9 May - leaving Dublin for Bristol

I gritted my teeth and decided to do my souvenir shopping before leaving town (like everyone else in the picture was doing), figuring that gifts from Ireland might be more entertaining than gifts from England, as I knew there wouldn’t be much time in Hong Kong. I had spotted a few things in different shops, so walked to the biggest Connell’s souvenir shop on the other side of the bridge hoping to find everything I wanted in the same place. Let me tell you about the weather in Dublin. I put on three layers – a top, a shirt, and a big woolly cardigan – and I was still cold. I wrapped a scarf around my neck and put my head well down because every time I came up Talbot Street to O’Connell Street, the wind knocked me sideways just as I passed James Joyce. I couldn’t help wondering how it must have been for my poor ancestors, as they didn’t have my nice woolly jumper. Deb loved my woolly jumper - I can tell by the comments on her blog. Dublin was bitterly cold. I got my souvenirs and was quite pleased with what I selected, then headed back to collect my carefully packed bags and go to the airport. I had bought some sunlight soap and brought all my washing up to date, so I could leaveg Dublin refreshed and clean, just like everyone else does. Not. I took a photo from my window before I left - note the statue on the top of the yellow roof.

The flight out wasn’t nearly as stressful as the flight in, because by this time I was beginning to think Ryan Air might treat me nicely (which they did), and apart from having to throw out half a bottle of red wine, the trip passed without any notable occurrence. On arrival at Bristol I took a bus to Temple Meads station, and my wonderful cousins Roger and Doreen Pitman (Doreen was a Gillett) showed up promptly at five o’clock and took me to their house in Bishopsworth. They gave me a lovely big room with an enormous bed, and filled me up with pizza and lots of tea. I was pleased to be drinking tea again, as I hadn’t had much for a while and was quite missing it. We gossiped about the family and our research and I got to know them much better than the hour I had with them last year. I was pleased to see them. I made some minor changes to some of my family records, and Roger gave me some printouts of some research that Francis Gillett had done on the Billington connection, as well as a lovely photo of my Nanny, Rose Gillett (dad’s mother). And to top it all off, when I went to bed, I could use my dongle and catch up on my emails. It was good to be in a home instead of a guest house.

8 May Dublin

Having done the main touristy things in Dublin, and ready for interviews about what I saw, I was now free to explore the town a pied. I found the town gates and walked in and out of them a few times pretending to be a stranger to the town and wondering what it would feel like. I also found James Joyce’s house, and took a photo through the place you post the letters in the front door. Anna says this is a letter box, and although she is usually right, in this case, I am left wondering, as there is no box. Perhaps it is a letter drop thingie. We used to have one in Gibson Street in Timaru. Houses also had door knockers in those days. I remember my brother and I tying string to a door knocker in Deal Street, then hiding below the fence and pulling the string, which of course produced the day of the house at the door. But I digress.

I quite like James Joyce but I was becoming aware of a cash shortage, and was having to live on €10 a day plus credit card money, which presumably incurs a cost every time there is a transaction in foreign dosh. So to cut a longish story brilliantly short (phew), I didn’t pay to go to the James Joyce museum, but chose instead, to have dinner that night! I tracked down a William Yeats exhibition at the library, which showed his journals and notes and association with Mme Blavatsky, but nothing about Cyril Scott. Mme Blavatsky and I have something in common, as we both normally travel east, though as you know, on this occasion, I had to travel west first. I attach her photo so you can see what a formidable woman she is.

I also took a photo of a strangely clad roller blader for your enjoyment.

Then I came upon a revelation, right there in Dublin. I could use up my last day (because the last day, that is, tomorrow at the time I should have been writing this, but in reality some time last week, isn’t actually the last day, but a travelling day – oh never mind, you had to be there) finding my ancestors who lived in Dublin. So I went to the library to look up the publicly accessible records. Going to hte library entailed walking around in a large circle and going past the library three times until I found the relationship between the library on the street and the one on my map. So many stone buildings – so little time. Dublin is very stone buildingish. The nice lady at the library told me my ancestors were living in Dublin before people started counting properly, which in England was in 1837, but in Ireland, was in 1860. It’s not my fault I have old ancestors. She told me I would have to look up the parish records, which would mean a trip to the church library. Wahoo – a quest! I counted my daily Euro allocation and found that I had enough for dinner as well as a bus, having bought some wine yesterday. It’s a form of accrual, and I was going to benefit from it. So I took bus number 14a (no, I didn’t get on 14b) and paid my €1.60 exact (had to get off the bus, count the money out and then get on a pay it once I found out there was no change) and went to Braemor Park, which was plenty of fun, seeing suburban houses in trees and little shops and schools and stuff like that. I carefully locked my handbag in the locker as requested (they are very strict in these kind of places and make sure you can’t nick their records) and went upstairs to the nice man, who enquired why I was there, so I told him. I told him I want to know who the great grandfather of Selina Marian Graham was. Selina was my great great grandmother, born in Paris of a Dublin family. I felt good about visiting Paris and Dublin. He sweetly asked me what parish her father was from and I didn’t know, so I had to pick up my handbag and pay €1.60 and go back to town. But it was fun looking. Selina was quite famous in a funny kind of way – you can read all about in chapter seven of Deserter's Adventures: The Autobiography of Dom Felice Vaggioli. She was the one married to the Anglican minister that had to leave town. I hope you like her picture.

