A friend of mine from America visited a few years ago, when we were still
new to the area, and wanted to see the head of the River Boyne. We drove
all over the tiny capillaries of Irish back roads, triangulating the
source of the river, and along the way we came upon Carbury Castle.
Eventually
we found a nearby manor, on whose grounds, we were told, the river
began. We knocked on the giant door and were greeted by an elderly
gentleman, who had lived there his entire life and was the last of his
lineage. He was blind now, we realized, but could point in the right
direction, and we stayed for a while to talk to him about the history of
the place.
He told us about his boyhood there in the Edwardian
era -- at 86, he was actually older than the independent nation of
Ireland -- when he and other boys rolled hoops and held picnics on the
hillsides. He told us about the Normans who first built Carbury Castle,
and the warlords who ruled the area in medieval times -- one, he said,
invited all the local lords to a feast and killed them in treachery, as
in the opening of Braveheart.
We
followed his finger to the place where the Boyne began -- a river named
after the goddess Boyne, often depicted standing in water. My friend
and I came upon it and she promptly fell in, standing knee-deep in the
spring.
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