Tell them Saint-Ruth is here, and that will do By next day, with the exception of the single arch on the Connacht side which the Irish had already broken down for safety, the Bridge of Athlone was in the hands of the English forces under Ginkel. And then came the time for great deeds and high courage, for the English were laying planks across the broken bridge and preparing to take the town by storm. Saint-Ruth called for volunteers, men with axes who would cut away the planks as they were placed in position, and although this task must needs be performed in the face of deadly fire from artillery and muskets, volunteers were not lacking. The first were brawny sons of Scotland, and as they advanced the English guns and muskets boomed and barked. Came a heavy pall of smoke, and when it cleared awway the volunteers lay dead among the shattered timber. Came other volunteers to meet a like fate. And then came Custume, that heroic sergeant of the Irish army, who with a handful of comrades and in the very jaws of death succeeded in doing that for which the er arlier volunteers had given their lives in vain. But the respite was only temporary, and the vanity and stubborness of Saint-Ruth lost Athlone for Ireland. With a more sensible commander , and above all one not too proud to consider the good advice which Sarsfield sent from Limerick, Irish history might have taken a different turn. (from Where The River Shannon Flows by Richard Hayward)
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 14:27:06 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015