The Emerald Isle - Part Three

Tuesday 16th June 2026

Grey skies, no sun but no wind and no rain; god, I am missing the extreme heat of the south of France; the heady nights of sleeping with the window wide open, wandering around sloth-like in sandals and the constant worry that my deodorant is going to supremely fail me. The midges have all hatched out and every time I venture into the garden, I am attacked by an almost invisible cloud of the bloodsuckers, rendering me constantly scratching my face (it is the only exposed part of me as I have been living in jeans, boots and hoodie due to the meteorological conditions). The ladies next door spent all morning grazing and at a quarter to nine this morning a huge flock of birds landed on the lawn and enjoyed their breakfast. I spent all morning doing school work, mainly preparation for next year, and listening to the radio.

Lionel and the students returned to the cottage early afternoon and Maël was so tired that he went to bed for a long siesta whilst Ilann went fishing. I jumped in the car and went for the very last trip to the supermarket (another hour of my life gone forever doing something I hate); the boys had requested an «all day breakfast» for dinner so I had to get some supplies. As I have neither eaten nor cooked bacon since I was 16, I had to look up how to cook it on the internet. I realised that it was possible to pop it in a hot oven (which spared me the awful smell of it frying on the hob) and leave it to do it's thing. In the event, everyone scoffed it, so it couldn't have been too bad and it did look cooked. To go with the bacon, I served fried eggs, beans on toast, mushrooms and tomatoes; everyone tucked in and silence fell as they were enjoying their grub.

And that was it. Nothing even remotely exciting happened today, although I did drive past an art gallery that is within walking distance on the mainland, so I will go there tomorrow morning and enjoy the œuvres d'art. I think, on balance, that having enjoyed our big, exciting cultural visits (the Titanic museum, Giant's Causeway) at the beginning of the internship I now find myself feeling rather flat. Every other Erasmus+ trip that I have facilitated has had the interns working on a Monday-Friday basis, which meant that there was time in the middle of the trip to organise cultural visits at the weekend. This in itself gave everyone a well deserved break and a boost which enabled us to attack the following week with gusto.
We haven't really been able to do this for various reasons; firstly the students are working with the tides and we cannot do anything about that, they have to be there on certain days and Mother Nature doesn't strictly adhere to 9-5 Monday to Friday working rota.

Secondly, we really are in a remote location, there isn't actually much to visit; the swimming pool hasn't opened for the summer season yet despite being an indoor pool, the distilleries are open but they're not much fun for teenage boys and everything else entails a good ninety-minute drive (three hours there and back) which is okay as the boys can sleep in the car but it isn't really fair on Lionel who is also enjoying an internship on the oyster farm, building his pecs shifting heavy bags of oysters. I think that next year I will try and find somewhere with a bit more atmosphere where we can join in local life, speak to more people and spend more time embracing the culture and spirit of the region. Somewhere warm and sunny would be good...


Wednesday 17th June 2026

This morning I was thrilled to hear a cuckoo. I cannot say which species, as I didn't see it and I can't discern between different cuckoo calls, but there was one taking cover in the impressively huge hebe in the garden. The hebe is at least six feet tall and of similar width, and sits in front of some giant rocks. It doesn't seem large or overbearing in the garden. The wind had dropped, the sky was a mix of blue and grey and the cuckoo cuckooed.

I went out for a walk around the coast, looking for an ever elusive flat circular stone with a hole in the middle. The tide was out and I did a bit of rock scrambling and well as walking on the sand. The sand in some places was very unstable and my boots sank a good four inches; which reminded me a bit of the Mont St Michel and the quicksands surrounding it.

I crossed over the road and walked across the footbridge which is nestled next to the road bridge.

I watched kids jumping off the bridge at the beginning of last week and was in awe of their courage as the bridge is high, the water doesn't seem that deep at high tide and it is freezing cold. Whilst quite a few of the kids were wearing wetsuits, they were only shorties and I was rather impressed as I certainly wouldn't venture into the North Atlantic Ocean without a full wetsuit and only at the height of summer.

