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Irish Times
3 days ago
- Health
- Irish Times
Death Cafes: ‘It's a privilege to talk about death and dying with people, because you learn a lot about living'
'Are you interested in talking about death?' It was this small ad in a London newspaper about 12 years ago that caught Bernie Folan's attention. 'I've always been interested in the big stuff, not the small talk,' says Folan, who was brought up in London but whose family is from Connemara. 'The ad said: 'Phone this number.' And I did.' It brought her to a house in Hackney, East London, where she and five other strangers gathered at the kitchen table of a man called Jon Underwood. She didn't know it then, but she was attending the second-ever Death Cafe – Underwood was in the process of founding what has since become a global movement. His objective was to increase awareness of death, and so help people make the most of their finite lives. READ MORE Folan was intrigued. 'I said: 'I'm not really sure why I'm here, I haven't had a huge amount of death in my life,' but for some reason or other, I kind of got hooked,' she says. Soon she was hosting Death Cafes herself. Living between Yorkshire and Connemara now, she hosts a Death Cafe in Galway about every six weeks. 'I posted a 'Meet-up' yesterday, and already we have 15 people signed up. It's often oversubscribed – there is a real willingness here,' she says. With Death Cafes popping up in recent years in Dalkey, Dundalk, Belfast, Bantry, Waterford and Wicklow, there is no shortage of people who want to talk about death. Those who attend meet simply as people who are going to die – so all of us qualify. Anyone can meet to talk about death, of course, but the meeting can only use the social franchise name Death Cafe if it follows certain principles outlined by Underwood, setting out what a Death Cafe is and what it is not. In short, there is no agenda, and no set themes or guest speakers – the group directs the discussion. A Death Cafe doesn't lead people to particular products, conclusions or actions either. Bernie Folan listens to a participant during a Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy End-of-life care, eco funerals, musical choices, is there an afterlife – individual participants might end up talking about these things, but a Death Cafe is not about persuading anyone, agreeing anything or selling something. It is about growing social impact, not profit. It helps to have a good facilitator. Death Cafe organisers, or 'hosts', must be able to listen and talk about all aspects of death with equanimity, and make others feel safe and comfortable to do so too. Oh, and there must be tea and cake, that's in the principles too. Eating cake, especially with strangers, can be a comforting and social activity. This can make it easier to discuss a potentially sensitive topic. The Hook & Ladder and Jack Monday's cafes in Limerick city don't bat an eye when the Death Cafe people arrive. 'We have to give the venues a lot of credit for embracing this,' says Jennifer Moran Stritch, co-founder of Limerick Death Cafe, which will mark its 10th anniversary in November. 'Every event we've had has been a 'sell-out' crowd. It's part of the community culture in Limerick now,' she says. Attendees have included college students, octogenarians, neighbours, mother-and-daughter duos – 'We've had a couple of first dates too,' says Moran Stritch who hosts three a year including during Limerick's Halloween festival, Samhain, and in Holy Week. [ How to 'die well' in today's Ireland: It starts with living a good life Opens in new window ] 'There is laughing, and people leave feeling more connected. There is a real sense of connection, respect and lightness among people.' Moran Stritch, a lecturer at the Technological University of the Shannon, is a thanatologist – that's someone who has an academic interest in all aspects of death, dying and bereavement across cultures. She has taught at the Irish Hospice Foundation and as part of the Masters in Bereavement Studies at the Royal College of Surgeons Ireland. She is clear about what a Death Cafe is. 'It's not an educational opportunity, so it's not me lecturing people – but if you don't learn something from other people there, I'd be surprised,' she says. It's not religious either. 'We're not proselytising anything. Like, here's a way to think about death that's much better. But if you don't walk away feeling a bit spiritual, I'd be surprised,' she says. Importantly, the Death Cafe is not a therapy session or a bereavement support group. 'But if you don't walk away having been able to share what grief feels like for you, or support someone else in that, again I'd be surprised,' Moran Stritch says. There are too many stories of people who say they wish they were better prepared when a loved one dies, she adds. 'You hear: 'I wish I had talked to my mam about what she really wanted,' or 'I wish she had been willing to talk to me about what she wanted.' A participant at the Galway Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy 'Those conversations are about developing a comfort and openness with being able to talk about all aspects of life, and death is part of life. For me to be able to say I can go some way to be able to provide a space for people and myself to talk about those things, that's a real benefit to me.' Underwood had been inspired by the work of the late Swiss sociologist and anthropologist, Bernard Crettaz, says Moran Stritch. On a mission to liberate death from what he called 'tyrannical secrecy', Crettaz had held a 'Café Mortel' in Paris in 2004. 'The assembled company, for a moment, and thanks to death, is born into authenticity,' Crettaz said. Cake was important to Crettaz too. 