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The Supply Canal empties into the Royal Canal near
Harbour Road in Mullingar |
At the northern tip of the arc
of the canal that circles Mullingar, there is a small tributary canal that
feeds the Royal Canal from Lough Owel. The Supply Canal is about half the width
of the Royal Canal and originates from Lough Owel, a lake approximately 3.5
miles long and 2 miles wide. The trail is not particularly well publicized,
even though it is a beautiful walk and a couple of interesting historical sites
along the way.
If you let the threat of rain
keep you from accomplishing your tasks, you will never get anything done in
Ireland. The night before, a storm including 60-mile-per-hour winds lashed the
midlands. The next morning, the winds remained brisk and dark gray clouds
rushed across the sky. But it was my last day in Ireland – so I go. Debris from
the high winds the night before litter the trail with leaves and branches. The
storm had brought in a noticeable drop in the temperature, which was a relief
to many of the locals. While many enjoy the warm weather, their houses and
businesses are not built for the heat. Walking to the canal, there was the
faint smell of peat burning to warm nearby houses; a smell of which I have
grown fond. The canals seemed fuller and much of the pollen and debris, which
had accumulated on the top of the water over the past few days, had
disappeared.
Less than a mile north of the
Royal Canal, the Supply Canal crosses Castlepollard Road, a busy thoroughfare
with no caution lights to warn traffic about pedestrians. A small sign
indicated that there is a Famine Cemetery close at hand. About 100 meters
further on, the cemetery sits on the edge of an industrial park. While you
cannot see the buildings from the warehouses and factories because of the trees,
the associated noise let you know that you are not in a remote area. A small
stone gate, with a cross atop, indicates the location of the cemetery.
Renderings of the mid-nineteenth century Great Irish Famine are common when
traveling throughout Ireland; there are a number of monuments and memorials to
those who died. But to see something that is tangible from that period is rare.
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| Entrance gate to the Famine Cemetery |
Approximately one million
people, of a population of about 6.5 million, starved during
An Gorta Mór. Another 1.5-2 million
people emigrated during the late 1840s. While, beginning in 1845, a blight
largely destroyed the entire potato crop, the primary staple for most Irish
peasants, the island continued to export food. Charles Trevelyan, the official
in charge of the British response to the famine, did not want to provide
assistance or food relief because he feared that it would adversely affect the
natural order of markets. Therefore, landlords in Ireland, primarily British,
could make more money selling their crops overseas than providing it to the
local Irish population. As a result, peasants in Ireland were not protected
against the ravages of famine and starvation. The population of Ireland dropped
by fifty percent over the course of the nineteenth century.
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| Interior of the Famine Cemetery |
County Meath was hit hard, but its
situation was not as desperate as some of the counties further west. In
November 1845, in the nearby town of Moate, a mass rally of 4,000 people called
on the government to provide help and subsistence to help the local population.
The plea had no reply. At the Mullingar Union cemetery, other than the stone
gate, no contemporary markers can be observed. Two stone monuments have been
placed in recent commemoration. One describes the people interred at the
cemetery, “buried in piles, including some of the workhouse’s 7,000 dead.”
Overgrown with grass and trees, it is difficult to imagine the number of
skeletons who lie beneath the earth. What is more, it is impossible to recreate
the images and smells of a dying population during the Great Hunger.
Since it was a weekday morning I
had the trail, other than several animals, mostly to myself. Swallows
frenetically skim the small canal, searching for the insects that invariably
live near the water. A few song birds made sure to give me wide latitude. The gathering
clouds made me wonder if I would reach the lake dry, or even at all.
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| Saint Brigid's Well |
Within another half mile a sign,
just past a fish farm, indicated the location of Saint Brigid’s Well (
Tobar Brighde), which has been a place
of worship since about 700AD. More than likely, originally it had been a place
of worship of the Celtic goddess Brigid. A small well comes above ground and runs
less than six feet to a stream, which, in turn, empties into the fish farm and
eventually the canal. The site was Christianized and, a Stations of the Cross
and small chapel were added in the mid-twentieth century.
A sign tells visitor that “Here our
forefathers walking in the footprints of Brigid pondered the suffering and
death of Our Saviour.” I contemplate that for a few minutes and wonder about
the contemplations of those before the arrival of Christianity. What was their
hopes and fears? We are likely never to know. I took shelter in the open chapel
at the well for a few minutes as a light, but persistent rain shower passed. My
presences in the chapel caused much consternation to a pair of swallows who had
built a he top corner of the chapel. It is unbelievable that in the space of
about ten minutes, the weather completely changed. Blue skies emerged, and I
found myself searching the sky for the dark clouds that just a few minutes
before were so threatening. The clouds had seemingly vanished.
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| The rail line between Levington and Cullion |
At this point, the canal went through
private property. The canal path ended; but a bike path, running alongside Old
Longford Road continued toward the lake. One old cedar tree, on the edge of a
field, frown under the pressure of the high winds. Perhaps it is not the rain I
should be worried about, I thought, but the possibility of falling limbs. Just
before crossing the railroad track, where I briefly observed the Sligo train, a
small road to the left, wide enough for only one car begins to parallel the
canal again. About a quarter mile from the lake, a stone bridge carries the
road across the canal just before it ended at the lake.
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| Lough Owel |
Lough Owel is beautiful and is
renown among anglers and birding, provided you have a vessel to set upon the
water. Where the canal waters leave the lake, to enter the canal and make its
way to Mullingar, is a sailing and boating club. Unlike in the States, there
are no other facilities, snack outlets, or gift shops. Recreation is dependent
on the individual or a group.
On the return trip, there is a
sense of melancholy. It is my last day in Ireland, and Europe, for this year.
In just a couple of hours I will board a bus to take me to Dublin Airport. As I
walk through the small village of Cullion, whose etymology is suggestive of a
contemptible fellow or rascal, where I will cross the railroad tracks and
rejoin the canal for the two-mile walk back to Mullingar, I look over into a
field where seemingly a million small yellow flowers are blowing in the wind,
almost as if they are waving goodbye to me. Already I am thinking of the tasks
I must accomplish when I return; the appointments to keep, and the meetings to
attend. It is tempting to believe that if we could relocate here, life would be
simpler. But I know it is not true. We would trade our current responsibilities
and concerns for others. Humans are social creatures, inevitably we develop new
connections and new tasks. Nevertheless, it is pleasant to walk these trails,
free from our concerns for a few hours; to wander and to explore, to renew
ourselves for the journeys to come.
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