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"There has been a storm for the last twenty-four hours, that are built up without mortar. Wherever there are a
and I have been wandering on the cliffs till my hair is few cottages near the road one sees bare-footed women
stiff with salt. Immense masses of spray were flying up hurrying backwards and forwards, with hampers of
from the base of the cliff, and were caught at times by the turf or grass slung over their backs, and generally a few
wind and whirled away to fall at some distance from the children running after them, and if it is a market-day, as
shore. When one of these happened to fall on me, I had was the case on the day of which I am going to write, one
to crouch down for an instant, wrapped and blinded by overtakes long strings of country people driving home
a white hail of foam. The waves were so enormous that from Galway in low carts drawn by an ass or pony. As a
when I saw one more than usually large coming towards rule one or two men sit in front of the cart driving and
me, I turned instinctively to hide myself, as one blinks smoking, with a couple of women behind them stretched
when struck upon the eyes. out at their ease among sacks of flour or young pigs,
After a few hours the mind grows bewildered with the and nearly always talking continuously in Gaelic. These
endless change and struggle of the sea, and an utter men are all dressed in homespuns of the grey natural
despondency replaces the first moment of exhilaration. wool, and the women in deep madder-dyed petticoats
At the south-west corner of the island I came upon a and bodices, with brown shawls over their heads. One’s
number of people gathering the seaweed that is now first feeling as one comes back among these people and
thick on the rocks. It was raked from the surf by the takes a place, so to speak, in this noisy proccession of
men, and then carried up to the brow of the cliff by a fishermen, farmers and women, where nearly everyone
party of young girls. is interesting and attractive, is a dread of any reform that
In addition to their ordinary clothing these girls wore would tend to lessen their individuality rather than any
a raw sheepskin on their shoulders, to catch the oozing real hope of improving their well-being. One feels then,
sea-water, and they looked strangely wild and seal- perhaps a little later, that it is part of the misfortune of
like with the salt caked upon their lips and wreaths of Ireland that nearly all the characteristics which give
seaweed in their hair. For the rest of my walk I saw no colour and attractiveness to Irish life are bound up with
living thing but one flock of curlews, and a few pipits a social condition that is near to penury.
hiding among the stones. The horses have been coming back for the last few days
About the sunset the clouds broke and the storm turned from their summer’s grazing in Connemara. They
to a hurricane. Bars of purple cloud stretched across the are landed at the sandy beach where the cattle were
sound where immense waves were rolling from the west, shipped last year, and I went down early this morning to
wreathed with snowy phantasies of spray. Then there watch their arrival through the waves. The hooker was
was the bay full of green delirium, and the Twelve Pins anchored at some distance from the shore, but I could
touched with mauve and scarlet in the east. see a horse standing at the gunnel surrounded by men
The suggestion from this world of inarticulate power shouting and flipping at it with bits of rope. In a moment
was immense, and now at midnight, when the wind is it jumped over into the sea, and some men, who were
abating, I am still trembling and flushed with exultation. waiting for it in a curragh, caught it by the halter and
I have been walking through the wet lanes in my towed it to within twenty yards of the surf. Then the
pampooties in spite of the rain, and I have brought on curragh turned back to the hooker, and the horse was
a feverish cold. The wind is terrific. If anything serious left to make it’s own way to the land”.
should happen to me I might die here and be nailed Celebrated and Immortalised in Robert O Flaherty's film
in my box, and shoved down into a wet crevice in the “The Man of Arran”, the Aran Islands long associated
graveyard before anyone could know on the mainland." with hardy resilience of Irelands people.
This is an excerpt taken from J.M., Synge’s Aran Islands For a highlight of your trip along the Wild Atlantic Way,
and Connemara, Mercier Press 2008, pages 77-78. don't miss a chance to visit these special Islands. Meet
Synge wrote of the seaboard from Spiddal to Clifden the people, enjoy an Arran Island atmosphere from cosy
on his travels West that one enters through a district firesides to cliffs and spectacular coastal views. The Aran
through a desolate roadway. These writings give us a Islands are located just off Galway in the Atlantic ocean
precious insight into the lives of Ireland’s people at the and accessible by ferry daily from Doolin and Galway.
