TO MY mind, Ardmore, Co Waterford is almost the perfect seaside village: a main street, plenty of beaches, a cliff walk and that's just about it - or is it? I first became aware of Ardmore when I got to know Molly Keane, that delightfully aristocratic lady who lived there for many years, writes Hugh Oram.
After the death of her husband, she returned in 1961 to an area she knew well, to live with her two daughters, Sally and Virginia, in Ardmore. She had already given up writing as M.J. Farrell, a name sequestered from a pub, and had started to write as Molly Keane, but it took a further two decades, until 1981, for her masterpiece, Good Behaviour, to be published.
She was a most charming, bird-like woman, the epitome of good manners and a living connection to the big house culture of old. Molly spent the rest of her life in Ardmore. She died in 1996 and is buried beside the Church of Ireland church almost in the centre of the village.
Then I discovered another artistic connection with Ardmore, one that drew me even further into its embrace: two outstanding painters of the 20th century, Joan Jameson and Norah McGuinness. Joan, like Molly, came from an aristocratic background; she was the eldest daughter of Sir Richard and Lady Musgrave of Tourin near Cappoquin.
Educated at the Sorbonne, she eventually returned to Ireland, where a frequent guest at the family home in Ardmore was Norah McGuinness, the coal merchant's daughter from Derry. The two became great friends and Norah often stayed with the Jamesons in Ardmore.
That artistic tradition in the village is continued to this day by Mary Lincoln at the Ardmore pottery and craft shop, high up on the road that leads to the cliff walk, overlooking the pier and boat cove. She started doing her pottery 30 years ago and her shop is a remarkable emporium of her own work, that of other potters and general craftware. It's the kind of place where you have to fight hard to suppress the urge to buy armfuls of stuff before you leave.
Mary's mother-in-law, Siobhan Lincoln, wrote a marvellous book, published in 2000, with many anecdotes and recollections about old Ardmore. It's a very detailed description of life in Ardmore in the old days, not just everyday life in the village, but that of the landed gentry.
She tells how the first privately owned motor car, owned by Fred Keane, had come to Ardmore only in the second decade of the 20th century. Running water was installed in 1937; exactly a decade later, a branch of Muintir na Tíre started in the village. The rural electrification scheme was extended to Ardmore and the lights went on for the first time on May 24th, 1954.
In her book, Siobhan recalls many fascinating snippets, such as how Ardmore people going to nearby Youghal would, until the late 1960s, go to Monatrea and take the ferry across the Blackwater estuary at 2d for a passenger, 2d for a bicycle. You can read lengthy extracts from her book, Ardmore: Memory and Story, on the website of the Waterford County Museum at Dungarvan.
For many years, from the 1920s onwards, the Cliff House Hotel in Ardmore was the social hub of the village. Molly Keane recalled that Joan Jameson and her husband Tommy often went there to meet the Nugents, the owners, and a motley assembly that included Father Power, the local priest, and Paddy Spratt, a local auctioneer, for their school of cards. Play would go on far into the night, but the participants would all do what they had to do next day, like Father Power celebrating early Mass.
But, according to Molly Keane, when Joan Jameson died in 1953, far too young, the magic fell from the air.
On occasions, my wife and I stayed at the old Cliff House Hotel; once it was so busy we ended up in a room not much bigger than a box-room. But the restaurant and its views over Ardmore Bay more than compensated. A brand new luxury hotel of the same name opened recently on the same site, with exactly the same views from the restaurant. It's the wonder of the area. People are said to be coming from Dungarvan, a mere 20km or so away, just to stay overnight and sample its pleasures.
Ardmore has another hotel, the Round Tower, a couple of restaurants, and a few pubs. The main beach is complemented by four or five others and,while Ardmore has lost its Blue Flag status because of the antiquated sewage arrangements in the village, that has been a blessing in disguise, because it prevented a rash of new housing developments during the lately vanished boom years.
Some historic buildings in the area have been converted. The big old coastguard station up on the heights was opened in 1867 and run as such until 1922, when it was abandoned, then burned down. In recent years, it has been lovingly restored into a family home.
Treasures of the area include the cliff walk, the ruins of the early medieval cathedral and the perfectly preserved round tower. St Declan, who made Ardmore the first Christian settlement in Ireland in 416 AD, just before St Patrick arrived, is remembered at such spots as his well and hermitage on the cliff walk. And that completes the picture: few man-made excitements, no raucous entertainment.
At this stage, yet another Keane comes into the picture. Fergal Keane, nephew of the late John B. Keane, and himself a distinguished writer as well as correspondent for the BBC, has spent many family summer holidays in Ardmore, which he describes as heaven on earth.
As descriptions go, that's pretty near the ungarnished truth.