At Louth Village the strong group left us for Killanny and we turned right for Channonrock. When I say we, I mean 4 of us. There were 8 or 9 in the other group and I was glad to see them go, although I am very fond of them. The loveliness of the land and the scenery, and the presence of it all, was a gift on this frosty spring morning. Field after field was ploughed and ready for the spring sowing (guesswork - we don't do arable farming in Galway). We came up the 3 little hills from the Fane Valley and turned for Louth at Corderry fruit farm. Left Louth by the ruins of that old Abbey on the road to Inniskeen. It's such a quiet 2 miles from there to Channonrock, cross the Carrick Road and another lovely couple of miles to Inniskeen.

The river Fane is with you here to, on your right hand side, and as you come nearer there seems to be an old Mill on the river, in good repair. There's one last hill before the drop down to our favourite café, the Poet's Rest, beside the Kavanagh Centre. The riverside walk is across from it and it looks just lovely, but we were dying for coffee and warmth. Plus we don't often get to the café before the strong group so we went in and ordered. Everyone likes the coffee here and I often wondered how we put up with machine coffee from filling stations and supermarkets. There is no dear doubt (love that Dundalk expression) that the women have had a very elevating influence on the whole scheme of things.

To this day I still remember the old Cuchulainn warrior, Sean, looking at us in total disgust when we flopped down on the wall in Carlingford to eat our bananas. He never got off his bike but put one foot on the ground,  "Will ye be much longer" he said before we got half way down our bananas. Then he took off for the Long Woman's Grave when he could stick it no more. Ah yes, I miss those days! Anyhow to get back to Inniskeen, the lads came in the door about 10 minutes after us. Not bad considering they went to Killanny, Essexford and the café, while we went straight from Louth. There must be something in fresh air because the craic was 90, and the good vibes were a tonic. If I could bottle it I'd make a fortune.

Meself and Una decided to go into the graveyard to look for Kavanagh's grave while the rest were having their coffee. It was easy to find - it was the simplest grave in the place. A small wooden cross with P Kavanagh written on it and 1904 to 1967 as his dates. It was covered with slabs which were a causeway on a nearby stream and they added to the simplicity. The effect, in the middle of all the fine headstones, was strangely moving.

O stony grey soil of Monaghan

The laugh from my love you thieved;

You took the gay child of my passion 

And gave me your clod-conceived.