'His thing was it has to be a celebratory food. Celebrate your one finite life, taste the sweetness of it, even while discussing the fact that you won't be here some day. Celebrate that,' says Moran Stritch. Underwood met Crettaz in 2014, and Death Cafes credit his influence. There is value in confronting death frequently, Moran Stritch believes. 'The word that comes up for me is 'microdosing'. A way to build up against an allergy is to do small, safe exposures with some frequency. You are never going to be able to grieve sufficiently ahead, you are never going to be all right with it, you are still going to grieve and feel those not-nice emotions that the death of others or our own imminent death brings up for us, but at least this can normalise it.' The Death Cafe in Galway attracts a mix of people, says Bernie Folan. One of the attendees at the Galway Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel, Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy One of the people attending the Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy 'There may be people who are actively dying, they know they are dying. Well, we are all dying of course, that's what we have in common,' she says. Some are dealing with the loss of partners or parents. 'When listening to people's stories, you can see that they are living their lives and it is very instructive and it's a privilege,' she says. 'It's a privilege to talk about death and dying with people because you learn a lot about living from doing that.' Some are very fearful of death. 'There is one person who is terrified, she has a real fear of death. And I said to her, the fact that you are here is really impressive. A lot of people would run a mile from something called a Death Cafe and you are here talking to other people. That might not feel like progress, but it probably is.' A Death Cafe won't prevent or cure fear, but it can be cathartic for attendees, says Moran Stritch. 'If there are things inside me that are upsetting, or that I think I shouldn't be thinking, I can chat with other people and not feel embarrassed or ashamed or feel I'm being silly by bringing these things up,' she says. 'I'm sure there are personal benefits for me too in terms of my ability to think and feel about my own mortality, but also the deaths or potential deaths of people I'm close to.' Talking about death hasn't protected Folan from grief. 'When my father died, people asked, was it easier for you because of all the work you do on death? And I said no, you can't inoculate yourself against grief – and why would you want to? Grief is normal,' she says. 'But if we pretend that death is not going to happen, it can really disarm us.' Talking about death can instruct how we live. She refers to the work of 16th-century philosopher, Michel de Montaigne. 'He says something like, think about death for five minutes every day and then get on with your life, get on with living.' A Death Cafe meeting participant at the Victoria Hotel, Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy A participant at the Galway Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy It's about understanding viscerally, as Underwood did, that time isn't forever, she says. Your life is finite, so make the most of it. 'It enables me to keep from straying too far from spending too much time doing the wrong things, from wasting time. It's really hard to get angry about waiting in a supermarket queue if you think 'I'm lucky to be alive'. Not everyone is,' she says. Patricia O'Sullivan hosts a monthly Death Cafe in the side room of the community hall in Ballydehob, Co Cork. 'There are no experts at a Death Cafe,' she says. 'We are all equal. It's simply people talking and being heard on the subject of death.' O'Sullivan arranges the tea and cake. She has lived in the area for 34 years, attending the Death Cafe events in the village for years before taking on the hosting duties herself. 'I just think it's an excellent idea. Any subject that is difficult to speak about for people, I just think, what a beautiful idea to gather and talk about it.' Ballydehob's Death Cafe attracts all ages, some regulars and some new joiners. Some will be well known to each other, but it's unlikely they have ever spoken about their feelings around death to each other before. [ The things I've learned about living from dying Opens in new window ] 'In the olden days people gathered a lot more easily, but in this day and age we have to make it happen. To be sure, it brings a closeness and a connection when you hear people's really authentic expression about something that is so important for all of us. It brings connection.' The Death Cafe enables you to hear people's experiences. It might not change how you feel about death, but listening can open new ways of thinking, she says. 'If you think about death, you also inevitably think more about life.' For her personally, the meetings have brought a sense of 'spaciousness'. 'Now, when I imagine the moment of death, rather than feeling fearful, it brings a feeling of spaciousness. Hopefully, I'll be more able to deal with it, to be in the moment. That's what I would hope for.' Jon Underwood died suddenly of an undiagnosed leukaemia in June 2017, aged just 44. His invitation to talk about death and dying over tea and cake has led to more than 20,000 Death Cafe meetings in cafes, homes, at festivals and in universities in 93 countries. His mother Sue Barsky Reid and sister Jools Barsky continue his Death Cafe work as he requested. Before the longest day of the year in June, the Ballydehob Death Cafe took place outside at the nearby graveyard of Kilcoe. The oldest legible headstone there dates back to the 1820s. Still standing inside this graveyard are the ruins of a church from the 1400s. The dead have been buried there for centuries. 'It did feel different,' O'Sullivan says. 'In the beauty of the sun, this graveyard was gorgeous.'
