When Isis' Eyes Are Smiling: Irish Castle Home To Far-Out Shrine
by Jim Dee
Boston Herald Monday, September 1, 2003

CLONEGAL, Ireland - She's either whacked out or way ahead of most people. But Olivia Robertson certainly isn't shy about showing off her shrine to the Egyptian goddess Isis inside Huntington castle in the heart of Catholic Ireland.

"Isis is god, in female form," said Robertson, a strikingly energetic 86-year-old, as she guided the Boston Herald around her basement temple. "Isis goes back to 3000 B.C. She represents the soul of power of the Earth."

While heavy on Egyptian symbolism, Robertson's subterranean sanctuary is a colorful goulash of mini-shrines to many gods and goddesses. Hundreds of statues and trinkets honoring everything from Irish fairies to Hindu deities to the signs of the zodiac cover almost every inch of the thick rock walls.

It's all crammed inside Huntington Castle, a circa-1625 structure tucked among county Carlow's rolling hills that was once an Irish Republican Army headquarters during the War of Independence (1919-1921).

The English-born Robertson and her brother Lawrence founded the Fellowship of Isis here in 1976.

"We had a mystical awakening - and we didn't do it on LSD!" Robertson said. "But people with gleaming eyes would later come around looking for what they called `heads.' And we didn't know what they were talking about."

Robertson said locals in the tiny village of Clonegal were initially horrified.

"They thought we were all witches. It absolutely freaked them," she said. "But what we did was we left the outside door of the castle open at every ceremony so they could come round and participate. We never had any secrets."

Eventually the locals warmed and even got a kick out of the media that flocked to cover castle happenings.

Visitors have included Van Morrison, Hugh Grant and Mick Jagger, who Robertson says once "popped in."

"I showed him the temple and he got my autograph," she said. "I didn't know how famous he was. I only like classical music."

Robertson claims the fellowship evolved after she had a series of visions, beginning in the 1940s, including one of a woman "made of silver light" who had visited Earth on "a scout ship."

Robertson says the fellowship is a "democratic, multicultural and multiracial" movement with 23,000 members worshipping at 1,600 sites in 98 countries.

But however fringe her beliefs may seem, Robertson is extremely well-versed in popular culture and current events, peppering her conversation with everything from Harry Potter to the latest in Iraq.

She knows doubters may poke fun at her, but isn't bothered.

"They're very often putting up a defense," Robertson said. "A lot of laughing at you is self-protection from fear of the truth. If you're only going to worship the light, and not accept that there is darkness - the unknown - you're going to have awful psychological problems."

The Puck Stops Here: Annual Kerry Festival Is Goatworthy
by Jim Dee
Boston Herald, Monday, August 18, 2003

KILLORGLIN, Ireland - Throughout history, many have dreamed of being plucked from obscurity to be made king. But, in this County Kerry village, such dreams come true - provided you're a goat.

"Killorglin is the only place where the goat acts the king, and the people act the goat," said Declan Mangan, chief organizer of the town's famous Puck Fair, where the crowned goat presides over a three-day carnival from a 30-foot-high-tower in the town square.

There are many legends regarding the origin of the annual fair, Ireland's oldest.

One says it began in the 13th century, after mountain goats descended to warn locals about invading Normans. Another places the notorious 17th century English invader Oliver Cromwell as the villain. Still another claims it all began as a pre-Christian, pagan fertility festival.

Whatever the truth, it seems odd that Ireland's extremely influential Catholic Church has tolerated a celebration with such overt pagan trappings for so many centuries.

But Mangan said a local priest once summed up the seeming contradiction, quipping that all the celebrants will "all be back at Mass next Sunday."

Mangan said Puck Fair is a "huge part in the psyche" of local people.

"Puck is the center of the year in Killorglin. Everything is measured in terms of before Puck, or after Puck," he said, adding that even Killorglin natives who've moved away celebrate it every year wherever they are.

As a child, chief goat catcher Frank Joy, 48, thought the fair was "the best event that I'd ever seen. I never thought that one day I would actually be part of it. 'Tis a great honor."

On the first day, a goat caught in the nearby Macgillycuddy's Reeks - Ireland's tallest mountain range - is crowned king by the fair's queen, a local teenage girl. The animal is then hoisted aloft, and the party begins.

"A 12-year-old girl is usually the queen," said Mangan, for a very practical reason: "We have a dress that fits a 12-year-old girl."

