Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 8, Episode 14 - Dromod to Sligo - full transcript

[OPENING THEME MUSIC]

For Victorian Britons, George
Bradshaw was a household name.

At a time when railways were new,

Bradshaw's guidebook inspired them
to take to the tracks.

I'm using a Bradshaw's Guide
to understand

how trains transformed
Britain and Ireland,

their landscape, industry,
society, and leisure time.

As I follow its routes,
130 years later,

it helps me to discover these
islands today.

I'm moving Northwest across Ireland,

on a rail journey that
began in Wexford.



Discovering how, in the 19th
century, a surge of pride

in Irish culture accompanied a
growth of nationalism.

Oh this part of the journey, I hope
to unearth a use for the potato,

reveal Irish on the fiddle,

and I will arise and then go then,
and go to Innisfree.

I began my journey on the coast
at Wexford

and then travelled up to the
capital, Dublin,

before turning west.

Crossing this beautiful country,
I'm uncovering Irish identity,

forged in a
time of political strife.

I'll be ending my cultural
exploration on the Atlantic coast.

Today, I begin in the town of
Dromod, County Leitrim,

before travelling north to the
county and coastal town of Sligo.

'Along the way, I try my hand at
traditional Irish cuisine...



How's that looking, Timmy?
You wouldn't be selling it now.

You don't think a lot of customers
would come and buy mine?

Yours was very lumpy,
you know what I mean?

'see the landscape that inspired

'one of the 20th century's
greatest poets, WB Yeats...

It gave him the sense of where
Celtic man, Irish man,

had come up, out of the landscape,
and that drove him to believe that

Ireland should have an independence.

'and step in time, Sligo style.'

One, two, three...

Michael Flatley had better
watch out!

I leave this train at Dromod.

Bradshaw's says,
"Where the railway projects

"into the counties of
Leitrim and Cavan, its character

"varies, and the surface
becomes rugged and uneven."

I'm looking forward to some
spectacular scenery.

Despite the hunger and poverty of
the mid-19th century,

the railway boom in Ireland was as
intense as it was in Great Britain.

And in the 20th century, the closure
of underused lines was as drastic.

I'm alighting at Dromod,

a stop on the old Midland Great
Western Railway mainline

from Dublin to Sligo.

At the time of my guide,
it was also the first station

of the now-defunct
Cavan and Leitrim Railway -

a branch line that connected to
Ireland's mining region.

It's been one man's mission to
restore part of the railway,

Michael Kennedy.

Hello, Michael.
- Hello, Mike.

What was the history of the
Cavan and Leitrim railway?

The Cavan and Leitrim Railway was
built in 1887 and lasted until 1959.

It ran all the way from Dromod,
in the south, through Mohill,

Ballinamore, Bawnboy,

Ballyconnell
and into Belturbet, with a

branch from Ballinamore all
the way to Drumshanbo and out to

Arigna, where it met the coal mine.

Coal mines are not very common in
Ireland, are they?

There's only two small coal mines
in Ireland.

One in Castlecomer, in County
Kilkenny, and one up in Arigna.

Was the track always narrow gauge?
- Always narrow gauge.

It was light railway.

Running for almost 50 miles,
the Cavan and Leitrim Railway

opened up the coal and iron
districts of Arigna and Lough Allen.

And passengers made use of
the same trains.

The train left here with one
carriage and a load of wagons

and the steam engine on the front.
It went to Mohill, it stopped,

the engine came off the front,
went round the back,

shunted the wagons from the station
that were to go on further

and shunted the ones off that were
to be left at the station.

And took three hours to
go from here to Belturbet, 35 miles.

So, it wasn't a brilliant experience
for the passengers.

No, it took all day.

It was obviously a very
special railway.

Yes, and it was all run
by the locals,

who drove the trains
and were the crews.

But the management were Anglo-Irish,

so by the time the War of Independence
came, they didn't get on with each other.

There was a lot of
friction between them.

Queen Victoria was one of the
smaller Stevenson locomotives,

and the men didn't like driving
this engine called Queen Victoria,

so they took the name plates off
and put them underneath a

wood stack at Ballinamore.

