Bunratty
Castle sprouts from a web of housing, businesses and parking lots. It dominates the town, shadowing the people
with its massive walls and violent memories.
A piece of history too strong to be torn down, this castle continues to
enliven the town’s life by creating a tourist interest for County Clare in the
Republic of Ireland. And it’s not just
written history. Here at Bunratty
Castle, history lives, eats and breathes.
The forest pathway toward the draw
bridge glittered with fine rain and tiny lights, the gravel crunching beneath
the boots of twenty-six Americans. It
was a chilly night and I tucked my coat tightly around my shoulders, my eyes
wandering up the stone walls of the outer keep.
We were running late, so we had the drawbridge and wooden stairs up to
the entryway to ourselves, the wood cracking and groaning as we mounted the
aging steps.
At the doorway, we were greeted by
the first of this evening’s many ‘servants’, the worker wearing green tights
and a medieval styled shirt. He handed
our tickets and we continued inside, where we were quickly directed up a narrow
set of winding stairs. Originally built
to enhance the castle’s defense, whoever had designed these stairs could not
have imagined that a thousand years later, groups of tourists would be climbing
them to replay what medieval life would have been like.
And that was precisely what we were
doing. As we neared the reception hall,
I felt a building sense of curiosity.
The medieval banquet at Bunratty Castle had been the highpoint of my
interest since I first saw it on our group’s tour schedule. What kind of food would we be eating? Who would be there? Would the workers be in costume? Would we really be dining in a castle? Already two of my questions had been
answered, unless the man at the entryway thought that tights were the latest of
men’s Irish fashion.
We emerged in the reception hall to
be greeted by the haunting sound of an Irish harp, the laughter of over a
hundred guests and a cheerful serving lady in a long blue dress, carrying a
tray full of clay cups. Accepting one, I
made my way into the room, looking over the tapestries that lined the
walls. A massive fireplace rested in the
back wall, a harpist and violinist standing in the center of the room while
they enchanted their guests with ancient melodies. The hall was packed tightly with people,
their laughter bouncing off of the vaulted ceiling undoubtedly the same as it
would have hundreds of years ago.
Sipping my drink, I found that it tasted distantly of a weak
brandy. It was mead, I was later told,
an ancient beverage that people made from fermented berries and honey.
After the music, we were lead into
the dining hall. This room was larger
than the last, with several side passages and a low stage. Several long, bench-lined tables stretched
from wall to wall, an extra dining area set on a platform near the front of the
room. This, we were told, was the Earl’s
table, the man selected from the guests only minutes before. After we were seated, the butler stepped up
to an overlooking balcony and addressed his guests. He informed us that the large clay pitchers
on the tables were filled with red and white wine and that we would be enjoying
several courses over the evening. The
soup, he said, would be drank from the bowls as the medieval guests of an Earl
would have done. As for silverware, we had
our knives and fingers for the remaining courses.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,”
said the butler, “prepare yourselves to step from reality and into your
fantasies.”
Assuming that I was hidden within
the crowd, I elbowed my friend and snorted in a very unladylike fashion into my
hand.
“Not those kinds of fantasies, my lady!” exclaimed the butler, barking a
laugh.
The hall burst into laughter, a
hundred guests twisting on their seats to get a look at the bold American. Shrinking into my seat, I attempted to hide
my burning face in my hands. I should
have guessed that this was only the preface to a very interesting evening.
The first course to arrive was a
blended vegetable soup and several loaves of hearty bread. The room was bubbling with conversation and
as the wine gradually soaked through the diners, our mirth became more and more
boisterous. Soon the servants cleared
the table and replaced our bread with massive platters heaped with barbequed
pork ribs. They were delicious, so I was
covered in red barbeque sauce when the butler decided to pay me a visit.
“I hope that I didn’t embarrass you
too badly, my lady,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder and grinning. “But I looked down and saw your smiling face
and I couldn’t resist.”
I assured him that I thought it was
hilarious and that I was glad to have been able to contribute to the night’s
festivities. Noticing a rather unruly
member of our group at the end of the table, the butler leaned down and asked,
“Is he bothering you, my lady?”
Assuming that he would make a joke,
I answered that he was. Before I knew
it, the ‘young lord’ was hauled out of his seat and escorted into the dungeons,
where we were told he would remain until he favored the court with a song (or
was beheaded). He seemed to opt for the
song.
The next course was chicken with
vegetables and an herb sauce. After this
our dessert of chocolate mousse garnished with fresh mint came, the tables
quieting down at the request of the butler.
The musicians then favored us with half an hour of traditional harp and
fiddle music, the violinist playing ‘Danny Boy’ with every bit the expertise
that the Earl of an olden court would have expected. The butler also sang and he made it a point
to gesture widely at me every time the chorus that contained the line
‘blue-eyed girl’ came up.
By the end of the evening, with our
hearts lightened with mirth and wine, the guests made their way back down the
winding staircase. The ancient walls
rang with laughter, like an echo from the past.
I have never had an experience like the medieval banquet at Bunratty
Castle. I have to say that it is among
my favorite in Ireland.
~K
~K
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