[Redwood Castle, Lorrha, Co Tipperary, Ireland. Photo is mine.]

So, are ye staying the night?

~~Coleesa Egan

My last blog post, No. 6 in my series. Oh, my last post from nearly a week ago. What can an honest man say about my determination to spend the night in my ancestral castle, reputed to be haunted?

Actually, nothing. We did not spend the night there. I had every intention to do so, even back in June and July during the early stages of our planning. I had it all arranged. It was going to happen. But, we had to politely decline the opportunity.

I can blame my insomnia. That and the sad state of my back. It’s a long story…

The last several hotels and a B & B had beds that would comfortably sleep one person. Couple that narrowness with pillows the size of rolled-up surplus army mattress and duvets thick enough to fight the chill of a typical Irish night in the farmlands.

I couldn’t sleep. I could barely nap when the rare opportunity arose. Traveling in the midst of an unusually hot spell throughout Ireland and it adds up to sleepless nights. For sure, the snow wasn’t falling all over the central lowlands…

It was vital that I was rested and sharp to negotiate the narrow roads that we chose to use.

If I haven’t made enough excuses as to why we chose to drive into Tullamore and stay at a hotel, then my wife’s allergy was a major factor. She was in nasal hell for many days. The dust of an old Norman keep was not going to be a good thing.

Now I must stress that the ghosts that may or may not walk the rooms or climb the stairs, would have been welcomed by me. After all, we’re family. I’m sorry that I do not have a ghost sighting to report.

[The plaque above the main entrance to the castle. The bottom line? That’s my name in Gaelic. Photo is mine.]

But I did get a chance to meet the owner, Coleesa Egan. A sprightly woman in her seventies. A pleasant talker and a determined spirit. She let us have the choice of breaking our plan to stay over. She understood. I watched her negotiate the stairs with some difficulty. But she was so very solicitous of my condition that I couldn’t justify causing her worry about my taking a tumble down the spiral steps.

[I gripped that same rope support in 1984. My DNA is still embedded in the resin. Photo is mine.]

[Where an archer would sit, aiming the strong bow and defending the occupants of the keep. Photo is mine.]

[I’m not in this chart. But somewhere these names (clearer to read in the original) are to be found among my ancestors. A different branch of the family? Perhaps. But all linked by geography, history, love and marriages. Photo is mine.]

It was the end of my visit. I drove away, on the road to Birr and onward to Tullamore, saddened and disappointed by the circumstances that lead to our decisions. I would have loved to sit by the large fire–it was chilly inside the thick stone walls–and talked to Coleesa. Gotten to know her. Climb to the parapets at night and watch the stars winking at me.

I drove away past farms and fields. The buildings have changed, the fields are planted with different crops each season. The cows chew their cuds and stare at each other. They come and go. But the clouds are always the same. The gentle landscape hasn’t changed.

Some things never change…