Part Two - A canter to Cork- 2001

By Allan Jackson

With my time in Ireland drawing to a close I decided it was high time I got out of Dublin and had a look at the rest of the country.
In the dim and distant past my ancestors came from near Cork so I decided that that would be my first port of call. My well-thumbed and trusty copy of Let's Go Ireland provided the number of the local tourist office and it was the work of moments to call and book a room in a bed and breakfast.
From Dublin you can get to Cork by plane, train or bus and I decided to take the bus and put up with the cramped conditions during the four-hour journey. I had been staying in the beautiful little village of Malahide north of Dublin and I felt it would be easiest to take the train in to Conolly Station and catch the bus at the central Bus Eireann terminus which is just outside.
The bus station was bustling when I arrived but I soon figured out the system and managed to equip myself with a ticket on the next bus to Cork and a cup of coffee and a newspaper. The coffee was good, as usual, which brings me to my first major observation on the Irish.
They are by and large a wonderful people and a great part of their charm lies in the fact that they've got coffee making down to a fine art. I was in Ireland for six weeks and I think I was only ever served one really dire cup of the stuff but that was at a computer show which may or may not be significant.
On the way down to Cork from Dublin you pass through some delightful countryside and places with intriguing names such as Monasterevin, Portlaoise, Abeyleix, Cashel and Fermoy. The next time I go across the sea to Ireland I'm going to make a point of doing that journey in a more leisurely fashion.
In due course the bus dumped me in Cork at the main bus station in Parnell Place and I made the mistake of trying to walk to my bed and breakfast in Western Road weighted down with all my goods and chattels. The map made the distance look short but by the time I found my bearings the walk had turned into an extended marathon.
I was hot and tired and my temper wasn't improved by the fact that my room turned out to be the size of a small kennel with only enough room to open my suitcase or lie down on the bed; not both at once. Never mind, though, because the shower worked and a short nap put me back on the road to recovery.
Cork was founded as a religious settlement by St Finbarr in 622AD and is now Ireland's second-largest city with around 150000 residents and who knows how many students and visitors. The centre of the city is on an island in the River Lee with most of the shopping and nightlife being centred around St Patrick's Street and the Grand Parade.
My first move was to visit the tourist office where it emerged that the city was already winding down to winter and that the open-topped bus tours of the city had already stopped. That was a blow but I bought a map of the city with all the attractions on it and decided to visit as many as I could on my own.
My great grandfather came from Monkstown which is just down the river from Cork so I went to the bus station to check if there were any busses going there. The first one that came along, however, was headed for Blarney Castle so I took the opportunity and hopped aboard. The castle is located in Blarney village about 8km outside Cork and my visit was one of the highlights of my Irish trip.

Blarney Castle.

The castle is one of Ireland's major tourist attractions and contains the Blarney Stone which is said to magically confer the gift of eloquence on all who kiss it. I even trekked all the way up the narrow stairs to the top of the castle to view the stone but didn't get as far as kissing it because you have to lie on your back and hang downwards through a hole in the floor. There are people on hand to support you and take your picture as you perform the act but I didn't fancy it.
I far preferred the gardens of the castle which are beautiful in themselves and which contain the Rock Close which was apparently a centre for worship back in the days of the druids. The Close features the Wishing Steps which are roughly hewn out of stone and which, it is said, will grant you your wish if you climb up them and down again without opening your eyes. The footing is a bit treacherous but, if your visit is anything like mine, there'll be a crowd yelling encouragement and directions.
The next day, Sunday, I got into town after breakfast and found to my dismay that the place was deader than a doornail with nowhere that I could find open for coffee and with even the inquiries office at the bus station being closed. The only people about were bemused-looking tourists obviously wondering whether the locals had all decamped during the night and it was only later I realised that the inhabitants had most likely been at church.
Things started moving sometime after mid-morning and I managed to catch a bus heading for Monkstown where I hoped to find my ancestor's house and take a photograph of it. Monkstown turned out to be a very pretty little village beside Lough Mahon and just a tad upstream from Cork Harbour. Nobody I spoke to had ever heard of Rock Lodge which was a great disappointment but across the Lough I did at least see the shipyard where my paternal great grandfather Samuel Popham Jackson might well have worked.
After that it was back to Cork for lunch and, on my last afternoon, I decided I would visit Cork Goal which was highly recommended by my guide book. According to my map it looked as if the Goal would be a gentle stroll from the middle of town but part of the route was very steep and the trip turned into a feat of endurance. I was finished by the time I arrived but a rest cured that and I was able to enjoy my tour around the Goal.

One benefit of my exhausting walk to Cork Goal was the
splendid view of the city back back over the river.

On arrival you're issued with a walkman and head phones and you do the tour guided by a very interesting taped commentary which gives a good insight into Victorian attitudes to imprisonment and the appalling conditions under which the prisoners lived. I've now forgotten most of what I was told but one factoid I have retained is that the first hanging in the prison took place a few years after it opened only after the hangman, who had had been locked up in the goal himself, was released.
My time in Cork was all too short and early the next morning I found myself on my way to the station to catch the bus to Galway. I really enjoyed Cork and would keen to go back whenever I get the chance.

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