I crossed over the bridge to the mainland and walked up the road to St Mary's cemetery. I had a walk around the graves, noting the ages of the people who have been laid to rest there, when I came across one chap that died at 107 years old. He wasn't the only centenarian in the graveyard, there were three others; one who achieved his century and died at 100, another who died at 104 years old and a third person who lived to the ripe old age of 105; there were also lots of people who lived to their mid-nineties.

There were a few graves where photos of the deceased were displayed on the headstones, and the odd grave mentioning someone that was enterred in a different place but were named on a family grave anyway, but I also came across a grave of a teenage boy who died by drowning. I know he drowned because it was written that he died at the age of 15 on his gravestone along with the way he died. I have never seen that before (and I do often visit graveyards) and it left me feeling a little uneasy actually discovering how he died; we don't normally say on gravestones what actually led to the grave occupant's demise and I have never seen «died in a road trafic accident» or «died from a heart attack» inscribed on the tombstone. Most of the ephitaphs were religious apart from one that had a beautiful poem written from a mum to her son who had died at the age of 19; it was poignant and moving and I felt a little choked up reading it.

I left the cemetery and continued up the hill towards the art gallery. Just before you get there, there is a map showing the different areas of this part of Ireland.

It is written in English apart from a short paragraph in Irish. The map shows you where you can not only find Cruit Island but various holy wells, mass rocks and loughs. It even talks of the famous Irish singer Daniel O'Donnell who originates from this area. What did catch my eye was a reference to an Amarda ship wreck on some rocks, which is apparently close to some granite orbicules. I had no idea that orbicules even existed until I looked it up; they are, according to Wikipedia, «small acellular structures of sporopollenin (a biological polymer) found on the outer walls of plant spores. It is very stable and has been described as the toughest material in the plant kingdom». To be honest, it was the Armada ship that I was most interested in and when I researched it a bit more, on the history ireland website, I found that there were 33 Amarda ships that were wrecked off the coast of Ireland in 1588. https://historyireland.com/spanish-armada-wrecks-on-the-irish-coast/

I carried on to the Michelle Doherty Art Gallery, but it was closed, so I decided that it was time for lunch and that I needed more coffee. The road back to the island was downhill so it didn't take too long, and all in all, it was a very pleasant walk.

Thursday 18th June 2026

Today I dropped the interns off at the oyster farm and returned to the cottage with the wind howling and the rain lashing the walls. It feels incredibly damp everywhere and it has started to seep into my bones – I need to return home and dry out.

I spent most of the day doing school prep for next year but also trying to get somebody to agree to give me a receipt for the fuel we have used. Quite annoyingly, the owner of the cottage left a message on the table saying that we had to pay for the electricity we have used. I doublechecked with the terms of agreement with the booking agent (the same one that I vowed never to use again after last's years debarcle) and nowhere does it say that the electricity isn't included in the price. The owner expects me to read the meter and just leave the cash on the table. I cannot do this as I need a proper receipt for any money I spend. I had already sent two messages to the booking agrency, but have had no response, so I decided to phone him to explain the situation.

«Just send me an e-mail» he shouted down the phone at me.
«I have sent two messages on the booking website» I told him. «Your emails just keep returning marked as unable to deliver».
«Just send me an email» he barked at me.
«I just need a receipt for the fuel use» I reiterated.
«Just send me an email» he shouted again.
I gave up.

The cottage is rented through a management agency that advertises on the website that I had vowed never to use again. So I tracked them down and sent them a message, as they request on Whatsapp.
«An agent will be in touch as soon as possible», they responded to my question.
At least someone is (possibly) going to help me, I thought, rather too optimistically.

I returned to the oyster farm to collect the interns and marvelled at the tractor full of oysters; there were ten huge bags each with a total weight of six tons; the team had spent all day in the miserable weather emptying the pouches and filling the trailer. There must have been thousands upon thousands of oysters ready to be shipped back to Brittany. Marc very kindly signed and stamped the necessary paperwork, confirming that everyone had completed their internship and he seemed very happy with their work. Tomorrow is their last day.

The boys seemed to enjoy the steak and veg pie last week, so I bought another one during my very last shop. We are trying to finish up all the food in the cottage and so alongside the pie, mash, carrots and onions, we had sliced cucumber too; it was a bit odd but they finished it off.

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