Introducing Mayo

Clare Island viewed from Clew Bay.?Pic: Michael McLaughlin

A place called home


Mayo’s greatest appeal lies beyond the richness of its physical beauty, writes Denise Horan


WHY Mayo? Of all the counties, in all the countries, in all the world, why choose a sprawling mass of mountain, bog and yew trees on the edge of Europe? For me, it’s simple. Mayo is home. Nowhere will ever match it.
To the rest of the world, the appeal may not be quite so obvious, nor the fondness so instinctive. Croagh Patrick may be Everest to us, but Sky News has yet to chart the progress of a pilgrim on its path. Our fame hasn’t quite made it to the farthest reaches of southeast Asia; our name is not yet a household one on the streets of Toronto.
So, for the uninitiated – and the non-native – what charms lie in wait in the county where, as the Saw Doctors put it, ‘the ocean kisses Ireland and the waves caress its shore’?
I’d like to report that there is an essential Mayoness, which can be summed up in a few neat and immediately obvious characteristics. I’d like to report that because it would make the task of describing Mayo very easy. But I’m proud to say that our essence cannot be defined. Our character has been hewn out of our long history, but is daily being nurtured and altered by our evolutionary instincts. Same as everywhere else perhaps; I don’t know. I can only try to tell our tale – as I see it.
In the pages that follow, you will read about Mayo’s abundant attractions: its great landmarks, its mountains and valleys, its breath-taking scenery, its history and its legends, its challenges and its balms, its towns and villages, its heroes, its highlights and its heritage. Betting is a pursuit about which I know little and care a great deal less, but I would unhesitatingly wager my house on the certainty that something in those pages will appeal to everyone who reads this. There is too much to choose from for me to be left homeless.
But none of what follows necessarily distinguishes us as a county. After all, everywhere has its attractions. What is that extra something in Mayo that makes it worth a visit? It’s a combination of things: past experiences, good and bad; ambitions, dreams, hopes, fears, passion, pride.
Our history is a fascinating tale, and Áine Ryan’s summation of it in this production is a highly-recommended read. We produced Granuaile and Michael Davitt, we hosted General Humbert, we gave Admiral William Brown to the Argentinians. We struggled through the Penal Laws and knew our share of injustice and oppression. We sent men to fight for freedom in 1916 and to die in two world wars.
All of these experiences helped to shape our identity.
So too did our peripheral location; it still does. We haven’t moved closer to the centre of government or of commerce, of culture or of power. So, instead, we’ve developed our own versions in Mayo. We’ve shaken Leinster House with our firebrand politicians, and negotiated advances through our diplomatic ones. We’ve opposed – and seen off – attempts to destroy our greatest asset, the Reek (and will do so again, if needs be).
Nor have we been parochial with our talents. To the English language we contributed the word ‘boycott’. In Mary Robinson, we gave Ireland her first female president. Our own Sean Lavan revolutionised Gaelic football with the solo. We even reared the Playboy of the Western World, for goodness’ sake.
We’ve had visionaries too, the most celebrated being a priest from Partry named James Horan. They told him an airport couldn’t be built on ‘a foggy, boggy hill’ at Barrnacuaige near Knock, but he elected to ignore that sound advice and carry on with his dream. The legacy of Monsignor Horan’s stubbornness and vision is now a thriving airport, which is constantly adding new routes and which last year celebrated its 21st birthday.
We have Seamus Caulfield too: visionary, academic, campaigner and ambassador all rolled into one. Twenty years ago, few had heard of the Neolithic treasure that lay in the bogs around Ballycastle; now, thanks to the persistence of the man from Belderrig, not only are the riches of the Céide Fields preserved for evermore for all to see, with an award-winning interpretative centre on site too, they also feature as the setting for a play about the late Charlie Haughey by Mayo-based playwright, John Breen.
Mention of Breen brings to mind another stage in our development: our quiet, but certain, rise in popularity as a haven for artists of all kinds. Painters, sculptors, poets, novelists, biographers, cinematographers, fashion designers, musicians, song-writers: members of each of these fraternities – and many more – have chosen Mayo as their fountain of inspiration. And the fruits of their imaginations are to be seen and heard all over the county, in places like the Linenhall Arts Centre in Castlebar, Custom House Studios in Westport, Áras Inis Gluaire in Belmullet, Ballina Arts Centre, as well as in pubs and halls in our villages and towns.
And the jewel in the crown of our artistic offerings is the Tír SΡile sculpture trail in north Mayo, the largest public arts project ever undertaken in Ireland, consisting of 14 site-specific sculptures dotted along the spectacular northern coast of the county.
How apt it is too – in a county with three large Gaeltacht regions – that this stunning trail bears an Irish name. Our language is something we, rightly, cherish in Mayo, a fact reflected in the many annual festivals and one-off events that celebrate our native tongue and our rich Gaelic folklore tradition.
Culturally, we are indeed wealthy, but – as befits richness of this kind – we tend not to shout it from the rooftops. The joy is in the journey of discovery.
Broad though our cultural experiences now are, our interest in the earthiest of Irish past-times – GAA – is undiminished. We are a people with a passion for football. I could say obsession, but that would be cliched; plus, it’s only in our quest for All-Ireland glory that we are obsessed. In all other aspects – playing, coaching, lamenting, criticising, uncovering conspiracies – I think we’re fairly normal. But, yes, when it comes to our desire to bridge a gap that has now spanned 57 years, we’re pretty unrelenting in our obsessiveness. Indeed, if God chooses to take at their word all the people who have sworn they will ‘die happy’ when Mayo win the Sam Maguire again, an All-Ireland title could lead to at least a halving of our population.
I could also tell you that we’re a warm, welcoming, hospitable people. And I wouldn’t be lying. I could tell you too that we have a great sense of ‘meitheal’, that we help each other out and we take pride in our community’s achievements. Again, I would be speaking the truth as I see it. Nor would I be embellishing reality if I asserted that we’re good fun, that laughter is a constant in our lives and sharp wit a talent that’s honed in every school (OK, slight embellishment).
As I said at the outset, there is no succinct definition of Mayoness. That’s good for me, and it’s good for you. We’d be a dull people if we could be so easily boxed. We’re a complex mix of pride in a complicated past, progression in a rapidly-changing present and anticipation of a bright future. We celebrate what matters from our history, while constantly seeking new heroes for today and preparing for the challenges of tomorrow.
I’m absolutely biased in everything I’ve said, because I cannot imagine a more perfect place to be than Mayo. But, with my partisan account in mind, ask yourself: if a home is so happy, can its fabric be anything but good?