Rock of Cashel, Tipperary, Ireland

Hollybank, Kilkenny

It's a long way to Tipperary,

It's a long way to go.

It's a long way to Tipperary,

To the sweetest girl I know!*

By mid morning, the late rising sun streamed into our room. We climbed from bed and enthusiastically donned our running gear, hitting the dark wet pavement and soaking in the fresh country air. We enjoyed the first rays of sunlight we had seen in Ireland since arriving last Saturday. 

After returning and frying up the leftovers from last nights braai we all had a shower and hit the road! The car radio crackled about the usually mild December weather but predicted a dry day with a little drizzle for the afternoon. 

It felt warmer than yesterday as we drove through the small city centre of Kilkenny and it seemed everyone was out and about! Within only minutes we were in rural County Kilkenny twisting down the narrow country roads and on our way to Tipperary. We passed Irish farm houses and tremendously green and waterlogged fields. The swollen rivers along the road moved quickly and cows lay happily in the boggy grass. 

Celtic Cross over looking the Golden Vale

We passed quaint little blink-and-you-miss-them villages, Freshford, Urlingford and Littletown. As we approached neighbouring County Tipperary and crossed through the Golden Vale plateau, we were welcomed by the endless green paddocks and hills that rolled up into the low grey clouds.

The weather had changed quickly and a cold wind blew at the remaining winter leaves in the trees.

Our destination, the town of Cashel (meaning Fortress in Celtic), sits snuggled against a large stratified limestone hill, it's namesake, the Rock of Cashel. According to mythology the hill once fell from the mouth of satan who was banished from a small cave in Tipperary's Devils Bit mountain range by Saint Patrick. In his rage, as satan fled, he tore off a hunk of the mountain with his mouth and like a crumb, fell the Rock of Cashel, now a blimp in a relatively flat plateau. 

Racing down the hill, Rock of Cashel

High on the cold wind-blown hill, surrounded by a mirth of ancient legends now stands a ruined medieval castle, a fortress of sorts that was once home to many of Ireland's old high kings. 

The kings who ruled over the lands of Munster during the Irish Iron Age until the Middle Ages are shrouded in mystery and mythology as little was ever recorded. When their kingdom was established in Cashel they governed over Ireland's South West from the 4th century until the year 1101. 

We parked the car in the visitors carpark below and climbed up the hill. The wind whipped at us and sprayed us with small droplets of water, not really big enough to be rain. From the ticket booth we entered a small part of the main building which was set up to replicate the ancient living conditions.

Inside the small museum (kitchen)

Looking towards the ancient choral hall (St Patrick's statue in foreground)

House flags

Has it stopped raining yet?

Although the castle was home to generations of royals, during the year 1101, Munster king Muirchertach O'Briain gifted the castle to the Irish Church. From the twelfth century many additions around a central tower were made including a hand painted gothic chapel, choral hall and large chapel.

Back of Rock of Cashel

Main Cathedral interior

Large open windows

As one of Ireland's most popular tourist sites we were glad to be visiting during the off season and we quietly explored the dark rooms alone. On the hour we listened and watched an interesting audio tour about the ancient castle and, as a large part was under renovation, it gave us a chance to see the bit that was closed off.

Ancient stone carvings

Inside the roofless Cathedral

Graves along the perimeter

Ancient round tower in the background

Side view of the old Cathedral

Warming up with hot chocolates

Back of the cemetery

After looking around the castle perimeter and graveyard we walked down into Cashel township following the depressingly named: Path of the Dead, looking for a late lunch to warm ourselves up. We stopped in a small bake house for a hot chicken pie and then ventured back outside looking at the small colourful village.

Keneary's Castle surrounded by shops

Tidy little lanes

Quaint and colourful

Main street across from the Town Hall

The town itself was full of interesting historic buildings like the Kearneys Castle, Cashel Palace, Dominic's Abbey and a preserved 17th century tenant cottage. It wasn't far 

off sunset by then so we walked back through the village under the Christmas lights towards the ancient ruins of Hore Abby, which are located a literal stones throw outside the town.

Hore Abbey taken from Rock of Cashel

Sometimes known as St. Mary's of the Rock, Hore Abby is a ruined Benedictine monastery founded in the early 1200's. Sitting in the shadow of the grand Rock of Cashel it's less visited and almost overlooked. 

Outside the ruins

The black cloaked monks that once lived there tended to the surrounding fields and worked the mills. 

However the monastery was re-gifted to the Cistercians (another religious order of monks and nuns who wore white cloaks) in the mid 1272 because the nearby Archbishop of Cashel dreamed that the Benedictines were plotting to murder him. 

As we walked down the hill the dark clouds moved around above us. Getting to the abbey wasn't easy as we had to clamper through the muddy boggy grass of a cow paddock. 

The old ruins were deserted and there wasn't a soul around. The dark cold walls stood erect and silent. Most of the visible remains date to the 14th and 15th centuries and time has certainly worn them down since the lands were surrendered to the English Normans. 

Imagining the old roofs here

Tower ruins

Back view

Side view

Looking up the towers

Side view from the graveyard

The ruins of Hore Abbey

Last glance at sunset

Although it wasn't clear what the old stone structure would have once looked like, we clambered through the open doors and windows pretending we knew, admiring the archways and protective walls. 

By the time we left the sun had set and the sky was darkening quickly. We were tired and cold so it was nice to get back into the warm car and head home to sit by the fire.

Tot siens,

John and Kara

 *(Song by Jack Judge, 1912)