FOLLOWING IN ST KEVIN’S FOOTSTEPS
A special walk in Glendalough
NATIONAL Heritage Week took place in August and is long over. Surely everyone knows that – everyone, that is, except the dozen of us who responded to the offer of a Sunday walk in the footsteps of Saint Kevin. Our hosts for the occasion, more than a month after the originally advertised date, were a couple of naturalists working with the parks and wildlife service, Eleanor Sutherland and Dave Lawton.
Eleanor explained the reason for the delay was that she had a bout of ill health back in August which led to the postponement of our stroll deep into autumn. Never mind, the temperature was balmy for the time of year and, though there was a breeze, the rain which had fallen during the night had eased off in time for our expedition.
We gathered beside a red-berried rowan tree outside the visitor centre in Glendalough, where our guides said that they usually work with parties of school-children. Suffice it to say that a long time has elapsed since any member of this group sat behind a school desk, though the passing of the years has not altogether dimmed the desire to learn.
And the first thing we learned today was that Saint Kevin really did exist – or, at least, Eleanor believes that he really did exist and that he was born in or near Ballymore Eustace. After training as a Christian holy man at Kilnamanagh near Tallaght, he seems to have settled in Hollywood in the west of what is now County Wicklow.
However, for someone who craved peaceful contemplation, this was an unsatisfactory choice as it was on the main trade road from Dublin to the south east. So he took a hike up into the hills and came to settle in the valley of the two lakes – Glendalough – which is ever since associated with his name. Whether he was a woman-hating, nature-loving character in the way he is regularly portrayed is a matter for speculation but at least there does seem to be an actual person at the heart all the fables.
In his guise as a sixth century Irish version of Saint Francis of Assisi, in tune with the flora and the fauna, he may be relevant in modern times to an Ireland threatened by climate change. So where better to come to experience Kevin than Glendalough, though it is a place he would scarcely recognise and seriously dislike. The peace which he sought here is banished by the daily invasion of tourists from all over the world, a cosmopolitan tide of lay pilgrims seeking beauty, fresh air, exercise, history and spiritual uplift.
The park boasts more signs and more routes than the Red Cow interchange, with arrows giving directions for walks to suit all standards, from weekend wanderers to cross-country commandoes. But we who came late for heritage week followed no set path other than the vagaries of our guides, homing in on details that the hordes around us mostly miss.
First stop, for instance, was the Deer Stone, one chunk of rock among a heap of boulders which scarcely give the passing hordes pause for thought. But we had Eleanor with us to give us the first the day’s legends…
The Legend of the Deer Stone: Kevin may have been a humble hermit but he had some very well connected acquaintances, among them a king. His majesty arrived in Glenadlough to present the saint with a baby called Phelim who required care away from the machinations of a wicked witch.
The prospect of looking after the child was daunting to the reluctant foster parent – but help was at hand. A sympathetic doe showed up with a foal, depositing a share of her milk into the basin-shaped hole in the stone.
When the doe dried up, a she-wolf arrived to take over the role of milk supplier, ensuring that Phelim grew up fit and strong...
We moved on to where a waterfall came tumbling down the steep wood, feeding into a stream which flows into the lower lough, prompting the telling of another tale.
The Legend of the Peist: to some the peist was a monster as bad as any in Louch Ness, as he had a reputation for emerging from the waters of the Lower Lough to seize and eat humans. Despite this wayward behaviour, the peist and Kevin were great pals.
His followers approached the great man and asked him to persuade the fiercesome creature from preying on pilgrims. So Kevin had a word with his monster buddy who agreed to move to the Upper Lough, clearing the way for the building of a monastery where he used to maraud…
The Legend of Kevin and the Goose: with fame came responsibility as Kevin realised that his followers needed accommodation. As he had no land and no money, he was not well placed to provide a suitable building, so he took advantage of a wealthy local king.
The king doted on his pet goose, though the poor bird was on its last legs. He consulted with Kevin regarding the health of his pet and agreed to sign away any land that the goose flew over if the saint could effect a cure.
This appeared a paltry enough demand as it was barely able to walk, let alone fly – until Kevin had a word in its ear and then threw it into the air. Lo and behold, the goose was suddenly capable of completing majestic seven turns around the valley, making the saint a richly propertied man in the process…
The Legend of the Wandering Cow: a local farmer had a herd of cows and, like practically all cows, they were content to enjoy the company of their sisters. However, one young cow took to wandering off on its own rather than stick with the group.
This strange, wayward behaviour worried the farmer at first as he was concerned that the wanderer might be attacked. But then he noticed that her milk yield was ten or more times more than that of her more conformist bovin peers.
Curious as to where she was going, he followed her one day and discovered her sitting beside Kevin, licking his garments. The farmer reckoned that the licking was responsible for the extra milk and his testimony helped to have the holy man declared a saint…
The Legends of Kevin’s Diet: the great man was on good terms with an otter who boosted Kevin’s protein intake by fetching him a salmon from one of the loughs. However, the supply of fish dried up after Kevin and the otter met a farmer’s son who looked at the otter and thought how the creature’s pelt would make wonderful winter mittens. Though the thought was never spoken, the otter brought no salmon the next day or any day after, preferring to shun human company.
Kevin, by the way, was a strict follower of the Lenten fast regime, vowing that only nettles soaked in water would pass his lips through the 40 days of abstinence. Such bare rations might well have killed him but a follower smuggled nourishing oats and milk into the nettles, using a hollowed out pot stick to stir in the extra goodness by stealth…
The Legend of Kevin the blackbird: this is perhaps the best known tale of the lot, since it has been immortalised in a poem by Seamus Heaney The story goes that a blackbird alighted on his hand when the holy man put his arm out of the stone cell where he resided.
Rather than brush her away, Kevin stayed motionless for forty days with his arm outstretched to allow her incubate the egg the blackbird laid in his palm. Dave re-told the fable on site where the cell is thought to have been…
No-one believes that any mortal could hold himself rigid for more than a month or that a friendly animal could deliver salmon daily for breakfast. However, each of the ancient legends prompted debate and conversation as they provoked a stream of up-to-date consciousness. That is why it took us four hours to cover four kilometres, rapt in thought and discussion.
Wolves and deer: the last Irish wolf was shot by bounty hunters in 1786, relieving the deer of their principal natural predator, other than man. And that is why the deer population is now running out of control with at least 5,000 of them in the Wicklow national park alone.
Blackbirds: along with their thrush cousins, the blackbird provides essential prey for young peregrine falcons before they learn as adults to dive at more than 400 kilometres per hour to take pigeons on the wing. The falcon has been adopted as the park’s mascot.
Otters: the otters remain, though they are incredibly shy and even a seasoned naturalist such as Dave Lawton is really excited if he spots one. Fleeting sightings may be responsible for the enduring belief that there is still a monster (a peist perhaps) in Glendalough.
Kevin’s diet: nettles, sorrel, mushrooms, hazelnuts – they are all appetising and all there, if you know where to forage.
We look forward to finding out more in heritage week 2020, if not before.