Little House in the Forest
I often talk of my grandparents house and my memories of it. But the house I knew as a child was never home to my Dad or his brothers and sisters. Home to them is the house they were born in. A little stone house, much higher up, by a river with a great tree for climbing. A pretty place that now sleeps in deep forest.
Dad goes to see it often, he knows the mountain like the back of his hand, and sometimes I go with him…
Follow the path. Leave it.
Fuchsias. First sign of Nanny, ‘she planted the mountain with them,’ says Dad.
‘Come on Jane,’ he says while laying his coat on a rusty wire. Just as he’s always done. There never are dangers when he’s around.
Getting close now…
The forest is the quietest place I’ve ever been. The only sound’s the nearby river, but the light is astonishing. The atmosphere warm, closeting, friendlier in the interior.
Dad took my picture…
‘This,’ he tells me, ‘is a Primus Stove, for cooking.’ He tripped over it one night coming from a dance, hung it here and here it’s stayed since. He tips it in greeting, smiles, and moves on.
First glimpse of what’s left of the house…
‘The wall was stone up to a point, it was mud after that with a thatched roof. Even when living here the thatch was hard to maintain. Blackbirds were the biggest problem. They would tear a hole and the rain would come in.
We were always trying to catch and kill them, no one cared for their song then. They were too big a problem. I killed one with a stone once from a good distance, my uncle was very impressed with my aim.’
If you were lucky enough to live by a lake you could thatch your house with reeds, more durable.
Not here.’
He showed me the stones.
‘The black ones are wet, from the river bed. Always black, always wet, not good for a house but the people, they had to use what they could get.’
Dad stands by the fire with his hand on the mantel and talks about them. The kind old uncle, the children, their games, the young mother…
You can just about make out the doorway here…
The dividing wall’s moss covered, starting to fall
The remains of the chimney and hearth still hold court…
When my grandparents left here it was to a better house, close to the road. But it was never home. And Dad was gone to England by then.
Here from the moss he uncoverd the lintel…that was the large stone from over the fire, or door.
And this is what they called the ‘wallco’, a wall-cove perhaps? A little inbuilt press of some sort. I wonder what nanny kept there? Dreams probably.
It seems very her. I put my hand in and conjure her, who is so easy to conjure.
Nanny the young mother or the old granny, with her ‘wallco’ and her fuchsia’s, and her fire.
I don’t feel sad here. I feel the sadness of generations, of Irish people who left places like it, knowing they’d never return, but to me in my privileged world it’s something magical, grounding, and peaceful. Life was hard, for the mothers especially, too hard. But I love the impressions they left. Perhaps my greatest privilege is being able to feel them here, to see something with my own eyes. They don’t often leave markers you know, the wild places. The unbuilt world.
Here a river runs through it…
And if this tree could talk it would talk not of forestry, machines, or of men, but of children, nine of them. Mary, John, Josephine, Anna, Eithne, Tommy, Bernadette, Brendan and Margie Gilheaney. And the lovebirds, very young, at the start of their journey, beloved Madge and Tom.
Ah Jane, my 4:00am read and what a pleasure. This was my childhood home. It was there,on a cold March morning,that I said my goodbyes and left for America. Just for a year or two I told myself, but fate changed that. I’m glad you went to visit the “old old house” as I call it. It is home to me. Peace!
So so glad you like it Mary, I didn’t want to make you sad! I’ve been there before but really wanted to get some photographs. You never sleep do you : )
A thought provoking and wistfully beautiful piece Jane!
Loved it! xo
Thank you Kerry : )
Lovely read Jane as usual
Thank you Lucinda : )
Ah Jane, this is my favorite post yet, beautifully written, loved it, me being the sentimental ould fool that I am 😀
We have that in common so! Think it’s one of my favourites now as well. Thanks Roisin 🙂
How I love this post. The pictures are lush. I can feel the history of the wood. And your reverence for the place. Thank you for blogging purposefully. For us your readers and for your children.
Love,
Shalagh
ps do I need to vote again?
Thank you so much Shalagh. I love the idea of the blog as a record : ) Yes please vote again! Remember to click vote at the end too, think I’ve been missing that part myself : /
Well written sis! Very cool!
Thanks brother : )
Astonishing work Jane, absolutly brilliant, Nature is our creators greatest gift, i would have loved to know your Grandad. I see those leaves on those trees, I breath oxygen, I wonder will you teach me how to dance?
It’s in places like this that you really feel it, when you’re so surrounded and have no distractions. Thanks Deirdre
REally enjoyed reading this – lvoely that the ruins are still there 🙂
Thanks so much Lorna. It’s amazing a few stones can mean so much and they do : )
Another beautiful post *sigh* !
Ahhhhhhh……..be still my heart.
Thank you Jane for a wonderful visual journey of your family history, to go there with your father must have been a special time for you both,a magical place filled with old memories for your father, and new ones you can share with your girls. You could create a family visual diary, with both photo’s, and little paintings and drawings done by you and a small amount of text on each page, a fathers day gift perhaps? 🙂
Thank you Madeline, that’s a lovely idea! My Dad goes there all the time though usually alone : )
This is a beautiful blog and journey throught history. Well done.
Thank you Roisin 🙂
Awh I really enjoyed reading this Jane 😊Beautifully written 💚 I love finding these old places, homesteads, man-made structues now reclaimed by nature. They have a way of speaking to the heart of us don’t they, sharing the stories of our ancestors, the ones they never got to tell.
Thank you Anna, I do feel we’re lucky to have it. x
Darling Jane,
Thank you – what lovely photographs and memories. So special for you and my lovely brother to visit. Must go next time I’m home.
With love
Bernadette xx