Kilkenny Castle is great place to learn about area’s rich history
Kilkenny Castle. Sun filtered through the windows, brightening the period furnishings. It is thought that the site was chosen by Strongbow — the nickname of Richard de Clare, the Second Earl of Pembroke — shortly after the portion of the Norman invasion he led in the 1170s.
An informative docent enthusiastically answered my questions about the second-floor paintings, fireplace equipment and furniture. What are those things in front of the castle’s fireplaces? They’re adjustable screens that protected women’s faces from the fire, she told me, because the heat would melt their wax-based makeup. That 16th-century painting of a white-faced Queen Elizabeth I? Women used heavy white paste to cover the pock marks left from smallpox. And that round, red-cushioned chair with seats for three, similar to one in the opening credits of “The Crown?” It was a love seat that accommodated courting couples — and their guardians.
I felt self-conscious about peppering her with questions. “No, you’re OK,” she assured me. “You’re grand.”
A staircase led down to the pitch-roofed picture gallery, a portrait-filled wing that was built during the early 19th century. I emerged into the sunshine to see a group of boys goofing around on the lush castle lawns, using their hurleys to bat around a ball much the way Americans might toss a Frisbee together.
That night, hen parties were everywhere — Kilkenny is listed as one of the top-10 cities in Ireland to hold bachelorette parties. Outside Matt the Miller’s, a woman in a white T-shirt, white jeans and a veil had a red “L” for “learner” pinned to her back — the student-driver sign usually affixed to a car’s bumper in Ireland and Britain.
At night’s end, I found myself at the Hole in the Wall, a 16th-century tavern that is as small as its name suggests. When I opened the door, everyone turned to see who had arrived. I almost backed out. But owner Michael Conway called out a welcome and waved me in. Conway is a hospital cardiologist by day, a cheery bar host by night.
“I’m going to sing a song,” he announced later. “About a woman who abandons a man. Christy Moore sings it.”
I had snagged one of the four stools that fit at the short bar and got a good view of the lyrics written on the large flip chart Conway held. My pub mates and I sang along as best we could while he turned the pages. The warm camaraderie of the tavern was the perfect coda to the evening, I thought, as I walked back through a city pulsing with energy.