Moving Hearts

Dick and David Monaghan and I arrived at Kennedy Airport around 4:00 pm on Friday, May 9, 1986 and rode by bus to the Aer Lingus terminal, excited about our ten-day trip to Ireland. Their dad Charlie hadn't arrived yet, so the three of us offered our tickets and passports, planning to reserve a place for Charlie next to us. That's when we discovered Dick had brought his old passport.

Mr. Fitzgerald, at the counter, was not encouraging. I said surely there must be a circumstance where one could travel without an updated passport. He insisted it was rare, "only in the case of medical emergency." The three of us quietly conferred, phoned the State Department minutes before its offices closed, and a Mrs. Finn arranged for Dick to fly on a waiver "to meet his sick father who was in Ireland visiting relatives."

We clued Charlie in when he arrived, and left New York around 8:00 that night, arriving in Shannon at 8:00 am Saturday (a five-hour time change). As we passed through customs it occurred to Dick that his father was right behind him, so he told the customs officer it was his aunt in Carlow who was sick!

I have many precious memories of traveling through Ireland with the three Monaghan men, and will tell a few tales, not necessarily in order.

The wind and rain were increasing as we made our way to the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare. As described in the guidebook: "Situated 9 km. NW of Lahinch, the Cliffs stretch for nearly 6 km. from Hags Head to O'Brien's Tower where they attain a height of over 100 m." We made our way against 80 mph winds to these magnificent cliffs.

We stayed at small Bed and Breakfasts as we toured through Ireland, a wonderful way to experience the local culture. Here's what I wrote on Thursday, May 15: "The weather turned quite cold today. We had to ask our host to warm the room where we were having breakfast, though our meals are so silly it's a wonder we noticed the temperature. This morning Charlie recited a poem:

"I eat my peas with honey,
I've done so all my life.
It makes them taste quite funny,
but they stick well on my knife."

On one of our last nights in Ireland Dick and I went to a pub, and I had one of those astonishing moments — totally unexpected — when your heart is moved by utter and complete joy: we heard an Irish group performing, featuring what sounded like jazzed-up bagpipes, a haunting combination of traditional Irish and rock music. The group's name, appropriately, was Moving Hearts.

I found two of their cassettes before we left Ireland, which brought me great pleasure over the years and, more recently, tried to find CDs but Moving Hearts had disappeared. To my delight, they've resurfaced.