When Rosita Boland decided to write a book about hidden Ireland, little did she guess that she would come across islands with single inhabitants. What could she do but take a look?
Living in an island country, I've got very interested over time in our other, smaller islands. Over the years I've visited what I thought were quite a few of Ireland's offshore islands: the three Arans; Inishbofin, in Co Galway; Clare; Cape Clear; Sherkin; Arranmore, in Co Donegal; Tory; Rathlin; and Skelligs. I had thought I was reasonably well up on my knowledge of our islands. That was until I looked at the 2002 census statistics for population of inhabited islands off the Irish coast and was astonished to discover that there were dozens of tiny islands I had never heard of, each with people living on them.
The census for some of the islands recorded just one occupant, such as the woman who lives on Deer Island, in the Shannon estuary. And Inishtravin and Illaunmore, in Co Galway, which each have only one man on them. And Island More, in Co Mayo, also with one man. What, I wondered, must it be like to live on an offshore island all on your own? What would have brought you there? What would keep you there?
The more I studied the 2002 statistics, the more intrigued I got. Co Galway has 18 islands. Co Cork has 15, Co Mayo 12, Co Donegal eight, Co Kerry seven and counties Clare, Limerick and Sligo one each. The city of Dublin and Fingal also have one each. Being census statistics, you can see the breakdown of population by sex. When applied to a tiny island, it seemed almost too intimate to know that Deer Island's sole inhabitant was a woman. Or that Inishbofinne, in Co Donegal, had 12 men and only four women. Or that Collan More, in Co Mayo, had only three men and no women.
I decided to try to visit one of the islands and interview whoever would talk to me about their lives there. I chose an island at random, Inishlyre (four men, two women), in Clew Bay, Co Mayo, and wrote a letter addressed to "The Residents of Inishlyre", explaining that I was writing a book and asking if I could visit.
One morning not long after posting the letter, I turned on my computer and found an e-mail from Rhoda Twombly of Inishlyre. "Yes" was the answer. She and some other islanders would talk to me.
At the end of October I travelled to Co Mayo with a friend, Brian McIntyre. We left the car at Rosmoney pier and called Rhoda to say we had arrived. Tom Gibbons came in his boat about 20 minutes later.
On the way out Brian and I tried to guess which island was Inishlyre. It was not easy to distinguish the different islands. They are drumlin islands: small grassy knolls, like drowned fields. From the water they change places and fox the eye. Some look stuck together from certain angles. Others look like part of the mainland. Then the boat moves farther and you see the sea around each one, before the next sight line arrives to confuse you.
Tom pointed out Inishlyre to us when we got nearer. A big trawler was drawn up on its stony beach, and on its month-old pier two people were standing waiting for us: Rhoda Twombly and Sheila Keeley.
We went to Rhoda's house. There are only four houses on the island, all of them on the shore facing the pier. Rhoda and her partner, Joachim Gibbons, live in one, the farthest house to the east. Sheila and her husband, George, live beside them. Tom next to them. John Gibbons is at the western end of the quartet.
Joachim was away. Tom and George preferred to keep their own counsel.
Rhoda, Sheila, John, Brian and I sat around the kitchen table with mugs of tea, chatting, taking our ease. It was too soon to turn on the tape recorder and start asking questions. Then Rhoda's dog suddenly got up and started barking furiously. The door opened and a man with intensely blue eyes came in. It was Sean Jeffers, who had heard I was coming and had taken his boat across to Inishlyre, to see what was what. I thought of something Brian had said to me in the car on the way down: everything is an event on an island.
Sean, who is 70, lives alone on a neighbouring island, Inishgort. Rhoda told me later that although she has lived on Inishlyre for seven years, she has never been to visit Sean on Inishgort, even though it is only 10 minutes away by boat.
Sheila was born and reared on Inishlyre, which covers 45 acres and takes half an hour to walk around. She lived in New York for 10 years, then returned with her American husband. "It's home. I always wanted to come back." Tom is her brother. John has lived here all his life. Rhoda came here to be with Joachim, who is from Inishlyre.
