Coppinger’s Court, Drombeg Stone Circle

This ride became an intermittent walk with two or three sharp climbs for which I elected to stroll beside Ms. Raleigh. We two enjoy a walk in the country. Little streams accompanied us much of the trip and sang to us as we walked along. I ate blackberries from the roadside brambles. (A Blackberry Digression: Ripe blackberries almost drop into your hand. If you have to tug, the blackberry will be bitter and you may get stuck by a thorn. It seems to me there’s a greater life lesson in this observation.)
The lane is lightly traveled by automobiles, having its own serenity. At the top of the first hill there is a long view down the valley to Coppinger’s Court, a fortified great house, a kind of half-castle. It reminded me of the United States government buildings of the Viet Nam era, i.e., built to be impregnable in time of civil unrest; Nixon era paranoia in every stone. Trying two roads to get as close as possible to Coppinger’s Court, I discovered that the second, a turn just past the bridge at the hamlet of Roury, brought us to within a stone’s throw of the ruin. Crows scold from its ramparts.

Built by Sir Walter Coppinger, a Viking’s descendant, in the early 17th Century, the stronghold wasn’t long occupied. Coppinger meant to establish a market town and build a canal to the sea. To his grief, the Irish did not welcome his plan or his heavy-handed rule. Coppinger’s Court proved an insufficient fortress and was ransacked in the 1641 rising. All that remains of Coppinger’s ambitions is his ruined great house, accreting legend and accepting the judgment of gravity.

At Drombeg there is a Megalithic stone circle which marks the winter solstice by alignment with the setting sun. (It aligns southwest!) What makes Drombeg unique are the accompanying settlement foundations. These are remnants of two houses which between them contain an oven, well, fireplace, and cooking sink. Hot stones were immersed in the sink to boil water and cook food, perhaps the first Irish Stew.

Looking up from Drombeg I was struck the view to the Atlantic. The old ones had aesthetic appreciation too; they enjoyed a windswept hilltop overlooking the great green sea. Granted the sparsity of the prehistoric human population, it’s likely that the residents of Drombeg are the ancient ancestors of many modern Irish, particularly those from West Cork. This thought came as I wandered among the stones – my people once lived here. Were they calling across time, “Look up, Frankie dear, don’t we have a lovely ocean view?” It would be grand to camp out at Drombeg Ring on a starry night, listening to the old ones stories.

In my rambles today I met Brian, a self-furloughed steelworker from California. Brian is humping a backpack by bus and Shank’s Mare around Ireland. He told me of his joy in the singing pubs and the fine welcome he’s received from young and old alike. I don’t doubt it; this is Ireland of the mille failte and Brian is an open, smiling young man.  Brian says he’ll come back to West Cork and, God willing, he will and be glad he did. I suggested that if he missed his connection to Killarney he should stay in Clonakilty for the night. He’ll find singing and good company there. Slán leat Brian!