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We all did our bit with the cooking and cleaning, although some were more able than others we made sure everyone contributed that was able. Thomas ‘s hearing is so poor that it was very difficult to communicate and he sat in his room most of the time with a few cans at his feet. On Sunday morning John asked him if he wanted to go to mass and Thomas shouted back, with two fingers thrust up, ‘Two eggs and a tomato’. I rang Thomas’s family on Saturday and they came in strength to collect him on Sunday afternoon. His two brothers Terry and Harry and their wives turned up plus uncountable nieces and nephews, all wanting to see their uncle Tommy who had been away in London and out of touch for so long. Tommy was the oldest in the family and the others had all looked up to him. He was known as the godfather of the family mafia. One of the nephews told me of family legends of the bould Tommy, the tough but fair patriarch of a wild Donegal family. In the 27 years of his absence the brothers left behind went on to great things and built up a considerable fortune. They could only guess at Tommy’s progress across the water because nothing was heard from him until Charlie got in contact before this trip. They took Thomas away for a few days to stay in the bosom of his family and to meet his 83-year-old mother who must have thought he was lost to her, and to the other members of his large extended family.

That evening we got a call from Tony, Henry’s cousin saying that Henry was ill and he was bringing him back up to us. We had no bed for Henry and besides, if he was ill he needed to go to the hospital or at least to a doctor. Tony said that there was no doctor around there and besides Henry didn’t want to stay. We persuaded Henry and Tony to stay put for now and over the next few days Charlie kept in touch from London as Henry moved around between various cousins and aunts.

We visited Slieve League in the rain thinking that we would be back during the week to get a better look at the magnificent view from Europe’s highest cliffs. It turned out to be the best chance we had as the rain set in for the week and the view across the bay would only come and go in fleeting glimpses. Not that it bothered us particularly as we had work to do. There were three returnees already visiting their families but that left four more to sort out. Most people have complicated family relationships but Jack’s was a bit more complicated than the usual. His mother had died when he was young and his father remarried to Shirley who already had a family. They had other children together and then the father died. That left Jack with a step mother and several half and step siblings in the family home in the Rosses. Jack had not been home since his father died about 17 years ago, working around England before settling in East London. In recent years drink had got the better of him and he felt that a return home would help him feel more settled in himself. Also, a favourite aunt had died and left him some money in a post office account which he hoped to be able to withdraw from the tiny local post office. Jack was another of our Sligo group and this was his second trip back but as we were in Donegal this time we hoped that he could spend more time with his family, particularly with his half brother Martin who he missed on the last visit. On the way we called in for a drink to ‘Bonners’ pub in Mullaghduff where we met Big Jim Gallagher from the Sunday World, who was going to write an article about our return trip. On the way we dropped off the other Jim, who didn’t want to be a part of the interview and wanted to visit his mother in a tiny cottage out on the coast.

We knew Big Jim from previous trips and although we were initially nervous about talking to the tabloid press we were reassured by Jim who always wrote sympathetically about us. While the lads talked to the press in a snug in the bar, myself and John chatted with Norah, who was working behind the bar. Detecting a Scottish lilt to her accent we asked Norah about herself and she told us how, like so many before her and since, she left Donegal in her early teens to go to Glasgow where she spent her whole working life, raising a family but always dreaming of returning home. A few years ago she got her chance and now is as happy as could be. The whole area has become revitalised by returning emigrants from Glasgow and other parts of Scotland. There is a spade on the wall in Bonners with a plaque that says it cut the first sod of turf for the new Celtic Park from the ground in Mullaghduff. Pat, another of our returnees can testify to the fanaticism for Celtic F.C. in Donegal. He is another Celtic-mad Glaswegian in search of his family and seeking his birthright here. Before we left Bonners we got chatting with some locals who had come in for a lunch break from some building work they were doing down the road. They all had some experience of London, one of them had played there many times with that excellent folk band Goats Don’t Shave, and as we were on our way out the door another of the men handed us an ancient worn book written in Irish on local genealogy, opening it to show a map of the Rosses he said, ‘Take this with you and you won’t get lost’.

We left Jack with Shirley and Martin and drove up around Bloody Foreland named after the Spanish Armada or the aborted French landing, or perhaps because of the red seaweed which gives a pink glow to the shore when the tide is coming in. On the way out we passed a miniature Statue of Liberty in a garden on the twisting shores of the bay reminding us of better times for emigrants to the US. Even up here strewn as it is with rock, which generations had to clear to make the meagre bits of fields that exist, you see house after house built in the suburban style out of breeze block and brick. It looks wrong out here on the foreland, as it does all over rural Ireland. Suburban architecture has even invaded the city. As the tenements in Dublin were cleared away little semi-detached dwellings sprung up with gardens and drives in twee cul-de-sacs. How is this possible in the shadow of grand town houses, office blocks and shopping streets? They look equally ridiculous perched on the top of a rocky outcrop or facing the wild Atlantic. More and more you see massive electronic security gates and walls surrounding brick mansions in rural communities which would have been open to the world around them only a generation ago. It’s a cliché but Ireland sure is changing. And you wonder how can our lads fit into this strangely different country?

