Despite it being over 30 years since their last joint visit, CATHERINE MACKand her mother found their old holiday haunt of Rathmullan in Co Donegal still has a lot to offer
‘AH, LIFE BEGINS in Letterkenny!” my mum announced, as we passed the town’s welcome signpost. “When I see that sign I know I’ve left my worldly worries behind.”
I was taking her on a nostalgia trip to Donegal, following the path I had taken with her as a child, every Easter and summer holiday, from Belfast to Rathmullan. It had now been over 30 years since we had made that journey together. Yet Mum was reciting Donegal place names, like she was welcoming long lost family members back into the fold. Signposts to Greencastle, Glenveagh, Buncrana and Ramelton each had a story to tell, most of friends remembered, and many, sadly, now long gone.
But this was not going to be a morose holiday. I rarely get the chance to be alone with Mum, so I wanted it to be special. I also, rather selfishly, wanted to relive some of my own idyllic holiday memories. No pressure then on Rathmullan House, the hotel of choice for this comeback tour.
Rathmullan is a small seaside village on the west shore of Lough Swilly, and Rathmullan House was the place we used to be brought, togged out in all our finery, for holiday Sunday lunches. Now we were returning for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and for the whole weekend.
I had always remembered the hotel’s proximity to the beach; downing jelly and ice-cream, and running off through the trees to soft sands just beyond the hotel’s lawns, leaving our parents to clink glasses till dusk.
Rathmullan House remains a beacon of fine hospitality in Donegal, and is still run by the Wheeler family, who had welcomed us way back in the 1970s. The noughties bring the new generation to the fore, brothers Mark and William Wheeler, and their wives, Mary and Yvonne. They are a tour de force, and should be given four stars for their charming, understated, and warm hospitality, to accompany the hotel’s own four stars.
This 1870s cream coloured Georgian country house has 34 individually furnished rooms, with lovingly chosen armchairs, desks, paintings, lamps, and beds ranging from four-poster to Shaker-style. There are even two “doggie” rooms, bedrooms with a section to house a dog’s bed, and patio doors opening onto the gardens and beach.
I, however, was bereft of nothing at Rathmullan. We had rooms in the new wing of the hotel, designed to merge sensitively with the original architecture, with every room opening out onto the beach.
Mum was in heaven just inspecting items of antique furniture in her room, or reading about the house’s history from various framed archives hung around the place. Going away with your mother, if you don’t do it often, is not always straightforward. It was new territory for us, and I may have got off to a bumpy start, teasing her about packing a hot water bottle. But she just smiled, saying that she liked having her little comforts when she travelled. (Better than one friend’s mother, who travels with rubber gloves and Dettol to wash down the bath).
I set off to seek my own comfort in the dunes, arranging to meet in the bar later. The sea was even closer than I remembered, and the sands possibly even whiter. As I wandered barefoot along the sand, writing my name with a stick, collecting shells, clambering over rocks, I felt nothing but pure joy as I went through names of all my childhood friends who had done the same alongside me years ago. I was jolted out of my self-indulgent sentimentality by a loud thundering noise coming up through the sand, causing my heart to thud to the same rhythm. I turned to see about half a dozen horses galloping towards me. As they passed, I noticed that their riders were all young children, and felt as if my own childhood had just whizzed past me like some strange dream.
Back at the hotel, Mum was swapping Rathmullan stories with her newly adopted Wheeler boys in the bar. The bar is really just one of the four lounges, except it has a magnificent mahogany sideboard taking centre stage, bedecked with everything from fine malts to merlots and Moët. Fires roared in every room, and guests were tucked up on sofas, clinking merrily, in good Rathmullan tradition. The clientele was a mix of all ages: couples, young families, and middle-aged women on a weekend away. And a mother and daughter who raised a glass or two, and wished they hadn’t left it so long to come back “home”.
We had dinner by the fire, opting to save the white linens of the restaurant until the next night. I devoured some crab linguine, while Mum went for the more traditional fish and chips, coated in a light batter of beer and water. The chef, Ian Orr, sources everything locally, with seafood coming no further than Greencastle, and vegetables and fruit from their vast walled garden, depending on the season.
Mum popped off to her room to powder her nose, as I gorged on a plate of Irish cheeses, organic quince paste, home-made chutney and biscuits. She returned grinning about something, and revealed that not only had her bed been turned over while we were eating, but that some lovely Rathmullan angel had filled her hot water bottle and tucked it under the crisp white sheets. She had been fed and watered with the finest food and wines but, for Mum, this was hospitality from heaven.
Just as I was about to hit my vast luxurious bed, I mentioned my horses moment to William. “They’re from the stables up the road,” he said, “I could book you in, if you fancy it.” The last time I had been on a horse, was probably the last time I had been on a Donegal beach, so I just laughed. “Think about it,” he said, giving me a great excuse to order a nightcap, and prolong my fireside repose. Minutes later, William returned to say that he had double-checked with the stables, and there was a beach trek at 10 the next morning. A bit of Dutch-Donegal courage was all it took, and I signed up.
Eager to enjoy every second of my time here, I got up early, did a few lengths of the swimming pool, before tucking into a breakfast of home-made everything, and a menu just as gorgeous as dinner the night before: smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, homemade bread, and Mr Wheeler Snr’s own marmalade. A quick stroll up to the stables, and I was off on a one-to-one trek on a dappled grey pony, with my teacher Stephanie.
