The serenity of Clogh Oughter castle's surrounds in Co Cavan belies its history of violence , writes Eileen Battersby.
First light on a summer's morning. The sun has not yet risen but a heron glides over the lake and the thin moon is reflected in the quiet water. No one is speaking; bird life is supplying the background chatter. The air is wet and it is, surprisingly, almost abruptly cold. The aged outboard motor is chugging bravely, if not all that impressively. A token smear of water bubbles on the floor by our feet. It would probably be more atmospheric if the game, little engine actually cut out altogether. There is still no sight of the island, although we are surrounded by many small islands, some little more than drumlins sitting in water. A lone dawn fisherman waves from the bank and the little boat moves on, slowly. A shadow slides along beside us.
It looks like a hefty pike. It is.
Just as the sun makes an appearance over Lough Oughter - which takes its name from the Irish, meaning "upper lake", lies just west of Cavan town and forms part of the Erne river system - the lake widens and the great castle is there against the sky, picture-perfect in the flat if subtle landscape.
Clogh Oughter is squat, round and defiant, often photographed by night, silhouetted against the moon. This is a fortress designed to withstand attack. It was built about 1220, some say by Walter de Lacy, others maintain by his half brother, William Gorm de Lacy - a son of Hugh de Lacy by a daughter of Rory O'Connor, the last High King of Ireland. But whichever of the de Lacys ordered its construction, this was a Norman project, built to last - and it has.
Clogh Oughter is beautiful, a dense circular keep. The fact of its being a round castle, instead of the more standard rectangular shape, is unusual.
Yet its beauty, at least in its original 13th-century context, was unintentional - its siting was strategic, placed as it was close to the crannog, or lake dwelling, established by the O'Raghallaigh or O'Reillys, lords of east Bréifne.
The little boat finally reaches the partially wooded island and the sheer bulk of the castle again asserts itself. The tiny jetty appears almost comical in contrast to the might of the building. It is only a short walk to the keep.
Unlike visiting a ancient church site, there is none of the humbling sense of faith and worship. Instead, you become aware of earthly power and its passing. As if to compound this, the trio of relaxed ducks bobbing on the lake seem barely interested in us visiting humans.
THE STONEWORK HAS endured time. The structure is more than 18m tall. These walls are about 2.5 metres thick. Just as you are wondering at its density, there comes the shock of discovering that what is the back, at least from the jetty side, has collapsed - or, more accurately, appears to have exploded with a violence that was deliberate; the stone has spilt down to the ground, leaving a gaping hole in the castle, which is far more of a shell than it had appeared from the water. Time didn't do this damage, Cromwell did. Dislodged masonry lies in chunks throughout the undergrowth leading down the south side of the island.
Clogh Oughter has had a long and dramatic history, and one that reflects the changing face of power in Ireland. Just over a decade after it was built with the intention of subjugating the clan itself, the O'Reillys capitalised on the de Lacys having fallen out of favour with the crown and captured the castle with the help of William Marshall's knights. William Gorm de Lacy was defeated in battle by the O'Reillys. He died soon after and the castle remained in O'Reilly hands for almost 400 years.
And so, ironically, what had been originally constructed as a statement of Norman intent, very quickly became a native stronghold that featured in the ongoing tussles between the O'Reillys and their rivals, and former overlords, the Rourkes of Bréifne. It was also significant in the various leadership disputes among the O'Reillys themselves. Not exactly a dwelling place, the castle apparently often served as a prison.
Flash forward to 1601 and, according to the State Papers of that year, the castle is listed as the property of Katherine Butler, widow of Maol Mórdha O'Reilly, who had died while fighting on the government side at the Battle of the Yellow Ford in 1598 - against Hugh O'Neill. Exactly 400 years ago, in 1607, it was besieged by crown forces, which were hunting down the baron of Devlin, who had escaped from Dublin Castle and had somehow managed to make his way here. He was, however, recaptured.
Standing within the ruins on the earthen floor, you can see the beam holes of what would have been the first floor. On climbing up over a broken interior cross wall, it is possible to reach a window that would have been on the second floor. It offers a fine, long view up the lake.
Clogh Oughter remained important. No one had to convince Sir Arthur Chichester, the king's deputy in Ireland, of its relevance. Chichester served in Ireland for a decade from 1604, and he selected Clogh Oughter as a royal castle. During the Plantation of Ulster in 1610, and again later, money was granted to fit it out as a prison. Chichester's constable, Hugh Culme, built a house on the island before being granted the castle. Culme's son was living in the house - no trace of which survives - when the 1641 rebellion began. Culme was relieved of both house and castle by the O'Reillys and was then imprisoned in the castle. Apparently the takeover was efficient and peaceful.
AMONG THE FAMOUS prisoners held at Colgh Oughter was William Bedell, the Protestant bishop of Kilmore, whose grave slab may be seen a few miles away, in the graveyard near the modern Church of Ireland cathedral. Bedell, who had been born in Essex in 1571, deplored the oppression of Catholics. Appointed provost of Trinity College Dublin in 1627, he became very interested in the Irish language and decided that divinity students of Irish birth should study it in order to serve their flock. He then applied himself to the study of Irish before he commissioned and supervised a translation of the Old Testament into Irish.
Having sheltered fugitives during the rebellion of 1641-1642, he was initially treated well by the insurgents, but they then turned against him and he spent three weeks as a prisoner in the castle. His house was also taken. Early in 1642 he was allowed to leave and seek refuge with a friend, but he died of a fever in February.
Following Owen Roe O'Neill's victory at the Battle of Benburb on June 5th, 1646, some of the captured Scots officers were held in the castle. O'Neill was the nephew of the great Hugh O'Neill, who had left Ireland in despair along with other major chieftains in 1607, a poignant leave-taking known as the Flight of the Earls. Owen Roe had been born in about 1590 and had joined the Spanish army in 1610, serving with distinction in the Netherlands. His return to Ireland in 1642 was celebrated by his fellow Ulstermen. All hope rested in him, not only because of his exceptional qualities as a soldier but because of the symbolic connection with Hugh O'Neill. Victory for Owen Roe would have been seen as revenge for the tragedy of his uncle, who had died in Rome in exile in 1616, aged 66.
Owen Roe O'Neill was preparing to confront Cromwell in 1649 when he became ill and died at Clogh Oughter on November 6th, when on his way south to join the Ormonde forces. There are those who believe he was poisoned by an enemy agent who had infiltrated the castle. Yet there is no historical evidence. It appears he died of a fever. The castle is now best known for that famous death.
By late 1652, Cromwellian forces had overrun Ireland. Clogh Oughter was the final fortified outpost. There was a siege, followed by the surrender of that sole remaining Irish garrison. But then Cromwell struck a final and lasting blow - his army demolished most of the south side of the castle, leaving the ruin that stands today. Excavations carried out in 1987 unearthed some reminders of that last siege. The remains of four individuals were found, including the skeleton of a victim killed by stone collapsing during the bombardment. The site was littered with broken cannon balls and one of the most exciting finds was a broken lead papal seal, believed to have been that of Clement VIII.
The 13th-century keep had witnessed a stormy 17th-century finale. For all the violence of its past, few places seem more peaceful on a summer's morning than this lone castle on an island in a lake.