The management in turn found the name
plates and put them back on again,

so the lads drove the engine out to
Drumshanbo, Where the line went, and

took the name plates off
a second time,

and put them down a deep well, where
they're still supposed to be to this day,

painted the engine green, white and
orange and called it the Sinn Fein engine.

Oh, my goodness.
- Yeah.

The line outlived
most Irish narrow-gauge railways,

running until 1959.

Being the last steam tramway
in Ireland to close.

And that's a very natty bicycle
you've arrived on,

tell me about that.

Yeah, well, that's
our railway bicycle.

A very smart machine.

Now, this is all a nice bit of fun,
but they had a serious purpose once?

Yes, they were inspection cycles.

There was a seat clipped
onto the front,

and the inspector sat on the seat
and two men cycled along the line.

And he would inspect the track as
they went along.

Well, I don't think there are any
trains coming.

Shall we give it a go?
- Yes.

[THEY SING]
"Daisy, Daisy,

"Give me your answer, do..."

These bicycles fell out of use
in the 1960s,

as steam gave way to diesel

and it became simply too dangerous
to ride the rails.

[MICHAEL SINGS]
"of a bicycle made for two."

[THEY SING]
"Are you right there, Michael, are you right?

"Do you think we'll get to
Ballinamore tonight?

"Oh, there's passengers for Creagh

"And more from outside Fenagh

"Still we might now, Michael,
so we might."

Excuse me interrupting.

It sounds like a song
about late trains?

It is, it's a song by the great
Irish composer Percy French.

He was scheduled to appear at a
concert in Kilkee in County Clare.

Unfortunately, when he arrived,

and due to the poor way
the train operated,

by the time he arrived,
all the people had gone home.

So, he sued the railway company
for loss of earnings

and was awarded ten shillings.

He composed the song, Are You Right
There, Michael, Are You Right?

Immediately after the court case.

But when it was published,
the West Clare Railway Company

actually sued Percy for libel.

And the morning of court,
Percy arrived late.

The judge was very, very annoyed,
and when he arrived in, he said,

"You're late, Mr French."

Percy duly explained, "I travelled
by the West Clare Railway."

So obviously, "Case dismissed".

A good story. And is that song still
known in Ireland today?

It is indeed. It'd be one of the
well-known Irish ballads

sung the length and breadth of
Ireland in every house in Ireland.

How does it continue?

"You may talk of Columbus' sailing

"Across the Atlantical Sea

"But he never tried to go railing

"From Ennis as far as Kilkee

"You run for the train
in the morning

"The excursion train
starting at eight

"You're there when
the clock gives the warning

"And there for an hour you'll wait

"And as you're waiting in the train

"You'll hear the guard make
this refrain

"Are you right there, Michael,
are you right?

"Do you think we'll get to
Ballinamore tonight?

"Oh, there's passengers for Creagh

"And more from outside Fenagh

"Still we might now, Michael,
so we might."

Well, I'm all right,
after hearing that song.

Thank you.
- Thank you very much.

I'm staying in Dromod,

a town surrounded by lush,
green countryside.

Talking of the soil around here,

Bradshaw's says it partly consists
of good tillage ground

and partly of mosses and bog.

In the boggiest of years, the potato
crop would rot in the ground,

or be affected by blight.

But in a good year,

the potato could be mixed with
a few modest ingredients

to make a dish
that could stave off starvation.

I'm intrigued by a dish called
boxty, a kind of potato pancake.

It's associated with the counties
around Leitrim

and originated in the 18003.

The family-run Dromod Bakery

supplies much of north and western
Ireland with its boxty.

I've come to meet the Faughnan
family at their home bakery

in the hope of getting a taste.

So, I have come here to
talk about boxty.

Well, you've come to the
right place, anyway.

Boxty is made of raw potatoes
and flour

and salt and milk and a drop
of water.

And how did you learn to make it?

I learned from seeing me
mother making it.

The minute she had it fried
in the pan,

we were like little pups, getting up
after her, taking it off the plate.

Apart from your mother making it,

do you know what the older
origin of it is?

