As I have stated, there is almost nothing to remind the traveller through Kilmalloch to-day of its ancient splendour, though he may still trace its walls which once completely surrounded the town. Just outside stands the ruins of the Dominican friary, a stately empty shell.
Leaving it, we roll away southward and upon entering the town of Buttevant are rudely shaken from the contemplation of ancient days to the activity of this twentieth century.
Buttevant is indulging in a horse fair where David Harums congregate from all the land roundabout. As our car rolls through the streets, we are regarded as legitimate prey and have horses of all ages, sizes, and colours,—"Sound? Glory be to God, as sound as yer honour," shoved in front of us. (That we pass on without pausing stamps us at once as unworthy of further notice.) One man with absolutely no right has seized upon an adjoining field and after breaking a hole in the wall as a ticket window proceeds to collect a shilling from all who enter, of which there are many. If any refuse to pay he seizes a convenient rock and threatens them. It is useless to state that most of the community imagine that all that is worth seeing in the place is in that field, and as every one crowds in there they are not far wrong. Still, I learn later, the canny ticket collector takes care to vanish at the proper moment. They spend some time looking for him, especially as the owner of the field threatens to have the law on the whole lot for trespass.
Leaving the noise and confusion behind us, we enter the great square of the barracks, and the motor vanishes for a season.
[CHAPTER IX]
Buttevant Barracks—Army Life—Mess-room Talk—Condition of the Barracks—Balleybeg Abbey—Old Church—Native Wedding—Kilcoman Castle, Spenser's Home—Doneraile Court—Mrs. Aldworth, the only Woman Free Mason—Irish Wit—Regimental Plate—Departure from the Barracks.
In the barracks at Buttevant are at present quartered a battalion of the Dublin Fusiliers, a regiment which dates back to the days of Charles II., and which has spent most of its years in India. Now this battalion is back home and I doubt not that both officers and men find the cool grey skys and green fields a welcome contrast to the blazing heavens and burnt brown stretches of the Far East. Yet I imagine that there will be certain moments of longing for the land where they have made their home for so many years,—a land which never entirely releases her hold upon those who have dwelt there.
"If a year of life you give her;
If her temples, shrines you enter;
The door is closed, you may not look behind."