"TARA's story is Ireland's story", are the thought provoking open words of this attractively produced book. The Hill of Tara, located off the Dublin Navan road, certainly looms larger in Ireland's history than its height of 155 metres might seem to warrant, but why that should be so is the core of Michael Slavin's book, which is the offspring of a lifelong love affair with this hill where he has made his home.
As Conor Newman writes in the foreword, Tara has something for everyone. Its appeal is multiplicitous, offering attractions which vary depending on whether the approach is from the romantic, the mystic, the historian or the archaeologist. All who ascend the hill with reverence will get at least something of what they want out of it, while being left at the same time with a residue of mystery, an impenetrable veil which will never yield up all its secrets. Perhaps that is as well, for that is part of the Hill's allure.
Description of the physical and monumental aspects of Tara are left to the concluding chapter, and what obviously fascinated Michael Slavin for the whole first half of the book are the myths and legends surrounding Tara, and the heroes and heroines who make them come alive - Queen Maeve, Cormac Mac Airt, Fionn and the Fianna, as well as Diarmuid and Grainne, to name but a few. He lovingly retells the old tales, drawing us into the vortex of their magical world, and he warms so much to his infectious narrative that we can easily forgive the occasional slip, such as when Brian Boru's inauguration is described as having taken place in Cormac's Chapel on the Rock of Cashel, a building not erected until more than a century after Brian's death.
Indeed, one gets the impression that the author is reluctant to abandon the romantic and legendary world of Tara's early story when he brings us out into the light of history, and the association of the place with the high kingship, which turned out to be such an elusive prize. This link, he explains, really comes to an end with the demise of Brian's successor, Maelsechlainn II, "Malachy of the collar of gold", in 1022.
Despite being taken over by Norman knights who were more interested in the present than in the past, Tara continued to cast its spell throughout the medieval period and right down to our own century, remaining always a potent symbol of Ireland's Golden Days and the most evocative image of the greatness of the Gael, conjured up with great political purpose during the 1798 rising and Daniel O'Connell's Monster Meeting on the hill, which attracted perhaps a million or more in 1843.
The book is handsomely laid out, and both author and Wolfhound Press are to be congratulated on their choice of imaginative and well captioned illustrations, including the fine photographs by Robert Vance. In the list of references at the end, one misses the titles of some earlier books on Tara Macalister's monograph and Edel Bhreathnach's already indispensable annotated bibliography published by the Discovery Programme/Royal Irish Academy late last year. But this is a small cavil which should not detract from the enjoyment of reading this book, which is written with the enthusiasm we would expect from a journalist of international repute.
The book should inspire young and old to immerse themselves in the fable and fact of what is surely Ireland's most historic site where the earthworks, quite simply because they disappoint those expecting to find in them Moore's "harp that once through Tara's Halls", should encourage us to use our imagination and conjure up the glory of Ireland's past. This book should make us aware that when we visit the Hill of Tara, we are treading the same sacred ground that has been trodden on by so many great figures in Irish history, and which it is to be hoped will continue to appeal to the pride of the Irish for many generations to come.
Peter Harbison is co author with Jacqueline O'Brien of Ancient Ireland I