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Want to be safe? Build a castle!

Cahir Castle, Co. Tipperary, Ireland

1024px-Cahir_Castle,_Castle_St,_Cahir_(506764)_(27959296834) — Cahir Castle: photo by Robert Linsdell from St. Andrews, Canada [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]

Since the dawn of humanity, people have been hard at work trying to keep their homes safe from interlopers. Today, we build fences, lock doors, and install security systems. For the most part, these measures work to keep out the majority of thieves, burglars, and home invaders. But in 12th century Ireland, with warring chiefs and marauding armies roaming freely, more drastic measures were needed. Their solution? Build a castle.

Safety was, after all, the main purpose of a castle. Cahir Castle, in County Tipperary, is a prime example of just such a defensive castle.

From the earliest times, roving bands of warriors knew that the high ground, with a commanding view of the region, offered the greatest safety because of its defensibility. The site of Cahir Castle on an elevated island in the River Suir offered such a location. Even better, the rocky formation prevented any possible undermining.

In fact, the Irish word ‘Cahir’ comes from the older word, ‘cathair’ which means ‘fortress.’ Even before a castle was built on the huge rock, there was a circular stone fort there. In 1142, Conor O’Brien, Prince of Thomod, built the first castle there atop the earlier fortifications. A medieval town grew up around the castle.

Over the next 200 years, the Norman Invasion changed the political landscape of Ireland. In 1375, James Butler was awarded the new title of Baron of Cahir, and given the castle as a reward for his loyalty to Edward III. Except for a few brief periods, the castle remained in the Butler family until 1961, when the last heir died and the castle became the property of the state.

James Butler and his descendants enlarged and updated the castle defenses for centuries. During all that time, the castle was lost to Butler family on only three separate occasions, only once by force. The first was in 1599 when most of the Butler family threw in their lot with the Irish against the Earl of Essex Army, sent by Queen Elizabeth. Essex took the castle after a three-day siege, The castle garrison tried to escape. Some did, but many more were slain. The English army took over the castle without further resistance. A year later, 60 Irish rebels took the castle back without gunfire, but they had to re-surrender shortly thereafter. Thomas Butler was charged with treason, but later he was acquitted and regained his family castle. The castle fell a second time in the Irish Confederate Wars to Oliver Cromwell. In this case, the family managed to regain favor with the crown and regain their castle once again. The third time the castle was lost was due to bankruptcy in the early 1800’s. The family was able to buy it back in the 1870’s.

512px-Cahir_Castle,_Castle_St,_Cahir_(506812)_(28655638356) — Cahir Castle Portcullis: Photo by Robert Linsdell from St. Andrews, Canada [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]

Cahir Castle is a model of medieval strongholds. It is considered one of the largest, best preserved, and most impregnable castles in Ireland. It boasts all of the best medieval protective devices including:

Batter walls: stout outer walls that are thicker at the bottom than the top. These walls deflect rocks thrown from the battlements and help prevent tunnelling under the castle to gain entrance.
2nd layer of defense: an inner courtyard, also protected by strong, stone walls. This inner courtyard is only accessible by traversing a long, narrow passageway with a portcullis, making it possible to trap and shoot invaders.
Crenellations: Regular rectangular spaces in the stonework along the top of the outer walls, allowing archers to have some protection while shooting. A license from the king was required in order to build crenellations.
Loop windows: Long, narrow slits in the castle walls with splayed inner sides allow two defensive archers to shoot at different angles, thus protecting more of the castle wall.
Low doors, narrow passages, and stumble steps: all make it more difficult for strangers to navigate the castle.
Machicolations: These openings in the floors above gates and doorways allow the castle defenders to thrown down rocks or hot liquids on potential intruders.
Portcullis: a heavy iron grate, often with spiked posts, that can be lowered in a stone gateway to prevent access. The portcullis at Cahir Castle is one of only three working portcullises in Ireland.
Spiral Stairs: These narrow stone stairways are built for a right handed-swordsman to defend against anyone mounting the stairs.

The development of cannons, gunpowder and other offensive technology, along with a decrease in general warfare, eventually made the defensive technology of castles obsolete. Rich families moved into more comfortable dwellings that were built more for beauty than for strength. Cahir Castle, built over 800 years ago to protect the O’ Brien and Butler familes, is, an impressive yet stark reminder of a dangerous past.

Cahir Castle, Castle St, Cahir, Co. Tipperary, Ireland — Cahir Castle Machicolations: Photo by Robert Linsdell from St. Andrews, Canada [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]

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Sources

DoChara: Insiders Guide to Ireland. Irish Place Names:C. 5/14/2019. https://www.dochara.com/the-irish/place-names/irish-placenames-c/

Irish Tourism. Cahir Castle. 5/14/2019. https://www.irishtourism.com/historic-sites-buildings-in-ireland/cahir-castle/1459

Sweeney, Colm and Susanna. Enjoy Irish Culture. 5/14/2019. https://www.enjoy-irish-culture.com/castles-in-ireland-cahir.html

Photo attribution:

Robert Linsdell from St. Andrews, Canada [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]

A Penny-worth of Cinnamon in a Saffron Cake

20190415_202527 Today, anyone who can read can follow a recipe and produce a delicious cake or casserole. Directions are mostly clear, and measurements are standardized. It hasn’t always been that way. One of the great challenges of recreating period recipes is figuring out how much to use of each ingredient. Measurements, when they are given, are often listed in terms we no longer use. While pints, quarts, pounds, and ounces are familiar, other terms are puzzling. Consider:

A half drachm of cardamom seeds
Three blades of mace
A good piece of butter
Half a gill of sack
A pennyworth of cinnamon *

To follow a recipe using these terms, the cook needs a dictionary, a good understanding of the desired result, and a bit of lucky guesswork.

