There's something special about the village of Fore. From the moment you enter between the old gates (now to the side of the road), you can feel that sense of the past. It's a place I regularly go for a walk and it's like walking back into another time.
There is also an atmosphere there that always reminds me of being in France, like it's one of those sleepy French hamlets you drive through on your way to some campsite, a place that seems to belong to another era. The name Fore actually comes from the the word Fobhar and the name of the town is Baille Fhobhair which means town of the spring (as in small stream) and is associated with the 7th century Saint, Feichin who founded the first monastery here in 630.
On a very balmy evening in September, more like summer than Autumn, the glow of an almost setting sun, cloaked the ancient stones and the surrounding landscape in a golden hue. It was the perfect evening for a ramble! I had hoped to arrive a wee bit earlier as the sun dipped below the horizon just after I finished my sketch. From my viewing spot beside the Ash tree, the Abbey itself is quite a magnificent ruin and dates from 1180. It was founded by the Norman Hugh de Lacy and was a Benedictine monastery, a sister abbey to that of St. Taurin in Normandy. The remains that now stand, mostly date from the 13th century which is still pretty old. But when you consider that the original church was 700 years older, you realize how old this site is....but then there are the Rag Trees! Now this ancient custom was a way of making an offering, maybe in thanks or in hope, by tying a rag in prayer, to a tree. Usually, it is a Whitethorn (sceach gheal) but it is Ash here, which are adorned with rags. As this tradition dated since well before Christianity, it makes you wonder just how long this was revered as a sacred site.
After completing the sketch, I took a quick ramble on the wonderful Nancy and Nellie looped walk by the side of the hill, the Ben of Fore. Nancy and Nellie were two local women, Nancy McDermott and Nellie Dunne, who lived in the shadow of the Ben and who walked that walk many's the time. As it was getting a bit dark (the evenings were really pulling in), I decided to come back the following evening and do a bit more exploring, while the weather was still so good.
Another amazing September evening followed so I took advantage and headed back for a slightly earlier stroll, popping in to the Seven Wonders pub where I got the key to the Anchorite cell, up on the hill opposite the main abbey ruin. The pub is called after the Seven Wonders, for which Fore is well known. These are:
- The wood wood that doesn't burn.
- The mill without a race.
- The water that runs uphill.
- The water that doesn't boil.
- The lintel that was raised by St. Feichin's prayers.
- The Abbey that was built on a bog.
- The Anchorite in the cell.
So let's just go through these "Wonders" briefly. It was said that the wood from the Rag tree by the well, was impossible to burn but of course the tree there now is not the original one so I'm not sure of the veracity of that statement today. The mill without a race refers to the mill that once stood here and where it was in operation, despite the fact that there was no obvious stream. It is said that St. Feichin struck the ground with his staff and a spring appeared. The water that runs uphill is an optical illusion whereby the flow of water, which disappears underground, moves in such a way that it gives the appearance of travelling uphill. According to legend, the heavy lintel of the church was put in place by the prayers of the saint. The Abbey itself was built on very boggy land which has now been mostly drained. And finally, there is the Anchorite in the cell. An Anchorite was like a hermit, but as the name suggests, was anchored to a particular place. The most famous anchorite was Patrick Beglin who vowed never to leave the cell alive, being fed and watered by donations from the local people. It is said he died as he climbed out the window of the cell, in 1616.
My own little exploration started up on that hill, opposite the main Abbey, where is situated the old church of St. Feichin and the Anchorite cell, higher up the slope . The church is dated from the 12th century and is the oldest building left in this area, dating from Pre-Norman times. Hard to believe, as you gaze across the valley, that in Feichin's time, there were about 300 monks living here and 2000 students, so it was obviously a true centre of learning. The church, roofless, has a few interesting features, including the 13th century font.
Further up the slope is the Anchorite Cell which is definitely worth a visit. As I had the key, all I had to do was try and avoid the cattle that rambled freely. Thankfully they were not much more than calves so I managed to climb up to the padlocked gate and door. This is the place where the last Anchorite lived and died but it eventually came into the hands of the Nugent family, and became a mausoleum. Entering the building by a heavy door, a cold, tiled interior is revealed. There is a plaque on the floor commemorating Patrick Beglin but rather unsettling, is the collection of human bones just casually lying by the altar area.



Having completed my little tour uphill, and skirting the edge of the perimeter on the way down (to avoid the cattle who were now much nearer!), I headed back into the village to drop off the key. Then I continued on the walk, going the "wrong way" (ie finishing at the abbey). In the village itself, I passed one of the 18 stone crosses that are spread over a 10K area before reaching the gate to the Nancy and Nellie walk which is very well tended by the local people. Each time, nearly, you go there, a new tree or flowerbed has been planted or a new carving erected which shows real pride of place.
En-route, you pass between the Motte and Bailey castle, though there is nothing left whatsoever of the castle itself but more a large overgrown embankment. Strangely, I used to always get an odd, uncomfortable feeling here and then one day, found out why. The rise in the land opposite the Bailey, is known as Gallows Hill, so that sort of explains itself! Further on the walk, a lovely little "fairy" village type place has been constructed for the little ones, such as fairy doors and fairy "forts" etc.
At the exit/entrance to the walk is a wonderful carved throne depicting the head of the Goddess Ériu. Ériu is associated with the county of Westmeath, especially Uisneach, where it is said she is buried and it is after this ancient deity that our country Éire has been named.
Finally, I reached the entrance to the Abbey, through a tree-lined avenue. The monastery itself is impressive, consisting of fortified type towers and the remains of the cloister. In the low evening sun, the place was wonderfully silent bar the cawing of crows that nestle in the nooks and crannies. The path from the monastery zig-zags between high stone walls before exiting out onto the boggy flat land where the striped Galloway cattle graze. The path leads you past the second Rag tree, now behind a rather ugly metal fence and then within a minute I was back at the car, ready to head home for a cuppa!