Jack and Martin had done a lot of catching up when we got back to Mullaghduff and we then picked up Jim from Sharkey’s pub in Anaghree, stopping off to try to cash Jack’s post office book. It was far more complicated than we had expected and would involve forms and his aunt’s death certificate as well as his own birth certificate which Jack had brought with him. Anyway we had made a start on it. Jim wanted to call into the hospital in Dungloe to see his aunt who had taken ill. We waited in the car park till Jim came out looking pretty shook up – it seemed his aunt was a lot worse than he had expected and probably would only last a couple more days. It was late when we got back to Killybegs and we bought Donegal Catch frozen fish from the garage shop for dinner, packed next door in the fish factory, which must be importing their fish from other parts of the country now, or the world.

Jennifer came to visit for a few days, she is making a film about Irish emigration and wanted to see how Aisling worked as an antidote to the downside of emigration. She stayed in a B&B in Killybegs and travelled with us during the day. As the days go by they become more precious and you want to pack as much in you can, becoming more aware as the days go on that time is slipping away. It was the 25th anniversary of the Long Kesh hunger strikes and towards the end of the week we decided to head out to Derry City to see the murals on the Bogside but also thought that we would be near to Inishowen and Pat might take the notion to go to visit his brother. On the way we dropped off Paul at his sister’s place in Carrick, near to Slieve League and arranged to pick him up the next day at his family home in the Blue Stack Mountains where his other sister was living. In Derry we parked near the Bogside Inn and walked around the streets looking up at the legendary murals on the gable ends of houses depicting the last 38 years of history since the area was declared ‘Free Derry’. Crossing over to the gable wall which is all that’s left of Free Derry corner on a traffic island we were amazed at the how the traffic immediately stopped as soon as you were about to even think of crossing. We were there for half and hour or so and saw the same thing countless times as the traffic stopped to let people over the road to see the memorial.

We went to Dunnes Stores to buy Paul a jacket. He had come away from a balmy London expecting to only need a shirt and jumper. While I was in the shop Pat asked John if we could take him to his brother’s place in Carndonagh so we headed for Inishowen to try to complete the last of our family connections. Pat had never been to his brother’s house which his brother had recently built himself. In fact, it seemed that there had been a bit a of a falling out due to Pat’s drinking but Pat was recently out of re-hab and determined to get his life back. This would go a long way towards that. By instinct more than anything else Pat found the house and Barry’s wife called Barry who arranged to meet us in town. In the centre of Carndonagh is the Diamond which has several small, perfectly formed pubs around it. We were in the Persian Bar last year and this year we were meeting Barry in the Arches Bar. As we walked in Sean, the barman shouted a greeting to Pat, he is Pat’s cousin and another returned Celtic fanatic from Glasgow. Barry was delighted to see Pat looking so well and so sober and they arranged a return visit in August with their other brother.

It was bucketing down with rain as we left the Arches and it only got worse as we headed south. Passing through Buncrana we could hardly see the road in front of the van and there was a strange feeling in the air. By the time we got back to Killybegs the air had cleared and it was a lovely calm evening. On the news that night we found out that there had been a hurricane in Buncrana about seven o’ clock, which would have been fifteen or twenty minutes after we passed through the town. Local people on the news said that it was a twister like a tornado and cars had been thrown around and houses and shops damaged, luckily no-one was hurt as who would have been walking or driving around in that rain. I was in some ways sorry to have missed such a unique event and remembered how we had expected thunder and lightening on the road but only saw flashes of it in the distance.

We thought the weather might improve after that but no such luck and the rain kept up pretty steadily except for a few breaks in the clouds now and then. Our last day in Donegal was pretty full too, as we collected Thomas at Crolly, looking pleased with himself as Theresa, Terry’s wife, dropped him off. Pointing to his new polo shirt with a logo on the pocket, ‘Terry Gallagher electrical contractor’, Thomas said, ‘Do you see that? That’s my brother that is!’ We dropped Jack off to see Martin for a few hours, as it was still driving rain and he wouldn’t be doing much work on the house extension he was building next door. Jim went to see his aunt one last time as other people were gathering from near and far as news of her condition spread. Later when we picked up Jack we found out that Martin was waiting for concrete to arrive for his foundations as a break appeared in the clouds. Jack was getting away in the nick of time. We headed then for the Blue Stacks and collected Paul from the family home. His sister was ironing his trousers as we waited taking in the stunning views as the skies cleared across Donegal.

The next day we picked up Henry at his cousin Tony’s place looking a lot more relaxed and happier than we had expected. There was no sign of Tony, but Bernie his wife was there beaming away, sure that Henry was no trouble at all and she would be delighted to have him back. We then met Michael at Ballymote next to the statue to the Brothers who had founded Celtic, much to the delight of Pat. Kevin was in fine form looking very smart and full of tales of his cooking and cleaning in Michael’s house. He was reunited with Thomas and they swapped stories of their successful brothers all the way to Dublin

We spent the night in Dublin in Jury’s hotel in Parnell Street and caught the ferry early Saturday morning listening on the radio to the Munster rugby team winning a thrilling final. We let everyone out in Camden and they went off home in the rain.

reports on other Aisling trips