GLIMPSES OF IRELAND

Dominion, Volume 22, Issue 12, 9 October 1928, Page 13

GLIMPSES OF IRELAND

KISSING THE BLARNEY

STONE

SEEKING THE MAGIC GIFT OF ELOQUENCE

Dominion Special Service. (By Nellie M. Scanlan.) Blarney Castle, Ireland. August 20.

There is a stone there, that whoever kisses, Oh, he never misses to grow eloquint, 'Tis he may clamber to a lady’s chamber, Or become a mimber of Parliament.

I have kissed the Blarney Stone; I have made my pilgrimage to this legendary seat of eloquence, and risked its perils to capture that magic spell. While I leaned down, two strong hands held me by the ankles, and below I could see the soft turf and the trees, one hundred and twenty feet beneath me. But I closed my eyes. In the old clays, when you dared thi; rash adventure, they held you by the heels, suspended over the top ot

the tower. One tragedy, and a safer method was sought. To-day it, is simpler, but to many still terrifying. You lie on your back, held firmly .by the ankles, your body, from the hips upwards suspended over the earth, while your two hands, extended over your head, grip iron bars on the outer wall. Gradually you lower your bead and shoulders, clown, clown into that open snace between the inner wall and outer battlement, until your face gets beneath this outer rampart, and there the Blarney Stone is set. It is just a rough stone like the rest, now slightly concave, for kisses, like water, apparently will wear away the stone. You kiss this worn surface, kiss it with reverence, with fervour, and once that is accomplished you are hauled back. You slip something into the hand that held your ankle, and you face the world with the gift of golden speech. “Sixpence a time to hold a lady’s ankles,” . said one Irishman. “Faith, there’s many a man would pay for the pleasure.” The tall, strapping Irishman who spends his profitable days holding the ankles of those who aspire to this gift of eloquence, tells no foolish stories, nor does he urge the nervous. But his quiet strength gives confidence. It must be an interesting psychological study,

this trail of people—people from many lands, who patiently toil up those 200 steps, determined to kiss the Blarney Stone, many having travelled long distances for that specific purpose. And then look down: “I can’t. I simply cant,” they say. One woman timidly climbed up those 200 winding steps, firm in her resolve. But her courage failed her. Her husband coaxed and pleaded, but after watching many go through the ancient rite, she returned sadly down the 200 steps again. For an hour she sat looking up at the tower, watching others. Back she climbed the 200 steps again,

and once more her courage failed her. Long she looked, enviously. She wanted to; it was the objective of her Irish visit. She knew she might never come again, and would always regret her cowardice. At the end of an hour she climbed clown the long winding staircase once again. Reluctantly she turned to go. Then in those last desperate minutes, a new resolve was born. “I’ll do it, I really will this time; truly I will,” she said. Once more the patient husband toiled up the 200 steps. This time she showed courage. Three times she lay clown on the cold grey stone, and hung out over the battlement, and three times she drew back. At last, conquering her terror, she leaned down and kissed the stone. When I saw her later, she was the happiest woman in Ireland.

Blarney Castle was first built as a hunting post by Dermot McCarthy, King of South Munster. Kings were then as thick as members of Parliament to-day. In 1200 the castle was rebuilt, and the present structure dates from the 15th century. For a long period Blarney Castle was the residence of the younger branches of the McCarthys, Lords of Musketry, Barons of Blarney, :>nd Earls of Clancarthy. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth it was the strongest fortress in Munster, and was regarded as impregnable. King William demolished the fortifications, and left the tower standing. Cromwell also, turned his artillery against it. and made further breaches in its battlements. To-day it is a lovely ruin—little more

than the tower remains, peopled with ghosts and veiled in legends. The legend of the Blarney Stone goes back clown centuries, and there are many versions regarding its origin. It is said that Lord Clancarthy, when a prisoner to Sir George Carew, was required to surrender Blarney Castle to Queen'Elizabeth as a proof of his loyalty. Though professing his willingness to do so. lie, however, aln ays evaded it by some plausible excuse—a touch of the Blarney, as it is called to-day. Another story is that Comae McCarthy, a descendant of the Kings of Munster, chanced one day to save an old woman from drowning in Blarney Lake. She told him to mount the keep, and kiss a certain stone in the wall, and he would be endowed with “a golden tongue, which would influence man or woman, friend or foe.” A third legend relates to Robert Bruce and Edward 11. When a year’s truce was made between them, pending the surrender of Stirling Castle. Edward Bruce came to the King of Munster and asked his aid. McCarthy gave him 5000 men, who went to Scotland and fought at Bannockburn, and in return Bruce sent him a piece of the old Stone of Scone (which had been removed from Ireland) to put in the new keep of Blarney Castle.

Whatever the origin of this famous legend, Blarney Castle is known the world over, and all the year round people go there, many staunch in faith, many sceptical, some guide-book in hand, others idly curious. The kissing of the Blarney Stone was the only ancient rite on this side of the world, where I did not find a Chinese participating.