Sean was one of six children on Inishgort. Apart from his siblings and parents, the only other family were the four people who lived at the island's lighthouse. Its keeper was his grandfather. The lighthouse has long since been automated. All his siblings emigrated or left. "I'm there all my life, thank God," he said. And, later: "Someone had to stay and mind the father and mother." His father died first. When his mother died, in 1998, he remained on the island. Sean never married. Listening to his story, it was not difficult to understand why: he had virtually no opportunity to meet a potential partner.
Over his lifetime the island's population has dropped from 14 to one. Does he get lonely? "I never get lonely. It doesn't come into my vocabulary at all," he said, quite vehemently. He shot the words out, before I had even finished asking the question, and stared hard at his mug of tea.
Inishlyre has been populated for about 200 years. In 1909 there were only four houses on Inishlyre, and there are still only four houses on the island that are lived in. In the 1960s 19 people lived on the island.
Neither John nor Tom has married, and they both now live in their old family homes, where they lived with their parents until, like Sean's, they died. "It changes when the parents go," Sheila said. "Home doesn't seem like home any more. In Tom's house I'd walk in and instinctively look for the two chairs where our parents used to sit. Now they're empty."
"The boatman is the island baby," Rhoda quipped when I asked if any children were living on Inishlyre. The primary school closed 33 years ago. Everyone goes to Westport to shop. They all have boats, with cars on Rosmoney pier. "You can get days where the weather would be so bad you couldn't leave the island," Sean said.
Sean knows all about the weather and when you can and can't take the boat out. For 30 years he was the postman for the seven populated islands in Clew Bay. When he retired, in 1998, John took over. He goes out three times a week. There are 15 houses to deliver to, between the seven islands.
Sometimes, depending on the tides and on which island he has post for, John can need more than six hours to do his round. "If it wasn't for doing the post and getting out, I don't know how I'd cope living here," John said.
Sean has had a phone since 1970, but he got electricity and water only in 2000. Before that he had a generator, but he usually turned it on only at night. He mostly used paraffin lamps - "Aladdin lamps" - and candles for lighting.
He cooked with gas or on fires. John and Sheila's mother always cooked on an open fire. Sheila still cooks meat on a fire. Until a water system was installed, all the islanders collected rainwater for drinking and washing.
Would any of them think about living on the mainland? There was a short silence. "There are days you might think about it," John said, with a half-laugh.
"I'd want to see the tide anyway. I'd want to see the tide," Sean said, several times, very quickly and with great urgency. From his house on Inishgort, he has woken up all his life seeing the sea and its litany of tides. He couldn't even begin to think of a life out of sight of the sea.
"If I'm out somewhere and surrounded by land for more than a day, literally, I can feel a change in my mood," Rhoda said.
"You'd need to see the sea," Sheila said. "If you got up and didn't see it, it would be very weird."
What did they value about living on such small islands? "You know what to expect, because you know everyone living around you," said Rhoda.
"Privacy," John said.
Afterwards I thought how contradictory those two statements were. In a way, you couldn't be less private than on an island that you can walk around in half an hour, where only five other people live and where all four houses are in sight of each other.
As there is no public ferry, they never get tourists, apart from the odd passing sailor, who gets invited ashore for tea. There are no holiday homes on Inishlyre; John owns half the island and Tom the other half.
With only six permanent residents, even one holiday house would be a huge invasion. They do not plan to sell part of their land any time soon. Sean owns Inishgort.
After we finished talking around the table, Rhoda and Sheila walked up with me to the highest point of the island, where you can look out over the other islands of Clew Bay. It's lovely up there: calm, peaceful. You can see the mainland, but it feels very far away.
Sheila pointed out Inishgort, Sean's island. The lighthouse is on a spit of land to its west, as you look across from Inishlyre. Sean's house is painted lime green, and even from a distance it stands out, as if declaring: yes, someone lives here.
As we stood at the top of Inishlyre, chatting, a boat came into view around the island, heading to Inishgort. It was Sean. He had slipped away, and I had not had the chance to shake his hand or thank him for his time. I was dismayed. I shouted his name, but it got lost in the wind.
Then I waved, and kept on waving. Suddenly, Sean looked up, saw me and waved back.
This is an edited extract of the chapter Mayo - Everything is an Event on an Island, from A Secret Map of Ireland, published next week by New Island, €14.99. In the book, Rosita Boland tells a curious story from each county in Ireland