Irish Times
6 days ago
- General
- Irish Times
Galway farmer granted permission to challenge Greenway purchase decision ‘splitting' his farm
A Galway farmer has been granted permission to challenge a compulsory purchase order (CPO) made by An Coimisiún Pleanála (ACP) to construct a cycleway that he says would run across his land and 'split' his farm. He has claimed the route built under the Connemara Greenway Project would make his farmlands – in his family since the 1940s – 'unmanageable and landlocked'. At the High Court, lawyers for Oliver Joyce, of Emloughmore, Clifden, Co Galway, successfully applied to Ms Justice Emily Farrell to challenge the ACP's decision to grant a May 2025 compulsory purchase order (CPO) to Galway County Council relating to lands he owns at Doireliagh, Doireclunlaigh, Clifden, in Co Galway. The project aims to install a cycle and walkway going from Galway city to Clifden over 76km (47 miles) that would go through 'the backbone' of Mr Joyce's property along the old Galway-to-Clifden railway line, he claimed. READ MORE Mr Oliver has taken the challenge against ACP's decision to approve the compulsory acquisition, with Galway County Council named as a notice party. In court papers, Mr Oliver said he was conscious that his farmlands were located in a 'highly sensitive environment', which includes marshland and hilled areas that form part of the Connemara Bog Complex SAC, a conservation area. The plaintiff submitted the practice of farming the lands through generations of his family was done 'in perfect symmetry with the environment' and that he is 'very passionate and concerned about this'. Mr Oliver claimed that when the project was first proposed by the council, it was to be carried out on a permissive basis such that the council would be facilitated in accessing the lands, but the lands would remain in his ownership and open so stock could travel across both sides of the farm. He submitted that his lands have a mix of soil types and this variety was essential, in that each part is integrated and grazed with the marshy area providing water during dry periods and the hilly areas providing respite during inclement weather conditions. Mr Oliver said the project, as approved by the granting, was different from the original, in that it now envisages a wider walk and cycleway. He submitted that he was assured by the council that the lands would remain open for stock to travel and that any fencing would only be constructed when they were required by the landowner and that the application to ACP was one based on his permission. Mr Oliver claimed he understood the project to initially comprise of a 2.5m-wide (8.2ft) 'informal track of a type that one would see in the countryside', but that the more recent, larger scheme now involved a 3.5m-wide (11.5ft) asphalt track with full fencing involving 'sheep wire and barbed wire'. The plaintiff said he was 'shocked' that after an initial agreement on the scheme, Galway County Council then said they would 'accept nothing less than full ownership' and sought the CPO. Mr Oliver argued that the 'fundamental basis of the scheme has been turned on its head' by the CPO and that the decision to do so was 'taken without cause or justification'. He further claimed that environmental assessments carried out and submitted to ACP related to the original scheme and that the new elements that arose in the CPO scheme were not previously considered for environmental impact. Ms Justice Farrell granted leave for the judicial review to Michael O'Donnell BL, instructed by Harrington & Co solicitors – for Mr Oliver – and adjourned the matter to September.