The goat is well-treated, and well-fed, and on the third day he's lowered, placed in a royal carriage and paraded past cheering crowds who line the main village street, before crossing the Laune River to freedom in the mountains.

Mangan said people see the Puck Fair for what it is, and nobody takes things too seriously.

"We recognize it's importance in its uniqueness and historical implications. But at the same time there is nobody on a broad crusade to preserve the pagan myth. It's just a custom," he said. "And it's a great bit of Craic (fun)."

Dublin Touts Stout With Stronger Kick
by Jim Dee
Boston Sunday Herald, August 10, 2003

DUBLIN, Ireland - Nigerian-born Andrew Komalafe is a happy man. He's just learned that Dublin's Guinness brewery is now producing the famed black brew the way he likes it - Nigerian style.

"It's like the one I used to drink back home," a smiling Komalafe said between sips of a bottle of Guinness Foreign Extra. "I love it. It's the real thing.

"Guinness is good for the blood, and it makes you very, very healthy," Komalafe insisted. "We all drink it in my family."

Dublin's St. James Gate brewery may be Guinness' most famous, but the stout also is made in 47 other countries - from Africa to the Caribbean to Asia. Guinness from Nigeria's Ikeja brewery is 7.5 percent alcohol by volume, compared with 4.5 percent in Ireland. Nigeria is Guinness' third-largest market, trailing only Ireland and Britain.

Guinness spokesman Ruairi Twomey, 30, said the stronger brews have their origins in Guinness' 18th century shipping practices, when the stout began to be sent around the world.

"Basically, in order to travel, the product was casked in oak barrels. So the alcohol had to be strengthened so it would survive the journey," Twomey said.

Ireland's recent Celtic Tiger economic boom brought an unprecedented influx of immigrants, including at least 9,000 Nigerians.

Twomey said that new "consumer landscape" prompted Guinness to consult with local Nigerian community leaders, so its Dublin brewery could please "the Nigerian palate." But he said Nigerian-style stout remains a "niche brand" in Ireland that isn't likely to replace the local brew favored the Irish.

Olla Iginla is another Nigerian pleased about Nigerian-style Guinness being brewed in Dublin. He said that when he moved here in 1997 and sipped his first local Guinness, "I was so disappointed. It was very watery."

Iginla said many Nigerians who visit home regularly bring back bottles of Nigerian-strength Guinness to Dublin, and even sneak it into pubs on nights out.

"They'd hide bottles under the table, and fill up their glasses," he said.

But, he added, the new Dublin-brewed Nigerian-style Guinness "is just as good as the one they put under the table. So there's no need to do that anymore. There's no difference to the one in Nigeria."

Echoing Komalafe's claims of Guinness' health benefits, Iginla said that when his mother was about to give birth to him, she drank three Guinnesses. "Because I was so stubborn that she had to use that to get more energy to push me out. Guinness gives you strength, gives you power," he said.

And, he added with a broad smile, Nigerian Guinness is a great aphrodisiac.

"When you have a few bottles, you just go straight to meet any girl, and - my God - she'll have to push you away," Iginla said. "It's liquid Viagra."

World Cup Coach Boots Star, Rocking Ireland North, South
by Jim Dee
Boston Sunday Herald, May 26, 2002

DUBLIN, Ireland - Forget the peace process, fears of an economic slowdown, escalating Belfast street violence or Prime Minister Bertie Ahern's horse-trading to form a new government. One story dominated the Emerald Isle's news this week: the axing of the captain of Ireland's soccer team on the eve of the World Cup.

Thursday's sacking of the volcanic Roy Keane by manager Mick McCarthy triggered something akin to a national crisis.

There was blanket media coverage in the republic and Northern Ireland. At one point Ahern himself was prepared to intervene.

Keane, 30, a Cork native who plays for the British soccer superpower Manchester United, joined Ireland's World Cup squad and traveled with them to the island of Saipan, south of Japan, two weeks ago.

Once there, he griped about the substandard practice field and the lack of rigorous training.

McCarthy countered that Saipan was just an R&R stop, and that the real training would start when the team hit Japan (which it did Friday) - a full week before Ireland's opening match against Cameroon.

Keane stewed.

On Tuesday, he threatened to quit, but a phone conversation with Manchester United's coach calmed him down. But not for long.

