I begin today’s journey along the Celbridge Road in Lucan, walking against the traffic, setting out from the bottom of the Millstream Road. To my left, a low wall separates the road from the drop to the mill stream itself and to a golf course that is so well kept, it clearly has not suffered the ill effects of the barber shop lockdown of recent months. I, sadly, am more hedge than man at present. To my right, there is a retaining wall holding back the soil of the hill upon which the Spa Hotel and the Crescent are built. In places, the wall, presumably built about 1790 at the same time as the houses of the Crescent itself, emerges from the thick ivy tendrils that drape over it and shows that it has recently been beautifully restored. The narrow pathway has quite a few walkers on it today – all out to make the most of the gaps between the many bouts of sudden rain deluges that have plagued the May skies this year.
The more I walk away from the village, the more I become aware of the smells and scents of the hedgerow plants in the moist air. I see ivy, hawthorn and an unexpectedly large number of stickybacks that were not here last week but that have now very quickly staked their claim to the spring sunshine.
Indeed, for most of the walk today, I will see stickybacks – or ‘cleavers’ – everywhere. They tend to thrive in the spaces left open by humankind – in hedgerows, by roadsides, and anywhere that their covering of microscopic barbs might attach to clothing. Ahead, I see children throwing it at each other to stick – something I think we’ve all done at some stage – but something that is key to the success of this plant, with each producing over 300 seeds on average per season. In a Discovery Channel special a number of years ago, they speculated that the world, after humans, could come to be dominated by octopus-like creatures. I’d put my money on stickybacks.
So effective are its barbs that across Europe, they have been used for centuries as sieves through which milk has been strained to remove animal hair. This in mind, I try not to let my lockdown head thatch get too close to it lest I become trapped and enfoliated like a Mayan pyramid in a jungle.
Across the road, I stand on the wall to look down at the little pond that has formed in the middle of the stream on the golf course. Last year, my wife spied a mother duck with three ducklings swimming in the water on her daily run. She told me that she had seen a Heron nearby and the mother duck was clearly trying to warn it away. That weekend, she took the kids to see the three ducklings. But there were only two, and the Heron was gone.
I pass Tubber Lane on my left as the road swings around to the right towards what I believe is called the Dublin Road. Despite the few modern estates along this stretch, it still very much feels like countryside.
At the Dublin Road, I turn left and follow the road on the right towards Weston Airport. Weston was founded as early as 1931 by Irish air pioneer Darby Kennedy. From its inception through to the 1950s, it was possible to fly from Weston to a host of airports across the British Isles. I was told that the 1960’s war movie ‘The Blue Max’ was filmed here and so I googled it to find a witty anecdote or two about what I assumed to be a bad movie simply because I had never heard of it. I was disappointed, though, to learn that it was apparently pretty good! I add it to my list of local movies, which now has two … (thank you, Studs (2006)).
The road moves on past Weston and towards the M4. The weather has taken a turn for the better here. It is very tranquil as I approach the footbridge across the M4. Once across, the world feels changed. It is still peaceful, but less tame somehow. There are tree branches everywhere and it feels a little unsettling – a feeling that stays with me until I reach the gates of Becketts. It looks quiet today and not yet open, but I have no doubt it will be soon. My family has always seen Becketts as a ‘special occasion’ place and one of the few places that can cater for the eclectic tastes of my family.
The townland around here is Cooldrinagh. Samuel Beckett’s mother came from these parts and grew up in what is now Becketts. Or, at least, that is the story. Leixlip historian John Colgan tells me that there is, in fact, no direct evidence for this, although the family was associated with the land. When she married, she moved to Foxrock after marriage, Cooldrinagh is the name she gave to her house.
At the end of the laneway, I reach an extremely busy Leixlip Road and, taking my life in my hands, find an appropriate gap in the traffic to cross. I decide to turn right and walk down by the Springfield Hotel (where my parents had their wedding reception in 1976 and where I had an impromptu reception on return to Ireland having eloped in 2002 – an event that took everybody – including me! – by surprise.)
As today’s ramble draws to a close, I am reminded of the rich variety of landscapes that we have in our locality. A number of years ago, a cousin visiting from rural Saskatchewan spent her time with us constantly commentating on that fact. Where she came from, there was prairie. And nothing more. Trees were an event. Parks were small squares of prairie with a fence around them. And local history was something that was still being figured out. For me, in the space of a few short kilometers, I have seen a variety of stories sewn into the Lucan landscapes. When the stickybacks eventually take over completely, we will be amply supplied with Lucan memories.