The older origin would have been
back in the famine times

when the people had nothing to
eat, only potatoes.

That is where boxty, I think,
originated from.

Anya, how do you like to eat it?

You can have it in a number of
different ways.

You can use it as a wrap, like,
to put stuff in.

Use it that way. You can use it
as part of a fry,

so like with bacon and sausages
and egg.

Timmy, maybe enough talking about
it, would you like to show me

how it's made?
- Sure, Michael. Right.

Get up there, your apron is there.
- Thank you.

Now, Michael, this is the
ingredients of the boxty.

So, just need to grate the potato,
presumably very finely?

Yeah, that's grand.
Ah, you've done this before.

Now we'll put in the flour, OK?
- Yes.

Mix it in fairly gradually, I suppose?
- Yeah, yeah.

And a drop of water to make it...

Bind it in.

And there's the drop of milk.

A pinch of salt.

How's that looking?
- That's good.

That will come out more lumpy

or a rougher boxty than we
make ourselves,

because our liquidiser cuts it down
very fine, you know.

That's made the real,
traditional way.

Does this remind you of
your mother then?

Oh, it does remind me, yeah.

You think she's here now.

Only difference,
she's not here now with a stick

to keep you away from taking it.

Now, that's ready for the pan.

We'll bring it up to the bakery.

In the tradition of
a cottage industry,

the commercial kitchen is attached
to the family home.

So, there's the hotplate.
- Yeah.

So will I just pour it on there?
- Yeah.

How's that looking, Timmy?

You wouldn't be selling it now.

Yours is very lumpy,
you know what I mean?

You don't think a lot of customers
would come and buy mine?

No, no. It might be nice when
you're eating it.

Timmy, we've got to flip that, have we?
- You have, yeah.

Just a flick of the wrist.

Wahey!

That is smelling brilliant, Timmy.
- Yeah.

It just needs a couple of minutes on
each side to cook.

Hello, Angela.
- Hi, Niall.

We're back.
And that is my effort.

It's not a bad effort, but you tend
to let the flavours come out

a bit more after a couple of hours,
so here's one we made earlier,

so it might just taste a
little bit better. But good effort.

I feel slightly crestfallen, but...

So that is what it is meant
to look like?

Yeah.
- Well, let's have a go at that.

Wow, that is good.

So, even though it sadly came out of
the famine, it's a very good food,

isn't it?
- A very good food, yeah.

There's a rhyme that
goes with boxty.

There's boxty on the griddle,
boxty on the pan

If you never eat boxty,
you'll never be a man.

Well, I've come of age today.

Bradshaw's tells me that Sligo is
the capital of a county.

"The River Garavogue runs through
the town,

"carrying off the surplus waters
from Lough Gill on a plain

"among fine hills."

And certainly the high ground here
is more muscular, more rocky,

and somehow, Ireland's universal
green is even more intense here.

Located between the mountains and
the Atlantic Ocean,

the town of Sligo marks my arrival
on the western coast.

During the great famine of the
mid-19th century,

over 30,000 people emigrated
through its port.

When the railway from Dublin
arrived in 1862,

the town could grow once again.

Sligo, Bradshaw's says,

has several public housings
dotted about its outskirts,

the county infirmary,
fever hospital, soldiers' barracks,

workhouse and this,
the district lunatic asylum.

For 140 years, it housed up
to 1,000 patients,

pioneered some relatively
enlightened new techniques,

was so solidly built by the
Victorians that today, it makes

a capacious and fine hotel,

and my asylum for the night.

It's a new day, and this morning,
I'm taking a walk through Sligo,

a place famed as much for its
cultural and literary associations

as for its beauty.

Sligo occupied an important place
in the heart

of Ireland's outstanding
20th-century poet, WB Yeats,

who drew great inspiration
from its landscape.

I'm making my way to the Carrowmore
Megalithic Cemetery to find out more

about him from Yeats enthusiast
and guide, Damian Brennan.

Here we are in Carrowmore, and you
could believe yourself to be very

remote, but actually, we are just at
the edge of the town of Sligo.

Yeats had the opportunity to come
here when?

