BUILDING THE BELOVED CHARACTER, PART 2
READ OR LISTEN
One’s surroundings can have as much to do with a person’s development as his or her parentage. Most of the time but not always it determines heritage, language, social mores, learning levels, and the nature of formative experiences.
Somewhere along my lifeline a formative experience sparked my fascination with castles, and particularly Irish castles. Thus, I’m always writing about them. But, what kind of person actually lived or worked in an Irish castle? How did it affect what they knew, saw, did, or how they felt about their lives?
In the 17th century, Ireland was surely wilder and even more lushly green than it is now, but its neighbor England, one of the world’s most powerful nations at the time, saw Ireland as both a dangerous threat and a precious emerald jewel. The threat was that Ireland was mostly Catholic, and should the Spanish choose to attack England they might use Ireland as a back door for entry. At the same time, land seemed abundant for the taking, to reward nobles and military leaders, for harvesting timber, wool, and flax, and for soaking up the lucrative fish oil industry—a very ripe plum to be plucked.
From the time of King Henry VIII, the English had envisioned plantations across Ireland—settlements of pious and hard-working English families—intending that eventually Ireland would be predominantly English-Protestant, living strictly and peacefully under English rule. This, as one might imagine, created a fiery tension between English and Irish—and my description is at best a gross simplification of a very complex and heated situation.
My novel, When Starlings Fly as One, takes place when King Charles I is in bitter conflict with the English Parliament and headed for civil war. The Irish Parliament supports him and even sends money in hopes of maintaining his lenience toward Catholics and resolving a long list of Irish grievances that he agreed to but hasn’t yet addressed.
By 1641, as the English are so distracted, Irish clans are uniting for a chance to take back their island. The rebellion spreads through unity of purpose, but it suffers under disorganization and the divisive goals of individual clan leaders—including one who insists on capturing the defensive castles along Ireland’s southern coast—and especially Rathbarry Castle in County Cork.
My protagonist, Merel, began life as the only child of a painter’s apprentice and his wife. in a port city called Harlingen in the Dutch province of Friesland. She would have lived with her parents in a small wood-framed house with a thatched roof. Upon arriving in Ireland, she is orphaned and goes to live in a large castle fortress on the windy southern coast. She must quickly adapt to life as a lady’s companion within the high walls of a bustling castle that soon comes under siege. She finds herself amid this conflict, an innocent who must eventually choose a side.
She, like many servants at that time, is at the mercy of her employers, her status bordering on slavery, trapped within stone walls and expected to do what she’s told. Castle life is not as luxurious as it might seem from a distance. There is drudgery, filth, discomfort, fear, lack of control over one’s own destiny, and growing tensions the longer the people are confined together within the castle walls.
And ever-present is Ireland’s landscape, ever-changeable, at times vast and empty, still as a painting and yet undulating, crowded and bloody, or cool, wet, and windswept—adding to the disturbed atmosphere of the time.
I didn’t plan so much trouble and bewilderment for Merel when I first saw the portrait by a Dutch painter that inspired her character (see Part 1). Clearly, she was clever, secretive, perhaps loved, and perhaps exploited in some way.
As I researched the story, certain events had to occur as it developed, and certain things existed in her surroundings such that, rather than imagining what happened to her, I realized them. She had to be Dutch, I realized, because it was the only way she could come into the conflict without bias. Also, she had to have a certain status that would give her access to every part of the castle. And she lied, I realized. She lied to get her way, to stay out of trouble, and to gain the respect she desired. So much about Merel’s character became clear to me as she lived the events, explored the location, and adapted to the structure of her new surroundings.
(NEXT WEEK, part 3 of this blog series, Informing the Spirit)
I first learned about Millmount Fort and Drogheda when researching my first novel, Sharavogue. The book begins near the end of Cromwell’s famous and brutal march of 1649, at what was then the village of Skebreen (as it was spelled by map-makers at the time, and now known as Skibbereen), in the southwest corner of County Cork. By the time Cromwell reached this part of Ireland, stories of his army’s killing and destruction had spread far and wide, causing some towns to surrender and inhabitants to flee even as he approached. And the most powerful of stories was the terrible siege of Drogheda.
NEW! Award-winning novel, now available in three formats. 
The oldest part of the castle dates from the 12th century. It was enlarged in the mid-15th century, and the cylindrical towers were an 18th century addition. On approach, the castle is quite beautiful, set in a vast green field with the ivy-covered towers, sunlight glinting off the their peaks. While the castle’s ground floor is now designed for group gatherings and exhibition, the real show begins upstairs in the Oak Room. Here the dark oak panels on the walls are intricately carved with Bible scenes. The stunning Tudor windows illuminate similarly carved cabinets and their finely turned legs. The oak armchair in the corner is said to have belonged to Robert the Bruce of Scotland.
