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The New Breed of Bed and Breakfast
Overnight accommodation in the North of Ireland has improved greatly, hasn’t
it?
Way back when I first went wandering round Norn Iron the tourist trade
was still in its infancy. And you could tell. Bed & breakfast would be a
draughty terraced house with furniture straight off a George & Mildred set,
and cooking was of a similar standard.
Arrive even five minutes late for breakfast and it was the remedial boiled
egg for you, m’boy — composed mainly of vulcanised rubber — or cereal made
from that stuff inside jiffy bags.
The Irish Landmark Trust cottages (and lighthouses and gatehouses as
well) couldn’t be more of a contrast.
Although some are situated in the remotest depths of pastoral Ulster
or perched atop Ireland’s snarling coastline, each property is immaculately
restored, filled with period furniture, centrally heated, and equipped with
all mod cons — bleak chic I suppose you might call it. And for someone like
myself whose idea of roughing it these days is to turn the central heating
down to medium, these places are heaven.
When I first approached Ballealy Cottage, near Randalstown, down a seemingly
endless leafy lane, I thought, “This is it. I’m gonna squat here. I’ll refuse
to go back to the Irish Post. I can buy a couple of sheep, plant a lazy
bed of potatoes, maybe even raise a few chickens, go fishing.”
But suddenly my romantic musings were interrupted by the appearance of
the cottage-keeper welcoming me to the property. And what a welcome awaited.
A turf and wood fire ready for burning, tea in the pot, and soda bread from
the local trading post.
I say trading post, because Ballealy Cottage is situated so deep in the
heart of the Ulster countryside you imagine it must be at least a three-day
mule-trek to the nearest victuallers.
In actual fact, the cottage is situated only five miles from Belfast
International Airport. You could literally leave London, Manchester or Birmingham
at 9.00 am and have your feet up in from of a roaring turf fire by noon,
contemplating whether to head for the Main River for a spot of fishing,
or venture a little further afield to the magnificent Antrim coast, where
Ireland rather abruptly stops.
Or, for that matter, merely stroll down the road to Randalstown Forest
and wander along soft pine-covered lanes.
Alternatively, you could take a look at Shane’s Castle, the ancient home
of the O’Neills of Clandeboye. There is not much of the 15th and 16th century
fortress is left, but you still get the impression that here was a residence
owned by a family not to be trifled with. More than once they have been
called the Corleones of the Middle Ages.
Tranquil though the area seems today, history dreadful and dramatic surrounds
you. Randalstown was the scene of a bloody battle in the 1798 Rebellion,
and as you pass by the town of Toome you won’t be able to resist it.
Come on, altogether now: “. . . for young Roddy McCorley goes to die
on the Bridge of Toome today.”
Hum it quietly, though, because for some folks in this area 1798 was
just a couple of weeks back.
Ballealy Cottage itself is a 19th century estate cottage on the afore-mentioned
Shane’s Castle Estate. It has an idyllic appearance — hence my initial desire
to settle here, deep in the woods. It was built for the local estate keeper
around 1835, and its sturdy blackstone appearance hasn’t changed much on
the outside since then.
Inside, however, it has been perfectly restored, with all added conveniences:
Central heating, cooking ranges, fridges, en suite bedrooms, washing machines
etc.
The cottage is surrounded by a working farm — great to educate your kids
as to where your food really comes from. The cottage abuts Lough Neagh,
the largest stretch of inland water these islands has to offer. The lough
was, according to legend, created as a result of a fountain having been
left uncovered by a vengeful banshee.
Another theory is that it was formed when Finn MacCumhaill (pronounced
McCool) in a fit of pique scooped up a piece of Ulster and threw it into
the Irish Sea. Needless to say, geologists are apt to refer to this as a
load of old schist.
Whatever the origins of the lake, its 150 square miles of placid water
are a paradise for fishermen and boaters alike. Lough Neagh, being more
or less a giant fish factory, is home to squadrons of birdlife, anxious
to tuck into eel, salmon, trout etc. The banks have bird-watching hides
strategically placed along its length.
A sojourn in south Antrim probably hasn’t occurred to you any more than
it did me when I first heard about it. But it really is a holiday with a
difference. (Pardon the cliché. It’s almost as tired as I am. All that walking,
fishing, building sand-castles on the beach, stopping at pubs, you see .
. . )
Maybe I was lucky with the weather — although the cottage was so comfortable
and had such a great collection of books I wouldn’t actually have minded
a spot of inclement weather.
But the sun insisted on shining, and with its rays breaking through the
willow trees, and the shimmer of Lough Neagh in the distance, you could
be anywhere in the world — from L’Haute Girronne to the Lagan Valley.
I think next month I might head for somewhere really remote like Wicklow
Head Lighthouse, and experience how hard life must have been for those weathered
old keepers. I’ll just make sure they have the Chablis in the fridge first,
though.
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