Today’s example is an experiment from The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy, by Hannah Glasse.

To make a fine Seed or Saffron Cake

You must take a quarter of a peck of fine flour, a pound and a half of butter, three ounces of caraway-seeds, six eggs beat well, a quarter of an ounce of cloves and mace beat together very fine, a penny-worth of cinnamon beat, a pound of sugar a penny-worth of rose water, a penny-worth of saffron, a pint and a half of yeast, and a quart of milk; mix it all together, lightly with your hands thus: first boil your milk and butter, then skim off the butter, and mix with your flour and a little of the milk, stir the yeast into the rest and strain it, mix it with the flour, put in your seed and spice, rose-water, tincture of saffron, sugar, and eggs, beat it all up well with your hands lightly, and bake it in a hoop or pan, but be sure to butter the pan well. It will take an hour and a half in a quick oven. You may leave out the seeds if you choose it, and I think it rather better without it, but that you may do as you like. (164)

There are a number of difficulties with this recipe, including the odd order to the directions. First we are told to mix everything together. Then the author seems to back up and give us more specific directions on which ingredients to add and in what order. Then there’s the matter of the tincture of saffron, which the author assumes you know how to make. The advice at the end, that the cake is better without the caraway seeds, is particularly charming as Mrs. Glasse leaves that decision up to you.

To recreate this recipe for a modern cook, several things need to be explained. First a peck of flour is about 37 cups of flour. That is enough for a very large cake. I decided to make a third of a recipe, mostly because it is easy to divide 6 eggs into thirds. The recipe calls for ¼ peck of flour, or about 9 ⅓ cups. A cake using only 3 cups of flour seemed much more manageable.

The cloves, mace and cinnamon must be beaten in a mortar because they were purchased whole, not ground. Yeast is measured in pints because the yeast of this time period is most likely a moist starter, like sourdough starter, rather than cake of powdered yeast. And a tincture of saffron at this time meant the saffron should be soaked in the milk.

Finally we come to the penny-worth of cinnamon, rose-water, and saffron. A penny-worth is a variable term, meaning a small amount or as much as a penny can buy. Saffron, then as now, is one of the most expensive spices available, and costs much less than cinnamon, so a penny-worth of cinnamon is likely much more than a penny-worth of saffron. For this recipe, I decided to estimate the actual small amount for each ingredient based on my own personal tastes and experiences. Ultimately, each cook must do the same here. We don’t know exactly what tastes were fashionable and expected in Colonial America. Cooks today, like those of yesterday, must create dishes that taste good according to their own likes and dislikes.

A Modern Seed or Saffron Cake 

1 c. milk ½ lb. butter
¼ t. saffron 1 T. dry yeast
3 c. Flour ⅔ c. sugar
¼ t. Ground cinnamon ½ t. each ground mace and cloves
1 t. Rose water 2 eggs
2 T. caraway seed (optional)

Warm the milk and butter until the butter melts. Add the saffron to the warm milk and let sit for 5 minutes. When the milk has cooled to lukewarm, add the yeast. Let sit 5 more minutes.

Mix the flour with all the dry ingredients (sugar, seeds, and spices). Then add the milk mixture, eggs, and rose water. Mix well. This should be a sticky batter, wetter than bread dough but thicker than cake batter. Grease a 10 inch dish or cake pan. Pour in the batter, cover with a damp cloth, and let rise for 15 to 20 minutes. Bake 35-40 minutes (or until a wooden pick inserted comes out clean) in a ‘quick’ oven (375-400 degrees).

20190415_151132 Feel free to adjust the spices in here to suit your own tastes. After all, even Hannah Glasse insists “you may do as you like.” The result is a delicious ‘quick’ bread, suitable for breakfast, tea, or dessert.

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*A few definitions:

A half drachm of cardamom seeds: a drachm (pronounced /dram/) is 60 grains or ⅛ ounce or ¾ teaspoon

Three blades of mace: mace is the outer, petal-like covering of the nutmeg. These reddish pieces are dried and called blades. Crumbled or ground, each blade makes about an ⅛ teaspoon

A good piece of butter: your guess is as good as mine. I usually figure a ‘good piece’ to mean about a quarter of a cup

Half a gill of sack: Sack is an alcoholic beverage, similar to sherry. A gill (pronounced like the name, Jill) is also called a teacup. It is equivalent to ¼ pint or ½ cup, equivalent to 4 ounces (or 5 imperial ounces). An interesting side note is that ½ gill is sometimes called a jack, and in Scotland a nip is ¼ imperial gill, half a jack, or about 1 ½ ounces.

A Tribute to Notre Dame de Paris

Earlier this week, thousands of people watched in horror as the famous Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris burned. In the aftermath, some have questioned why this building seems to matter more than other great losses around the world. I can’t say that this tragedy is worse than others, but this one strikes me more deeply. You see, I have a personal connection to the great cathedral.

I first saw Notre Dame in 1975. I was a wide-eyed, not quite starving student in Paris. Having come from California (where buildings were mostly short due to earthquakes), through rural Iowa (where there is not sufficient numbers of people to warrant tall buildings), I found Paris in general, and Notre Dame in particular, stunning–a place where history enveloped me and connected me to the people who lived there before.

Over the months I lived in Paris, I walked by Notre Dame almost daily since one of my classes was in a building alongside the cathedral. As I crossed the plaza and turned into the alley in bright sunshine, chilly sleet, or gloomy rain, the majesty and beauty of Notre Dame never ceased to amaze. The gargoyles, statues, and carvings all told stories with enough detail to keep me entranced. I felt transported to the middle ages, when the cathedral was built and presented the Bible in stone to all who passed.

