Ruadhán, grandson number two, is on his first visit and he has discovered that the most comfortable place in the house is to lie on his grandfather’s well padded stomach, preferably while he sings to him.
This activity keeps both of us occupied for hours on end.
His mother Caitríona took this picture and it has made me realise that I have now turned quite a different colour than my close relations , and this is someone who has never sunbathed in his life.

Madame had her official birthday party last night with the entire family present.

Back row Aonghus, Ano, Deirdre , Phil
Caitriona, Síle, Martin, Eileen on sofa
With Fionn and Ruadhán on our knees

The old glass lamp shade in our living room in France.

As Ambrose Congreve died in London two days ago it seems a good moment to repeat this piece I wrote in 2005.

March 17, 2005
12:35 AM

An Afternoon in Mount Congreve

On the weekend I arrived for the first time to start work in Waterford , which was somewhere around the August Bank Holiday in 1979, there was a sudden flush of Black limos driving northwards across the bridge as I drove into the town.
On enquiry I discovered that this was the various ministers returning back to Dublin having graciously (on behalf of the Plain People of Ireland) accepted the gift of the estate of Mount Congreve from Sir Ambrose of that ilk.
Ambrose Congreve was at this stage 74, without heir, and determined that his life’s work, that of making the 80 acres that comprise Mount Congreve, one of the greatest gardens in the world, was not going to be broken up and sold to the highest bidder after his death.
The fact that at 98 the man is still going strong in 2004, 25 years later, is neither here nor there.
We, the plain people, gained one of the worlds treasure houses of flowering trees and plants on that day, and, the good news is, we will be able to take a peek at it every Thursday from 7th April next.

I cheated I confess and managed a sneak preview yesterday.

I had been put under some pressure by some Camellia loving friends of mine from Maynooth to get them into the garden before the Camellias were “over”, (i.e. finished flowering).
I, being the local man, was the one who had to persuade gardener Michael White that he might permit us a quick look before the gates swung open, officially ,next month. Being a gentleman he allowed me to bring the two Maynooth ladies in before the start date but, what we wern’t expecting, he then gave us a personal guided tour which was to make this my most rewarding garden visit ever.

I’ve been at Mount Congreve before, 3 or 4 times but I have always wandered alone and ignorant, admiring the plants without knowing whether it was Azalea, Rhododendron, or Magnolia.
I have a very clear memory of wandering through the paths a couple of years ago when we were suddenly surrounded by 4 slavering Alsatians. A large elderly gentleman in a golf buggy who was behind the dogs shouted at us
“Don’t move ! They wont touch you if you keep still !”
I promise you that there are statues who would have envied me my stillness for the next few minutes.
Sir Ambrose (for it was he)was kindness itself when he got to us and called off the dogs but some part of me was grateful to discover that he was in the Bahamas today and unlikely to set the hounds on us.

Now Michael knew that the ladies were anxious to see Camellias and no better man than Michael to show them to us.
Did you know that there are over 100,000 species of Camellia in the world , and, that Mount Congreve has over 600 of them?

Boy did we see Camellias, Reds, Pinks,Doubles,plants that produced different colours from the same branch, whites, oh, such beautiful whites, whites just like Marguerite Gautier must have carried in” La Dame aux Camellias”, we saw Camellias which scented the evening air, ones which had delicate pink veins, like blood vessels , running through their pale petals.
But still Michael told us that they were late this year and would be much better in a couple of weeks. Unbelievable.
On previous visits we had wandered through Mount Congreve on our own and, I thought, having a guide would lessen the pleasure.
On the contrary, Michael’s encyclopaedic knowledge of each plant,where it had come from, how it had performed over the years, but most of all his tangible love and infectious enthusiasm for each of his charges just heightened our appreciation of it all. It was a revelation.
(I must confess that it was just a tiny bit gratifying to learn that one of the last people he had given the personal guided tour to were Prince Charles and Camilla)

I wouldn’t like to give you the impression that the garden only contains Camellias, there were countless Rhododendrons in flower, stunning Magnolias, tall as Oak trees and myriads of Azaleas waiting for May to burst forth.
In fact Michael assured us that Sir Ambrose had designed the garden so meticulously that there was something new to see on every month of the year.

As well as the flowers there are some wonderful landscape devices.

There is an avenue of huge pink and white Magnolia trees which frame a marvellous vista of the Suir stretching down to Carrick.(Capability Brown eat your heart out)
An excavated quarry has been turned into an enchanting Japanese garden complete with Pagoda and keyhole wall window.
There is a natural rock garden where water (when it is switched on) cascades down through natural and man made waterfalls and Alpine plantings.

