Went again to Dunmanway on Sat. evening with Father Pat – to drive and keep house for him. The weather has not been good and has been too stormy to do much fishing. We have explored some of the coast to the east, particularly Reanie’s Glen. The latter is a wonderful place. A ravine passes steeply to the sea, and reaches a dark cove studded with two precipitous islands. Caves and cliffs glower around, and the sight of some seals swimming in the shadow increases the mystery of the place. On the right of the ravine several battlemented walls stretch across the hill, and on top are the ruins of a very old dwelling sadly mortified by the attachment of a very new one. It was here we had a picnic and here we learnt of the far-famed and celebrated Patsy Quin, to whom, like the prince in the fairy tale, the adjoining country seems to belong. He owns 650 acres, and made over ₤10,000 during the war, but lives, acts, speaks and dresses like the peasant-labourer. It’s a sad and frequent story that such men will not educate their children, get them a little out of the rustic rut and establish thus a national gentry.
When we came back [to Oysterhaven] from Dunmanway on Sunday we found the illustrious Horgans awaiting us with their Fiat de Luxe. There were no preliminaries, we simply dived into the boat and dived out and swam. Joe and I then explored the hinterland of the marshy lake near our house. Dinner was most successful. After we all went to the aforementioned Reanie’s and on the way home there was an exciting race with vociferous cheering and language not altogether choice between the Fiat and Fr. Pat’s Lizzie, I driving the latter and assisted by the goads and remarks caustic of Ivor and Joe. They went and we did too – fishing. We got the luckiest haul of all, three big pollock and a super one about 5 lbs, near the Little Island outside the Doon we got them all. The pull home was terrible owing to a stiff breeze.