Times
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Times
Look out London and Paris, there's a new fashion week in town
Tweed, tech and a touch of trad — Paul Costelloe is set to headline the first Ireland Fashion Week, describing the event as a 'historic moment'. Not to be confused with Dublin Independent Fashion Week which returns for its third year from September 22, Ireland Fashion Week will run from October 6 to 10 in venues in Dublin, Connemara and the midlands. It will feature three flagship shows, two spotlight events and three mixed showcases, highlighting graduate and professional designers. Costelloe, Sinead Keary, Aoife McNamara and Rashhiiid by Rachel Maguire are among the 54 Irish designers who will be taking part, while Thalia Heffernan will model some of their designs. Costelloe, who turned 80 last month, reported retained earnings of €2 million to the end of August last year through his company Paul Costelloe Design Management. Commenting on his involvement in Ireland Fashion Week, he told The Sunday Times: 'It is a historic moment when Irish fashion steps out of the shadows to be acclaimed and considered. It shouldn't compare itself to Paris or London fashion weeks but base itself on its own culture and creativity.' The event is an initiative by Ashley McDonnell, a Galway-born digital leader in luxury and tech who is the managing director of Puig, a Spanish fashion and beauty business with subsidiaries such as Jean Paul Gaultier, Nina Ricci and Charlotte Tilbury. McDonnell, who lives in Dublin and Paris, said she had a long wish list of designers and models that she wanted to be involved. Thankfully this is now reality. She has also invited Sidney Toledano, a former chief executive of Christian Dior Couture, as well as Jonathan William (JW) Anderson. 'In terms of designers, we also have Bold Golf, a brand that I only discovered during the application process and I'm so impressed by what they have built in a year and a half,' she said. 'For our mixed show, which is under the theme of 'Irish roots', we have ten designers that will do four looks each and are going to tell the story of Ireland through fashion. 'That one is going to be something that blows everyone away because we've got designers who basically graduated in the last year, all the way to Magee which was founded in 1866. We'll also have a couple of models coming over from Paris and London and we'll be able to give their names pretty soon.' McDonnell, 31, said the aim of Ireland Fashion Week was to build a robust, domestic fashion industry that had 'financial accountability and could be self-sustained'. She said: 'One thing I feel that we have struggled with in Ireland is building an actual robust industry where everyone involved is able to be financially independent and where we can pay all the other creatives that need to be involved in a successful fashion business. So that's what the idea behind all of this is. 'The beauty of Ireland Fashion Week is that it's the first one, so we're able to set the standards really high. It was never my dream to create a fashion week but ultimately I want to build the future luxury group of Ireland platform brands and help them go international. I felt that without a really strong platform at home for brands to build that foundation, brands would be limited.' McDonnell said Ireland Fashion Week would focus on authenticity, with Irish themes built into each show. 'Somebody asked me how will it be unique, how will someone look at an image or video from the week and know that it's Ireland fashion,' she said. 'The beauty of Ireland is that I don't think we're going to struggle with that because we are really unique. We lean into our heritage with textiles, our environment and architecture. 'We are producing shows that will be running from themes of heritage and modern heritage to Irish roots, and Irish themes with sportswear and streetwear. I don't think anyone's going to have any issues in identifying Ireland Fashion Week and that that's an Irish designer.' McDonnell believes her event could eventually compete with the likes of London and Paris. 'This is a long-term investment — we have a tech fund of €7.5 million that will be distributed across all of those designers,' she said. 'We have a production budget of €1 million for our events and shows and we are subsidising 90 to 100 per cent of the cost of these fashion shows. 'We are doing this because we see it as a strategic investment to boost the whole creative ecosystem. I hope this will also speed us up in catching up with other countries and cities that have fashion weeks around the world.' Heffernan will host a model boot camp as part of the week, which will aim to find and nurture Irish talent. McDonnell said: 'This was the brainchild of Thalia. She came to me and said, 'I want to be a part of this in a more authentic and valuable way. I want to be able to help spot upcoming talent but also give people the tools they need to be able to succeed.' 'We're going to be hosting a casting day which Thalia will be a part of and then we're going to host the model boot camp where models are able to learn everything from how to walk on the runway, but also how to build their modelling careers.' McDonnell, who dreamt of a career in fashion from the age of 16, began working for Christian Dior in Paris when she was 23. 'Anyone who was with me in secondary school will probably say that they always knew I'd end up working in fashion,' she said. 'I heard about a show that was going to take place in London, showcasing illustrations from Christian Dior. I went to the exhibition and said to my mum, 'I'm going to work for Christian Dior in Paris.' She didn't say that's impossible and she didn't say it's possible either. 'I did my research and realised most people that worked in fashion at Christian Dior studied at HEC Paris [the business school]. It took me a few years but I eventually got there and sure enough, in my first week, we had a recruiter on campus from Christian Dior. Before I even graduated, I had a full-time offer to join the headquarters in Paris as a digital manager.'