There are two beautiful walled gardens, one with a Victorian glasshouse and the other providing all the vegetables for the big house.
(Mind you in mid March all that was on offer was Leeks and Onions but I did manage to scrounge some of the windfall “quinces” from the espaliered Japonicas, enough for me to make a little jelly.)

Thank you Michael for an inspiring tour. We have already decided to come back in mid May to see the Azaleas and the Rhododendrons in flower.
And a thank you is definitely due to Sir Ambrose as well.
He has after all spent the last 70 odd years creating a masterpiece.

This is really not about lost in translation but rather about the disadvantages of being not lost in translation.

Síle and I had lunch out today and in French Restaurants I love to listen to the general hubbub of background talking when we eat in France, the rolling “rs” music to my ears.
The background noises today were dominated by two voices from different tables ; a woman and a man.

As I listened I began to discover that the music in fact was begining to make sense . my standard of French had improved so that I could actually understand what was being said.
This was a disappointment.
The man was going on and on about how he had paid tiny money , and basically cheated the owner , for an apartment in the Pays Basque, the woman re-telling anecdote after anecdote proving that one of her work collegues was not pulling his weight as she did.

My lovely French innocence was shattered , I realised that to understand all sometimes does not mean to forgive all.

When we were getting the various renovations done to our house here the subject of Air Conditioning was raised. Would we need it in our new house in France ?
I put the question to the only expert I had handy at the time in Waterford, a Dutchman (Robbert) who had farmed out here for many years.
His reply was that if it was a stone house (it is) and we shut the southern facing shutters in the Summer we would remain cool.
This has so far proved correct.

Several years ago we bought one of those electronic temperature thingies which gave the temperature both inside and outside the house.

The outside one ceased to work after a very short time but the inner gauge continued to tell the temperature.
About two weeks ago this too stopped working and so Síle decided to replace the battery.
Lo and Behold, the replacement of battery kicked the external one into life so we now get the double reading once more.

We are having an exceptional spell of marvellous weather at the moment.
When I came down this morning the temperatures both in and our were 16 C.

I checked again just now .
The heat on the terrace is now a steamy 34 C , inside it remains a temperate 19 C.
They sure knew what they were doing when they put this building together.

I have borrowed this picture from my friend Venividi’s site (I think he’ll forgive me , I did it before and he did ) because it is a terrific picture but also it makes me think about the whole phemenon of Brit bashing in Ireland.

Neither my Mother nor Father would have a word said against the royal family in England .

This was nothing to do with blindness of the faults of the British , my mother as a child out walking had Black and Tan soldiers shoot over her head just to scare her, my father showed me pictures of petrol soaked sheets with which the same soldiers had draped around Dwyer and Co in a failed attempt to burn it down during the burning of Cork.
These events didn’t shake their respect for the royals or their many friendships and ties with the English .

Seeing this lady , their generation , welcoming the Queen reminds me that for a whole generation , right or wrong , she never stopped being venerated , royally.

And so I was volunteered again to clean up Thezan last week , this time Síle was rehearsing all day but I managed to volunteer Barry and Mary Mc Carthy (from Mallow and Thezan) to support the venture.
It ended, as did last years effort with an excellant grillade in Le Petit Jardin , but not before we managed to get our picture taken for Le Midi Libre

For those interested I am at the back in the middle (the tallest in the picture and the most bearded ) Mary is just in front of me , (she looks much more French than the French ) and Barry is at the back on the right of the picture, possibly the second tallest there (it must be the spuds in Ireland)

While browsing in my picture files last week I found this picture taken in November of 2007 . My memory was that Síle suggested that the couple with the dog provided a good photo opportunity and I dutifully snapped them.
A dual effort obviously but a successful one.

I stuck it onto my Facebook page and then noticed that -of course- it has The Metalman in the background (the rearmost of the three towers on the cliff )

This in turn led me to one of my favourite pictures which we bought sometime in the early nineties .

It is painted by a friend and customer of the Dwyers Restaurant, Celia Richards.
This is again of Tramore beach but this time pointing eastwards on to Brownstown head where there are two similar towers but no Metalman.
Apparently after the Seahorse blundered fatally into Tramore beach in 1816 , thinking that it was going into Waterford Harbour , and all 350 passengers and crew were drowned , Lloyds of London paid to get these towers erected as a warning to ships not to enter.