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Ireland Part 4: Graveyard Chills in Killeagh



On our four-hour drive from Dublin to Kinsale, we passed through Killeagh, the village from which Donna’s mother’s family came. We parked near a church we thought may have been the family parish and struck up a conversation with a gentleman who was standing outside a pub. We told him we were looking for information about the O’Keeffe family and whether the church we pointed to was the right one.

“Are ye Catholic?” he inquired, and when Donna answered in the affirmative, he clutched his heart in mock distress and let out a moan. “Well, yes, that’s the Catholic Church, St. John the Baptist, so it may well be.” He went on. “Are ye Republicans?” to which Donna said no. “Oh, thank heavens at least for that!” he responded. He then went on to criticize American football (too many head injuries) and baseball (too slow). He noted that the church's cemetery was up the road a bit and recommended we pay a visit to the postmaster, who was the local historian and could be found at the Centra market a couple doors down.

We found the postman sitting behind a post office window at the store. We introduced ourselves and asked if he was familiar with the O’Keeffe family; he said he was not, but that his wife might be. He suggested we go to their house and ask her, and said he would call to let her know we were coming. The house, he explained, is the white one about 10 doors up the road.

This illustrates two traits of the Irish makeup: Extreme helpfulness and horrendous direction-giving.

We thanked him and headed up the road. There was no white house 10 doors up, nor nine nor 11, on either side of the street. We went to the least non-white house in the vicinity and knocked on the door. There was no answer. We hung around for a few minutes thinking that maybe Mrs. Postman would emerge from one of the other non-white houses and speak with us, but she didn’t.

So we walked back to the church, lit a candle, and got back in the car to finish our trip to Kinsale. On the outskirts of Killeagh, however, we noticed a much older church and the cemetery the proudly Protestant fellow mentioned. We parked and found some grave markers of O’Keeffes going back as far as1952 but nothing more. There was, however, an adjoining, much older graveyard next to the church.

According to an informational plaque, the graveyard dates to medieval times, around the 6th century. The church was founded by Saint Ia of Cornwall, but the original structure was replaced by the current Church of Ireland parish church in 1812.

We roamed around the ancient graveyard, and truth be told, it’s the spookiest place I’ve ever been. The unkempt cemetery was darkened by old trees, with markers hidden in deep dark corners like caves. Many were askew, overtaken by vines, their chiseled words worn away. It would not have taken much to send me running out of there and back to the safety of the car.

When we finally left the graveyard, I wanted to take a couple pictures of the foreboding church from a spot by the road. As I clicked the shutter, I saw a light appear from one of the church’s windows. I don’t think of myself as superstitious, but I felt goosebumps as I tried to process that phenomenon. It turned out that the church interior is being renovated and a work crew had chosen that moment to turn on a work light. At least, that’s what I’m going with.

We got back into the car and headed for Kinsale, not, as far as we can tell, possessed by the spirits that just may roam that ghostly place.








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