Cormac MacConnell

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Cormac MacConnell - The West's Awake

The Beauty of an Irish Spring
THE longer I live the more I am touched to the heart by the exquisite manner in which the Irish year unfolds itself during the last days of April and the first week or May.

Nothing Like a Turf Fire 02 May 2008

JIMMY White my neighbor arrived over to the cottage door earlier this evening with a bag of real turf, cut by hand in his native Co. Limerick. We live in an age where a bag of handcut turf is a gift to be savored.

Tragedy and History in Death 24 April 2008

TWO deaths have touched me to the core in recent days. One was the death near enough in his time and season of 84-year-old Paddy Hillery, the former president of Ireland.

A Secret in the Grave 16 April 2008

A MAGUIRE man who was a boy when I was a boy got a heart attack last week and died in seconds with at least one secret untold for certain.

Bertie and the Scarecrows 09 April 2008

SCARECROWS are getting very scarce in the west in recent years, and I miss them very much. The reason for the reduced ranks is simple.

The Way We Raised Money 02 April 2008

IT’S the small hours of the morning. I’m just back from the Honk, my favorite local pub.

We’re Keeping You Afloat 26 March 2008

THE lake at the back of Jimmy White’s house is hallmarked silver. In deep winter it is often brownly angry and swollen, and it gobbles up 20 or 30 acres of the low greenlands around the shores.

Nurturing the Wounded Locals 19 March 2008

OUT the corner of my eye I saw a slow track of luminescence against the black of a bad night. Immediately afterwards a cushioned thump against the roof of the car.

I Hate Black Pudding! 12 March 2008

I HAVE a confession to make which is appropriate for this most patriotic of all the Irish and Irish American months.

Dear Old Ireland Still Exists 06 March 2008

JUST back from Kerry by way of Corofin in The Burren, and I drop into the Sky Center in Shannon for a newspaper and sundries in the early afternoon.

Saying Goodbye to a Friend 28 February 2008

IT’S a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the other Boston. That is the one that is behind the melting marshmallow shape of the sacred mountain of Mullaghmore in the Burren of Clare.