An Irish tale from the Rural Regions.
May the road rise up to meet you.
People of the rural West Coast of Ireland in the 1980’s and 90’s.
Photography & text by David Gilbert Wright.
I met my future wife in the 1980s. She was Irish and her family had a small farm on the west coast of Ireland that they had worked for over 100 years. When I went over with her, I fell in love with the place and the people. What struck me was the pace of life. It kept in time with the seasons. There was no rush to do things. I felt I had stepped back into my childhood in the 1950s where I grew up backing on to a farm. We often went back to Ireland to spend time with family, have holidays and get to know the locals.
At the time, the west coast seemed to be caught in a time trap in the last decades of the 20th Century. It started to show signs of catching up with the rest of the world as tourism opened up the sleepy villages. The naming of the coastline as the ‘Wild Atlantic Way’ was one lever, the other were the European grants in the infrastructure that made it a more attractive proposition for private investors. Suddenly, new building was taking place everywhere. The long tradition of emigration away from Ireland reversed and the population started to grow. Then the bubble burst with a huge worldwide economic crash.
These photographs were taken in the decades just before that crash. They speak of communities intertwined with the landscape. Of farming families that made a living from the land, often in ways that had not changed for hundreds of years. They tell of the strong link between the Catholic Church and the State and of ordinary people’s relationship with religion. Such a relationship was to change at the beginning of the new millennium. Ireland would be dragged into the modern world. Many of the people in this series will have passed on. The old ways were to be put aside for more global aspirations. So, this is a series that documented something for posterity.
Most of the pictures remained unseen for decades until I rediscovered them in 2018, while going through my archive. Now four decades on they can be looked at with the experience of hindsight.
Photo top:
Time to have fun! It was 1988 and hedonism was the name of the game in England. Yuppies strutted around the new Docklands financial development in London in their sharp suits, new mobile phones, padded shoulders and brash attitudes. Money was spent liberally on flash cars and wine in the newly opened wine bars. There couldn't be more of a contrast to the scene in this photograph. Although the words on the van invite people to have fun, the reality was one of some kind of decrepit bygone age. The ground is littered and the boy is dirty and wearing a cheap, grimy vest. And, what is he doing? Is that his idea of fun. He looks more like he is miserable. Two worlds, sharing the same language, similar culture, geographically so close but what a contrast.
Photo above:
Paddy Whelan. If you grew up around Doorus and Knockgarra in the 1980s you would certainly know Paddy. As a young boy he was chided and mocked by the other children, just like Michael in the film Ryan's Daughter. The reason was he had a condition that had caused his head to be enlarged and misshaped. I first became aware of him when he was in his early 40s. When I finally got to talk to him, he struck me as a very kind and caring man. As an adult, he had become accepted in the community. Paddy was chatting away to Mrs Linnehan. We exchanged greetings. Our son was teething at the time and Paddy noticed. He looked down at him and then remarked in a broad Irish accent, "Ah, teeth, your better of without them"! I asked Paddy if he would let me take his picture. Unsure of what to do, he said "Shall I sing?" and immediately broke into a touching rendition of an old Irish ballad. What a man. Paddy died too early. A great loss and further evidence of a disappearing community /
Photos above right:
The Burial. It was customary for the whole village to turn out for a funeral. The church would be packed. The curtains of the cottages would be drawn closed. The procession would be led by the mourning family. It would make its way out of the village to the churchyard often situated in a remote place near the shoreline. It was a sombre occasion as the people gathered around the graveside to witness the committal of one of their own. These men were typical on the west coast. It would not be long before the suits were replaced by sports-wear, the flats hats by baseball caps and the pipes by mobile phones /
Photo below:
Old people still farmed in the 90s. My wife’s uncle was one so was her aunt in Mayo and her other aunt down the lane. They were hardy folk. I met this woman on a trip back to Ireland. Eng-land and America had just gone to war with Iraq. While the world was going mad, she was tending her sheep and feeding her dog. She invited me to in for a cup of tea and a lump of bread and butter. It was like stepping back in time. Peat smouldered in a small grate and she held her rosary beads as we talked.
Photo below:
These men were typical on the west coast. It would not be long before the suits were replaced by sports-wear, the flats hats by baseball caps and the pipes by mobile phones.
Photo above:
Milking the cow. Knockgarra is a cluster of two farms and a store. One farm belonged to Kathleen. I was standing outside when she came out, crossed to her cow that had been waiting patiently in the pen, and began milking. Nothing unusual about that the locals might say. But to 'outsiders' it is a remarkable scene for the 1990s. Here was a middle-aged woman, down on her hands and knees milking a cow by hand into a zinc bucket. And if that's not unusu-al enough, she was wearing a pinny and in her curlers! Life in rural areas such as these is never short of a few surprises but this is her reality.
Photo above:
Ireland is the home of romantic dreams. Songs telling of rolling green fields and sparkling white beaches conjure up a halcyon land. And in that land, what could be idyllic than rolling along the road in a bow top caravan. Going to no particular place without the worry of time.
Travellers have been a part of the Irish landscape for hundreds of years. What was once a difficult way of life often enforced on tenant farmers thrown of their land by greedy landlords has become a romantic lifestyle for some. I met a small family who had pulled up on the road running over the Burren, just north of Tulla. They had two vans, several horses and little children. There was a small open fire with a kettle coming to the boil. The woman must have been in her late twenties. She was statuesque and fresh faced, probably from years living in the open air. She had a quiet serenity about her. For those who live in cities and dream of the simpler life, this must be ideal. As the saying goes...
“May the road rise up to meet you...
God's blessing for your journey - may your walk be an easy one - with no huge mountains to climb or obstacles to overcome.
Photo above left:
Attending local events was always a way of finding out about a community and seeing what made it tick. The Angelus sounded twice a day bringing people to pray. Things would stop for a brief period and each person participated. This boy was at the age of still doing what his parents did but the world was changing. Some young people had already started to question the position of the Church in their lives. The town nearby to Paddy’s farm was twinned with another in Belgium. Twinning was a new idea and across Ireland Councils were looking to Europe to form bonds. Funding was already flowing in to Ireland from the EEC but it would be nearly two more decades before they adopted the Euro.
Photo above right:
His best suit. So many men above a certain age looked like this wearing the suit, shirt and tie topped off with a flat cap. The day-to-day version was a more ‘worn’. But a ‘best’ suit was kept for special occasions like Holy Communions, weddings and funerals as well as for Mass on Sundays. My own father-in-law wore one just like this. I asked this nice man if he would let me take his picture. He stood to attention and smiled awkwardly. He had a healthy scepticism towards the camera.
Photo left:
Three generations. I was strolling down the road in the nearby town of Kinvarra when I noticed this mother and child in their doorway and asked if I could take a picture. She called to her mum to come and have her picture taken. Suddenly I had three generations in front of me. Each had lived through their own changes of the 20th Century and now the young baby was to experience his own ‘brave new world’.
Photos below:
Church and State. In the 1980s there was a very strong connection between these two institutions. Over the next 20 years things were to change. As Ireland became more outwardly focused, the State assumed power over the Church. Internationalism and enabled a change from the strict conservative ideals towards a more Left-Wing thinking. The ever-present priest was beginning to be less important as the politician began to represent the new way of life.
Croagh Patrick, Connemara. 1990s.
Thanks for reading.