Most touching is the story of the 14 Talbot cousins who met for breakfast at the long dining table in the castle’s great hall. It was July 1, 1690, the day of the 
If you are traveling north from Cork to Limerick or Shannon Airport, you’ll find Adare just before the N20 and N21 converge. It is called “Ireland’s Prettiest Village,” and though there are so many pretty villages in Ireland it would be hard to pick just one, if you 
In 1785, this earl made major additions and changes to the manor house, which received praise as “a very noble structure with fine and extensive 
Would that my budget had allowed a stay there. The 
An heiress, a castle, a fortune: what could go wrong?
Massive and beguiling, the ruins of Mallow Castle claim a grassy rise above the Blackwater River, about a 30-minute drive north of Cork City on the N20. Misshapen now from centuries of decay, it still resonates with legend and power. I found it on a dark rainy day, but another photographer captured it in the sunlight that highlights its beauty.
Bearing signs of Tudor architecture over the remains of an earlier fortress, one source has the great castle passing from the Roche family to the FitzGeralds of Desmond at the end of the thirteenth century. The Tudor structure most likely was built by the 14th Earl of Desmond, James FitzGerald, the Lord High Treasurer of Ireland who died in 1558.
The castle stood three stories high with octagonal corner turrets at the front, one in the middle for the entrance, and another for the stair. It has large mullioned windows, loopholes for muskets, and fireplaces in each room that stir the imagination. Who once warmed their hands or dried their clothes there, and what did they think about?
A new rebellion and 
The castle Rathbarry existed on the site of what is now Castlefreke, bearing the family name of Freke for the current owners. Far out on the roadway, the gateposts marking the entrance to the castle grounds with their large spherical tops were said to be true remnants of the 17th century. Just one wall of the ancient stables and carriage house remained, and a new stable house had been built within it remodeled as a private residence. We were treated to a peek inside this structure to get a feel for what home life was like there.
From the upper wall of the ruin, crumbling stone stairs led down to an ancient watergate, a stone passage leading directly from the castle to the water, where boats would have come to deliver food and supplies. But, except for a small, enclosed pond, there was no water. From the top of the steps I could see the bay, maybe half a mile distant. How, I wondered, could the castle have been served from such a distance?
Gigantic waves were reported as well in the West Indies and Brazil. Could these environmental events have shifted sands and reshaped Ireland’s coastline? Undoubtedly.
An heiress, a castle, a fortune: what could go wrong?
Driving south from Bandon on R602, you will arrive at the town of Timoleague in about 20 minutes, and see immediately the great landmark of Timoleague Friary. For the Prince of Glencurragh, traveling on horseback, at night and over rugged terrain, it would have taken at least three hours to reach this first stop on Faolán Burke’s path to destiny.
Timoleague Franciscan friary would have provided a most welcome shelter to travelers, even it its ruined state. It remains a massive and impressive structure, the walls of the various rooms still intact so that you can recognize the floor plan and how each room was used. The roof is long gone, and some sources say that parts of the structure were carted away for use in other buildings.
From the mullioned window in the chorus, one would be hard-pressed to find a view more peaceful and contemplative. This is the spot where my heroine, Vivienne, considers her circumstances, having been abducted by three strange men, however benevolent they might have seemed. It’s the place where narrator Aengus recalls a treasured time with his father. And it is where he and Vivienne first realize a common bond.
However, pirates may have seemed a minor threat compared the friary’s fate in the hands of the English. In King Henry VIII’s time, the structure was seized and as part of the Reformation the monks were dispersed. The monks returned in 1604, and then the English soldiers returned in 1612 to sack the buildings and smash all the stained glass windows. Then in 1642, English soldiers fighting the great Irish rebellion burned both the friary and town.
Eddie knew of the rectory and was able to take me straight there. Though it is now a private home, Eddie chatted with the resident—she was leaning out of the upstairs bathroom window where she’d been bathing her children—while I looked about the house and grounds. We did not go inside, but Eddie sent me some interior photos he happened upon when the house went on the real estate market months later.
This rectory is much larger and finer than the one I had imagined, but served quite well to give me an authentic feel for the place. The front door is opposite the stairs, and on either side are doorways to the parlor and the dining room. I loved the enormous windows of the place, and the high ceilings. The bedroom is where the character Vivienne would have pushed her bed beneath a window to wait for St. Agnes to reveal the image of the man she would marry. The road outside would have been a dirt carriage path instead of a nice, clean paved drive.
Eddie later showed me that Bandon’s town walls are mostly invisible now but for some crumbling remnants. Still, the wall sets the town apart and Bandon is a member of the 
my lady's closet 