On the trail of St Patrick
BRITAIN AT ITS BEST: NORTHERN IRELAND
St Patrick’s Day is an excuse for craic. My mother’s irish and on March 17, like many, i raise a glass to the man who rid the Emerald isle of snakes. But that is my only knowledge of ireland’s patron saint.
so, i decided to explore the saint Patrick’s Way, an 82-mile hiking trail from armagh and Downpatrick in Northern ireland. i begin with a Guinness in rafferty’s Bar. ‘You know st Patrick was one of your lot,’ the barman says, quietly adding. ‘English.’ ‘English?’ He nods. st Patrick was born in roman Britain, kidnapped by irish pirates and sold into slavery before escaping to France, where he studied religion and eventually returned to ireland as a missionary.
One of his early converts was chieftain Daire, who gave him land to build a church on a hill outside armagh. the saint Patrick’s Way begins at this church of ireland st Patrick’s cathedral. i will encounter many more churches bearing his name. they’re like Murphy’s bars, but without the Guinness.
the route winds through armagh’s orchard country, source of tangy cider and crisp apple tarts, before passing through linen-weaving centre Bainbridge and beside the Newry canal. From Newry to 18th-century rostrevor, i stroll country lanes with views of sparkling carlingford Lough.
rostrevor sits on its shores, the birthplace of robert ross, the British major-general who burned down the White House during the war between Britain and the U.s. in 1814. it was also a favourite spot of Belfast-born c.s. Lewis, whose inspiration for Narnia was the snow-covered Mourne Mountains, backdrop to the town.
in kilbroney Park, i find i am not the only one looking for the wardrobe door, the starting point of a Narnia trail through the forest.
When i reach the lamppost, a small girl asks, “Have you seen Mr tumnus?”
i head for the mountains. these imposing masses of slate and silurian greywacke ( a coarse sandstone) are where saint Patrick converted local hill folk.
Wild, windy and wet, this part of the route requires good navigation skills — but you needn’t fear snakes.
a hiker i meet on the summit of Butter Mountain, said Patrick never drove out any. it was a metaphor for purging ireland of its pagan ways.
i head down through the beautiful beech tollymore Forest, familiar as a setting in tV’s Game Of thrones, to the seaside resort of Newcastle. i know a proper pilgrim would dine on a potato, but why make do when there are langoustines, turbot and plaice on the menu? Next day, i continued to Down cathedral, in Downpatrick, where the saint is buried beneath a hefty slab of granite carved with the single word ‘Patrick’. at the nearby glass saint Patrick centre, i learn that Patrick was never officially canonised. so, ireland’s patron saint was neither irish, nor a saint, nor did he drive any snakes out!. What he did do was change the course of the island’s history. if not for saint Patrick’s return it might have remained the pagan and inhospitable place the romans deemed not worth conquering. the trail is a walk through the history he created and an area of beautiful landscapes. that’s an excuse to raise a glass to saint Patrick on March 17, to be sure.