By Patricia O’Malley
Transcript
I left Ireland when I was seventeen to make my life in London. No matter what adventures I had there in the first few years, returning to the family home in County Tipperary was the most important thing to me whenever I could get time off.
One particular time, I returned home by plane to Dublin and then by bus to Cashel where Mum waited anxiously. The road to Tipp was long but time passed quickly as I noted each town the bus passed through. Despite my excitement I fell asleep half way down the Dublin Road. Just past the Horse and Jockey I awoke to a view of the hills outside Cashel. There in the hills of Ballyknock was Cashel’s Golf Course, an important landmark, but of the 20th century.
The excitement welled up in me as I knew around the next bend the ancient ruin of the Rock of Cashel would appear, magnificent, solid and timeless, perched on its rock overlooking the town of Cashel. It never failed to impress me or reassure me I was almost home. I jumped up and took my bag down prematurely and then sat on the edge of my seat impatient to get off the bus, knowing that it would take another ten minutes to reach the town. Despite this I looked in awe at this amazing building.
In the background, when viewed from the Dublin Road, the Galtee mountains were glorious in the setting sun but before this the expanse of the valley of the Golden Vale stretched between the Rock and the town of Tipperary.
The Rock of Cashel, the Cashel of the Kings also known as St Patrick’s Rock is reported to be one of the most visited historical attractions in Ireland. It is hard to imagine that it was built between the 12th and the 13th centuries and where legend has it that St Patrick visited in 432 A.D. to convert and baptise King Aengus.
After recollecting this piece of history, I was filled with pride but now as the bus turned into the main street of Cashel I could see Mum waiting by the bus stop, which was in front of the Bakehouse restaurant and bakery, waving frantically to make sure I could see her.
History forgotten, I savoured the welcome that only a mum could give and once again I was her little girl, greedy for her hugs. She led me to her car and we left Cashel for the homeplace which was approximately twenty minutes away. However long I spent at home it never seemed enough. Mum would tell news of family and the neighbourhood and I would tell her of things in London. I’d help her with chores and we’d talk long into the night. Too soon it was time for her to take me to Cashel to catch the bus to the airport.
With a heartfelt hug and many tears, I said goodbye to Mum and promised to come again at Christmas.
Reluctantly, I put my luggage into the bus and climbed up the steps, ticket in hand. As I left Cashel the last thing I saw was the Rock. It was almost like it was saying “See you again soon!”.