During the early years of his life,
he was born in 1865.

He lives largely in London, but
he comes to Sligo

to his maternal
grandparents frequently.

And roves out into this landscape

and discovers all
of this ancient space.

So, in his early days, he's inspired
by landscape like this -

who would not be? - and what sort
of poetry does he write?

In the beginning,
he's writing ballads,

but much of it inspired by
the whole folklore

and fairy lore of this landscape.

For instance,
he's inspired by Queen Meave,

the legendary Queen of Connaught -

buried on Knocknarea,
behind us here -

and he writes,
The wind has bundled up the cloud

High over Knocknarea

And thrown the thunder
on the stones

For all that Meave can say.

Angers that are like noisy clouds

Have set our hearts abeat

But we have all bent low and low

And kissed the quiet feet
of Cathleen

The daughter of Houlihan.

So, what did this ancient history
mean to Yeats?

It gave him a sense of where
Celtic man, Irish man,

had come up out of the landscape and
had lived in the landscape

for all that length of time.

And that drove him to believe that
Ireland should have an independence

and should have its own art and
drama and poetry and literature.

Yeats belonged to the Protestant
Anglo-Irish minority

who ruled Ireland, yet he strongly
identified with Irish nationalism.

The call for Irish nationhood
and independence

was subliminal within his poetry,
and emerged through his evocation

of a rich Celtic past.

Ireland gallops towards independence
over a very short number of years

at the beginning of the
20th century.

Can you say what kind of role
literature and maybe Yeats

play in that process,
in your View?

Well, he himself asked after 1916,

"Did that play of mine send some
men out to die?"

He worries about that, because
he was part of a romantic group

who coalesced with the left-wing

and had the very unlikely but very
pivotal 1916 uprising.

The Easter Rising of 1916 was a
six-day armed rebellion

by Irish Republicans against
the British in Dublin.

The rebels failed to establish
an independent Ireland.

Hundreds were killed
in the fighting.

Much of Dublin was destroyed and
ringleaders were executed.

How does Yeats feel about the
1916 Rising when it happens?

Well, he's taken by surprise.
He doesn't anticipate it.

He's in London at the time.

He writes his great poem,
Easter 1916,

and suppresses it for three years,

because he's not quite sure how
it'll work out.

He refers to the Easter 1916 as,
"A terrible beauty is born."

Yeats' contribution to Irish
self-consciousness and independence?

He's absolutely central.

He called for it.

He wrote about it.

He's the towering figure behind even
the military movement, because it's

his voice and his words that stand
the testimony of time.

When Ireland established its right
to self-government in 1921,

WB Yeats joined the Irish Senate,

where he argued for artistic freedom

and against the social conservatism
of the Catholic administration.

Time and again,
he returned to this landscape.

Time for me to go to Innisfree,

to the lake isle that inspired his
most quoted verse.

Guiding me across Lough Gill,
George McGoldrick.

George.

Hello.
- Hello, Michael. You're very welcome.

Innisfree, what does it mean?

Inis Fraoigh is the Gaeilge,
the Irish.

It means "heathery island".

Heathery island.
And do you know the poem?

I do indeed.

Would you mind saying
it for me today, please?

I'll give it a go for you, surely.

I will arise and go now

And 90 to Innisfree

And a small cabin build there

Of clay and wattles made

Nine bean rows will I have there

A hive for the honeybee

And live alone in the
bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there

For peace comes dropping slow

Dropping from the veils
of the morning

To where the crickets sing

There midnight's all a glimmer

And noon a purple glow

And evening full
of the linnet's wing.

I will arise and go now

For always night and day

I hear lake water lapping

With low sound by the shore

While I stand on the roadway

Or on the pavements grey

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

A poet in distant London,
yearning for his beloved island.

Indeed.

It's extraordinary to me that,
out of this natural beauty,

an emotion could be born that
became an idea,

the idea of an Ireland,
independent of Britain.

And that was expressed in language,
in poetry,

which inspired men to take up
arms, to be

willing to die, and which led
to an independent Ireland.

Extraordinary, the power of an idea.

