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For the whole week we had been seeing signs for this amazing phenomenon, only open to the public since last May, and before we left some of us got to see it. Fifty years ago two English pot-holers were exploring the warren of caves under the Burren near Doolin when they discovered a stream flowing into a tunnel in the rock, they followed it down and down until they could feel that they were in an open cavern. They had no lamps but they did have a flare with them and some matches. On the guided tour that we took we followed the tunnel which had been opened into a staircase and a walkway at head height, cut out over the years since by Doolin men who had returned home from years of tunnelling on construction sites in England and used their skills to open out the way to the Doolin stalactite. We made our way down

with the guide and before we reached the cave we were told to switch off our lamps and were in complete darkness, as were the pot-holers 50 years ago, but we could feel from the air around that we were in a large space. As the guide got to the part in the story where the cavers lit their flare, he threw the light switch and flooded the cavern with light. And there it was, just as the first men to have saw it witnessed it all those years ago - a huge snow white presence hanging in the centre of the cave. The simple term stalactite does not do it justice, it is like a living organism, a vast deep sea monster sleeping at the bottom of the ocean. It hangs down over thirty feet almost to the bottom of the cave. The piece that would have been its stalagmite has collapsed over the years onto the sloping floor and it hangs now about ten feet from the ground and is growing with each drip of mineral-filled water. The roof of the cave is flat like a man-made ceiling and the stalactite is like an enormous chandelier in a prehistoric ballroom all the more bizarre and amazing for being the only thing in the whole cave.

We had two sets of brothers with us, one pair from Clare and the others from Kerry. Joe and Paul, the Clare two spent lots of time away visiting family members and throughout the week there was always a rendezvous or an outing to attend to. One night their brother dropped the two of them off in McGann's pub to meet a musician friend, only to find, after the brother had driven away, that they were in the wrong pub - they should have been in O’Connor’s. It is a bit of a walk between the pubs if you have the legs for it but the lads only had one good leg between them and by the end of the night none at all. Paul has bad arthritis in both legs and walks with a stick and Joe lost his left leg below the knee and is on crutches. It was a two mile journey back to the cottages, mostly up hill and it was raining but the lads set out after closing time and made it back after a mighty struggle. They hadn’t thought of calling us to come out to pick them up, we were just down in O’Connor’s listening to their friend playing the mandolin. They didn’t want to be a bother.

Mick and John [the Kerry brothers], were reckoned by the agency which referred them to us not to be drinkers who rarely ventured out of their Kilburn flat, except to go to mass. Well the Clare air must have brought out a new spirit in them because they never missed a chance to go to the pub, while Mick was singing and telling jokes the whole time. Let’s hope their new lease of life continues back in London. We took a trip to Kerry during the week to give the brothers a chance to see their other brother in Killorglin. And while we were there Betty wanted to call in to see her daughter who was working in a hotel in Killarney. This should have been an opportunity for Sean to visit his home county and although we had got him this far he didn’t want to go the extra mile. ‘You don’t have to go to see anyone Sean, just come along for the drive’, I said.
‘Its people seeing me I’m bothered about’, he replied.

It is a long journey although Kerry is only the next county and we set off early. We took the coast road to Kilimer through Kilrush and Kilkee and crossed the Shannon on the ferry to Tarbert. It had been raining since we arrived in Clare four days earlier but the sun came out in Kerry and it stayed sunny for the rest of our week in Ireland. We passed through Listowel and Tralee, looking very prosperous in the sunshine and arrived at Killorglin where we left Mick and John off outside their brother’s house, overlooking the bridge into the town. Betty’s daughter was to take her to lunch and we dropped her outside the beautiful country hotel on the road out to the lakes, where the jarvies and their jaunting cars lined up outside. We had hoped to be able to meet up with Padraic, an Aisling client now resettled just outside Killarney but couldn’t get in touch and so we did some shopping and sightseeing around the town. When we picked up Betty later, she was full of chat about her daughter and the great job she has and the furniture and fittings of the hotel and all the guests staying there. We picked up the two brothers standing at the statue to Killorglins most famous son, the puck goat, and headed for the Shannon, Betty chatting the whole way.

