Wednesday, 24 February 2016

...or here

Same road, just a bit further along:

When we was young, The Brother and I, we used to walk this road regularly.  The clump of trees you see there in the distance is Kiltinney More:

'More' is an Anglicisation of Mór, meaning 'Big' in Irish.  Where there's a Mór there's usually a corresponding Beg (small).  Kiltinney Beg lies at the other end of the road, but there's no signpost. Many of the old townland names are disappearing, only present in older maps, which is a great shame...not only are they a direct link to our heritage but they make the landscape a whole lot more interesting, in my eyes anyway.

So the farmer here at Kiltinney kept pheasants, all different sorts including golden ones, hence the reason for our walk.  Nowadays the farm is derelict, the buildings stripped of their slates and falling apart.  The Brother kept pheasants too for a while.  And we had guinea pigs and cats and hens.  That's the sort of thing we did when we was young and growing up in The Liberties.

We went through a hen phase a few years ago and I have to admit their eggs were lovely.  Very territorial birds though - they killed one of the newcomers we introduced to the flock, which was very upsetting for Missy.  We got rid of them - not because of that, but in the winter they attracted rats, which we just couldn't get rid of.  When we started seeing the rats running about in daylight enough was enough and the hens were dispatched.  No, not like that - how could you even think that?!  No, we took them back from whence they came.

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