In Donegal last weekend, life went on. We were in Dunfanaghy, only a few miles out the road from Creeslough. On the way up, there was still a back-roads diversion around the village, which ordinarily would have meant a narrow caravan of cranky drivers, full of bad cess and no patience. But everybody knew the reason and of course nobody minded.
The diversion comes out in the middle of Creeslough itself and for a minute or so, you’re driving past shop fronts and landmarks you know far too well now from the news. There’s St Michael’s Church, where so many of the funerals were. There’s Scoil Mhuire, where the youngest victim, five-year-old Shauna Flanagan Garwe, only started a few weeks ago. There’s Brennan’s Pharmacy and Rose’s Bar and all the rest of it.
Dunfanaghy is the next town along on the N56, less than 10 minutes out towards the Atlantic. It’s tucked into the neck of Horn Head, one of those louchely stunning peninsulas that Donegal throws around the place with an offhand shrug. From up on the hill, you can see out on to Sheephaven Bay, across to the gimlet village of Downings and Rosapenna’s trio of world-class golf courses. All of it just sitting there, making no big claims for itself. Leaving everyone else to do it for them.
We had just missed the minute’s silence before throw-in and a presentation by the visiting team, Naomh Mhuire. Everybody knew what it meant to be back
We went out on Friday night. Pizza in The Rusty Oven, drinks in Patsy Dan’s. The locals said it was the first weekend since the tragedy that people felt willing or able to come out on the town. It wouldn’t have felt right before now, for one thing. For another, a number of places hadn’t been able to open. Staff had funerals to go to, families and friends to grieve with. Everybody knew somebody.
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But on this Friday night, Patsy Dan’s had plenty through the door. Two deep at the bar, fiddles flying in the corner, normality insinuating itself back into the place. When the trad session finished up, a lad with a guitar got up in the opposite corner and blew the roof off the place. Everything from Bon Jovi to Alanis Morissette to Eminem. Lose yourself in the music, the moment.
On Saturday we went walking. Horn Head rises up 183m (600ft) in one direction so obviously we went down in the other. Down to the bridge that links the town to the rump of the peninsula. Into the grounds of Naomh Mícheál GAA, the club that has served Creeslough and Dunfanaghy since the early 1950s. There was a game on. Perfect.
It was under-13 boys and the stand was packed. Not a seat to be got. Which might have seemed a small bit odd until you realised that this was the first game back. The club hadn’t played a match of any sort at any grade since that desperate Friday a fortnight before. We had just missed the minute’s silence before throw-in and a presentation by the visiting team, Naomh Mhuire. Everybody knew what it meant to be back.
Down on the sideline, a familiar figure, an unmissable voice. Jim McGuinness married into Creeslough through his wife Yvonne and you didn’t have to watch for long to see that this under-13 team carried his stamp. Not just literally – although the tall number 10 with the black scraggly hair who ran all day was impossible to miss. But more how they were drilled. The goalie had his kick-outs away in double-quick time. The freetakers had routines.
The home side had the wind in the first half and made full use of it. The Naomh Mhuire keeper put in a heroic half hour, pulling off half a dozen point-blank saves to keep his side on their feet. But St Michael’s ran away with it after the break nonetheless and won pulling up. The Division Two county final is tomorrow. The opposition is Naomh Conaill, the club that made Jim and sent him out into the world. Of course it is.
We packed up and walked on. Out over the headland, in search of Tramore. A classic Donegal beach. You can’t drive to it. To get there, you need to make a 40-minute hike from the road, over stiles and fences, through the trees and around the dunes. It’s not a secret exactly, but you’ve got to want it to find it. And when you do, it takes your breath away. What could be more Donegal than that?
They’re picking themselves up and finding their way through
We got there and pretty much had it to ourselves. On a pristine mile of beach, we saw five other walkers and a dog. The coastline was jagged and toothy and the waves were giddy on the wind. There was nothing to do but stare out and be.
On the way back, the cloud lifted a bit and we could see Muckish in the near distance and maybe a bit of Errigal out beyond it. We tramped back through hills and gaps and rushes until Dunfanaghy popped up from behind a dune again and you couldn’t but be stilled by the mesmeric beauty of it all. The remote endlessness of Donegal, the unique wildness of the place.
Nowhere is more able for tragedy than anywhere else, of course. Humans adapt everywhere, they get up and get on. But Donegal is Donegal and you just know the type of them. Finding their way back is a condition of the landscape.
The Naomh Micheál clubhouse down at the bridge has an open invitation on Wednesday night. People can come down and drink tea and chat if they want to. Trained counsellors are on hand, just as they are out the back of Brennan’s pharmacy in Creeslough. There for anyone who wants it, for anyone it might help.
Last Sunday night, they ran the club bingo again. Tomorrow, the under-13s have a county final. They’re picking themselves up and finding their way through.
Nothing else for it.
