Galway's Inishark Island, deserted since 1960, is a ghostly reminder of a lost community, writes James Morrissey
In October 1960 the remaining six families departed the pier on Inishark, nine miles west of Cleggan, for a new life on the mainland.
But as the evacuation progressed the oldest inhabitant, 73-year-old Thomas Lacey, refused to leave. Alone, he walked the island several times, returned to his home and set three places at the kitchen table.
"He set the table in the desperate hope that he would receive some signal from his two sons who were drowned in the channel between Inishark and Inishbofin in 1949. But their bodies were never found," recalls his grandson, Peter Corrigan as we walk the island. His grandfather left the next day, never to return.
For Corrigan, a retired detective inspector with Lancashire Police, the visit to "Shark" has been an annual pilgrimage for many years. It is facilitated by his first cousin, Peter Anthony Lacey, who lives in the house, now considerably extended, that was originally provided by Galway County Council when the islanderswere relocated. Peter Corrigan's late mother, Anne Lacey, was a sister of Peter Anthony's late father, Festy. Their father was Thomas Lacey, known as "the father of Inishark".
Shortly after 7am on a calm morning earlier this month Peter Anthony took us to the Co Galway island from the pier at Aughrus in his currach, St Leo - named after the island's patron saint. The engine was stalled on the south side of the island, lines were dropped and several dozen mackerel were caught. Our main course for a barbecue lunch was secured. The wild mushrooms were picked on the island.
The deaths of Martin Lacey (28), his brother Michael (22) and cousin Peter in a drowning accident within minutes of leaving Inishbofin after Mass on Easter Sunday 1949 devastated the island. It prompted considerable political debate and media attention. "Inishark is so rugged and harbourless, the waves so gigantic and distinctive, that the 50 inhabitants far prefer to be isolated and rationless for weeks than to risk their lives in that fierce channel," wrote Fr David O'Callaghan in the Connacht Tribune.
The debate about moving families to the mainland had begun about 10 years before the evacuation. The poor landing facilities which often meant that food and other supplies could not be landed on the island, sometimes for weeks during the winter months, together with the difficulty in getting medical assistance for inhabitants, caused considerable hardship.
The evacuation meant relocation to new homes close to the coastline within sight of the island. There were a number of delays to the process. In January 1960 Fr John Flannery, the Inishbofin-based
priest who also had responsibility for Inishark, wrote to Archbishop Walsh of Tuam to alert him that "the process of removing the people to the mainland is being slowed down and delayed". This was followed by letters to Michael Moran, minister for lands, and other members of government, which resulted in an immediate acceleration of the evacuation plans, including the building of the new homes on the mainland.
Today Inishark is regarded by those who left the island, and their families, as "the Forgotten Island". Inishbofin, on the other hand, has a vibrant community and enjoys a strong tourist trade which supports restaurants, pubs and two hotels. Tourists travelling by ferry to Bofin can see Inishark in the distance, its forlorn dwellings, school and church. But few people land on Inishark. Yet it lives on in the minds and memories of the Murray, Cloonan, Halloran, Lavelle and Lacey families, who can vividly recall their own experiences or those of their parents and grandparents.
In 1893 Charles Browne wrote in Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy:
"The two islands [Inishbofin and Inishark] form the parish of Inishbofin; they are situated outside the mouth of Killary Bay, and are distant some 36 miles from Westport, and about 16 miles from Clifden, the nearest town of any size. The post town is Cleggan, a small village on the point of the mainland. Of the two islands, Inishbofin is much the larger, as out of the total areas of the parish of 3,151 acres, it contains 2,312."
In his study of Inishark, Browne wrote: "To strangers, the people are not at first attractive, as their manner is shy and not unmarked by suspicion; but after this reserve is broken through they reveal themselves in a much more attractive light, and are kindly, courteous, and very communicative."
He added that their dealings with one another are "honest and fair . . . crime is almost unknown . . . sobriety being very noticeable on holidays, though occasional bouts of drinking are sometimes indulged in when a good take of fish has been made."
Living conditions on the island were appalling, as was outlined in an article in the Freeman's Journal, from the early 20th century. "It is no exaggeration to say," the unnamed writer declared, "that not only are [the homes] unfitted for human habitation, but that residence in them is a peril to life.
"The first of these hovels that I visited was that occupied by the Widow Lacey, near the landing-place on Inishark. The walls are built of stones loosely put together, without any mortar on the outside . . . a house of similar kind, though somewhat better, is that occupied by Thomas Cloonan, his wife and eight children . . . Mrs Cloonan spoke of the unwillingness with which, in cases of illness, they sent for the priest or doctor owing to their hesitation to introduce them to such a dwelling."
Of the 26 families on the island in the late 19th century, most were engaged in fishing and Browne stated: "As fishermen they are brave, hardy and extremely venturesome . . . the men of Inishark are reputed to be the best and most daring boatmen on the west coast."
As we stand on the highest point of the island Peter Corrigan declares that it is no coincidence that no men from Inishark were lost in the Cleggan disaster which claimed the lives of 25 men, including nine from Inishbofin on October 28th, 1927. No one from Inishark was lost.
The Shark fishermen, he was told by his late grandfather, "could see a bad weather front coming in off the Atlantic that evening and decided it would be too risky to go to sea. Unfortunately, they had no way of communicating what they saw to the men on Bofin or the mainland,"
explains Peter. As Peter Anthony inspects his sheep, Peter Corrigan takes me on a tour of the island. His recall is as fresh as the warm
breeze that rolls in off the Atlantic. He can recite the names of every house, who he played with and who left for England or America. "They were great and gentle people - all of them. My mother brought me here from our home in England when I was four months old. I have been back every year since.
"My recollection of our annual visit was of the excitement of having travelled the long journey and arriving in Cleggan. We waited there for the mail boat, skippered by Austin Kelly and his first officer, Pateen, to come out from Bofin and take us into Shark. On our approach to the island I can see even now the sight of the whole population of the island standing on the quay to welcome us home."
Therese Lacey, only child of Micko and Ann Lacey, who now lives near Claddaghduff, left the island with her husband and the four children born there. She has the happiest of memories: "Our parents played cards, we had music when Dessie O'Halloran and his brother, Vincent, came over from Inishbofin. My aunt, Antonella, who lived in Pittsburgh, sent us parcels every year at Christmas, with raisins and currants and cakes."
Dances were held by candlelight in the schoolhouse to celebrate the return of an exile - barrel of porter in the corner and the sound of pounding feet on the wooden floor to the rhythm of couples dancing the half sets.
"We used paraffin lamps for light and when the paraffin ran out we used to melt lard on a saucer and put a wick into it and light it," she recalls. Therese bitterly regrets the evacuation.
"It was wrong to move us. I'd go back if I could. You know, it took us a while to settle . . . I don't think we are settled yet," she says with a laugh.
Today Inishark is a desolate place where the derelict cottages provide shelter for sheep. One can't help thinking that if the evacuation had not happened it would now be a "living" island, home to a handful of families, equipped with proper landing facilities, helipad, electricity and phone links.
"Inishark had its own culture," declares Peter Corrigan. "People lived off the land and the sea but they were always reliant and dependent on Mother Nature. Weather, tides, seas and illness were the elements that would eventually defeat them and drive them to the mainland."