The Gardens of Lissadell

 

Wake up. Stretch thy legs. Draw your curtains and open yourself to the gleaming rays of the radiant morning sun. Dawn casts its shadow over the gardens that root before your feet. The house that stood guard over the Drumcliffe bay inhales the sunlight into its slate-grey walls and shine over the stone path.

The hills stretch long and wide, nature surrounding them with a watchful eye. The glimmer from the sea nearby sends a streak of delight deep into your soul, as the robin lands on delicate feet on the dew-laden grass. The crunch of autumnal leaves defines bliss and as you look out at the scene of utter beauty, the care from the Gore-Booths that o’er decades did sprout will make you feel that for a moment, everything will be ok.

The alpine and walled gardens are homemade rainbows of colour, ingredients consisting of the blood, sweat and tears of those good people who refused to stop until this garden could be a beautiful specimen. We all pray that it shall remain so, until the exuberant landmark of Lissadell becomes little more than a forgotten memory. It is, after all, one of the more magnetic places of this ever-changing world.

 

Find the great things of the majestic mansion. The defining smell of risen dust, the sound of the creaking floorboards, and learn all about the great people who bore their children and raised them in the individually fascinating rooms. The people who pulled through war, illness and grieving, who have become history today.

Alas, all great things must come to an end, so we must all finish our visit to this place of mirth and wonder. But my worthy man; we must all pass on the word so others can experience and carry on the legacy of its once inhabitants.  So I say to you now, with all my heart and soul; Wake up. Stretch thy legs. Arise and wander until you find Lissadell.

From there,

Lissadell will find you.

Conor McGowan