Whether as pre-Christmas ritual or pilgrimage, as spiritual quest or scientific phenomenon to be witnessed, the winter solstice at Newgrange, Co Meath, continues to weave spells.
Yesterday was no exception. It was a chilly morning; cold and clear enough after a bright, starry night of heavy frost to feel confident of a ray of winter sun challenging the long darkness of the year's shortest day.
Many of those gathered had waited 10 years or longer for this moment, aware that the sun might not shine. Others were content to wait outside as witnesses. A young woman from California sits on the frost-whitened grass, "I can't get inside, but it's great being here," she sighs contentedly.
A pink ribbon of light illuminates the hillside facing the monument, itself a slightly surreal shape clad in ghostly white quartz. Across the valley, in the distance, bare trees appearing to line the horizon look like supplicants praying for the famous, often elusive, shaft of light.
A German visitor takes several photographs of the entrance. "The waiting list is now closed," she says. "Does this mean people will stop coming here?" No, she is assured, this place is very important to Ireland.
An animated woman describes how she had almost given up hope. "I wrote in so many years ago and then I got this phone call . . . " A small boy, white-faced in the sharp air, asks if there are any dead bodies inside. The standing stones positioned outside act as a chorus. Some years the heavy mist confers on them the gravitas of chief mourners. But yesterday there was no mist, the stones looked less spirit-like. Each new human arrival at the site exchanged the same curtly optimistic observation: `It's looking good." Conditions on Sunday had been perfect, so expectation is high.
Meanwhile as the public is divided between the chosen few with invitations, those who thought they might be squeezed in and others who knew they would not be admitted, the small group accompanying the Minister for Arts, Heritage, Gaeltacht and the Islands, Ms de Valera, make their way towards the mound. The official delegation looks different; suits and overcoats and smart clothes contrasting with the fleeces, hiking boots and woollen hats of the rest of us.
Inside the tomb the guide points out the gradual rise along the passage which makes a depth of six feet between the level at the entrance and that in the chamber itself. The roof box above one's head at the entrance is now level with one's feet. The photographers are as tense and competitive as race horses waiting for the off. It is standing room only in the chamber, now in total darkness, which inspires the stilted dialogue usually associated with a collection of strangers stuck in an elevator. Someone points out that during the past 12 years there have been three sunlit December 21sts. Prof George Eoghan, guardian of Knowth, has stood here more times than he would care to admit. We look at the sandy, earthen floor and wait. A small spot of light appears on the floor. The mood shifts. The light increases, broadening and becoming more yellow. It is of the moment and yet also evokes a time span of more than 5,000 years.
Most of us, memorising the moment, wonder at the sophistication of these ancient people who created such a place by imagination, belief and precision engineering. The man with the TV camera continues talking. But this atmosphere demands silence.
Outside the Minister announces the plans for the millennium. "We want to heighten the public awareness of Newgrange and of heritage in Ireland," she says. Niece of the late Ruaidhri de Valera, former professor of Celtic archaeology and authority on megalithic tombs, she says: "I've always been aware of Newgrange. I've never been here for the solstice, though."
The morning is a success, despite Brendan McWilliams pointing out that the solstice is really today. "I've looked it up in my books," he says. Duchas is not worried. "We are sticking to tradition. This is the shortest day, and we're not going to challenge science." The solstice, in fact, takes place over five days in midwinter, heralding the slow rebirth of spring.
