"Once a selkie find its skin again, neither chains of steel nor chains of love can keep her from the sea"
I went to the library yesterday afternoon and picked up a few films. I was having a very horrible day, and needed to give my mind some distraction from reality. One of the films was The Secret of Roan Inish and I can say with confidence that, after watching it last night with a cup of raspberry tea, it is one of the most enchanting movies I’ve ever seen. The swelling Irish landscapes, the haunting score, the beautiful costuming, and the folklore, all left me missing something that I didn’t know I’d ever lost. The film was so full of Ireland and the rolling blue sea that my heart could hardly remain inside my chest. It wanted to leap into the screen, and reside with its Gaelic roots permanently.
That night, I dreamt I lived on the Irish coast as a fisherman’s wife. My home was a cozy little seaside cottage with low ceilings, roaring fires, and an endless simmering pot of stew. We survived the tempestuous stormy winter evenings by curling up under quilts and reciting ghost stories in fevered whispers. We always smelled of salt, of brine, of fish. It was a dream that kills your spirit a little when you realize you must awake. I realized that, if I ever find myself in Ireland again, I won’t be coming back.
3 comments:
I want to see this now! Oh dear, now you've got me contemplating escape again, back to Attymas, to stay in the (now vacant) old cottage my grandmother was born and brought up in. You can only get a mobile telephone signal at the top of a hill, even then only sometimes. That sounds good right now. The air is so fresh. We went to buy fish fresh from the sea (there is a shop where the fishing boats literally come in and drop off their catch).
Oh, you would love it! You must watch it. Your grandmother's cottage sounds like a dream, a fairytale! The perfect place for escape. Take me with you!
Almost everything in it is ancient, except only slightly newer things like the bathroom and kitchen things. Her brother and his wife lived there until they died the year before last (and three days apart). Aunty Bridie taught me to bake Irish soda bread in that kitchen, with Henry VIII (a cockrel!) peering nosily in the window. It is tiny and six of them (then their parents too!) lived there, all shared beds and shared shoes back in the 'twenties.
I will take you with me, if you promise to let me visit when you live with your fisherman!
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