Irish Times
18-07-2025
- General
- Irish Times
Red Warning - Frank McNally on why Galway fishermen dread foxes
Saint MacDara, whose feast day and associated pilgrimage by Connemara fishermen featured elsewhere in these pages on Thursday, is a rare example of a holy man known only by his surname. This is because his first name was Sionnach, meaning 'fox'. And it has long been a superstition among fishing communities, not just in Ireland but as far away as Brittany, that any mention of foxes on a boat is sure to bring bad luck. Their belief was recorded by the antiquarian R.A.S. Macalister when, making the pilgrimage in July 1895, he pondered why the saint was so known: 'Sinach [as Macallister spelt it] was his proper name; but he is always called after his father, the meaning of that word (a fox) had anything to do with its non-application…we can only infer; anyhow the fact remains that this name was dropped, and the Saint was one of the first to have a surname, for reasons best known to those who applied it.' READ MORE Such was the strength of the superstition that anyone sighting or hearing of foxes while on the way to sea would turn back and abandon the day's fishing. But it wasn't just foxes, Macallister explained. Quoting John O'Donovan, of Ordnance Survey fame, he noted a range of four-legged animals equally dreaded by Galway fishermen: 'They cannot bear to hear the name of a fox, hare, or rabbit pronounced, and should they chance to see either (sic) of those animals living or dead, or hear the name of either expressed before setting out to fish…they would not venture out that day.' This being a big hurling weekend, I'm reminded of an immortal quip from the late Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh, covering a game between Tipperary and Galway in the 1990s: 'Pat Fox has it on his hurl and is motoring well here comes Joe Rabbitte hot on his tail...I've seen it all now, a Rabbitte chasing a Fox around Croke Park.' Well, witty as it was, that's another story you couldn't mention on a fishing boat off Galway, apparently. Down in Kerry, meanwhile, the prohibition extends to pigs. According to the blog sight or mention of anything porcine there was traditionally sufficient reason to give up fishing for the day. If a pig had to feature in conversation at sea, it was by euphemism, as 'the fellow with the curly tail'.' In similar vein, the fox was 'the bushy-tailed fellow' or 'the fellow with the pointed ears'. Even the foxy words 'red' or 'rua' were avoided in boats. Hence a Blasket Islander named Pádraig O Guithin, who was known as Pádraig Rua on land but became Peadaí deaghdhathach' ('brilliant-coloured Paddy') at sea. Getting back to Oileán Mhic Dara, the saint himself had an ominous reputation. In his report on this week's pilgrimage, Simon Carswell noted a tradition whereby boats passing the island dip their sails three times. Not to do so is (or at least used to be) an invitation to trouble. Macallister quotes a story from 1672, about 'a certain captain of the garrison of Galway' who, after passing the island without the usual ceremony 'was so tossed with sea and storme that he vowed he would never pass there again without paying his obeysance'. It was too late. Before the captain had a chance to revisit the island, he went down in a shipwreck. A few years after that, in the case of 'one Gill, a fisherman of Galway', vengeance was swifter and more direct. Refusing to strike his sail at the island, he went 'not a mile beyond' when, on an otherwise calm day, the mast was toppled by a sudden gale 'and struck him on the pate dead'. The comic novelist Mervyn Wall wrote about Oileán Mhic Dara for The Irish Times in 1968. He noted then that the superstition concerning four-legged animals extended to deer. This being so, it seemed a sinister coincidence that there was a 'Deer Island' close to MacDara's, something that had proved very bad luck once for a group of British soldiers. Wall heard from locals the story about how a fugitive named O'Donnell was arrested while disguised as a priest near the village of Carna, but bargained with his captors by claiming to have buried gold on Deer Island, for a planned escape to America. So the five soldiers rowed there with him but made the mistake of getting out of the boat first and throwing him a rope. Naturally, he cut the rope and floated away, throwing himself into the hold to avoid their gunshots. Back on the mainland, he then dissuaded locals from rescuing the troops, who by the time they were found had starved to death. It might have been just a story. But there was a place on Deer Island called the 'Mound of the Strangers'. And an old man in Roundstone told Wall that as a boy, circa 1910, he and friends had dug a little into the mound, finding there a well-preserved belt buckle with the initials for 'Highland Light Infantry'.