The cathedral was built over a span of some 200 years, starting in 1163, during the reign of Louis VII. The first mass was celebrated at the newly consecrated high altar almost twenty years later. Over the reigns of several monarchs and many different builders, the cathedral was finally finished in 1345.

Monday’s fire was not the first time Notre Dame faced destruction. In 1548, a group of French Huguenots stormed the church and destroyed statues they felt were idolatrous. Almost 200 years later, more damage was done by over enthusiastic ‘renovations,’ in an effort to make the church building more classical, in line with the then current fashion.. Many of the stained glass windows from the middle ages were replaced with clear glass to let in more light. The spire was damaged by wind and removed near the end of the 18th century. Further damage was done during the French Revolution, when the cathedral was seen as a celebration of the French monarchy. Many statues were pulled down and beheaded in violent protest to the wealth and power of the nobles.

Some restoration of the great cathedral began in 1801, under Napoleon’s government. Further interest in restoring Notre Dame was sparked by Victor Hugo’s immensely popular novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. For twenty-five years, beginning in the middle of the 19th century, the cathedral underwent massive restoration, including a new spire.

SAM_2234 — Notre Dame–North Portico, West Façade. Emperor Constantine, an angel, St. Denis, and an angel

In the 20th century, stonework of the cathedral was cleaned, removing years of soot and grime caused by air pollution. Once again, people could see the stories in the stone. One such story that intrigued me was that of St. Denis. He was the first bishop of Paris. The local people and their Romans rulers objected to his preaching Christianity. He was beheaded in 258 on the hill of Mont Martre. The legend says that he picked up his head and carried it six miles to the place he would be buried (where the Basilica of St. Denis was later built.) Like the cathedral that sports his statue, St. Denis was truly resilient, beating the odds and leaving a lasting legacy.

Still, Monday’s fire is a reminder that nothing is permanent. Certain places become cultural symbols and we expect them to remain intact. But fires, earthquakes, tsunamis, and human folly have a way of destroying those hopes. The damage to Notre Dame is no greater, but also no less, than the loss of any great monument of human achievement. Whenever any such cultural icon is destroyed, all of us should weep. For within those cultural symbols lie the stories of all humanity.

Sources:

Fuentes, Jose Luís Corral. An 800-year history of Paris’s Notre Dame Cathedral. National Geographic History Magazine. May/June 2017, updated April 15, 2019

St. Denis.Encyclopedia Britanica. April 19, 2019. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Denis

Of Parsnips and Skirrets

parsnip pie Seafood two thousand miles from the ocean? No problem. Fresh strawberries in the middle of a February snowstorm? Why not? In the modern world of well-stocked grocery stores, world-wide distribution, and a multiplicity of preservation options, we can generally eat whatever we want whenever we want. This hasn’t always been true. For centuries our ancestors relied on highly nutritious root vegetables to get through the winter. Stored in cool, dark cellars, root vegetables keep well for many months. While we still enjoy many root vegetables, like carrots and potatoes, others have become less popular. This week’s recipe focuses on two such vegetables: the parsnip and the skirret.

CDC_parsnip The parsnip has an unusual history. Even the name is a bit odd. The word comes from the Latin ‘pastinum’ (fork) through Old French ‘pasnaie’. Parsnips are native to Eurasia, but have spread world-wide. In fact, parsnip’s wild cousin is a dangerous invasive posing problems for hikers. The stems and leaves contain a toxic sap that can cause a bad rash when damp skin that has come in contact with the plant is exposed to sunlight. Cultivated parsnips are harvested the first year of growth, so they are not allowed to develop the tall stems and leaves that cause the problem.

Parsnips were cultivated by the Romans, who sometimes confused them with carrots. (Parsnips are indeed related to carrots, as well as parsley. In Roman times, carrots were purple or white, hence the confusion.) The Romans held that parsnips were an aphrodisiac. Emperor Tiberius even accepted parsnips as payment for part of the tribute due from German tribes.

Parsnips can be left in the ground for storage (except in areas where the ground freezes solid) and are sweeter after winter frosts. They were used as a sweetener in Europe before cane or beet sugar was discovered. Both French and British colonists introduced parsnips to the Americas, where the root was popular in cookery for decades. (Potatoes eventually replaced the parsnip as the most popular root vegetable.)

Valued as a staple in Europe and the Americas, lauded as a sweetener for many centuries, and prized for medicinal purposes in China, the parsnip is now fed to the pigs as often as it is eaten by humans.

Sisarum_Germanicum_-_Sium_Pinn._-_Sisaro_di_Germania_-_Le_Chervi_(Skirret,_Sugar_root,_Skiwort)_(NYPL_b14444147-1130639).tiff — Skirret

Parsnip’s cousin, the skirret is another misunderstood root vegetable that has lost popularity. In fact, it is difficult to even find skirrets today. Also know as a crummock, or water parsnip, the skirret is fairly low yield, so it is rarely grown commerically. Later cooks have sometimes confused the skirret with carrots, though they are not the same. In German, the skirret is called zuckerwürzel (sugar root). By medieval times, the name had morphed into ‘skyrwates’, with the folk etymology of ‘pure whites’. Like the parsnip, skirrets came out of Asia, and were used in Europe by Roman times.

In medieval times, skirrets were considered mostly beneficial. The Benedictine Abbess/ Herbalist Hildegard von Bingen recommended they be used in moderation, as too much could cause a fever or intestinal troubles. She also suggested mashed skirrets mixed with oil made a good poultice for weak skin on the face. In Maud Grieve’s 16th century book, a Modern Herbal, skirrets are recommended for chest complaints. Skirrets remained popular at least until the 17th century, when Nicholas Culpeper recognized them as nourishing, but cautioned they could cause ‘wind’ and provoke venery and urine.