turn of the twentieth century; Here you can enjoy a true Irish experience where locals
“On each side of the road one sees small square fields of speak Irish as well as english. The Islands were recently
oats, or potatoes, or pasture, divided by loose stone walls a venue for Redbull Cliff Diving, they are also the home
of the Aran Sweater, and a total release from the hussle
and bustle of the mainland. The Aran Islands are best
explored by renting a bicycle. There's no better way to
149
and I have been wandering on the cliffs till my hair is few cottages near the road one sees bare-footed women
stiff with salt. Immense masses of spray were flying up hurrying backwards and forwards, with hampers of
from the base of the cliff, and were caught at times by the turf or grass slung over their backs, and generally a few
wind and whirled away to fall at some distance from the children running after them, and if it is a market-day, as
shore. When one of these happened to fall on me, I had was the case on the day of which I am going to write, one
to crouch down for an instant, wrapped and blinded by overtakes long strings of country people driving home
a white hail of foam. The waves were so enormous that from Galway in low carts drawn by an ass or pony. As a
when I saw one more than usually large coming towards rule one or two men sit in front of the cart driving and
me, I turned instinctively to hide myself, as one blinks smoking, with a couple of women behind them stretched
when struck upon the eyes. out at their ease among sacks of flour or young pigs,
After a few hours the mind grows bewildered with the and nearly always talking continuously in Gaelic. These
endless change and struggle of the sea, and an utter men are all dressed in homespuns of the grey natural
despondency replaces the first moment of exhilaration. wool, and the women in deep madder-dyed petticoats
At the south-west corner of the island I came upon a and bodices, with brown shawls over their heads. One’s
number of people gathering the seaweed that is now first feeling as one comes back among these people and
thick on the rocks. It was raked from the surf by the takes a place, so to speak, in this noisy proccession of
men, and then carried up to the brow of the cliff by a fishermen, farmers and women, where nearly everyone
party of young girls. is interesting and attractive, is a dread of any reform that
In addition to their ordinary clothing these girls wore would tend to lessen their individuality rather than any
a raw sheepskin on their shoulders, to catch the oozing real hope of improving their well-being. One feels then,
sea-water, and they looked strangely wild and seal- perhaps a little later, that it is part of the misfortune of
like with the salt caked upon their lips and wreaths of Ireland that nearly all the characteristics which give
seaweed in their hair. For the rest of my walk I saw no colour and attractiveness to Irish life are bound up with
living thing but one flock of curlews, and a few pipits a social condition that is near to penury.
hiding among the stones. The horses have been coming back for the last few days
About the sunset the clouds broke and the storm turned from their summer’s grazing in Connemara. They
to a hurricane. Bars of purple cloud stretched across the are landed at the sandy beach where the cattle were
sound where immense waves were rolling from the west, shipped last year, and I went down early this morning to
wreathed with snowy phantasies of spray. Then there watch their arrival through the waves. The hooker was
was the bay full of green delirium, and the Twelve Pins anchored at some distance from the shore, but I could
touched with mauve and scarlet in the east. see a horse standing at the gunnel surrounded by men
The suggestion from this world of inarticulate power shouting and flipping at it with bits of rope. In a moment
was immense, and now at midnight, when the wind is it jumped over into the sea, and some men, who were
abating, I am still trembling and flushed with exultation. waiting for it in a curragh, caught it by the halter and
I have been walking through the wet lanes in my towed it to within twenty yards of the surf. Then the
pampooties in spite of the rain, and I have brought on curragh turned back to the hooker, and the horse was
a feverish cold. The wind is terrific. If anything serious left to make it’s own way to the land”.
should happen to me I might die here and be nailed Celebrated and Immortalised in Robert O Flaherty's film
in my box, and shoved down into a wet crevice in the “The Man of Arran”, the Aran Islands long associated
graveyard before anyone could know on the mainland." with hardy resilience of Irelands people.
This is an excerpt taken from J.M., Synge’s Aran Islands For a highlight of your trip along the Wild Atlantic Way,
and Connemara, Mercier Press 2008, pages 77-78. don't miss a chance to visit these special Islands. Meet
Synge wrote of the seaboard from Spiddal to Clifden the people, enjoy an Arran Island atmosphere from cosy
on his travels West that one enters through a district firesides to cliffs and spectacular coastal views. The Aran
through a desolate roadway. These writings give us a Islands are located just off Galway in the Atlantic ocean
precious insight into the lives of Ireland’s people at the and accessible by ferry daily from Doolin and Galway.
turn of the twentieth century; Here you can enjoy a true Irish experience where locals
“On each side of the road one sees small square fields of speak Irish as well as english. The Islands were recently
oats, or potatoes, or pasture, divided by loose stone walls a venue for Redbull Cliff Diving, they are also the home
of the Aran Sweater, and a total release from the hussle
and bustle of the mainland. The Aran Islands are best
explored by renting a bicycle. There's no better way to
149
