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Down your way
Malcolm Rogers travels to Co. Down, a beautiful land of mountains, sea and enchanting villages.
Co. Down can boast two of the best known songs in the Irish canon — The Mountains of Mourne and The Star of the Co. Down.
Some of the finest poetry also emanates from this neck of the woods — The Man From God Knows Where immediately springs to mind, about the United Irishman Thomas Russell who was hanged in Downpatrick Gaol.
As for novels, well look no further than behind the Wardrobe, because Belfast man C.S. Lewis found most of his inspiration for the Chronicles of Narnia during his hill walking through the Mournes.
We’ve established the cultural and literary credentials of the county — does that necessarily make it an ideal place for a holiday, I hear you ask. Well, the answer is a resounding yes, which might echo from the foothills of the afore-mentioned Mournes to the shores of Strangford Lough.
It might also take in the oldest state-owned forest park in Ireland — at Tollymore, just north of Newcastle, which is a haven of rare plants and Victorian follies. Indeed, if gardens are your thing, you won’t want to miss nearby Castlewellan, whose formal gardens boast reputedly the tallest tree in Ireland, a western hemlock, which stretches to the heavens.
And on the subject of heaven, we come to one of the main reasons that people from all over the world visit the county of Down — because here is where the architect of Christianity in Ireland takes his eternal repose.
The rundown on Down’s religious heritage
The Apostle of Ireland, St. Patrick, is reputedly buried in the leafy graveyard of Down Cathedral, in the ancient capital of the kingdom of Lecale, Downpatrick.
A large simple granite slab with his name is all that marks the grave, despite the fact that two other saints, Brigid and Colmcille, are reputedly buried here as well.
Regrettably, the bones of none of these saintly personages probably occupy the tomb in the grounds of the cathedral, because, rather incongruously, the site was picked out and erected at the beginning of the 20th century by the Belfast Naturalists’ Field Club!
Despite this curious piece of local history, there is ample evidence that Patrick is buried somewhere in these grounds, most likely under the main portal of the cathedral.
Apart from being Patrick’s last resting place, Down Cathedral is worth a visit for its own history. This is a place which was destroyed by earthquake, pillaged by the Danes, burnt by the Scots, destroyed again by the English, and then lay in ruins for the best part of 200 years. Nowadays it is hard to imagine a more peaceful place, surrounded by tall beech trees, with views across the Quoile to the ancient Cistercian Abbey of Inch.
The influence of Patrick is everywhere hereabouts. About a mile north east of Downpatrick, at the mouth of the Slaney River, is the village of Saul where St. Patrick began his mission to Ireland circa AD 432, and where he died.
A more picturesque area would be difficult to find, with the Mournes as a backdrop and the tightly hedged fields stretching endlessly across the drumlins. And just in case you’re wondering, the word “Saul” has no biblical connotations. It is derived from the Irish word “Sábhal” meaning barn.
The barn in question was St. Patrick’s first church, put at his disposal by the local chieftain Michu, one of Patrick’s earliest converts. A small church was built on the site, but like the cathedral up the road, the building did not have a happy history.
It was burned by the Danes, rebuilt by St Malachy, sacked by Magnus O’Eochadha, King of Ulster, and burnt to the ground again in 1316 by Edward Bruce.
Aye, Aye
Strangford Lough is one of those I.I. places — an Internationally Important site for wildfowl and waders. When I go there (frequently) I always take the road from Downpatrick to Strangford, then board the car ferry which takes you crab-wise to Portaferry.
You’re now at the entrance of the lough, and a stunning place it is. Surrounded by drumlins, those perfectly rounded hills that cover much of north Down, the islands of the lough sparkle in the sunlight. ‘Drumlin’, by the way, comes from the Irish ‘droim’ meaning ridge. The word was coined in 1833 to describe ‘low ridges of superficial debris in the North of Ireland’.
Should you wish to fish, there are apparently some really huge skate in the lough — but it’s not all plain sailing. I asked one angler at the pier if he’d had any luck. He replied thoughtfully, “Well, I suppose I haven’t fallen in yet.”
It’s for the birds, though, that most visitors make the trek to Strangford Lough. Brent geese from Greenland and Arctic Canada winter here, feeding on the sostra grass and making friends with the greylag and white fronted geese which also fetch up on the shore.
There are also large numbers of surface-feeding ducks such as widgeon and teal, as well as hundreds of oyster catchers, redshanks and curlew on the mudflats.
If the coast is clear...
Round the coast of Down are some of the most enchanting and idyllic seaside towns these islands have to offer. From Groomsport in the north of the county (made famous by Marshall Schomberg and his 10,000 Williamite troops) to Coney Island in the south (made famous by Van Morrison’s song about the place), you’ll find something to whet your interest.
A mention must be made of Donaghadee, an essential visit for trivia fans. It’s the nearest Irish port to Britain — 21 miles across to Portpatrick in Scotland. In former times, when the only travel insurance available on the Irish Sea crossing was said to be “a bottle of whiskey to put the want of insurance out of your head,” the merits of a short sea journey made this a thriving port.
The heyday of Donaghadee was from the 16th to the 19th century — and even as late as the early 1900s you could still get a local fisherman to row you over to Britain for a fiver.
Today it is a quiet, picturesque, seaside town, a mix between a 1950s British resort and an Irish fishing village, but with a huge history. A walk round the town will uncover some of that history — Grace Neill’s Inn in the High Street has been in business since 1611.
Now, this inn is a place which is used to extending hospitality. The Czar of All the Russias, Peter the Great, was reported to have lodged here during a visit undertaken to learn the secrets of ship-building and linen-making. (Yes, yes, the Czar of the Co. Down; very droll I’m sure).
Daniel Defoe visited as well, and likewise Franz Liszt, who had a piano in his baggage and was stuck here for some days because of bad weather. Oh, and Keats, Behan and Wordsworth have all partaken of hospitality in Grace Neill’s — probably some to a greater degree than others.
So what on earth persuaded all these luminaries to visit this little seaside town, I hear you ask
Well, don’t forget Donaghadee’s value as a port — what we might call a holiday hub these days. Islands, beaches, parkland, and angling sites are all within easy reach.
Donaghadee is only one of dozens of charming little seaside towns dotted along the Down coast. Make a day of it and go motoring (yes, they still ‘motor’ up here) round the laneways and byways which will lead you to some of Ireland’s most enchanting coastlines.
Peak attraction
The Mournes are a big attraction for visitors from all over Europe. They are an extensive range, and to tramp from one end to another would take several hours, if not days.
Slieve Donard, at just under 3000ft, is the highest mountain in the North. Depending on your fitness level, three hours should get you up to the summit even if you’re not an experienced hill walker.
From the top the view across Ireland is unsurpassable. Out over Carlingford Bay and on towards Dublin and the hazy infinity of Ireland’s farmscape and boglands. And of course from that elevation there is a staggering view of the other Mourne mountains — Commedagh, Slieve Bearnagh, Slieve Binian — shaped by a million years of belligerent weather.
The going is relatively easy in the Mournes, which is just as well as it gives you a chance to savour not just the scenery, but some of the wonderful names round these parts: Slievefadda, Slievemoughanmore, Wee Slievemoughanmore and The Creaghts.
Just like poet John Hewitt said:
“I’ll take my stand by the Ulster names
Each clean hard names like a weathered stone,
Tyrella, Rostrevor are flickering flames
The names I mean are the Moy, the Mourne,
Strabane, Slievegullion and Portglenone.”
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