Despite my earlier claim that it is now mostly possible to what we want when we want, I could not find skirrets in any local grocery store. So the following recipe relies only on parsnips for a delicious side dish to any meal.

Parsnip Pie

To make a tart of parsneps & skirrits

Seethe yr roots in water & wine, then pill them & beat them in a morter with raw eggs and grated bread. Bedew them often with rose water & wine, then streyne them & put suger to them & some juice of leamons, & put it into yr crust; & when yr tart is baked, cut it up & butter it hot, or you may put some butter into it when you set it in yr oven & and eat it cold. (Martha Washington’s Booke of Cookery, 97)

My version:

Pie crust dough for 1 pie, top and bottom
4 c. mashed parsnips 
4 eggs
1 c. wine sweet white wine
Juice of 1 lemon (¼ c.)
¼ c. sugar
¼ c. bread crumbs
2 T. rose water
¼ c. butter (melted)

Roll out half of the pie crust dough and place in a deep 10” pie pan. Prick all over 
(bottom and sides) with a fork. 
Bake for 10 minutes, 425 degrees.

Meanwhile, peel the parsnips and 
cut them into chunks. Boil until 
tender. Cool slightly and mash. Mix mashed parsnips with the remainder of the ingredients. Fill the pie. Roll out the top crust and cover 
the pie. Pinch it closed. (Brush the edge of the bottom crust with 
water to help seal the edge.) Cut vents in the top crust.

Bake at 350 degrees until top crust is golden (about 1 hour).
Serve warm or cold
This pie is very good, barely sweet, making a good side dish for a 
meal. For a dessert or breakfast pie, add up to ½ c. additional sugar.

References:

Culpeper, Nicholas. Culpeper’s Complete Herbal and English Physician. 1653. (Applewood Books reprint)

Grieve, Maud. A Modern Herbal. botanical.com (retrieved 4/3/2019)

Martha Washington’s Booke of Cookery. Edited by Karen Hess

Martinko, Katherine. Meet the Skirret, the long-forgotten Tudor vegetable. Treehugger.com. 3/11/2016

The Parsnip. Towne’s Harvest Garden. Montana State. University. (pdf, retrieved 4/3/2019)

A review of J. D. Smith’s TRISTAN AND ISEULT (B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree)

16fd96deba85a06311383433f152ed24_M When it comes to legends of Irish princesses, don’t expect a happy ending. Their stories are decidedly tragic.

The ancient legend of Tristan and Iseult, known from at least the 12th century, is a case in point. There are many versions of the story, which is basically a love triangle. Iseult, daughter of an Irish king, is a pawn in the game of political marriages. She is wed to King Mark of Cornwall in order to cement an alliance between an Irish kingdom and Cornwell. Mark’s younger nephew and heir to the throne of Cornwall, Tristan, falls in love with Iseult, and she with him. Because of their tangled loyalties and overwhelming passion, the lives of all three end tragically.

This tale of wronged lovers, duty, and sorrow has greatly influenced many retellings, including many versions of the story of King Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere. In the story of Camelot, as in Tristan and Iseult’s story, the three people involved love and respect each other. They have no intention of betrayal, but their love is so strong it cannot be denied. Such love is powerful enough to incite jealousies. Even if the lovers never actually do any wrong, their downfall is inevitable because such power is dangerous.

As a whole, legends tend to focus on plot rather than character. Modern novelizations of legends go beyond the retelling of events to develop the characters. That is exactly what J. D. Smith’s version of the legend, Tristan and Iseult, does. Smith uses the alternating voices of Tristan and Iseult to bring the story to life. He shows how Iseult knows that her fate as the daughter of a king is not her own choice, and that her marriage will be a tool used by men to gain power. When she is saved from her impending marriage to the brutish King Morholt, she finds herself grateful to King Mark and impressed with his ideas of alliance and peace. In fact, she wouldn’t mind marrying him, in spite of his age, if it weren’t for Tristan.

Tristan, a warrior fighting to stem the tide of the Saxon invasion, honors and respects his uncle, King Mark. He mourns the death of his cousin, Mark’s son, and is surprised when Mark names him his heir.

Iseult and Tristan do not mean to fall in love, but they do. Smith’s version of the story shows us how such a forbidden passion can grow. He reveals the character’s inner thoughts, desires, fears and hopes, making us understand and sympathize with their dilemma, where every choice seems destined to lead only to lifelong sorrow.

Rather than the flat, archetypal character of the legend, Smith’s characters seem very real, very human. Faced with their impossible choice, can they do what is right? Will such honor bring them happiness? With simple, direct prose, Smith makes us care about these doomed lovers and the fate of their world.

Legends like this one reveal human frailty and the power of human impulses. We care for these people who, in spite of vast difference in time and culture, could be us. Even though we know their end will be tragic, we hope for the best. We hope, perhaps this time, honor will be rewarded and love will win.

Perhaps, that is why legends endure. In spite of tragic fate, that hope remains.

Beyond the Blarney

blarney As legends go, it’s a pretty weird one. The famous blarney stone is a large block of limestone set into the far wall of a machicolation high up in Blarney Castle. (A machicolation is a box-like, floorless opening in the battlements, used to pour hot oil or other nasty stuff on intruders.) They* say that if you climb to the top of the ruined keep of Blarney Castle, lay down and hang over the edge backwards far enough to kiss that block of limestone set into the battlements, you’ll be blessed with the gift of gab. You’ll be able to regale audiences with your silvered tongue and eloquence, with the fluency and perhaps even the loquacity to rival the best orators.

Having kissed the stone twice myself, I can tell you first hand that the legend is overstated. I’m no orator, and while I can tell a good story, I do better in print than in person.

