Carrickfergus, the First Place We Stayed in Ireland

Yea, he that repenteth and exerciseth faith and bringeth forth good works, and prayeth continually without ceasing--unto such is given to know the mysteries of God; yea, unto such it shall be give to reveal things which never have been revealed; yea, and it shall be given unto such to bring thousands of souls to repentance, even as it has been given unto us to bring these our brethren to repentance.  Alma 26:23

It was with great anticipation I watched the waters as we left Scotland and headed for Ireland.

This is what we saw outside of our room at the hotel in Carrickfergus.

This is the castle the evening we arrived in Ireland.

Early the next morning, the boats were sitting quietly in the dock by the castle.

This statue was erected to celebrate 100 years from the time King William III first stepped ashore onto a rock in this harbor at Carrickfergus.

There were stationary figures planted at windows and at lookouts in Carrickfergus Castle.

Albert Edward Pier, which was built in 1885, is where and everyone and their dogs
stroll these days

The castle doors seem to say to me, "Come in."

This is a ferry like the one that delivered us to Ireland.  We could see the channel from where we were staying.

Take a dive.

The Marvelous Yorkshire Dales National Park in England

These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they were created, in the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens.  And every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb of the field before it grew: for the Lord God had not cause it to rain upon the earth, and there was not a man to till the ground.  Genesis 2:4-5

Waterfalls were found throughout the Yorkshire Dales National Park

 From the brochure about the park:  "The Yorkshire Dales landscape has many moods; it can be wild and windswept or quietly tranquil.

It includes some of the finest limestone scenery in the UK, from crags and pavements to an underground labyrinth of caves.

Each valley or 'dale' has its own distinct character, set against expansive heather moorland tops.

Stone-built villages sit amongst traditional farming landscapes of field barns, drystone walls and flower-rich meadows, and show how the area has been shaped over thousands of years by the people who have lived and worked here.

Spectacular waterfalls and ancient broadleaved woodland contrast with the scattered remains of farmer mine workings and other rural industries that remind us of the area's rich industrial heritage.

Together, nature and people have created a special landscape of immense beauty and character.

A train had just passed over this fantastic trestle

The date on this place isn't unusual for dwellings in the U.K.

Love these "Oncoming vehicles in middle of road" signs.  That is how it was the whole time we were in England.

The "Elderly people" sign is another one I kept meaning to get a picture standing next to and finally caught this out the car window.  I kind of wondered if anyone would use a crossing with this sign on it.  Not many people I know think they are elderly even when they are.  No one is too excited about advertising being elderly.

These cliffs almost look like chalk, which they well could be.

The roads were like this throughout the park.

We always saw a lot of pheasants in the countryside throughout the U.K.

The town we stayed in while searching for the Hugil House and enjoying the Yorkshire Dales.

It is easy to see where all the stone comes from for the buildings.  Many hills are also slate.  I don't remember seeing a roof that didn't have slate tiles in the U.K., and I didn't see anything but stone buildings throughout the Yorkshire Dales.

Patterson Spade Mill in Ireland

The scripture for the day, which is applicable for having to use spades:  In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread . . . Genesis 3:19

I was searching for the Patterson surname while in Scotland and Ireland and found this spade mill in Ireland.  We just had to go to it!  Actually, the history behind making different types of spades was very interesting, along with this Patterson family ancestry.  I took photos of the time line with family names and births.  It may lead to something later.  The lady there told me that one family member did go to Canada during the potato famine.  That is when one son from the Patterson clan left Ireland, along with his wife (a Brennan).  They landed in Prince Edwards Ireland, Canada.  I will need to research the ship's registers to see when they actually arrived there.  The census records show Pattersons and Patersons residing in the same neighborhood on plots next to one another.  The mystery of the dropped "t" will need to be solved.

It was very noisy in the shop and this giant hammer pounded the metal flat to prepare the shovel to be shaped.  The big belts in the back turned and provided electricity and power to the tools.  It is run on water power from the canal and falls in the back of this shed.

These are the different labels put on the shovels over the years.

This other part of the shop showed the finished shovels.  It looks very cluttered, but there are shovels in here that are custom made and sold even today.  I would have purchased one if I could have taken it on the plane.

This is the canal that supplies the water that is then sent down the hill  to the shop where it generates the power to run everything.

This poem was on a large sign at the spade mill

 by Seamus Heaney (1939-) 

Digging

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

- from Death of a Naturalist (1966)

Here it is seen when many left Ireland during the potato famine.