By her own admission, the Mayo writer Mary J Murphy has been driven by a lifelong curiosity and "inexplicable devotion" to Achill Island. Frequently she has ruminated over the connection between art and Achill, and with a fresh eye has explored its multilayered artistic life in the skilfully produced Achill Painters: An Island History (Knockma Publishing, €20). Consisting of 10 chapters, and produced in a landscape format, the wide parameters cover a period from the 1830s, when William Evans of Eton was a visitor, up to the present-day work of Camille Souter, described as "Achill's reigning artistic monarch".
Many painters have been drawn hypnotically to the island and the creative spirit has thrived alongside the social and cultural milieu. Apart from the usual suspects (Alexander Williams, Paul Henry, Seán Keating, Harry Kernoff), the author casts a fresh eye on lesser-known names. Overlooked female artists include the Belgian Expressionist Marie Howet, who produced 25 aquarelles, mostly on Achill; Anne Marie Bovet, from the French city of Metz; and the Drogheda-born painter Nano Reid. The longevity of the women who lived on the island is a compelling story, as well as the fact that so many were childless.
An engaging book, it is ideal for dipping into randomly rather than swallowing whole. While it may not feature every single artist who captured the brooding cliffs of Minaun, or the storm-tossed seas, it is a remarkable gallery of artistic Achill – at least 200 painters are identified – retrieving the legacy of long-forgotten names.
Tom Brett and Sean Rice
Other aspects of Mayo life, including its geography, architecture, music and sport, are recounted in We are Mayo (wearemayobook.net, €30) by Tom Brett and Sean Rice. This profusely illustrated and written record of the county comes with a foreword by Sabina Higgins, who spent her childhood and adolescence in Ballindine. The broad sweep of subjects embraces the landmark sites of the Ceide fields, Moyne Abbey and Blacksod Lighthouse.
Sporting rivalry in Mayo’s villages close to the borders of Sligo, Roscommon and Galway is particularly intense in GAA circles. Intriguing topographical detail is outlined, such as the fact that Ballaghaderreen in Roscommon still play their football for historical reasons in Mayo. This was because of the realignment of the Barony of Costello in 1898, when part of the parish of Kilbeagh, together with Kilcolman and Castlemore, were ceded to Roscommon.
Martin O’Halloran
Eighty-one years ago, in the spring of 1940, 24 families, numbering 127 people, boarded two buses from the Irish-speaking community of Clonbur, Co Galway, and migrated to Allenstown, Co Meath, to set up a Gaeltacht colony. Their cattle, sheep and other possessions travelled separately in 13 lorries. On the day of their departure, the men kissed the stone walls of their smallholdings in tears, distraught at leaving the wildness of the west for the fertile plains of Meath.
By any standards it was an epic upheaval, and the engrossing story is detailed in The Lost Gaeltacht (Homefarm Publishing, €29) by Martin O'Halloran, the son of one of the resettled families. He delves into the work of the Land Commission Migration, founded in 1881, and the establishment of Gaeltacht colonies by the de Valera government in the 1930s and 1940s.
While the primary focus is on people, the book discusses the wider story of an oppressive landholding system in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Slivers of history come to light as the author explains how the community was consistently refused applications for grants for Irish speakers and the apparent indifference of government departments to the fate of the language, which was lost because of official neglect.
Drawing on the work of the Land Commission, and unpublished letters from renowned Trinity College professor of Irish Máirtín Ó Cadhain, the book considers the dismantlement of an Irish country estate. In the 1960s, O’Halloran grew up in the community and here poignantly reconstructs the social integration and rural way of life, describing haymaking, silage-gathering, potato planting and his enjoyment in working with horses.
John Boorman
A love of the ancient oaks, wildflowers and birdsong is brought to life in John Boorman's Nature Diary: One Eye, One Finger (Lilliput Press, €15). The celebrated filmmaker, who has lived in a Co Wicklow demesne for 50 years, was cocooned in his 88th year during the 2020 spring lockdown. He calls himself a curious amateur and used the time to document the natural world, describing it as his "minute-vast universe".
Between April and June, Boorman spent his days watching birds, contemplating silent skies and stroking the oak trees that cast a spell on him and where he finds consolation. Even with diminishing eyesight, Boorman retains sharp observation. He delights in cobwebs in the garden, magical light and the “almost narcotic haze of bluebells”.
Delicate line drawings by Susan Morley illustrate the flora, trees, paths and the flight of the elusive kingfisher, complementing the entries and creating the atmospheric mood of this elegiac diary in its beribboned glamour.
Rowan Hand
The former journalist and broadcaster Rowan Hand, who set up Oxfam Newry, has been involved for many years in voluntary work in Africa and India. In Caritas et Amor: In the Footsteps of Love (Gullion Media, £30), Hand, who has worked in the past as a freelance for Nationwide on RTÉ and in a senior editorial capacity for the BBC, has documented his remarkable journey and multifaceted charitable roles. His influences growing up in Newry included Archbishop Francis Carroll – the son of docker Paddy Carroll – who went on to become the papal nuncio to Liberia.
In the form of a moving diary in 24 chapters, the author charts the challenges and adversities he faced, reflecting on the dedicated work carried out by the Fathers of the Society of African Missions and Sisters of Our Lady of the Apostles.