But If it’s all just blarney, why do visitors flock to Blarney Castle every year? The history behind the blarney stone is as nebulous as its purported virtues. One story claims the Cliodhna /Kleena/, a major goddess in the Irish pantheon of the Tuatha de Danann, sometimes known as the Queen of the Banshees or the queen of the Sidheog (fairy women), was involved. Lord MacCarthy, the builder of Blarney castle in 1446 asked for Cliodha’s help to win a lawsuit. She advised him to kiss a stone on his way to court. He did and then won his case through his eloquent tongue. He then used the special stone in the building of his castle.

A hundred years later, Queen Elizabeth complained of the “blarney” because she could not complete any negotiation with a later MacCarthy, the lord of Blarney Castle, because of his non-committal diplomacy, or the ability to promise little or nothing with a lot of eloquence. While it’s true that Cormac MacCarthy managed to sweet-talk Queen Elizabeth without signing over his lands, whether his eloquence and wit came from the stone is questionable.

Another early legend says the stone was actually Jacob’s pillow and was brought to Ireland by the Prophet Jeremiah. Some say it was part of the ‘speaking stone’, the throne where Irish kings were crowned at the hill of Tara. Still others claim it was the stone Moses struck in the desert on God’s command to bring water to his people. It’s even said the stone was the pillow on which St. Columba died.

Only slightly more plausible is the legend of the stone’s origin in Scotland. In 1314, before the current Blarney Castle was built, Cormac McCarthy supposedly sent several thousand men to aid Robert the Bruce, and in return Robert gave McCarthy half of the stone of scone or stone of destiny, where Scottish kings were crowned.

For the record, all of the legends claiming the stone came from somewhere else have been proved pure blarney by scientific evidence showing the stone to have originated in Ireland.

In fact, the Oxford English Dictionary’s first recorded use of the term ‘blarney’ is from 1803, well after Cliodhna and all the early MacCarthys slid into oblivion. Perhaps the idea of blarney as lies, half-truths, and fabrications all wrapped up in charm came from Lady Blarney, a smooth-talking flatterer in Oliver Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield, published in 1766.

Whatever the origins of the stone and the legends surrounding it, the history of Blarney Castle is well-known. The original Blarney castle was a wooden structure built about 1200 AD outside the village of Blarney. That first building has entirely disappeared. In 1210, a stone structure was built on the site. This lasted until 1446, when it was destroyed, and the current building was constructed by Cormac Laidir MacCarthy. The castle changed hands a number of times in the next several centuries, and eventually fell into disrepair, especially after Blarney House was built in 1874 as a more modern and convenient lodging for the family

Though it is now in ruins, Blarney Castle and the surrounding gardens are fascinating. It’s best to visit early, before the crowds come in. Narrow stone steps, worn smooth with age and use, spiral upward in the dark tower and emerge at the top of the keep. The view over the battlements in the early morning as the mists are rising is as magical as any stone visitors come to kiss. Some of the rooms are still open. Passing through bare stone hallways and into empty rooms, it’s easy to imagine the footsteps of the people who lived here hundreds of years ago. In my mind’s eye, I could almost see the tapestries warming the walls, the tables laden with roasted game and rich pies, the servants hurrying to fill another goblet. It’s as if the stones are whispering their stories, if only we take the time to listen.

Equally enchanting and steeped in legends are the sixty acres of gardens and parklands surrounding the castle. In the Rock Close for instance, moss-covered rocks and twisted trees line the meandering paths. In the hush, we could hear the trickle of a waterfall, and when I closed my eyes, I imagined the brush of fairy wings on my cheek. The very air seems steeped with magic. Huge boulders loom over paths winding around an ancient dolmen, a druid’s cave, a sacrificial altar, a witch’s kitchen, and a stone circle. (To be sure, the druidic connections were ascribed by the romantic Victorians.)

The stone circle called “The seven sisters,” has nine huge stones, seven standing and two toppled. In one legend the kind of Munster had seven daughters and two sons. When both sons were killed in a battle, the mournful king ordered his men to knock down two of the stones to commemorate his boys.

Another winding path leads to a set of rough stone steps called the wishing steps. According to the legend, anyone who climbs the steps to the stone archway, backwards and with eyes closed, thinking only of their wish, will be grant that wish within a year and a day by the Blarney witch.

From ancient Druids to magic stones, from wishing steps and witches to kings of old, Blarney is a place full of stories that stir the imagination. It’s a place to make us believe, if only for a moment, that all the legends are true.

stone-cropped — The stone is worn smooth and shiny from thousands of lips. Iron bars now prevent the kisser from falling to the ground far below

*”They” being the anonymous gossip mongers who spread rumors that turn into legends.

Trains 3: The Jacobite

engine In past posts, I wrote of train wrecks and disasters, but in most cases, I really do find train travel relaxing. Lest anyone think badly of Scottish trains after my New Year’s day experience years ago, I can share a much better train ride. A few years ago, I returned to Scotland and rode the Jacobite steam train from Glenfinnan to Mallaig. Although Harry Potter and his friends faced the dementors on this train, I had no problems with the ride.

The Jacobite runs 41 miles from Fort William to Mallaig on the West Highland Railway line, using a steam locomotive. Originally known as the Mallaig Extension, the service began in 1901 to transport fish, especially herring, from the Mallaig seaport. Steam service on the line ended in 1967, with the British Modernization Plan, replacing steam engines with diesel.

Then, in 1984 British rail lines returned steam power to the line, with the goal of improving tourism in the area. The train is called the Jacobite in reference to the last Scottish uprising (in the Eighteenth Century) when the Highland clans, tried (and failed) to restore the Stuart family to the Scottish throne (specifically, Bonnie Prince Charlie). Nowadays, the train is so popular with tourists, it’s best to book in advance as it usually sells out.

