| A right royal time in the middle
kingdom  Malcolm
Rogers journeys to the Royal County of Meath, home of Ireland’s
High Kings and Neolithic burial chambers that are older than the Pyramids.
It’s odd, really, that Meath isn’t a more popular tourist destination
than it is.
Parts of it, of course, are on the well-trodden heritage trail, notably
Newgrange. Now despite sounding like a suburb in Essex, the passage graves
of Newgrange are more than five thousand years old, among the oldest man-made
structures in the world.
Brú na Bóinne, to give it its Irish name, is seriously interesting,
and it has, consequently, huge visitor numbers — only a limited
number of tickets per day are issued. But the rest of the county is relatively
uncrowded, its beauty and tranquillity awaiting discovery.
Meath lies at the heart of a different Ireland from the better-known destinations
such as Killarney or Bunratty. In many ways it represents the real soul
of Ireland, largely untouched by mass tourism yet rich in scenery, a history
that stretches back 5,000 years to the first Megalithic builders in European
history, and people who still seem to have time to wish you the length
of your days and a good end to your journey.
Meath, in fact, is such an astonishing place that the ancient buildings
of Newgrange are only a part of its reputation. So, seat belts on, and
hold tight for a tour round one of Europe’s finest destinations.
Middle kingdom
Modern-day Meath is made up of most of the ancient province of Midhe,
which means centre. Probably for religious reasons, ancient Ireland was
divided into five provinces, representing the four cardinal points, plus
a central core. Within ancient Midhe, at the ‘centre of the centre’,
stood Tara. The very name exudes vanished glory.
According to ancient tradition Tara, from the dawn of history, was the
seat of the High Kings, or Ard Rí. Here St Patrick is said to have
arrived at the very start of his mission to convert the High King Laoghaire.
The king looked out to the north and saw Patrick’s paschal fire
burning on the hill of Slane and was thus converted. The hill of Slane
is now the venue for rock concerts of the calibre of Bryan Adams and U2
— poor old Patrick must be revolving in his grave like a lathe.
But you’ll probably be saying to yourself: “Look, I’m
here on holiday, not for a history lesson, so, is there much to see?”
The short answer is yes. The slightly longer answer is that at the very
least this is verdandtly beautiful countryside; at best an enthralling
ramble through one of the most hallowed spots in Ireland, and one of the
most important Christian sites in Europe. Because it was from here, in
the centre of ancient Ireland, that the flame of Christianity was re-ignited
and the Gospel spread back through a Europe (or Christendom as it then
was) which had been ravaged by the Dark Ages.
Although standing only 300 feet high, almost a quarter of Ireland can
be seen from the summit of Tara, and some 13 of the island’s counties.
(For homework for next time, see if you can name them.) You’ll not
be able to stop yourself humming Thomas Moore’s words: “The
harp that once thro’ Tara’s halls
The soul of music shed
Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls
As if that soul were fled.”
Military majesty
 If
you ever see the crossword clue “Neat Irish town (four letters)”
you can take it from me the answer is Trim. The place is situated at the
edge of another crossword clue — “Faded part of Ireland under
Norman rule? (four letters)”. Yes, well done, the Pale.
Trim Castle, in that neat little town, was the largest and just about
the most important castle in Ireland. Its garrison of Anglo Normans watched
over the dangerous natives, and took every precaution to ensure their
castle was unwelcoming in the extreme. Uninvited guests — of which
you can be sure there were many — were treated to boiling water,
tar, arrows, rocks, and other early weapons of mass destruction, rained
down on them from overhead murder-holes.
The very model of impregnability, the castle’s thick granite walls
are equipped with slit-like embrasures for the archers, and the unevenly
spaced stumble-steps in the keep made the going as difficult as possible
for intruders. And don’t forget the ‘oubliette’, a word
derived from the French ‘oublier’, to forget. Prisoners were
simply thrown into this room and forgotten about.
Other castles in Meath include: Dunmoe Castle and Athlumney Castle, set
in rolling countryside, and worth a visit for castle fanciers and civilians
alike.
Meath’s jewels
“Irish Sea, gale force eight gusting to force nine.” No, this
isn’t the weather section, it’s just that the man who devised
the calibration for measuring wind, Francis Beaufort who gave the world
the Beaufort Scale, was late of this parish. Other famous Meath people
include actor Pearse Brosnan, Tommy Tiernan and Dylan Moran. Also our
own Brendan Blake, comedian and charity fundraiser, was born on the same
street as 007 (Brendan likes to call himself 006).
The Duke of Wellington wasn’t born in Meath, but was brought up
here — apparently he had a strong Meath accent until his teens when
he was sent away to school. At the other end of the political spectrum
socialist Jim Connell, who wrote The Red Flag, was from the county. But
perhaps the greatest of all of Meath’s sons was Turlough O’Carolan,
born in Nobber in 1670. The influence of O’Carolan, a blind 17th
century harper, is still pervases Irish traditional music today.
Two of Meath’s most famous treasures — the Tara Brooch and
the Book of Kells — now reside in Dublin. The brooch was found in
Bettystown in 1850 and can be viewed in the National Museum in Dublin.
The Book of Kells, probably just about the most valuable book in the world,
is housed in Trinity College, Dublin.
But Meath has many other treasures on show, such as the Butterstream Gardens
just outside Trim. This lush paradise includes the likes of a laburnum
tunnel, a white garden with white butterflies, a rose garden, a pool garden
and many others, all containing a riot of flowers and shrubs separated
by sculpted hedges and leafy screens.
 Beneath
Meath
If you still have a hankering to peer into Meath’s passage graves,
forego the crowds at Newgrange, and instead visit the Loughcrew Hills
near Oldcastle. About 30 passage tombs are scattered over four green hilltops,
each commanding superb 360-degree views over the lush landscape. Unrushed
by coach tours which bedevil the busier sites, you’ll be able to
walk from grave to grave, marvelling at the intricate engravings on the
walls of the tombs, the while contemplating that even ancient man had
a feeling that he should try to communicate with we-know-not-what.
Local folklore has it that the Loughcrew cairns were stones dropped from
the apron of a hag as she flew over the mountain, called Sliabh na Cailllighe.
You won’t need me to tell you this translates as ‘the Hag’s
Hill’. Her ghost is said to haunt the area still — truly a
Meathylated spirit.
Down in the valley you can visit the 17th century gardens of Loughcrew
House. The walled gardens, a Yew Walk, water-gardens, a grotesque grotto,
follies and rockeries and an arboretum of exotic trees make this a horticultural
heaven, and an ideal family day out.
Unmissable Meath
Meath has history, culture, castles, towns, rivers and valleys —
it even has its own unique snail, a crustacean called Helix pisana found
on the Laytown and Bettystown dunes. It is truly an astonishing place.
Put it this way. Even if I wasn’t being paid handsomely to write
this sort of stuff, I would still be saying to my friends, look, forget
about the rest of Europe, you really have to see this place. Really, really,
you have to come here. Just one episode to try to convince you.
I remember last year, driving to Nobber — I believe it was for a
blessing of Turlough O’Carolan’s grave. Trundling down a leafy
boreen so verdantly beautiful I just stopped the car and got out. There
was a gate set in an ancient hedge, so I leaned against it and stared
out onto the plains of Royal Meath. For ages. The lime trees were in full
bloom, the scent of the hawthorn was heavy in the air, the grass was a
shade of green only available in the middle of Ireland.
I looked out onto those old, old fields for what seemed ages. And eventually
said out loud, “Wow.” And continued gazing for another age. | 