The first time I visited Kerry was in 1960, Maura's and my first visit to Ireland since we had sailed out of Cork Harbout, at a few months' interval, in 1956. We rented a Morris Minor, which took us everywhere. One of our first trips was to Kerry.
Our first stop in Kerry was at the International Hotel,in Killarney, and from there we drove to Kenmare, and then across the Kenmare River, and up the road through Coolacapogh, where Katie was brought up, climbing all the way up to the Esk. We were on our way to visit Michael O'Sullivan, Maura's uncle, whose wife was wintering in Dublin, although we were rather vague as to how we would get there. Ultimately, Maura insisted I stop and ask for directions, which I am reluctant to do.
"You must ask for Mikey Mike Dan."
I saw a couple of elderly men and stopped. "I'm looking for Michael O'Sullivan's farm,can you help me?" Blank stares.
"He means Mikey Mike Dan!"
"Oh, Mikey Mike Dan: you want the Esk. Just keep on until you're almost in Cork. Take the last left before the tunnel."
" Thanks."
"You're more than welcome."
Mikey welcomed us as if it was the most natural thing in the world for visitors from America to drop in for a chat, and then he turned to ask me a question:
(more tomorrow)
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