Published Thursday, March 13, 2008 1:44 PM
Updated Thursday, March 13, 2008 1:53 PM

 

Inklings 03/14/08

Erin Go Bragh


On our front door is a bronzed plaque inscribed with the words “Ceud Mile Failte,” Gaelic for “A hundred thousand welcomes.” It came from Ireland, as did much of my father’s family, the Lynches. Most hailed from Galway and Cork.       

My husband was named for his Irish grandfather, James Tobin. The football team he played for in high school is called “The Fightin’ Irish.” He went to the university where the team is known as “The Fighting Irish.”

That’s more than enough reason to celebrate St. Paddy’s Day in our house. In fact, my Uncle Ralph (who was a clone of the actor Barry Fitzgerald) used to proclaim in a fake and funny brogue, that “anybody can be Irish for one day. All it takes is a wee wearin’ of the green as well as a wee drap of the jar “(A pint of Guinness).

Our family celebrated St. Patrick’s Day in the best way possible in 2000 by going to Ireland. Almost the whole family went, Jim and I, daughters, son, spouses. It was the trip of a lifetime. The Irish absolutely love visitors, especially Americans. Even if you’re not Irish, they embrace you. Our son David, who had trekked through Ireland on a motorbike in his bachelor days, planned the journey with his wife Amy. We were there 10 days and stayed at four B&B’s. We landed at Shannon Airport and spent the first two days in Doolin on the west coast. This town has a moon rock landscape and one short main street with three public houses, all famous for traditional Irish music. We ate pub meals, laughed, danced and played games with the locals in that trio of establishments and I got an Irish wool cape. We also traveled to Galway, ancient home of the Lynch Tribe, and discovered every other business was named “Lynch’s.” I found a memorial wall to one of my ancestors who had been hung!

From there we spent two days in Kinsale, a lovely fishing village where we bought deep-cut crystal hock glasses. Many Irish towns have their own crystal businesses, and Kinsale’s was literally a hole in the wall, but the artisan made beautiful, bulbous, long stemmed wine glasses that catch the light from any angle. Then off to Kilkenny, a restored medieval town, which had a castle surrounded by crafters. It was here I found a silversmith from whom I bought a just-made Celtic cross, which was still warm from its lost wax casting in a kiln. Then on to Dublin where the men played golf and the girls toured Dublin Castle and we all met at an 18th century pub, the Brazen Head. We flew home from Dublin.

It was in the auld country that I found that there is controversy not only to the meaning of the phrase “Erin go bragh,” but the spelling is also contested. It is commonly used as a patriotic cry of, “Ireland Forever,” and is said to have stemmed from the phrase, “Erin go brea,” which means “Ireland the Beautiful.” Either way is fine with this lass. And that’s no Blarney!