On a recent visit to Ireland, I took the boat over Lough Corrib to the Isle of Inchagoill to see the remains of the chapel of St Patrick, said to date from the 6th Century. As is so often the case in Ireland, for every place there is a story and that of Tommie Levin, the last caretaker of Inchagoill inspired this poem.
The Caretaker
We are all caretakers of sorts, of our souls
and bodies, of our allotted patch
of clay. In return for board and lodging
on the crumbling estate, on a windy day
with rain beating in from the north, we cling
to the ladder, slide the crackedslates
back into place, the leaks drip
drip dripping on the vermin who squat
in the kitchen in winter.
I think about you, Tommie Levin,
for seventeen years alone in a shelter,
employed by a rich man to care for a ruin.
When the tombstones tilted, did you right them?
When trees blocked the path to the altar,
did you repair the way? Did you pray?
When tourists crowded the jetty, eager
for a glimpse of their history, were you proud
of your chapel, Tommie Levin? Were you lonely?
You were steward in a thin glade,
guardian of a liminal space
which on quiet days and mist sweet
lough lapping evenings offers
a glimpse of the landlord out walking on water.
A place which gives, not the take
take, tick tocking dereliction
of this, my posting. But both are ruins.
And ruined both.
Thomas Levin was the last caretaker of the chapel of St Patrick on the Island of Inchagoill (1921-1938). He was employed by the wealthy Guiness family, owners of the Ashford Castle estate who owned the island and its precious ruins.