To fully experience this train, we wanted to see it cross the iconic Glenfinnan Viaduct, as seen in the Harry Potter movies, as well as ride the train. So the day before our booking, after a lovely hike in the rain through the Glenfinnan valley to a bothy, we stopped at the Glenfinnan Station, where we had tea. Above the station, there is a marvelous view of the famous viaduct.

We were running a bit late, and expected the train to come into view at any moment. After hurrying along the steep, rocky path, with a raw wind in my face and rain spattering the ground, we arrived at the peak just as the train came into view, barreling along at a great rate and spewing huge clouds of steam in its wake. Like a dragon roaring through the valley, it filled the air, and then was gone. Breathtaking!

crossing the viaduct — The Glenfinnan Viaduct was completed in 1898, and the rail line opened in 1901. The viaduct is fifty feet long with 21 soaring arches. Built of mass concrete, it is the longest concrete viaduct in Scotland. The viaduct is about 18 feet wide, single track, and crosses the valley 100 feet above the River Finnan. One legend says a horse fell into one of the piers and perished during construction. However, later investigations have failed to find any evidence of such an accident.

The next day we boarded the train in the morning and took our first class seats in the ‘Harry Potter’ car. The west coast of Scotland is still cold, even in June, but the train was a real delight. Stepping onto the Jacobite steam train is not only a step back into history, but immersion into fantasy world of Harry Potter. A narrow aisle runs along one side of the car, with compartments seating six each along the other side. Each compartment has a sliding door made of rich wood, polished to a brilliant shine. Tea was laid out for us in the compartment before we arrived, including a pot of tea and biscuits. We settled in and soon the train lurched forward, the wheels clacking on the rails. The engine chugged along, belching steam that rolled past the windows as the train rounded a bend or the wind shifted.

inside

Rain splattered the windows most of the trip, obscuring the views at times, but adding to the total sensation of being in another time and place. We passed through a landscape of munros and burns, lochs and forests, and caught brief glimpses of the Caledonian canal and Neptune’s Staircase (a series of locs). At times the train roared through a dark tunnel, then burst out into the cloudy gloom of the soft Scottish day.

After a bit, a trolly made its way down the aisle, and stopping at each compartment to offer sweets or souvenirs. Near Glenfinnan, there’s a lovely view of Loch Shiel, one of three lakes used for filming Hogwarts Lake. I almost expected to see the great castle of Hogwarts at the end of the line, instead of the thoroughly mundane fishing village of Mallaig.

Though quite part of the ordinary world, Mallaig offers a couple of choices for a simple, delicious lunch. We popped into Jaffy’s for Fish and Chips, then wandered about town to view the harbor. Since it was raining and cold (45 degrees) we spent more time in the shops than outside.

The train ride back was equally lovely, and I was sorry to disembark when we finally returned to Glenfinnan at the end of the day. Whether you are a history fan or a Harry Potter fan, the Jacobite steam train is an experience you won’t want to miss.

on the train

Turkey with Oysters

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Not everyone likes oysters. In fact, I wasn’t too sure of them myself. So I wasn’t really surprised when finding guests to try turkey stuffed with oysters proved a bit difficult. Some people I asked were evasive, claiming, “I’m not really a fan of oysters,” or “I think I’m busy. When did you say it would be?” Others were more blunt. “No way! I hate oysters.” But one couple was enthusiastic from the start. “How unusual. Count us in,” they said.

They would have fit in well back in colonial times and the early republic when oysters were quite popular, judging by period cookbooks. There are two recipes for various ways of serving oysters in The American Frugal Housewife (1833), three in Martha Washington’s Booke of Cookery (from 1749), nine in The Virginia Housewife Or, Methodical Cook (1824), and twelve in The Universal Cook or Lady’s Complete Assistant (1733). Amelia Simmons cautions a housewife to buy only fresh fish, but allows oysters can be brought many miles inland”and retain a good relish” (6) and offers recipe for turkey stuffed with oysters in American Cookery (1796) the first cookbook printed in theUnited States.

Of course, oysters have been a healthy, popular food for many centuries. Folk-wisdom claims oysters can only be eaten in months with an ‘r’ in it. This is possibly due to the spawning season and hot weather. However, with the advent of refrigeration and types of oysters bred to be sterile, oysters can be safely eaten year-round, even though here in small-town Minnesota, it’s impossible to find fresh oysters in the spring and summer. Around here, oysters are popular for Christmas Eve, when many people traditionally serve Oyster stew.

It is especially fitting to talk of oysters in the month of February, when oysters are at their peak and we gear up toward that most romantic holiday, Valentine’s Day. Legend has it that oysters are an aphrodisiac. (There may be some fact in this suppositon, since oysters are high in zinc, which helps stimulate testosterone production, along with other minerals that improve overall health and stimulate the libido.)

In spite of the long-time love affair America has had with oysters, pairing oysters with turkey seemed an odd combination. However, nearly all of the Eighteenth Century cookbooks I consulted put the two together as at least one of the options for preparing fowl. Obviously, common cookery practice insisted turkey should be stuffed with oyster forcement (stuffing) and /or served with oyster sauce. The recipe I followed for this dish also deviated from our usual perception of turkey because it called for boiling the bird. The goal, it seems, was to present a creamy white bird, with no browning on the skin whatsoever. Mary Randolph suggests leaving the turkey in the pot with the lid on to finish cooking from the steam will ‘keep the skin whole, tender, and very white” (71).

The results? The meal was surprisingly delicious. The turkey was moist and tender. The oyster stuffing with a hint of black pepper complemented it nicely, and the oyster sauce added a bit of zing to the meal. It just goes to show, that even though tastes in food have changed, it’s worth exploring flavors from the past for an unexpected treat. And thank you, to the Rethlefsons, who were willing to try.