7 May Dublin

Dublin was very good. I stayed in a place called The Pillar (but not of society) in Talbot Street, which I quickly identified as a cheap area. The night before, I toured all the way down the street looking for the right number, and didn't find it until I had gone all the way up the other side. Some of the Irish streets are numbered up one and down the other, instead of criss-cross like the New Zealand ones.

I photographed part of a Yeats poems on the wall at The Pillar. Poetry is quite popular in Ireland. I also took a photo of my daughters' (Annie and Rosie maguire) cousins' brewery. They don't know about this part of the Maguire family but they are sure to be rellies....

Things to do in Dublin. My colleague Shelagh from Dublin said in passing that I should check out the book of Kells and the Guinness brewery, so I did. Actually the book of Kells is very old - I am always reminding Shelagh to use up to date references - now I see where she gets this habit of using old stuff from. The Book of Kells is in Trinity College in the University of Dublin library, so I visited their Buttery and enjoyed a cheap student lunch while I was there. I needed it; I had just walked for an hour – up the river to the museum and down again, just to see how far it was. The best thing about Trinity College is the long room in the old library, which is rather high, 65 metres long, and holds 200,000 old books, which are accessed by sliding ladders. It makes our library look a bit shallow somehow. The books, carefully filed in alphabetical order, are all old leather bound. As a vegetarian I have issues with that but I didn't say anything to the staff, as I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

I don’t usually drink Guinness, but for professional reasons I thought it would be useful to see how it was made in case I ever want to make a brew. The tour was one of the best displays / tours I have ever seen – very clear (just follow the arrows), wonderful exhibits (an enormous vat of barley, that you can dip your hands into, and a similarly enormous water fall), and plenty of Guinness to drink along the way. We all got a free pint at the end, on the 7^th floor of the Guinness Storehouse, and of course a chance to meet other tourists/ drinkers. I’m sorry to say I was pretty well stuffed after three quarters of a pint, so I tried to walk home. Guinness is quite strong actually especially on a fairly empty stomach (I just had coffee and croissant at the Buttery). I picked up a baguette and banana (one of my favourite travelling lunches) to soak up the beer, and as I walked home I marvelled at how Mr Guinness and his family claim to have done so much good for Ireland, providing work, looking after the workers’ families, providing a decent worldwide export trade, but I wondered in fact how things might have been if Mr Jameson and Mr Guinness had made their lovely drinks elsewhere, and the Irish had stuck to potato farming. There might have been less drinking....

I had to have a wee nap after all my walking and drinking, after which I ventured out to look for some diddlies (Irish jigs and reels). I was very disappointed – most of the so called ‘live music seisiuns’ were actually performances, using just one or two musicians. Let me explain. A seisiun in my mind, is a group of musicians – anything from four to a dozen or so – playing jigs and reels with songs in between. No mikes, no stage. This was not to be found in Dublin town. Nexct time I will go to Kildare....

After my nap, and before I went out, there was a lot of shouting on the street. I could see from my third floor window, a man with no shirt on and his trousers around his ankles, walking towards the traffic and shouting obscenities at everyone. I have never heard the word ‘fook’ said so many times since being in Dublin– it seems to be a regular word here, not a naughty one at all. This fella, who was steaming with anger, wandered around for 5 – 10 minutes yelling at everyone but they seemed quite used to this kind of performance and continued about their daily business as if he wasn’t there. Perhaps he wasn't (such is the challenge of perception and reality).

Odd things about Dublin. There are no sky scrapers – there are some big department shops and offices but the buildings are more like Auckland than other cities – low lying. Perhaps that's what creates in me the sense that it isn’t a proper big city (even though it is), and the real sophisticated world is elsewhere. A feeling that one might get in New Zealand, and perhaps drives so many of of us overseas to see what the real world looks like. There isn’t much development – it doesn't look wealthy (despite Mr Guinness’s good work) and there are very few cranes on the skyline. There are heaps of government employees – people coming to empty the rubbish, wash the streets etc, and many shops have security people. It’s a good place to learn another language – French, German, Dutch, Swedish, Serb, Russian, Polish......

I had a nice salad, some red cooking wine, and yet another baguette for dinner.