Posts Tagged ‘Loch Ce’

Two Men From Tirreril

Friday, January 20th, 2012

I live in a really beautiful part of Ireland, in Boyle in north County Roscommon.  Our house is so close to the Boyle River that from a distance it looks as though the river runs through our front room and in fact it often tries to do.  Down the river a few hundred yards, the waters spill out into historic Loch Ce, a lake of christian pilgrimage for a thousand years.  The Premonstratensian, Augustinian and Franciscan monks all built abbeys on its shores and islands following on from St. Columcille’s monks who built a monastery on Church Island and a church at Drum on the river, at the side of our house in the 7th century.  The lake is six miles long and 4 miles wide and dotted so they say with as many islands as there are counties in Ireland.

Sail to the northern end of the lake and take the road through the village of Corrigeenroe (Little Red Rock) and you are taken along the eastern side of Lough Arrow which is just over the Sligo border.  You are in the ancient Barony of Tirreril, the Land of the McDonaghs, an ancient royal clan that owed allegiance to the McDermots, who were the royal chieftains of this area since the 10th century.  In Tirreril lived the O’Higgins family, a highly thought of family with big estates and a history going back to the O’Neills in the 6th century.  The O’Higgins were liked by all the local big-wigs, the McDermots, the O’Rourkes, the O’Garas and the McDonaghs for their poetry and their intellect.

It was here in 1720, on the shores of Lough Arrow, Ambrose O’Higgins was born in much reduced circumstances because of the Cromwellian persecution and later Jacobite/Williamite upheaval.  It was the time of the Penal Laws, when Catholics were disarmed, stripped of land and reduced to the level of servants.  They were disenfranchised, forbidden to marry Protestants,  join the Army or receive a decent education.  It was a time when most gifted and doughty men left Ireland and filled the ranks of the military and civil service in all the countries in Europe.  They called it the Flight of the Wild Geese.

The O’Higgins family became tenant farmers for the Rowley family in Meath after their land was eventually all taken off them.  In about 1750, aged 30, Ambrose took the plunge and ended up in Cadiz in Spain where he worked for the powerful Irish/Spanish merchant family of Butler.  After some few years in Cadiz, Ambrose decided to seek his fortune in South America.  He worked in Venezuela, Peru and Argentina before getting his big chance.  He worked out a route from Mendoza, in western Argentina, over the Andes into Chile, thus joining up two Spanish colonies that previously had had little contact for most of the year other than by sailing round the Horn.  This route worked and for the first time ever the two colonies could remain in contact all year long.  By now he was enlisted in the Spanish Imperial Service and besides developing this route, he was asked to stay in Chile by the Spanish authorities and join the Army, which he did and sucessfully put down an Indian uprising, humanely and not cruelly, for which he was thanked by both sides and eventually he was upgraded to the position of Governor of Concepcion in 1786.

In 1788 king Charles III of Spain made him Baron of Ballinar for his services to the colonies.  He soon became leader of the Spanish Army and eventually Governor of Chile.  He entered on a programme of road building and rebuilding of ancient towns.  For this service the new king Charles IV made him the Marquis of Osomo in 1796 at the age of 76 and appointed him Viceroy of Peru, the land of which covered present day Peru, Chile, Bolivia, north west Argentina and western Brazil.  It was the most powerful position in Spanish America and he died suddenly from overwork in 1801 at the age of 81.

In 1777 Ambrose at the age of 57 fell in love with an 18 year old girl, Isabel Riquelme, of a powerful mixed race family.  In accordance with society’s rules at the time, he was not allowed to marry her at the risk of losing his hard won position but in 1778 Isabel bore him a son, Bernardo.  Ambrose never met this boy and never ever recognised him but he provided the money to bring him up and pay for his education in London.  It was here, at the age of 18, influenced by South American independence seeking  politicos, did Bernardo start to put his thoughts together towards an independent Chile, free of Spanish rule.  After a short time in Spain he returned to Chile in 1802 and started farming a large piece of land willed to him by his father.  In 1806 he entered the Chilean Parliament.

The Independence thinkers were helped considerably by events in Europe, Napoleon of France took control of Spain in 1808 and whilst he was involved in his European campaigns the Spanish/Chilean ruling class formed their own government, ruling the couintry in the name of Napoleon’s captive king, Ferdinand VII and Bernardo was elected deputy in the first National Congress of Chile in 1811.

