Viewed from the quiet country back road that passes it, St Brendan's Cathedral in Clonfert on the west bank of the Shannon, just north of the Co Offaly town of Banagher, appears too modest a building to warrant the title of cathedral. At first glance it is a typical Church of Ireland parish church in a quiet quasi-woodland setting well populated by the ubiquitous - at least in churchyards - yew. In common with many of Ireland's medieval cathedrals it qualified as one only because it housed a bishop's chair and stalls for canons. But Clonfert's pedigree, spanning the story of Christianity in this country from earliest times to the present, is far more complex and ancient than might first appear.
It is here, at one of Ireland's oldest ecclesiastical sites still in use for worship and burial, the great saint known as Brendan the Navigator lies buried. He had, in fact, died elsewhere, at one of his other monastic foundations, Annaghdown, also in Co Galway - a convent presided over by his sister, Briga - but his body was brought to an earlier church standing on this site, for burial in possibly 577 or 583 - dates vary. Some years earlier, in 566, he had founded the original monastery and it is believed to have been an extensive settlement.
This saint, who is also a prominent figure in the history of early Irish pilgrimage, was a man of action and he had an exciting career. His various voyages led to his earning the title of "the navigator". Some hint of his seafaring activities may be suggested by the rather jaunty mermaid complete with comb and mirror carved into the south jamb of the 15th-century limestone chancel arch at Clonfert. Gothic humour tended to associate an element of sin or at least temptation with the business of seafaring. It is a strange little carving with a rather risquΘ personality of its own. Similar mermaids are found elsewhere - such as at Kilcooly Abbey in Co Tipperary. So the lady at Clonfert may have nothing to do with St Brendan. An account of Brendan's travels composed some 200 years after his death is told in a medieval text, Navigationis Brendani.
This narrative was sufficiently important to have been translated into several European languages. The earliest known manuscript dates from the 10th century and is known to be a copy. Scholars continue to dispute some of the facts surrounding the original Latin form, but it is widely held that the work was probably written in what is now modern France. Elements of the fantastic are involved. In the course of his search for the Isles of the Blest, he is said to have reached the Canary Islands off the coast of Africa, and, as some maintain, it was he who discovered America, close on 1,000 years before Christopher Columbus. Well, perhaps he did.
Far more certain is the claim that he sailed to various Scottish Islands, perhaps even to Wales. Born near Ardfert in Co Kerry, he was known to have studied under St Finian at Clonard in Co Meath. It appears that Brendan of Clonfert was one of the 12 high bishops of Ireland chosen by Finian. No trace of Clonard, once an early medieval Irish monastery, remains, yet it is believed to have had the status of a university respected throughout Europe.
This connection is ironic considering that in 1579 Elizabeth I toyed with the possibility of erecting a university at Clonfert. In a letter addressed to the then Bishop of Clonfert, the monarch outlined her plans. "We are desirous that a college should be erected in the nature of a university in some convenient place in Irelande, for instruction and education of youth in learning. And we conceive the town of Clonfert within the province of Connaught to be aptlie seated both for helth and comodity of ryver Shenen running by it."
There was more method than idealism in her plans. She wanted to stamp out the dangers of educated Irishmen returning from European universities with notions of rebellion. No university was built at Clonfert. Instead it was decided to establish one in Dublin - Trinity College.
Over the centuries, peaceful Clonfert endured many disturbances. The Vikings visited at least twice but possibly up to 10 times - sources vary - and invariably burned anything that stood during these raids.
The earliest part of the existing, extensively modernised, church dates to the 12th century. On the approach to the deceptively modest little building, it immediately reveals its great treasure, the magnificent six-order west doorway with its series of decorated human and animals heads in warm red sandstone. Above the doorway is a pointed hood of triangular arrangements, again featuring carved heads. It is the supreme expression of Romanesque decoration in Ireland. Its presence is obvious, to honour St Brendan. Inside the church, generous light enters from the windows. There are beautiful early 13th-century windows in the east wall of the chancel, among the finest surviving examples of late Romanesque windows.
It is a calm, atmospheric place that strikes one as a working place of worship. There is a dramatic, heavily decorative wooden pulpit. The attraction of the place is enhanced by the swallows and swifts darting through the open door and down from nests in the tower and roof space. Bird call seems to bring the silent church to life. Yet as Mary Hanna, architectural officer of the Heritage Council, confirms, all is not well with Clonfert. There is far more to the building than its fabulous doorway, which itself shows significant signs of erosion. It now features on the council's lists of buildings at risk. Even the most romantic would have to concede that Far more problematic is the cathedral's position as home to at least four and possibly five species of bat, including the Natterer's bat and brown long-eared bat. Bat urine and droppings are damaging wooden railings, pews and other surfaces throughout the church, including the organ over which a large roost is located. The bats, however, are internationally protected, as is their habitat and roost - in this case, Clonfert cathedral. So here we have a fascinating conservation dilemma: a graceful, richly historic monument acting as passive, vulnerable host to the most elusive of our protected mammals.