The Scone

After the previous week's scone debacle, with no-shows and bad bakes at every turn, the appearance of The Scone last Tuesday was a very pleasant surprise. The day had dawned dull, cold and wet, with no real improvement as it wore on, and scones were far from our minds. Not only were we still smarting from earlier disappointments, but the odds on finding a cafe that was both nice and open were slim (as we discovered on our travels, most cafes in heritage sites don't open until at least the start of February, so top tip from me to you - should you be mad enough to want to go touring about Ireland in January, don't). And when you factor in the chance of there being a good scone on offer, even if you do find a cafe, then the odds go from slim to none. 

Kells Priory

Everywhere we went that day, we saw fields under water, swollen streams and rivers, and flooded roads. Getting outside the jeep and walking around sites should have been a chore, as our toes quickly froze and the wind whipped our faces (I'm thinking of upgrading my outdoor clothing to include a balaclava, by the way). Instead we were jumping out, itching to explore, as the sites on our list that day included two of the best yet: Kells Priory and Jerpoint Abbey. The priory at Kells (near Kilkenny) is one of the most spectacular sites I've visited in Ireland (only a short hop from Dublin and well worth a Spring or Summer excursion when the heritage cafe is open). The priory ruins are surrounded by massive defensive walls complete with seven towers, with the enclosed area measuring a whopping three acres or so. The land sweeps down to the King's River, which is a breathtaking location. Mind you, given that part of the site was flooded where the river had broken its banks, one must presume that the Augustinians were a bit better at water management that we are. 

Peace sign at Jerpoint

Jazz hands at Jerpoint 

Bob at Jerpoint Abbey

Kells Priory takes some beating, with the sheer scale of the site and its impressive location, but for me Jerpoint Abbey swept away all other contenders for my favourite Irish archaeological monument. The abbey has a very unassuming appearance on first sight - as you approach it looks much like any other old church and graveyard - but once you enter into the abbey proper, there is a feeling of stillness and that sense of peace you often feel in an ancient place of worship. So far so much like any other old church or abbey I hear you say (and you would be right). What sets this abbey apart are the unique sculptures carved into the pillars that form the cloister arcades, representing medieval figures from all walks of life - monks, peasants, lords, bishops, weird creatures. It was captivating. Each of the figures is different, with its own personality and charming details. I particularly loved the guy with the bobbed hair-do (not unlike my own hair) and two smiley chaps, one giving what appears to be a medieval version of a peace-sign and the other doing jazz-hands. Despite the inclement weather, we spent ages going from figure to figure, as excited as two nerdy archaeologists can be. Brilliant.

The Nicholas Mosse Scone

Anyhow, fabulous archaeology aside, we were freezing cold and tired by the time lunch was approaching. There had been some lacklustre discussion earlier over where we might get to stop for a break, when G had a brainwave. We were near Bennettsbridge and G thought that perhaps (let's not get too excited) the cafe at the Nicholas Mosse studio there might be open. Fearing a repeat of St Mullins and the-promised-scone-that-never-was, I thought to ring ahead to check opening hours. Well. Not only was the cafe open, but the nice lady who answered the phone told me (unprompted) that the first batch of scones had come out of the oven at 11am. Spurred on by the image of a scone (possibly still warm from the oven) we eagerly made our way to Nicholas Mosse. Made by Cousin Robert Mosse (or so the sign said), these were old-fashioned, home-made scones that were, yes, still slightly warm from the oven. Fluffy and light, slathered in butter and home-made strawberry jam, served on a pretty plate, with a hot cup of coffee alongside. We ate them in the warm cafe at the top of the old mill building, watching as the River Nore rushed past below us, as our toes, fingers and noses slowly defrosted. Dear Readers, it was worth the wait.