One day I called Jim’s brother who he had met in Swinford last year on our trip to Mulranny. Jim is originally from Clare and this year he had talked about going to see his sister in Ennis but hadn’t been in contact. Jim’s brother gave me the number of Mary and I called her and put Jim on the phone. It must have been a real blast from the past because she hadn’t heard from Jim in 40 years. I could tell from the voice on the phone when Jim said his name that it came out of the blue. I could hear Jim making arrangements to meet in a hotel in Ennis the next day and then he handed the phone back to me. ‘How are you after speaking to your brother, Mary?’ ‘Frankly I’m astonished’ she said.

Our friend Niamh, who makes breakfast for us when we arrive in the early hours in Dublin is now working in the general hospital in Galway and came down to visit one day bringing piles of clothes, all cleaned and pressed and also apple tarts and custard. There was nothing to fit Michael though and he had been wearing the same trainers and track suit for weeks. We went out to Dunnes in Ennis and bought him some jeans and boots and Charlie got to work on his big growth of beard. Everyone was looking pretty splendid that evening in O’Connor’s. Jack looks pretty splendid most of the time, with his straw trilby at a rakish angle and piercings he’s not your average Aisling client and he keeps up a constant steam of banter. Jack and Bob are both from Dublin and I took them to the train station during the week so that they could go back to see their families. I bought the tickets and Jack went ahead onto the platform while I gave Bob my phone number and train timetable for their return in two days time. As I was explaining the train times Bob was looking puzzled and said, ‘What?’ before realising he had his ears plugged with cotton wool, ‘Well you didn’t think I was going to listen to your man all the way to Dublin did you ?’

Other friends came to visit including Emer and Mary who had worked for years with John in London and were now happily resettled in Galway. Siobhan came down from Mayo and stayed at the campsite with her dog Balzac who used to belong to a friend of mine. Siobhan hung out with us for a couple of days going for walks with the lads and the dog and doing a bit of cooking. The lad’s appetites were coming back after the ravages of hard drinking in London but they were still unable to finish their meals so Balzac was well fed. The night before we left Ireland we went out to Lisdoonvarna to see what the matchmaking festival was all about. Billing itself these days as the biggest singles event in the world it is still doing a roaring trade with the hotel ballrooms packed with swinging singles dancing to the sounds of drum machines and accordions playing ballads and conme-all-yous. The first one we went to was too crowded to find a seat and at the next one the seats were grabbed away before we could sit down. Eventually we found a back room in a bar playing more traditional music which was very friendly, too much so for some of the women who were pounced on by the randy farmer MC. We were all a bit reluctant to sing or dance at first but bit by bit the randy farmer had everyone singing, playing music (well, the bodhran anyway) and dancing (the women at arms length from the farmers wandering hands).

A lot of Ireland has been newly built up over recent years but you can still get a sense of real open space in Clare. The Burren covers 500 square kilometres and you can walk from there to Dublin on footpaths called Green Ways. One Aisling client could tell you about that, as many years ago Donie was deported home from the United States for overstaying his visa, arriving in Dublin with no money whatsoever. He set out on foot staying off the roads in a more or less straight line for Co. Kerry. He arrived home three weeks later with long hair and a big beard, his clothes in rags and his boots worn through. Many of our older clients too had been long distance kiddies in the old days of the tramp navvies but few if any survive today. There is still a sense of wildness and openness in parts of Ireland that retain the magic of the country. This is what is a pleasant surprise for some of the ones who come back with us fearful that it has all changed beyond recognition yet fearful that that there are still old resentments lying in wait for them.

The week after we got back from Clare after van breakdowns and missed ferries I went into Arlington House to see the lads from there. On my way I saw Jim leaning on the traffic barriers at the crossroads in Camden Town, ‘My god’ he said, ‘It’s as busy as the high street in Ennis’. Mick was at reception, upset that his giro hadn’t arrived but he beamed when he saw me, ‘What the hell are we doing in this country, let’s go back to Clare’. Walking down the corridor I saw Bob outside the canteen. He put both thumbs up as soon as he saw me, ‘Thanks for that. Do you know that brother of mine hadn’t spoken to me in 40 years and now he wants me to go back for Christmas. Is there any chance of you dropping me off in Dublin on your way to Mayo?’ Peter arrived just then and asked could he phone his cousins to say he got back alright. I called up to Sean’s room. He was sitting watching the racing.
‘How are you, Sean?’
‘Not so good, I’m still recovering after that long journey. Next time, I’m not coming back. So, how does a man go about getting somewhere to live back in Ireland??’

reports on other Aisling trips