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_____the elf of sligo
AN IRISH-AMERICAN LEARNS ABOUT FAIRIES,
_______GIANTS, QUEENS AND YEATS ON A TRIP TO IRELAND.
_________- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BY C.J. SULLIVAN | A few years back I went to visit the country that gave birth to my ancestors, Ireland. Having heard all the tales about the "land of scholars and saints" from my grandparents who were raised there, I thought I knew the country. What they didn't prepare me for was my meeting with a mystical elf who knew all about Yeats, giants, queens and fairies.

I flew into Ireland's west coast Shannon Airport. The Air Lingus plane broke through the early morning fog on a spring morning and I gasped when I saw just how green the countryside was. Half asleep, I went through customs and got my passport stamped by the most polite civil servant I had ever run into. Soon I was struggling with groggily driving a stick shift rental car on the wrong side of the road.

I headed north and wound up in the city of Galway, which had a good bed and breakfast and wonderful pubs. The next day I took a boat out to the Aran Islands and spent a day riding a bicycle through the sand-swept roads of a lonely island. I stopped for lunch at a pub and was greeted by 12 dour men who started talking Gaelic as soon as I entered.

I left Galway and drove up to Sligo. I had always wanted to see Sligo, I guess because it's Yeats country and also I liked the name: It slid off the tongue. I rested awhile and around 6 ate a delicious dinner of shepherd's pie at the B&B.

After dinner I decided to take a walk around the town and wound up in Abbey Street. I saw an old abbey with a wrought-iron gate around it, a relic from another time. I walked in and around the open stone walls. It was twilight and the shadows from the walls grew long and dark. No one else was around, so I started poking here and there.

"Do you feel them?"

I jumped when I heard the voice. Then I turned around and saw a little old man with a knit sweater on and a head full of white hair. His blue eyes twinkled and he gave me a big smile.

"Feel what?" I asked.

"Ah, you're a Yank from New York. Do you feel the spirits in the abbey?" he said, sweeping his arm around the ruins.

"No. What spirits?" I replied dumbly.

The man clapped his hands. "I'm the caretaker here. The abbey is quite a place. It's been burned down three times by the Brits when they sacked the town. Once they killed all the monks here. At night, if you listen, you can still hear them chanting."

We introduced ourselves but I didn't catch the old man's name. He repeated it and I still didn't catch it. I grew up in a house full of Irish accents and have no trouble following them, but it seemed to me that the old guy was purposely mumbling his name. I wasn't going to ask again so I decided to just call him Sir.

The old guy went on to tell me about the joys and charms of Sligo. He asked if tomorrow I'd like a tour. Sure, I said.

"Well then, lad, you're on. Come by me house at 11. I'll be there. Now if you'll excuse me I'd like to say a prayer with me Dominican friends." He walked into the shadows mumbling. I left and walked the streets of Sligo. Near a small bridge by my B&B I watched the Garavogue River flow by till it got dark.

The next morning after a delicious meal of eggs, bacon, fresh bread, blood pudding, countless cups of tea and two copies of local Sligo papers, I got up to leave. I asked the man who ran the B&B about the caretaker of the abbey.

"Oh, a wonderful fella."

"Do you know his name?"

"Tom, I believe it is."

I drove to Tom's house at 11. He was already outside. With a quick step he grabbed open the car door and said, "Come on, we'll go up to Lough Gill."

N E X T+P A G E+| "I know t'ings"