Irish Times
17-07-2025
- Irish Times
‘Here comes everybody': Connemara fishermen lead seafaring pilgrimage to patron saint MacDara
People from all over Connemara and the rest of the world braved sea journeys to a small island off Co Galway for the annual Féile Mhic Dara gathering on Wednesday. About 85 boats, mostly traditional fishermen's wooden currachs, ferried some 500 people to Oileán Mhic Dara, St MacDara's Island, for the July 16th pilgrimage, when the patron saint of Connemara's fishermen is honoured. But no fishing was done. Local fisherman devoted their time, as they do on this day every year, bringing locals and others to the early Christian oratory that stands like a stone barnacle on this uninhabited rock for the traditional mass. 'People come back from every corner of the world. They come back for Christmas and for St MacDara's Day,' said Fr Shane Sullivan, the parish priest from nearby Carna and, like his new boss in the Vatican, a native of Chicago. READ MORE Tides and weather set the rhythms of fishing and life out here. A morning high tide and overcast but calm day allowed people to make the 11.45am mass. Fr Sullivan said people in Connemara feel a 'strong sense' of heritage, place and community. He described the 'rough and ready' tradition of travelling to the island by various seafaring crafts as an 'awesome chance' for everyone to gather. 'It's a bit like James Joyce said: here comes everybody,' he said. 'It is a great pilgrimage for the boatmen and for fishermen. Their work is very dangerous so they come here and they have a sense of wanting a blessing.' He ended the hillside mass – said over a wooden altar that could be broken up into three to fit on a currach – with a blessing for the men and their boats. Fr Shane Sullivan, parish priest from Carna, Co Galway, celebrates mass on St MacDara's Island for the festival. Photograph: Chris Maddaloni Fishermen first like to circle the island to honour the sixth century saint who fished, survived and built a wooden church on this windswept location. One fisherman, Johnny Cloherty of Muighinis, dipped his hand in the water passing the island on John Ó Flatharta's boat Golden Adventure to bless himself. 'It is a big day for the fishermen,' said Cloherty. Fisherman Johnny Cloherty journeys by boat to St MacDara's Island for Lá Fhéile Mhic Dara. Photograph: Chris Maddaloni/The Irish Times Locals say, in old days, fishermen dipped their foresail passing by in tribute to the saint. 'There is a story that one man didn't dip his sail on purpose,' said local fisherman MacDara Breathnach, who was named after a grandfather who was named after the saint. 'The mast broke and fell down on top of him and killed him dead in the boat. They are just stories. We would respect it.' Sitting on the island, well-known Connemara actor Páraic Breathnach, a pilgrim to the island for most years of his life, said people here still have a 'pre-Christian faith'. 'They believe in superstition and when are you dealing with the sea and the weather and the wind and the vagaries of the ocean you have to believe in something and MacDara is a great man to have on your side,' he said. For many, the day is a time to catch up, as generations mix over post-mass picnics and flasks of tea. Mairtín Barrett has been visiting the island for over 80 years. Photograph: Chris Maddaloni/The Irish Times Mairtín Barrett (92) said the day 'hasn't changed a lot really' in all his years. Margaret Mulkerrin (76), who returned from Boston, said her first MacDara's trip was 72 years ago: 'It was a very windy day. We were kind of afraid; there were nine in the boat.' It is a first visit to Ireland for her grandson, Michael Frazier Jr (12). 'It is a really fascinating experience to see something that has been here so long and is still standing,' he said, looking up at the oratory. This is Fr Sullivan's fourth MacDara's as the local priest. His father emigrated to Chicago from this parish in the 1970s. Shane returned in 2008 and was ordained in 2012. 'I really wanted to come here and be a priest – it felt like a calling,' said Fr Sullivan, who was motivated by 'how few young men were going forward to the priesthood'. Serving in a Gaeltacht meant learning Irish over three summers in Carraroe. His mass on the island was said in a strong American Irish. 'People get a laugh out of it because I still do sound like an American,' he said. 'Try to speak Irish with this accent – it's a bit strange.'