Keane soon ripped McCarthy apart in an Irish Times interview published Thursday. McCarthy responded by calling a team meeting that day during which Keane exploded. He berated McCarthy in a verbal attack laced with profanity, basically leaving the coach no option but to send his star player packing.

Ireland, north and south, was stunned.

Paddy Power, Ireland's premier betting parlor chain, immediately offered refunds to anyone who'd bet Ireland would win the cup. "We're all in mourning," said a spokesman.

A Derry man who printed up 400 T-shirts with Keane's face on them, and who'll lose his own shirt if no one buys them, joked to the BBC, "I'll draw horns on his head and write 666 across his forehead. They'll sell then."

It's all somewhat amusing - unless you're one of the thousands of Irish who paid roughly $8,000 for a package deal to Japan to watch the tournament.

Ireland isn't a World Cup regular. It last qualified in 1994, and this year it ousted Holland, a superior team, to gain entry. National pride was bursting. So when the crisis erupted, there was even a behind-the-scenes mediation offer from Ahern, an ardent Manchester United fan whose own soccer passion is behind his quest to build "Bertie Bowl," the popular nickname given to the national soccer stadium he wants built in Dublin.

But Ahern's offer reportedly was withdrawn Friday after Dublin's Evening Herald newspaper published front-page bold-face quotes of Keane's tirade against Murphy - a rant dripping with deleted expletives. A particularly scatological reference to Murphy greatly offended many people.

A number of Keane's teammates have backed McCarthy, but a debate now rages in pubs from Belfast to Bantry as to whether Keane is a perfectionist, who spoke his mind, or a spoiled brat.

At the All Sports Cafe in Dublin's Temple Bar area, John O'Brien, 25, who has "all the TVs wired up at work" to watch the World Cup, said, "Keane's the world's best midfielder. Everybody's hopes were really on his shoulders. He's let us down. Big time."

In Life O Reilly's pub on Cathal Brugha Street, where the windows are covered with World Cup posters, 63-year-old Steve McCabe called Keane "the greatest player in the world. A stone-wall player. They're lost without him."

In Ahern's own locale, Fagan's pub in North Dublin's Drumcondra area, Keane found few supporters.

"They're trying to get Bertie to sort it out," said Paul McCarthy, 23. "What's he going to do? Hopefully, the team will say, `We don't need Keane.' And they'll just go out and play their game."

Anthony Reid, 23, said, "Keane's a good player and he's the heart of the team. But he's let us down. Fans have mortgaged their houses to get over there. It's disgraceful what he's done."

Pubs Face Pint-Size Controversy
by Jim Dee
Boston Sunday Herald, March 3, 2002

BALLYBAY, Ireland - Since the mid-1990s, the Celtic Tiger economic boom has transformed Ireland's famed laid-back lifestyle and greatly quickened the pace here to levels on par with America and most of Europe.

But there's such a thing as going too far.

The country's pubs are buzzing about press reports that Guinness stout plans to cut the traditional pint "pulling time" from 2 minutes down to 30 seconds, by using an "ultrasonic impulse" to instantly create the black brew's famed creamy texture.

Guinness sales are fine globally, but sales in Ireland fell 4 percent last year, a drop some attribute to younger drinkers who lack the patience older stout devotees display in waiting on the "perfect pint."

In Stookie's pub in Ballybay, County Monaghan, a village of 2,000 souls that boasts 16 pubs (down from 22 a couple of decades ago,) news of the new-fangled pint was met with skepticism.

John Keenan, 86, who has been quaffing Guinness since he was 12, said, "If you don't wait on it, you'll not get it right!"

Kevin Duffy, 48, returning for a visit from his Providence, R.I., home of 25 years, agreed: I don't see the advantage of it. It's never been a problem if you have to wait a couple minutes for your pint."

Many Guinness drinkers are renowned for the near-religious devotion to the brew, and their precise views on the preferred head and temperature of the stout.

"Bottles of Guinness used to be put beside the fire. . . . They say it would rot your stomach if it was too cold," said Gabriel Kerr, 41, whose family has owned Stookie's for 90 years.

There was a time when a red-hot poker was dipped into a pint to warm it to the right temperature in a process called mulling, Kerr said, "And now we're putting bottles of Guinness in coolers."

His brother, Jim Kerr, 48, said pulling the perfect pint was considered an art, and he expressed disdain for itchy bartenders who pour too fast, allowing the thick head to drip over the side of a glass.

"(As for) anybody who took a knife to cut off the head to level it off," he said, "that's sloppy as well.