After Napoleon started to lose his power in Spain after Wellington and Nelson had given him a bloody nose, the Spanish imperial forces invaded Chile to regain control of the country  but Bernardo defeated them at Linares.  In October of that year he effectively took command of the Chilean Army and defeated the Spanish forces again at El Roble with the famous cry of “Lads!  Live with honour, or die with glory!  He who is brave follow me”  However at a later battle at Rancagua, the Chilean forces were soundly beaten and Bernardo was lucky to escape with his life, scurrying into Argentina.  He returned to Chile in 1817 and defeated the royalist forces at Chacabuco.  Bernardo became Supreme Director of the newly independent Chile in 1818.  He founded the Chilean Navy but after five years with the cost of arming the new country it teetered on the edge of bankruptcy only saved by a £1 million pound loan from England but by then he had run foul of the country’s opposition party and in 1823 at the age opf 45 he was deposed.

He left Chile, never to return, in a British naval vessel intending on returning to Ireland but he met up with Simon Bolivar in Peru and joined him in his successful fight for independence and then went into retirement for the next 20 years.  By 1842 the tide of public opinion had turned towards him in Chile and he was invited back and given back his old rank of Captain General of the Army but on his journey back he suffered a heart attack and was buried in Lima in Peru.

His remains were exhumed in 1869 and brought back to Chile and he lay in a marble coffin in Santiago whilst it was decided where he should be buried.  He had wanted Concepcion but the Chilean people wanted Santiago.  It was not until General Pinochet finally put him down in 1974 in Santiago was the argument decided.  Wherever you go today in Chile, Bernardo’s name shouts out from street names and statues, districts and docks.  He is their Deliverer.

Not bad for two men from Tirreril whose countryside was bypassed by the 20th century.  Even today there isn’t much change from the countryside Ambrose knew.  It is a quaint, quiet backwater but full of more history than most parts of Ireland.  So this evening as you settle by your fire in your favourite armchair, lift your glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon or even better, Carmenere, because without these two boys you might not now feel so smug.  Do not forget that the South American vines saved the European wine industry in the late 19th century when an outbreak of phylloxera nearly killed every vine on the Continent.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ambrose and Bernard!

A Beautiful Day.

Thursday, April 15th, 2010

This morning I woke up determined to let the world know my secret.  This secret, which I have been juggling with for some days now and which I eventually put properly into place last night as I lay in bed, will solve all the worlds financial woes, will put the banks to right, give the Liberal Party a resounding success in the coming election in England, make all your jobs safe for the next thousand years and probably double your salaries within six months and it will certainly send property prices soaring again.

I came down early and took the young fellow to school, rubbing my hands at the titillation I was going to bring to the world.  I returned home in the best mood I have been in for months at the thought of this munificent knowledge I was going to share with mankind.  It was early, not quite 9.00 am, I thought I would leave it a little, let everyone get into work and then rejuvenate their day.  I went into the garden and tinkered with my vegetable patch, lifting the odd weed, planting out a few cabbage, picking up a few small stones that the hard winter’s frost had brought to the surface.  I was at one with my maker and he because of the lovely day he had sent us, seemed at least to be at one with me.

It was just after 10.00 when I came back into the kitchen, made a small kedgeree for my loved one, plated it and took it upstairs with a cup of freshly brewed green tea and placed it at her side and gently shook her so has not to arouse her from her dreams too quickly.  I looked out of the window and saw the colours on this fine Spring day.  The grass which up until last week was brown, scorched by the hard frosts of the winter, had suddenly thrown  off its overcoat and was now the finest emerald.  The sky was azure and not at all like the murky grey of the English sky that could just be seen in the far eastern horizon, tainted with volcanic fall out from northern regions and who, I ruminated could well do with the recent knowledge which I was about to pour onto the world through the web.  The lake, a few hundred yards away, twinkled in the morning light, a different blue from the sky but a welcoming blue just the same.  At this time of year there is no country more blessed than Ireland and no part more beautiful than North Roscommon, with its lakes and rivers, hills and rolling archaeological landscapes exploding in a hundred shades of blues and greens and tinted with dabs of yellow and red from the golden daffodils and proud tulips that seem to have sprung up in readiness for God’s bounty.

I thought “fuck it”, fuck the collapsing chair and the computer that as a will of its own, “fuck it” I repeated and my wife stirred in her repose, “I will launch the boat and have a days fishing on the lake, I hear their biting and refreshed with a few cold tinnies, it will do me good” It is now gone 11.00am I should get six hours out there, drifting from the edge of Erris Bay over to Church Island on the lazy current, I might even catch my supper.

I will have to leave this old contraption of a computer for something a lot more worthy, a boat, a rod and a line.  They have been doing that for eight thousand years round here,  there must be something in it.  So while I consider the afternoon, the early evening comes to mind.  You need something to wash the tonsils with after a hard day and what better than a couple or three pints of the finest Guiness in Ireland in the cleanest and friendliest pub in Boyle, The  Patrick’s Well,

I have not left the house yet and I am slavering at the prospect.  April in Ireland.  Fishing on Loch Ce.  Drinking Guiness in Patrick’s Well.  All my dreams have come true.