IF STONES COULD SPEAK

I am a collector of many things, big and small. One of them is stones - stones to remind me of the places that I had visited and stones to commemorate a significant event or memory.

I am intrigued by early civilisations and archaelogy. There is so much that is buried and yet to be discovered. There is so much that is standing and yet not understood. Huge megalithic standing stones that have withstood the passage of time are both magnificent and mysterious. But the silent and sombre sentinels of the past refuse to give up their secrets.

If only stones could speak.

Clochafarmore is a menhir (standing stone) and national monument in County Louth, Ireland. It is located 1.4 km east-northeast of Knockbridge, Dundalk on the left bank of the River Fane.The 3 metre high standing stone is believed to be from the Bronze Age.

When I first read about the stone I knew I had to see it, more so because it is traditionally associated with the death of legendary hero Cú chulainn. 

Unfortunately access to the stone wasn’t easy. Google map clearly indicated that we had reached the standing stone but it was no where to be seen. I asked a youngish lady nearby but she shrugged her shoulders and said she never heard of it. So we pulled up at a local grocery store and I saw an elderly Irish man whom I was sure would know its exact location. Knowledge comes with age I hoped. He was sitting on a kerb outside the store. I sat down on the kerb next to him and showed him the image on my phone and he was all excited to tell me that he knew the exact location.

‘It is opposite the priest’s house,’ he said assuming everyone knew where the priest lived.

‘Is there a sign showing that it is the priest’s house?’ I asked.

‘No, no, no…I think I had better ask that man over there to show you’ he said as another man in his forties came closer. It wasn’t everyday that a stranger of Asian origin would sit down with a local on a kerb outside the grocery store.

Immediately the younger man said, follow my white car. I’ll take you there.

I was extremely thankful. This is exactly what village friendliness and helpfulness is all about.

When we reached the site there was a brown sign shrouded among leaves pointing to the location. How could anyone in a moving car see the sign with all those leaves? It was no wonder that I missed it.

He lamented that more attention should be given to such a fine relic. A disused space nearby could be turned into a parking lot. School children could come in droves on organised trips to see what’s left of an epic hero for one euro each, he said. If only.

We had to cross a main road where cars were flying and then climb over a low fence into a potato field. And there it was, standing right before our eyes .

Someone had made a path to the stone and covered the path with fresh straw. I touched the stone and closed my eyes. In that moment, I felt a sense of awe as I saw Cú Chulainn mustering his final bit of strength to fight his enemies. He was hit by a magical spear, mortally wounding him and he tied himself to a standing stone — traditionally the "Stone of the Big Man", which had been erected to mark the grave of a past great warrior - so he could face his enemies standing up. I could see the enemies closing in, nearer and nearer with a loud war cry chant. It was only when a raven (the bird of death) landed on his shoulder that his enemies believed he was dead.

The region is known as An Breisleach Mór, “The Great Carnage", while the field in which this stone stands is called the Field of Slaughter. In the 1920s a bronze spearhead was found in the field, perhaps showing it to be a genuine ancient battle-site.

As I said goodbye to the silent stone, I felt as if I had shared a personal moment with a hero from civilisations past.

We all need our champions, the bigger than life personalities that we can look up to. We see everyday heroes who dedicate their lives to improve the lives of others.Heroes also undergo life transformations and we see them as powerful and yet vulnerable like ourselves. Their stories comfort us and are a salve to our wounds. Re-telling of stories from one generation to another cements social bonds.

And we then tell ourselves if they can achieve what they purpose to do, so can we.