As Yeats said,
"A terrible beauty is born."

Sligo's rich cultural associations
extend further.

World famous Irish fiddler
Michael Coleman

was a Sligo-born musician who
exerted a huge influence

on traditional Irish music.

[A FIDDLE PLAYS A REEL]

I'm visiting
the Coleman Heritage Centre

to meet renowned fiddler
Oisin Mac Diarmada

and traditional Irish dancer,
Samantha Harvey.

Hello. That was delightful.

Now, I imagine the fiddle must have
been part of Irish music

for a very long time?
- It certainly was, yeah.

It came out of 17th-century Italy
primarily, the instrument,

but it very quickly spread over to
Ireland because there were so many

fiddles, violins being made.

And fortunately, they were hot that
expensive to purchase.

Some people could even make
their own.

And so it became very quickly one of
the most popular instruments

on which traditional music
was played.

I'm following a guidebook around
Ireland from the late-19th century.

What was the state of fiddling
music by then?

Fiddle would have been a very
strong instrument at that time.

It would have been played
stylistically quite different

in various parts of Ireland,
predominantly because people didn't

travel very much outside a
five to ten mile radius.

So you had very
distinctive voices, styles,

a little bit like regional
dialects of speech.

This, I believe, is a replica of the
cottage of Michael Coleman.

What part did he play in all this?

He's very much the god of
Irish fiddling.

He played the most amazing
fiddle music,

that we still learn from and aspire
to play like now, 100 years later.

Born in 1891, Michael Coleman
journeyed across the Atlantic

to America at the age of 23.

He joined the vaudeville circuit
in New York, playing to

audiences of thousands,

and was the first Irish fiddler to
make recordings of his work.

What was it that he did that
was new or striking?

He took what were fundamentally
simple dance tunes

and he put a lot of musical
detail into that music.

One of the first tunes he recorded
was a tune called Reidy Johnson's,

it's a reel.

If you take the structure of
a tune like that...

[A JAUNTY REEL]

What Michael did with the tune is he
filled in a lot of details

and ornamentation in those notes
and variations.

[THE SAME REEL
WITH MORE NOTES]

And on and so forth.

He's reputed not really to have ever
played the tune the same twice.

His recordings travelled back to
Ireland and around the world.

His fast bowing technique became
known as the Sligo style

and has come to
dominate traditional Irish music.

Sligo must be rather proud of its
place in Irish music history?

It certainly is. This area is often
known as Coleman Country,

and it reflects not only Coleman's
genius, but the magical music

that so many people played in this
particular area.

Well, Michael, I hear you've
danced all over the world.

You could hardly come to Ireland
and not do a step.

I have made a fool of myself all
over the world.

Will you show me, Samantha?
- I sure will.

Heel, toe,

one-two-three,

and heel-toe-heel,

one-two-three.

And heel, toe,

one-two-three.

And heel-toe-heel,

one-two-three. Excellent!

And what do I do with my arms?
- You can keep them down by your side.

They sometimes keep them
very stiff, don't they?

They sure do!
- Right.

Maestro, some music.
- That's it.

[MID-PACED REEL]

Five, six, seven, eight.

Heel, toe,

one-two-three.

Heel-toe-heel, one-two-three.

Heel, toe...

Perfect!

Michael Flatley had
better watch out!

The failure of the potato crop in
the 18403 was a cause of the famine

which gave an enormous boost to
Irish nationalism

and was blamed on
Anglo-Irish landowners.

Ironically, a poet
who didn't speak Irish,

from a middle-class Protestant
family, William Butler Yeats,

gave the Irish nation its voice,

as surely as the fiddle gave it
its music and dance.

[A LIVELY REEL]

'Next time...

'Things heat up with an unusual
Victorian health treatment...

Steam is rising all around me.

'I learn of the terrible tragedy
at Clew Bay...

A lot of the young people got very excited
as they'd never seen a steamer before

and they all went to one side,
and unfortunately the boat capsized.

'and stretch my skills
at a woollen mill.'

I'm involved in a delicate
industrial process.

I'm on tenterhooks.

[END THEME MUSIC]