Blessed spring

There are many holy wells in Ireland. Each has its annual Pattern Day, or day of pilgrimage, but year-round people come to a well to avail of its special properties. There is usually ash or haw growing nearby and you will often see the branches hung with strips of bright cloth, or offerings such as babies' toys and rosaries.

I park at the sign for Tobercranavan (‘Well of the white tree’). Local lore has it that the water here will strengthen failing eyes. On the path uphill the morning sun catches gorse in early bloom, its sweet tobacco scent on the cold mountain air. Overhead sharp shadows on scots pine make a more subtle play for my attention. Further along, I notice odd arrangements of twigs and rocks beside the path. It is said that these are secret signs left by the Tinkers.

At this well, there is a feature known as a 'coffin trough', where caskets would be dipped into the blessed water before being carried to nearby Crannagh church for burial. Having wet my eyes with the springwater, I gaze across the valley to Crannagh but see only a few chunks of granite among the brambles. I will wet my eyes again another day.

blessed spring
one last dip
on my way home



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