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Touring Tory Island
By MALCOLM ROGERS
 MALCOLM ROGERS heads for the remote north west coast of Donegal to visit Tory Island.
Along with Sinn Féin, the Tory Party in Britain is the only political group with MPs elected to the British parliament boasting an Irish name. The word Tory is derived from the Irish ‘tóraí’ which means a robber or outlaw, and you probably don’t need to be a history student to work out how the British political party came to be so described in Ireland. The wonder is, however, why the Tory Party stuck with the name.
This same etymology is emphatically not at work on Tory Island. It is neither Conservative nor full of robbers. The ‘tory’ in this instance derives from ‘túr’ meaning tower, an allusion to the high rocky cliffs of the island, particularly on the scenic north east coast.
Situated some nine miles off the coast of Donegal, the remote fastness of Tory Island probably means it is never destined to become a major tourist destination. There just aren’t the same number of casual visitors that the likes of the Aran Islands attract, and it certainly has none of the paddywhackeray and shamrock rebranding that those islands have undergone. In Aran tourists are just another catch to harvest, like salmon or lobster. On Tory, on the other hand, they know you’ve gone to a certain amount of trouble to get there, and reward you accordingly. They’ll tell you that in days gone by, late-night poitin drinkers on their way home were forced to negotiate the hazardous journey back, along a rough track, in a series of 50 yard hikes. These were timed to coincide with the circling beam of the lighthouse as it illuminated the deepest and most dangerous potholes. They’ll tell you that story and many more, because the art of the shenachie is still alive and well in this remote but friendly place.
Legends still abound on Tory Island. Balor of the Evil Eye (the Celtic god of Darkness) lived here — and it’s not hard to see why. He doubtless chose this piece of real estate as his residence because, particularly in the winter, it can be harsh, forbidding and, yes, very dark. But not all the time, I’m delighted to report.
I arrived Tory Island after catching an early boat from Bunbeg Harbour. The crossing was calm — it could have been the Mediterranean — and all on board were rewarded with a view which looked like something from Roger Dean’s futuristic album covers for Yes. If you have such an album you’ll know exactly what I mean. If not, suffice to say that the mist-shrouded, remote island rises out of the deep like a wispy mirage, the final frontier of Europe. This is a seascape rich in atmosphere, rich in poignancy.
Calm though the day was when I set out from Bunbeg pier, I was told that the journey can be little short of terrifying. And the difficulty of getting to Tory Island only adds to the unique spell which it casts. But thankfully, the day I chose for my crossing Tory Sound was as tranquil as can be, and the island — some three miles long by half a mile wide looked green and inviting under the weary autumn sun.
Today there is a thriving community of some 170 people on the island, all Irish speaking, and with a tradition that goes back some five thousand years. St. Colmcille, that great Donegal proselytiser of the early Christian church, founded a monastery here in the sixth century, and the ruins of a round tower still stand as a landmark in West Town. The tower, built of rock blocks of red granite and some 50 feet high, is, I presume, the most westerly Christian construction in Europe.
Tory Island still has its own King, Patsy Dan Rodgers, whose hereditary title goes back to the 6th century. An accordion player, former pig farmer, and now a painter, King Patsy Dan meets the ferry most days. And let me just tell you here, if your name happens to be Rogers as well, and you play the fiddle — you can look forward to some very late nights indeed.
B ut it’s not all sessions and shenachies. Incongruous though it may seem, there are two thriving art galleries on Tory exhibiting the work of local self-taught artists — mostly seascapes and landscapes. The well known English artist Derek Hill, who lived in Donegal (or in ‘Ireland’ as most of the locals call it), was a frequent visitor, and was an inspiration to the likes of Patsy Dan, Anton Meenan and Ruairí Rodgers. Art courses are now available at the galleries, with week long courses during the summer months.
In the 1980s, the Irish government threatened to turn Tory Island into an army firing range. It tried to inveigle the inhabitants away from their homes with the promise of new bungalows in Donegal. A few went but most dug their boots in and stayed. Since then, the residents of Tory have maintained their independence — the two villages of West Town and East Town have church, school, post office and shops. The tourist trade is steady, and some farming is carried out in the unresponsive soil.
The sea is ever present, crashing against the cliffs, and the wind soughs gently through the Marram grass. During my visit the wind kindly dropped to the merest rustle, so I was able to make out another sound — a strange croaking noise which those of you over forty and brought up in rural Ireland might recognise. It was the call of the corncrake — or Crex crex in the Latin. The rarest of sounds now in Europe, the corncrake manages to hang on here on Tory Island because the land is still farmed in the old traditional way. To be honest with you, they’re actually quite ugly little birds — and their call doesn’t sound much like ‘Corn! Crake!’ at all. It’s more of a ‘Kwaaaaughch! Kwaaaaaaughch!’ Or maybe even a Creuuuugh! [That’s enough corncrake sounds. Ed]. Sorry. Got carried away. Anyway, these ground-nesting birds have managed to survive against the odds, and when the wind is low they produce their strange, evocative sound; the sound of an Ireland that has almost disappeared.
Walking along the magnificent cliffs, I managed to spot everything from kittiwakes (fairly common) to Ivory gulls (downright rare) and most stops in between — puffins, fulmars, guillemot, cormorant, even a flotilla of eider ducks. And I even resisted the temptation to say to some passing twitchers — well, they’re eider that or something else. I suppose one good tern deserves another.
The bird twitchers were newly arrived from Nottingham, and as regards the bird-life vouchsafed they’d never seen the like before. Later, when I met them in the only bar on the island, the Social Club, they were still saying they’d never seen the like before.
But this time it was Saturday night, and a céilí was in full swing.
Most visitors to Tory Island are interested in one (or all) of the following: traditional music, the Irish language, Irish literature, walking, ornithology or exploring islands. As it happens, it’s a full house for me — I’m keenly interested in every one of those pursuits. So it was with genuine regret that I was only booked to stay on the island for two days. Mind you, I was blessed with good weather — had the rain obliterated the landscape as it surely can, I might have had a different tale to tell. As it was I left Tory Island vowing I would be back very soon — and next time I’d be staying for longer. Maybe I could even challenge Patsy Dan Rodgers for the Kingship. Patsy Mal Rogers doesn’t sound too bad, does it?
Tips for tourists
Travel to and from Tory
- For ferry times, contact Turasa Teo, tel 00 353 (0) 75 31320. Boats to Tory set sail from Bunbeg Harbour of Magheroaty
- Aer Arran, tel 00 353 1890 462726 (www.skyroad.com) has flights daily from Dublin to Carrickfinn Airport.
Accommodation:
- Caisleain Oir, Annagry, tel: 00 353 (0) 74 954 8133 is the nearest hotel to the airport, and comfortable and friendly
- Bunbeg House (tel. 00 353 (0) 7531305 is equally to be recommended. Situated at Bunbeg Harbour, it’s the nearest accommodation to the harbour, with a magnificent scenic location over the Sound.
- Ostán Thoraigh (tel 00 353 (0) 74 35920 offers various midweek specials and weekend break deals.
- Mrs Grace Duffy, East Town, (tel 00 353 (0) 74 35136) offers very comfortable B&B
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