A head bigger than a half-inch earned the offending bartender ``dogs abuse'' from patrons. "They'd call that a `Clergyman's collar,'" laughed John Keenan. In the 1930s and 1940s, Keenan recalled, pubs had "a bath pan under the bar, half-full with Guinness, and there'd be a tap down into it, with a wee bit of a cover over it. A bath pan - for washing kids and clothes and everything," he said.

Gabriel Kerr said pub life in general has changed dramatically.

"Younger people come in now and they have to have the television and jukebox on. They have to be entertained, rather than entertain themselves," he said. "Years ago we'd sit down and play cards and talk about different stories. That's lost now.

"People come in now and they just sit. They won't even talk to the person next to them," he added. "Years ago if tourists wanted to find something, they went to the local pub. We didn't have a tourist information office."

Arthur Guinness opened the Guinness brewery on the banks of the River Liffey in 1759. It was one of 70 breweries in Dublin at that time. Within 10 years, exports began to England and by 1833 Guinness was Ireland's largest brewery. By 1886 it was the largest in the world.

Guinness on draught was introduced in 1961 and, in 1989, a "widget" was inserted into cans of Guinness to produce the "draught-in-a-can" which has been immensely popular at home and abroad.

Aware of some grumbling in pubs over the quick-pour issue, Guinness spokeswoman Jean Doyle, 31, stressed that the idea is only in a "test phase."

"We're constantly looking at ways of innovating," she said. "And it's one of the projects which might be in the pipeline."

Whatever the case, John Keenan remains philosophical about the future of his favorite brew, and said he'll reserve judgment on the quicker pour.

"They'd hardly take a chance if it'll destroy it. It could even improve it," he said. "But it will not be too long here until I'll tell you whether it improves it or not!"

The Stuff Of Legend: Poc Fada Championship Celebrates Mythical Warrior That Spawned Ireland's Beloved Sport Of Hurling
by Jim Dee
Boston Herald, Friday, August 11, 2000

RAVENSDALE, Ireland - As Dundalk's Gerry Dunne paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, a loud "crack" split the air and dozens of heads turned to watch a hurtling ball arc into the sky above the rocky mountainside before landing in a bed of purple heather.

"This is as primitive as it gets. It's man against nature," said the smiling Dunne, a scorekeeper at Monday's Poc Fada championship on Ireland's rugged Cooley Mountains.

Each August in the Poc Fada (Irish for "Long Puck"), 12 men from across Ireland square off in a contest rooted in the ancient Irish game of hurling - with elements of golf and mountain climbing added for good measure.

The are no holes, just start and finish lines, and a course marked out by large yellow-painted rocks. The winner is the one who hits his "sliotar" (ball) with a "caman" (hurley stick) around the course in the fewest strokes.

Needless to say, contestants are in peak physical condition. And for the 1,000 people that traverse the rugged, three-mile mountain course to watch the event, it also has to rank among the most grueling - and rewarding - spectator sports on the planet.

Reaching the event entails climbing a steep, narrow road that snakes past rows of ancient, crumbling stone walls.

The Poc Fada began 40 years ago when a local priest, inspired by the exploits of Cuchulainn - a mythological Irish warrior renowned for his enormous strength - invited some Irish hurlers to test their own skills against the mountains.

Cuchulainn, it seems, had one day sought to relieve his boredom by whacking a "sliotar" 20 miles from Drogheda to Dundalk just to see how long it would take.

The volatile Cuchulainn was dubbed the "Hound of Cullan" after agreeing to take the place of a guard dog he had killed by driving a sliotar down its throat when the dog threatened him.

"Heads!" came a shout during Monday's contest, as a ball plummeted from the sky, narrowly missing a spectator and bouncing sharply off a rock as a "spotter" with a yellow flag gave chase into the heather.

"It's called Carn an Mhadaidh. It's where Cuchulainn's own dog is buried - and my gold," said Pat McGinn, a Poc Fada organizer, gesturing with a wink to a huge mound of rocks, 20 feet high and 30 feet around, that marks the halfway point of the course.

Below, in all directions, stretched breathtaking panoramas of patchwork-quilt green fields, craggy mountain ranges and the majestic Carlingford Lough emptying into the shimmering Irish Sea.

Of course, this being Ireland, there was only one thing needed to complete the scene: rain.