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To Boil a Turkey with Oyster Sauce

Grate a loaf of bread, chop a score or more of oysters fine, add nutmeg, pepper and salt to your taste mix it up into a light forcemeat with a quarter of a pound of butter, a spoonful or two of cream, and three eggs; stuff the craw with it, and ke the rest into balls and boil them; sew up the turkey, dedge it well with flour, put it in a kettle of cold water, cover it, and set it over the fire; as the scum begins to rise, take it off, let it boil very slowly for half an hour, then take off your kettle and keep it closely covered; if it be of a middle size, let it stand in the hot water half an hour, the steam being kept in, will stew it enough, make it rise,keep the skin whole, tender, and very white; when you dish it pour on a little oyster sauce, lay the balls round, and serve it up with the rest of the sauce in a boat. (Randolph 71)

Modern version:

Cut in small cubes 1 loaf of wheat bread (Iused a 1 lb, day old, homemade loaf). This makes about 8 c. of crumbs.

Mince about 1 lb oy oysters (20-30 oysters)

Add oysters to the bread crumbs. Mix in ½ c. butter (melted), 2 T. cream, ¼ t. Nutmeg, 1 t. Pepper, 1 t. Salt, and 3 eggs (beaten slightly).

Stuff a small turkey (10 lbs) with about half of this mixture. (Put the stuffing in the body cavity and the smaller cavity covered by the loose breast skin.) Secure the extra skin over the opening with skewers. Tie the legs and put the stuffed bird in a large kettle. Add enough water to cover the bird.

Bring to a boil, and simmer for about 2 hours. (I found the turkey was not done after the 1 hour cooking time suggested in the recipe.)

About half an hour before serving the meal, form the rest of the stuffing into small balls (about the size of eggs). Drop these in boiling water,and boil for about ½ an hour.

Put the turkey on a platter. Drain the extra stuffing balls and place around the turkey to serve it.

I also served an oyster sauce with this, made from a combination of different Eighteenth century suggestions.

My oyster sauce:

Heat a pound of oysters in their own broth. Add 1 cup of light wine, ¼ t. Of mace, and ¼ t. Pepper. Bring to a slow boil. Mix 4 T. butter with ¼ c. flour. Stir the floured butter into the boiling mixture. Boil, stirring constantly for 2 minutes, or until it thickens.

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Sources:

Randolph, Mary. The Virginia Housewife Or, Methodical Cook. Philadelphia: E. H. Butler and Co., 1860. Reprinted Dover Publications,1993.

Townshend, John. The Universal Cook Or Lady’s Complete Assistant. London: S. Bladon, 1773.

Hadrian’s Wall: A Reminder of Roman Empire

wall at housestead — Hadrian’s Wall from Housesteads

Throughout history, great empires have built walls for many different reasons. Some were meant to keep people in (the Berlin Wall- built in 1961 and torn down in 1991). Others kept people out (The Great Wall in China, built over several centuries and still standing in places).The wall I’d like to talk about here is Hadrian’s Wall, built on the Roman frontier in the second century, CE.

Hadrian’s Wall was an engineering marvel. It stretches 73 miles from coast to coast across the England. The first plan called for 80 milecastles with two stone watch towers or turrets between each pair and a gate at each milecastle. This plan changed so that in addition to the milecastles, but instead of a gate at each one, seventeen larger forts were eventually built along the wall, and a large ditch was constructed south of the wall. This effectively reduced the number of places troops could go through the wall to the north, or northern traders could cross the wall toward the south. The gates were double wide, allowing for greater mobility for the Roman Army.

This change helps us understand some of the purposes for the wall. Though it served as a effective barrier against some of the northern Pictish tribes, the wall was not primarily for defense. This can be seen by the fact that the doors on the turrets were at ground level. In fact, it seems the primary purpose of the wall was economic. Rome wanted to control (and tax) trade into and out of their empire. The wall, some 6-10 feet wide and 11- 20 feet tall, built mostly of stone, was probably covered in plaster and white-washed. It served as a stunning monument to Rome’s power and reach. “Here begins civilization!” the wall seemed to proclaim. All who would enter, must accept Rome’s control, and pay Rome’s taxes.

I explored the length of Hadrian’s Wall on Midsummer’s Day in 2015. We had rain showers off and on all day, with brilliant sunshine in between. In spite of the sun, the day felt cold and damp, with a brisk wind. It was easy to imagine the poor Roman soldier, posted to this far-flung wilderness, at the edge of the empire.

Ïrom chesters — Wall remains at Chesters Fort

Our first stop along the wall was at Chester’s Fort. Here I was particularly impressed with the baths. Public baths were common throughout the Roman empire, and a sign of their advanced civilization. The baths had a warm room, a hot room, and cool room. Water for the baths was heated and and distributed to the proper area through a ‘hypocaust’ system, (underfloor heating).

bath at chester's fort — Changing room at the bath at Chesters

The next stop along the wall was Housesteads, an iconic Roman fort built high on a ridge with a commanding view of the entire valley below. Housesteads was one of the later forts built along the wall. One of the marvels here is the Roman ‘modern’ latrine with running water. In spite of this mark of civilization, Housesteads was still far from the center of the Empire. A rough, crime-filled frontier town (Vicum) grew up outside the fort. Here, for nearly three centuries, Romans and Britons mingled, traded, and squabled, with the Roman legion nearby to keep the peace.

latrine at housestead — Remains of the Roman latrine at Housesteads

Next we stopped at Birdoswald, which was occupied until the early 5th century. This area of the wall was originally built primarily of turf, though later sections were rebuilt in stone. The Roman soldiers here in the 3rd and 4th centuries were mostly from a regiment raised in what is now Romania, far east along the northern border of the vast Roman Empire.

