Day 8: Diaspora

Cork’s patron saint, Finbarr, is commemorated by way of a striking cathedral. Its spires were completed in 1879 on a downtown site that has known a succession of churches since the Middle Ages. There’s also dramatic history down at

Cork’s main port, Cobh (Cove) — the Irish diaspora of the 19th and 20th centuries. Almost half of the six million Irish men, women and children who emigrated between 1840, when potato famines began, and 1950 departed from here for a better life abroad. Anywhere had to be an improvement on mass starvation, widespread disease and English oppression that lasted centuries. Countries of choice included the United States and Canada, but also included the West Indies, Australia and New Zealand. Resembling refugees, legions of emigrants poured out of Cobh.

Thanks to a kindly Cobh museum staff member, who let us into the Heritage Centre after closing time, we get to see a poignant recapturing of those times in words, images and maritime memorabilia — a display that also recalled the massive loss of life in the sinking of the Cunard liners Titanic, which sailed from Cobh in 1912, and Lusitania (1915), which was sunk by a German Uboat torpedo off the Cork coast.

But despite their tragic past the Irish, Celtic to the core, are never short of a song and strong drink. In the evening our Cork hosts show us a cafe bar where we quaff down the local stout beer (Beamish and Murphy) as musicians bang out jigs and reels, new and old. villages than cities, we decide not to explore Dublin but journey north without too much of a plan. Except for calling at Athy (‘‘aahtie’’), Sir Ernest Shackleton’s home town until he was 10 and the family moved to London. The Athy Heritage Centre makes a big deal of him, to the point of erecting a statue so new it had yet to be unveiled. The centre is normally closed at weekends but when I inquired at a nearby historic grocery store about the chances of seeing through it, phone calls were made and the centre was suddenly open to reveal all kinds of Shackleton artefacts, from a sledge used on his Nimrod expedition to various letters and a brooch worn by his wife, Emily.

The new motorway north, courtesy of European Union funds, is a marvel compared with the rural roads. It sweeps travellers along at legal speeds of up to 120kmh, with road safety enhanced by a median barrier and a generously wide shoulder. We arrive in a region of ancient cultural sites that include preCeltic burial mounds and, at Mellifont, a Cisterian abbey founded in the 12th century — a fascinating stroll through stone ruins.

Lack of booked lodgings overnight can become an issue. A recommended coastal resort town, Carlingford, is swarming with visitors and has no beds available. Nor have nearby Dundalk and Newry. As dusk falls we cross the border into Armagh and, with visions of spending the night in the car, finally secure a room at a hotel that is still serving food after 9pm. Blessed relief, so it is!