After one of the most disastrous fish kills and general river pollutions in this country, the village of Moynalty gets ready for its celebrated Steam Threshing Festival on Sunday. The river is clear; the festivities are held in a huge sloping field down to a loop of the same. And, after more than two decades, it continues to draw people from far and wide. You may meet a couple from Co Antrim, from Kilkenny, from God Knows Where. It's an enormous tribute to the cohesion and enthusiasm of a fine community. And it's a great day's outing.
Sean Sheridan, the PRO, mentioned especially the crafts section, where two wellknown wood-turners from the area will be seen exercising their skills; also, the work of many others. And, a note that is still topical: last year they had a great show of potatoes, including the infamous Lumper which failed so disastrously in the famine of the 1840s. They had various varieties, including that one and, this year, topical and mournful reminder, the Lumpers have got the blight! Too topical altogether, you may think.
And then there's all the fun of the fair, with good food to be had from various stalls run by the people themselves. There was some fine bread cooked there last year on outdoor ovens. You'll find, of course, the old-style threshing by steam, which fascinates elderly and young alike. You'll see fine working horses. There will be all sorts of entertainment; it's not just the work of that day into which so many of the people throw themselves, it's the long planning end and the hours that busy people give to this huge feat of logistics.
Gerry Farrell films throughout the afternoon, and during the winter there is a show of the day's highlights. There are vast acreages for carparking. Starts about one o'clock in the afternoon. Some four miles from Kells, or Ceanannus, Co Meath.
We'll come back to the pollution and its effects another day. But meantime, our old friend the dipper, the bird that does its knees-bend on rocks, and swims below the surface of the water and walks on the river bed. He or she is no more. Just a tangle of feathers washed downstream. Dead as a Dodo.