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Serpent's Ridge Near Knockanaffrin	North Rathgormack - with the townlands of Toor, Park, Scartlea, Glen in the view. Slievenamon is the hill on the the horizon to the left

Stretching the memory somewhat, I remember over 50 years ago boarding a train in Kilsheelan en route to St. John’s College, Waterford. In those days trains were trains! The magnificent steam train, shining and gleaming, came to a halt at the village station.

My own resolve to become a candidate for the priesthood was strengthened when the train, powerful and strong, determined and resolute puffed out of the station and the last chance to weaken my resolve had passed. The strength, power and determination of the train lent support to the Lord’s counsel; "No one putting his hand to the plough and looking back is fit for the kingdom of God." The train sped majestically through the Suir valley, with the Comeragh mountains on the right and Slievnamon on the left. The aspirant recalled the words of Oliver Cromwell "this land is worth fighting for." As it happened Cromwell met his "Waterloo" in Clonmel and returned to England. But, the train had no such distraction as it tracked its way, serenely, surely and safely and I prayed the Lord to keep me always on the rails. Compared to the great steam engine, the car is a puny thing with little dignity or grandeur or presence.

The mountains faded out of sight. I had seen the darkness cover them and the dawn break over them and knew they were all a millions years old. No wonder the Druids worshipped them.

The college was a place of no illusions and the student soon got used to the cloistered order of the place where every day was divided by the ringing of bells, which left no one in doubt where he should be at any particular time. The nature of the institution was such that it was rumoured that a student, who was overheard by the Dean, whistling " the girl I left behind" was immediately expelled. Though I sought verification, I found none. At the end of the course the newly ordained was nothing if not real.

I opted for the Plymouth diocese, comprising Devon, Cornwall and Dorset where the Irish had never come except to the Royal Navy and the dockyard at Devonport in 1914. About 300 families came and the Catholic population in Plymouth increased slightly. The present population is 258,000 and 1% attend a Catholic church! You can savour the delights of Devon and Cornwall but find little faith. It is real tourist country and very beautiful: rolling hills and sandy coves, Devon cream teas and Cornish pasties, Land’s End and the Scilly Isles: surprises all the way. Plymouth’s most famous son is Sir Francis Drake who finished his game of bowls before setting off to intercept the Spanish Armada in 1588.

The name of the game was hurling and still is. I loved it. Now I keep a hurling stick under the bed for self-defence purposes only! Back to where I came from, and looking over the family grave in Rathgormack towards Crotty’s rock, I reflect, here is meaning: there is another world besides.