Stones Disturbed

County Cavan

It's not the places I remember but the stones, rough stones, a dozen or more of them, each weighing several tons, arranged in what appeared to be a haphazard pattern, the centrepiece of a large alcove in a formal garden.

I stood puzzled and read the information printed on the plaque in front of me.

"The Aughrim Wedge Tomb, referred to in local folklore as the Giant's Grave, fits into a category of monuments known as wedge tombs. They generally date from about 4,000 years ago. This tomb has been relocated from the Southeastern shoulder of Slieve Rushen, following a full archaeological excavation."

Deeply gouged and weathered slabs with clumps of weeds growing up around them...in a formal garden? They looked out of place. No matter whose grave they once marked. But someone had gone to a lot of trouble to move these jagged megablocks and "wedge" them on end. One unkempt beast of a rock spanned two raggedly creviced stone posts making an inaccessible bridge or an uninviting entry...to nowhere.

I heard footsteps. A quick glance revealed a woman approaching. I moved slightly to my right to share the reading space.

"These stones should never have been moved," she said before she ever looked at the plaque. "They have no energy now. This site is dead."

She seemed to know something beyond the words of the inscription. The Giant's gravestones had been moved and she didn't like it. I must have looked puzzled.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"The States, Alabama," I said, drawing out Alabama to effect a slight southern accent for a touch of humour. "And you?"

"Oma," I heard and nodded even though I had not yet learned the nearby crossborder towns of Northern Ireland.

"You came to see the wedge tomb?" I asked.

"No," she said. "My daughter got married Saturday. We celebrated the reception here at the Slieve Russell."

"Oh, that explains the big crowd I saw yesterday. You Irish know how to do weddings. Ceremony and reception for us take maybe half a day. You all spread it over two."

She smiled. "Well, did you see the helicopter?"

I thought she was joking.

"Helicopter?" I gulped. "You're winding me up." I risked a little freshly acquired Irish slang.

"Oh, no, I'm not," she chuckled. "The bride and groom were flown out by helicopter to Belfast for their honeymoon flight to England."

"Wow, you really do know how to do up a wedding in style." I must have sounded less than convinced.

"Yes, there's a helipad right over there by the main gate. This was a very special occasion. My daughter is blind. She was one of the ones wounded nine years ago in the bombing of at Omagh. A piece of shrapnel took her eyesight. Twenty-nine in all were killed or wounded. She was one of them. But I'm in a good place now. We've put all that behind us, and my daughter's husband really loves her."

I vaguely remembered the event from the news. I could do nothing but stand shock still, unable to say a word.

"When Bill Clinton came to Ireland, he invited my daughter to play at the White House. She is a fine pianist. We had a wonderful time there. We'll never forget it."

"Well, I don't think I'll soon forget you." My eyes never left hers.

"Here," she said. "Here's my phone number. My name is Marie Gallagher. If you get to Omagh in your travels, give me a call. I'll show you some sites where the stones have never been disturbed."

I watched her walk away. The Aughrim Wedge Tomb suddenly had a new meaning for me. Surely some stones could be put back in their place.

Written by Joy Davis - Summer of Travel 2007