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Having been drive from his Castle at Dunboy the Irish Prince had set off with a thousand followers, determined to arrive at O'Rourke's Castle in Leitrim. Men, women, children and animals alike were ushered along the dirt tracks and paths that served as roads in medieval Ireland.

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Among them were McGuires, Fitzpatricks, McCarthys and O'Driscolls, dozens of old Irish families were represented in what was to become one of the great escape stories of Irish history. Peggy read from it gravely. Fleeing from the enemy who harassed their every step, it is in the mountains above that the O'Sullivan Beares sheltered on their way to Leitrim, arriving on the fourth of January in She broke off from the main group for a moment who were busy taking photos to show their families back home.

It would be a handy few bob for you and I know you love to tell tall tales anyway. Of course it is not. Glad to hear you clearly know that! Didn't the Christian Brothers teach us all about it at school. Another of the great and heroic epic failures that so characterize the Irish condition!


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We had intended retracing the steps of the marchers today but had to call it off as there is bad weather forecast. Cant take any chances on the mountain you know. It was cold now and bleak within the enveloping canopy of the forest. Eventually the darkness gave way to brightness as the brilliant sunlight of the afternoon forced its way into the gloom, leading Conan to his destination.

Conan checked his watch again. Quarter to One.

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Hope this does not take too long. Katya's stew is still on the cooker! Garvan O'Brien had been quick to put Conan to work. A long fence had collapsed at the side of the tiny cottage and Conan had to contend with an inquisitive Donkey that kept muzzling him as he cut and nailed. Then out to the back to dig a huge long trench where the owner had planned to install some drainage with Conan required to shift the disturbed earth across the back yard to a small cottage garden where there were yet more plans for a new vegetable garden.

Are you planning on becoming totally self-sufficient then! He had known Conan for many years and well knew his cheekiness. Every word carefully chosen. If I was to become any more isolated then it might impact on my sociable nature. But it certainly looks like you are getting organized here at last. You see that sliver of smoke yonder at the quarry. Lots of testing and blasting going on up there.

There is no end of trucks heaving their way up the quarry road, laden with bags and bags of supplies.


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  7. I regularly have to clear up my own farm with the waste that is sometimes blown down here. I guess it must be worthwhile to re-open the quarry? Anyway, these are improvements I should have made years ago. Thank you Conan for your help. Most grateful. His employer had lent him an oversize pair of Wellington boots that he was glad to have as he moved the earth from one place to another.

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    As he shifted barrow after barrow of the claggy soil he thought of Sisyphus the Greek King, pushing that giant stone up the hill only for it to fall back down again and the process repeated forever. He had been sentenced to this eternal toil for his deceitfulness. Conan stopped a moment. He often thought of Sisyphus when faced with a repetitive laborious task. He had learned that in the Christian Brother's school too! He turned his face back towards Tirdevlin and thought of Peggy Devlin giving her lecture to the assembled crowd.

    Holding court and in control. What a sort she was! He finished his labors just as the sun was about to begin its final descent behind Sliabh Devlin. Garvan O'Brien approached carefully. Wont take too long. I am a bit worried about them. I have heard that there are some wild dogs around. Conan rubbed his arms as he pulled down this sleeves and donned his coat. Just you and me. Older for sure, but young at heart. No doubt. They set off together up a dirt track that quickly disintegrated into a slippy boggy trail and then narrowed as they made their way up the mountain-side, bouncing from rock to rock with Conan doing his best to keep up.

    Years of navigating these hills had given the old farmer a sure sense of his footing, of knowing where to place every step. Over the years that knowledge had served him well. Until now. The light was fading fast and the coldness had surrounded them more and more with every step up the steep mountain. Garvan was near shouting now as the wind had picked up suddenly. It was by instinct that Conan managed to flap away some plastic bags and some brush sticks that had been blown down from the quarry. That is what I am taking about.

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    Ever since the quarry was reopened - rubbish everywhere! Lets get this over with.

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    A couple of sheep in a nearby field bleated at them before retreating hastily into a makeshift shelter. They walked along the edge of a small outcrop that formed a sheer face and a miniature valley below. Every footstep was different.

    Now rock, Now boggy turf, Now gorse and now hard rock again. The wind above howled as if laughing maniacally at them. More debris pitched at them from the direction of the quarry. We should turn back! He covered his ears with his hands momentarily, causing him to lop sideways for a moment.

    His right foot collapsed into a long boggy hole, up to his knees, soaked to the skin, his Wellington boot filling up instantly.


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    He hauled himself out just in time to see Garvan wave back at him. An almighty gust from above boomed like thunder. The farmer pointed with his stick at just the moment he caught Conan's eye. A fantastic gust of air had picked him up like a twig and tossed him over the side of the outcrop. Debris, sticks, gorse and some remnants of rubbish followed in his wake.

    Conan looked on aghast. Quickly he calculated.

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    If that old man had hit a rock with his head when he landed then he was done for. Dead for sure. And there were lumps of limestone everywhere. Conan battled against the wind. He crawled forward on all four limbs.