Travels with Charlie* in south west Wicklow *A Jack Russell
INSPIRED BY JOHN STEINBECK’S BOOK ‘TRAVELS WITH CHARLEY’, OUR REPORTER DAVID MEDCALF TOOK TO THE ROAD ON THE SOUTH WEST WICKLOW TRAIL – WITH A LITTLE JACK RUSSELL CALLED CHARLIE
CARNEW
‘A former Norman stronghold with the castle a central part of the town’s history’
Carnew has serious notions of grandeur with a main street that is surely as wide as Grafton Street, though without the department stores or the chain stores, obviously. According to the heritage trail blurb, the layout is the legacy of a rebuilding programme initiated in the 19th century by the Earl Fitzwilliam whose former hulk of a home now looms over the local golf course.
The earls and the rebels of 1798 are practically unavoidable in this part of the world, the first designing the local townscapes and the second commemorated in plaques and statues. The Normans, on the other hand, though they may be central to Carnew’s history, are now less prominent, with the old castle keep (complete with TV aerial) shut away behind high walls. A plaque reminds passers-by that 36 prisoners were shot dead inside these walls in May of 1798, at a time when Ireland was going through genocide ona Rwandan scale.
Charlie and I saw no sign of any litter bin, so we had to dispose of his poo-bag at our next port of call.
TINAHELY
‘A hub for a variety of local looped and waymarked trails, including the Wicklow Way’
A question comes to mind. Does no one cook in Tinahely? Could it be that the residents are so lost in admiration for their beautiful surroundings and scintillating stonework that hat they do not have time to makee a dinner? The town in the foothillss is smaller than Carnew, yet it boasts sts at least three takeaways, not to mention a selection of restaurants, ts, cafes, restaurants and pubs serving ng grub.
One of the takeaways proclaims ms that it sells ‘ traditional foods’ overver a picture of a pizza. I am not sure that pizza is traditional in Italy but here is evidence that it has been adopted as one of our own by the Irish.
Charlie was impressed by the leisure facilities, notably the ‘Railway Walk’ which is clearly signposted, re-tracing the route taken by the long gone Woodenbridge to Tinahely line which closed some time in the 1940s. Fair play to the landowners who facilitated the development of this wonderful off-road experience – dogs strictly on their leads.
KILTEGAN
‘A crossroads between Hacketstown and Baltinglass’
This is either the centre of the universe, or the middle of nowhere. On the face of it Kiltegan really is no more than a crossroads along the R747 regional route connecting Hacketstown and Baltinglass, exactly as it is billed on the brochure.
The straight and wide road leading to the entrance to Humewood Castle hints at past glory but the gates to the castle are firmly closed against casual callerscallers. The modern supermar supermarket kt chains have not felt it worth their while to colonise Kiltegan, leaving local retail to The Hub, which doubles as a community café.
There appears to be more pubs than shops. Two village pumps are well painted but do not dispense water. This is a pretty place with plenty of old buildings made, of course, from stone. Substantial claims to be more than backwater are based on the presence up the road of the Kiltegan missionary fathers who have colonised the world.
Charlie stayed in the car while his owner admired the 1798 boulder commemorating rebel Michael Dwyer on the village green, in case he be tempted to pee.
BALTINGLASS
‘ The fine 19th century streetscape of the town’ The road from Kiltegan to Baltinglass takes the traveller past hefty demesne walls and dairy farms, just to underline that this region and this trail do not embrace the mountain range for which Wicklow is famous.
ThThe unadorned,dd unlovelyll wallsll off ththe GAA grounds offer a slightly depressing welcome to Baltingalss for anyone who has not arrived here to enjoy a match.
The town is the biggest on the heritage trail circuit and the place bristles bracingly with provincial market town life while boasting the best public library in the world in a complex adapted with modern additions from the old courthouse.
The Perch café is worth a mention, if only because it serves tea by the pot made with loose leaves – none of yer bags. We accosted a pair of strangers who were happy to take souvenir photos of master and terrier with the statue of the ubiquitous Michael Dwyer.
HAROLDSTOWN DOLMEN
‘Legend has it that marks on the capstone were the hand prints of a giant’
The map on the brochure is generally excellent and helpful but we lost our way en route to Haroldstown, taking in an unnecessary look around Rathvilly which, being in Carlow, was not part of our remit. Actually, Haroldstown is
also in CarlowCarlow, but never mindmind.
Having finally established the correct road, the dolmen was unmissable for us and for anyone else approaching along the R727 from the west – a truly wondrous example of Stone Age ingenuity. Spotting it was one thing, getting close was another. We parked up the road at the local waste transfer station and wandered carefully back towards this splendid monument.
Four or five big rocks prop up one even bigger rock in the middle of a field where sheep graze. Sheep and terriers do not mix, so we stayed on the R727 and never checked out the legendary handprints up close. They could not be discenrned from our vantage sitting on a roadside wall.
‘An extensive hillfort from around 800 BC’
The sign for Coolattin Cheddar cheese confirmed that we were safely back on the Wexford side of the border and the brown tourism finger posts took us without mishap to Rathgall. This proved to be precisely what it says on the tin, an extensive hillfort, one of the many sites run by the Office of Public Works which are obscure bubut fascinating for those who choose to be fascinated.
The hilltop location means that it is exposed to every breeze which whistles in from any direction. Parking required pulling in precariously beside a rural road. The approach path – no more than 100 metres from the locked gate – we found fringed by gorse and brambles in the midst of which primroses valiantly attempted to assert their right to light.
And there, over a stile, was the ring fort, concentric rings of wall made constructed of countless tonnes of stone, an extraordinary, amazing testimony to the ingenuity, stubbornness and nobility of our ancestors.
‘ The site of one of Ireland’s earliest monasteries’
Talk about the hidden Ireland! Surely only the most astute of map readers make it along an obscure lane to Aghowle without going wrong at least once. We certainly erred and strayed and U-turned several times before reaching our destination. The one sign we spotted along the way was broken and it had slipped forlornly down to the bottom of its pole.
How and why the first monks settled on this hilly spot is a matter for purest conjecture – perhaps they had become lost on their way to somewhere else. Their monastery has disappeared but their religion remains evident, with an ancient Celtic cross standing proud in a cemetery which has continued in use into the new millennium.
And the church which succeeded the monastery stands impressively tall, though without a roof. While Charlie sniffed around old graves, I stood wondering how dark Mass must have been when celebrated in a building with such tiny windows.
SHILLELAGH
‘Laid out as an estate village by Lord L Fitzwilliam in the early 19th century in the picturesque style’
Shillelagh is picture perfect – if you likelik stone. t Other towns along the way boast their fair share of the stuff but this is stone overload. Stone walls. Stone houses. Stone garda station. Stone Church of Ireland.
One notable exception is the former courthouse in the centre of town. Behind the brightly plastered walls, it no longer serves as a seat of justice j under its clock tower complete with weather vane. My pet strained at the leash as I dawdled around confirming that all four clocks on the tower were stuck at 1.20 – whether a.m. or p.m. it was impossible to know. And the fox atopt ththe weatherth van hhaddffallenll ffar offff vertical. ti l
After all the ponderous grey stone, it came almost as a relief to discover the Church of the Immaculate Conception up a hill on the outskirts, a homely vision in cheerful yellow.
The promoters of the West Wicklow heritage trail reckon that it is 80 kilometres of a circuit. We intended to conclude our lap in four hours but we were endlessly diverted, extending our road trip to around six hours. It could easily embrace a whole day. Bring back the Sunday drive, we say.