After a few minutes on the beach, Stephanie released her guiding lead, and helped me build up slowly from walk to trot to canter. Like a kid again, I hoped Mum might be waiting for me on the dunes outside the hotel, cheering me on. But she was, rightly, doing her own thing. However, Stephanie took on the maternal role perfectly, careful and caring in her teaching, leading me down Rathmullan beach and, with the tide out, onto the neighbouring Kinnegar Strand. I came back to find Mum had just treated herself to her very first massage, and was looking as elated as I was after my beach ride.
Re-energised to take on the rest of the day, we strolled along the beach path into Rathmullan village, where we stopped to admire the stunning John Behan sculpture, a commemoration of the Flight of the Earls, which took place from Rathmullan’s pier in 1607. It is a harrowing image of the earls’ reluctant farewell, their bronze cloaks almost billowing in the wind. It sits unobtrusively on the grassy banks of the shore, beside children playing on swings and slides, oblivious to Rathmullan’s extraordinary legacy.
The 400th anniversary of the Flight of the Earls took place in 2007, providing funding for Rathmullan’s Flight of the Earls Heritage Centre, in a converted granite gun battery. The door was locked, although pausing for a liquid lunch in the White Harte pub, I asked Mary, the owner, if she knew if it would be open over the weekend. “If you come back at five, I’ll have the key for you, no problem.” A done deal, Donegal style.
That left me just enough time to hit the hills overlooking Lough Swilly, as Mum headed back to her paradise lost, and now refound, at the hotel. There were still a good few sofas to test out, and no doubt more stories to share. The hotel supplies a list of local walks, designed and written up by local historian Margaret Carton. I took on the 7.5km circular walk along the beach, and inland up the old Glen Road, in search of Margaret’s hidden waterfalls, ancient chestnuts and limekilns. I didn’t see a soul for the whole walk and had spectacular views across to Inch Island. Back at the pub, Mary had kept to her word, and we headed across the road to swot-up on our earls history, in the serenity of this simple, dignified restoration.
Our own flight from Donegal was marked by a superb dinner in the hotel’s restaurant that night. After swimming, riding and walking, I felt I had earned my three courses. Just as in years gone by, I put on my Sunday best – a “pretty girl” dress which I knew would make my mum smile. It must have broken her heart, just a little, that I have never quite shaken off my propensity for tomboyism. We drank kir cocktails by the fire, before being led to our candlelit corner for more of chef Orr’s offerings. Roast turnip soup, followed by loin of Fermanagh free-range pork.
The pull back to Belfast the next morning was a hard one. Mum and I had relived our past in some way and, importantly, treasured our time together in the present. Which leaves me only to say a big thank you to our oldest friend, Rathmullan, for making it all possible.
* Catherine Mack and her mother were guests of Rathmullan House Hotel
Where to stay, eat and go
Where to stay
Rathmullan House, Rathmullan, 074-9158188, www.rathmullanhouse.com. Four-star, family-run and award-winning hotel, overlooking Rathmullan’s golden sands. BB from €80 per person sharing. Swimming pool for days when the one-minute walk to the beach seems too much effort.
Fort Royal, Rathmullan, 074-9158100, www.fortroyalhotel.com. Luxury country house overlooking Rathmullan beach, with nine-hole pitch and putt course, and tennis court close to the sea. From €55 per night, and children’s rates available on application. Self-catering cottages in converted stables also available.
Rathmullan Cottages, Rathmullan, 00-44-28713-56080, www.rathmullancottages.com. Varied collection of self-catering cottages, most are modern, but look carefully through the website for restored stone cottage beauties, such as Ray’s Cottage and Aghadreena Cottage. All within easy walking distance of Lough Swilly.
Donegal Cottages, Rathmullan, 074-9158209. Luxury self-catering cottages within 2km of Rathmullan village, and within easy walking distance of the beach. A quick stroll up the beach toRathmullan House Hotel for a fine lunch.
Where to eat
An Bonnán Buí restaurant and wine bar, Pier Road, Rathmullan, 074-9158453, www.bonnanbui.com. Run by Martin Kelly and his Brazilian wife Monica Santos, it has a superb selection of Irish fare, like local seafood specialities, with a smattering of Brazil to add to the mix. Great children’s menus too.
Water’s Edge, 074-9158182, www.thewatersedge.ie. This restaurant is on the shores of Lough Swilly, and its glass-fronted diningroom has superb views of fishermen coming in with their catch, like fresh brill, soon-to-be-offered on a plate in front of you.
Where to go
Golden Sands Equestrian Centre, Rathmullan, 074-9158124. Treks from €20 per hour.
Glenveagh National Park, Churchill, Letterkenny, 074-9137090, www.glenveaghnationalpark.ie. Encompassing 24,000 acres of wilderness, mountain, moorland, lakes and woods. Also largest herd of red deer in Europe.
Portsalon Golf Course is one of six excellent courses almost within putting distance of Rathmullan. See www.discoverireland.ie/northwest for details of all golfing in Co Donegal.
For sea angling, seal and dolphin-watching on Lough Swilly, charter The Enterprise 1 or the new Swilly Explorer, both moored in Rathmullan. Contact Neil Doherty, 074-9158129.