In minutes clouds closed in and the sky opened up. With no trees on the bald mountainside, there was nowhere to hide. For 20 minutes rain lashed everyone. The only dry ones were a dozen emergency workers in bright green raincoats, who were on hand in case of heart attacks or sprained ankles.

"We need a helicopter," muttered one soaked spectator. "Your idea, Donnelly? Thanks!" joked another. "It's a beautiful day!" shot back a drenched Martin Donnelly, Poc Fada sponsor for the last five years.

"Wait till you see the ravine," Donnelly said with a smile, lifting his eyebrows for effect. "It's the biggest bunker in the world."

From Carn an Mhadaidh the pack picked its way down the "backside" of the course, navigating soggy mountain bogs, streams and rocky gullies - and occasional kamikaze sheep that darted across the path for their own amusement.

Within a few hundred yards of the finish line, as Donnelly had promised, a 60-foot-deep yawning chasm - 80 yards wide - opened up before the contestants. "If you get stuck down there, bring out the flood lights," cracked spectator Gerry O'Hare. "Forget that. Bring wrapping paper. You'll be there till Christmas," quipped another man.

A loud "crack" brought all eyes skyward to track a high-arcing, ball, which landed on the lip of the far bank and tumbled back into the ravine. As a man moved to mark the ball, Dundalk's Gerry O'Hare joked, "It's a Killykenny man going down. He'll move it - they're like that down there."

n the end, after three hours and three miles in the mountains, two men were tied. The winner was chosen after hitting his last shot 20 yards longer than the runner-up.

As sore but satisfied spectators and players began descending from the mountains, co-organizer Pat McGinn cracked a contented smile. "They're actually reliving the old Irish legends, he said. "These boys are all modern Cuchulainns."

Village Attempts To Awaken Fairies
by Jim Dee
Boston Herald, Friday, March 17, 2000

GILFORD, Northern Ireland - The village of Gilford will ring in St. Patrick's Day today by trying to stir thousands of tiny Irish fairies from a sad 700-year slumber, according to amateur fairy authority Uel Weir.

Standing on a site overlooking the River Bann, where a three-day fairy festival kicks off today, Weir said, "It was 700 years ago that a little fella called King Furt of the River Bann got married in the Fairy Glen."

"And after the wedding, he and his wife, Deirdre, were heading off to the Cooley Mountains, about 20 miles away, when a big storm kicked up and she was blown away," he said.

The broken-hearted miniature monarch returned to ask the 2,000 wee wedding guests to help find his windswept wife. Alas, to no avail.

After fanning out in all directions, the sorrowful searchers returned empty-handed.

Then, Weir said, "In great distress, they literally cried themselves to sleep, (and) they (can) only reawaken in a new millennium when their memories would be wiped clean and they could start fresh."

Weir is adamant that fairies exist, claiming, "We actually captured one two days ago." But, he added, there was no point in trying to photograph it "because he's so quick, he'd just be a blur."

Asked if he could divulge how to catch a fairy, Weir answered grimly, "It's a bit of a secret. And if I told you I'd have to kill you."

He said they'd recently unearthed numerous fairy artifacts, including miniature bricks, cutlery, and a tiny book which they think may unlock the mysteries of the fairy kingdom.

Unfortunately, they can't get the book open.

"When you try to force open the little clasp holding it shut ... it gets very, very hot. We've had Oxford University do some tests on it, and they reckon it could be some sort of miniature nuclear device," said Weir.

"We're really quite nervous about that. We wouldn't want to nuke Gilford."

But he said, after this weekend's bash, which is expected to draw upwards of 50,000 people, Gilford will be crawling with fairies anyway. "There is one problem, though. Anyone who has told a lie is not going to see so many. But we will have translators there to help them out."

Weir said international fairy fans wanting to glimpse the "wee folk" can do so via the Internet, with the help of a remote tree-top TV camera offering a bird's eye view of Gilford's "Fairy Glen." The Web address is http://www.kingfurt.com.

He said that, while he and others devised the Gilford Fairy Festival as a bit of tongue-in-cheek fun, he's found there are some who take their fairy-fetching far too seriously.

A month ago, "a lady from New York" approached festival organizers asking for permission to run through the grounds naked in the hope of luring out some wee folk. She claimed she'd done so at another Irish castle and had been chased by 40 fairies. He refused to give her the OK.

"We've got enough problems without having a streaker running about the place," he said. "She may have done it on her own, but we just couldn't sanction that."