Farewell, my love

I often flick through my images a couple of weeks after my initial trawl through, sometimes I get a different perspective because I am more removed from the taking stage.  This one gave me cause for pause (I like that phrase – cause for pause) – it seemed to invoke something a little more than a simple tourist shot.  Had the idea come to me at the time, I might have waited until the boat was a little further up the frame, to give a greater sense of distance travelled – I’ve cropped some sky off the top which has improved things a little.

—-Stephen—

Bridge of Tears

I saw this post at our friend Le Drake Noir’s blog and I thought that the image portrayed a kind of content happiness, a lady waiting for a loved one to return.  For some reason, it reminded me of a place I once visited in Ireland, which, for me, gives quite the opposite feeling. We were out for a drive, taking in the scenery (a beautiful place, Ireland) and we stopped so I could take this picture, (as we often do), before we reached the bridge. It was a dull and overcast day, having a somewhat melancholic feel to it – perhaps because we were returning hope next day. The little bridge is located in County Donegal, Ireland. It has a number of names, all of a similar meaning – The Bridge of Sorrows, The Crying Bridge and The Bridge of Tears.  There’s a plaque to the right of the bridge giving an overview of the reason for the name. People on the west side of the large ‘Muckish Mountain’ had to walk  over this bridge on their trudge to the port of Derry (aka Londonderry) on the Eastern side of Ireland.  And it was here they would part company with their loved ones.  Loved ones who were to be left behind to face the famine and poverty that the travellers were attempting to escape from.  The travellers were seeking a better life, typically in Canada and US.   And it was here tears were shed at the knowledge they would never see each other again, possibly never hearing from each other or of each other – back in the 19th and early 20th century communication was almost not existent, trips were invariably one way. No wonder the bridge has the name it has (Thank you, Alexander Bell, Guglielmo Marconi, and others – I wonder if you realised just what you did for us!)

——Stephen—–