The glens and bens
By Malcolm Rogers
Malcolm Rogers travels to the north-easterly corner of Ireland.  Madman’s Window, the strange rock formation on the Antrim Coast Road, looks out over the Irish Sea to Scotland. On a clear day you feel you can almost touch the Mull of Kintyre, less than dozen miles away. Up in these northerly climes Scotland is closer than Dublin Airport is to Dublin City centre, and it shows in the speech, the character of the towns, the music and even in the landscape.
It is a place apart. I remember a few years ago walking through the almost impossibly picturesque villlage of Glenarm — at the time my mother, God rest her, lived nearby in Cullybackey, and we were out for a drive. I was dispatched on ice-cream duty — a 99 for me ma, and a slider for me.
En route, a small encounter befell me, which reminded me I was in a country very different from Britain. Dandering along, I noticed two very muscular types approaching a few hundred yard up the street. Now you have to understand that my cultural radar was giving me confused readings. The RUC station (as it then was) was exceptionally well protected, usually the sign of a Nationalist area. Ditto the presence of hurling pitches further up the road — you almost unconsciously register these things if you’ve lived in the North.
However at the corner of the harbour paving stones painted red white and blue proclaimed a certain affinity of some of the populace with Britain.
 Now if you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr. Brave Man, I suppose you could call me a coward. Therefore when I saw these two Johnny Adair lookalikes appearing, I duked into a newspaper shop, stalling for time.
I needn’t have worried (I think). On my return some time later with the ice creams I came upon one of the guys in the front seat of a Cavalier, clearly reading a Bible. He looked up, nodded a friendly hello, I nodded back, and passed on my way. Whoever said that Ireland was as different from England as Madagascar (Thomas Carlyle I think) may well have visited Glenarm.
Enough cultural observations. You’ll be wanting to hear about the scenery, the restaurants, the culture of the area, and whether this is a good place to fetch up for your holidays.
Well, having one of the most spectacular roads in the world, plus one of the natural wonders of the world in the shape of the Giant’s Causeway, certainly tends you towards an affirmative answer.
This route along Ireland’s north eastern seaboard, which within living memory was little more than a rough track bedded with basalt and chalk chips and pitted with potholes, is reckoned today to be one of the most spectacular roads in the world, in the same company as the San Bernardino Pass or the Monterey-Carmel coast road in California. However the Antrim Coast Road can boast two advantages over the competition — first of all, lack of traffic. On a May day at about seven in the evening I counted only five cars passing me between Glenarm and Cushendun. Secondly, on the San Bernardino Pass into Switzerland, you can search all day and you won’t find a cod and chips in the same league as that sold by McKillop’s in Carnlough. By the way, there’s another impossibly beautiful harbour there, looking out over “Sweet Carnlough Bay”, where you can sit and thoughtfully munch your chips.
There are of course parts of this road which barely need any mention. The Giant’s Causeway, for centuries a geological wonder known only to kelp gatherers and sheep herders, is rightly famous throughout the world.
The road takes you past the nine glens of Antrim — Glenarm, Glencloy, Glenarriff, Glenballyeamon, Glenaan, Glencorp, Glendun, Gelnshesk and Glentaise — in springtime clad with primroses, hawthorn, mountain ash and heather. The names of the glen in English are not known for certain, but the popular translations are: glen of the army, glen of the hedges, ploughman’s glen, Edwardstown glen, the glen of the colt’s foot, glen of the slaughter (don’t ask), brown glen, sedge glen and Taisie’s glen. Taisie in legend was a princess of Rathlin Island, fought over by an Irish chief and a Viking. You’ll be gratified to hear that the Irishman won.
 The Antrim Coast Road stretches some 35 miles from Larne right round to Portstewart, mostly at the foot of the cliffs. The main engineer was William Bald, a Scotsman, who ingeniously blasted the rocks so they formed a foundation for the road. And although the views are spectacular, it wasn’t constructed as a tourist attraction. It was built to ease the hardship of the upland farmers and glensfolk who scraped out a living by the sea.
The beauty of the road is not just the views of the sea, though they alone would support a major postcard industry. The road winds along cliff faces through natural stone arches, and past green glens, brown moorland, and rocks composed alternately of white limestone, black basalt, red sandstone and yellow ochre from iron ore. It would be difficult to imagine there is a more colourful or beautiful place in Europe.
It’s not all just seascapes and cliff faces, however. The Antrim Coast Road is dotted with some of the most striking villages in Ireland. Previously mentioned Glenarm is the oldest, with streets such as The Vennel and Toberwine Street running down to the harbour. Glenarm Castle, overlooking the river which wends to the sea here, is the residence of the Earl of Antrim, 13th a descendant of the rebel Sorley Boy MacDonnell, a constant thorn in the side of Queen Elizabeth I. For all the world the castle looks like the Tower of London, plonked down in the middle of the Glens of Antrim.
Carnlough is at the foot of Glencloy, and while an indisputably Irish village, it almost has the air of a 1950s British seaside resort. And very attractive the mixture is, with more ice cream shops, a fantastic hotel (despite its unfortunate name the Londonderry Arms) ideal for afternoon tea, and a harbour so picturesque it could have starred in Finian’s Rainbow.
Cushendall is sometimes called ‘the capital of the glens’, and as befits any capital, the village comes equipped with an architectural curio. Right in the centre of the village is the four story red sandstone Curfew Tower, locally rumoured to be a copy of one in China built by a rich landowner, Francis Turnly.
Of more immediate interest in Cushendall is a thriving centre for traditional music, and hosts several festivals, fleadhs and sessions every year.
Further on up the coast a little place called Portbraddan (also spelt Portbraden) boasts the smallest church in Ireland. Now a few candidates vie for this title, but undoubtedly St. Gobhnan’s is the most appealing, lying at the bottom of vertical cliffs, and overlooking White Park Bay. St. Gobhnan is the patron saint of builders, and no, before you ask, he’s not buried in a cowboy outfit. Rather more incongruous is that Ireland’s smallest church (twelve feet by six) should be dedicated to him given his special interest in the construction industry.
One would have though a cathedral more in keeping. Whether it is the smallest church in the country or not, St. Gobhnan’s is certainly worth a visit because of its spectacular setting on the shores of the angry North Atlantic. Watch carefully and you’ll see seals out in the bay. Oh and take a flask of tea and a wheaten farl sandwich: there’s not many shops or cafes round these parts, nor many tourists — just the Nine Glens of Antrim.
All of them make there way to the sea hereabouts, and each is equally spectacular. And just like it says in the song, “You’d imagine a picture of heaven it could be, / Where the Green Glens of Antrim are calling to me.” |