The last place we visited along the wall was Lanercost Priory, built around 1169, centuries after the Romans had retreated. The place is significant partly because the builders used many stones from the abandoned wall to build this priory. Roman maker

game at lanercost — Game etched into reused Roman stone at Lanercost

marks, games, and inscriptions can be seen in the stones used to build the walls. In all those years since Rome dominated the area, Lanercost still stood in the borderlands between England and Scotland. The priory suffered many raids, as well as serving as a meeting place for King Edward III of England and King Robert Bruce of Scotland. By 1369, the priory was bankrupt. In the following centuries as the borders between England and Scotland shifted back and forth, the priory fell into ruin.

Hadrian’s Wall was one of several the Romans built to control their borders. It seems that no matter how great Rome became or how far their empire stretched, there was always trouble at the borders. Though impressive in the their remains, none of the great walls built by great empires have been entirely successful. The Berlin Wall was torn down after only 30 years. Enemy tribes invaded China from the north and took over the country. Hadrian’s wall, so far from the center of Rome, was abandoned and neglected as Rome’s power shrank.

stone and sheep — All that remains of a square tower at Birdoswald

Even more than protecting an empire’s interests, walls serve to separate people. But people do not always want to be separated from neighbors, family, friends, and business partners. In the end, walls will be breached, their stark ruins reminding us of the fallen empires who built them.

An Exploration of THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES

What makes an old house spooky? You know, the house that children run past, holding their breath in a sort of delightful dread?

The house my kids called the witch’s house was a dingy, slate blue, with small, dark windows. It stood tall and square right at the edge of the sidewalk, looming as if ready to grab the unwary child. We never knew who, if anyone, lived in this house, but something about its aspect frightened all the neighborhood children.

For many spooky houses, it is the mysterious or odd inhabitants who ‘haunt’ the house and make it frightening. Witness Boo Radley’s house in To Kill a Mockingbird, so scary it could only be passed at a dead run.

Nathaniel Hawthorne explores this idea of the haunted house (‘haunted’ by fear, sadness, and tragedy, not by ghosts) in his novel, The House of Seven Gables (1851). Hawthorne describes the house thus: “Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge clustered chimney in the midst” (1). He goes on to say the house seems like a “human contenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm and sunshine, but expressive also of the long lapse of mortal life, and accompanying vicissitudes that have passed within” (1). The exterior of the house is decorated with figures ”conceived in the grotesqueness of a Gothic fancy” (7). Hawthorne continues with more vivid description stressing the house’s mysterious and unusual character. He says, “the second story, projecting far over the base and itself retiring beneath the third, threw a shadowy and thoughtful gloom into the lower rooms”(7).

The House of Seven Gables takes on the role of a character in the novel, based partly on its odd architecture and gloomy aspect and partly on the miserable inhabitants of the house. The two principal characters in the novel are Hepzibah and Clifford Pyncheon, sister and brother, descendents of the original owner of the house. Hepzibah is a lonely, bitter, old woman, made ugly by her sorrow. Clifford is a sensitive, unstable man, broken by the injustice of his incarceration for a murder he did not commit.

In some ways, the house itself is the cause of Clifford and Hepzibah’s misery, since, as Hawthorne explains, it was built by their ancestor under a curse. The old Colonel Pyncheon claimed the land occupied by the humble Matthew Maule. When Maule was executed as a witch (during the famous Salem witch trials), he cursed the Colonel for his part in the condemnation. Though the Pyncheons continued to occupy the house, from that moment on, the family was beset with tragedies and sorrows. The curse of the house carried on through the generations until landing on poor Hepzibah and Clifford.

Nathaniel Hawthorne is quite wordy in his writing (sentences of 50-60 words are common.) Most of the novel is taken up with long explanations of the tragedies of the house–that is the backstory or history of the house and its inhabitants, leading up to the current situation where Hepzibah is penniless and Clifford returns home from prison unable to cope with life. In many ways The House of Seven Gables serves as a series of character sketches. Hepzibah’s loyalty to her brother, her bitterness to the cruel world, her discomfort with outsiders, and her indecision in times of crisis show her as a real, flawed, human being. She, along with her brother, Clifford, haunt the reader’s memory as much as they haunt the old house that seems to be their refuge as well as their prison. And the house itself is a character that sparks the imagination and haunts my dreams.

The strength of the novel is not in its plot, but in its character descriptions and its thoughtful exploration of the human condition. In the end, Hawthorne addresses the question: Can there be redemption for these people wracked by ancient sorrows and cursed by their ancestor’s greed? Can light be brought into the gloom of a ill-fated house so that justice be served and happiness return?

In the fall, I visited Salem and went to the House of Seven Gables on Sale

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s birthplace, built in 1750

m Harbor. In his introduction to his novel, Hawthorne claims that no single house in Salem was the model for the house in his book. Nevertheless, this house on Turner Street is most often considered the inspiration for Hawthorne’s story. The original house here was built in 1668 by John Turner, a prominent merchant and ship-builder in Salem. Today, several other historic buildings have been moved to the site, including the housewhere Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in 1804, the Hooper-Hathaway House built in 1682, and a counting house from 1830.

I visited on a grey day, with intermittent rain showers spitting across the harbor. The House of Seven Gables is impressive, but I did not find it spooky. Perhaps it was the cheerful voices of the tourists, or the lush green gardens surrounding the house, or the bright fresh wood of new roof and repaired siding.

Or perhaps, like poor Hepzibah and Clifford, the house truly has made peace with the past and is ready to face the world.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. (1998 reprint) The House of Seven Gables. Rhode Island: North Books.